"Another FAFSA night for Lindsey...
She is almost guaranteed to have school 100% paid for. What a shame to not use that when other kids are struggling with two jobs to pay for school (i.e. M— is graduating with 2 degrees from the U. having worked two jobs to pay for it)!"
I was not very happy to receive this email. In fact I was a little bit angry at first and then I was sad. It's not because Lindsey is getting big enough to graduate high school and go to college. It's not because I've received a few reminders from this friend already. It's not because I've already filled out this form five times in the last four years for myself and so I didn't want to attend a FAFSA night. (This last sentence is all true, but that's not what made me unhappy about the email.)
I was cranky because I felt like my friend was telling me that if I was a good mom I would go with Lindsey and help her take care of this. I read between the lines that my friend had already told me about this kind of thing quite a few times, and why hadn't I done anything about it yet?
I wanted to reply that I already know that I am the worst schmuck of an uncaring mother, but that I could handle filling out the FAFSA without help. And what did M—'s working two jobs have to do with me or Lindsey anyway?!
But—you can breathe easy—I didn't do that. I didn't because I can truthfully report that I knew my friend wasn't really saying or thinking those kinds of things about me. I am sure she was really just trying to be helpful. And so, after a few minutes of thinking and cooling-down time I was able to email her back and say "Thank you for the reminder," and even assure her that we'd take care of it that very day.
But I was still upset. And it didn't take me long to figure out why:
That email made me upset because it made me hold up my own mirror and look into it. The mirror that shows me that I am the worst schmuck of an uncaring mom. The mirror that says I have quit taking care of my kids and my house since I started going to school, and that I continue to put them on hold while I pursue a degree, not knowing if said degree will do me any good at all. This is the same mirror that says my friend's daughters are all beautiful, and well-dressed, and confident, while I can't even manage to get my kids new clothes or shoes more than once a year, let alone put them in dance classes or on sports teams. The mirror that says it's pretty obvious to everyone around us that I don't take care of my family. The mirror that says my kids should have more than I'm giving them or doing for them. This mirror tells me lots of things about myself that I don't like to hear. So when I got the email my magic mirror told me that if I cared about anything more than my own self I would have helped Lindsey with the FAFSA long ago.
I hate that mirror.
I think—at least, I hope that my mirror is prone to extreme exaggeration. Like a fun-house mirror that shows you much, much fatter or thinner than you are, or with crooked legs and a pinhead. But it's not very fun, and it is very persistent in its attacks on me. I really hate that mirror.
Well, the good part of the story is that my kids happened to have that day—the day of the email—off from school and so I had already made up my mind to take the day off from sewing as well. So while Lindsey was home we filled out the FAFSA and she will probably get all of her schooling funded, just like my friend said.
What do you think of them apples, mirror?
1 comment:
I know what you mean. I've been looking into my own mirror too much lately. There's always a part of me that knows I'm a better mom or wife than what I see, or what I think other people might see, but the image still brings me down sometimes. You're a wonderful mother, Loralee. I am always inspired by your efforts to take care of your family, even when you are under so much pressure from school.
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