God Gives You Your Family....

Much like my godmother getting up from her perch on a footstool,   exclaiming 'give me a minute... I've got 'knees'...'    it seems that everybody these days has got 'mothers'.    It's the nation's new hot pass-time,  having a bit of a 'mother'.

These tales of other's mother's bothers are a salve for my sore mind.    Just like noone likes a perfect baby,  everyone loves a difficult mother.    The deepest friendships are set upon the rock of them having a worse family than you.    But better than that,   the hint that your friend is crueller about their mother than you is fanfuckingtastic.

Bedtime natterings with Roving Blade expose my true nature.    He was wondering if he should visit mum in the hosp.
'Are you feeling OK?'          
'Are you saying I lack compassion?'
'No I think I do.'
.............................
'I think you do too.'

Hmmmmnn.....     Where indeed is my compassion eh?    I've got no major childhood angst.    Not 'til about 10.    Then comes the frowning.    Nutshell  -  Big brothers were BIG.    And out.    Allowed.    I wasn't.    Moved house  -  old house has all the good stuff.    Chose the same school as big bruvs.    Stoopid.    They left before I started  -  thought we'd have a common bond......    Nah  -  just an inherited reputation.      Time ticks slowly for those teen years.....   Brothers = have lives.    Parents = embarrassment.    Friends  =  MINE.    Family and school  =  prison so decide to get out of both.    Only applied to colleges in another part of the country.    'Bye!    NOW I'm out!!!

A very non-co-dependent family member me.    I did move back for a year after college - a base to get a job,  get a flat and get a life.    Are you seriously trying to tell me when to go to bed?    'Bye!    Again.

More nutshells....  my Nan dies  -  big shock,   big upset,   leaving my Grandad lost.    My Dad says  'Shoot me before I get like that'.    Dad dies  -  big shock,   big upset.    Mum moves to this house.    Grandad leaves my uncle's place and goes into a old folks' home.    None of his 5 children can deal with him.    Seems very sad but I get it.    Wonder if the Sidcup saints are muttering about such a terrible family.    Grandad dies.    Seems a relief.    Is that bad?      


Back to Roving Blade's startling musings......   'Nah you're doing a good job of hanging onto small boys instead for me'.    (Both a compliment and a sneaky plea for it to continue.)    Truth be told  -  it's all a bit embarrassing and I'd rather he kept out of it.

I'd been banging about in her house earlier  -  doing the plants,   swearing at the prehistoric videos to keep the savages from trashing the joint,   tutting at the amount of STUFF....   I peered out the kitchen window to stare at the curvy flower-beddy decorative-rocksy child-unfriendly garden.    Why have I got no cosy feelings for this place?    I'd even moved there with her for a bit when I tipped all my eggs out of the basket at about 28 years old and she put up with my STUFF and moods for about ... gods... way longer than the original plan of a month.    Was probably about 18 months.    Where is gods' names is my gratitude?    Think I'm getting colder....    I've never actually LIKED this house.    It was supposed to be a  handy stop-gap.    It became another prison.    This chap we knew who had lost his job and was going thro' a divorce had decorated it for her.    Pale blues and institution greens.    Insipid floral border papers.    His depression filtered into mine.    Corner-fitting furniture.    Shelves of Christal D'Arques....    Tablecloths.    Coffin nails.    To me.    We weren't speaking to each other for much of this time.    Brothers say things like  'Oh come on you know what she's like...'    This is when the penny dropped that we were from separate planets and had had entirely different upbringings.    Mothers and daughters eh?    I escape - again.    Pop out a Minx.    Ever so slightly panic about history repeating itself.    Mum and me are on speaking terms again.    She seems all sentimental about the daughter thing.    Yuck.    

The window....     I tried to think up something to kick-start some sentiment of my own.    I came up with a day in this garden  -  nearly nine months pregnant with Cheetah Boy,   too hot to be sociable,   I'd driven over to mum's to plop two year old Minx in her paddling pool under the gazebo and sit there with my feet in it with mum keeping a steady flow of drinks and cake.    OK.    That's good.    The dining room table.... many a big ol' family nosh-up?    Rude noises with the first spoon in the jelly?    Interminable snakes and ladders tournaments with my boys?    Getting warmer?    Not really.    The piano?    Covered in family photos....    Lots of smiles there....    My hair looks crap in every one.    Xmas?    No.    Way.    Too much fuss and fluster.    Come on....   is that it?    Gods I hate pale green.

Where oh where is my humanity?    Well.... at least Grandad's example is in my favour....    If they put him in a home then surely that's the template now?    I've done with family co-habiting experiments.    It don't work.    We all get along alot better at a distance.    Think I'd better choose my bungalow now before Minx shoves me off a cliff.    Let's be practical here....  what's her template?


I am toying with going to see a hypnotherapist.    Wondering if he could make me nicer.    In the meantime,    tell me about your mad mother.....    Oh wow....  how COULD you?    You're my new best friend....