Mothers and Daughters

In my "professional life" I see a lot of mother/daughter interaction.  Yesterday, one of my favorite tables appeared from out of nowhere and enjoyed a lovely dinner together; Grandma, Mom and sweet little Lindsey are three of my favorite people in the world.  They share my extreme love of dogs, and in fact we often make up elaborate and ridiculous fantasy lives for our pups; theirs is called Bubba.  I believe he enjoys cognac, cigars and...according to several sources, has been seen gallivanting around town with my Chivo.  I always laugh a lot when they are around; they easily make my day.  Their visits are always bittersweet however, because I am always reminded of the contrast in my relationship with my own mother.

I love my mother more than life itself, but our relationship is what you'd call...strained.  If you ask her, we're best friends.  I don't know many people whose "best friends" cannot remember any of the names of your other friends, who have no idea what your interests are, or who constantly interrupt your most important stories to ask you to hand them something.

An example would be a recently received wedding invitation that arrived at my parents' house.  A girl that I used to be forced to hang out with, due to the fact that my brother Brad was close with her brothers, was getting married in Santa Barbara.  This is a girl who used to be obsessed with those "magic eye" posters...you know the ones that you have to go cross-eyed to see?  That...and Star Trek.  So needless to say she was a ball of fun.  She would stick her boobs out like a crane doing a walk through a murky swamp in every freaking picture that was ever taken of her.  I could not stand her.  I was tolerant of her for Brad's sake, and she had a super cool mom.  Well, apparently old Boobs McGee is getting hitched.  My mom brings the invite in the car with her to pick me up for an outing.  I don't look at it.  Then she shoves it in my face when we're gathered at her house for a meal.  I tell her I'm not interested in looking at it.  She reacts like I have burned her with a hot plate.  "What?!?! I thought you two were friends!!!"  My dad promptly came to my defense: "Fran, she never liked that girl.  She hated her."  Thanks Pop.  My mom acts like it's the end of the world, my dad rolls his eyes.

It's no secret that my "life choices" have not always pleased her, but I have made some fantastic strides since my wild days (count 'em...two years clean from heroin), as well as being a Pepperdine graduate (not really anything to be proud of and definitely a blog for later), and having met the love of my life who has made me better both inside and out.  I happen to believe that someone should not have to pay for their mistakes forever, especially when efforts are made.  I'm pretty sure my mom still remembers and is still vehemently mad about the time I snuck out to stay at my boyfriend's house when I was 15.  Now I'm 31.

Which leads me to the question I've been pondering all day: are mothers and daughters supposed to be "besties?"  In the nail salon today I overheard my mom telling her tech that I have a "very public" job and that (while making gestures like a squirrel trying to open a nut) I like to be all..."cutesy."  Apparently it's "cutesy" to get your eyebrows waxed.  I guess it's pretty "cutesy" when your mother never taught you how to put on makeup, tweeze your eyebrows or bought you huge "Jockey" brand underwear in junior high, causing you to be the laughing stock of your entire P.E. class.

Regardless of whether or not we braid each others' hair, I love my mom.  I love her even though she openly mocks Morrissey, thinks my job is a paralyzing embarrassment to our entire family and finds all my tattoos low-class and repulsive.  I cannot imagine, nor do I even want to try, thinking about a day when she will not be here, although I know that is inevitable.  I suppose I should just be grateful to have her...blowing her nose at the dinner table and all.