And I Wonder Why I Never Get Seated At the Grown Up Table....
Okay, bit of a rant here.........
I am so mad at myself!! Why is it that I cannot, simply can not, stand up to my parents? I'm 51 years old, for love of the Gods!! Isn't it time I put on my big girl panties and stood firm? You'd think so, wouldn't you? But no! My parents say "Jump" and I don't even ask how high, I just start hopping. And my poor husband gets dragged into hopping, too--whether he wants to or not. As Charlie Brown used to say, "AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!"
Here's what happened: About 7:30 last night, my phone rings, and it's my mom. And she's calling to tell me that Dad will be dropping off the rented rototiller at our house about 8:30 in the morning. Rototiller? Tomorrow (meaning Thursday)? WTF? And the sum total of my contribution to this conversation is a wussy "We're rototilling tomorrow? Tomorrow. (pause) Okay, I guess...." AND then, she tells me to call Lachlan at work--AT WORK, mind you--and have him call Dad so that they can work out the details. (Gods forbid that we poor little womenfolk figure this out; oh no--we've got laundry and baby-rearing to do!) And you know what I did? I called Lachlan. At work. And told him to call Dad about rototilling tomorrow. It never even occurred to me to do otherwise. To say to my mom something like, oh "Uh, Mom? That doesn't work for us, we had other plans for Thursday. Hadn't we all decided to discuss the best time to rent the rototiller for ALL of us?" or even, "What makes you think I'm going to call my husband AT WORK and bother him with this?" or, better still, "The number you have reached is no longer in service. Please hang up and dial again." Nope. Not me. I marched in line like a good little soldier, and did exactly as I was told. Infuriating!
Why do I do this? It's not like I'm ever going to get their approval or something. It's not like they're ever going to look at me and say, "Wow, you're always there for us. We are so very grateful that you are our daughter!" No, not happening. Ever. Yet, everytime my Dad calls and says he needs help (read "strong back") with confuting his combobulator or something, we drop everything we're doing, and Lachlan goes down and strains himself halfway to the morgue helping my dad, while I get to keep my mom company and listen to gossip about people I vaguely remember, and stopped caring about decades ago.
Now here's the really jacked-up part: Just about the only time they call us is when Dad needs help with something that he's no longer physically able to do himself. Fine, Lachlan's usually okay with that, so I try to be okay with that. But here's the thing: My brother--my brother, the Ox-- lives with them. The guy that you could actually say "Hand me that piano" to, and he could! Yeah. He's right there. But, do they ask him for help? Oh no, not the poor little Malcolm. He might hurt him little self! No, we can't ask him--we'll ask the son-in-law with the screwed-up back. Yeah, that's the ticket. And they do. EVERY GODDAMNED TIME!! And they don't approve of him anymore than they do me!
And, Blessed Be the Gods, because Lachlan will go down there and help. He will drop everything, every plan, every pleasure, and hurt himself trying to make Life easier for a couple of old farts that will never, ever acknowledge just how wonderful he really is to them. He does things for them that he won't do for his own folks. And it humbles me to the very core of my being that the only reason he kills himself for them is for love of me! How do I compensate that? How do I give him the appreciation that he truly deserves? I can't even begin to figure that out. I don't even know where to start!
I keep saying to myself that someday I will say no. That someday I will look my parents in the eyes and say, "Look, you don't even like me, why the Hell should I change my life to suit your whims?" Someday, I say to myself, I will force them to read something I've written; I will force them to acknowledge me as a viable, capable, talented human being; that I will NOT let them run over my conversation about my husband's achievements with some stupid little story my brother brought home from work. I tell myself that.......but I know I'll never follow through. Inside, I'm still that chubby, freckled, unfashionably-redheaded little girl who got totally pushed aside when my baby brother was scalded at age 7 months and nearly died. Don't get me wrong--I love my brother and I'm so very grateful that he lived, and he is one of my best friends. I just wish my parents' spotlight wasn't so focused on his continued existence.
Okay, I'm better now. Sorry if I offended anyone. I really do love my parents.
