Diary of a wimpy daughter by Pamela Francis
Dear Diary,
Today, mom reamed me (was abusive, called me a racial slur, slammed doors, delivered veiled threats, cursed at me, and said that she was “77 yrs old”) — I thought she was 79, by the way — for not letting her know I was taking the boys for pizza after the errand to the dump. The 4 of us (she, me, them) had just ordered and eaten $50 worth of Mexican food on Thursday evening and here it was Saturday afternoon. I, by the way, did not order any food (fast or otherwise) for myself after the dump errand; I knew I had food at the house, I knew mom was preparing raw chicken, that had been in the refrigerator for days, as I left, and I knew I did not need to be eating pizza today after enchiladas, tamales, refried beans, guacamole, sour cream, etc. just 48 hrs prior, and neither did she, by the way, with her Three Amigos-ordering ass. How can I make her understand she can’t have everything two teen boys indulge in?
Dear Wimpy Daughter, (side note: my diary talks back; kinda like the Dear Abby of my alter ego)
The n-word is no longer considered a racial slur, so don’t exaggerate, my ni**a. And…, your mom is 77. She’s 22 years older than you, so be glad she still knows how old she is, even if you don’t.
Dear Diary,
This week alone I witnessed that mom is back to eating pork bacon, she had fried eggs, she had steak, she had shrimp, she had guac, she had sour cream…; her doctor just told her that she could wind up on a cholesterol medication if she doesn’t watch it, to which mom said, no; she intends to / would rather just stick to her proper diet for this condition instead; I don’t know who she thinks she’s kidding; If she gets anywhere near a Publix or Food Lion she will wipe them out of Mexican Street Corn dip. That, and Haagen Dazs. And cake. Or key lime pie. I’m not judging. It’s her life. I just hate the way the boys literally have to sneak their fast food past her in fear of setting her off. Why can’t’ she understand that it’s okay for them to eat processed food and Popeye’s and KFC and Wendy’s and Little Caesar, and Jersey Mike’s, and McDonald’s, and Wing Stop, and — but not her. ?
Dear Wimpy Daughter,
really?
Dear Diary,
I’m just really starting to notice how mean and verbally abusive mom is when she doesn’t get her way. She chooses for the sake of victimhood to not see things the way I am presenting them (as care; I am her Power of Atty for health, for Pete’s sake. At her request; I just happen to be a live-in one who sees it all and feels empowered to make judgement calls based on what makes sense to me). Her own doctor once said, If you don’t want to do what I say, then don’t have me treat you for your various conditions. I totally agree with that.
Dear Wimpy Daughter,
Where did they get you from?
Dear Diary,
I am experiencing burnout from looking after mom. I tend to her when she is not well, I am her ride to the ER or urgent care if she so needs it; I take her to her appointments; I recently gave up my own apptmt to make sure she got care from our primary care physician during her Covid sickness. I shop for her and with her at the pharmacy; I make recommendations and do research; I keep notes on her meds; I keep up with her various conditions — of which there are several — her ailments, her doctor appointment results – all at her behest; I recall how she used to complain, “what? nobody wants to know what the doctor said…?” when I’d receive her back into the car after an apptmt if I didn’t ask fast enough for her liking about the visit. Right now I feel unappreciated in the capacity that I serve.
Dear Wimpy Daughter,
Didn’t you give your mom Covid…?
Dear Diary,
I feel abused by the tirades that come from mom not getting her way; I feel like she tends to have low willpower, is spoiled around sweets and other unhealthy choices, is demanding and feels entitled to having her way on unhealthy and persistent requests around food. And somehow she believes I must make my every trip to town known to her — whether pre-planned or impromptu! I know that she is of the age where she should both a) be allowed to indulge a little, and b) stay diligent about what she eats. It is a balancing act. Sometimes a slippery slope. I know that she doesn’t get out as much; On some level I feel like this is a saving grace that protects her from over-indulging. I also know that she does not intend to do much going out on her own anymore, and I have offered to take her out on Saturdays. We are all getting over Covid and she is the last to recover but I expect we will resume going out on Saturdays again.
Dear Wimpy Daughter,
You have reached the voicemail of the Diary of a Wimpy Daughter; I am on another call or away from my desk… Please try your call again later.
Dear Diary.
Today when mom screamed at me that I am not her mother and that she can do “whatever the f**k I want” I could not refrain from quipping, “I’m not your DOORDASH driver either.” My meaning of that was as a DD driver there were many times when I would deliver armloads of booze to stumble-down drunks who had NO BUSINESS ordering alcohol. But as long as they had paid for it and could produce a valid ID, I did it. What the f**k do I care? Even though, there was this one time when I literally had to hide my arrival from the woman’s kids… I was like, here’s your Absolut and she was like, What? What are you talking about…? Oh and that time the customer couldn’t even come to the door and I had to take the booze back with me… But anyway, I will not be that enabler for my mom. Her health and mine are intertwined now. I think she owes me an apology but I’m ok with not getting one. I just worry that I have the kind of mother who will be nasty as she gets older.
Dear Wimpy Daughter,
I’ve looked these all over and I think you’re afraid that you could be looking at your own future and you don’t like it. Maybe you are… maybe you aren’t. The ball’s still in your court. What a blessing to have a peek ahead and be able to course-correct. In the meantime, I will refer you back to one of your older entries. You know the one where you tell older people to start doing more things that could potentially kill them, like bungee jumping and white water rafting and parasailing, because, after all… the alternative isn’t more fun. Why You Should Start Living Dangerously by Pamela Francis. Remember that one…? I loved that one. https://motherhoodlater.com/why-you-should-start-living-dangerously-by-pamela-francis/
