Okay so here’s the rundown: I think of myself as a pretty modern type of gal. I love to blast the music while I’m driving, I’m all about a great live band, and an even better bottle of red. I’m hip. I’m cooool!
But, when did the tide change for me? When did I become the thing that only exists in the deepest, darkest corners of our childhood memories:
Of course, I’m talking about: The Embarrassing Mother
When did I become this? When did my little baby girl become old enough to roll her eyes at me when I pinch her cute little cheeks? Oprah’s gone through at least 4 fat/skinny cycles since my almost seven year old was born but I still can’t believe I’m at this moment…already.
I’m ready to stand at the podium and announce to the crowd of people drinking coffee on cheap folding chairs:
Hi. My name is Kara, and I regularly embarrass my child. Do you?
Yes the embarrassing mother. This is the woman who can bring a child to sheer mortification at a moments notice. The mother who not only volunteers to chaperone the grade 8 dance but.. dances! She honks the horn loudly as she waits to drive you home. She kisses you in public and puts little notes in your lunch box with smiley faces. Yes. That’s me. I’ve arrived.
Of course, I blame my own mother. She was, of course, the Queen of all embarrassing mothers. The smiley faces, the sloppy kisses, the hand holding. I swear I have permanent nerve damage from crouching down in the backseat of the car each morning.
“NO!” I would scream.
“Stop the car! Stop the car!” Apparently, the Partridge Family was blaring too loudly for her to hear me. She would drive SL-O-O-O-W-L-Y to the front doors of the school. How dare she!! I was frozen in the back seat like Donny Osmond at a Frat Party, crippled with anxiety. “SOMEONE WILL SEE!!!”
“Wait!” she would announce. “This is my favourite part”. Then, as if some higher power was punishing me for breaking the arm off of my sister’s Farrah Fawcett doll, she would crank the volume and sing along. Like a John Hughes movie all eyes were on us. My classmates stood frozen on the lawn, mouths gaping open in horror watching my mother simultaneously singing ‘Come On Get Happy’ and reach in for one last hug before shuttling me out the car door.
And yet, having been emotionally damaged by that and many other similar events, here I am today: the only mother left sobbing in the school parking lot long after all the sane mothers have gone home.
Why is this happening to me? I’m the Cool Mom, aren’t I? Do you think Lourdes is embarrassed when Momma Madonna shows up at the PTA meeting in a leather bustier? Well, most likely, yes. I like to think she is. I blame the brain. The not quite fully developed frontal lobe to be specific. Young children and even teenagers haven’t quite developed the part of the brain that predicts the outcome of situations. What does that mean? When you break into song in the middle of the grocery store and your little one says: “STOP or I will die!!”, in her little underdeveloped mind, she just might. So, blame the brain and keep practicing those dance moves while you walk her into class. Someday, she’ll be an embarrassing mother too.
Are you an embarrassing mother too? Any embarrassing mother stories to share?
