(no subject)
Part of me thinks I should make this post private, and only viewable to certain friends, but in realizing somebody else has felt such similar hurt, maybe somebody reading my journal will be comforted knowing *they* aren't the only ones either...
______
One of my friends made a post in her journal that made me weep almost uncontrollably. It reminded me of things feelings that I had forgotten buried for a long time...
As sad as her post made me, I was more comforted I guess, in that I'm not "the only one". Like I said in my comment to her post, "I'm not sure I'm more happy or sad to read this. Sad, so sad for you, and not "happy", in the traditional sense....but more comforted I guess, in that I'm not "the only one". There's a reason the only mom I talk about in here is my step-mom. My real mother was/is rather heartless.
If you drew me a stick figure with a smiley face, I'd shop for the most perfect frame, and I'd set it on my mantle right in the center, so that I could always remember that somebody ever thought I was special enough to take a little time...And everytime I'd see it, my face would most likely light up, and be forced to mirror the stick figure's smile.
Anybody can swipe a credit card, but only the most special of people can give from their hearts, and their hands, which is in a sense giving of themselves, and that, my friend, is the most precious gift of all."
_________
I was a very creative child, always drawing, painting, or building something or another. I can remember one specific Christmas, being so excited to be giving my mother a special gift that I had spent so much time creating for her, only to be ridiculed for it. See...she not only would discard the things I gave her, she would make it a point to criticize what I did, or even just me for giving her something that was "recycled", or "reinvented". One specific incident comes to mind. I'm thinking of the lampshade I made her when I was 8 years old. It had a crack in it, and it had been sitting in the garage, so I took it, and carefully drew a scenic landscape (as scenic as an 8 year old gets) and neatly glued little green beads and sequins around the bottom, (for grass) and made some fluffy white clouds around the top of the trim. And added little flowers, and a few little other things to make it "pretty".
When she opened it, not only did she look at it in disgust, she was angry at me for "ruining" a "good lamp-shade", and threatened that maybe she should give my gifts to my sisters. I sat through the rest of my sisters giving her their gifts, while tears of rejection and worthlessness stung my eyes, and the lump I felt in my throat was so painful, I couldn't hardly breathe. My sisters had spent a few dollars at the "Santa's Workshop" store at school to purchase a pen, an address book, and a "#1 Mom" magnet. I sat crushed while she oooohed and awed over them. I always felt bad that I couldn't please my mother, I always tried so hard. But looking back, she really was quite cruel.
One year for mother's day, when I was about 15, I made her a special sweatshirt. This was back when that whole puff-paint, applique on sweatshirts was pretty popular. I bought a dark-magenta colored sweatshirt, and put some pretty applique's on it, and wrote in golden puff-paint, "Mommies are really angels in disguise." When she opened it, she smirked and said something about the fact that it was a shame that wasn't "her color". I've never seen the sweatshirt since. It's probably in a landfill, after sitting in the bottom of some barrel at a Salvation Army.
Over the years, I've learned what it is my mother is appreciative of, and it all boils down to monetary value. Expensive fragrances, or a nice outfit or something along those lines is all my mother will accept with any sort of tact or appreciation. While we all love to receive nice things, you can't base the value of a gift on how much it costs. To this day, she waits until she receives gifts from my sisters, before deciding what to give them. I no longer send her anything. The last time I sent her something, was the last straw.
A few years ago, I learned how to make home-made soap, and was so excited about it, that for Christmas, I bought some hand-made baskets (made by special request) from a lady I knew, and filled them with all my different scented, and designed soaps, taking such care in even the packaging of the soaps. I also made all sorts of different little things, ornaments, or home decor things, pertaining to each persons specific personality or home design, and included one with each basket. Along with each package I either included cookies or fudge, that I spent hours on end baking. I was so excited to be giving everybody something that came straight from my heart, and all but the baskets, created by my own hands, over countless hours. I know that would make *me* feel so special, but I guess I'm weird that way.
I wish I had never heard it, but it came back to me, the comments that my mother made upon opening her gift. For starters, she complained, and made fun of the "crudeness" of the soap. It's *home-made* soap. It is all shaved, and carved by hand. I'm not a machine. It's not going to be PERFECT, with a perfect inscription of "Irish Spring". And I happen to think that adds so much to the charm of it. It takes so much time to make home-made soap, that if you were to purchase it in a health-food store, or a craft-type store, or wherever, you can pay anywhere from $3.00 to $7.00 for only one small bar of soap. Some people actually appreciate these things. I guess mom simply doesn't. She "jokingly" asked if anybody wanted to trade gifts. My gramma took her up on it, and gave her the crystal candy dish she had received in a name drawing from her ladies group at her church. She later told me that she felt bad about giving her the candy dish, but she felt so badly that my mother would treat my gift that way, and couldn't bear the thought of my mother throwing it away.
I haven't done anything like that, with the exception of a few very special friends since then, but for some reason, I'm inspired to think maybe all of human kind isn't as unappreciative, and thoughtless as she is. So this week, I'm going to make some more soap, and I'm going to send everybody I can think of, just one simple bar. If you'd like one, I'd really love to share it with you, so please e-mail me your address, and you will receive a crudely shapen bar of soap, made by my own two hands, with all the love I can muster, just for you.
