Mom-isms

          There is a supernatural phenomenon that occurs in every mother’s psyche that we are afraid to talk about for fear of being labeled a lunatic.  However, since misery loves company and there is safety in numbers, I’ll go first:  As soon as our children were born, my mother took up residence inside my brain; at least that part of my brain that controls my speech.

          I didn’t become alarmed after the first episode; I just chalked it up to a fluky coincidence.  Young Man had a sucker in his mouth and was running through the house.  I opened my mouth to deliver a new-millennium kind of speech about how inappropriate this was, but what came out was, “Don’t run with that sucker in your mouth or you’ll fall down and choke to death.”  As soon as the words were out, I whipped around fully expecting to see my mother.  Of course, she wasn’t there, even though those were HER words—the same ones I swore I would never say.

          The next time it happened, I was listening to Princess list what she wanted for Christmas.  One item in particular that was obscenely expensive I flat-out refused to even consider.  I was then treated to the full guilt trip, complete with basset-hound eyes and trembling lower lip accompanied by a howl of “So-and-so has one.”  Again, the contemporary response I meant to say was replaced by, “Well I’m not so-and-so’s mother, I’m your mother, and I said no.”  Now, I’m all for mother-daughter bonding, but this was having Mom a little too close.

          I brought the subject up to Captain, expecting a little sympathy for this terrible malady I was enduring.  He just said, “What do you expect?  You’re a mom…don’t ALL moms say that stuff?”  I don’t know, I never asked.  But I was sure no one else was suffering these symptoms.  After all, there was no support group for this disease.  I know, I looked it up in the phone book.

          I might have survived this psychic invasion by sheer willpower if Young Man hadn’t invited a friend over.  I was listing the things that needed to be cleaned out or picked up before his friend came over.  With one of those looks that only a child who is being punished with incredibly unintelligent parents can master, he said neither he nor his friend cared how the house looked. 

          An uneasy feeling crept over me as I recalled those words from my own childhood.  Afraid to open my mouth, knowing what I was going to say, I still tried to get rational words out.  However, my voice box and brain cells were once again commandeered by Mom.  Wincing, I heard the words, “Well I care what the house looks like, so do it.”

          Now I knew I was in trouble.  I sent the kids outside to play so I could sit down and think this through rationally.  And it came to me like a bolt of lightning. 

Those words have been spoken by moms for generations and will continue to be spoken for more generations.  My own mother had used those admonitions quite successfully to raise three children (myself included) into responsible, mature adults (myself not included).  She had set an example I should be honored to follow with my own children.  Beside, if I used these techniques on my own children, some day Princess would be having this same question of sanity going through her mind, and that would be more than worth my current anguish. 

          I gave in to a sudden impulse and yelled the most mom-like thing I could remember from my childhood.  “When all that fighting results in someone getting hurt, don’t come crying to me.”