“Are you socializing him?”

When I was a kid, I remember my mother getting off the phone with my grandma and remarking to my step-devil, “She is repeating her stories, again”.

At that age, I loved my grandmother’s stories. Over and over. I loved the way she talked to me about the same things. I had no idea why my mom was so irritated.

____

I don’t call my mom after 4:30. She is usually on her way to drunk after that time. I now know why my mom was irritated all those years ago. It’s because talking to an alcoholic is annoying. They hold onto one subject and find a way to say their piece every time a window opens. I know this because now, my mother does it to me.

“Are you socializing him”? My mother asks….. AGAIN. It’s almost drunk:30, and I am fucking sick of this conversation with her.

“Mom, seriously, he is fine. He is in basketball, and Lego Club. We just moved here, friends take time to make”. Please leave it alone.

“It’s a big deal”, she replies. I am so fucking pissed that she even questions my parenting given the obvious deficits in her own ability to mother me.

“Mom, you are going too far, I don’t keep him locked in a basement, we get out, we do stuff”.

She continues with her psyco-babble until I finally put my foot down. When I say finally, I mean we have had this damn conversation at least a dozen times since I moved here. Seriously. No joke. A dozen times. Conservatively.

“Mom, I can’t talk to you about this anymore, I am getting off the phone”.

“Alright bye”, she replies, words starting to slur.

Then she texts me: I LOVE YOU.

I give no reply. It is so condescending and coming on the heels of her tequila filled state, I can’t reply.  The next day, she texts the same, and a 31 year old woman, parent to two replies, “I love you too Mom, I will not discuss my children’s socialization with you again. I am doing a fine job of giving them what they need, If you can’t trust that and move on, there is not much else I can say”.

She texts back, “I’m sorry, you are the best Mom ,wish I were u”.

Yes, thanks for that mother, it’s four hours past drunk:30, that means a lot.

I made my kids smell my poop

Listen, sometimes mothers have to take drastic action, or the nuts will run the nuthouse.

Before going to the bathroom, I told my kids, “unless you are bleeding or dying, let me poop in peace”.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 in unison, “Okay Mom”.

Just as the grand finale was beginning, I hear in the other room, “No! Stop! It’s dark in here!” Then a series of thuds, bangs and yelling between my cherubs.

This is not the peaceful dump I had imagined. Drastic action must be taken, a precedent must be set so future poops will not be compromised.

“Get your butts in the bathroom, now”! I hollered. I hate sitting on the toilet longer than necessary. It isn’t comfortable, I don’t know how my husband can treat it like a day at the spa…. The kids open the door and immediately plug their noses.

“If you choose to be mean to each other while I am in the bathroom, I am going to call you in each and every time I poop, just so you can smell it. Be nice, or smell the funk”.

In unison, “Yes, Mom”.

Keep that in your back pocket, moms. You’re welcome.