Get over it.
Stop over-analyzing it.
Move on.
These are the responses I get from E-Bomb whenever I try to talk to her about any type of issue I may be having at a particular moment. Ma sees the world in black and white, I see it in every shade of the color spectrum and am persecuted because of that - something I have no control over. I concern myself with the hows and whys of a human being's behavior and finding a reason behind it. Ma - not so much. I also am passionate about the arts, about reading, music, I love to shower those I love with attention and affection. Again, Ma - not so much. She teases me about how worked up I get over a good book, she criticizes me for wanting to do little things for whoever I may be dating at the time because to her he's not worth it or good enough.
It sucks because I've come to realize I've spent my entire life walking on eggshells. Instead of focusing on myself in order to live up to my own full potential, every decision I make comes with the thought,
"Ugh, what is Ma going to think?" Now, I know she supports me and any endeavors I choose one hundred percent, like when I decided to go back to school, when I decided to switch careers, things like that.
IT'S THE STUPID, TRIVIAL SHIT THAT GIVES ME PANIC ATTACKS.
Oh, my God I didn't have time to cut the grass.
Shit, I took a nap this afternoon, I'm going to hear about it.
Is the house clean enough?
Even when I was away over Memorial Day weekend this line of thinking wouldn't disperse completely. Following me everywhere I went was the nagging little thought that my mother was pissy about me going to the beach, even though she never gave me any reason to feel that way. I felt guilty about not being at home to help pull out the deck furniture and finish getting the backyard ready for summer, even though I never once heard
"It would have been nice if you were there to help," and I was shocked.
Mother's Day was a nightmare. I had wanted to make her brunch since I had concert tickets that evening, (which I had told her about the night I ordered them,) but she decided she wanted the pool opened that day. When she emailed me her plans to have the guy come out around noon, I responded that it was fine, but it nullified any plans my brother and I may have had since I wouldn't be around that evening. Her response back led me to believe it was no big deal; she didn't really care. Something along the lines of,
"Oh, you guys don't need to do that."
So where she got the idea that I was going to cook dinner that night is beyond me. A whole scene erupted in the garage in front of Philip and my next door neighbor, nothing short of Ma throwing the back of her hand up to her forehead and saying,
"Woe is me, my children do not love me enough to cook me dinner on Mother's Day." (I must note here that it was after my brother rebuilt the retaining wall behind the pool and Philip and I had turned over the entire length of the flowerbeds to prepare them for planting, which is what she wanted.) I had to walk away. Later on in the car on the way to Philadelphia, Philip remarked that while we were all standing in the garage listening to my mother cut me off at the knees he was wishing that he was married to me so he could appropriately come to my defense.
And I balked a little bit of course because he said the M-word, but mostly
because E-Bomb does not handle criticism well. At all. Even if it's constructive. Even if it's in an attempt to make her realize that she talks to (at) her adult daughter as if she were still a child. But it made me sad to think that a man who cares so much about me feels he needs to defend me against my own mother.
I didn't want to tell her that next Saturday I will be attending a birthday party for one of Philip's nieces, even though he's not in town. His sister invited me and I thought that was very sweet of her.
"Next Saturday I want to finish the flowerbeds."
"Ma, I told you, I have to work in the morning and am going to a birthday party afterwards."
She makes her little snippy noise.
"Why are you even going to that party?"
Instead of defending my decision, I snapped right back.
"You know, I wasn't even going to tell you." And she shut right up.
So is this how it's going to be? I have to close most of my life off to her so as to avoid being made to feel like shit? I was always so proud of how close her and I were, how I always made a point to fill my mother in on what goes on in my life and it used to be a good thing. Now all it does is cause tidal waves of guilt to wash over me and aggravation beyond belief.