"Everyone else is doing it!"
"Stop it.. you're embarrassing me."
and the most used phrase to a mother....
"You just don't understand me!"
Pretty big statements to someone who brought you into this world, wouldn't you say? I've been thinking about my mother a lot lately, and how much she has done/does for me. I look back on my childhood and think how, and more importantly, WHY I talked to my mom the way I did. To be honest, I was a brat. If I didn't get my way, I'd cry and scream and pout until I did. And when I didn't, I would cry and scream and pout until I couldn't do it anymore. That was my toddler-10 years old stage of life. My poor mom endured all of that, on top of regular the stress of being a mother.
Then I got over that... and I hit my 'that's not my mom' stage of life.
The stage when I wouldn't want to be seen being dropped off by her.
The stage when I would get upset when she would dance in the kitchen while making dinner.
The stage when I didn't laugh at her stupid jokes, because I was way better and more 'mature' than that.
To sum it up, I thought I was as mature as 30 year old and I didn't need a mother.
Who was the one doing my laundry?
Who was the one making every single meal for me?
Who was the one waking me up for school?
Who was the one reminding me to do every single thing, including brushing my teeth?
YOU GUESSED IT....
In all reality, I was NOT as mature as a 30 year old... and I probably won't be that mature when I AM 30. But my mom dealt with it. She dealt with my whining, she dealt with me wanting to grow up too fast.
Which brings me to my next point...
Why is it that when we are young, all we want is to grow up. I feel like that applies with my childhood... a little too much. I was in kindergarten and listening to Brittney Spears. I was in first grade and wanted to be Ashley Olsen. Pop culture was my interest starting at 6 years old.
Little did I know that when I was 15 years old, I'd be willing to give anything to go back to those days.
The days when homework was coloring a picture of the first letter of your name, or tracing over dashed letters.
The days when girls were always nice to you, and told you that you looked cute every single day.
The days where you could run around in your underwear in your front yard and it was considered cute.
The days when boys had cooties, and they were never a concern. Because who would want a boy to like them? Yuck, right?!
The days when a scrape from the jungle gym was the end of the world, but just a band-aid fixed everything.
The days when you looked in the mirror and smiled about your toothless mouth, or pointed out your bruises to other kids, or played with the skin on your stomach.
There was no future.
It was all about the present.
No concerns, no worries, no stress about anything.
other than what color Snowie you would choose.
Back to the biggest and baddest comment ever given to a mom,
"You just don't understand me!"
The honest truth is, my mother probably understood me more than I did at that point... and probably still does. Mothers DO know best, no matter what anyone wants to say.
I've learned to appreciate the embarrassing dances my mom used to do, and still whips out on occasions.
I've learned to laugh at my mother's lame parent humor, no matter how stupid it is.
I've learned that I don't need to grow up as fast as I really want to, and that maybe I don't even WANT to grow up as fast as I thought I wanted to.
I've learned that I'd be nothing without my mother.
Mom, you're my everything. Thank you for putting up with my whining. My growing up too fast. My demands, needs, and wants (which really are way too demanding to be honest). My indecisive times when I was little. My dramatic nights when I cry, cry, cry, and cry some more about things that won't matter in 5 years.
Last, but not in one bit least, THANK YOU FOR UNDERSTANDING ME MORE THAN EVEN I DO.
You have it in writing, and are more than welcome to hold it against me on a stubborn day.