Is it just a trait inherently possessed by all mothers, or is my mother queen of all guilt trips? I swear, I could be having the best day ever, then have a conversation with my mother, and my day goes to shit.
The woman has a sigh like nails on a chalkboard. Say one wrong thing, and it’s a cascade of sighs that make you want to lock yourself up in an institution somewhere.
“Oh, by the way, I paid that bill for you, since it’s in my name and it’s been months since you got it.” “Um… okaaay… I gave it to Ryan, I thought he paid it… I’ll have to ask him…” “Never mind. Don’t worry about it. I already paid for it.” “Uh… okay.”
I had a bank account when I was younger that my mom set up for me, so it has her name on it. I had a line of credit on it that I blew when I was still an undergrad. I make payments on it, but for some reason, last month, because my payment was late, they TOOK 100 BUCKS FROM MY MOM’S ACCOUNT. Without asking. Without telling. Boy, did I get an earful. The thing is, I don’t pay the bills. Ryan does all of that. I don’t know how I managed to get out of paying bills. I think I did our bills one time and ended up overdrafting our account by 100+ bucks. E-Lo + finances = disaster. My mom was so freaking pissed that I practically had a nervous breakdown. I had one of those downward spiral moments that are so fond of finding me.
“Sigh.” NAILS ON A CHALKBOARD, I TELL YOU.
I just got off the phone with my dear mother, who did this to me. We were having a perfectly nice conversation, and she had to go and ruin it by reminding me what an imperfect daughter she has.
I hope I’m not the same way. God help me. It’s inevitable, I suppose. Guilt is the best weapon a mother has. She carried you in her body for 9-10 months, the least you could do is give her a break. Jesus.
Another guilt tripper I know would be my dear husband, who loves to rub it in when I occasionally do something wrong, like screw up the checkbook. This man can pile on the guilt. My most recent indiscretion was washing his wallet. It was in his pants and I threw them in the washer with only a weak pocket pat. Everything in his wallet fell apart, along with the wallet itself. That alone upsets me because I bought him that wallet 5 years ago for his birthday and it was in perfect shape. God bless those wonderful people at Fossil. The strange part is that I normally don’t wash Ryan’s clothes. We normally do our own laundry. I don’t want him doing my laundry because I know he’ll shrink something or somehow stain something that’s in the process of being cleaned. But thinking I was being nice, I threw some of his crap in with mine, and that led to my ultimate demise. Because every day this week I’ve been reminded of “the incident.”
Sometimes I wish I lived alone in a cabin in the woods with 5 cats and 5 dogs. And a rifle for every cracking branch that I heard. If I lived alone in the woods with a gun, lots of unsuspecting trees would get shot. Make those dogs Rottweilers and Dobermans.
Is it lunchtime yet?
Hey, don’t forget about my baby blog. I know I have a huge fanbase and all, and I know what you are dying to hear more about is my pregnancy. Today I posted a conversation that Ryan and I had last night that goes to show why I don’t live alone in a cabin in the woods. Go. Now.