Do all moms hate themselves a little bit
is what she asks me. She has heard me
arguing with my own mother, and I have
said, Yes, I know, my life sucks, thank you
(voices like bones scraping bones clean)
You said a bad word about your life,
is what she says. It is true, I have. One night
later and they are both screaming, wailing,
and I refuse to give in
(stone becomes stonier)
I’m supposed to be watching the Olympics,
my teacher said she’s not giving us too much
homework because I’m supposed to be watching
the Olympics, she says
(stretched and tearing)
Your teacher is your teacher and I am your
mother and you are not watching the Olympics,
not tonight, I say
(heat rises)
You should have done your homework earlier.
You had all day. That was your responsibility.
I know you are in between being a little girl
and a big girl and that is a very hard place to be,
but you still have to do your homework
(pack the soil, hard)
She cries into the bathroom mirror. I am ugly,
she says. What? I say. I am ugly, she repeats,
and I want to shake her and hold her and rock her all at once
(throat like scars on scars)
You are beautiful, absolutely beautiful, and that is
that. You still have to do your homework. Brush
your teeth and do your homework and no Olympics
and you are beautiful, period, forever, amen
(pulling, until rope burns through skin)
Stop being mad, she yells.
I’m not mad, I’m frustrated,
I say. THEY ARE THE SAME THING she insists,
and I say, THEY ARE NOT. Brush your teeth. Then
do your homework and I will come in and rub your back
when you are done
(claws stay in stay in)
The little one wants all, wants now, wants
chocolate croissant, wants water, wants ice
skating and bobsledding and no socks, not
ever, not ever, socks are stinky and so there
are screams, thrashing, gnashing teeth
(blood boils)
No one is happy and everyone is acting half
her age including the dismayed mother who
wants to know when why how here?
(vomit stay down stay down)
Skin is what quiets the night, coaxes the
beasts to settle, lie still. Rough hand on a warm
back. Whimpers subside while my heart pounds,
begs silently, pleads for the not guilty verdict
(throb but do not swear)
The little one sleeps at last while the older
one puts her finished homework into her
backpack and climbs into bed. Her hand
seeks mine and we squeeze. I know you
do it for our own good, I know that is why,
she says, and I hug her and the jury is dismissed
(breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out)
{ 28 comments… read them below or add one }
I like this very much.
(And I totally plan to shamelessly steal the “everyone is acting half her age” line. I can sooooo relate to that one. LOL Works well here, because there are so many HER people here.)
Aching. I hate the body image issues that seem to creep into every girl and woman’s life. I’m 27 and I deal with them all the time.
Sounds like you handled the homework fight beautifully…and turned it into an evocative poem story as well! Thank you.
Your girls are going to grow up to be the most marvelous and amazing creatures so many people have never seen before. And you will be in them. They will wake up one morning and come to the tragic realisation that the best they can ever do is walk up to you, hug you, look you deep in your soulful eyes, and say “thank you” from the very depths of their hearts.
They will know that it’s not enough, and you will still know that it doesn’t matter, because what is done and given out of love need never be repaid, and the verdict was in long before the jury even sat.
YES!!!!!
My 5yo son told me “I hate myself” as we clashed through tonight’s nightly struggle for calm and peace and quiet. I think he wanted to say “I hate you” but he couldn’t speak the words.
I did-the only thing I could come up with in my tired brain: I crawled into bed with him to bridge the gap until the hand of his that had wanted to hit me, reached over and stroked my cheek.
Just when I think my kids are going to break me in two, they put me back together and then kiss the boo-boo.
so good. i think i really need to print this out and keep it in my pocket to help me breathe some days.
oh. you made my heart pound.
and simon made me cry.
oh. oh. oh.
xoxoxoxo
p.s. chocolate croissant = yummmmmmmmmmmmm
“I know you do it for our own good”
Oh, the wisdom this child has. Wonder who she learned that from…? Ahem…
Just when I’d recovered from your post, Simon brought me to tears again. Your kids sound like my kids. We often end up all piled in bed together, because sometimes even good words aren’t enough.
it’s important to feel this bad kinda stuff. those depths will equal the crests given the time to reflect on enjoying the ride back up. you’ll just feel yourself ascending somehow.
Sometimes…no, a lot of times, your words profoundly resonate. And I have to sit back and breathe a bit. And then I am in awe. And then I digest. And then back to awe.
When will we, as mothers, stop feeling So guilty? This is a question that I do believe has been asked by mothers alike since the dawn of time. My 5 year old says, “Oh, just kill me!” all of the time. Just like her mother. Must work on that one, yes?
You are so incredible. And what Simon said is just as incredible, and so, so true. Thank you much for sharing your heart and soul with us.
Oh oh oh. Such grace; such love.
Our circumstances are very different, but I feel exactly this way.
Wow. I remember having these conversations with my mom. Part of me is so scared to ever have kids because I don’t ever want them to feel for me what I feel for her.
Bad night all around, it seems. I had Miss “My birthday tomorrow is going to be ruined because I can’t fall asleep.” and Mr. “I wish I’d never been born.”
“I know you are in between being a little girl and being a big girl, and that is a very hard place to be”….dear god, so THAT is what is happening with my daughter?! Why have I not put that together in my braind before you said it?? Oh, the mood-swings and the tears and the yelling and begging me to stay and pushing me away at the same time….
Your saying it will help me get through it. Thank you. You are a great mom. Don’t hate yourself, not even a little bit.
I have no kids. But I get this post so well. And that’s good in my book.
So pretty I could weep and weep and weep.
i like that neil for what he said. i like him a lot.
xoxo
This is perfectly beautiful it made me cry. It describes my relationship with my mother so well. I hated those years so much I even told my mother that I didn’t want her at my wedding, tried to kill myself, and moved out to live with my father. Fast forward 6 months and I was back with her and now she is my best friend.
The woman that drove me crazy now keeps me sane.
I am scared to have kids.
@Katie, you HAVE to have kids, so that your mom gets to see you go through it. It’s payback.
This was my day today! Only with boys. Who still hate themselves. Congrats on keeping in the claws.
Oh, Jenn. You’re writing is truly, truly, astounding. God, you are good. And Sophie! She breaks my heart and gives me hope for the future. These daughters, who watch and listen and absorb everything, and reduce us and exhaust us and comfort us as we rub their backs and hope we are enough . You so perfectly write of the beauty and ugliness of being a mother. Thank you.
Love love love you, Jenn. Those girls of yours are such wonderful people already, thanks to your honesty and love and strength.
I kicked my (17-year-old) son out of the house this morning. I’m trying to remember to breathe as I wait for him to decide that he has nothing to prove and comes home, willing to play by the rules of the house this time. The breathing just keeps getting more difficult. Keep practicing, Jenn.
Good for you for getting through that day, with all intact. And ready to do another day.
This was at once beautiful and gut-twisting. It put me in mind of arguments I had with my mother when I was little. I don’t hold it against her, not any more, but I do wish she had been able to handle it with the grace you have. As un-graceful as it feels on the inside, you give your girls such a gift by communicating with them as you do. Take a moment when you read our responses telling you that you’re doing a good job, and let the words soak in.