Trauma Drama Mama

I had one of those mornings today when my mind felt all blurry as I was trying to toast my daughter a bagel before she left for school, and I was waiting and waiting and waiting for the imbecilic toaster to cook the bagel and fretting that it was taking too long and now she’d be late because the stupid idiot useless toaster didn’t know how to toast a bagel in a timely manner like normal toasters, and I was about to drop-kick it across the floor and then call Black & Decker and get someone fired, when suddenly I spied the bagel sitting on the kitchen counter, uncooked. I had forgotten to put it in the toaster. (And I swear that bagel gave me a smug look as I picked it up.)

So I had that kind of experience this morning, and after a horrific moment or two of thinking, “This is it! Early-Onset Alzheimer’s is beginning!”, I realized that I made the bagel toasting error because I was completely exhausted, physically and emotionally, from the drama of this past weekend. The drama regarding Butterfly’s dating woes.

Rock Star, who is only thirteen, has had just one “girlfriend,” and I seemed to be able to take their relationship much more in stride. He and his girlfriend “dated” for a month (I use that term loosely as “dating” involved talking inanely on their cell phones continuously to the tune of a $788 Cingular bill and occasional tv watching marathons). But one day Girlfriend called Rock Star on his cell phone, and he didn't return her call for three days because he was busy. My naïve son had no clue that a sin such as that was akin to a Relational Death Sentence in Estrogen Land. His girlfriend promptly broke up with him on MySpace, causing Rock Star to spiral down into a mini-depression during which he spent two days not showering and singing John Mayer love ballads on his electric guitar. But on Day #3, he woke up, showered, and returned to playing songs by Green Day; completely fine once again.

But with Butterfly, who is sixteen and more emotional, I am whipsawed back and forth by her every feeling, owning them as if they were mine. If she’s up, I’m up, and if she’s down, I want to crawl into a fetal position and just die. (I believe that’s called co-dependency??) She and her long-term boyfriend were having relational problems that seemed to stem from spending too much time together and decided they needed to “take a break” (and we all know what happened when Ross and Rachel did that. It was over with them from Season 2 until Season 10, for those who are not “Friends” fans.) So Butterfly spent a lot of time crying and being sad and heartbroken this past weekend. And I spent a lot of time comforting her and saying all the wrong things, until I finally realized I needed to just shut up and take her out for a manicure.

It’s hard, sometimes, being a mother to a teenage daughter. I connect emotionally almost too much. Her sorrow and losses stir up my own. I want to spare her from any pain in her life, even though I know that’s completely impossible and not helpful. She can grow from pain and be better for it. Some of the most beautiful people I know are that way because they have been through tremendous losses in their lives. But none-the-less, I want to make life all better for her because I am her Mommy and I was able to do that when she was a little girl. But now she’s sixteen, and I feel powerless to help her.

Last night at 9pm, Boyfriend came over and professed his undying love for her. “Break” over after two days. So Butterfly is happy again. But I am empty after the past 48 hours of emotional upheaval. Completely spent. Hence I cannot remember to put said bagel into said toaster like a person with functioning brain cells. But tonight I am having dinner with a couple of friends who make me laugh and fill me up. Pour me a martini and let the good times roll! I am SO ready!