Cruella DeVille

At the dinner table this evening my teenager announced that her boyfriend (gulp!) said - and I quote her quoting - "Your mom would probably be a lot nicer if you'd help out once in a while." Let's see...that's both a sigh of relief and a real backhand. My husband and I have only been saying this for...oh...several years now. Of course, I realize it doesn't mean anything unless it comes from a friend or significant other. I felt young once, too. I think.

First, I feel vindicated. Aha! I'm not just an embittered, stressed and frazzled old lady who never gets a break from her kids and ages well before her time. Well, I am that...but, not just that. I am also someone who just needs a little help and some tenderness here and there. (Why, yes, that was an Otis Redding song cue) Is that so much to ask? A night out every once in a while. A karaoke here and there. A margarita and a ride home now and then. A bubble bath without pleas for help from a teenager at the computer ("How do I insert a picture into the page again?"), the baby pounding at the bathroom door or a husband who absolutely cannot in any way figure out how to snap a onesie and always brings the cuteness to me to finish no matter what I may be engaged in. Maybe even somebody else doing the dishes every once in a while - oh, how I miss my dishwasher and count down the months until I have one again.

But it stings, too. I used to be the nice mom. The strict mom, but the nice mom, too. My daughter used to defend me and my extroverted nature and used to say things like "You make friends wherever you go, don't you?" (which is usually true) Now I just ruin her life. I did used to be much more relaxed, organized (which is a key for me. If my home is tidy and organized - who knew that was gonna happen? - then I am organized and calm.), and..well...nice. The move, followed by...incident after happenings after...thing after thing...the house, the baby's lead poisoning, now the baby has hives from an "unspecified allergic reaction", the teenager suddenly having a major (and I do mean major) social life completely out of nowhere (which, of course, is one of the reasons we moved here), the house thoroughly ransacked and not a single room put together yet, etc., etc. (as Yul Brenner would say) I have to wonder, would others handle all this with more grace than I? I am quick to tear, quicker to anger than I've ever been, less capable than usual. When did I become the person I used to make fun of? When did I become a version of my mother. *gasp of horror* For those of you who actually knew my mother, I'm nowhere that bad...yet. But I fear. I quake. I tremble. WWMSD? (What would Martha Stewart Do?)

I used to dream of sequins and greasepaint. Now my dream is a file cabinet, some shelving and some closets for goodness sake. Why can't this house have one decent closet?

Yes, I'm becoming stressed out and not nearly as nice as I used to be. I know what steps to take to combat that, but I am in no position to take them at this time. Sort of that ol' damned if I do, damned if I don't kinda thing.

Wait. I just re-read one of those sentences and realize what I just said. My daughter has a boyfriend. A boyfriend. A cute, tall boyfriend. Who actually told her she needs to help her mother. I think I might just approve of this boy...