I wrote a post last year called Are You My Mother?
It was based on the belief that you look for a
relationship in adulthood similar to the relationship you have with
the parent with which you have the most conflict.
I was quite determined not to marry my dad.
And on the outside, Stanley is nothing like my dad.
Their politics are different, their personalities are different
their intrinsic world view is pretty different.
Yet, they make me feel the same way.
Like I don’t quite measure up.
I really needed to pair up with my mother.
We aren’t that similar.
I am much more like my dad.
Ironic since I don’t like him sometimes.
I guess I wouldn’t get along with myself in person.
I just had one of those ‘painful realization’ moments.
(who cares, I don’t have to be my own friend.)
But, I have an awesome mother and that, I know, is a blessing.
She worries and worries about me.
About the weather, the plants, the pool water PH, the
lack of arch support in my ballet flats, whether JB
needs the medium or small size Bra-let from Target,
the pollen blowing into the garage that we track in with our
shoes which makes us sneeze, having enough keys hidden outside
so that The Boy can get in if he gets locked out, having the keys
hidden well enough so that burglars can’t get in…
You get it.
On Thursday we were due to have bad weather.
I had already gotten the text from mom,
Thinking if the weather is bad or when it gets bad
u & kids should bunk downstairs in Stanley’s room & sofas.
(there is a small part of me that wonders if she thinks I’m stupid)
But really I am eternally grateful to have someone that worries about me.
Then on Thursday morning, a few minutes after receiving
that one above, I got this from my lovah:
Be safe Baby. I’m worried about your weather
and the traffic on Poplar.
Shit fire and save your matches!
I found her, I found her!
and she has a penis!
Thank you Sweet Jesus!
Best case scenario!
I got that text and laughed and laughed and laughed.
and laughed and laughed and laughed.
I told Al and his response was,
“If you play your cards right, I’ll show you my rag.”
(the joke being that my mom always has a rag to clean up on her
at all times, for real.)
My mom with a naughty streak.
I am blessed.