Being the Bee in the Bonnet

The other day I scolded my sister. She’s much younger than me and her daughter is 3-1/2 years old. As toddlers go, this child is spectacular. She’s got brains and beauty. OK, sure I’m biased, and, I have, in fact, referred to her as my “practice grandchild.” Anyway, my sister and I were chatting on the phone and her daughter wanted her attention – several times. My sister truly has the patience of a saint. She teaches second graders, which tells you a lot about her ability to deal with children. And so my sister said to her daughter: “Please stop now. Can’t you see I’m on the phone?! Go and play!” It really wasn’t a huge deal, but I told her that one day, my niece is going to be 14 and she won’t want to be anywhere near her mother and that in a few short years, my sister will actually miss those interruptions.

I told my sister this because I know. I am living on the other end of the spectrum. As the mother of a 14, almost 15-year old, I am both my daughter’s worst enemy and best friend. Just last night, as she actually sat and watched a movie with my husband and me, she, at one point, said: “Oh my gawd! Do you guys realize how annoying you are?!”

I try to be a lot of things, but annoying isn’t one of them. But, according to my daughter, I’m very gifted in that area. What is it about me that repels her so? From my point of view, I’m like a personal assistant/chef/chauffer/ATM all rolled into one, big cuddly body. I’m there at her beckon call. I wash her clothes, even when they’re not dirty. I actually understand why she doesn’t want to wear the same dress to two dances. I let her have sleepovers. I try not to speak when her friends are in the car.

Last week, my daughter and I spent an entire day together. We had tickets to a college basketball game and a musical in the same day. I said to her: “Are you sure you want to spend that much time with me?” She kind of shrugged as if to say: “Trust me. If anybody else were available, you’d be outta here faster than a seat filler at the Oscars.” And so I geared up to do my best to be less annoying than usual. It didn’t last long. During the game, I sometimes text message a friend of mine that sits on the other side of the arena. This annoyed my daughter because I don’t text as well as she does. Then, I tried to chat with my daughter about the players and the game in general. I apparently said something monumentally stupid. And so I sat there, silently steaming, thinking: “Look kid. I may be incredibly lame, but I’m all you’ve got today, so don’t ruin my day too.”

And then I thought back to my teen years. To say that I was moody would be a gigantic understatement. My moods changed more often than Britney Spears’ hair color. I was up one minute, down most of the others. I’m certain I was downright surly for a majority of my adolescence. How did my mother survive and why does she still speak to me?

That’s when it hit me. What I remember was that my crabbiness was borne out of incredibly low self-esteem. I had a nice childhood, but I had not much confidence and so I hurt the ones I loved….or at least those that would take it.

So as I sat next to my daughter at that game, and later during a nice dinner and then the musical, I held back a little. I used a softer approach and skipped the stupid jokes and just enjoyed being with her. I can’t force her to like me as much as she likes her friends, but I can teach her to like herself. I guess it’s why I’m here.