For those of you who, upon seeing this photo, pitied me and acknowledged how I have my hands full with my daughter, I accepted your sympathy graciously. Some of you had been there yourselves, as a mother or a daughter. Others recommended I sleep with my bedroom door locked, in case she ever went all Menendez on me.
If you want more details about this picture, check it out here
Today I’ve dug into the archives—my late mother’s jewelry box— to show you that I don't deserve sympathy, I deserve (and am getting!) payback. Here’s a pseudo-Valentine from me to my mother, circa 1977 or so, in which I let her know how I felt about her on a given day. I remember sliding it under her bedroom door, thoroughly pissed about something.
If you want more details about this picture, check it out here
Today I’ve dug into the archives—my late mother’s jewelry box— to show you that I don't deserve sympathy, I deserve (and am getting!) payback. Here’s a pseudo-Valentine from me to my mother, circa 1977 or so, in which I let her know how I felt about her on a given day. I remember sliding it under her bedroom door, thoroughly pissed about something.
Since apparently my scanner stinks, I'll type it for you here:Just fur you
Po Po
not Love,
anna
I can’t say much for my spelling—po po should be “poo poo,” but I will say that this note gives me hope. My anger burned white hot over whatever she had done to me.
Who knows what it was? Making me go to piano lessons? Telling me to clean my room? Or the time when she wouldn’t let me go with a friend to the White House to MEET AMY CARTER!!!!!!?????? I had a strange feeling at the time that she thought maybe I was too high-strung to keep it together on a 10 hour outing with another family. This is right before I locked myself in the bathroom for 4 hours decrying the cruelty of humanity. Hmmm.
This note gives me hope because I know it did not sum up how I really felt about my mom, just as Molly’s picture can’t negate the good times, such as the down-right awesome day we spent together today. I can picture my mom shaking her head and laughing as she tucked it in her jewelry box, just as I laughed when I saw the curlicue mustache Molly gave me. Payback can be heck.
I just need to keep telling myself that a daughter’s love for her mom goes way beyond hate notes. Lather, rinse, repeat as needed.
9 comments:
You and your girl? Two birds of a feather, that's what you are. What a great treasure to find in mom's jewelry box.
I'm impressed that you have that note. Wow, she kept it all this time.
I think I told you this when I read your original post on the picture but I had a very hard relationship with my mother when I was a pre-teen and early teen and now we are each other's very best friend and talk every day. But seeing that picture makes me scared to have a daughter...I'll have to toughen up my heart.
be sure to keep that forever, so that your daughter can pull it out of her jewelry box when her daughter does the very same thing. which she surely will. my first grader hated me just this morning.
Absolutely. And also (something I repeat to myself often), kids let our worst emotions out on the ones we love the most, because they know they can trust us to love them no matter what.
I can already see Eleanor slipping those notes under my door... She's got quite a temper - and she's only two!
I love that picture - it makes me laugh. We'll see how well I do when I get them myself...
I'm fairly certain, if your child (girl or boy) does not "hate" you at some point, you're just not doing a good enough job.
Great Valentine - original and artistic.
You're a big person. That would have hurt my little feelings. As of now, my seven year old son thinks I hung the moon although I know those days are numbered. :-)
Well, I must say that your blog seems a much more appropriate forum to rehash these old feelings. My Dad saves all such notes and at my wedding dinner (which was sit-down so he had a captive audience) read them one by one in front of my entire extended family, new in-laws, and dear friends. At least I could agree that they were all hilarious.
Also, let it be known that my hate mail was usually directed toward my Dad, not my Mom.
Pretty funny....:)
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