I thought Dear Jackie O was better than Dear Diary or Dear Dumb Diary- that my kids are currently reading. This evokes the image of the picture my mother kept on our mantle- the epitome of what womanhood was supposed to be. Not complaining, wearing her pearls as her husband cheated and the dream she was promised was a disappointment. I think my mom looked up to her as she cleaned her house in her bikini top, cut off jean shorts and her open can of beer- I am sure she asked herself how did she get here.
And my greatest fears have come true too- not only am I cleaning the house in tight yoga pants, little too much around the middle section with my glass of wine (I upgraded thinking it was classier like Jackie O)- I have become my mom. I feel like I was cheated- kind of like childbirth. No one tells you how bad it is going to hurt- society just show images of cute babies. Or how much marriage sucks- they sell you on weddings and how you want to be picked to be married. Then the world in your 20s/30s- is the married and married nots; everyone wanting to be secretly traded on teams.
My friends act like our divorced friends are contagious- are they afraid it might hit too close to home in their relationships? I wish I could catch that epidemic of freedom. Free to get the bath mat wet- which I thought by the way that they were for, a quiet bath alone and to watch what I want on television.
However, here I am in on the fringes of a town where no one gets divorced- otherwise, you are banished to a leprosy colony. And it isn't the nice one in Hawaii. Like it or not- it reflects at work and you can feel the whispers showering on your back as you go into the local spots. You are the closest thing to reality television shows the neighbors get to watch.
I have four kids. And honestly, two of the four I don't like. That's another thing They don't tell you- you don't always like your kids. And you have higher hopes for some more than others. I am not sure if it because I see myself in that kid or is it because I wonder where did they come from. But usually teenagers are the worst- give me a teething baby anytime over the stubborn, overflowing with opinions, narcissistic teens. When did they start getting opinions I didn't give them? No wonder my mom was an alcoholic.
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