I'm Proud of You

I have realized with some terrifying observations, that I reveal too much of myself all the time. I talk alot. Anytime something happens to me, even around me, I have to tell someone. So what gives? I have been observing myself, as I mentioned above and I I think I know why I do this. I want someone to feel proud of me. My mom never did, never does. More and more I have come to see this. (I'm having major mom issues right now.) I remember once wanting to tell my mom about a good grade and I walked out back and caught her smoking pot. Instead of being able to tell her, she yelled at me to go back inside. Later, she asked what it was I needed and she said, Oh That's Good. To me, it was better than good. If it was just good, I wouldn't have gone to the trouble of potential let down; which is what I mostly got. I know she is not proud of me because I struggle with this very issue with my boys. And because I am aware of it, I overcompensate sometimes. My parents were less than proud when I go prego with A1. I realize that they were disappointed, but I seemed to have things together. An apartment, a savings account, a job with health benefits, the boy was staying with me. (You know what they say about hindsight.) My point is that, although, I was young and dumb, I made a grown up decision and had a little back-up. Maybe they didn't have to be proud right at that moment, but after I had A1 and I didn't go on welfare or drugs... Maybe pride isn't the word I am seeking. Acceptance. That's easier, right Mom? I guess not to her. I am not going to tell my parents about me going back to school. I figure, they will find out when I send out graduation invites. If I tell my dad, he has a knowledge that my mom doesn't, then she finds out, then finds out that he knew first and my dad's in the doghouse...again. See my mom has never really accepted my dad either. You know, she has never accepted anyone. I know it's not just me... Anyway, if I tell my mom, she tells my aunts and uncles, who tell my cousins and somehow, their lack of acceptance oozes it's way back to me and I am left wondering what I did wrong. I know that not much of this makes sense to a reader, but my internal dialogue and I get it. My point is, I need to be accepted for who I am. I don't get that from the one unit I should, so I seek it out. Please listen to me, take interest, maybe be proud to be my friend. Now to correct this in my parenting. I could gush, but that's not real. I could brag, but nobody likes that. I actually don't know the first thing about being proud of my babies. I am much more accepting of people who live outside the box than my mom ever was. But what about those differences that I find challenging. Like A1, is the slowest mother fucker I know. Seriously, nobody is slower. I can say I hate it! Everything take 5 times longer, like getting out of the car today. He had no shoes on. He knew we were going to get out of the car. And yet the three of us waited in the heat for him to get his damn shoes on. Or he has to finish a chapter or a story in those fucking highlights mags. I want to really believe that he is retarded so I can peg a reason for his slowness. "This is my oldest, A1, (whisper) He's retarded. We're working on getting his shoes on before we leave the house.." Why can't I accept that he is a slow mother fucker and actually plan for his need for extra time. He could be a series of periods after a sentence, a llllllloooooooonnnnnnnnggggg pause. I turn off the car, K and A2 open the door, I step out into the 100 degree heat. I turn to A1.........................................................he gets out of the car and shuts the door. We are on our way. Does he need the attention? This is not a new scenario, it did not just start because of the domestic turmoil. So feedback on this blog would be good. If A1 told me he was gay or, God forbid, wanted to join the military, I could accept that. But if he leaves the house again to go on a swimming play date and it dawns on him a half hour later that he didn't bring his trunks, I might kill him. I never wanted to be anything like my mom. I hate her parenting, so much that I almost hate her for it. I hate the way she raised me and taught me to raise my own. I have changed so much, but something as simple as acceptance is too much for me to change. Why?