That's what she said yesterday when our shopping spree took a turn for the worst.

My mom and I went on our second (SECOND!) leg of shopping yesterday and that's what she said to me after I reverted to my 16 year old self and started to bitch when she tried to return a pair of shoes and the store clerk took forty five minutes and six registers to do the deed. I uttered the words, "If I knew this was going to happen," eying the clerk with disdain, "I would've stayed home and laid out." As soon as I uttered the words, I wished them back into my head but they had already spewed out of my mouth. My mom's eyes welled with tears and she said quietly, "When I'm done with this, you can take me home. And . You. Can. Go. Layout." What she really mean was, "when I'm done with this, you can take me home, and then you can go to Hell!"

We left the store and she whispered in a soft hurt voice, "I can't believe I wasted my day off trying to spend time with my daughter. It happens every time I try, you revert into yourself and become this sullen child. I love you, but I maybe we don't have to like each other." And with that, I started to cry right in the mall. "C'mon Mom, I'm sorry! I don't really want to lay out, I want to go to the book store!" (which was the next place on our itinerary).
"No! Just take me home!"

We got in the car, both of our eyes spilling quiet, painful tears that burned both of our faces. I kept pleading with her, "I'm sorry, I was being bitchy! I didn't really mean to aim it at you! Forgive me and let's get back to our day together?!?" But the damage was done. And then she uttered a phrase that had been seven years in the making,
"I know that you wish I had died instead of your dad...". (silence).
"Mom, you know I don't really think that..." (silence)


***minor bickering bounces back and forth that's not worth mentioning because it was petty***

"Stop here, I want to get you and John some vegetables." So I pulled off to the vegetable market and was confused that she even wanted to fill my fridge with veggies when this emotional firefight was going on. But deftly she moved through the small aisles and picked something out, pointed to certain things and even said, "Oh, you love sugar snap peas, let me get some of those for you!" I followed her confused, and watched her as she picked up all my favorite veggies and tossing them in the box. It was strangely comforting. I felt like it was meant to be comforting after all the harsh words...all the true (mostly--minus that one statement) words.

I dropped her off and I tried to focus on reading a book, I couldn't. I just cried, sending John a terse text message stating, "I just got into a bad fight with my mom. It was my fault :(" He called me immediately from work but I couldn't talk, I just cried, whimpered out a few sentences and then when he asked if I was going to be alright I just mumbled a tear filled, "I don't think so" and we ended the conversation because I couldn't talk and he couldn't make it right. I knew that he would hold me later and let me cry into his shoulder.

She called me a little later and we finally talked. For years we've been dancing around the subjects of my father's sudden death, me moving out, her getting a boyfriend, and all the rough spots in between. Both of felt abandoned by the other, loving each other from afar but rarely speaking our true minds when we'd get together. Yesterday brought all of that to a head, and I think I'm grateful for it. I never realized until she said it, "Your dad died and then you left me." (I lived with her for almost three years and then bought a house when I was 25 or 26) And then I was alone." I hadn't pictured her alone. I thought I had moved out because she was ready for me to do so. It appears that she wasn't...and it wouldn't have hurt me to stay with her a little longer. There was no pressing reason for me to move out, other than I felt inept with the fact that I was still living with my mother and all my friends were out building their lives. I wasn't really ready to move out either...events that followed my leaving her, proved that. It was almost as if I was begging to be taken back in. But I would've refused to go, and it appeared that she had moved on...by dating.
And we continued talking and making plans about starting over and dealing with my issue of keeping her at an arm's length--her death would kill me as much or more than my father's and about rebuilding our family. We focused less on shopping sprees and talked more about her and her boyfriend (whom I also kept at way more than an arm's length) coming over to dinner to share in my newfound culinary talents and simply making a present rather than living in what used to be and then getting angry that neither of us fit our past expectations.

We made up for the present and now I think we are going to start healing our past.

I went to the vet today to take Frankie (my Lab to your left there) to get her booster shots (oh happy day for her!). Everything goes as expected, they try to give her shots and she does alligator rolls on the table. For some reason they kept asking me to tell her not to do that...like that will help. Sorry folks, if she doesn't want a shot, I doubt me calling her Schnukums is going to help. I joke, I did try to calm her down but she just kept doing her barrel rolls and licking my hands...but eventually, they got it all done. Other than that, it was an uneventful visit until we went to pay our bill.

