OK, someone in my real life, but who is not in my day-to-day life, recently said to me . . .
“I can’t read your blog anymore. I know you’re just making stuff up to be a writer, and if I read all of these lies? It will influence my idea of who you are. And you don’t want me to think that’s who you really are. You don’t want me to think that’s the sort of mother you are. Ick.”
Sigh.
That’s exactly what I do want.
Minus the ick.
Snort!
I told someone recently, “I want to be seen and understood.”
In my entirety.
So I have re-written my ABOUT page. The old one was misleading, and it gave people too much permission to refuse to see the truth in my words. To use the phrase “Pretty All True” to dismiss my words as fiction.
I do not do fiction.
And now?
More bad momming . . .
According to Maj.
A few days ago . . .
Maj has had a rough morning. She is angry at me for a million small mothering offenses. I am trying very hard to be nice.
We’re at a restaurant, eating pizza. Maj is sitting across from me, all scowling and angry, because I? Am laughing at something Mark said.
Maj is humiliated.
“Mother, is there no way for you to just eat pizza like a regular person? Why do you have to always announce to the room that you are crazy?”
This? Makes me laugh harder.
Sparks are flying from Maj now, “You just seem to feel a need to humiliate me! Don’t make me move to another table, Mother.”
It is possible that if I were somehow able to catch my breath in moments like these? Maj might calm down. But I am helpless with laughter instead, and I’m now hiding my face in my napkin to collect my hysterical tears.
“Daddy? Do something about her! Everyone is staring at us! Make her stop!”
Mark turns to look at the other people in the restaurant and laughs, “All these people, Maj? These people looking at us? They want to be us. You need to relax.”
Maj thumps backward into her chair, “Fine, here’s what I am going to do. I am going to eat my pizza? With my eyes closed. You think I won’t, but I cannot stand the sight of you with your ridiculous laughing.”
And then?
She closes her eyes. She so does. And eats her pizza.
I just collapse into Kallan, who is sitting next to me. I cannot stop laughing. Tears, people. Tears.
Maj speaks as she eats blindly, “I know without opening my eyes? That your eyes? Are all ugly with laughing. That’s what I know.”
Oh my god.
Still without opening her eyes, Maj speaks again, her words filled with disgust, “And now? Because my eyes are closed to keep you out? I have eaten a weird nut or something that was on my pizza. It is hard to eat pizza with your eyes closed, and now I have eaten something weird. This is all your fault, Mother.”
I am literally . . . no longer able to breathe.
Maj opens her eyes and glares at me as I gasp and wipe my eyes, “Why do you like to torture me? What is wrong with you?”
I take several deep calming breaths. In and out. Inhale . . . . exhale. Inhale . . . exhale.
I eat a few bites of pizza.
Maj again, “Why do you think everything is so funny? Not everything is so funny. Why can’t you just be serious and normal?”
I sip my drink, “OK, wait . . . Maj? I am serious all the time. I can be serious. Hold on.”
She stares at me.
“OK, I will say something serious to you now, Maj.”
And I am going to say? That I love her. That despite our differences and the fact that she does not find me at all amusing? I love her more than anything in the world.
That’s what I was going to say.
But before I can say those words?
Maj leans over the table and spits these words into my face . . .
“Say it, then. SAY IT!”
And I am destroyed.
Plus also?
I cannot remember the last time I laughed so hard.
Poor Maj.
She starts frantically collecting our plates and piling things together, “Are we ready to go? Are we ready to go? I have to get out of here! Get up! Get up! Get up! I have to get out of here!”
I struggle to my feet, all weak and giddy, follow my family out of the restaurant.
Maj takes Mark’s hand to hurry him along, and she looks up at him, pleading for support . . .
“Daddy, don’t you see? She is crazy.”
And that?
Is the truth.
Snort!
I love, love, love your new About Me.
Cursing is often necessary to properly convey one’s message. And hey – classy bitches say “fuck” all the time. I would know ;)
Dear Classy Bitch,
Fucking love you.
Thank you.
Me
okay, I cannot even respond to your deliciously hilarious story because I cannot get over what your friend said. who says that? ew. I mean, EW.
I mean. that is just. ew.
in my opinion, there isn’t just one truth. it’s all subjective. each of our experiences are slightly different and our sides of the truth are our own. right? so no matter what you write, it’s your truth.
and even so. it’s your blog right? right? no one else’s? so shouldn’t you get to write whatever the eff you want?
also: you crack me up.
Truth is subjective.
And then also?
There is shit that happened.
It so fucking did.
My friend?
Likes her version of me.
Which is too bad, as I happen think that my version of me?
Kicks ass.
I happen to agree with you.
you do kick ass!
YES!
Thank you.
Wow, I can’t get passed that story about your relative/friend (or just acquaintance maybe?) who said those things to you. I wonder what motivated that remark.
What can be so made up about this blog?
I love your life stories, I crave your childhood memories and I am giggling with you at how offended your kids are that you may not be “normal” :)
I’m pretty sure your blog is pretty all authentic. I’m sticking to my guns!
i’m with andy. as funny as your story is — and god knows it’s amazingly hysterical — i can’t get over dumbbitchwhoobviouslyhasbadhair’s comment to you. you’ve got me all het up this morning, kris. i would kinda like to cut a bitch.
why am i always so violent after reading your posts?
