Mothers...best friends or cause for lifelong therapy...

We've established several things during this journey/blog we've enjoyed together: I'm a tad high maintenance; I have expensive taste (well, we may not have covered that yet, but it's true), I am not really into short guys and, well, my mother is crazy. She's not eccentric old ladies who wear purple crazy, she's just certifiably crazy. Not that a doctor has every actually diagnosed her but we know it to be true. And, her children (or husband) are usually the lucky recipients of her bouts with insanity.


Now before you shake your head in disbelief, at least read the following example of why we believe she visits the world of the psychotic on occasion. And, believe me, this is just one of many... As I was going through my divorce, I did what most women would do...I called my mother. I was hoping for some motherly comfort...you know the chicken soup variety that would make me feel like everything was going to be alright. Maybe insanity runs in the family because that was sheer delusion on my part. I had called her while walking through the grocery store, trying to multitask like all the hip moms, so in between filling my cart with fruits and organic vegetables (okay, I had cheese crackers and wine but let me at least pretend to sound healthy) I was relaying to her the latest in the then contentious discussions regarding the custody agreement for our two children.  We both wanted them as much as possible and at the time, my former husband was making claims that were one, ridiculous, and two detrimental to our children. 

I finished telling my mother the gist of the last discussion, when she said "Aw, honey...", here it comes, I thought, the motherly gesture of support, the shoulder to cry on...when she continued "I wish I could help you but I was lucky because I didn't have to deal with this.  Your dad just didn't want you." What?  Seriously, these are the words of wisdom I receive?  I was so floored I just stopped my cart in the middle of the pasta aisle and just kind of stared at the bottles of sauce, in a daze.  I must have looked incredibly lost as a very kind older woman asked me "Dear, do you need help?" I almost answered "Well, yes, I do.  My mother makes Mommy Dearest seem like June Cleaver.  How does a mother think throwing the father of her children under the proverbial bus is ever a beneficial response? " when I realized she was just talking about pasta.  I thanked her for her support but no, while it looked like I was trying to read in a foreign language, I really was just in shock.  After telling my mother the reception was bad in the store and hanging up, I wandered aimlessly for a bit before ending up at the check out counter with $200 worth of food I don't even remember putting in the cart.

I share this story so the occasional quips about motherly advice make more sense to you.  Or, why I argued with her about the weather.  Or to again, to defend my neurotic tendencies.  To justify my therapy bills. To amuse you...really, whatever the reason...it is just one of those stories too good not to share.