I'm not doing a very good job keeping up with this blog site. It isn't that there is a lack of things worth recording, but that there are so many things to record. I am so focused on living my memories instead of trying to log them. My family is so humorous -- each of us in our own way -- and the Little's personality along with our impersonations of her to make things a little more light-hearted in light of having a demanding newborn, makes for such a fun family.
Nevertheless I realize that even in living instead of logging, I am still sharing my family memories...with myself. I know I am not the only Mom who often refers to herself in the 3rd person. It has happened with each baby and lasts until that baby makes it to at least Bam's age -- I still do it with Bam. Why is that? It is like a universal truth. Moms refer to themselves as "Mommy" not "I" nor "me." "Mommy doesn't like that." "Go get ---- for Mommy." It's like we imply there are two of us. What I also notice is that it is universally true that moms act like the age of their child with their baby talk. Sometimes moms will even impersonate the child to the child and themselves. For instance, while the baby is crying I have found myself looking at her and saying, "Milk, Mommy?" in question form to take the place of me in the first person asking her in the second person if she wants milk. I think the thought is that we are teaching them exactly how to say it, word for word, but while doing so this is what it sounds like: I am impersonating the child saying she wants milk to me, while the question form of it also means I am myself asking her if she wants milk. Yup, moms have split AND multiple personalities.
Then there is the 3 different age groups of my children that contribute. I act as both kindergarten and 7th grade teacher at the same hours. Lately in order to get my workouts in, I added it to my multi-tasked mornings. So while I am working out with the baby as my weight system, Amira's reading out loud from her textbook and I'm overlooking Bam doing his writing assignments. I am whiplashed from baby talk, to memorization rhymes, to intelligent-speaking. Have you seen that ecard that says moms on the phone sounds like they have tourettes -- "Yes, I'd like to have lunch --don't lick that! -- Where would you like to go?" With my kids at different stages of their lives, and the call upon a mom to be a chameleon to their children's development, my Mommy-tourettes is amongst my own children. I like it said better that way -- no multiple personalites, just a chameleon one. Although this still doesnt explain how we talk to ourselves. The only thing I can say is that moms also live such insanely busy lives, frequently in such precious and hilarious moments, that their nearest girlfriend to share it with is themselves.
My daughter turned 13 this past month. I am not sure if my mother ever really knew me as a child, especially my struggles. I was molested from ages 7 to 11 and kept it in. It marred my view on acceptance amongst others and my view on love. I know that by the time I was my daughter's age, I could assuredly say that she far from knew me. I don't want that to be Amira and me. I want to know her struggles, and I also want her time lest the world takes it up. I am troubled on how much of the real world I should tell her about, and how much would only taint her mind. When I come to the realization of things within the real world, it taints my own mind. Even evil deeds of not just ISIS and the government, but others close to me -- the replay in my head keeps me in a constant melancholy of this world. I don't want her to be that way. I quite enjoy the light-hearted girl I spend my days with.
However, I also can't leave her blind, loving though deceived. Years ago my family had an intervention for my youngest brother in his oxycontin addiction. I flew in from Germany, my mother from Georgia. I kids you not, everybody except for my grandma and one of my friends, that I saw and that was even a part of this intervention, had been exposed in my eyes as a substance abuser. My brother said, "Everybody has their poision." My reply was, "No. Not the people I know." I looked at them as if they were strangers to me, because they were. I guess in reflection of true-character revelation of people I thought I knew, I would rather continue talking to myself for company than the alternative.
That's what we release our children to -- to a world of deceivers, abusers, hypocrities, liars, stealers, drunkards, murderers. Considering all this, I happily live my nonsocial busy life as a stay at home Mom and teacher. It is the dire need of my conscience to be saturated in their lives, their teacher of all things spiritual and intellectual, that they would be unspotted from the ways of the world and keep themselves from being hurt by it.
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