The Mom Project

This entry is inspired by a good friend's blog where I recently read about her own Mom Project...look for the link to "The Gaydi Project"

As I read my good friends' blog entry about her mother/daughter relationship it made me really really jealous. I have always been jealous of their relationship actually. Even though I know they both have their own strains with each other here and there, I envy the fact that Gaydi (The Mother) is so fun, so real, so independent in spirit, has such a great sense of self and sense of humor towards life and is so easy to talk to as a mother figure. I'm lucky to have her in MY life too. Just to give you an idea of the kind of relationship Gaydi and I have, we use the words "Fuck You" as a term of sincere endearment towards each other. But let me tell you why...

At one point during her daughter's and my adolescence together, there was a fine EARLY Sunday morning when Aaryn (The Daughter) did not come home, and was (if memory serves) with a boyfriend all night with whom she was NOT supposed to be. So, me being Aaryn's usual partner in crime, Gaydi called me to find out where she was, and I truly did not know. For my protection, Aaryn had purposely NOT told me of her whereabouts that night. When I told her that I didn't know where her daughter was Gaydi did NOT believe me. She let me know in no uncertain terms that she knew I was lying to her, that she didn't appreciate me "covering" for Aaryn and that she was NOT happy with me. I don't know still quite how I did it (it was probably the early hour and my fatigue) but somehow I managed to muster the balls to stand up for myself and the truth that I KNEW but SHE couldn't believe and for the first time ever in my adolescent life, I told an adult "Fuck You!" and hung up the phone! Needless to say, it was a little while before Gaydi and I made up, but we did. What I love most about this story is that it became such a positive thing between she and I. The fact that it is a now term of endearment shows me the level of authenticity between us and both of our abilities to stand up for ourselves and speak the truth and then ultimately, MOVE THE FUCK ON with life. I love that about My Other Mother. I miss having her in my life the way I did back then.

I try to bring authenticity into my own relationship with my mom now, but it's hard, really REALLY hard. We never really had that together. She's VERY different than Gaydi. There are times when I wonder if I'd be the same person if I didn't have My Other Mother. I think we all find that Other Mother. Or that other father. I was lucky in the respect that with my dad, I always had a close relationship and never needed Another Father. We always have been friends, dad and I. But mom and I were not so lucky. My folks got divorced when I was 14 and I was "stuck" living with mom. Not ONLY did we live together but she decided to go back to work...at MY HIGH SCHOOL! Thanks mom! Thanks for the bitterness over dad, thanks for being so vocal about what a jerk you think he is, thanks for not acknowledging AT ALL that his leaving had anything to do with YOU, thanks for being in my life 24/7 at a time when you are driving me up the wall! Mom had a hard time being authentic with herself, had a harder time confronting anyone and so authenticity in our relationship seemed to go one way...from me to her and there it would stop short.

Well, you might have guessed by now that mom and I didn't have a close relationship. Not only was I daddy's girl to begin with but when they divorced and mom and I got stuck with each other it got worse...we became LESS close. I'm sure it's always been hard on her, watching how close my dad and I are, but then to get stuck with me at a time when she really needed an ally AGAINST him...must have been a real blow. Well, I didn't make it any easier on her. I partied, I started smoking...just like dad did. I let her know in no uncertain terms that he left HER and not me. One day right after he moved out, she and I drove to our dry cleaners to pick up some of her clothes. The attendant, who had known our family forever asked her if she wanted to also pick up dad's shirts. She said "Oh no, I won't be picking up his shirts anymore, he left us!" She said that to the DRY CLEANER for God's sake! I immediately sat forward and loudly said "He didn't leave US, he left YOU!" Silence filled the car. The poor dry cleaner guy just stood there. That was a benchmark for she and I. It was clear that we were in different camps and that I knew what was up and wanted her to know that I did. I wasn't buying into her smear campaign against him to the community at large. She continued her campaign and still does to this day even though she can hardly speak anymore. She still says once in a while "he's gay." But then now, now that her brain is so affected with Picks Disease, she'll turn right around the next minute and say "I miss him." or "He's in bed with me." or some other odd phrase that has taken hold in her brain and won't let go. Oh therapy...would have been great if she'd really gotten some to help her cope with all those feelings back when they were at their most intense and causing her such enormous grief. Now unfortunately, it's too late. Therapy is not an option. Now that her brain is no longer functioning on so many levels, conversations don't happen. It's very sad. But back to our time together, post divorce and stuck together.

I thumbed my nose at her wimpy attempts at authority over me. I saw what a pushover she was with me and I used it. I had NO respect for her and didn't plan to. I was essentially a good kid, even though I experimented with drugs some, smoked cigarettes as a minor and learned to party. I got basically good grades, attended classes and stayed on the "right path." I think mostly I did this because I respected my dad's wishes and authority because I knew what he expected from me and more than that, I knew what he wanted FOR me. He told my brother and sister and I the same thing: "Stay in school and don't do drugs and I'll pay for your college." Well, I think ALL of us did some drugs, ALL of us partied to an extent but we did all stay in school. But I remember his request and I think that it set up a sense of authority to me that I respected. It sounds like I didn't since I did experiment with drugs, but I remembered that he expected something from me. I think it helped me push myself in school and it helped me think a bit more before I acted. It helped me respect myself more than anything. For example, I steered clear of sleeping with anyone until I was 21 and I think in part that was because of what he wanted for me. And now, as I've settled into adulthood and left the party scene I look back on that time and think that perhaps I did drugs in part to simply rebel against my mom...a woman who drove my beloved dad out of the house.

When I think back on it, I think that mom must have been so overwhelmed with the loss of her married self that she couldn't really do much in the parenting arena. Her other two kids were raised and out of the house and I think I was more than she could handle at the time. Her plate was full. She was back in the working world and freshly divorced. That's enough for anyone. Let alone having a snotty daughter telling you how it really is.

So now here we are...roomates again. Only this time, it's my house, she's the child, she's the one who needs reminding on appropriate behavior and staying safe, brushing her teeth and wiping her bum, helping her remember that to take a pill you have to put it in your mouth first, then take a drink of water and THEN you have to swallow...I'm the one paying the bills and getting the groceries and driving everywhere for her, she's thumbing her nose at MY authority, I'm changing HER diapers...something that was a long time coming, I'm sure.

The sad part is that since I'm married now, to add insult to injury, there are tears in her eyes every time my husband kisses me. She has to live with a couple...a reminder that even though she's here with us, she's still alone...she's still divorced. That cross to bear will always be with her and I can't change it. No one can. Especially her.

So what's the moral of this story? Who knows. I just still find myself wishing that I had ever had the kind of relationship with her that would inspire adventures like the one described by Aaryn in "The Gaydi Project." To those women out there who have a friendship of any kind with their moms...ENJOY it! Enjoy it even if it's a memory.