We’ll call this entry a short memoir or glimpse into my childhood and a longer thank you note to the woman that raised me. She deserves all the pedicures and ice cream in the world.
For those of you who know me well, you know that I am resourceful, perserverent and I should have been diagnosed a long, long time ago with ADD, anxiety and probably a low dose pill as a preemptive strike for a mood disorder- not because I have one, but because genetics are not in my favor. This is not my mother’s fault, but she gave birth to me so she’s been dealing with the consequences ever since.
I wasn’t born resourceful. This is more of a case of nurture superseding nature. If I had it my way I’d be living life via trust fund, sleeping ten hours a night in rolling around in a Matte-painted Range Rover like the Kardashian I am at heart. But I was born into a family that more often than not believed in teaching children things the hard way. Examples include, but are not limited to: My parents would not let me have my own phone line in my bedroom to chat with my boyfriends in Junior High (this was pre-braces, so I was a hot commodity, they truly stunted my growth here), my parents would not let me “have beer at home where it’s safe” (until I was 26), my parents would not let me pierce my belly button, participate in chat rooms, wear eyeliner until I was in late high school, listen to Alanis Morrisette (it was an angst phase, don’t judge), watch Ren and Stimpy/ Bevis and Butthead or have cable TV in my room so that I could watch ER without the interruption of my then very uncool sister who was interested in SpongeBob.
I had to make things happen on my own. My strategy was to either find a way, or to wear people down so much that they had to give in. I had a constant inventory of our household goods and would plot to use them when my parents left me home alone. It wasn’t long before I hid my 10″ TV in my Barbie house and ran a cable from the game room to Barbie and Ken’s while my parents were at work. They were too tired to take it down, and I used a staple gun, anyways. I began using our dial up so much to maintain my AOL AIM social life that my parents were forced to invest in another phone line in order to ever actually receive any phone calls for themselves. I proceeded to also run a cord for that phone line to my room, and decorated my phone with a hot glue gun and buttons/ gems so that they’d be too embarrassed to ever take the phone away from me and use it for themselves. After a bad experience with a Sharpie pen for eye liner, I gave up on that battle for a while. I made a poster for my case as to why I should own the Alanis CD and taped it to my bedroom door for my parents to see every time they came down the hall way. I won. But then I had the volume on 10,000 when Alanis said, “do you f*ck her in the middle of dinner,” and I was 13 and I lost again (fun while it lasted). I took partners on the belly button thing, but considered my future pregnancy body at a young age and decided I wouldn’t want it to be tarnished with a hole in my belly. I was a pre-puebecent, George Clooney (On ER, duh) watchin’ machine with an AIM screen name to boot: LINDSEYSWIMSFAST (in all caps).
My mother has worked for the last twenty some odd years trying to normalize me and keep me on the right track. And for that I am grateful.
This has translated in more ways than one to my adult life. I’m now an overly prepared fanatic and I torture my friends and family (but mostly myself) with a need for calculated risk only. I am tested constantly and this is why someone should prescribe me a cocktail of medications for conditions I’m pretty sure I have.
I spent my first 18 years giving my mother grey hair. I protested bedtimes, curfews, red meat, cars with out air-conditioning, socks with out ruffles, jeans (for about eight years), my sister, and having to ride the bus to high school. I made everything a fight, wore my shorts too short, and insisted she help me move every year for at least the first seven years after I moved out of her house. I went through an Abercrombie phase, a vintage phase, a purple eye shadow phase and a dreadful short stint with character-tee’s.
It wasn’t until this Mother’s Day, now that my sister had a nugget baby of her own, that I felt the need to say thank you to my mother for everything she’s had to deal with with me for the last twenty-some-odd- years.
A glimpse at the valuable lessons from my mother:
- First and foremost I’d like to say thanks to my mom and Santa for putting fruit in our stockings each year. I know I bitched about this because I made habit of sucking down Pixie Stix like water, but in retrospect here I am nearly 30 with all my teeth intact. It also wasn’t until I was in my early 20’s that I learned you and dad sold your stock in Krispy Kreme in order to pay for my braces. And no, the irony does not escape me. Oh, and again I am sorry for that loss. Pretty sure that was a bad financial move in hindsight.
- Wearing matching clothes with your sister is not the end of the world. Although it may feel like it. I think its how she spotted us in crowds and I think it appeased my grandmother. I protested every bit of it and for that I am sorry.
- She taught me that sticky boobs are not worth it. Go all-natural. Its impossible to keep sticky boobs stuck when there’s 100% humidity. I learned this the hard way at the Senior Prom, but my mom was there for me with a travel sewing kit. She also accepted me for my lifeguard tan and choice in 90’s up-do’s.
WHY???
- She taught me not to over-tweeze your eyebrows. Or you’ll be penciling them in for the rest of your life and, according to Lena Dunham, “Bad eyebrows are like a bad hand shake but worse because they’re on your face.”
- Everyone has to learn about the Easter Bunny, Santa and the Tooth Fairy the hard way. It was when my sister and I put Jesus Christ in their “crew” that I think my parents just stopped having them show up on holidays. #wewereconfused
- She taught me that vaccinations were valuable. Infact, when we didn’t get the Chickenpox, she filled a plastic pool up with warm soapy water and threw us in there with our neighbors who did have Chickenpox. Getting your kids sick at the same time on purpose isn’t irresponsible- its productive. #killtwobirdswithonestone
- Everyone needs a knife. Just don’t put it in your carry on bag (been there, done that). Your father wasn’t’ lying when he said everyone is trying to take advantage of a girl. I could look like Shrek and this would still be true.
- If you’re not bleeding, throwing up, or dead, do not interrupt an adult conversation. This was manners 101 at the Wheeler house. I’ve graduated, but it was a tough first 18 years of slanted glances and “hushing.”
- She taught me that everyone grows into their feet, ears, boobs, noses and butt. I am 50% of the way there.
- “Clean your plate” at your mother’s house means you better eat every last bit and say how happy you are about it. But, “clean your plate” at your grandmother’s house means “give some of that gross shit to the dog when Grandma’s not looking.” See below:
NOT AMUSED
- You can apply for college with dial up internet. Patience is a virtue. “It’s not going to be easy but you’ll survive.”
- You can never have too many Christmas lights, shoes & handbags, puppies, vegetables on your plate; and you can never use too much bleach or vinegar to solve a problem. Do everything you can to avoid ironing. Salt makes you swell. Beach trips cure all.
- If you’ve ever done me wrong, my mom knows, and you should know she doesn’t like you.
- Pack snacks. You never know when you’ll need a little Chex Mix to hold you over.
- When it comes to hotels: two stars is no where close to the quality of three stars, and three stars is no where close to four. Never stay in a one, and always try to sweet talk your way into a five. And don’t stay in a place where shower shoes are required.
- If you have a bad feeling about someone, run. People who are overly polite get their purse stolen, or their “purse stolen.” I’m trying to get better at this.
- Recycle everything, pay it forward, and go to church.
- Part of being the oldest means sharing your birthday with everyone else. Deal with it, you never had to wear hand-me-down’s.
She knew I needed a crown.
In all, I’d like to say ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you’ to my mom a million times over. My sister and I gave her hell sometimes. And I look forward to the next 18 years of this perfect muffin child returning the favor for my sister. Happy Mother’s day to the best lady I know. If I grow up to be half as great as you are, I’d consider myself lucky!
Most beautiful grandma ever!
lindseyeverafter 