I loved how [my mother] looked. I loved how she smelled. I loved how she read. I loved how she refused to cook, telling my brother once, when he complained of a variation on Campbell's tomato soup, "You know, the first thing you need for pot roast is another mother." I loved how she adored me and absolutely believed I would be a sensation. What I
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Totally different background, but this sums up my relationship with my mother fairly closely. :/
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The condition in which someone absolutely refuses ever to acknowledge to anyone that they not only are capable of doing things that are less than good, but have done them frequently, is known as malignant narcissism. It perfectly characterizes such women, and God help any children they might raise.
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