There are animated dancing forks, a talking candelabra, and Cogsworth the clock being projected on the wall of our living room. Unlike a regular TV whose sound is at the device, the projector’s sound is spewing two feet from my left ear. However much I’d prefer a cozy spot on my bed in the quiet to write this, I’m trying to support Evelyn with the misunderstood and not scary beast from Beauty and the Beast.
Like visiting a good therapist, I look forward to writing and reflecting in this space. So let’s get right into it. Even when nothing’s happening, I always strive to improve. And I don’t like it. It’s a naggy whisper, like a drug pusher saying, “C’mon, and keep raising the bar higher, you know you want to”. And even when I’d prefer to just sit and be in the moment the old Stretch Armstronged is going on internally.
Scalpel! I want to cut it out of me. But it doesn’t work that way. Instead, I give myself homework. Homework to self: pay attention to times in this upcoming week when you feel something or someone could be doing better.
Anyway, I had such a nice time with my friend Lindsay today. Due to two to three bags of round-robin clothes being her size, she found time to come over and try them on. Today is the one-month mark that her Dad is alive after being given a two-week life expectancy from an inoperable leaky heart valve. As Lindsay and I chatted and ogled over summer clothes I realized how much I care about her and admire the person she is. I’ve known this, but something about today, about seeing her share her perspective on life cast a light on her maturity and strength that I hadn’t seen quite like that before.
Do you do a silent scream when hearing a story you’ve heard before? After having rewritten the start of this paragraph four times I want to talk about being a mother and my feelings of sucking at it. First, I’m short on empathy which makes me plain yogurt not like myself. (See what I did there?) To my credit, there are times I nail it and get to wave those gigantic “Mother of the Year” flags around the neighborhood, but those aren’t the times that keep me up at night.
Yesterday, as Evelyn did laps around the island in our kitchen, repeatedly yelling the name of the snack she wanted, the tension in my chest rose. Dave’s friend Jeff, a lover of his nephews and great companion to Evelyn, said, “I love this so much” referring to the chaos. And at his smile and shaking head in joy at watching her, I said, “How? I feel like I’m going crazy.”
I really wish I could change my perspective, and told him so. How do I not be a parent, but instead be the cool aunt who just shows up and doesn’t get all her buttons pushed?
Earlier in bathtime, I thought about my relationship with my mom and my perceptions about her failing me. Things like giving me a book instead of talking to me about womanhood stuff creating shame around sexuality, or how overburdened she was with household tasks and parenting that I felt disdain, and didn’t want to be like her, or how out of sorts she’d get, saying things like “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about” that felt unfair and uncaring.
I’m so scared of leaving these dents on Evelyn and her relationship with me. But is it inevitable?
I need to stop there, since my time is up for tonight. I’ll see you here tomorrow.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 