My mom is smart. Intelligent, artistically talented (she taught me to knit, though she'd pass out if she saw my stash), an accomplished cook, she raised three kids in a country where she didn't have a stitch of family and she didn't even know how to cook or do laundy when she left home. But she was an ogre when I was a kid. She could quell our outbursts with one look - she's still the reigning master of the evil eye. I wish I had that power.
I am pretty sure my mom thinks I do a hash up job of parenting, but she does quite a good job of disguising it most of the time, much to her credit. She'll offer unsolicited advice when it's uncalled for and certainly unwelcome, and is often at odds with "modern" parenting styles. However, when push comes to shove and I'm at the end of my parenting rope and about to hang us all, she offers a voice of reason, sanity, sympathy and humour without being condescending or belittling.
My mom will hopefully never read this sorry excuse for a blog, but I just want to say: Thanks for talking me down from the edge, mom.
1 comment:
This was so nice. I teared up.
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