For everyone who was unable to make it to the show last weekend, this was my story. Today seemed especially appropriate to share it with you. I hope every last one of you is enjoying today. I will be spending the day with my mother, my sister (the new mother), and later I'll be playing in my yard with my own children- the furry ones. Happy Day!
And She Understood
I did not appreciate my mother. Thirteen. She was in my way. All that I really
wanted was to be popular and she absolutely did NOT understand.
I wanted to wear a push up bra, a thong, and clothes snug enough to give
you a yeast infection. I wanted the boys to notice me, and more importantly,
wanted the girls to notice the boys noticing me. Funny how that works isn’t it?
When Christmas came around, I asked for a sewing machine. “How endearing
and domestic?!” my mother must’ve thought. It was December 25th, and under that
tree was my top of the line Bernina. She was a beaut.
It took less than a week for me to get started on my new wardrobe. That’s
right, all of those back to school shirts mom had bought for me over the break
were about to go through a transformation.
And so was I.
I was ahead of the game, as far as “blossoming” goes. I had boobs. Good
ones. And I thought it was time everyone knew that.
I almost made it to spring break before my mother realized- it was not in
fact the darn dryer that was shrinking my clothes, but was me and my top of the
line Bernina. My new wardrobe consisted of the DEEPEST of V-necks and SNUGGEST
of slim fit tee’s.
OH, The boys noticed. The girls noticed the boys noticing. And my mother
noticed, she was in for a treat of a teenager to raise.
Now, everyone says being a new mom is a challenge. Moms with freshly
popped out babies get thrown up on, screamed at, and sob-snotted on.
(Sob-snotting is what I call the fluids that come out of your face when you are
completely and ridiculously upset).
What my mom didn’t realize, is that she would have to endure this phase
of my life more than once. Puking, screaming, and sob-snotting were all too familiar
to my teenage years. If you think its tough to put up with a newborn, try it
with a menstrual mad-woman who is 15 years old and freakishly taller than you.
When I was two I would run from my mother in the grocery store looking
for women in long skirts, with every intention of throwing their skirts up,
revealing to all of Homeland their Victoria’s Secret merchandise.
This, too, was accustomed to my teen years. Except it was MY skirt being
thrown up, and MY Victoria’s Secret merchandise being revealed. And instead of
in the local grocer, it was in the Burger King parking lot. Which just so
happened to be the cool kid hangout of my small town.
I’m gonna spare you all the gory, whorey details of the rest of my
teenage years. They go along like most women’s tormented youth. Too many boys
and bad decisions to count. Too many friends lost, too many gained. Pointless,
painful tears cried.
And all along the way, each moment, both dreadful and overjoyed, were
ended with a hug from my mother. A mother who could never understand, or so I
thought.
The older I got, the less frequent the screaming became, the bigger the
problems became, and the closer my mother and I became.
I remember the exact moment we crossed that threshold, the line that was
drawn between mother and teenage daughter.
I had so many secrets from those “lost years” (or so I like to call them).
I couldn’t forgive myself for them. I had flourished right on out of those
horrible mistakes and bad decision-making skills. But I still had the memories,
and guilt.
My mother saw right through me. She was visiting me in college, my
sophomore year. Nineteen. Somehow, as mothers do, she recognized that I was
hurting, from secrets I didn’t want to hide but was too afraid to share.
She put me in the car, drove me to the nearest convenience store. Put the
car in the park, and went inside.
My Mother. The conservative, God-fearing, rule-following woman… came out
with two Tall-Boy Bud Lights. I was surprised to say the least.
She cracked open the beer and sat it in front of me… “now spill it.” … I thought,
‘What the hell? What do I have to lose?’ and in that moment I let her in. I
did. I unleashed. I revealed my broken heart. Broken from both my actions, and those
of others.
I had beaten myself down so far and had become so ashamed, that I thought
there was no chance of recovery. Nonetheless, I poured out my stories to her,
with unprecedented amounts of sob-snotting. Finally, she knew what I came from. She knew who I’d been hiding. She
knew me
In that moment everything changed. We were no longer Mom and teenage
daughter. Instead, it was two women. We were two women, connected by the
strongest bond possible, that of a mother and daughter. I had bared my soul,
and my secrets.
In that moment, she was more than
my mother. She was my friend. She loved me.
And, as I assume she probably
always had, she most definitely understood.
My heart is full.
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely fabulous story... I'm so glad you shared this with us.
ReplyDeleteThis mother has always loved you. Always will.
ReplyDelete