For the past few days I've been on a total shame spiral. All these misdeeds that must have caused my angel mother much consternation/aggravation/fury/anxiety/eye-rolling have been surfacing in my thoughts I've been thinking and I want to go back in time as an adult and give my smallish self a swat on the bum!
Like that time I got home from school in 2nd grade. My mom was in the white-don't-touch-anything living room, having a meeting with someone for church responsibilities. I was bored. And where was my after-school snack? I went up to the room I shared at the time with 1-year-old Cameron. He was riding the R.E.M. cycle of his afternoon nap. I saw a solution to my boredom -- perhaps if I woke up Cameron he would be happy to see me and do something cute. After the ungraceful extrication of my tank-like brother from his crib and slumber, he was a crank and my mom was -- shockingly -- mad at me for waking him up. I didn't see what the big deal was and remember thinking, "He was going to wake up eventually anyway." Bad, Merzy. Bad, bad Merzy. If I were my mom I would have withheld dessert for the next 3 years and made me clock 290 hours of backscratching. All I got was a scolding.
Or the time I spilled bronze puffy paint on the carpet by the TV cabinet as I painted it on my socks willy nilly, and then lied about it for hours. ???? and !!!!!!
I keep texting my mom apologies for these shameful memories, and she makes it worse by saying I was charming and lovable and she never could stay mad at me for long, because I was a good girl.
Let's grind some more horror into this mess, shall we?
She always wanted me to learn to sew. I did -- sort of, and on an as-needed basis. For random projects like a baby blanket for my Beehive advisor, or I'd help her hem a dress, etc. I never did it consistently enough for much to stick, and I really wasn't interested. She always told me I'd be glad to know. Ding ding ding. Once Jude started napping and sleeping 11 hours a night I allowed myself to consider exploring hobbies. Not holding a baby 19 hours a day frees you up quite a bit. I AM learning to sew, and she comes over to help me when she can spare the time, and some things I can sort of wing on my own. I am having fun experimenting, I just wish I knew more and were already better at it.
As it is, this is my concoction of the evening:
That's right, Jude, next time you spit up, you shall spit up on a burp cloth with an "H" sewn on it by your momma. Shoot!
My point is, I'm feeling really grateful for all my parents did for me. To mom and dad, sorry about putting a hole in the wall by flinging open the door to the downstairs bathroom after you told me not to.