I think we spend a lot of time as we grow up thinking of all the ways we don't want to be like our parents. All the ways we're going to do things differently. Better. I think that's just normal, even if you had the best Mom in the history of the world. Some of the best things I've done as a Mom, I learned from my own. Sure, there are things I've done differently, but then there are things that, even if I tried to avoid them, I've done exactly the same. It's like 1984 all over again. Minus the Forenza sweaters and tight rolled jeans.
When my brother and I were teenagers, there was a certain episode in our home that will forever be known as the Blue Chair tragedy. Otherwise known as The Day Mom Lost It. Let me give you the backstory first. My mother had been a single mom for a few years, left to raise two kids on her own. Two almost-teenagers ON HER OWN. God love her. But she had recently gone back to work and at the time of the Blue Chair tragedy, my brother and I were probably about 14 and 11. The way I remember it was, we had this big puffy armed blue recliner that "someone" had pushed all the way against the wall because "someone" had broken it in a way that the back of the recliner just flopped all the way to the ground unless it was pushed against a wall to hold it up. Which clearly was a great way to fix it because that wasn't weird or anything.
So one day Mom comes home after a long day at work and one of us (it's all foggy) was sitting in the propped up chair probably watching Good Times....which all by itself was usually enough to send her into next week. Mom was not a fan of JJ. Anyhoo...she asked why the chair was pushed all the way against the wall and of course, no one knew. At closer inspection she could see that the wall was the only thing holding up the back of the big blue chair. At that point there was screaming, yelling, overall craziness and I think I might have temporarily lost consciousness, waking up just in time to see my skinny little Mama with the little blond poof, in heels and everything, singlehandedly haul that ginormous recliner across the living room, out through the carport, past the burnt orange Oldsmobile Toronado and down the driveway to the street, yelling all the way something about how you can't have anything nice with kids. Craziness I tell you!
At least I thought it was crazy until I had kids of my own. I have my own blue chair meltdowns sometimes. Because it's true....you can't have anything nice with kids. That's why I don't have anything nice. But sometimes - dang it - the "snap" just rises and there's no containing it. Does it make me crazy? No way. I'm highly suspicious of any Mom who says she's never lost it. I had a Blue Chair episode just a few weeks ago when my youngest was playing a tin whistle and wouldn't stop. Until I freaked the heck out, grabbed it out of his mouth, and hurled it across the room.
Because....blue chair, people. Blue chair.
By the way, I am about to order a few of these t-shirts. And I'm sending one of them to my brother.
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