So, I was in the car with my mother the other day and she was complaining about how the only time I mention her on my blog is to complain about her. She was, of course, referring to my referring to that time she told me my armpit hair was gross. She would like it to be known that I have called her/things she’s done gross on many occasions and that was the only reason she said my armpit hair was gross.
She thinks you all think she’s some horrible woman who must be so mean to me. I tried to explain to her that my blog isn’t popular enough for anyone to think anything about her, and also that most likely the people who read my blog also have mothers and understand that, while they are overall good (some of them, anyway–I know some people out here in the blog-o-sphere have genuinely horrible parents and for that I’m sorry), they can be annoying as hell sometimes and you need to vent.
But, she insists that you all think she’s a monster and wants me to write something nice about her. This probably would have been a better post to save for, say, her fucking birthday in October you can’t wait three months are you serious but WHATEVER!
So, in an effort to appease her, here’s a bullet list of reason why my mom isn’t a monster, and is in fact kind of awesome.
- She pretty much raised my brother and me on her own. From the time I was about 8 or 10 until I was about 16, I saw my dad every Wednesday evening and every other weekend. Most of that time was spent watching TV and being told I sleep too late.
- She worked A LOT in order to raise us on her own. Being a mom is a full-time job in general. But then my mom worked not just a full-time job outside of raising us, but usually she worked overtime as well (well, not technically “overtime,” because salary, but basically she had awful employers who would work her 60 hours a week). She’d wake up at like 4:30am-5:00am to make sure we were up and got to school, then she wouldn’t get home until like 5:30pm-6:00pm, when she would still cook us dinner whenever she could. Then she’d stay up until midnight (or later) making sure we did flunk out of school and did our homework. On one occasion, she actually built my school project for me (I tried to help, but 4th grade me a] didn’t care, and b] fell asleep).
- She literally slept on a couch for most of my adolescence because we couldn’t afford a three-bedroom apartment and she didn’t want to share a room with me. I didn’t want to share one with her, either, but for totally different reasons. I didn’t want to share with her because she was my mom and she didn’t want to share with me because I am a slob. So, until my brother moved in with our dad when he was 18, our mom spent, like, three years sleeping on a futon in the living room.
- She moved back to California from Colorado, in the middle of January, because I was a teen-angst douche-snot. We moved to Colorado when I was 15-almost-16. I was in the middle of a deep depression and I really struggled in school. I would have struggled anywhere, but she attributed it to our move to Colorado. We’d moved from California out of a pretty nice house we were renting, she left a pretty good job she was working, to live in Colorado because my grandfather basically lied to her about the economy and was in general a Complete Asshole™ (like, literally, I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I did not like this man, at all). We pretty much just left a struggling-but-okay situation for a what-even-the-fuck-is-that-Cthulhu-descending-from-the-sky situation.
I actually liked Colorado okay (like I said, I would have been miserable anywhere, because depression doesn’t care what the climate is like), but my mom was scared I was going to kill myself or something, so she was like, “Nope. We’re going back to California.”
- She sleeps in the living room now because we can’t afford a two-bedroom apartment and she’d rather me have my own room. Again, because I am a slob and she would probably die (like in the tripping and falling sense) if she had to walking through the room I slept in to get to the rest of the apartment. But, she has an actual bed, now. No more futon.
- She drives me basically everywhere. I wouldn’t be able to get, like, 70% of places if it weren’t for her (Pup covers another 20% and I take the bus/trolley about maybe 10% of the places I need to go).
- She doesn’t make me pay rent. We have a deal that as long as I’m in school I can live with her rent-free. But, let’s be realistic. Even if I wasn’t in school, if I didn’t have a job, she would probably still let me live with her rent-free, because she’s my mother and she doesn’t want me to be homeless.
- She buys all the food and pays for most of the everything else, too. I pay for Netflix, and throw in, like $50 a month (that I actually get from my dad to help cover my paltry expenses while I’m unemployed) for a shared storage unit, the “good” internet (if such a thing exists from Cox), and my phone.
- Oh, yea, she pays for my phone since I broke up with Pup and lost my job. I’m actually not happy about that, but I have no money, so what can I do. Even though I hate (loathe) being on her phone plan, I still acknowledge that it’s extremely generous of her to do so.
There’s a bunch of other stuff, too, but now I’m starting to feel like I’m making myself seem like an ingrate–like she does all this stuff for me and I do nothing.
But, the reality is our relationship is like most mother-daughter relationships. Sometimes she does stuff for me and sometimes I do stuff for her. Sometimes she’s an asshole and sometimes I’m an asshole.
You know, we’re like people that way.
I love you all.
(There. I posted it. Get off my back.)