To: realmom@stake.out
Is there a law in most states, against marrying—like the one against cousins marrying to avoid birth defects—if your mother has been declared hopelessly incompetent and forgetful? Is that possible? I’m really worrying about this one and I need reassurance. Write back... now! Again, desperately seeking… Terina
On-demand therapists are what my friends, family and even total strangers have become. Anyone who ventures within hearing must listen to my newest foul-up. It’s become the job of those around me—even sometimes the unsuspecting bystander—to pick up the pieces, put me back together and set me back on track to continue with life.
To me,
Today’s goof happened when I was at a daughter function and another young lady came up to me and in a whisper, reminded me that I was responsible that day for my daughter’s spotlight in her young women’s group.
“…just a short letter from you and her father telling her how great she is and then another note with cute anecdotes, so we can get to know her better and guess her identity...”
I hear water running. Back in a few, T.
Most instant-psychotherapists, when faced with this dilemma, reassure me by relating stories of their own to halt the self- flagellation and try to make me feel better. It’s a weak, “I’m-as-whacked-as-you-are,” assurance, because no one could ever top me. They attempt to reassure me that today’s blunder is understandable and “should expected from a person so busy and so involved.”
Could it be that I subconsciously seek out fruits and nuts of my same genus to reassure me that I’m not the only split pea in the pod,[1] and to inveigle myself into their lives to see how they cracked they are?[2]
To me:
This young girl had called ahead and warned me two weeks previously and I had immediately placed it in my mental memory, under the main folder, titled Forget!
Twice more in a three-hour period I was reminded and twice more I forgot. I could take two pages to explain how muddled a mélange my mind is, but suffice it to say, I was thinking about other things. Later, T.
I’m trying to identify with unique individuals to appreciate their eccentricities and assure myself that I’m just like them…well, in an individual way, and they are just like me… well in a communal way. But most importantly, I want to reach the point where we get to know each other so well that we like each other.[3]
To me,
So I end up at the youth meeting, in front of twenty young women hiding my blushing face behind a too-small sheet of paper while the spot-lighter explained that she would highlight this girl, but it was impossible because her mother was not forthcoming with the information.
The group unanimously guessed who the girl was. My reputation precedes me. Blushing, T.
I must face it; no individual is as oddball as I am, so I have to learn to appreciate me. When I do, that means others are forced by the dictates of polite society to reciprocate in kind, right? Yeah! We do all fit in.[4]
To realmom@stake.out
Hey, family, so I’m just wondering if sweet innocent girls with flaky mothers are allowed to wed if there is no possible way the mother of the bride can be that organized? I promise I’ll remember all the little details, but probably not the big ones.
My daughter reassures me that on the way to the wedding, she will call me an hour before the ceremony and remind me that the groom will be by to pick me up. And not to worry, she will have my dress. Whew! Terina
Reality bite: No, it’s not fair for my children to be saddled with me, but I remind them, “That’s Life, It’s not fair. You can choose your friends, but not your mother.”[5]
[1] Reality television helps
[2]Validation.
[3] If that’s too deep, or just plain confusing, skip it.
[4] An issue left over from the teen years.
[5]I mangled this one personally.
Is there a law in most states, against marrying—like the one against cousins marrying to avoid birth defects—if your mother has been declared hopelessly incompetent and forgetful? Is that possible? I’m really worrying about this one and I need reassurance. Write back... now! Again, desperately seeking… Terina
On-demand therapists are what my friends, family and even total strangers have become. Anyone who ventures within hearing must listen to my newest foul-up. It’s become the job of those around me—even sometimes the unsuspecting bystander—to pick up the pieces, put me back together and set me back on track to continue with life.
To me,
Today’s goof happened when I was at a daughter function and another young lady came up to me and in a whisper, reminded me that I was responsible that day for my daughter’s spotlight in her young women’s group.
“…just a short letter from you and her father telling her how great she is and then another note with cute anecdotes, so we can get to know her better and guess her identity...”
I hear water running. Back in a few, T.
Most instant-psychotherapists, when faced with this dilemma, reassure me by relating stories of their own to halt the self- flagellation and try to make me feel better. It’s a weak, “I’m-as-whacked-as-you-are,” assurance, because no one could ever top me. They attempt to reassure me that today’s blunder is understandable and “should expected from a person so busy and so involved.”
Could it be that I subconsciously seek out fruits and nuts of my same genus to reassure me that I’m not the only split pea in the pod,[1] and to inveigle myself into their lives to see how they cracked they are?[2]
To me:
This young girl had called ahead and warned me two weeks previously and I had immediately placed it in my mental memory, under the main folder, titled Forget!
Twice more in a three-hour period I was reminded and twice more I forgot. I could take two pages to explain how muddled a mélange my mind is, but suffice it to say, I was thinking about other things. Later, T.
I’m trying to identify with unique individuals to appreciate their eccentricities and assure myself that I’m just like them…well, in an individual way, and they are just like me… well in a communal way. But most importantly, I want to reach the point where we get to know each other so well that we like each other.[3]
To me,
So I end up at the youth meeting, in front of twenty young women hiding my blushing face behind a too-small sheet of paper while the spot-lighter explained that she would highlight this girl, but it was impossible because her mother was not forthcoming with the information.
The group unanimously guessed who the girl was. My reputation precedes me. Blushing, T.
I must face it; no individual is as oddball as I am, so I have to learn to appreciate me. When I do, that means others are forced by the dictates of polite society to reciprocate in kind, right? Yeah! We do all fit in.[4]
To realmom@stake.out
Hey, family, so I’m just wondering if sweet innocent girls with flaky mothers are allowed to wed if there is no possible way the mother of the bride can be that organized? I promise I’ll remember all the little details, but probably not the big ones.
My daughter reassures me that on the way to the wedding, she will call me an hour before the ceremony and remind me that the groom will be by to pick me up. And not to worry, she will have my dress. Whew! Terina
Reality bite: No, it’s not fair for my children to be saddled with me, but I remind them, “That’s Life, It’s not fair. You can choose your friends, but not your mother.”[5]
[1] Reality television helps
[2]Validation.
[3] If that’s too deep, or just plain confusing, skip it.
[4] An issue left over from the teen years.
[5]I mangled this one personally.
