My Mother’s Daughter

My BFF Binkis and I often joke about how we rarely feel like adults and that at any moment someone is going to find out and call us out for being frauds. Most days, I am Forrest Gumping my way through life. I’ve picked up a couple tricks here and there, but left to my own devices, I’d eat potato chips for dinner, tell all drivers to fuck off, and never dust anything despite having horrid allergies.

And for some reason, the Universe saw fit for me to be a parent. Well, today, I lost my shit on my very strong-willed, defiant Threenager. My voice actually went down about three octaves as I asked him for the 900th time to please pick up his toys from the floor. This is not something outside his capabilities – he generally loves to clean up. I practiced all my respectful parenting techniques – “I can see you are having a hard time picking up, so let me help you.” – and you know what The Juggernaut did? He sat down and said, “I’m not going to clean up. You are.” and I. Lost. It. I’m blessed enough to have a child who thinks it’s hilarious when I lose my temper, but I don’t want to be that mom.

I don’t want to be my mom.

She did not have it easy. My mom was struggling to keep one very troubled kid alive and to keep another on track. And she was doing it totally solo, so I do not begrudge her that at all. But holy shit -when she lost her temper, it was terrifying. She’s not even five feet tall, but her ability to rage made her appear to be about 6’6″, 900 pounds. And I never felt safe. I never felt comfortable.  I don’t want that for The Juggernaut.

So I swallowed my pride and attempted to adult. I did it poorly, but he knows how much I love him and will do better tomorrow. He said he would listen more and hit less.

That’s a great start.

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