And they gnashed their terrible teeth!
A public service announcement
Followed me home the other day
I paid it nevermind
Go away!
Shit so thick you could stir it with a stick
Free Teflon, whitewashed presidency
We're sick of being jerked around
Wear that on your sleeve
Knock knock, the door swings open. Enter the dread mother. "Knock-knoooock! Hello...?"
Cough, sputter! I bound to my feet and dash to the stairwell. "Yes?" My daughter is conspicuously absent, a fact about which I am none too pleased.
"Well?" she demands.
Still rubbing the morning grit from my eyes, I attempt to make heads or tails of this newest assault, while simultaneously planning my retaliatory battle strategy. Cost of getting a cavity filled: $300.00. Cost of the emergency missile pack of cigarettes I have armed and aimed: $3.65. Cost of making it down the stairs and closing the door before she gets her other foot over the threshold? Priceless. "Well, what?"
"Dentist?"
Kerblink-blink-blink... "No, thank you, but if you have any tall-dark-and-handsome frenchmen...?"
Eye-rolling ensues. "You are going to the dentist today? I told you I'd make the appointment."
"Uh... no?"
"Why not?"
"Because I need at least twenty-four hours' notice." That's usually her line, but I throw it in for effect.
"The other day, I said I'd make you a dentist's appointment."
"Uh... no?"
"I told you!"
"Uh... no?" Ker-blink-blink-blink again. "No, you didn't."
No use. In her mind, notice was given and confirmations made, agreement all around. Much yelling and tromping down the stairs and door-slamming ensues. Then the door opens up again as she tromps back up the stairs to yell some more. Then it's down the stairs, slamming the door, then opening the door again and tromping back up... you get the picture. >.<
"Good God!" I cry, exasperated. This is my one day off from work, and I don't need it ruined by a fit of self-righteousness. "Go away!"
"Where!?"
Pffft! Where? I stare blankly for a time until I finally overcome my disbelief and suggest, "To work?"
Much tromping down the stairs and door-slamming ensues. Then the door opens up again, she tromps back up the stairs, and yells some more. Then it's down the stairs, slamming the door, then opening the door again and tromping back up... still got that picture?
"I don't understand you, Emilie! I just don't understand you! I told you! I told you and you agreed."
Translation: It was mentioned in passing that I had a cavity and needed to see a dentist, at which point she suggested she could make me an appointment. I shrugged my shoulders, and that was the end of it.
"Would you please just go away?" I exhale loudly, more than fed up with the monotony and circular nature of the conversation. She's already informed me that my daughter is at daycare, all but inaccessible to me without a car, and that she doesn't give a hoot what I think unless it is to think that she is right. "Just go away. Seriously. Go to work."
And off she goes, tromping down the stairs and slamming the door one final time. Then she slams the gate outside and tromps across the yard. She slams her car door and pulls out of the drive. Call me crazy, but does that tin-can Geo seem to be tromping? Or is it just me?
The whole thing is ridiculous, but I understand it all too well. I can think of only one other person on the face of this planet who understands the complex mechanics behind this confrontation (which I might go so far as to say closely resembles Robert Jordan's Daes Dae'mar). That one other person is my sister, Julie, who has experienced it for seven years longer than I have.
Unfortunately, Julie and I don't talk very often and I've lost her E-mail address. Thus am I forced to sit here and type away at my Live Journal, which doesn't understand, but is a great place for a pity party nevertheless.
The best I can explain it is this:
My mother suffers from what is commonly known as Martyr Syndrome. She needs the world to see her good intentions and heartfelt, generous attempts to help and guide her children. Unfortunately, those children are both ungrateful swine who never appreciate--and even scorn!--her attempts to provide them with hard-earned assistance. She sweats blood and bends over backwards for them, and how do they repay her? With harsh words and stolidness, that's how!
She flits from self-inflicted crisis to self-inflicted crisis, hooking us along the way and dragging us through a whirlpool of convoluted schemes, the product of which is a broadcast speech that goes something like this:
"I made an appointment for Emilie because her tooth was hurting her, and this morning she refused to even go! I had everything arranged. I had Lily in daycare, I was at her house early, I even offered to pay for the visit. Phaw! Phaw! She doesn't even appreciate the lengths I went to to make sure she wouldn't be in pain! I went out of my way for her, because I'm her mother and that's what mothers do. I gave up concerns for my own welfare when I made the commitment to be a parent. And she says I don't act like I care about her! Phaw! Phaw!"
