“These people are not the same people I grew up with.” –Bill Cosby.
The other night on the way home, my kids were in the backseat of the car. They’d spent that day with my mom and were happily raiding the plastic bag of goodies between them in the seat. They retrieved a plastic object in the shape of a duck bill- they each had one. And they proceeded to repeatedly blow into it and a noise that was supposed to resemble a duck’s quack filled the car.
CJ had blown his spit into the noise maker and it sounded like a duck that needed to hock a loogie back there.
Why does my mother hate me?
I thought we’d put to rest the issues between us when I was in my early twenties. Then I had a child. The gleam in her eye and the maniacal laugh when I announced my pregnancy should have been a clue. She’d figured out that sweet revenge would finally be hers.
What could I have possibly done as a child to this woman? None of the stories I’ve been told seem that I was that bad. I was far better than my sister (tooting my own horn here). I’m the good one. Just because she doesn’t have kids, why do I have to pay the price for both of us?
After each visit they arrive home with bags of stuff (i.e. crap I’d never buy them). Usually the stuff is of a noisy nature- duck bill whistles (hello, they are boys...they come with their own built in noise makers), or millions of Legos that are scattered to the ends of the house and hurt like hell on the bottom of a bare foot. Or messy- the color bubble incident is by far the worse. I could stock a daycare with the amount of modeling dough that’s been sent home.
I’ve been told that I colored on her walls as a small child. I don’t remember it but will be paying for it until my kids destroy my house.
Then there’s the food- she once sent home a box of chocolate covered honey buns. I read the nutritional information (more calories and sugar than an adult should consume in a day). She introduced them to children’s chocolate breakfast cereal, chocolate pop tarts and pre-packaged snack cakes.
She wonders why they don’t sleep well when they spend the night.
Usually she loads them up and sends them home to me. And they crash and sleep like they’ve been on a three day bender.
I’ve learned that it doesn’t do any good to talk to her. She will nod along and then go and do whatever she wants anyway. Probably similar to me as a teenager.
My motto for the kids is “Whatever happens at Nana’s, stays at Nana’s.”