This behavior, I know, is typical. I've been through it before, but nothing to this extent with a child. When she turned fourteen, if anyone pointed out physical similarities between her and I, Lauren's eyes would well up and she would look as if she would cry. She decided to erase as much linkage with me as she could, and so the request came to dye her hair dark brown. Well, you can't fight city hall, so I went along with it, admonishing her that someday, when she wanted the blonde hair back, it would be difficult to do. However, it is well known that along the way to fifty years old, my brain cells have deteriorated to the point that I am classified a borderline incompetent idiot (unfortunately, not to the point I can display a handicapped parking tag on my rear-view mirror, though), so my advice was never heeded.
That was the year that the twins entered High School, and both children became involved in the Marching Band--Lauren, in the color guard, and Landon playing the sax. Our Marching Band, by the way, is one of the largest, and most acclaimed in the entire State of Indiana. And I have TWO children in it! Proud, yes I was. So, when the first performance at the first home football game half-time show came that fall, I couldn't wait. Once the show was over, I hurried down to where the band was gathered to get pictures and to see my children. Landon, my smiling, loving son, complied quite readily:
In sharp contrast, was Lauren who found that she could run, but she couldn't hide. Smiling through gritted teeth she hissed at me as soon as the flash went off, "Done? Happy? GOOD. DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!"
With tears filling my eyes, I slunk back to my place at the bleachers, never to venture out after another half-time show that season, or for that matter, the next two seasons.
And, so, sophomore and junior years came and went. The attitude remained much the same as far as Lauren was concerned. I toughened up and resigned myself to a distant relationship where I heard no "I love you's", and hugs were verboten. This was my baby, she wanted nothing to do with me, and that was that. On my morose days, I groused to myself..."Maybe she'll come to my funeral", and on better days, when I listened to friends that I confided in, "Maybe she'll come around".
"Maybe she'll come around". Yes, but when?
Perhaps, even though I've gone through raising a few teenagers in my lifetime, I still have a lot to learn. I remember as clear as day the moment when it happened. The moment when Lauren woke up and realized that maybe, just maybe, her mother wasn't so bad.
We were at the hospital a year ago when my father had taken a bad fall. I had taken the children up to see him, and to be honest, no one thought that he would make it. As we stood there in that hospital room, I watched as Lauren, who in the past few years, showed little emotion and even less compassion, allowed tears to fall silently down her face. We said our good-byes, and left the room. As we walked down the hospital corridor, Lauren lost all composure and fell apart, sobbing uncontrollably. What do I do? Instinctively, I held out my arms as I used to when she was hurt and sought me out for comfort. To my surprise, she fell into them and buried her face in my chest and allowed me to hold her. Although my heart was heavy for my Dad, I felt joy that my daughter not only needed me, but allowed me to need her as well.
Little by little, the indifference and the attitude has steadily chipped away this past year. I get "I love you's" again. She asks my opinion. She confides in me. She is kind of, sort of, my friend. But, unfortunately, "God! I'm STILL so annoying!"
And now, here we are in our Senior year. Landon, is no longer in the band, but Lauren is more excited than ever, and savoring every bit of it, knowing she won't get to do this next year. It's bittersweet for both of us.
Our last first football half-time performance was this past Friday, and it was the most humid day of the summer. After the half-time show, I ventured on down to use the ladies room, and I passed by the area where the band is sequestered after the performance. With my hair matted with sweat, and not looking like my usual perky self, I really had no desire for anyone to see me. To minimize the chance of that happening, even though it was dark, I kept my sunglasses on and moved swiftly to my destination. "Mom!....Mom!!!...MOTHER OF MINE!!. Oh. No. Lauren darted after me and pulled me over to a waiting friend. "Shay--this is my MOM!", I sheepishly took my sunglasses off, and as I did, my daughter pulled my face to hers and said to her friend "Can't you see the resemblance?"
As I walked off to the cinder block restroom after that, I mused silently how good it felt to be the one who is sought out, finally. In that moment, I forgot all about being an un-presentable, sweaty, messy mess. Instead, I felt beautiful. I felt beautiful, because I resemble that beautiful girl. She said so herself.
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