insane shit my mom says

I have a daughter who is 9. I keep thinking my mom will adore her and delight in her, but she never did with me and now she doesn’t with my daughter either. In fact the opposite is true. I recently told my mom that my daughter was getting bullied at school. To me, a normal response would be “who are these kids?” or “is she ok?” But no, not my effed up sicko of a mother. She says, oh, has she been telling you how her father is taking her in a limo for her 10th birthday? I’m like “huh? what..? are you talking about.”

Well, she says, kids don’t like it when others brag.  My daughter’s father tends to exaggerate and come out with stuff to impress her. Nevertheless I said to my mom — no kid deserves to be bullied, even if they say annoying things. Then she goes “kids that bully get bullied.” You tell me what that sounds like?  To me it sounded like she was saying my girl has been a bully, that’s why she’s getting bullied! If anyone knows my daughter, they know she is the kindest, friendliest, most generous-hearted kid you could ever hope to meet.

I’ve decided the only way I can ever get peace with my mom is to tell myself she is mentally ill and can’t help it. I only just thought of this today after battling on for years, thinking and hoping that one day she would start acting ‘normal.’  I’m 40 now and she’s 65, it ain’t gonna happen. She will keep saying crazy shit till the day she dies.

-TK

I should preface this by saying that my mother and I have never been particularly close, and I’m not sure why. Even my dad admits that we “clash,” and he “doesn’t know what it is about me that gets to her.” Nice, right?

I am very fortunate in life though to have fantastically generous friends. My good friend A and her parents are wonderful. For my twenty-fourth birthday, A’s parents decided to send A and I to Disney World for a week. I, of course, was beyond thrilled. I completely realize that my own parents are not financially capable of such extravagances, and have never asked for such, or implied that I think less of them (I don’t at all) because they can’t.

My mother has always been very big on birthdays. Even as my siblings and I have gotten older, she’s always insisted on a cake with family either on the actual birthday or the nearest weekend. My older sister’s birthday is a month before mine. For my sister’s birthday that year, my mother planned the usual family evening - inviting over my aunt and cousins, baking a cake, and she spent a good week asking the rest of us what my sister would like for her birthday, then proceeded to drag my dad to three different stores to find it.

As my birthday approached, I mentioned to my sisters that if my mom asked, all I wanted for my birthday was a gift certificate to the nail salon (which is less than a mile from thier house) so that I could get a pedicure before leaving for Disney. I was leaving for Disney on my actual birthday, which was a Thursday that year.

The following is a journal entry I’d posted the Monday before my birthday:

What really got to me this weekend though, was my mother. Thursday is my birthday. Things are bound to shape up by then, as I’m leaving for Disney that afternoon. My mom knows this. Last month, for Megan’s 26th birthday, mom made a big deal - asking absolutely everyone what they thought Megan would want for a gift, calling a bunch of family over for cake…baking a cake. I got a phone call mid-week last week saying “What do you want for your birthday?” in a very flat, I-could-give-a-shit, sort of tone. I said, very excitedly, “I know! Can you get me a pedicure? Can you get me a gift certificate? I want my toes to look cute for Florida.” Now, this is not expensive, this is not extravagant, and the nail salon is around the corner - I got the heavy sigh, as if I’d just asked for Yankee Tickets next to the dugout and a “We’ll see.” Yesterday at about 4:30 my mom says “When did you want to do that pedicure?” To which I replied that I’d been hoping to go over the weekend, since I won’t have time before Thursday. She practically throws a $20 bill at me and says “Happy birthday,” then walks away. Now, I’m not saying I wanted anything extravagant for my birthday. I’m not saying I wanted a big deal. What I would have liked, is at least as much recognition as Megan got. There was no cake. There were no phone calls inviting family over. She couldn’t even make the effort to go to the salon less than a mile away to pick up a gift certificate. I would have rather she’d forgotten my birthday entirely than purposefully ignore it - and I’m sure if my dad hadn’t asked what they were doing for my birthday, she wouldn’t have even made the effort to throw the $20 at me. I’m perfectly aware that my mother doesn’t like me. I just hate this passive-aggressive shit that borders open hostility.

Since that year, if I’ve asked for a pedicure gift certificate, my mother WILL actually go to the salon and get it. She does that because she figured out that the bare minimum pedicure costs $15, not $20. So she gets me a gift certificate for exactly $15 and leaves me to tip the people myself. Thanks mom.

-K

sistermarymartha:

My mother: No offense, but your house is depressing. I couldn’t live here. This room has no focus. Who picked out this green color? It looks like a college dorm. Oh, this tile is terrible. If you put some work in, you could probably make it look nice.

sistermarymartha:

That is all.