You guys are hilarious!
You are more worked up about this woman than I was!
Cut a bitch . . .
Snort!
you’re welcome.
“You don’t want me to think that’s the sort of mother you are. Ick.”
Obviously the commenter missed the posts where you write about how much you adore your daughters. I’ve never once thought of you as “that sort of mother”…whatever that is.
I can kick this commenter’s ass if you want me to. That’s how we do it in KY.
I have known this person for a very long time, but not deeply.
I think we will just continue to know one another shallowly.
That will work.
The truth is always much more entertaining than anything people make up. And I simply cannot wait to embarrass my children in a restaurant. It’s no fun now because my kid is too young to feel embarrassed. But as soon as he knows the hot sting of humiliation, I will crank up my A game.
But as soon as he knows the hot sting of humiliation, I will crank up my A game.
That’s poetry right there.
Hee hee!
To quote a blogger I love, “Snort.” Because, really? You can’t make this shit up.
SNORT!
No, you can’t.
You can’t make this shit up.
How could someone say that you make this shit up?! Anyone with school age kids or who grew up with siblngs would know that a mother’s sole purpose is to embarrass the hell out of their kids in public and yell things out the car window in the school drop off line that if their butt starts itching again to call mommy and I’ll bring you some more panties!
I haven’t done that but I sure do make Natalie believe that I will one day and she is scared to death and begs daddy to take her to school instead. HA!
Also, dancing like an idiot along to the radio at a red light with cars next to us makes her want to die. She just can’t believe that she deserves this kind of cruel and unusual punishment to have me dance like a fool and embarrass her.
“What if someone sees you? What if someone sees me in the car? WHAT IF ONE OF MY FRIENDS IS STOPPED NEXT TO US?”
My mission would be complete! And her friends like me better than her anyway ha!
This . . .
And her friends like me better than her anyway ha!
Has made me giggle hysterically!
We are so mature.
Giggle.
It makes me laugh too.
I love the look on her face when she’s talking to her friends and I walk up and they all turn and ask me all their girly 9 year old drama questions instead of continuing their conversations with her.
HILARIOUS!
So mature we are indeed!
Giggle
Our children?
They are doomed!
Snort!
Doomed, I say!
Its unfortunate that at some point our kids go from thinking we are like GOD, to not wanting to be assoicated with us.
my son is 15 and is appalled that my sportsman and I have sex. Not just in the house but sex of any kind at all.
He says that “old” ppl arent supposed to. WTF?
My girls are not aware of their parents as sexual beings yet.
I am not looking forward to those discussions.
ACK!
First of all….I want to be a mother like you.
Secondly….are you sure you birthed Maj? Positive she wasn’t switched at birth?
No switching.
She is all mine.
And Mark’s.
I totally blame Mark.
HA! That is awesome. And for real, you’re IRL friend actually told you that? Um ok. I’m guessing she is NOT on Twitter…odd.
No, she is not on Twitter!
So funny to think of it, though.
Haha, I wonder how long it will take before nobody in my family reads my blog anymore and I am truly free to write what I truly want to! Hehehe. I like your new about page. You’ve inspired me to re-write mine since I also wrote mine to coincide with my first post ever.
My family?
Reads my blog.
But even if they didn’t?
I would still not be “free” to write what I want to write.
Not all of it anyway.
There would still be people to whom I have loyalty.
People I would protect.
PS, how do I get my picture into my posts? I’m very vain like that.
Hmmm . . . I have forgotten how I did that.
I will ask tech support guy to remind me later.
I will get back to you.
Someday? Maj will organize a children’s march against a million mothering offenses.
Or, she’ll grow up to commit several million mothering offenses of her very own… either way; I’m sure it will be “Maj-nificent!”
Either of those futures?
Would make me smile.
Me, too.
I cannot say enough how much I love reading your blog… I started from the beginning, I posted once..`look I`m on a horse` LOVED that commercial and blog!
You crack me up I actually have started reading it to my boyfriend he is the `filer I am the piler` he goes around the house now saying `kachunk, kachunk, kachunk`
I have 3 children, my oldest 14 a boy and my daughter 11 and my youngest son is 10,and let me tell ya… that girl of mine is DRAMA DRAMA DRAMA… and me being the serious mom and all NOT, queen of sarcasm and she is so serious…I can hardly wait until she hits the teens!
Anyhoo back to why I started to post this comment… as I read and write this I am waiting for my kindle to arrive at my door step, it was supposed to be here tonight by 5pm… SO not here yet grrr. Hopefully tomorrow! and I am going to be getting your blog for sure sent to my Kindle, can`t wait!!
Trina
I love you.
I am so glad you have come and read and stayed to comment.
Feeling connected with you?
That’s the whole reason I do this blogging thing. Thank you so much for taking a moment to let me know how much you enjoy my words.
That means the world to me.
And your 11 year old daughter?
Hee hee!
She sounds very familiar.