Warning: this is a very personal post...because what else is social media good for, if not sharing too much of our business with the world?
It is 9 pm on Christmas Eve...hubby is at work, so we will do the majority of our celebrating after the new year. I've had dinner and chocolates with the boys and the little one has gone off to bed. Santa will bring one gift each for them to open tomorrow morning...we will save the rest to open when daddy gets home. I'm sitting outside, doing a lot of wishing over a hot cup of coffee.
I had an interesting conversation with a very close friend today. She and I have always joked about wanting the "Norman Rockwell" life. We all have trials, some more than others it seems. We all have sicknesses. Drama. Pain in the ass relatives. Sometimes you just look at those Norman Rockwell paintings and wonder why life couldn't be that simple, that "clean".
My mother and I were like oil and water my entire life. I loved her and I know she loved me, but we could never get along for more than a few minutes at a time. I spent the majority of my life wishing that things could be different, that we could have a "normal" relationship. She was very, very sick and miserable at the end, and it was almost a relief when she died, just to know that she was finally pain free and at peace. But it was also the death of an opportunity. The opportunity for that normal relationship died also.
Christmas was her favorite holiday. Christmas in Dixie was her favorite Christmas song. I think I have heard it every time I get in the vehicle for the past two weeks. It hits me like a ton of bricks every single time.
Something hit me today about those Norman Rockwell paintings...they are kind of like those carefully crafted Facebook posts you see so much of in your feed these days. You know the ones...the ones that reek of desperately trying to convince the world that life is perfect. They aren't real. No one's life is perfect. And no relationship is perfect.
I felt perfectly justified in every stand I took against my mother. Most of the time it felt like self preservation, to be honest. I still won't say I was wrong in my actions. But I will say that I wish I had been more tolerant. More tolerant of her life experiences and how she got where she was and why she was the way she was. I wish I had been able to love more, even when I was feeling hurt. To love harder when I didn't feel very loved. To realize that our relationship didn't have to be a Norman Rockwell relationship.
She came to my house every year to make candy. And she was usually here about 3.5 minutes before she started criticizing my decor or my cleaning habits or my parenting. I don't know how I could've handled that differently, but I wish I would have considered it, instead of just being pissed off and ready for her to leave.
We have had a lovely Christmas season...a fantastic family party, candy making with the kids, looking at lights, making ornaments...no rush and no frenzy for the first time in ages. But I sure would give a lot for one more terrible candy making session with my mom.
Merry Christmas, love y'all!
