My Mom Must Hate Me

It's the only explanation.  She must hate me else why would she do the things she does?

Ben here by the way.  Mom's off doing laundry and other super fun stuff that I'm not allowed to do.  Again.  She calls them chores but I think that anything that has to be done that much must be something fun.  But I digress.  She hates me.

I can think of no other reason why she would do the things she does.  Her and Dad both!  The two of them together drive me nuts sometimes!  You should have seen them this morning.  I started putting the helicopter and the man on the table so we could all eat breakfast together.  I mean helicopters get hungry too ya know.  Dad told me that I couldn't do that.  I looked at him like he was crazy because clearly he was.  I immediately went to mom because she's usually the more level headed of the two and would see the idiocy of the whole thing, but bam! Not this morning!  Oh no, it was all "You know the rules, no toys on the table when we eat."

Toys.... TOYS!!!  Didn't she understand that these aren't toys they are my friends!  Friends don't sit out on meals!   Then she had the audacity to tell me I could put them on the stool next to me.  Like they are lower than me.  Second class citizens instead of die hard playmates that have my back every minute of the day.

Well I let her have it then.  I showed my frustration as clearly as I could and she just sat there... looking at me like I was daft or something.  I mean how hard is it to read body language anyways! And then she's all like "I can't understand you, use your words".  USE YOUR WORDS!!!  How much more clear can I get!  I threw the "toys".  I grunted in obvious frustration.  I even let out a little scream.  I was clearly upset, any food could see that.  (Okay, I did feel bad about throwing my friends, but they knew I needed all the help I could get to make my point for their sake.  I apologized to them and besides, they have my back.)  Then she had the nerve to tell me that I had to the count of 10 to pick up my "toys" and put them on the stool or they would be hers.  SERIOUSLY!  Am I the only one who sees this blatant hatred!  Why else would she threaten the lives of my friends unless she hated me.

But wait, there's more.  If that were the only instance this morning then I could possibly have let it slide.  But not so my friends... we're working with professionals here.  I finally capitulated for the good of my friends and put the helicopter and the man on the stool, where they sat apart... segregated... alone... , but not before mom got to 8, I'm not a complete push over you know.  And with great effort I over looked her obvious lack of care as she did not have the Bumbo seat (which she says I'm too big for, but that's another story) perfectly aligned with the back of the chair which I had to fix because otherwise my life would have been in danger.  (Those Bumbos are tricky you know, the slightest bit of misalignment could throw the whole thing off balance and I would tumble on the floor And Die.  I really don't know why they use them with babies anyway.)  So, after saving my own life from danger I was then left to... wait for it... pull myself up to the table!  Right!!!  I was clearly too far away and she just ignored it.  Totally ignored people!  What kind of mother is that anyway!  Please tell me I'm not the only one who has to deal with this stuff.  Sheesh!

SO with great effort I pull myself up to the table under her uncaring eye, tell myself that it's going to be okay and that I can handle it in the secret language that I use as a test to see if people really care (those who can understand are those who care because they have looked into my eyes... my heart and can see the pain and want to help.  Needless to say my parents don't understand.) and get ready for the prayer on the food.  That goes well... at least it did after I straightened out my fork several times during the prayer because it too was in the wrong place.  Big surprise.

Anyway, the prayer is said and I am once again left on my own.  The eggs that my mother put on my plate were not cut.  NOT CUT!  Like what am I supposed to do with that?!?  They aren't cut and there's no ketchup on my plate to be seen for my dipping pleasure.  I could very well starve! So with a bit of irritation in my voice I said "Cut my eggs now!"  Mom said "Excuse me?"  I said "Cut My Eggs NOW!" I also added a grunt for good measure and pointed with vigor at the offending uncut eggs.  And then she looked at me with calculated coldness and said... "Ask nicely."  And that was it.  I lost it!  A kid can only put up with so much and I. Was. Done!  Done I tell you!  I pulled out all the stops and yelled.  Oh I yelled.  I pointed at the offending eggs as I yelled and THEY JUST STARED AT ME!  Stared!!  Like I had two heads or something.  Like they didn't know what I was trying to say!   So I yelled more.  On and on I went.  And they laughed. LAUGHED! my parents looked at each other and laughed in the face of my pain.  The people who are supposed to love me best laughed!  My toys, my eggs, my lack of ketchup, my life!  They laughed! They said something to each about starving bad behavior, whatever that meant, and went on as if I weren't there. Oh it was horrible.  Horrible!

Mom cleared her dishes and I continued to yell.  She wiped down the table and I continued to yell.  It's like I wasn't there.  My yelling had no effect!  So I had to up my game.  I threw myself at her legs, grabbing her pants sobbing, and she pretended not to notice.  Well... at least I think she was pretending because she had to have felt my hands around her legs right?  I can't vouch for her hearing... I think that may be going.  She is old you know.   I usually have to repeat myself a lot.  But all of it?  No, I'm not buying it.  She had to notice.  But did she do anything? No.  Just acted like I wasn't there.  She even talked to my dad, who apologized to her and wished her luck for some reason.  I am the one she should be apologizing to.  But no.  Mom laughed with my dad, said thanks, and went back to the kitchen and all the while I was clinging to her leg. Unnoticed.

I just don't get it!  I don't.  I finally had to dumb it down for her.  I mean really dumb it down.  I finally said, "Mommy, will you cut my eggs please?" She said "what, I can't hear you?"  (See what I mean about the hearing part?)  So I said it again, louder this time.  Apparently that was the magic word or something, because at last... at long, long last, my eggs got cut.  Ketchup was put on my plate. A waffle was cut and added as well along with syrup and a glass of orange juice... and all was right in the world.

Maybe she doesn't hate me after all... maybe she's just hard of hearing.  Huh.