Mother's day complicated

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1 year ago

In community: Parenting(c55d)

Topics: Thought, Writing, Life, Parenting, 2022, ...

It's mother's day, at least that is what it is today. Finally, I'm tired of doing all the work alone so I stay in bed longer because I know if I get out at 5 am I won't go back to bed. My life shouldn't look the way it is. At times I say it out loud to vent because I hate the fact I don't make it easier on myself.

"Why am I always busy," I asked the youngest a few days ago. The answer was that I am always busy and care about hygiene. Hygiene... Do I really care about this? Not everything is spic and span with me, I don't have the energy for it anymore but at the same time, I get cranky from the clutter around me. Clutter and hair. Not just cat hair but human hair as well. As soon as I get out of bed the work stares at me. The washing up, for example. I don't want to do the washing up and I don't understand why there are always so many. We use our cup all day long and our own spoon too. Where do the dishes always come from?

Today, I stay in bed longer simply because it's mother's day and I don't have the energy to get out. Getting up again, bah no. I watch a film in bed. It's not the best but it distracts me even though what I see makes me sad. The image I have of certain people is only confirmed by this film. How can that be? Shouldn't it be like this?

The children will manage on their own because the mother is no longer able to do so today. Do they not manage? Then that is bad luck for them. Taking care of yourself, even if it is with others under the same roof, is also part of becoming an adult. I don't know if my children will ever leave. The youngest is talking about it, the other doesn't know because he doesn't know where to go. The possibilities are not endless if your plans for the future have fallen through. Becoming rich was one of them, but becoming rich is relative. To be rich in spirit, to be happy, is more important than money in a bank that you cannot dispose of at your own will.

Today is my day because I can't take it anymore. I am watching a film where a mother is looking for her son. That son has just turned 18, so he is an adult and when you are an adult, you can do whatever you want.

"I didn't really know my son that well," says the mother of another son who died of an overdose. Was the overdose a coincidence or is something else going on? Do parents ever know their children, do children ever know their parents? Some of us, as parents, say what we think: it's too much for me, take care of yourself. I am not bringing in the laundry.

I stay in bed or crawl into it early in the evening just because I want to be alone for a while without standing on the standby, waiting for one of my children to need me. I don't always want to listen attentively or be the rescuing angel. I am not only a parent, and a mother but also a human being and I too have needs, although these have been pretty much slimmed down. Motherhood brings that with it. Eventually, you just want to be alone so you can go to the toilet in peace, wash up or brush your teeth.

"I didn't really know my son," said the mother of the deceased boy, "he thought it was a hotel here and I thought it was fine. I was too tired after the divorce to say anything about it, to have to start another discussion."

As a parent, you are often tired, especially when you also have to work.

The mother of the other boy works and is a doctor, but she has plenty of time to go and find her son. She also has the energy to go to a gym early in the morning to practice martial arts. I envy her but at the same time, I don't want to be here either. I don't want to be the mother who has to search the streets for her child. A son who is an adult and who does not hesitate to get you into trouble. This mother is beaten up by four or five men and many more women are beaten up and most of them are found dead. All mothers are beaten up by the same man. You wonder what kind of mother such a son has. Is this a DNA thing, is it typical teenage behaviour, is this what boys do with a group of friends? I don't recognise anything in what I see. My youth did not look like this. If hanging around, raping, taking drugs, and being drunk is normal then I certainly did not have a normal childhood.

The police in the film are disgusting, unfriendly, lazy, uninterested and no, I would not go there. They clearly show that they don't like it. Why search for a lost son, of course, the woman found among rubbish is a whore and if prescriptions are written for medicines that are sold, the doctor will have done it even if it is not her handwriting. What I see is all too brief, the story is riddled with prejudice, the self-righteousness of certain people (including the police) is repugnant and I wonder if the book on which this is based is just as terrible. I am certainly not going to read that book.

While this mother goes in search of her son and ends up going from one misery to another, she never seems to give up. At no point do I see any real emotion except for her bleating that she will always stand up for her child, and protect him.

I think that is brave and I don't know if I can do it. In fact, I should say that I cannot. I'm not the kind of mother who can forget herself forever and accept that a child lies to me, and cheats on me. I don't want to be cheated and lied to and I don't want to be robbed either. My love does not extend that far. This mother knows that her son is lying. At the end of the film, we hear that she also wonders how this dead friend could have gotten hold of her recipe book. The recipe book was in the safe in her bedroom. I am not such a nice mother and I would confront my son with that. Blaming a dead person for what you have done is not the right thing to do as a parent. For a moment I think... this may not be the product of parenting but the DNA of a rapist, who knows this boy may have the same bad habits as his father.

Out of bed, it's time to go to work. It may be my day, mother's day, but the animals have to eat and I also have to visit my plants. My plants are the seeds and the lettuce. The rest I save in the oven. With the beans, I have little luck this year. It won't sprout and I'm fed up with it, just like the carrots. What is an easy crop for one person, is clearly not for another. I only mow a bit of grass. Everything is already high again before I can start on a new piece. Slowly, I drag myself along. It's better not to think about anything, let alone what needs to be done. The washing is hanging outside, I haven't done it for a change.

By the time I have nearly finished, my child comes out to ask if he can take over mowing the lawn. Sighing, I drag some things aside and move the car before going inside.

In the kitchen, the youngest is practising baking biscuits and it's not going as planned. It all takes a very long time and when the biscuits are finally ready and out of the oven, they have failed. Tears: when I bake something, it always fails!

The chocolate mousse was good I think and say. I have never made chocolate mousse, I love it, but I am also tired of standing in the kitchen and doing the washing up afterwards. Today I don't want to make anything but the biscuits failed and I say: then try again, what are the ingredients?

I halve what is needed and take it like that. It doesn't count by the gram. The biscuits succeeded and my mood immediately perked up again. It is apparent that easy to cheer up a child, but for how much longer?

In the film, the mother looking for her son says: when they are little, you are their hero, you can do everything, later when they are bigger you are just a mother. I suspect that later, when they are older, they will go their own way and you will be that mother. A mother who is there in times of great need, when life is more complicated than the child expected, a child who suddenly remembers that mother is still alive and perhaps not as stupid and old-fashioned as said.