The Thing About Moms.

I don't know if you know this, but I am great with moms. Seriously! My whole life moms have loved me like no one's business. If I dated their sons, they wanted me to be thier daughter in law. If I was friends with their daughters, they wanted ME to be their daughter instead. And I have no idea why because I've never had that same luck with my own.

Strangely enough my absolute favorite teacher in the entire world looks so much like my mom that they have often been mistaken for one another. I distinctly remember having to do double takes occasionally in class. Now, I would have loved, her reguardless of how she looked just for her vitality, positive spirit, and joy, but I cannot express the feelings that washed over me everytime I was given praise for even the smallest thing. Even now, as an adult, I still well up with tears when she showers me with encouragment and praise. Why? Because she is way more generous with it than her doppleganger has ever been. (There were actually times in high school when I would pretend it had been my mom that said those things instead of just me teacher.)

Don't get my wrong, she loves and all that, but I'm still willing to place odds that if she got to go back and choose that daughter she'd want...it really woudn't be me. (Truthfully, it'd be a boy. Yes, as a matter of fact I do know that is true, thank you. I was told.)  The thing is she is just very fugal with her praise and positive encouragement. She tends to say the first thing that pops into her head, which is often a bit harsh. But she is unaware of it.

However, I have just never understood why I am unable to even name the number of mom-type people in my life that think I am beyond wonderful and hav no problem telling me so and my own only finds fault with every.single.thing.I.do.or.try.or.am.

I often tought that maybe it's just the way the whole mother/dughter dynamic jsut worked, but I'm not like that with Cait. I cannot even count the number of times a day I tell her how beautiful she is or how smart she is, or how proud I am of her. Now this could be me overcomensationg, but I don't think so. I really and truely, to the bottom of my soul, believe everything I tell her. Maybe I'm just not afraid to tell her.  Maybe I'm just unafraid to release control just a smidge and allow for imperfections to show and accept they exist.

But here I am, just as I was as a kid, hiding my hurt feelings behind a smile to placate and keep the status quo. (And God knows when I mention those feelings it's somehow my fault for feeling that like anyway because I'm way too sensitive.)  Does she get mad and fraustrated with me? Yep. Does she talk to me the same way she ever has? Yep. Do I say anything about it? Not enough to make a difference because I promised Pop I wouldn't.  However, where at first I was afraid that in her frustration with me and the kids she'd eventually force me to leave so she could regain her "space," I know that is one fight my Pop would absolutly fight for me.

The funny thing is...when I do leave she'll cry and be sad and miss us. Too bad she can't channel future feelings into her current ones and not take us (me) for granted while we are here.