I never had to get to know my first mom. That was all done for me. I met her as a baby, and she took it from there. But 41 years later, I had to get to know my birth mom, and that process was a lot different. She didn’t have the advantage of nursing me through midnight feedings, soothing my teething gums or changing thousands of diapers. But this week I gave her a chance to kiss a big boo-boo, and I’m glad I did.
Two weeks ago, I had knee surgery. My husband, Matt, cared for me the first five days, then my birth mother, Yvonne, flew in from New York to take over. Her timing was good, because after five days with the kids, and no help from me, my husband was just pretending to be sane.
I didn’t think we’d survive it. I didn’t think we’d survive it, but we did. What’s more, I thought no good could come of it, but I think that maybe some did.
Last week I had knee surgery, and my husband, Matt, stayed home to take care of the kids and me. I did not expect it to go well. For one thing, he had to work at home, and he hates doing that, unless there’s a “matinee” involved, and this time, that was out of the question. His computer runs slower with remote access and he’s constantly banging on it and yelling at it and saying, “Come ON, computer!” and, “I did not do that!” when we all know the computer is not capable of acting on its own volition and he damn well DID do that. Mostly his behavior just seeds a negative cloud over the whole house and makes being at home with him quite unpleasant.
This Valentine’s Day, my heart goes out to everyone whose love went unrequited – once or many, many times, as it did for me. I wonder what would have happened if I’d gone out with the guys who liked me and not spent all my time liking guys who didn’t. I thought I was discriminating. Some people will go out with anyone. I once had a friend who would go out with any guy who asked her. She even dated her own roommate. While I wouldn’t have wanted to be like her, I think “discriminating” was really detrimental.
When I think about TV influencing my children, I think about Rose seeing objectified, emaciated, air-brushed women and thinking she should look like them. I do not think that, while watching “Suburgatory,” Rose will learn new vocabulary, but she does.
This week, when I went to pick Rose up from preschool, Rose’s teacher took me aside to say that Rose got a time-out for calling her friend a “biotch.” She assured me that the friend didn’t hear Rose correctly and thus didn’t get upset or worse, learn the word from Rose. I told her teacher that Rose learned the word from TV and we’ve been trying to stop her from using it. Her teacher told her that they don’t use that word in preschool. I said the same thing in the car, and added, “Your friend’s moms won’t want you to come over for playdates if you talk that way.” The next day in school, Rose said “biotch” again for another time-out.