Or does she??? Mother/daughter relationships are so complicated. I don't know anyone who doesn't love her mother, even though she drives her absolutely insane. My bestie talks on the phone to her mom everyday. Then she complains to me how her mom is crazy and critical. "So why talk to her everyday?" I ask. She looks at me like I'm out of my mind.
But honestly, its something I don't understand. To say my relationship with my mom is complicated is an understatement. There are times I think we couldn't be more different. Then I think we couldn't be more alike. I love her. I genuinely do. I just wish....well, I wish a lot of things. However that's another very long post for a very long blog.
That mother of mine, she did teach me some invaluable lessons. She taught me to always wear a nude bra when wearing a white shirt. Uber important and more women need to learn that lesson. She taught me hitting my sister doesn't end the argument, it escalates it. Mom taught me her incredibly delicious potato salad recipe. Its top secret so don't even ask for it. But most importantly, she taught me ice cream heals all wounds.
Tuesday was one of the worst days I've ever had at my current job. I literally went to the bathroom, sat on the floor and cried. I don't believe in crying at work; it gets you no where. But that day, it couldn't be helped. So I wallowed in self pity for as long as I could without getting in trouble, dusted myself off, and did my job. Then 9:30 came around and I knew what I needed to do: walk straight to Cold Stone, order me a Gotta Have It sized Birthday Cake remix and watch my problems melt away.
But no.....my loving husband had another idea. "Let's go for a run," he says to me with a completely straight face. "Let's do what? Oh no, I don't even think so," is my delicate reply. He proceeds to tell me how it'll make me feel better. "I have rejected 95% of what my mama taught me. But if there is one thing I'm going to hold onto, its that ice cream makes everything better. She taught me its the nectar of the angels. And I believe her. Please, don't make me reject my mother," I say.
Wow, that man is persuasive. We went for a run. And we didn't get ice cream. Well doggone it if he wasn't right. And you know I hate when he's right, and rarely admit it. I turned my Ipod to the most offensive music I own, turned it up full blast and ran my little legs off. I felt so much better! Who cares how crappy work was?! Who cares how mean that lady was?! All that mattered was I sweat it out, I ran it out, and I felt ah-mazing.
Maybe moms don't always have all the answers. (Just don't tell MY "daughter" that. She still thinks I know it all. And I'm going to hang on to that for as long as possible.)
