If you know me, you know that I didn’t have a Brady Bunch childhood. My mom didn’t bake, sew, or kiss and hug us to sleep at night. My mom was way more Roseanne than Carol Brady or my favorite TV momma, Maggie Malone from Growing Pains. I’m not much for over-sharing on my blog, but I feel like getting this off my chest today.
I have so much resentment for my parents that it’s hard to talk to them sometimes. My mom called me today and I couldn’t even answer the phone. We don’t fight anymore, and most of our conversations are totally pleasant. She loves Jackson a lot and has been nothing but loving to her first grandson. Maybe that’s what pisses me off so much. Where was that when I was growing up? I guess I just haven’t moved past the past. I don’t need to get into the gory details, but lately I have been reading all these great things about what bloggy mommas have learned from their mommas about how to be great mommas and I feel a little left out.
My parents divorced when I was a toddler and I rarely saw my father growing up. He blames it on my mom, but I think that if a parent really wants to play a role in their child’s life, they won’t stop trying. Ever. He’s been in and out, but it’s hard to feel a real connection with him because he lives in another country and neither of us enjoys where the other resides much. It’s a bummer he hasn’t seen his grandson, but I get it.
When I was little I used to pretend that I was adopted and I really belonged with an awesome family who had their sh*t together.
The coolest thing about being a grown-up is that I have the chance to keep my sh*t together for my kids. And I will. It’s the greatest lesson I have ever learned from my parents.
**Sorry for being the Debbie Downer tonight, but I feel like this is my little space and I will bitch if I want to (only occasionally though, I swear)**