Apron Strings

You know what I hate?

I hate that even though I am nearly 33 years old and a wife and mother, my own mother can reduce me to a sniveling, pimply adolescent with one sentence.

"Feeling sorry for yourself today?"

Yeah, that'll do it.

Especially after I have been waiting for her in a restaurant for 20 minutes, at a time that she demanded, regardless of my own needs and wishes. My mom and I have a complicated relationship; but maybe everyone has a complicated one with their mothers.

Mine is complicated because I am not the favorite child. I was for a brief four years when I was the only child in our young, little family. Then, my brother was born. The first grandson on both sides of the family and the first boy in thirty years. Yeah, it was like Jesus was born all over again.

My brother was a cuddly, loving, mischievous child. I was a moody, distant bookworm. I always felt like a square peg in a round hole in my family; I just didn't fit.

Then, I grew up and moved away for a few years, which helped my relationship with my family tremendously. My mom and I are usually pretty close. We speak most days. We now live within fifteen minutes of each other.

Occasionally, the tension from the past rears its vicious head and it did yesterday. I am sick. I am tired. And, I am menstruating. Not a good mix.

My brother and his family live with my parents, which could be a whole 'nother series of posts about things I hate, and this is a source of conflict between my mom and I.

The thing that got me yesterday was that my mom had baked cupcakes and taken them to my niece's school for her birthday. She then took her out of school and spent the afternoon with her. Nice, right? It is. The problem is she doesn't do things like this for my daughter. She picks my other niece up from the sitter three days out of five.

Coincidentally, this is the same sitter that my son goes to twice a week for three hours. Do you see where this is going? Yeah, she leaves my son there, even though I am usually minutes behind her to pick him up; in fact, we often see each other there. Nice, huh?

Every so often, I just can't hear it anymore. I can't listen to the things my mom does for my nieces, whom I adore. I'm jealous, I am. My kids are wonderful but because they don't reside at their address, they are somehow less important. Less special. Less.

This pisses me off and I try to tell my mom. Usually, though, it comes out wrong and then she says things like, "Feeling sorry for yourself today, Toni?" And, then, I cry because I am still at heart that misfit of a child who wants her mom's affection and attention.

My mom isn't all bad. She is very fair with material items that she buys for all the grandchildren. She does love my children. She would come in a second if there was an emergency or a desperate need.

But I want her to not wait until there is a need. I want her to want to see my kids because they are mine. I think she should try even harder to see my children because of the time she spends with my nieces. She doesn't, though, and it hurts. But, we are at an impasse. She sees my hurt as jealousy and irrational. She doesn't recognize that my feelings are at least a little justified. She just sees me as a whiny, grouchy kid looking for a reason to feel sorry for myself.

And, yes, I know we need therapy. I begged for it as an adolescent. My parents, though, don't believe in that kind of money wasting stuff. So, I bottle up this anger and hurt and it bubbles up now and again to little avail. *sigh*

You bloggy friends are just the best; thanks for listening.