It's at this point that she barks the ironic, "Why, God? Why?" laugh, exhales loudly through flapping lips, throws her hands up in exasperation, and shakes her head--thus allowing her audience to offer condolences and disgusted head-shaking of their own. I've seen it all too many times, and the picture is crystal clear in my head.
The funny thing is, what she's told them isn't exactly a lie. It's just a one-sided point of view.
Come to think of it, my mother is very much like an Aes Sedai, the way she weaves the truth to sound like whatever lie would better serve her purposes.
Analysis:
"I made an appointment for Emilie because her tooth was hurting her, and this morning she refused to even go!" True. I was in my pajamas, had no notice whatsoever, and as am I deathly afraid of anything even remotely medical, I lacked sufficient time to mentally prepare myself for the experience and refused.
"I had everything arranged. I had Lily in daycare, I was at her house early, I even offered to pay for the visit." True, she did all that. But she didn't tell me, did she? No, she put me on the spot, like I was telepathic or something.
"She doesn't even appreciate the lengths I went to to make sure she wouldn't be in pain!" True. I don't appreciate her barging into my house early in the morning on my off day to have a tantrum.
"I went out of my way for her, because I'm her mother and that's what mothers do. I gave up concerns for my own welfare when I made the commitment to be a parent." True, that's what parents do. At least, most of them. The better ones. She gave up concerns for her own welfare, but not for her public image.
"And she says I don't act like I care about her!" True. I did say that, though I did not say it like that. There was a great deal more to the statement, but when it's boiled down to that single definitive line I do indeed sound like the ungrateful swine she's labeled me.
The whole thing it so perfectly orchestrated it's mind boggling. I can't even think about it anymore, so I'm going to cinch this line right here and write more later. After my pulse comes down from the nineties and I can feel my body again.
I am a rosebud, opening up to the sunlight. I am a river, flowing through its banks. I am the banks, containing the river. I am a rosebud...
Em, Captain of the fast-sinking LDH Fast Sinker, over and out for now.
Followed me home the other day
I paid it nevermind
Go away!
Shit so thick you could stir it with a stick
Free Teflon, whitewashed presidency
We're sick of being jerked around
Wear that on your sleeve
Knock knock, the door swings open. Enter the dread mother. "Knock-knoooock! Hello...?"
Cough, sputter! I bound to my feet and dash to the stairwell. "Yes?" My daughter is conspicuously absent, a fact about which I am none too pleased.
"Well?" she demands.
Still rubbing the morning grit from my eyes, I attempt to make heads or tails of this newest assault, while simultaneously planning my retaliatory battle strategy. Cost of getting a cavity filled: $300.00. Cost of the emergency missile pack of cigarettes I have armed and aimed: $3.65. Cost of making it down the stairs and closing the door before she gets her other foot over the threshold? Priceless. "Well, what?"
"Dentist?"
Kerblink-blink-blink... "No, thank you, but if you have any tall-dark-and-handsome frenchmen...?"
Eye-rolling ensues. "You are going to the dentist today? I told you I'd make the appointment."
"Uh... no?"
"Why not?"
"Because I need at least twenty-four hours' notice." That's usually her line, but I throw it in for effect.
"The other day, I said I'd make you a dentist's appointment."
"Uh... no?"
"I told you!"
"Uh... no?" Ker-blink-blink-blink again. "No, you didn't."
No use. In her mind, notice was given and confirmations made, agreement all around. Much yelling and tromping down the stairs and door-slamming ensues. Then the door opens up again as she tromps back up the stairs to yell some more. Then it's down the stairs, slamming the door, then opening the door again and tromping back up... you get the picture. >.<
"Good God!" I cry, exasperated. This is my one day off from work, and I don't need it ruined by a fit of self-righteousness. "Go away!"
"Where!?"
Pffft! Where? I stare blankly for a time until I finally overcome my disbelief and suggest, "To work?"
Much tromping down the stairs and door-slamming ensues. Then the door opens up again, she tromps back up the stairs, and yells some more. Then it's down the stairs, slamming the door, then opening the door again and tromping back up... still got that picture?
