My mom loves giving my kids presents.
Toys, clothes, chocolate, candy, and any neat little items for holidays that she can get her hands on; lambs and chicks galore at Easter, teddy bears at Valentine’s Day, Santas and Angels and nutcrackers at Christmas.
Last year before Easter she found this wreath.
I hated it. But of course the kids loved it.
Last year before Easter I was still purging many of our belongings, we were in the process of selling our house, and I was preparing to pack up everything for the move to Vancouver.
Last year at Easter, I didn’t want to collect any new crap!
So I was not impressed to find this wreath in my daughter’s hands when I picked the kids up from my parent’s house.
The conversation went something like this:
Mom: Isn’t it cute? I bought it for the kids.
Me: What is it for?
Mom: Take it home and put it on the door
Me: Mom, I just got rid of a whole bunch of stuff, I still need to keep the house clean and we don’t need it.
Mom: But the kids like it. (her standard argument)
Me: But I don’t!
Mom: It’s not about you! (Sad but true)
Me: I don’t want it; it’s just one more thing I’ll have to pack.
Mom: (Hurt) Fine, the kids love it but you can leave it here and maybe they’ll see it once a year (Greek mothers are the ultimate queens of passive aggressive guilt trips)
Yes I realize I am a bit of a cow when it comes to things like this. But I have enough random debris strewn around my house from our everyday lives; I don’t like having special occasion debris too. I tolerate Christmas decorations, I have embraced decorating outside for Halloween (out of peer pressure; you should see what they do on my street!) But I draw the line at cutesy bunnies at Easter!
So I hid the wreath where my daughter would hopefully forget about it and took the kids out to the car. No sooner did I start the engine then my daughter noticed it was missing.
Helen: Hey, where’s my bunny wreath?
Me: I left it at YiaYia’s, we don’t have room for it
Helen: But I want it
Me: No, we’re leaving it here.
This goes on for a few minutes until my little girl, crying and screaming recriminations at me pulls out the big guns and says:
“Mommy! You have to give it to me! Yiayia said I could have it and you have to listen to Yiayia; she’s your MOTHER!”
I had no comeback that would not override any semblance of moral authority I ever established. I can’t *not* listen to my mother if I ever expect my kid to listen to me…
So off I trotted back into the house. I told my mother what transpired and stood there sheepishly as she just about fell off the stairs laughing.
Handing me the wreath she grinned and said, “See. You should always listen to your mother…”
