Mom Interrupted

“So, what I was saying was…” There was a crash in the background. Ten minutes later, I said, “So, anyway, I…” The person I am still trying to talk to is arguing with someone else. Five minutes pass and I say, “Back to that….” A child walked into the room with an urgent need for something that included tears, though the particulars are a little fuzzy today. This is my life. I am an easily interrupted person. It’s a multi-tiered problem. Firstly, it is very important to me that I paint a very clear and precise picture when I speak to someone, anyone. That translates into a few more adjectives than the average bear. I choose my words with the precision of a neurosurgeon, systematically analyzing and trying each one out in my head, making millisecond substitutions to maintain the utmost accuracy. Also, I am soft spoken. I was the only child at home for the entirety of my existence. It’s not that big of a deal. There was no one to talk to growing up. I entertained myself, often speaking out loud to a character in my head. I rehearsed the things I would need to say the next day in advance, trying out different pentameters, throwing in a few $20 words here and there. I learned quickly that rehearsed opportunities rarely pan out as you expect. People will still hear what they want to hear and interpret as they wish to interpret. Besides, I’m a mom. And, moms get interrupted.

Ironically, my mother was an interruptor. I can remember my father losing his patience with her in a group, though he was gentle with his words and never accusatory in front of other people. Early on, I recognized that she felt she had no choice but to stop another person from speaking so that she could speak. That thought in her head fit the moment perfectly. That thought had such amazing potential. It could solve a huge problem. It could ease someone’s mind. It could bring clarity to a muddy situation. Her brain was telling her the thought was on borrowed time. Like a James Bond writing pen that played a recording that could solve a mystery, it would self-destruct if not used immediately. The impulse was too strong for her to resist. Oftentimes, she was right. My mom knew things that did solve problems and nip things in the bud. She was able to commiserate with people and offer suggestions that truly helped. But, people don’t like to be stopped mid-sentence. I grew up in that shadow of confusion, watching someone interrupt people and often being interrupted, too. So, I do both.

If you’re reading this and it seems nonsensical, or you never practiced what you were going to say the next day for hours on end, or you never struggled with wondering if taking notes during a day-to-day conversation with a friend is strange (as to not forget those brilliant brain nuggets while you are resisting the urge to interrupt), it’s ok. Clearly, you weren’t an only child. In us lies an eternal inner struggle of wills. We second guess everything from proper length of eye contact to emulating other people’s body language in order to feel like we belong. We’re like that late 90s sitcom, Third Rock from the Sun, just a bunch of aliens who are observing humans while looking like the other humans, but with no reference on how to act. As children, we are wary of the world, but the world has to teach us all the things like how not to look terrified when boys talk to you for the first time or how to relate to BFF girls who live in neighborhoods when that’s a foreign world to you, child of the rural pastures. As grown-ups, we need someone to show us how to mother more than one child. We never learned how to share, and the concept of sibling rivalry seems both barbaric and decidedly undiplomatic to us. I hate to be the bearer of worse news, but it changes again when you’re older.

While, as a mom, you get to a point where you resign yourself to having a plate of scrambled eggs instead of a brain, the day does come when you get to slow down. Gone are the multiple voices speaking all at once. Gone are the demands that had you putting Stretch Armstrong to shame. The house gets quieter. There is more space. There is more peace in your head. Still, every once in a while, there will be blessed conversation with adult children. They will ask things and they will listen, but at times they will still all talk at once. You’ll be tempted to interrupt. After all, they are speaking nonsense about grass stains on white baseball pants. You know all they need is a Cascade scrub followed by a soak in peroxide and Dawn. But, you bite your tongue, and you mentally line up behind the person who’s currently touting some new, expensive solution at Target. Finally, what seems like hours later, they remember. Mom had that look in her eyes. Mom’s lips were moving as if she were about to spit out a canary diamond. Then, it happens. “Mom, were you about to say something?” It’s your big chance. All eyes are on you. But, you are too busy thinking about how cute they were as kids and how much you’re enjoying just being in their midst. All you can come up with is, “I forget.” Brilliant words, those are.