i am not my mother (thank God)...

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. She did the best she could for the mother she had, but let’s just say, when I left home at eighteen my tool box was empty. In fact, I didn’t even have a hammer. But that’s ok. All is forgiven. I’m doing great collecting my tools. And let’s be honest if I didn’t have a messed up childhood would I write? Or would I write anything interesting? – Probably not. So thank you, Mom and Dad for messing me up, I have lots of fodder for my blog and books.

With that being said my goal as a mother is not to end up in my child’s memoirs. And there are times when I’m not so sure that’s happening. There are those moments when I think, “Oh God, what am I doing? I’m acting just like my mother!” and I stop myself. But still wonder is it too late? Is the damage already done?

Take for instance the other night when I surprised Goom by saying “Let’s decorate for Halloween!” He’d been dying to ever since our neighbors did. (Damn the Jones’!) When I said it, I wasn’t thinking. There was dinner to cook, homework to correct, mail to go through, and a bath to take. Besides the fact that getting the decorations down from storage is a dirty nasty job. Its times like this when I dream of a good loving (sexy) husband to do the nasty work while I cook a delicious dinner. But alas, it’s all me.

So sweaty, dirty and covered in mouse poop (I said it was a nasty job) I plopped the Halloween boxes on the living room floor. Goom went for it. Witches hats, vampire teeth, skull lights, spider web, and plastic spiders flew everywhere. “STOP,” I yelled. “DON’T MAKE A MESS! IT’S ANNOYING! THERE ARE BREAKABLES! WAIT! WE’LL GO THROUGH IT IN A MINUTE…” –and then I stopped myself. I wasn’t being me. I was being my mother. But it was too late, the damage was done. He sulked off into his room.

I had spoiled his enchanted moment just like my mother always use to do.

What was I thinking? I didn’t care if he rummaged through the boxes and made a mess. It’s easy to clean up. There was nothing irreplaceable or that breakable. I was channeling my mother and I didn’t like it. After a few minutes I asked, “Will you come help me figure out where to put the pumpkins?”

“Sure,” he said coming out of his room smiling as if the previous moment had never happened, (thank God). I hugged him and handed him a pumpkin.

We got up all the decorations that night along with the other things we had to do. I’d love to say I never had another “mom” moment but that would be a lie. I had to bite my tongue several times not to break his spirit and to let him be a kid, like I was never allowed to be.