Happy what day? TL;DR

TWO sentimental posts, back to back?! I must be going through a fucking difficult time. Or PMSing. It's hard to tell, what with the vagina and all.

I fucking hate mothers' day.

I was raised by a single father, for the most part. I do have an amazing step-mum, that I still (at 25 years old) have a somewhat difficult time getting along with. I also have an incredible grandmother, who spent so very much time and energy (along with Gramps) trying to raise me in a healthy manner.

But as for a mother, mine has always been wildly frustrating and horribly disappointing.

She tends to wear a pink veil of cheerful judgement. As a kid, I would be promised weekend visits, only to find myself waiting on the stairs by the front door, my Care Bears suitcase packed, for far too long. Time spent with her made me either feel like I was "in the know', and super important and special, or feel like a failure, or a monster, or an idiotic child. Either one, consistently, would have been preferable to feeling an odd, heartbreaking combination of both.

There were good times, on occasion. Don't get me wrong. I recall staying up late, watching her work out in full leotard to Richard Simmons' Sweatin' to the Oldies. I would try to to follow along, and we would end up tripping over one another, laughing our asses off.

She married one man, after my incredible, amazing father, and they lived in a shitty apartment outside of Atlanta. When I would visit her (as well as my brother, Kyle, and sister, Allie... both of whom she had with that particular husband) she and her husband would occasionally have work. They would leave us with a darling gay couple that lived across the hall. They would put on a VHS of Bebe's Kids, and chit chat about their lives to me, while Kyle and Allie wandered their apartment. They gave me a little, stainless steel sculpture of two stick figures sitting on a bench. It was weighted, so when you pushed it on the frame the stick figures would rock back and forth. They told me that one day it would be me and my beau, and I should look at it and always remember that that person was out there, waiting for me. I was maybe 7, and I still recall them saying those words to me anytime I look at it.

She married one man (one of several, I mean) who lived in a neighborhood that backed up to a HUGE horse farm. The horses had acres and acres and ACRES of land. The step-brother (though I don't think he was a legit step-brother... it always seemed complicated, and I never asked about it) and I would sneak through the hole in the fence, skirt around the pond/lake thing, and wander into the pasture to play with the horses. The horses would break out of the pasture, sometimes, and I remember waking up and looking out the window into the front yard to see beautiful beasts grazing there. Once, my sister Michelle and I went wandering in that field and got lost. We spent hours and hours to find our way home, and everyone was furious that we had been gone for so long.

Michelle and I got to know one another in that horrific household. She was the girl my mother had at 16, gave up for adoption, and then tracked down. Michelle was maybe 17 while living with our mother, and I was 11ish. I remember meeting Michelle, too. I was in the truck with my mother, who had just picked me up from Daddy's. She said, "You know how you always wanted an older brother or sister? Well, you have one. Her name is Michelle. We're going to see her right now." I was terrified. At her house, I recall there being those ridiculous goldfish with huge, wonky eyes, that seem to swim upside down. While our mother was chatting with Michelle's adoptive parents (who were really her father's parents) I went upstairs to her room. She made me feel comfortable, and gave me a stuffed leopard that roared when you pushed its chest. I still have that damn thing, too. It sits on my bed, along with other sentimental stuffedies that I've collected over the years.

I remember my mother moving in with another of her husbands. He had two boys, barely younger than me, and she had custody of Kyle and Allie. The four "children" would be kicked out of the house in the summer, and I would be left inside because I was the oldest. At night, she and I would stay up late, watching the lineup of Seinfeld, Friends, News Radio, and I love Lucy. Kyle or Al or both would eventually wander in, and all of us would lay around on the shitty fold out couch I had to sleep on, watching those classic sitcoms. During the days that the kids were allowed inside, we would have Super Mario tournaments. And when I, as the eldest, would be bored with that, I would walk across the street to Uncle Felton's house. In his backyard was a HUGE rock, and also the sweetest brindle boxer mix in the world. His name was Turner. He was chained to a giant tree 24/7, and I felt bad for him. So I would go sit on that giant rock, and just talk at him, and pet him, and love him. He eventually was killed during a thunderstorm, when lightning hit the tree he was chained to. I suppose there are worse ways for a chained dog to die, but I still mourn for poor, sweet Turner sometimes.

Being raised with two parents that are complete, polar opposites was really difficult for me. It was probably even more difficult for Daddy, and my step-mum Bec, and Grandpa and Gram (my dad's parents). They had to deal with me feeling unwanted by one of the two people on the planet that are supposed to want me no matter what. They had to deal with me hating them because they "weren't my mother", and then growing to love them because they weren't my mother. They had to deal with the emotional backlash caused from all of the abuse, and torment, and bullshit I experienced because of her and her horrible taste in men and her inability to think about things beyond the men she was fucking. I'm sorry, I mean "men she was buying drugs from"... no... "men she was living off of"... Hm. Well, anyway....

Despite what seems like a total pity party, I do have something positive to say. I want to thank the women in my life that have shown me that women don't have to be evil, vindictive, selfish bitches. For the record, there have been far too many women I have encountered that have tried to prove that all women are so horrific. But my step-mum, Bec; and my grandmother, Lorraine; and my Auntie, Beverly; and my boyfriend's DARLING mum, Caryn; and my best friend and sister, Ida; have all shown me that women can be gracious, and can be kind, and can be mothers without losing their sense of self.

I love you, ladies. Thank you for giving me everything in the world that I needed. And happy mothers' day.

<3

P.S. I also want to say happy mothers' day to Daddy. You played the role of two parents for far longer than any man should be asked to. I'm grateful for it. You raised a good kid (at least, I like to think so), and provided me with a stellar moral compass... you. Thank you. I love you.

-L