A Foolproof Way To Not Say Psycho Shit To Your Kids

Posted by Tiff in Momsanity, Uncategorized | 5 comments

There’s something about parenthood that I’m trying to keep hidden from my kids…which is, how terribly fucking crazy it makes me. I mean, being a mom has quite a few side effects…situational ADD (like when do I ever have time to focus on just one thing at a time?), terminal insomnia, and post traumatic stress syndrome (if people rush up behind me, I’m constantly afraid I’m about to get vomited on) to name a few. But insanity, the kind I suffer from, is the most alarming and pervasive because it springs out of the vast love I have for these 3 awesome human beings that have sprung from my loins. (Can I use that expression? Springing from loins seems more like what the dad’s do, technically speaking. I mean, yes, there is lots of springing forth from dad loins to make the babies, but not so much when it’s time to have the babies…)

Anyhoo…crazy train. Yes. Because of love. Yes yes. When I say love, I mean I’m constantly veering back and forth between two kinds.

The first kind is the kind of adoring, tender, sweet, humbling, tear inducing love that leads to finding enjoyment just watching your kids while they sleep and not even getting upset when they barf all over you or the car or the couch or the carpet instead of the tile that’s just a few steps away (again…hello PTSD!). It’s an unconditional feeling that doesn’t go away no matter how many times you get hit in the face with a matchbox car, or how many shitty diapers (and blowouts) you change, or the level of whine you hear on a daily basis. It’s rooted in the indispensable truth that nothing on earth was ever created with more awesomeness than your very own child. This kind of love I share as often and ongoing as I can. It’s like the sun and rain to a growing seed…nourishing and lovely.

But the other kind of love…not so much. It’s a little more…ominous. I say this because never did I understand why Lenny, in Mice and Men, would love something so much he would smother it to death….until I had kids. Sometimes when I’m hugging them and start thinking about how precious and valuable and awesome but most of all how fragile they are, they start squirming and tell me I’m holding on too tightly and I get this paranoia that I’m slowly turning into Lenny. If the first kind of love is rooted in awesome, this kind of love is rooted in fear. Fear of loss, abandonment, guilt. It’s tinged with greed, insecurity, entitlement, martyrdom and possession. It’s whiny, and not pretty at all. I wish it weren’t there, and this is what I try to keep to myself. Well, myself and the group of friends I have that are already familiar with this parental induced psycho love. And now, you!

It kinda works like this:

Kid: “I lost my tooth! My first tooth!”
Psycho Love Me (thinking): Oh. My. God. First your first tooth. Then braces. Then you’ll be off to college with your pretty smile and I’ll be left here still paying your orthodontist bills. While you’re having fun and NOT thanking me with phone calls every day…
Real Me: “This is so freaking exciting! Let’s put it under a pillow and hope the Tooth Fairy brings you some glitter and a bunch of quarters!”

Kid: “I can do it myself!”
Psycho Love Me (thinking): But, if you don’t need me here to do it for you, then what good am I? Do you know I gave up a good job and now have NO certifiable skills, and you think you’re gonna push me out of this job already?!
Real Me: “Yes you can! Mamma’s going over there to take a nap…let me know if you need help…”

Kid: “I’d rather go in my room/listen to my ipod/be by myself than hang out with you right now.”
Psycho Love Me (thinking): Are you saying I’m not cool? Because I’ll have you know I’m SO COOL. So freaking cool! I have, like, 300 friends on facebook! Because I’m so fun, and cool, and maybe if you took your earbuds out of your ears every once in a while you’d KNOW THAT…
Real Me: “Cool. I’ll let you know when we’re doing something fun or that you might be interested in!”

Kid: “Can we snuggle?”
Psycho Love Me (thinking): Of course we can. Because I’m the best. THE BEST! You will never in a million years find anyone who loves you more than I do or treats you better, I can guarantee you that!!!
Real Me: “Of course we can. I love being around you so much!”

Kid: sick and in bed, throwing up everywhere.
Psycho Love Me (thinking): I’m gonna clean up this mess and be at their beck and call for the next 48 hours and no one’s going to say thank you but I’ll do it anyway. I’ll do it and I won’t ask for anything in return even though for anyone else they would owe me BIG TIME.
Real Me: “I’m so sorry you don’t feel good. Call for me anytime. I’m a mom, it’s what I do!”

On the days when the real love shines I feel so calm, peaceful, connected and happy. On the days when the psycho love comes out I hit the bottle early and take a vow of silence. Usually, this occurs most often when my raging PMS makes an appearance so I find if I can nip it in the bud with an IV of white wine things go much better.

If you find that you also have these two forms of love pitching around your psyche, I have devised a foolproof way to keep from saying psycho shit to your kids. Are you ready? Here it is! Remember Kathy Bates in the movie Misery? The most freaktastically effed up story in the whole world? And because it’s so terribly terribly frighteningly scarring I’ve remembered most of the lines in that movie. Sometimes, especially now that I have pre/teens in the house, her dialogue veers eerily close to things I think in my head. For instance:

Annie Wilkes: Anything else I can get for you while I am in town? How about a tiny tape recorder, or how about a homemade pair of writing slippers?
Paul Sheldon: No, just the paper would be fine.
Annie Wilkes: Are you sure? Because if you want I can bring back the whole store for you!
Paul Sheldon: Annie, what’s the matter?
Annie Wilkes: WHAT’S THE MATTER? I will tell you “what’s the matter!” I go out of my way for you! I do everything to try and make you happy. I feed you, I clean you, I dress you, and what thanks do I get? “Oh, you bought the wrong paper, Annie, I can’t write on this paper, Annie!” Well, I’ll get your stupid paper but you just better start showing me a little appreciation around here, Mr. MAN!

So now I think about what I’m about to say to my kids, and if it’s something that doesn’t seem out of place for Annie Wilkes to say, then I just zip it. And have some wine. Then rethink, and then try again. I find this sufficiently keeps my kids calling me good ole non psycho “mom” instead of “mommy dearest”.

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