Their mother, their mother, Alas they haven't another

When I am angry, I want to know why. I want to understand, to analyze, to dissect, take apart. I have an intense need to figure it out and then fix or adjust. I know this comes from the home in which I grew up. We were terrific pretenders: let's go to this person's house and laugh and be entertaining and make them all believe we are one happy family. We ignored anything and everything that might cause self-examination. That would be too much effort and cause too much pain. Better just to go to school everyday and lead the teachers to believe that your evening had gone perfectly: you arrived home to a snack and a parent; you played in safety with the neighborhood children until your mother or father called you in to dinner; you ate together and chatted away the whole meal. Afterwards you helped your mother clear the dishes and then your dad sat down and helped you with your homework. A few television shows shared together and lovingly tucked into bed with prayers and wishes for good sleeping completed your evening. Yeah, make 'em think that 'cause it's way harder to hear the truth: you arrive home to no snack or parent. The bus ride was hell because the boys in the back wouldn't stop teasing you with vulgar things they said or worse, demonstrated. You wander over to a neighbor's home to play and maybe see if they might have some food. You play outside hoping that your mom will come home soon because your mother's live-in has arrived there first and he'll just find some reason to kick you, pull your hair, or otherwise blame you for some calamity in the house.

Alas, you recall that it is actually your mother's night for attending classes at the university. So, as the sun sets and no offers for dinner have come in, you head home. There you are served a can of Spaghettio's that Live-In has spit in (in front of you, grinning while mixing it in; however, giving a reaction would then further his delight and also give fuel for another demonstration of his awesome backhand, so you just stare with feigned obliviousness-remember, acting is rewarded in this home), a glass of half skim milk and half water, and dry toast. You are sent to your room to eat alone. Your room consists of a pallet you have made for yourself in the study of Live-In. You decide to chance it and sit on the couch that is kept in there, as the floor is carpeted and full of fleas. They, too, are hungry after your day's absence and it is easier to sit on the sofa in a few minutes peace. But each time you hear Live-In come down the hall, you must quickly remove yourself for fear of his wrath. You once had a room, but the puppies now have it. It is a room full of fecal matter and chewed up pieces of books and other items that were once your possessions. After your dinner, you are told to go to bed, although it is only 7 p.m. You have learned that it is better to acquiesce, so you remove only your shoes and tuck you jeans into your socks (this keeps the fleas at bay), arrange your quilts, covering your head for maximum protection from the vermin, and lie awake waiting for the return of your mother. She is the only possible way out of this. Every night you listen to her laugh and know that she will never leave him.

Before stereotyping my "family," or assuming that we were economically poor, know that Live-In was an anethesiologist with a bachelor degree in Pharmacology: yes, a registerd Pharmacist and a doctor. There was money in the bank, but the hearts were overdrawn. We lived in splendor while our spirits were emaciated. We drove BMW's and lived in one of the wealthiest sections of OKC (yes, such a section of town exists), but our souls were impoverished.

This is what fuels my desire to know myself. I can't stand pretension and am always immediately suspicious of it. I cannot face my God and Maker guilty of not knowing my children and myself. If I should go there and not, then let me be condemned. I deserve it. So, when I was angry this evening, I tubbed and thought. Water always relaxes me and thus draws forth a more organized thought from my body when it is wrangled with confusion and tension. Today was just a terrible day. Early on in the day, I realized something that was not and it was good for me, but I felt the fool and that inspires no one to feelings of adequacy. At about 2:25, A brought to my attention that the animals had an appointment to have their rabies shots. After 20 minutes of phone calls discussing cost, I finally headed upstairs to collect the cats to kennel them. I found the children attempting to lure Sam (my Blue Mackerel Tabby) into their arms. He smells treachery (and intentions of kenneling and vet trips) from a mile away. I had to sweet talk him into my arms only to turn traitor and shove him, back paws first, into the wretched carrier. After having their yearly requirement met, luring them back into said fear (and claw) inducing structure, quickly drove them home only to gather swim team items, piano books and head immediately back out the door. Dropped children at piano group lessons, ran downtown to sign up for soccer, then headed over to the vet's office to pay him (forgot checkbook earlier), then back to piano (which was, by then, over) loaded children and drove over to pool only to learn no swim team today. Took children home to drop off 3/4 of them, retrieve more checks, and go to pharmacy to pick up a script for C's allergies only to have insurance deny and then claim that they don't cover anything for allergies. Drove home angry to find a husband and four children hungry and looking at me like they are disabled. So, after a quick sweep and some instructions, I began to reheat leftovers as it is now almost 8 o'clock. Then, from a very profitable discussion had between her father and herself this weekend, came forth a list of ways that I need to improve in my helping A be a better person. Then, R tired from work and having no energy left for a discussion of the ADF versus the ACLU (which morphed into a thought of did our forefathers establish this country on Judeo-Christian values or rather the Ancient Greek form of a democratic Republic?), cleaned the kitchen (thank you from me and A) and headed out to the local mom and pop killer to purchase needed items to put in the boxes he was sending to Maj. Bellon and his Marines (generously funded by our church members), so much needed adult conversation was cut short.

After putting those who required my assistance to bed, I filled the tub high and sank down deep. To think. I let the water cover my ears and left only my face out. I could feel the displacement of the water by my body occasionally swish ever so slightly against my cheek. I could hear the strange sounds, distorted by the water, of the older girls talking downstairs. I rewound the events of the day. Then I realized what it was. I want always to be a wonderful wife- one that R truly delights in. I want always to be a good mother, one who talks with her children, helping them to know themselves and to love God and understand how much He loves them. I hate it when I have somehow not measured up. I know that none had the motive of making me feel like I wasn't just the best they could have or desire, but when I am told that improvement is needed, I feel myself begin to fall. In my head, I slip back to being ten years old again. Where in the midst of the biting fleas, I determined to be the best wife and mom in the world. I promised myself that I would be perfect and that my family would never be wanting due to me. That ten-year-old had the best intentions, as does this 34-year-old. But the 34-year-old is held to a higher accountability. She must understand that no one will be perfect, but she can be humble and teachable and honest in her examination of herself and others and through that can be the best for her husband and her children and herself.