measi's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Relationship with Mom (Apologizes if this doesn't make total sense. My head's in a sorta-poundy sorta mode from a combination of sinus pressure plus socked-in weather pressure today. But it's a day to talk about Mom.) My mom and I, despite the occasional argument, are good friends. We are complete opposites in many ways-- she's the annoyingly perfect 5'2", 125 lb woman who looks at least ten years younger than her age, can wear anything and look good, and is gracious in almost any setting, as opposed to my 5'5", 225 lb frame, able to wear hardly anything in a flattering way, and tends to strumble through things. We view family situations, particularly with my brother, from completely different views. She's a relative neat-freak, while I'm a mitigated disaster. Yet somehow, the two of us share enough in common that over time, we've bonded together. When I was little, my mom was a stay-at-home doctor's wife. She took care of two kids, a dog, three cats, and whatever other kids happened to be riding bikes with us in the driveway after school. She tried to get Scott into various after-school activities to spark some interests. She carpooled with another mom to get me to dance classes. There were swimming lessons, piano lessons, Cub Scouts for Scott, Busy Bees for me, and various functions at the YWCA. When I was 10, my mom and my brother's godmother began a catering service out of the house and the YWCA, which resulted in a bakery and a downtown cafe in what was the only real upscale department store downtown. This was her attempt to start doing something for herself, rather than just be "Mrs. Kent." The catering and bakery business was good, but struggled in Billings. My mom was a East Coast native completely ahead of her time in backwards Montana. She was unhappy, both with Montana and with life with my father. She and my father separated in 1987, and she moved to California the following year. My brother went with her, but came back after a year to Billings. I spent the latter half of my childhood without my mom around, for the most part. I saw her on long weekends from school, and for about a month every summer. But she was in California while I was in Montana. I loved her, but felt divided from her. Times with her were more like vacations than actually living with Mom. She didn't deal directly with the day-to-day angst that I had as a teenager. Not to say that she didn't try to involve herself-- she called us at least twice per week, and tried to get us to talk about what was going on. I pulled the "Mom, you don't know what's going on... you aren't here" card far too many times. I was oblivious then to how nasty that comment really is to a parent. I wouldn't dream of saying it now. I remember when my mom and I started really talking about things happening in her life. It was her last year of living in California, and things had ended badly with her boyfriend of nearly 7 years. She called me during my sophomore year in my dorm room, and we talked well past midnight her time. Probably the longest talk we've had to date. She cried, telling me how horrible she felt about leaving Scott and I in Montana when she left. She started berating herself for being what she thought was a bad mother (despite my disagreements then, and now whenever she brings it up). I had never heard my mom break down like that. My mom had suddenly become a human being on my level, not that untouchable level that parents seem to be on. Since then, my mom and I have gone through a delayed teenage mother-daughter spat, managed to get through it, and now are good friends. I've had the privilege to watch my mom grow from behind my father's shadow as the doctor's wife into a successful, strong, independent woman. I've observed her and learned from her, sometimes learning about a mistake before I've ever had to face it myself. She guides me to having a successful life through living one herself. And although I don't agree with everything she does, I love her and respect her for what she has done for herself. So Mom, I salute you on this Mother's Day. Despite your self-criticism for being a "bad mother," you have always tried to guide me, teach me, and love me as best you could. I love you, Mom. 3:15 p.m. - 12 May 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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