I just don't like them very often.
I am so mad at myself!! Why is it that I cannot, simply can not, stand up to my parents? I'm 51 years old, for love of the Gods!! Isn't it time I put on my big girl panties and stood firm? You'd think so, wouldn't you? But no! My parents say "Jump" and I don't even ask how high, I just start hopping. And my poor husband gets dragged into hopping, too--whether he wants to or not. As Charlie Brown used to say, "AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!"
Here's what happened: About 7:30 last night, my phone rings, and it's my mom. And she's calling to tell me that Dad will be dropping off the rented rototiller at our house about 8:30 in the morning. Rototiller? Tomorrow (meaning Thursday)? WTF? And the sum total of my contribution to this conversation is a wussy "We're rototilling tomorrow? Tomorrow. (pause) Okay, I guess...." AND then, she tells me to call Lachlan at work--AT WORK, mind you--and have him call Dad so that they can work out the details. (Gods forbid that we poor little womenfolk figure this out; oh no--we've got laundry and baby-rearing to do!) And you know what I did? I called Lachlan. At work. And told him to call Dad about rototilling tomorrow. It never even occurred to me to do otherwise. To say to my mom something like, oh "Uh, Mom? That doesn't work for us, we had other plans for Thursday. Hadn't we all decided to discuss the best time to rent the rototiller for ALL of us?" or even, "What makes you think I'm going to call my husband AT WORK and bother him with this?" or, better still, "The number you have reached is no longer in service. Please hang up and dial again." Nope. Not me. I marched in line like a good little soldier, and did exactly as I was told. Infuriating!
Why do I do this? It's not like I'm ever going to get their approval or something. It's not like they're ever going to look at me and say, "Wow, you're always there for us. We are so very grateful that you are our daughter!" No, not happening. Ever. Yet, everytime my Dad calls and says he needs help (read "strong back") with confuting his combobulator or something, we drop everything we're doing, and Lachlan goes down and strains himself halfway to the morgue helping my dad, while I get to keep my mom company and listen to gossip about people I vaguely remember, and stopped caring about decades ago.
Now here's the really jacked-up part: Just about the only time they call us is when Dad needs help with something that he's no longer physically able to do himself. Fine, Lachlan's usually okay with that, so I try to be okay with that. But here's the thing: My brother--my brother, the Ox-- lives with them. The guy that you could actually say "Hand me that piano" to, and he could! Yeah. He's right there. But, do they ask him for help? Oh no, not the poor little Malcolm. He might hurt him little self! No, we can't ask him--we'll ask the son-in-law with the screwed-up back. Yeah, that's the ticket. And they do. EVERY GODDAMNED TIME!! And they don't approve of him anymore than they do me!
And, Blessed Be the Gods, because Lachlan will go down there and help. He will drop everything, every plan, every pleasure, and hurt himself trying to make Life easier for a couple of old farts that will never, ever acknowledge just how wonderful he really is to them. He does things for them that he won't do for his own folks. And it humbles me to the very core of my being that the only reason he kills himself for them is for love of me! How do I compensate that? How do I give him the appreciation that he truly deserves? I can't even begin to figure that out. I don't even know where to start!
I keep saying to myself that someday I will say no. That someday I will look my parents in the eyes and say, "Look, you don't even like me, why the Hell should I change my life to suit your whims?" Someday, I say to myself, I will force them to read something I've written; I will force them to acknowledge me as a viable, capable, talented human being; that I will NOT let them run over my conversation about my husband's achievements with some stupid little story my brother brought home from work. I tell myself that.......but I know I'll never follow through. Inside, I'm still that chubby, freckled, unfashionably-redheaded little girl who got totally pushed aside when my baby brother was scalded at age 7 months and nearly died. Don't get me wrong--I love my brother and I'm so very grateful that he lived, and he is one of my best friends. I just wish my parents' spotlight wasn't so focused on his continued existence.
Okay, I'm better now. Sorry if I offended anyone. I really do love my parents.
I just don't like them very often.