Me, Myself and My Mom

Things become a lot clearer when you gain perspective. Growing up, we all experienced those moments of thinking, “When I have kids, I’m NEVER going to be like MY parents.” Who were we kidding? Most of us, as parents, will wake up one day and see Mom, Dad - or both! – gleefully waving back at us in the bathroom mirror. Not a “paranormal” experience, mind you… “pretty damn normal” is what I’d call it. In fact, when it happened to me, I could have sworn they were also sticking out their tongues, winking, laughing and doing something resembling the jitterbug. Nothing like milking an “I TOLD YOU SO!” for its greatest possible effect. I grew up in a strict home. I started school at the age of four and, being younger than all my friends and classmates, I also grew up not being allowed the same freedoms they all seemed to enjoy. When my friends started having sleepovers, my parents balked over me coming home over-tired or (heaven forbid) bearing head lice. When my friends started fawning over the opposite sex, my parents warned me that “nice” girls waited for boys to ask them out. Then, my father would tell me that he wasn’t comfortable with me going to parties and dances without a boyfriend. When my friends started taking the bus downtown to movies and shows, I wasn’t allowed to go. Unless a parent was driving us door to door, it wasn’t acceptable. Those were the rules. “As long as you live in MY house, you will follow MY rules.” Sound familiar? I respected my parents. I did what I was told. I swore up, down, sideways and inside out that, when I became a mother, I would be different. I would be “COOL.” What an idiot. I’d be lucky if my kids consider me lukewarm! Over time, a voice (it CAN’T be my OWN!) has come out of my mouth uttering no less than these gems: “BECAUSE I SAID SO, THAT’S WHY!” – I now understand, with absolute clarity, that this is the perfect answer. In fact, it’s not an answer at all! Our parents knew this. We know this. We simply do not care. It’s the anthem of every frustrated parent who can’t possibly stand one more question, argument or stomped foot without inflicting some sort of damage to self, child, home or whatever’s in arm’s reach. “BECAUSE YOUR ROOM IS IN MY HOUSE, THAT’S WHY!” – As a teen, my room was a disaster. All I cared about was school. As long as my homework was done and I was getting the highest grades I could manage, my room was my haven. It drove my mother insane. I remember saying “but it’s MY room and I LIKE it this way!” My older daughter cares only about school. As long as all her homework is done and she’s getting the highest grades she can manage, her room is her haven. She says “but it’s MY room and I LIKE it this way!” I simply do not care. It drives me insane. “BECAUSE IT’S HANGING IN YOUR EYES, THAT’S WHY!” – What is it with hair exactly? I fought my parents tooth and nail about washing it, cutting it and wearing it in a style that felt comfortable. I desperately wanted control over something and my hair seemed like as good a bet as any. With my daughters, I notice: split ends, dry scalp, bangs that need trimming, hair that needs washing. They notice: a mother who’s a confirmed pain in their collective ass. I simply do not care. I STILL want control over something and their hair seems as good a bet as any. No one promised raising a family would be easy. Everyone says that kids don’t come with an instruction manual. But they do. The instructions are just received – and ingrained – one small step at a time. We start learning them the moment we come screeching into the world and take our first look into the eyes of the people that already love us unconditionally. No matter what the permutations or combinations, I’m convinced that every family has only one set of parents. They just move from generation to generation. The portal is the bathroom mirror. I hope the girls will be expecting us. We’ll be sticking out our tongues, winking, laughing and probably doing something resembling the Macarena.