Oh No, She Didn't

Dear Fellow Patron of Moe Monday,

We have seen each other for a lot of Mondays in the past 3 years. I can understand how you would feel like we kind of know each other. I can also see how you would think that you have watched my child grow up. However, I can assure you, we do not know each other. You know nothing about us. Nothing. I don’t even think you know my daughter’s name and I intend to keep it that way because I think you’re a little cuckoo.

Tonight, when you walked past our table and stopped to chitchat about my precious girl, we were prepared to humor you as we always do. Except then you said something that just stunned me into a silent stupor. You said “She’s gotten so big and she’s really slimmed down. I almost didn’t recognize her.” Now, I can tell by the many, many times you have stopped to talk to us, that you are not—shall we say? From around here. So let me tell you a little something about being Southern since you have made yourself a transplant in my beloved South. Down here, we call that a backhanded compliment. And down here, we call the people who serve those backhanded compliments—well, we bless their hearts a lot to soften the blow of the terribly indecent  names we call those people .You should know that about us since you have allowed yourself to be lured here by the siren song of our manic depressive Mother Nature.

Now that it has been a few hours since our encounter, you would think I’ve thought of the things I wish I had said to you. But honestly, the only thing I can think is ‘fuck you.’ The loudest and heartiest of ‘fuck you’s.’ Horribly inappropriate, I know. If you ever say that shit in front of my kid again, I guarantee you I won’t be so composed. I may be so indignant that I forget to bless your heart before I drop the F bomb along with some other choice words that do not befit a proper lady. Fair warning, B.

Truly,

Mama

The Low Road

Dear Fifi,
Sometimes I get glimpses of the person I think you'll be one day. Sometimes it looks eerily familiar because you remind me so much of myself. I heard it said once by someone I don't remember "I've never taken a high road in my entire life." And I immediately thought 'Yes! Amen, sister! Me either!' I was only aware that such a thing existed because your Grammy had moments of lucidity where she wasn't batshit crazy or mean and she used those moments to try to teach me to be something different than I am. She wanted me to take the high road.

Every parent wishes for their child to be better than they were. I'm here to tell you that the low road isn't necessarily all bad. It is quite deliciously paved with Girl Scout Cookies that support Planned Parenthood and boxed wine, when you're old enough. All the road signs include the F bomb and the people you pass down there are aflame with spontaneity and passion for all the "wrong" things. But they are not your people. Your people are actually the High Road People. High road does not equal perfect. Anybody who thinks they're perfect is not on the high road. They're lost out in the woods somewhere and they keep warm with their judgements and their self righteousness.

The High Road People are the well meaning; the ones who don't always get it right but they try so hard. The ones who think before they do and the ones who apologize when they get it wrong. They keep you honest. They keep you from being consumed by all the Girl Scout cookies, the alcohol and all the lost causes. They keep you from spontaneously combusting from rage and indignation. But mostly, they love you for who you are, just like God does. They help you to keep your heart open to hearing God when He talks. Because God talks to us no matter what road we're on. He sees you no matter where you are. Don't listen to any of the Lost in the Woods people, who tell you that you need a different path to walk with God. He created the Universe- He isn't offended by the effing road signs.

The High Road People help you to know when its time to admit you were wrong and when its okay to stand behind your words. They are the only people you need. You don't need the people lost in the woods or the other people with you on the low road. The only thing you have to do is stay open, stay mostly sober and listen to your heart. The High Road People understand. They're the best kind of people.

Love forever,
Mama

Warrior

I posted the following on Facebook earlier this week: "In Target alone and not even about to cry bc I already used my tears this morning trying to get those damn drops in Finley's eyes. As we struggled and she kept screaming "No touch me, Mommy. Stop, Mommy. No drops, Mommy." I cried like an idiot bc sometimes motherhood is so effing hard and if she'd just stop fighting and lay still...but then I remembered that the name Finley means 'fair haired warrior' at least that's what the internet tells me and I thought 'Huh. For all the worrying I do about her being too kind and gentle or too sociopathic, she is a warrior and she's showing me that right now.' Then I dropped the little terrorist, I mean warrior, off at school where she practically skipped in and thought 'There goes my little fair haired warrior.' 

Everyday I pray for peace and contentment. Sometimes I get an extra surprise. Today it was perspective."

Fifi had pink eye so that's why we're struggling with eye drops. I've gotten perspective as an extra little gift from God quite often lately. That morning after I dropped her off at school and went to do the grocery shopping I had no tears left. 

Part of my gift was an extension of what I'd already received originally. The realization that my daughter is all of the endearing parts of me without all my baggage. She's kind and sensitive, she uses swear words with perfect intonation in exactly the right context. She doesn't see age, race, religion or class. She has a fighter's heart. Some of these are my inherent qualities. Some of them are things I have worked to become. Some of them I'm not that good at.

 My heart is so constantly split wide open that I can be simultaneously furious enough to rip the world a new one and cry lots of tears. The inability to hold back tears when you're livid is pretty inconvenient. It makes it difficult for people to hear the words when you're doing the ugly cry.

My daughter, on the other hand, posesses all of those qualities without any concious effort and she doesn't cry a lot. Very self assured and tough, that one. Whether its because I model them for her or because I have given birth to the most perfect female child, we'll never know. All I could think that morning was 'Dear God, I'll never understand how you thought I was good enough to guide her. How I will ever live up to the kind of mother she deserves? How will I nurture these traits I admire so much in her? How will I keep the world from stealing them from her with all its tragedy and injustice? Why did you choose me?'

He didn't answer directly. But I know He heard me like always because I got a message that morning that told me so. A friend said 'I get it. Motherhood is hard. I cried last night because my daughter was upset with me over brushing her teeth. I was so upset thinking about all the children who endure terrible things at the hands of parents who aren't loving or well meaning.' She told me I was doing it right. That I'm doing a great job. And there it was: affirmation. Right on time, as usual. Thank you, God. You have impeccable timing. But you already knew that, huh?