______
One of my friends made a post in her journal that made me weep almost uncontrollably. It reminded me of things feelings that I had forgotten buried for a long time...
As sad as her post made me, I was more comforted I guess, in that I'm not "the only one". Like I said in my comment to her post, "I'm not sure I'm more happy or sad to read this. Sad, so sad for you, and not "happy", in the traditional sense....but more comforted I guess, in that I'm not "the only one". There's a reason the only mom I talk about in here is my step-mom. My real mother was/is rather heartless.
If you drew me a stick figure with a smiley face, I'd shop for the most perfect frame, and I'd set it on my mantle right in the center, so that I could always remember that somebody ever thought I was special enough to take a little time...And everytime I'd see it, my face would most likely light up, and be forced to mirror the stick figure's smile.
Anybody can swipe a credit card, but only the most special of people can give from their hearts, and their hands, which is in a sense giving of themselves, and that, my friend, is the most precious gift of all."
_________
I was a very creative child, always drawing, painting, or building something or another. I can remember one specific Christmas, being so excited to be giving my mother a special gift that I had spent so much time creating for her, only to be ridiculed for it. See...she not only would discard the things I gave her, she would make it a point to criticize what I did, or even just me for giving her something that was "recycled", or "reinvented". One specific incident comes to mind. I'm thinking of the lampshade I made her when I was 8 years old. It had a crack in it, and it had been sitting in the garage, so I took it, and carefully drew a scenic landscape (as scenic as an 8 year old gets) and neatly glued little green beads and sequins around the bottom, (for grass) and made some fluffy white clouds around the top of the trim. And added little flowers, and a few little other things to make it "pretty".
When she opened it, not only did she look at it in disgust, she was angry at me for "ruining" a "good lamp-shade", and threatened that maybe she should give my gifts to my sisters. I sat through the rest of my sisters giving her their gifts, while tears of rejection and worthlessness stung my eyes, and the lump I felt in my throat was so painful, I couldn't hardly breathe. My sisters had spent a few dollars at the "Santa's Workshop" store at school to purchase a pen, an address book, and a "#1 Mom" magnet. I sat crushed while she oooohed and awed over them. I always felt bad that I couldn't please my mother, I always tried so hard. But looking back, she really was quite cruel.
One year for mother's day, when I was about 15, I made her a special sweatshirt. This was back when that whole puff-paint, applique on sweatshirts was pretty popular. I bought a dark-magenta colored sweatshirt, and put some pretty applique's on it, and wrote in golden puff-paint, "Mommies are really angels in disguise." When she opened it, she smirked and said something about the fact that it was a shame that wasn't "her color". I've never seen the sweatshirt since. It's probably in a landfill, after sitting in the bottom of some barrel at a Salvation Army.
Over the years, I've learned what it is my mother is appreciative of, and it all boils down to monetary value. Expensive fragrances, or a nice outfit or something along those lines is all my mother will accept with any sort of tact or appreciation. While we all love to receive nice things, you can't base the value of a gift on how much it costs. To this day, she waits until she receives gifts from my sisters, before deciding what to give them. I no longer send her anything. The last time I sent her something, was the last straw.
A few years ago, I learned how to make home-made soap, and was so excited about it, that for Christmas, I bought some hand-made baskets (made by special request) from a lady I knew, and filled them with all my different scented, and designed soaps, taking such care in even the packaging of the soaps. I also made all sorts of different little things, ornaments, or home decor things, pertaining to each persons specific personality or home design, and included one with each basket. Along with each package I either included cookies or fudge, that I spent hours on end baking. I was so excited to be giving everybody something that came straight from my heart, and all but the baskets, created by my own hands, over countless hours. I know that would make *me* feel so special, but I guess I'm weird that way.
I wish I had never heard it, but it came back to me, the comments that my mother made upon opening her gift. For starters, she complained, and made fun of the "crudeness" of the soap. It's *home-made* soap. It is all shaved, and carved by hand. I'm not a machine. It's not going to be PERFECT, with a perfect inscription of "Irish Spring". And I happen to think that adds so much to the charm of it. It takes so much time to make home-made soap, that if you were to purchase it in a health-food store, or a craft-type store, or wherever, you can pay anywhere from $3.00 to $7.00 for only one small bar of soap. Some people actually appreciate these things. I guess mom simply doesn't. She "jokingly" asked if anybody wanted to trade gifts. My gramma took her up on it, and gave her the crystal candy dish she had received in a name drawing from her ladies group at her church. She later told me that she felt bad about giving her the candy dish, but she felt so badly that my mother would treat my gift that way, and couldn't bear the thought of my mother throwing it away.
I haven't done anything like that, with the exception of a few very special friends since then, but for some reason, I'm inspired to think maybe all of human kind isn't as unappreciative, and thoughtless as she is. So this week, I'm going to make some more soap, and I'm going to send everybody I can think of, just one simple bar. If you'd like one, I'd really love to share it with you, so please e-mail me your address, and you will receive a crudely shapen bar of soap, made by my own two hands, with all the love I can muster, just for you.