I want to start out by saying that I love you with all my heart. You are my child and I will always love you no matter what. That being said, I need to point out to you that you are an ADULT now and have been legally so for the last 25 years. And as an adult YOU are responsible for providing yourself with the life you want or need. No one else, not the government, not your friends, not me, or anyone else is required to provide for you. YOU are supposed to provide for you. That is God’s will and God’s plan for your life. I know you as only a mother can, and I know that you know the difference between right and wrong. That you chose to ignore what you know is the main source of the sorrows in your life.
I obviously made mistakes when trying to raise you and for that I sincerely apologize. I was a child of 16 myself when I gave birth to you and had no knowledge of how to raise a child and provide you with guidance that I never received because I made the poor choice to leave home too soon. Somehow I failed to impart to you the reality that when you are an adult almost everything that happens is a direct result of your action or inaction in any given situation. Sure sometimes bad things happen to good people, but only rarely. When bad things are constantly happening, you need to step back and take a long hard look at what you are doing or not doing to bring such sadness and deprivation into your life.
- My car, purse, phone and laptop got stolen; well, you left your car unlocked, running, with the keys in it. That was your inaction. The place you choose to live is the car theft capital of the country and you are well aware of that.
- My meds got stolen; well that was your choice to let it be known that you have meds that can be abused in your home and to also leave your house unlocked rather than blame it on the fact that the mate you chose, an alleged adult, can’t seem to keep track of a house key.
- Someone is listening to my phone; OK, you know why that is, if someone really is doing that. This is a DIRECT RESULT of something you have done that you should not have done. You are NOT a random target.
- My feet are cold, I lost my boots; well you chose to live in a frigid climate and chose not to keep track of your boots.
I can’t even count how many sad tales I’ve heard from you over these decades since you reached adulthood. I have lain awake night after night wondering why it is that you seem bound and determined to screw yourself over in every way possible.
One thing that has become clear to me is that you do not accept responsibility for yourself. I hear endless excuses about how whatever the latest crisis is not your fault. People are always out to get you. You never get a fair break. You are betrayed yet again. And on and on it goes. You have told so many half-truths and made so many excuses for your circumstances that you start to believe that is the truth instead of doing some serious soul-searching and asking yourself “what am I doing to ruin my life?” Deep down in you somewhere you know the truth, but I don’t think you have actually faced it and taken ownership and responsibility for your life.
Grandmommie used to have a quaint way of saying it. “If you lay down with a dog, you get up with fleas.” A biblical way of putting it is: “You reap what you sow.” What are you sowing? It can’t be anything beneficial, because your life seems to be a never ending stream of tragedy, melodrama and heartbreak. At the age you are, you should be reaping at least a little bit of joy, roses and sunshine by now instead of living in the eternal darkness of a wasted life caused by bad choices.
Looking back over the years I realize now that the only time you call is when you want something from me. You usually call when it’s getting close to Christmas. You want me to give you money, buy you something you insist you “need,” listen and believe your latest sob story and go along with your misguided attitude of “oh you poor little thing, why are all this terrible things happening to you?” I can’t even recall a time when you called me simply because you wanted to know how I was doing, what is going on in my life, what troubles I may have. These seem to be non-issues to you. I feel that I am nothing to you but an ATM machine and a shoulder to cry on when you’ve made yet another extremely unwise decision.
I can’t force you to change your ways and I don’t intend to even try. What I can do is change my ways. What I have decided is that I will no longer;
- Give you money
- Buy things for you
- Respond to random text messages that are impossible to understand
- Sympathize with you when you are suffering from the consequences of you own actions
- Believe your excuses and long involved stories of why it wasn’t your fault that something bad is happening to you yet again
- Attempt to rescue you from another pickle you’ve gotten yourself into
- Attempt to have a conversation with you when you refuse to be honest and give me straight answers to reasonable questions regarding your situation
- Attempt to talk to you when you are stoned, high, drunk, wasted, baked, buzzed or whatever the latest slang for being under the influence of drugs or alcohol may be
- Allow you to come live with me because you “just can’t make it” on your own
What I will do is continue to love you and pray for you every day. The gift I am giving you today is your life. I am handing it to you on a silver platter because it does not belong to me. I have also given you back to God. It is between you and him what you do with your life. You know what you need to do. There is no better time than now to start living an honest, moral, sane, peaceful and joyful life. I hope you do, I’m looking forward to it.
