Rest Assured, It's All About Me

I received a couple of comments on this post from a couple of days ago expressing worry that I am not being fair to my Anna. Ilana, in particular, worries that I am cultivating such a wall of resentment against my daughter that, even when/if she should attempt to reconcile with us (as she matures), I will not be able to meet her halfway.

Apparently, Ilana never read this post. That experience taught me that - hard as it is for my present-day self to believe - when/if Anna returns as a delightful young woman, I will welcome her with open arms. And I qualify that statement with an "if" only because I know women who, although they did mature into fine adults, never really wanted to reconnect with their parents. It happens, folks - so I am a trifle guarded in my expectations.

Truly, I empathize with Anna (but I don't tell her that, because she loathes hearing it). I remember feeling the way she does, wanting to be grown-up and independent and in control of my own life and not being able to, mostly because I was only 15 or 16 and - quite frankly - sort of an idiot, life-skills-wise. I can see my middle-aged self through her eyes and feel repulsed. Is it any wonder I don't mind sending her away for almost a month? I can't stand myself when she's around.

I would hope that it would be clear to most of my readers that in 99 percent of these posts, the joke is on myself (or Larry - sorry, honey). Even in the aforementioned post (where I comment on Anna's toilet-cleaning non-proclivities and the oddness of her giving me a hug), the point is not to criticize Anna - a girl who is, after all, not behaving outside the norm of teenage girldom (that is, if my commenters are any gauge - thank you, ladies).

Rather, the point is to highlight and make fun of how disoriented and discombobulated parents - when subject to this typical teen behavior - can become. In the case of that particular post, the joke was that a teen girl's parents (that would be Larry and I) are often too shell-shocked to accept a simple hug - we are too conditioned to look for the trick behind it. (And don't you love how explaining a joke totally kills it?)

Anna has full access to this blog. She doesn't see the humor in it, of course. She's annoyed by it sometimes. But I persist in talking about her because someday Anna will be a grown-up herself with (God willing) children of her own. By the time they are teenagers, I may no longer be around. (As in, dead - or senile.) It is my fond hope that one of those nights when Anna's teen daughter has shot her the death glare and evinced utter disgust at her mere presence - one of those nights, in short, when her darling progeny has made her feel as hurt and vulnerable as a mother can feel - it is my hope that Anna thinks to peruse these pages.

Dear grown-up Anna, if you are reading these words years from now, you are probably mature enough to be aware that I always loved you (even when you couldn't stand to hear it). I might not have liked you at some points; but with a teen daughter of your own, you can understand that now. I wrote these posts to survive by finding some humor in what was (for me) a dark and hurtful situation. Perhaps you can use them to the same purpose.

Just don't stay up too late reading, sweetheart; and for heaven's sake, make sure the dishes are done before you sit down at the computer. Or, better yet, make your daughter do them. She hates you already, anyway.

Presents of Mind

Larry called me from work the other day.

"Hi, honey! Did a package arrive today?"

"A package? No," I said. I couldn't help thinking, What a romantic! He's already ordered me something for my birthday and he can't wait to find out what I think of it!

"Well, if it shows up, call me and I'll come home to get it. It's for this woman's farewell luncheon at work."

"Oh." What about my birthday, buddy? "I thought you were giving her that other thing that arrived yesterday."

"Yeah, we're giving her that one, too."

"So...did you get me anything?"

"You? Um, no...no, I didn't. I told you, this is a work thing."

"You mean you were online ordering all these presents for another woman and you never once thought, Gee, maybe I should order my wife a little something while I'm at it?"

Give Larry some credit - he can think on his feet.

"Of course I wanted to get you something, but I need to see what hers looks like first. What if it turns out to be some cheap-looking piece of junk that you're too good for?"

Smart answer, honey. You're right - nothing but a Kindle will do.

