I love my mother. I love my mother. The repetition is in hopes that I will accept it as truth in spite of the trials and tribulations of recent months. Truly I love my mother….most of the time? No, all the time but sometimes I do not like her very much! At 95 she can be a problem but she is still my mother and, yes, I love my mother.
I was born the second of two as I have an older brother. Mom was still groggy from the c-section anesthesia when they told her she had a girl. Her response was “You’re kidding.” This scene was played several times as she would wake, ask about the baby and fall asleep again. The nurse commented “She must have really wanted a girl!” I was that girl.
Mom was the mother everybody else wanted. I had a hard time figuring this out as I was the kid who could not do whatever it was everybody else was doing because my mother would not allow it. At the same time my mother arranged things to suit me and my friends. If we wanted to have a tea party we were allowed to use the precious china cups and if one was broken it was not a punishable offense and did not preclude the use of the cups on another occasion. I remember only one cup being broken when one of my friends dropped it. She was so sure she was done for but I’m the one who cried and fussed as I understood Mom’s love of the cups. Still her only response was “Such things were meant to be used, not sit in the cupboard. Accidents happen. “ If we wanted popsicles mom found small chores we could do to earn the money for the trip to the little store to buy them. It was understood that all the raspberries did not have to make it into the kitchen. Many found their way instead into our tummies. If we wanted to have a backyard carnival we would have the makings for lemonade and popcorn to sell without needing to pay for the supplies. Another friend had a better yard but we had to pay her mom for the supplies we used. Sure enough my mom was the one everybody wanted.
So now I love my mother. I love my mother even when she drives me crazy. It has not been a good week. She is hard of hearing, complains if I don’t call and can’t remember when I do call. These calls can be problematic as this series from last week shows.
Me: ”Hi Mom”
Mom: “I can’t hear you. Who is this?” (like it matters if she can’t hear me who it is that is calling)
Me: “It’s me, Becky”
Mom: “It’s LaVonne? I can’t hear you.” She hangs up.
I try again with similar results.
Me: “Hi Mom. It’s Becky. Can you hear me?”
Mom: “Becky who? I can’t hear you.”
Me: “Mom it’s your daughter, Becky.”
Mom: “I can’t hear you.” She hangs up.
This sort of series was repeated two days in a row.
I then called the front desk and asked them to have someone check her phone and to please call me after they had been there.
Several days later she left a message on my voice mail. “I haven’t heard from you in days. Beginning to wonder if I have a daughter.” By the way this message was left the day before my 63 birthday. I returned the call.
Me: “Hi Mom. Can you hear me?”
Mom: “Yes, I called and had them come up and fix my phone. Why haven’t you called me?” (She had them come up and fix her phone? I checked later. She had not called. They fixed the phone because I called.)
Me: “Mom I’ve called repeatedly but you could not hear me.”
Mom: “Well that doesn’t count. I could not hear you.”
ARRG! The conversation continued but did not get any better as all I got was grief over not calling! It is now the day after my birthday and the girl she so badly wanted is completely forgotten.