Apalachin Community Press, October 1999

Motherhood 101: "F"

by Terry Ward

I am a complete and total failure as a mother. Yes, that's right. A failure. Oh, I did a lot of the "good" mother things like bedtime prayers, hugs, kisses, warm hats (well, my kids would only wear them in the summer - go figure - I did try though...), but I'm a complete and utter failure in what some might consider the creme de la creme of mothering talent - guilt.

Maybe it skips a generation - my kids are good at it, my mother is the master - what happened to me? I suppose I dwell on this because I have yet again failed at convincing my son Andy to move back home from Colorado. Two years is enough already. What do I have to do to convince him that his mother's heart has been tortured beyond the acceptable limits? Every time he calls I tell him in the most heart-wrenching voice possible (my son Pat coached me in this, so I know its good) that I miss him. I tell him about Sunday dinner - his favorites, roast chicken, mashed potatoes, the works, and yes, maybe it is stretching the truth a bit to even say that I do still cook dinner, but, hey, he's two thousand miles away, I'm entitled to embroider my reality a bit. After all I only get to see this child, who, by the way, I spent two days in labor giving birth to, once or twice a year.

And then there's my grandchildren. OK, so Andy doesn't have any children yet. And I guess if you wanted to get really technical he's not even engaged, but I know they'll be there someday - three little girls with gold curls all over their heads. I just know it. And this son of mine, Mr. Independence, is robbing me of my relationship with them. This child that I bought a Dukes of Hazzard Big Wheel for is not even allowing me to bake cookies for my grandchildren. Can you believe it? My grand-daughters are going to roam the wilds of Colorado not even knowing their grandmother. Is this the thanks I get for all the times he used to bang his head against me when he was little? (BIG sigh ... ) I suppose so.

Some might say that I just have a slight case of Empty Nest Syndrome. Not so. My kids were not meant to live so far away from their mother. I did not raise them to do this. I don't mind if they live their own lives for heavens sakes - after all, I certainly don't want to S M O T H E R them - but, honestly, would it kill them to live close enough so that I could see their faces once in a while? I'm not going to be here forever, you know. What will they do then with no mother to embarrass them by making them give her both cheeks (called "cheekies") to kiss? All right, maybe that was a bit morbid, but I AM trying to work on this guilt thing.

Well, I may not be on top of the guilt stuff, but I'm all over the secret society of mothers. The beautiful thing is that the mothers of Andy's friends will read this column, and whatever I lack in guilt producing hormones, they'll more than make up for it. It's sort of this genetic oneness - we all know what these children can do to us and we bond together for protection. I expect that sooner or later Andy will get this phone call. It'll begin something like this... "Andy Ward, I just saw your poor mother the other day..." You get the idea. By the way, Andy, if someone sends this to you - "your grandmother loves you." So does your mom. (Inside joke, you'll have to ask my mother, the guilt-master.)