questions, ugh

There are times when I'd rather eat raw fish that's been marinating in hot sun, than hear my mother ask me how my day was. Put anyone else in the room, and have them ask me the same questions...I'll splurge my innermost secrets and brew a cup of coffee just to linger on the details. I'm not sure why I harbor such an intense annoyance to my mother and her questions, but I think this past weekend might have brought me a little closer to the answer.

In a last minute parental pinch, I was a saving grace overnight babysitter for two brand new teenage boys. I started watching these guys when they were 3 and 5 and now they're 11 and 13. I've watched them potty-train when they would come out of the bathroom, pants around thier ankles, butt-cheeks blaring and a wad full of toilet paper slated for my wiping hands. I've helped them with homework, read them bed-time stories, played pokemon, ping pong and chess until I was tired of losing and I've most recently been shocked by the fact that they're almost taller than me! I guess I've turned into one of those aunt types that reminisces about poopy diapers and marvels at how high the ruler marks on the wall have gotten.

So here I am, driving the mini van back from the movie store where, I later found out, we chose a completely inappropriate movie for creative and moldable teenage minds. And then, right out of nowhere, the questions started flowing..."how's school?" "how are your friends?" "what's your favorite subject?" "What do you want for dinner?" Once I realized that my mother had taken over my vocal cords, I wanted to throw myself out of the mini van and spare these poor kids from the hell that is question land. What's happening to me? Can I not communicate with someone who I once was? I was just trying to break the unbearable silence that had taken over the airspace in our mommy rocket. I just wanted a glimpse into their lives...a synopsis of crushes and peer pressures...a feeling of inclusion in the land of britney spears, eminem, ipods and video games...a godforsaken conversation that I was ready to pull from the backs of their throats to the forefronts of this war where if you answer the question with more than "yeah" or "good" I'll sit there and cry with a joy similar to watching them wipe their own bare behinds for the first time! Oh my God..this is all my mother wants.

I can't believe this is what it feels like to my mom. All she wants is to understand me, be involved in what she raised, share my winnings and losings or atleast get a full sentence about my day rather than "ugh, uh huh." Why am I holding myself hostage from my mother? She, over anyone else, should be privy to what happens in my life. Am I still rebelling like a 13 year old? I can't possibly be writhing with uncontrollable hormones and urges to run away with anyone who'll take me...can I? Do I enjoy making her miserable? I mean, I did cry until I was 3 years old, whined until I was, well...I still whine, turned my nose up at everything but Kraft mac & cheese, and the list of how I torment my mother could go on and on.

I guess I just realized that, yes, I'm an adult. I should be able to converse in an appropriate, civil manner and answer questions just like anyone else. Maybe I'll even divulge information without even being prompted...I'll walk in the house shouting current events...I'll brew coffee and share it with my ma...I'll give her a break, because for shit's sake...she deserves one.