Frankie and I stood at the counter patiently counting the seconds until the two of us could get the hell out of the veterinarian office...we can only take so much pep and baby talk so early in the morning. Seriously, Frankie hates baby talk. She rolls her eyes at people who talk down to her. She did a lot of eye rolling this morning. Well, we must've looked like a pair of irresistible brunettes that needed to be talked to, because some guy with a monster dog decided to take this opportunity to attempt to make small talk. Let's set the scene; my dog is desperately clawing at my arm begging to get the hell out of Dodge and his dog is about to eat her. What was his owner doing? Oh yeah, hitting on me. As Frankie recoils from the demon dog, the douche bag who was previously asking me if I lived in the area and other stupid questions (one in which involved my lunch plans) says to me, "You should probably keep your dog away from my dog, he hates other dogs!" and he says this very sternly as if Frankie was wagging her little tail and trying to play with his dog. Frankie was cowering between my legs and whining softly. I backed up a little more, glanced at the woman who was supposed to be "quickly" preparing my bill...it appeared that she was still preparing. In fact, it looked as though she was still prepping to prepare.

Douchebag's dog lunges at us again, and I back up a little more. He says again, this time even more firmly, "My dog doesn't like dogs, you should really keep your dog away from mine!" This man is crazy! Frankie is tucked between my legs, she hasn't moved at all--in fact, she looks like she's as stiff as a board with fear and I have now backed away from his dog three times and I'm only two steps from the door. So I gave him my patented "What the fuck did you just say to me?" look, took a deep breath and slowly uttered, "I was at this counter first waiting for my bill, you just came out and started hitting on me. I'm married and I don't want to have lunch with you if you noticed when I lacked enthusiasm in talking with you. If your dog has a problem with other dogs why don't you do us all a favor and get your dog the fuck away from mine?" I signed my bill with a flourish and gripped Frankie's leash tightly to leave, feeling like I probably overreacted and then the most unexpected thing happened...

a lady clapped...

and then supplied me with some interesting information. Apparently Douchebag's dog had bitten two other dogs in the waiting room...THAT DAY. After hearing that, I didn't feel like I was a bitch, I just felt like a good mom taking care of her dogbaby.

Last night while we were lying in bed John said quietly, "All I know about you is from your stories of the past, like from when you were little." And it's kind of true, for being married longer than we actually dated he doesn't know me all that well. And yet he does, he can anticipate my moods, and how I'm going to react to something. He knows my favorite foods and all the small things that he'd need to know if we were going to try to fake getting a green card to keep me in the country. But it hurt a little to hear, "I don't really know you."

I was taken aback and tried to quickly summarize something about me, about the present but I only stuttered out a short list of things that trailed off pretty miserably. This morning I was left with persistant questions, "Who am I?" "What defines me today?" "What can I share with my husband who feels that he knows me, but in the same respect, doesn't?"
The Known
Several years ago, I was defined by my father's death. It changed me, instantly--for both better and worse. I became a nicer person but I became more reckless and careless with myself. Then, I decided to become a teacher, and this decision defined me in an even greater way. I immerse myself in my job, in my students, in loving my work. I've allowed myself to be defined by my friends and sometimes the people I shared my bed with--most of them (all of the bedmates), have gone by the wayside--I have few close friends left. I've taken that pretty hard, I miss my friends--but we all change--and I fear they grew up before I was ready to, and I was left behind.
The Partially Unknown
I have to fight against myself because as soon as I achieve something, I subconciously attempt to sabotage myself. I'm not sure why, but I've been doing it for years. For the first time in almost four years I can breathe a small sigh of relief, after finally digging myself out of my last taste of personal sabotage... and it feels nice. I've been carrying a weight of stress, fear, guilt and embarassment that I've tried to off-set with humor. I'm sure some believe that I come off sounding like I've taken all of this lightly, but I haven't. Now the hardest part. While I breathe easily, I have to police myself and make sure I don't do myself in again. I get pre-occupied with this idea because the only thing that I'm worried about destroying is my relationship with John. I don't think I could handle that. And it's that thought that has kept me on pins and needles for over half this year. As safe and comfortable as I feel with John--I'm worried about what I'm going to do wrong. It's paralyzing at times.
The Completely Unknown
So who am I now? Why have I been living in the past and why do I constantly only share that part of me? I think the answer to these questions is that I've been waiting to start over. I finally have that chance. I no longer have to be that girl who did half the stupid things I've done. I'm no longer the girl who wants to go to the bars all the time. I'm no longer the girl who gets bored when there isn't constant noise and I'm not the center of attention (although everyone knows that I do enjoy that...sometimes). It's actually freeing to write all that down.

So really John, I'm not sure who I am right now because I feel like a blank slate again. I'd really appreciate it, if you helped me find out who I'd want to be. I'd like you to meet the girl who likes campfires, adventure and all other things that extend beyond our living room, and our tiny town.