Be a Mother They Said

This is the last time she storms out like she owns the place. Only seven years around the sun and it's sad to say this might be her last. I've created a monster. Ok, that might be a bit dramatic, but I'm her mother, where do you think my daughter gets it from?

“Girl, you better walk lighter around this house. You are already on thin ice!” I say sharply.

“Yes mom!” My daughter yells sternly like a stubborn cadet.

I can hear the eyes roll from downstairs. 

I remember those days, you know. Your mom tells you “no '' and it's the end of the world. Your mom tells you “don’t do that” and it feels like a prison sentence. Your mom tells you “maybe later” and it's like eternity until you get what you want …but hey kids, that's life. It's a mother’s unpaid job to teach you how to live in this wicked world whilst trying to be genuinely happy and not turn into a big ol cootie queen lint licker. 

I just want the best for my baby. She’s my chicken, my princess, my blessing, my all. I just want her to grow up intelligent, have confidence and be self-loving …and maybe the president…you know, if it is in God's will, of course. Is that too much to ask? 

Jesus, just sitting in this chair thinking about how much I love that little girl, it freakin’ kills me. I could die, you know. Well I’m sure she will be the death of me, anyway. Be a mother they said, it's worth it in the end, they said…worth what? A lifetime of headache, heartache and the worry of 1000 ancestors? I'm just trying my best here. 

*thumping upstairs*

If I have to go up those stairs I will blow a gasket. I've been dealing with this girl’s attitude all day. 

She had some trouble with a math problem earlier and she was on the brink of crying her little heart out. I wanted to shake her like that scene from Airplane and tell her to snap out of it but instead, I kindly tapped her on the shoulder and asked if she was ok. Her head was hanging low, I could only see the top of her two round afro puffs. After a second or two she, turned her head over her shoulders and I caught a glimpse of her pretty brown eyes. I looked at her with empathy. That blue flame of sorrow. I can see it, I can feel it, I can smell it. It grows on you, wild and furious like anger but it feels blue. It's not as piercing as red, but it's heavy and it consumes you. The blue flame is quiet and keen and seeps into your darkest thoughts. It lingers and drains you. It grows with self-pity and shame. It doesn't burn you, it suffocates you. The blue flame paralyzes you. I could see my daughter being hardened by its massive grip. She sat silently on the floor and just when I was about to say something, she whispered to me that she couldn’t do it, it's too hard and it's impossible. 

“Damn” I thought. 

Time to put out that fire before it's too late. I told her she could do it, but only if she believes in herself. Success is a mind set before it is validated by reward. I told her everything is hard, until it's not, just keep practicing. I told her she couldn't even walk for the first year of her life, just rolling and wobbling everywhere. It was hilarious. I told her when she was a baby, she never gave up, so don't start now. 

I told her there are more things that are possible in the world than aren’t, and you can not truly know the difference, until you try. I would have never thought to have such an incredible daughter and now look at me, a mom to the most freakin awesome kid in the world! The fire dimmed into a candle light. Time for the finisher. 

“Don’t you tell my baby girl she can't do it! My baby CAN do it. Be nicer to yourself sweetheart. You deserve that! Don’t let anyone talk to you that way, especially yourself. Love yourself, cheer yourself on. Don’t say you can't, say YOU CAN. Say you got this, say be patient, say I am smart and believe in it baby girl. Believe it with all your heart, because I do.” 

She looked at me with a heavy heart. She wiped her falling tears and I gave her a Mona Lisa smile. She picked herself up by her bootstraps and I patted her on the back and gave her a thumbs up. 

“Cheer up kiddo, it's only 14+37, you got this with your eyes closed.”

She closed her eyes and said “You got this, you are smart.” 

“Louder.” 

“You got this, you are smart.” 

“LOUDER!”

“YOU GOT THIS AND YOU ARE SMART!” 

“DAMN SKIPPY LIL CHICKEN!” 

We did our special handshake and she glued her eyes to that piece of paper like it was a map to freakin Disney world. She came downstairs 15 minutes later with a complete math worksheet and no mistakes. 

My daughter is a boss, a champion, a black female freakin’ Spartan. Tough as nails …but toughest on herself. Another thing she gets from me. Another thing about being a mother that they don’t tell you: you are raising a younger you most of the time. All of your emotional traumas and habitual flaws have now manifested itself into a walking, talking clone. A clone that you unconditionally love so much, you try to learn how to treat those traumas and flaws in yourself while raising that clone before the same traumas and flaws influence that clone and they make the same mistakes you fear they will make because you have already made them. That's not that hard, right? Wrong. But I am smart and I can do this. 

