Mother

i have already written one for mother.... nearly six years ago. funny thing is, i am now a mother myself. and i often wonder to myself, am i doing any better of a job of it than my mother did? it's hard to find patience and love when someone three feet tall is hitting you and screaming at you.

My mother is the most annoying person in the world. I purposely moved close to a thousand miles away from her after I graduated high school just to get away from her. She is relentless in her constant nagging about everything I do, say, and wear.

I am 33 years old now, mom. I dress the way I do because I like dark clothes and metal bands. I shave my head in weird ways because it is what I like and my beard is long because I want it that way. I keep weird things hanging around my home because it pleases me to look at them. I like to hang out at the house and not do anything because it is all I have to do. No, there are NO jobs out there to be had right now, so get off my back.

You wonder how I got all of the things that I have? This is 33 years of accumulation. Why do you care? You're 53 now, how much shit do you have, mom? How did you get all your stuff? You're the one who has five vehicles in your back yard that don't run. You're the one with your fancy home and five dogs and big screen TV and crap. Why do you constantly ask me about where I get my things? So I have alot of video games. So I have alot of comic books. So I have alot of guitars. Why do you feel the need to nag me about how much stuff I have? Are you jealous? Are you worried about dying with less stuff than I have?

I love my mother. Don't get me wrong. I really do. She has this rare neurological disease that causes her to have problems doing...well...everything. She is just a shell of her former self. She has problems getting around anywhere. She can barely walk without me helping her around. She can barely hold a glass to drink. She can't even open the car door, or any door for that matter, by herself anymore. I hate seeing her like that.

It grinds me, though, that she still nags on everything I do and say and wear. I just want her to stop. Really really really really really really really want her to stop.

Please don't call me "mama". I know you're just learning words I know you don't really know what that one means, but, Just don't. I'm not your mama

If I was your mother, you'd learn respect You would learn, and grow, and read Not sit in your room and watch TV.

You'd get older, and you'd help others You would listen when people talked And you would take from them any knowledge you could

If I was your mother, you'd play outside We would run barefoot in the fresh grass Grunt up wiggly worms to put in the compost

You'd hunt bugs, and you'd climb trees You would have dirt on your little hands And when you fall, I'd pick you up and bandage your knee

If I was your mother, you wouldn't tattle You would happily share any toy you had And if you didn't, we'd talk it out and not throw fits

You'd want to help, to lend a hand You would care for all creatures And when you were mean, you would know it was wrong

If I was your mother, you'd dream You would know you could do anything You wouldn't be afraid to fall

You'd try new things, not hesitate You would know I was there to help you up And if you were tired of trying, we would take a break Together.

But I'm not your mother. I am not anyone's mama. So, please... Just don't.

always a source of confusion to me, my mother has nonetheless played an important part in shaping me, her daughter. when i was younger, she suffered from severe depression and took it out on her three children and husband. this lasted until i was around thirteen, when she began to get "better". i have almost forgotten how she acted between my ages of 6-12, but my siblings, one two years older and one four years older, have better memories of her worst days. i suppose they always shielded me from her words when possible, being as i was the baby. we have all forgiven her in our own ways, and now our family can almost function normally (maybe because all of us children have moved out - me at sixteen, my brother at eighteen, and my sister at seventeen or because five years have passed since the bad days). i have almost forgotten how terrible she was.

but i think whenever my sister looks at her she knows what words the mouth smiling at her now once spoke.

when us three children actually talk to each other we always bring up our mother, wonder at her.

I remember my mother always being protective of me, in a way. She wouldn't stand for anyone picking on me when I was little, and would intervene whenever she could. I never understood how she could personally be so mean to me and be so offended when someone else hurt me just as badly.