Everyday Uncommon

I Love My Mother, But…

I just realized how popular this phrase is.

I’m having one of those days, no it’s been a year of the same old shit. My mom drives me nuts about some things; she refuses to meet me halfway, to make minor adjustments, or at the very least take in and listen to what I’m saying.

I know there’s no statute of limitations for mothers worrying about their children. I get that. But to be perfectly honest, there’s the reasonable amount and then there’s irritating to the point where I feel my ears are steaming and my last nerve is about to pop.

Lately I’ve been failing miserably as a daughter. I lose patience and I shamefully, snap at my mom. I do of course try to explain my point calmly at first but…

I’m trying to make her understand that as grown women—and for my sister, a married grown woman—we’re okay, we can handle shit and she really ought to loosen up. She’s always been the type to worry for no reason at all but really, sometimes one has to learn how much is enough.

She pesters. That’s the word for it. I often feel like my sister’s personal assistant/keeper. I just wish she’d stop asking me about my sister’s plans for today, tomorrow, who she’s with, if she’s safe, what she’s doing, etc., etc. This is especially bad for me because my sister is often away.

We make it a point to call and reassure her about our plans especially when we’re traveling. We’re not inconsiderate; we know she worries. Unfortunately, it appears that this isn’t quite sufficient.

I guess I find this especially hard to take because for me it’s illogical and stupid. Case in point, my sister is currently in the East Coast; she’s been there for a couple of weeks through hurricane Sandy. I update my mom almost daily about my sister’s status because we’re in contact either on Facebook or via instant messaging. I let her know that my sister arrived to her destination and was safe. Naturally, my mom was already going through her “what ifs.” I actually had to respond to her at one point with “I’m here, she’s there, there really isn’t anything I can do about it.” Now, you can probably say that’s there’s no call for mockery or sarcasm; I would disagree.

I feel bad because I’m always the contrary daughter. I wish I could nod and agree and give her all the answers she wants but I can’t because I can’t wrap my head around it. It’s unreasonable. It disagrees with sense. It’s—say it with me—styoopid.

I’m sure this is coming off quite harsh. She hung up on me in the middle of this conversation. I’m pissed. That’s my excuse.


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