"I don't understand you, Emilie! I just don't understand you! I told you! I told you and you agreed."
Translation: It was mentioned in passing that I had a cavity and needed to see a dentist, at which point she suggested she could make me an appointment. I shrugged my shoulders, and that was the end of it.
"Would you please just go away?" I exhale loudly, more than fed up with the monotony and circular nature of the conversation. She's already informed me that my daughter is at daycare, all but inaccessible to me without a car, and that she doesn't give a hoot what I think unless it is to think that she is right. "Just go away. Seriously. Go to work."
And off she goes, tromping down the stairs and slamming the door one final time. Then she slams the gate outside and tromps across the yard. She slams her car door and pulls out of the drive. Call me crazy, but does that tin-can Geo seem to be tromping? Or is it just me?
The whole thing is ridiculous, but I understand it all too well. I can think of only one other person on the face of this planet who understands the complex mechanics behind this confrontation (which I might go so far as to say closely resembles Robert Jordan's Daes Dae'mar). That one other person is my sister, Julie, who has experienced it for seven years longer than I have.
Unfortunately, Julie and I don't talk very often and I've lost her E-mail address. Thus am I forced to sit here and type away at my Live Journal, which doesn't understand, but is a great place for a pity party nevertheless.
The best I can explain it is this:
My mother suffers from what is commonly known as Martyr Syndrome. She needs the world to see her good intentions and heartfelt, generous attempts to help and guide her children. Unfortunately, those children are both ungrateful swine who never appreciate--and even scorn!--her attempts to provide them with hard-earned assistance. She sweats blood and bends over backwards for them, and how do they repay her? With harsh words and stolidness, that's how!
She flits from self-inflicted crisis to self-inflicted crisis, hooking us along the way and dragging us through a whirlpool of convoluted schemes, the product of which is a broadcast speech that goes something like this:
"I made an appointment for Emilie because her tooth was hurting her, and this morning she refused to even go! I had everything arranged. I had Lily in daycare, I was at her house early, I even offered to pay for the visit. Phaw! Phaw! She doesn't even appreciate the lengths I went to to make sure she wouldn't be in pain! I went out of my way for her, because I'm her mother and that's what mothers do. I gave up concerns for my own welfare when I made the commitment to be a parent. And she says I don't act like I care about her! Phaw! Phaw!"
It's at this point that she barks the ironic, "Why, God? Why?" laugh, exhales loudly through flapping lips, throws her hands up in exasperation, and shakes her head--thus allowing her audience to offer condolences and disgusted head-shaking of their own. I've seen it all too many times, and the picture is crystal clear in my head.
The funny thing is, what she's told them isn't exactly a lie. It's just a one-sided point of view.
Come to think of it, my mother is very much like an Aes Sedai, the way she weaves the truth to sound like whatever lie would better serve her purposes.
Analysis:
"I made an appointment for Emilie because her tooth was hurting her, and this morning she refused to even go!" True. I was in my pajamas, had no notice whatsoever, and as am I deathly afraid of anything even remotely medical, I lacked sufficient time to mentally prepare myself for the experience and refused.
"I had everything arranged. I had Lily in daycare, I was at her house early, I even offered to pay for the visit." True, she did all that. But she didn't tell me, did she? No, she put me on the spot, like I was telepathic or something.
"She doesn't even appreciate the lengths I went to to make sure she wouldn't be in pain!" True. I don't appreciate her barging into my house early in the morning on my off day to have a tantrum.
"I went out of my way for her, because I'm her mother and that's what mothers do. I gave up concerns for my own welfare when I made the commitment to be a parent." True, that's what parents do. At least, most of them. The better ones. She gave up concerns for her own welfare, but not for her public image.
"And she says I don't act like I care about her!" True. I did say that, though I did not say it like that. There was a great deal more to the statement, but when it's boiled down to that single definitive line I do indeed sound like the ungrateful swine she's labeled me.
The whole thing it so perfectly orchestrated it's mind boggling. I can't even think about it anymore, so I'm going to cinch this line right here and write more later. After my pulse comes down from the nineties and I can feel my body again.
I am a rosebud, opening up to the sunlight. I am a river, flowing through its banks. I am the banks, containing the river. I am a rosebud...
Em, Captain of the fast-sinking LDH Fast Sinker, over and out for now.