Muddled Mommy-ing
Sometimes, I take a look from outside myself when I talk to my kids. Do I speak with them as my mother did with me? I believe my mom did a great job with all three of us. She treated us as unique individuals, always capable of rational thought. We were each handled as best suited us, not as best suited her, necessarily. It wasn’t easy…we’re a strange trio, my sibs and I. But she managed us with such seeming effortlessness that I was unprepared for how much effort it takes to do that!
One morning last week, after a nearly sleepless night, I had fallen asleep and my older son, Cyclone, nudged the bed to inform me it was time for him to go to school. In general, I am up when he awakens, to make lunch for the Spousal Unit, so I am utterly on top of things. But not that morning. I had sent Spousal Unit off to work at about four-something in the morning (he had to work on the other coast) and had, at last, managed to fall asleep. So Cyclone had to wake me up.
“Wha…huh?” I mumbled.
“Time for me to go now. Thought I’d better wake you so you can wake Cartoon Ranger.”
Still half-dazed, I muttered something about loving him and hoping he had a good day and then he left, without the usual kiss on the forehead that is part of our morning routine.
I felt guilty about it all day. Did my mother ever react so absently?
However, after due thought and memory-probing, I did recollect that Mums was not known for getting up and greeting us in the morning. She held court (truly) in her bedroom, with coffee. We would appear before her (it was fun) so she could see that we were in good order before leaving for the day. On days I had to leave too early, I would leave her a note before I left.
I don’t remember her addressing me with such a fuzzy voice, but I do recall mornings when I didn’t see her at all. This eased my mind.
I can’t be my mom, but I can try to be the best mom I can be. And, sometimes, that’s enough. 