reality check

I just finished reading an online article about how moms and kids, specifically daughters, can't really be friends. At first I was like "What?" but I read on and didn't recognize either BG or myself in the piece as written. However, I do know a lot of moms and daughters like that, and I was one of them back in the day. When I became a mother, I turned into my own and tried to measure up to her very tall expectations for my daughter and me. As a social icon of the fifties and a extraordinary hostess, she always managed to throw a good meal or party. Holidays and birthdays were roundly celebrated with lots of food and presents with family gathered around. My daughter was privy to this family life and for that I will be forever grateful. I can definitely say that she has the Reaves hospitality gene and also the Stafford stubborn streak.

From her dad and I, she got differing perspectives because of our extremely different backgrounds. His family read like a road map with a humble beginning, raised by his grandma thinking his birth mother was his sister. He found his birth certificate as a 13 year old, and the truth was out. We met about eight years later and were together when his father died at 55, a street drunk who had a nice soul but a taste for the demons. It was a horrid death with convulsions and whatnot witnessed by he and I plus his sister with no legs. She had lost them years ago in a car wreck, some said involving alcohol and a married man. Most of the family that my husband claimed were from that side of the family, the man he called father who was actually his STEP grandfather. See what I mean? There was a half brother in and out of jail over the years whom he despised because the runt stole from him. The entire time that we were married, and especially after I began therapy, I begged him to deal with the elephant in the room. Instead, he claimed that I was trying to fuckin' analyze him and kept on trucking. That's the biggest reason we divorced.

After the divorce I ran into his birth mother and asked her point blank who his birth father was. She told me a name which I shared with him, though he didn't believe it and didn't really care. That entire side of the family has been absent for BG during most of her life. The only bond that remains is the ultra strong one between she and her daddy. He would literally lay down and die for her if he had to. As a recovering addict, he stays away from "real life" in the 'burg and practices his sobriety as a counselor in an A/D facility. He has worked, off and on, as his health allows but he is no longer able to do physical jobs. If anyone ever deserved a disability check it's this man. Years of laboring in a rubber mill covered with carbon black have left him with bad knees and lungs. The money was good, and while we were married he out-earned me, even though I made more per hour. It's what he knew...work hard and play harder. I can honestly say that we didn't love each other when we got married, and he wouldn't argue. It was still a "sin" to be shacked up and when his aunt moved away he became a roommate at my apartment. We met(of course) in a bar where he worked for his childhood friend who is long since dead, murdered by another addict. David's last blood alcohol that I saw was in the "incompatible with life" area and he was up walking around. Soon after, he was history. His killer is now dead as well. Small town drama is all we know and you can't make that shit up.

My daughter is my friend, and that's good since we're living together. She can be a door slammin' bitch when the Stafford comes out, but that's not often anymore. We have learned to give each other space out of necessity and it works. I have my part of the house and she has hers with the TV and we visit around sharing the bed and couch with four dogs and a cat. Lily is the evil kitty who sits on her dresser and knocks everything off, which is why the top drawer stays open...to catch all!

Just another day in paradise friends ^j^