Mothers And Daughters (And Toilets)

Anna and I had an animated discussion (late) last evening on the various methods of properly cleaning a toilet. I explained that merely waving the Lysol wipe in the general vicinity of said toilet is not effective, as evidenced by the mold growing underneath the seat. Anna was...shall we say...not receptive to this theory. Things deteriorated from there. You moms of teen girls can picture it, right?

This sort of encounter was nothing new, by the way. When (2 1/2 years ago) I first gave Anna the job of doing a daily, 2-minute powder room wipe-down, she was - to put it mildly - incensed. "Oh," she said. "And I suppose that means that you'll just do nothing!"

[Yes, I did laugh. Wouldn't you?]

So Anna came downstairs this morning, apologized (hey, she had a flute lesson she wanted to go to that day), and then....get this... she hugged me. What's up with that?

[I can tell you when she last hugged me. It was September of 2006.]

I posited that it was temporary insanity on her part. Larry, ever the realist, theorized that she fears we are draconian enough to confiscate the plane ticket her grandfather bought her. You see, she's slated to go to Europe with her friend's family for a few weeks this month.

Let me say here that Larry and I are strict; but we're not crazy. That's going to be our vacation, too, you know. But Anna doesn't have to know that, right? I need all the hugs I can get.

Time For The Swimsuit Competition!

Hey, menfolk? Go away. Just...go, okay? This is Ladies' Night.

Are they gone? Good. Because they can't understand. Do you realize that men never have a bad hair day? They never "feel fat"? They don't suck in their stomachs every time they walk past a mirror?

It's as if they are a different species, you know?

So, today was the day. That once-a-year day of reckoning. It was hot. It was sunny. And the kids were begging me, "Let's go to the pool! We haven't been there yet!"

That's right, we hadn't gone to our particular Mecca of summer fun just yet. Because I was dreading that first wearing of the swimsuit, dreading pulling it on and observing yet again that, though it is of the modest variety (thank you, Lord, for tankinis with skirted bottoms!), it can never be modest enough. It can't cover the bulging varicose veins in my calves, it can't hide the wrinkles above my knees. Yet I am required to walk around in it in full view of other people; not only that, I have to pretend that I don't feel as though I am parading around buck-naked.

Sigh. I never want to hear my grown children say I didn't sacrifice for them. Because I did. Every summer, at that damn pool....

[Save yourselves, by the way, and do not Google images for "swimsuit competition." When will I learn?]

Still Here, Just Lazy...

Who says knitting can't be relevant to our current economic situation? Check out this story on knitting's potential to bring peace of mind to the newly unemployed. All you non-knitters? Watch out. We are taking over the world.

Now I'm just waiting for our venerable First Lady to pick up those needles, during one of those interminable state dinners, say...

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Speaking of Mme Michelle, does she have a blog? No? Why not? She's got a chef and a maid and a babysitter - so it's definitely not a time issue. Maybe she's afraid she wouldn't get enough Followers. C'mon, Michelle! We're all waiting for it - MomInChief.blogspot.com! Can't you all picture it?

I don't care if he is the POTUS - I'm not going to pick up his underwear from the bathroom floor.

Sneaked down to the kitchen for some of that great pie late last night and was caught...damn Secret Service...

Don't know if I can go another 3 whole years without yelling at the girls...or my mom...

If one more person comments on my upper arms, I'm going to appear in the Rose Garden naked. That should change the focus a bit.

Hmmm....actually, maybe she'd be better on Twitter....

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My job starts next week, I have been assured. Thank goodness. I'm finding (much to my surprise) that I cannot stand being home every evening. It used to be relaxing to sit around the quiet house after all the young ones had gone to bed, knitting or editing photos or maybe just reading; but now that we have teens, there is always some other non-adult who is also awake. And, as all parents of adolescents know, the teens never need anything until after 9 PM. Then they are all, "Oh, I need this medical form filled out by yesterday" or "I was supposed to have the teacher recommendations in by tomorrow, but I forgot" or "Did you sign me up for [fill in the blank] yet?"

Relaxing? I think not.