You know how it is when someone says something to you and you just can't think about anything else for next few hours? Well, that's what happened to me tonight. Now, I admit, sometimes my brain wraps itself around the most insignificant detail and before I know it, I'm analyzing it, dissecting it and vowing to spend the rest of my life researching it. Luckily, something else comes along sooner or later to steal my attention and I rid myself of whatever it was that was so damn important. And, I'm pretty sure that's what will happen with this. But, here's the thing----my daughter tells me that I am overbearing. Yes, overbearing. Me? No way. So, I've been thinking about the word OVERBEARING. And, of course, I've also been wondering about how in the world my own daughter would think that--- I----of all people, am overbearing. The insanity of it, I know!
But, I'm also thinking about the entire feeling of the word OVERBEARING.
Now, let me explain how this came about. My lovely, sweet daughter Toni is going to her Homecoming formal this weekend with her new beau. From what I know, this is her first "real" boyfriend. A very nice young man. Yes, he's cute too. And smart. He won the hearts of my sister and my niece--not an easy fete--by making a special effort to meet them. And, even Carmen thinks he's nice---even though he's not Italian (as far as we know....we haven't done a background check....). And, it seems like he comes from a very good family....his father called him right there as he stood on my porch in front of me at 10:30 at night to tell him it was time to come home. If it was planned to impress me--it was masterful. In any case--he does not go to the same high school as Toni so let's just say that she is importing her date. So, considering the situation, I thought it best that I contact the young man's mother and fill her in on what's going on. In our neck of the woods, these formals and the events surrounding them have a certain protocol. Naturally, there's the dress, the shoes, the jewelry, the make up, the nails and the hair. And, in our neighborhood---there's the group who will be going together, the home that will host the pictures, the mode of transportation, the restaurant where they will eat, the dance itself and then the after party. It's very orchestrated. The dress is, of course, of great importance. The stores around here keep very accurate records on which dresses are sold to which girls from which schools. So, even if you are in love with a dress and your mother has cash in her hand--if another girl has the dress, you are out of luck. If that store would sell the same dress to 2 girls who are going to the same dance, they might as well kiss their business goodbye. It's a law around these parts. Then, there's the shoes. Now, I like this part. I won't go into great detail about what we went through for the shoes. But, I'll say this---several of my wonderful, empathetic coworkers devoted precious time to researching the perfect shoes (if you must know--we needed brown patented leather). In fact, in a moment of sheer desperation, when I mentioned to them that I was thinking of secretly re-habbing a pair of her shoes from a previous dance, each of them showed up at my door and offered their advice--NOOOOOO! Like I said---I was desperate. Thankfully, after a weary weeknight spent shopping, we returned home with not one-- but two pair of the perfect shoes. The jury on which pair she will ultimately wear is still out. It's a tough choice. We're shoe stressed.
Anyway, back to me being an overbearing person. So, like I said--I called the young man's mother. But, I ended up leaving a message. So, she called me back tonight. In the meantime, the smart young man text messaged Toni to warn her that his mother was calling. Isn't technology helpful? So, Toni conveniently stationed herself at the top of the staircase that leads into our kitchen since I was having the conversation there. Now, I know I am talkative. My Grandma Carr kissed the Blarney Stone. That's not a bad thing. Right? I'm friendly, I'm fun, I love rock and roll, my heart is in the right place and I am nice---even though maybe I can be wee bit loud. But, geez, I really work hard to make sure I am kind and considerate. Overbearing---never. Anyway....back to this conversation with the boyfriend's mother. Let's face it, she needed to know what was going on. So, I told her. I gave her the facts---in a friendly way. I invited her and her husband to our home, I explained the schedule, assured her of our involvement in all of it and I answered her questions. And, I told her how nice I thought her son was. Now, does that sound overbearing? Evidently, my daughter thought it was. And, you know what else---I cleared my throat a few times during the conversation. Not good. Gets on her last nerve.
Yes, I know what you're thinking---our children are supposed to feel this way about their mothers. And, anyway---who cares? ME! Yes, I know, we mothers are supposed to expect this. But, not this mother. Anyway, besides all of that and besides the possibility that I must have real self image issues, I am stuck on this word OVERBEARING. All night long, I've been thinking about it. And I'm embarrassed to admit it, but---each time I think of a woman who is OVERBEARING.......I think of a woman who is overweight. Someone who "throws her weight around". I don't have an image of a thin person. An overbearing person is NOT a thin person. An overbearing person is a FAT person. So, that got me to thinking about what I might call a thin woman who acts in an OVERBEARING fashion? Why, a BITCH, of course. So, I wonder......next year when I am not fat and I act OVERBEARING......will I be a BITCH? Hmmmm.......that might be one thing I won't like about being thin. But, I'll give it a whirl......