Be Careful What You Wish For

I’ve said recently that I wish my daughter would just move away so I could breathe. She’s been talking about moving out of state for a very long time, but she decided to just do it. Not think too much, just go. Like within the month. She’s plotting and planning, updating her resume and applying for jobs, researching neighborhoods and applying for rentals, and planning when she’s going to give her notice at work.

All of a sudden I’m sick to my stomach and nervous from worry. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for it. I think she’ll grow up a lot and will finally be out of here, a place she has despised for as long as I can remember, and the place where she’s had all her troubles. I realize (and I hope she does) that she’ll bring her whole self with her—attitude, strengths and weaknesses, gifts and problems.

Thoughts, Feelings, Words, Blessings, Colonics

Have to write something or I’ll burst. It’s just amazing how things change from day to day. Yesterday I had a jumble of emotions and could hardly keep them in check. Thank heaven I had colonics yesterday, or it all would’ve been backed up to my ribcage.

Speaking of colonics, I do have a problem with my system (stress, medication, age, genetics, stress, stress, anxiety, stress) so every once in a while I get cleaned out. I skipped a few years but recently found the new location of “my lady.” The route there takes me past my daughter’s apartment complex so I kind of eyeball it as I drive by. Yesterday, smack in the middle of the day—a workday—I saw her car parked there. (Don’t judge me for being out at this time of day; it was my lunch hour.) I immediately jumped to conclusions when I saw it—she was fired, she quit, she was in her place high as a kite, she was face-down dead from suicide or an overdose. What I’m saying is, I freaked. Remember my history with this daughter . . .

Thinking the Worst Again

Yesterday was a letter day; today is a journal day. I’m feeling so many feelings over my formerly troubled teen—and now confounding adult—daughter. I need to express those feelings or I’ll cry and one of my coworkers will ask me what’s wrong and I’ll be embarrassed and my makeup will run and I’ll want to go home and I’ll get none of my work done and I’ll lose my job and I won’t be able to shop at Ross Dress for Less anytime I damn well please. Don’t be surprised if this post is a bit wonky and all over the place.

So back to my feelings. Between you and me, anonymous reader and/or just my journal post, I kind of deep down wish she would find a job in another state and be on her own and leave me be. Maybe call me once a month to tell me how great she’s doing, but not ask for anything and not have to be relied on to come through for me. There are days when I just can’t take it anymore and I have to pretend everything’s great. I don’t tell my husband these feelings because he would think I’m just joking or not the woman he married. I feel guilty, but it’s the honest truth. I have a hunch I’m not alone in wishing my problems (read: my daughter’s problems) would just disappear. I love her so much; I just don’t really like her sometimes. I would never choose her as a friend in real life.

Cut the Crap Already; Your Mother Is Losing It

I’m ready to write a Dear John letter to both my children. I'm just so frustrated and over these incessant complaints. They’re 23 and 25 and acting like spoiled children. After all THEY put ME through! They want to be happy, they have dreams, they shouldn’t have to work like this, they shouldn’t have to do what they’re doing just to pay the bills . . . Man, shut the eff up. I’m 54, and have worked since I was 14. I want to be happy, I have dreams, I shouldn’t have to work like this just to loan them money when they’re short!

I’ve know been a solid role model of being a warrior mother, working at my career (sometimes working two or three jobs at one time) to the point of actually making a living. I was in my 20s once--paid my dues; truly worked long, hard hours; and sometimes cried all the way to the door of my workplace. But I pushed through and stayed with companies for years at a time. I would’ve loved to have quit, but that’s not an option. What’s given my kids the idea that quitting because they don’t feel like doing it is an option?? Naturally, it’s my fault. I must’ve given them the wrong message about having a strong work ethic?

So my letter will go like this (if I dare to send it):

Dear children,