My mom, a little bit like my ex, has an unconscious mother-daughter complex. Basically, even though they would fail to recognize their mothers’ domination over them. They’re afraid of them.
Just the day before my grandma and her husband (which is technically not my grandpa), came over – mom of course, started cleaning up like I haven’t seen her before. She even told me to try to keep the house clean. When my dad did me a great favor by asking the question that I’ve been dying to make my mother face – whether she’s afraid that grandma might judge her.
“Judge me? No, she doesn’t care how the house looks, it’s not her house anyway; and I left home years ago anyway, she can’t give me orders anymore” she replied with absolute certainty.
The house was spotless, you could eat a cookie even if it fell on the toilet seat. You could lick the laundry room (which is more of a storage room) floor and not come down with a terrible disease for a change. It was clean to say the least.
Grandma doesn’t dominate you, I see.
I’ve had my share of this mother-daughter complex back a few months ago with my ex. Again, the same problem, “mom has no control over me whatsoever”, but when mom says “foreigner bad, foreigner problem” – mom must be right, no? It took her about a month, but she did it, she got rid of this terrible foreigner. But really, don’t parents just love nerds? We still talk, but when she came to town this weekend she refused to see me. It all fell into place when I realized she was with her mother. Her sick dominating mother.
So if you ever wonder why I’m not that full of regrets about that whole thing I had with her – yeah, it’s also because she reminds me of my mom.
Brings back when mother’s unwillingness to leave to move to a new house back a few years ago in Israel. It was because we were living only one block away from no other than grandma. Grandma, oh grandma. When my parents are coming back to Israel (I will be tagging along for a short period of time before getting the fuck out of there) they’re coming back to the same house. One block away from grandma.
There was a plan to come back to a different house – on the same street as to not get away from grandma almighty.
And now she’s here. For two weeks, leaving oily marks on various tupperware boxes in the fridge, making the house smell like old people and making everyone’s life miserable by giving orders.
My dad doesn’t get any orders though.
“Fine, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to”, “why does this house look like a dump?” and a wide variety of classic Jewish complaints. Since I became German she at least doesn’t express her (now ridiculous and redundant) hate for Germans.
When she’s around everything feels like you’re walking on a wire suspended between two really tall buildings with my brother shaking the wire every now and then. No matter how much you beg, he either won’t get it, or will try harder.
They’re not even getting letters from me once I’m gone.