My Children Made me This Way

I realized the other day (when I am not being sappy, or having 6am epiphanies) that I don’t seem to look on the growing up of my children through  same thin veil of sadness that I see in many mothers. In many parents. Ok.. maybe it’s just the sort that I saw in my mother as I grew up..and even see in her now as she watches her grandchildren grow. It’s like reverse rose tinted glasses. They seem to have colored all the milestones and events with a hint of blue.

Now it’s not that I don’t  get a little weepy or nostalgic, just read my other posts..but more often than not I am as excited about the growing up as they are. Hell, sometimes more. I find myself looking forward to things that I see coming for them. Things  that are happening with and to them. And I remember my mom crying over the very same things. And that always confused me a little. Still does. So many of the the things I wanted her to be excited and laugh with me about she cried over.

fine print: Now the things I am about to use as example will likely have me sleeping with one eyes open as D will want to murder me for posting, but since she is the oldest she has a lot of the best examples of the sorts of things I mean right now.  And I hope my Mom sees this as insight and not criticism, as  it is not at all anything bad about her. It’s about diffrences. So you all best appreciate that I am putting my life at risk for your reading enjoyment. On to the examples…

For example, D had her first kiss this spring. Just that little cute lip to lip smooching sort of thing. My mother was dropping off the littler ones, D walked home with her boyfriend and as my mom pulled out of the drive way she caught sight of this very momentous first in her rear view mirror. I was in the house oblivious while I handed out string cheese and juice boxes and sorted through back packs.  D came in, pink cheeked and giggling, big blue eyes sparking while she told me with that look of uncertainty as to how I would react on her face. I grinned. How could I not?! The look on her face, that was priceless. She will never look like that again. No other kiss will do that to her.  In the moment I giggled with her, teased her a little, dubbed her Miss Smoochie, and listened. She knew my mom has seen and that embarrassed her, but I teased her through it. Oddly recounting it now has me tearing up..but in the moment, I was so excited for her.

My mom to her credit just pulled out of the driveway and went home and called me. I knew when I saw the name in caller ID what she likely had to say. And I knew when I answered she would be crying. Two points for me, I had it right.  There wasn’t really anything at all negative in what she had to say, or what she thought of it. It was just this prevailing melancholy about it, the same that I remember feeling as I started to do things that had me less dependent on my mom. Things that would mark my growing up to her. I did the same thing with her that I was doing with D then. I teased her, coaxed her out of tears. Teased D while we talked too and that them both get over it I think.

But the thing is, in the moment I am happy for them. I am thinking more about whats going on with them as they take that first step, have that first,  than it meaning they are growing up and away from me. I think for my mother it wasn’t that way. I think it was so much of both for her. Maybe one day I will go into detail about it, but suffice it to say I know her reasons and I don’t fault her for them, but it always made me feel a little guilty. Made me feel  like while I was having this amazing first I was also causing her some pretty amazing pain.

And while I do understand the reasons as I said, and I know she isn’t alone in those feelings or reactions however when I have my Monsters looking back at me for encouragement I don’t want that tinged with my melancholy. I can cry at 6am when I blog about it. In that moment I want them to know they can grow up without feeling like they are hurting me. I want them to know that they can always tell me stuff.  My moms reactions never stopped me from telling her stuff. Part my personality, part me knowing I could tell her even if she cried. But that doesn’t mean a lot of my memories are tinted blue with her reactions.

Personally, I am not a fan a blue. I like pink, so bring on the rose tinted glasses, all memories of growing up should be colored by them.