I hope all you mothers out there have a great day, you deserve it.   Being a mom is quite simply my greatest accomplishment.  We have one child, whom we adore.  I would do anything for our son.  I went back to college in my early 40’s to get my Bachelor’s degree to provide a better life for him.  Now that our son is a teenager, I have to chase him down to kiss him.  I know he secretly likes it, but wouldn’t admit it in a million years. I also tell him I love him every day, while I yearn for the day when he says it back; I’m content knowing that I am a great mother.

My mother died eight years ago.  I never recall her telling me she loved me. The nicest thing she ever did for me was not die on my 50^th birthday.  She held on until the day after.  On her death bed she changed her will, and cut my brother and I out of her estate.  Prior to her death, she told a relative that she wished my brother and I was never born.  Apparently being successful and moving away from my home town qualified me as being a bad child.

Every mother’s day was a struggle to find a card for mom. I would have rather sent her nothing, but then my siblings would never hear the end of it. Looking for a card that just said happy mother’s day was hard.  None of the cards expressed how I really felt. No cards for mother “you are truly rotten” or mom “thanks for being a bitch to me my whole life.”

Whenever I see anyone post about mothers on Facebook, I’m tempted to say “have you  met my mother?”  Many of my Facebook friends are from the neighborhood I grew up in.  Everybody knew Barbara, as she was the local Avon lady.  She was so nice to everyone they would say, you were so lucky.  I don’t bash her on FB because what would be the point?  She was a horrible person to me.  Always cutting me down, not providing for me.  My parents got divorced when I was 16. My mother got child support from my dad, which she never spent on me. I had to buy all of my own clothes, school supplies, etc. When I turned 18 and still a senior in high school, the child support payment came directly to me.  My mother demanded that I turn over the entire check to her. I refused, and she kicked me out in the dead of winter. At the time my older brother was living at home and paying rent.  The support payment was double what my brother paid.  I told my mother I would pay what my brother was paying. She said I had to pay more because I did more laundry.  Because she was so greedy, she let me move back home and pay what my brother was paying. So yeah, I had to pay rent while I was still in high school. My mother had a good job, so it wasn’t like we would lose our house because I didn’t pay more than my brother.

I am the youngest of four children.  My mother did everything for my siblings, while I got squat.  I never really knew why she hated me so much.  I was always a polite, loving child who had a lot of friends. I was embarrassed to have friends over because I didn’t have a bedroom.   I slept in a crib until I was five, and then had to sleep on the couch until I was 10. Here’s the kicker, we had a bed I could have slept in, as my older sister (who had moved out long ago) still had a bedroom.  My mother always claimed that she had to keep the bedroom available for my sister if she ever decided to spend the night.  My sister is 16 years older than me.  Every night trying to fall asleep on the couch was hell, as my dad chained smoked and had the TV blasting.  I was just a little kid.  It was awful, yet I persevered, did well in school and had a lot of friends.  I found out many years later from my sister that it was a lie about keeping the bedroom available for her. She wasn’t coming back home to spend the night.  What kind of parent does that to their child? Thank god my maternal grandmother, who was nothing like her daughter, adored me.  I spent a lot of time at her home and had my own bed to sleep in. Now mind you we were never poor, having owned a summer home on a lake, and my parents were always driving new cars.

In high school, I dated the son of a doctor.  My boyfriend was wonderful, as was his family.  My mother was so jealous.  None of us were ever encouraged to go to college. My mom could care less.  She was always comparing us to her friend’s children who were more successful than any of us. She always thought because she was attractive that she should have done better in life.  She treated my dad like crap.  I don’t know how he stayed married to her for over 30 years. Sadly for me, my dad died a week before I graduated from school.  I never got to know him as an adult.  When my mom kicked me out, I stayed with him for two weeks.  He was happy to be away from my mother, and was engaged to be married before he died.

My mother was the epitome of a conceited bitch.  At her funeral, there were dozens of photo albums all over the funeral home.  99.9% of the photos were of her.  When her friends came to give their condolences, and say I was lucky to have her, I had to nearly bite my tongue off.  At the funeral service one of her friends spoke, not once did she mention anything about her children. It was terrible.  It was always about her.  I didn’t find out I was disinherited until after her funeral.  Talk about shock.   We were estranged many times over the years. As an adult, I wouldn’t put up with her crap. If she said something hurtful to me, I would just cut her out of my life.  At my wedding she made of point of telling my friends that she gave me $50 to spend on our honeymoon.  She bought us a scale for a wedding gift; did I mention she was constantly on me about my weight?

My childhood wasn’t horrible; I did have some good times.  I have always been a strong person, and my mother couldn’t stand it.  I’m the only person in my family who is married and has a bachelor’s degree.  I have a husband who is wonderful as is his family.  She tried to screw me one last time, even after her death.  We fought the will, and I got a little something in the end. It was very ugly and expensive.

It’s ironic that none of my siblings are married, and frankly are not good parents.  Two of my sister’s three children have nothing to do with her.

I vowed early on that I would never be like my mother, and I’m not. While I may look like her, that is where the similarities end.  I will always love my child unconditionally and want what is best for him. My mother always tried to knock me down, but like those inflatable punching clowns we had as kids, I always bounced back.