I know you think I don’t understand, but I do.
I really do.
I understand that you like your definition of the word “understand” better than mine. And I understand it’s because mine has a distinct Merriam-Webster feel to it, while yours is a bisque of irritation, id, and the firstborn self-righteousness you probably got from me.
I understand that you’re bored, not hungry, and that your expression means you’re hiding something.
I understand what our night (and entire next day) will look like if I let you stay up. And that you’re stalling right now. Go to sleep.
I understand which friends are good for you and which ones aren’t. And how sharing this information has to be done in a well-thought-out, chess-like manner. (And that I’m running out of time to learn how to play chess.)
I understand how important it is to you that we make it through a middle school’s worth of kids to partake in “Free Slurpee” day (even though technically, it’s always free Slurpee day for you).
I understand that in order to be your best friend one day I have to be your mother right now, which means I often take on the profile of a perceived enemy (with the added bonus of limited personal choices).
I understand that no one sees my failures as glaringly as you do. That you find the things I hide from other people, and that you can dig up just about anything else. But hopefully one day you’ll understand that that is why I understand you.
And before you charge me otherwise, I understand what it feels like to be accused of not understanding when I totally do understand. And I understand what it feels like to be trapped in the elusive ring of hell while someone else convinces herself that I’m wrong and she’s right. And I understand why some moms drink. Early in the day. And why a mom might want to scream OH SHUT UP! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT. And how it won’t do any good. (The yelling part, not the drinking. That might help.)
So really, I do understand.
I do.
You’re the one who doesn’t.
©2012 CEK. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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{ 11 comments }
Good God I’m in the same cycle of failing at chess with a first grader. WTF will it be like when she’s a tween? The agony of understanding.
Strangely, I feel like it’s a never-ending game of Tic-Tac-Toe. We all hate it and no one ever wins.
I have called it “point/counter-point” with my son since he was about 6 (I’ve blocked out the exact age). He’s 16 and I swear to you we’re still doing it – only not as often, and usually I’m the only one crying when it’s over. It’s what we get for encouraging our kids to talk about their feelings, and tell us what they are thinking, and speaking up for what’s right. My mantra most days is that it will make him a strong adult, if I live that long.
Miss D. was up and down the stairs FIVE times after we put her to bed last night. And every time, I tried to coax out of her the reason for her insomnia and…nada. Argh!
I’m sorry, after 9pm, I don’t care. Really, I just don’t. Unless you are bleeding or throwing up or terrified by something real – GO BACK TO BED.
And that is my bad mommy moment every day for the last two weeks.
(I thought two was hard. Ha!)
Oh, CK, I *feel* this post. The frustration, the love, the desire to strangle, the bemusement, the refusal to say “you have no idea what you’re talking about,” the desire to really strangle…
Hang in there. It gets worse.
(That’s my copyrighted line for all baby- and child-focused greeting cards to parents. Having a baby? Hang in there; it gets worse. Have a newborn? Hang in there; it gets worse. Two years old today! Hang in there; it gets worse. So you’re daughter is seven…wait for it…hang in there; it gets worse.)
I was thinking the same thing. Yes. It gets worse. Hang on.
Geez– I have the distinct feeling I was that kid a lot growing up. And now I have a one year old (about to be anyway) daughter and I can already tell she is going to be like me too. Double Damn I dont know how to play chess either!!!!!!!!!!!!
I hear you, I hear you. Except, sometimes, when my daughter is so upset that she’s shivering, I have to stop, and think: sometimes, I don’t understand perfectly. And that gap, well, that’s what’s making her shiver.
I remember this, oh so well. It doesn’t come as often anymore, thank GOD, but it still rears its ugly head occasionally. It will get worse (sorry) but then it will get better…..eventually.
I think understanding so well is what makes it so painful to parent. You captured it beautifully.
P.S. I guess I am in the minority but I think it gets better and better…I would much rather deal with curfews than bedtimes, have an intelligent (?) conversation than a whiny one, doors slammed instead of bodies slammed onto the floor.
Mother of a 16 year old.