Don't call me and ask for advice on Christmas gifts. Maybe I should just say don't call me. My youngest calls this morning."Mom, what can I get Dad for Christmas." After some thought, I come up with several suggestions, all of which are immediately deemed "stupid". "Well, then why did you call me?" "Because, I need some help." This is a good example of my life as a mother - I need you, but you are useless, go away, but not too far away, I might need you again. Huh?
After 21 years (well 18, since she has been talking) I should be used to this. Maybe I should just stop taking the phone calls, after all I have caller ID on the home phone and my cell phone - no surprises there. But, there is this force of nature to care. Of course there is also that force where mothers kill their young in nature. But I digress.
My mother never told me there would be days like this. My mother skipped several chapters there during the piano serenades and art sessions. Of course, I should be thankful for the cultural influence she had on me (seriously). And, to be honest, I don't think anyone could have prepared me for the trials of
raising rearing my
youngest child. When it gets ugly, she will comment that someday she will be
the one who will choose our nursing home.
I bet June Cleaver and Harriett Nelson never had to deal with these issues. After all, if you can vacuum your living room in heels and pearls, how stressful can your life be? Besides, I think everything is more difficult in color. I don't even want to venture into the world of high definition - God forbid 3D.