Anyway, just a few minutes ago, I asked her to read a book. She was sitting down, headphones in ear, relaxing with a cool Caprisun, and eating Welch’s fruit snacks. A state of nirvana, some would call it. God forbid, I ask my child to read a book. Send me to jail, why dontcha?! 

You know this girl had the nerve to ask me why? Why? Why does a responsible parent want their child to read? I'd simply rather my promising daughter grow up literate and educated, but then again, how are you going to be president if you can't read?! My apologies, how can you do anything if you can't read?! I'm surprised toilet tissue doesn’t have words on it now-a-days. 

“Why not? You aren’t doing much and you have been watching Netflix for the past hour, it's time to stimulate your brain, maybe learn something. That can be just as fun.” 

“But it's not fun, mom. Plus its Friday, no school…”

“Ay, ay, give me a break kid. This isn’t a discussion. This is more of a I say, because I'm your mother and know what’s best for you, and you do, because you're my kind, obedient daughter that listens to her mother, kinda thing. Just say yes mommy and please do what you are told. Trust me, its for your best interest.” 

I gave her a thumbs up.

She gave me a thumbs down.

“But mom…”

“No buts. Go upstairs and pick a book. It won't kill you.” 

“…It feels like it” she dropped her shoulders and that bottom lip hit the floor so hard I had to look back. 

I gave her a “girl please” look and she gave me a “first day at St. Judes hospital” look. Im telling you, the next thing I will have that girl reading is lines because Viola Davis isn’t even this good. 

Now she is up there with all that attitude. Well if one thing’s for sure and two things for certain it is that that little girl better be looking for a book.

*Thud* 

Oh, all hell done just broke loose! Let me get my butt upstairs! 

I wanted to storm upstairs and kick the door open. I wanted to ask her who she thought she was then fuss about how she needs to practice self-control and be patient with herself and not be so quick to anger when it comes to things you disagree with. But first, I needed to tell myself those things…and listen. I know where she gets it from. Sometimes we BOTH need to learn the same lesson. Being a good mom is not just knowing when to teach your kid, it is knowing when to learn from them, too. 

I gently knocked on the door and slowly cracked it open. I asked if she was ok, while I crept into the room. I looked around to make sure everything was still in one piece. This tiny girl was sitting on the floor again, turned to the corner so I wouldn’t see her crying. 

“I'm ok mom.” 

“No you aren’t. Come here.” 

“No mom, seriously. I'm fine. I'm just looking for a book, I just need to find a book.” 

I could hear her pushing herself to sound confident and the weight of her sadness being squeezed under the pressure of making her mother proud. I am very familiar with that sound. 

My heart broke a bit. I softened up. 

“Come here, you lil chicken nugget noodle.” 

She turned around with her eyes down towards the floor and slowly dragged her feet towards the end of the bed where I was sitting. 

I took 2 fingers and lifted that 10 pound head. There goes those beautiful brown eyes again. I asked her if those books in the corner did anything to her. She looked surprised. 

“No mommy. They didn’t do anything to me.” 

“Are you sure? Because I heard some loud noises and then when I came up here you were crying. Did they try to beat you up? Are they calling you names? Are they ganging up on my baby?!” 

She smirked “No mom. That was me. I'm really sorry.” 

“Are you sure? You can tell me the truth, chicken. If those books are hurting you, ima teach every last one of them a lesson!” 

I jumped up and got in a karate position. 

She started giggling “ No mommy, Noo! The books didn’t do anything. They can't do anything to me, they are just books!” 

I looked at her and smiled. I sat back on her bed. 

“So why were you crying lil chicken?” 

“Hmmm, I just don’t like reading books. Sometimes the words are hard and I need help. Sometimes I don’t understand the story. I don’t like just sitting up here by myself and reading. It makes me sad.” 

Her smile was starting to shrink.

I let out a big sigh, “You know, I haven’t read a book in a while. I could read one with you.” 

Her eyes brightened and she shook her head yes so fast I thought it was gonna roll off.

“Yes please!” 

“Alright, alright, I really don’t feel like it but for you kid, I'd jump the moon.” I winked at her. 

She ran to her bookshelf and before I could blink she jumped onto me and we fell on the bed with her book. I tickled her and we both had a big laugh. 

My daughter let out a big sigh and said “I love you mommy.” 

I, still high from my daughter’s joy, said “I love you too, kiddo.” 

She turned over on the bed, closed her eyes and with a foot long smile, gave me the biggest bear hug her arms could give. I swear they wrapped around me twice, that girl is getting big. It was tight and uncomfortable and I wouldn't have it any other way. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my head into hers. Pinched her little booty and I gave her enough kisses to last her into her 20s. And that still didn't feel like enough. “Okay mommy!” she giggled and slipped through my fingers. Be a mother they said, it's worth it in the end. Turns out, they were right.