Love you forever,
Howdy all, I would like to wish all of you moms out there a wonderful happy mother’s day. Being a mother is the hardest job there is. And it’s one of those things that lasts for the rest of your life.
No matter how old your kids are they are still your baby. Nothing can change that, even when they go off the wall, get in trouble, make choices you know are going to cause them pain, when they drive you crazy – you still love them.
So to all you moms, big hugs and kisses. Hope you have a fabulous day.
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice
And everything nice,
That’s what little girls are made of.
What is it like to be a woman? I wish I knew. Even grown women are rain drops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Am I still a girl? I do know I’m sick to death of being “cute.” It’s a good thing too, I’m past my prime in the cute department. Whenever I am writhing my way through some kind of metamorphosis Mr. Husband claims the short end of the stick. He hasn’t learned after 8 years to leave me alone when I need it. Even when I spell it out in excruciating clarity and say “leave me the hell alone.” He also tends to follow me around breathing down my neck when I’m not in a talkative mood.
“Are you OK? You sure are being quiet.” He’ll ask when I’m reading a book. Wander what would happen if I let out intermittent screams and cackles while reading. Would this satisfy the noise criteria? Then the drive by questions start, “whatcha doing?” Well dear, I’m walking from point A to point B, and there is every likelihood that at some point I may walk back from point B to point A, but don’t hold your breath.” I try to see it from his point of view, but usually fail. I grew up in a large noisy house full of people. If everyone asked someone else what they were doing on a walk by, that’s all we’d ever talk about. And probably end up in frustration induced smack downs that rival reality TV.
Now I’m starting to chafe under this weird obligation or burden to be “cheerful” and “cute” all the time. Smile, make small talk, chatter about the weather, blah, blah, rutabaga, rutabaga. Men aren’t expected to do this. Woman are advised to give their guy some space. Let him go off to his man cave, think his deep manly thoughts in solitude and privacy. Uninterrupted by silly questions. “What are doing” Why aren’t you smiling? Is there something wrong? Are you mad at me? Are you taking your pills? Are you plotting my demise? Where is the cat?”
In my family of origin we coped with the need for head space in more of an oriental kind of way. Never gave it much thought until now. It was an unspoken rule that when someone curled up in a corner with their nose in a book or leaned on the windowsill looking at the clouds, this person was in a private place and wanted solitude. I would never dream of walking up to anyone engrossed in a book and ask “what are you doing?” It is a question that begs a sarcastic answer at the very least. “If you must know, I’m judging the heft of this novel against the chances of its cracking your skull?” Be careful when asking silly questions, you might not like the answer.
Is it the interruption factor? Women through ages tell their children, “don’t bother Daddy dear, he’s relaxing after a hard day at the office, the salt mine, the Roman forum.” Mother may still have scramble eggs lodged in her eyebrows from the breakfast battle with junior, but that’s not important in the grand scale of things. Women are raised to believe that everything they do is subject to interruption, idle curiosity or interference by the needs or whims of others. “I’ll just get back to my petty little essay on the meaning of life, the universe and everything it contains, after I scratch your left shoulder-blade.” And we do it with a smile on our face. Or do we? Is it really a baring of teeth? “Yes dear, right away dear, your command is my wish dear.” Truth unspoken – At this moment dear, I wish you would fall of the edge of the earth, today if possible.
Now to Mr. Husband’s credit, this seems to be a recurring theme in my relationships with men. For all the reasons I’ve listed above. Can men help if it they are raised up to believe that women are on this earth for the sole purpose of amusing them? Is it encoded in the DNA or a learned behavior? Who knows. I know I’m not a typical woman. I don’t need nonstop, 24/7, constant interaction, petting and assurances of love. I either feel it or I don’t on a given day. What I need and want is the privacy to think my own thoughts. Uninterrupted, interrogated. If my door is shut, leave-me-the-hell-alone! I don’t even care if the house is on fire.