Revenge of March

Spoke too soon. Or I wrote too soon, if you want to get technical. March is officially in full swing in my home, tears and all.

As I was about to get ready to head out and take one of my niblings to an appointment, I heard my parents raised voices. Well, let’s call it like it is. They were shouting back and forth, clearly frustrated with one another.

That’s my cue, one of many really, to put on my referee cap. Long story slightly shorter, Mom was upset because my dad only had time to run out to the nearest quick service food restaurant to grab them a quick lunch before I needed to run. We live a good 15-20 minutes away from the nearest drive-thru, which is good for our health but not exactly convenient when you’re in a hurry. She didn’t want the healthy, fresh sandwich option. She wanted a burger, fries and a shake - at least that’s the safest assumption of what she was after. 1950s malt shop/5 & dime counter service. My mother operates under the constant belief that life, liberty and the pursuit of junk food is being withheld from her. Oh, and that we’re going out partying instead of running errands. Cha-cha-ing the afternoon away sipping on boat drinks as I stand in line for the third day this week at the pharmacy, like the rest of the world does. You know how it is, hiding the secret ice cream and sneaking out for secret corn dogs and hidden onion rings under the guise of ‘adulting’.

I send Dad off, casually watching the clock. I had a teenager to pick up, which was only the beginning of my afternoon errands and appointments. I quickly realized my own grab & go lunch just fell off my to-do list. Mom started in. We were mean to her, it wasn’t her fault, we kept our schedules or plans hidden from her, etc and so forth. Bottom line? She thinks subs are healthy and are to be avoided unless she’s determined that she’s being left out of subs. It makes sense on an emotionally stunted level. This stems not so much (as far as I can tell) from being abused in her childhood as from feeling like her baby sibling was spoiled and ruined a lot of her own fun. You didn’t think horrific child abuse stopped things like sibling rivalry and middle child syndrome, did you? A book I read recently about another woman’s journey as she investigated the abuse of her mother and aunts confirmed that my mom’s 60-year sibling jealousy isn’t exactly uncommon in families like this. So maybe it does have to do with the abuse after all. Or just shitty family dynamics.

There’s only two ways things are going to go when I’m deflating Mom’s not so solid arguments when reality is far from her grasp: the soldier’s going to come out with sword ablazing and let me know in no uncertain terms what an evil, horrible, shitty person I have been and will always be OR painfully woebegone tears of the deepest self pity, wondering why she is as reviled and unloved as she is and what she could have possibly done in her life to be this way. Today was tears.

Lest you think from my… shall we say… snarky tone that I’m a complete dick to her, contrary to her own view, I’m not. I patiently reminded her that what was wrong with her brain was a mental illness and while she wasn’t a victim in this lunchtime bruhaha, she was casting blame with laser precision where perhaps no blame was needed. Dad returned then, both of us more grateful than a certain local grocery chain will ever know that a brand new store opened at the nearest intersection. His grocery bags caught Mom off guard. Goodbye tears. Warily, she remained where she was and watched him unload a few deli sandwiches, chicken tenders and chips. She had to be coaxed to sit at the table. Her mind couldn’t rework her arguments about what was for lunch when the picnic fare before her wasn’t what she was expecting. It took a few minutes of gentle arguing to get her to understand the ham sandwich she was demanding was the one I was handing her.

Food procured, set up and in hand, Mom’s mood vanished in a swirl of confused mist, her bravado deflating. I told her to color, something that has a very positive impact on her mood but she fights doing a solid fifty percent of the time, after she was finished eating. She argued that she was tired and needed to nap. I agreed that she needed the nap and likely an extra half of one of her medicines, but she needed the mental activity as well. Eat, 10 minutes of coloring, medicine, then nap. 20 minutes later, as I was racing to the door with a container of cantaloupe for lunch, she told me to drive carefully as she colored in her paisley coloring book.  

By the time I got home several hours later, she had settled into sitting alone staring out the window in unsettling silence while my dad took a nap. Creepy Mom is kind of her idling setting when she's in one of these roller coaster periods. She joined me & nibling #2 in the living room while homework was being worked on, not interacting with us in anyway, just there. She ended up taking a nap until dinner was ready. I made the safe choice and fixed one of her favorites, spaghetti with meat sauce, because God knows I wasn't about to go down a food meltdown twice in one day with her.

It's a good sign that this late at night she's sleeping. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary for Mom not to sleep for days at a time in March, her brain spinning increasingly more bizarre stories that get her more upset and confused.