Momzilla

Confession: My mom is crazy.  She’s also extremely sweet, but she’s crazy.  Now that I’ve put that out there, I feel a little better.  I also feel like I’ve betrayed her because she has not admitted this to herself or anyone else that she is, in fact, crazy.  Perhaps because it is only an episodic insanity, usually ignited by a major event in my life.  She went a little crazy during piano recitals, proms, birthdays, graduations, and guess what’s up next? … My wedding.  And is she waiting for the date to unleash her particularly potent bag of crazy? No. Why wait when you can board the crazy train today.  Tickets are free!

It all started when we set a date.  The first date.  The February 2015 date.  “It’s going to be too cold. There will be a blizzard!”  What?  Lady, that’s crazy!  We moved the date, to September 2015 for a brief moment.  I realized my mother would be traveling to Ghana, so no go for September.  We moved into my greatest fear – a summer wedding (i.e. peak season).  She had no problem with the date, but when we shared the time of day (sunrise) she reached down into the depths of crazy she must have been saving since the doctor said, “It’s a girl!” She went on and on about how I’d be late.  She criticized Mr’s feet. (We’d like a beach wedding.)  She launched into a Spanish Inquisition about what she should wear for such an event.  She nearly remembered how she wanted to get married first thing in the morning, but couldn’t because it’s illegal (what??!) and that we’d better get our facts straight.  She thinks the location is far and inconvenient, especially for people coming from where she lives (read: particularly for her.)  [Note: My mother hasn’t driven herself outside a 20-mile radius of her home in more than a decade.  Also, the location is less than an hour-drive from her home.]  The last straw for me when when she asked Mr if we weren’t being just a little too “greedy” with these plans (I suppose she meant selfish, which would have been a whole lot of pot calling kettle black), and that people who had to pay for a hotel room the night before would probably give us less because of how expensive attendance would become for them.  WHAT??!  Hold the entire hell up!  We’re not asking people for anything!  There is no registry.  We’re making no mention of monetary gifts.  We’re going OUT of our way to avoid any solicitation of support from anyone other than their showing up if they can, IF they are invited.  Like… this woman really hurt my feelings. I’m crushed.  I’ve stalled on planning and basically informed Mr that the entire ordeal has taken entirely too much out of me.  I’m just not built to be a bride.  It’s ridiculous, and we should elope.

Please don’t misunderstand.  I love and respect my mom very much.  I do not understand her behavior though.  I’m quite disappointed in it.  I don’t think we’re particularly close as far as mother-daughter pairings go.  You know… she’s nice. I’m nice. We have a nice family.  We’ve done our best to do right by each other.  Thank God for our faith.  I honor her.  I love her.  I just don’t want her at my wedding anymore because she’s crazy.  Is that so bad?  Maybe…

To end on a bright note, the takeaway from this painful experience is that as we boarded the train to leave my mom’s house, Mr turned to me and said “I agree with you now.  Your mom should not be the one to pick out dresses with you.  I’m sorry I tried to convince you otherwise.”  Well, hell. Thanks. BUT you did push the issue, and I caved, and invited her, so now I’ve got to uninvite her? What in the entire — Oh, was I supposed to end on a good note?  Well, C is for cookie, and that’s good enough for me.  I love Mr.  Good day.

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