I Need A Nap

I am a grown up, and yet nothing terrifies me more than when my is mommy mad at me.

We had a rather nasty row today (after the beginning of a very pleasant visit) where she brought up every disappointing thing I have ever done (and let me tell you, the list is endless). She started at the age of four and worked her way up. I was a disaster at five, and by ten I was a little terror. My teens were a mess. My twenties were a complete disappointment. And now there is hardly anything left to say.

Aside from the two beautiful children I have miraculously produced (she refuses to acknowledge where they came from), I have committed a series of atrocities. As a child I was anti social, which arguably hasn’t changed very much, but neglected to mention that she never actually taught me how to properly socialize. In college I chose the wrong major, and on top of that took several years off before pursuing the next degree. I am obviously not getting any younger and I should have had an MA several years ago. In fact, I should have had a doctorate by now, and what was I wasting my time with anyway?

Well, that is all over with, and at least I am on the right path now. Speaking of which, how many failed marriages was I planning on having? (Nevermind how well hers went). And why do my hips look like that? And is there something I can do about it? Maybe I can stand in a certain way at all times.

I should spend more time sleeping, because those circles under my eyes are not helping anyone. And while we are on the subject (whatever subject that may be, because as far as I can tell her next list of complaints were total non sequiturs), why is Ally not yet potty trained? And why can’t anyone figure out what Ducky is saying? Can’t I teach him to speak properly?

After about two hours of this I think I do need a nap. And some wine. And chocolate. And cookies with ice cream. And my favorite Tina Dico CD.

Then I can bake my mom a nice pecan pie and take it over there tomorrow. Because that is what I do when she brings me to tears… I bake her a pie.


  1. Unfortunately this is a recurring theme… I have spent my life trying to make my mother proud… and with each accomplishment she is, until she is not, and wants more…

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