They say hindsight is 20/20. In order to clearly see your past, you have to actively look at it. Deconstruction of your past actions can be a process of true growth, or it can be the worst form of self-indulgent narcissism. I'm constantly looking back. "Damn, I could have done that better." or "That is something I'll be fixing in the future." or, "Crap, who's in charge of damage control?" Sometimes I give myself premature (or timely), undeserved (or honestly earned), pats on the back. Right now I am swinging on my back porch, beer in hand watching the fire reduce itself to embers - all because the Girl child and company want to roast hot dogs and make s'mores. I am at a good spot in life when drinking beer alone in front of a fire makes me feel like a Good Mom.
I had a couple of "bad Mommy" moments earlier this week. The Darling Girl has inherited the unfortunate habit of self-analysis, I'm not always the best sounding board. Sometimes she is looking for an honest opinion about action or behaviour, and sometimes she wants to know that she is loved unconditionally, that she should never change. She is a teen ager. Sometimes I forget that. Even when I remember, it does not mean I will understand the things any better. Conversations are not the equal give and take of active minds that they once were. They are not the sharing of advice to enrich her future. They are freakin' psychological mine fields, and I do not have a map. I usually know that I went the wrong way when she clams up and gets a little teary. She invented "I'm fine." My go to attitude is more: "what-ev-er." These are not compatible phrase patterns. There are often hurt feelings and shocked confusion hanging about the room, left over after the most seemingly mundane conversations.
I try to remember how my parents coped. Then I remember. They drank. A lot. I'm pretty sure that is not an option for me. This beer is pretty darn good, though - it is something to ponder.
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