Mistakes were made, yes by me

I have a book I bought, Mistakes Were Made, But Not By Me, I haven't read it most likely because I wasn't buying it for me.  I buy a lot of books that look and sound good and I actually want to read, but I just never sit down long enough to get any of them started let alone finished. 

I've always believed I was an amazing mother; I literally poured every ounce of myself into being the best mother I could be, teaching my children every conceivable thing I thought would help them in life. I was not going to make the same mistakes as my own parents leaving me scarred from years of "get tough or die, children are to be seen and not heard, or can't you do anything right."  I didn't say those things to my children; I did not make those mistakes.  I believe I corrected all of those "errors" from my own childhood.  I said things like, "you're the one in a million kid, you don't do things like everybody else, you're not like everybody else.  You think differently, you don't follow the crowd, you think for yourself, you're your own individual, you're amazing."  Now those were some pretty cools things to hear all the time growing up, I would imagine.  But there were still those teen years when they would individually come into my office crying about being a freak and they weren't like other teenagers, no boys liked them, they were goofy and weird, which to me was like music to my ears.  I wanted them to be who they were, whatever that dressed like, whoever they were, thinking about it now, what ever that was to a certain degree.  I assured them that the day would come where they would be admired and embraced for their own individuality and creativity; that they needed to just trust me.  There were times I doubted myself in the midst of their meltdown of questionning themselves.  I wondered if there would ever be a time when they would embrace their own individuality or if they would end up like their mother, a young woman with no self-esteem seeking for any attention to confirm who she was because she didn't know; I know now.  I promised them the "one in a million" boy, yes I did, knowing that if they became who they were destined to be that there would be a boy, so different than the other boys, that they would see the beauty of them for who they had become. They would be seen for just being who they are without them changing to be what another person wants or needs.
When I told them they were "one in a million", I believed it and I still believe it, but never did I imagine that they would really embrace that concept and believe it themselves.  They believe it on some level though, because they ask me, "where are the one in a million boys?"  A young man who is different, followed their own dreams, not the crowd, says what he means and means what he says, a man who follows through on things after the feelings are gone (my definition of character), a man that pursues and not waits for the female to make all the moves, and most importantly a man who pursues God, character, and integrity with all his heart. Where are those young men?  A young man who opens the doors, both car and house, not because he has to but because he desires to respect them and to be different also, a man who doesn't look and oogle over the cute, skinny, pretty, cookie cutter girl that will become whatever the man wants.  I ask you young men, if you want to be different, perhaps you should learn now to really dance with a woman, I don't know a woman who doesn't love to dance, but most men will be content watching girls all dance together with each other than to put any effort into learning something women in general love.  Hello, boys, time to become men and wake up.  But, I don't want to fully talk about that today, I'm going to save most of what I say on that topic for another day.  What I want to talk about are the mistakes I made, yes mistakes were made by me.
When my children were little they were so helpful, my mother used to complain that I shouldn't let them empty the dishwasher at 3 and 5 years of age, "you know they might break something."  My mother raised me a "cripple", not to be politically incorrect by the use of that word, but she crippled my own development and feelings about myself by doing everything for me and allowing me to not do things for myself.  So, I believed that if someone does everything for you, you won't know that you can do it yourself.  So, as children, I had them do things like put away dishes, make their own lunches, do their own wash, etc.  But somewhere along the way, I lost my way, and therefore, they lost their way. 
I used to be the most selfish person, I used to say: "When you're the mother, everything will be all about you, but I'm the mother now and it's all about me."  Somehow, that hasn't translated well from childhood to adulthood for my children.  Now don't get me wrong, I have amazing children who are "one in a million", it's just at this point in life, "Christmas time", it exhausts me because I feel, mind you I said I feel, (which doesn't mean it's necessarily reality) like my children are not helpful or considerate of me, or perhaps it's just me at all.  I shall offer a few examples.  We're in San Francisco for work for one of my daughters, we're doing some Christmas shopping and it's later in the evening and I'm tired.  We are walking up towards Union Square, they are walking and talking and don't even notice that I am half a block back, this is at night mind you, and they go ahead and cross the street without even looking for where I am.  My first thought is "wow, I don't do that to my own mother and I can't believe they have done it to me."  It may be petty, but it makes me worry about my "sunset" years and what my free spirit, one in a million children will do. Perhaps I just witnessed what these two will do. 
Earlier in the evening, we were having dinner with a friend of one of my girls, she was talking about her parent's 30 wedding anniversary and this beautiful party they had planned for her parents, One hundred sixty people her parents know from around the world sent pictures holding a sign that said happy anniversary.  They were going to make the pictures into a book for them. They also rented a restaurant, invited family and friends and it was all a surprise.  For my own parents 25th wedding anniversary, (when I was 17 years old) I planned a full on wedding, renewal of vows, a wedding dress, my mom's best friend flown in and a bride's maid/s dress, full reception, because my mother got married in a suit in a "dinner house" more commonly known as a bar.  For their 50th wedding anniversary, I put on a reception, sent invitations, catered, etc. and I'm really proud of what I did.  But for my husband and I on our 25th wedding anniversary, my children had my mother fix dinner which was Costco potato salad and tri-tip and for our 30th wedding anniversary I got a card from one of my children with a gift certificate for a new restaurant, which we haven't used yet but we will; I don't think I got anything from my other daughter.  See now, here's where my codependency kicks in, I'm being ridiculous, it's not that big of a deal, they are busy girls, they don't have any money, blah, blah, blah.  But you see, it's not just the anniversaries, it's life, it's my life. 
Now I have both of them back home, 25 and 23 year old women, strong women, opinionated, bright, engaged, intelligent, goofy, amazing, articulate, "one in a million" women, it's hard.  Right now, I am so disappointed in myself as a mother, I have children who I have to threaten them practically to do the dishes, empty their kitty litter boxes, clean up after themselves, put away dishes, empty their own garbage which overflows in their own bathroom and hallway.  My youngest helps herself to my clothes, my shoes, whatever else she wants or needs and fails to put anything back; I have to go around the house and round up MY stuff.  The other one has a small job, I don't know, 3-5 hours a week and a college class, but she never has the time to do any of the painting we're doing, or help with clean up (although they have no problem complaining about the mess), with stuff, (and they do a lot of complaining about the mess), in our old house that always needs work and repairs.  But if you ask for a couple hours of work, everybody's busy.  My oldest daughter although she's been told over and over again to quit turning the central heat up because I can't afford it, she does it anyway and this morning I woke up and the thermostat was turned up, she had a space heater going all night long in her bedroom and she lay on her bed with no covers on.  My youngest daughter just moving back from Hollywood, is adamant about she's not living here, "I can't live here, I won't live here."  She can't afford to pay her bills, doesn't have a job, hasn't had regular work in ten months, but we must be the worse family in the world with which to habitat.  She has no clue how lucky her life has been. I told her at first that I would help her with her expenses while she pursued her acting and makeup work, I notified her in August that I couldn't help her anymore, couldn't give her anymore money, but every month she needed rent money and regularly transferred money, at her every whim, out of my checking account.  Oh, God, reading this here, I'm so codependent, I should be committed to a mental hospital, come to think about it, that might be a welcome break (after Christmas maybe).  It's all about them; that's the problem with being a codependent mother; I have spent my life on them and for them without taking adequate care of myself.  I'm not sure it's more about the lack of help with anything required around here, or just their lack of respect for me.  I fear it's just a lack of respect because when you're codependent and you put your children first, they grow up and put themselves first.  I was raised in the "do your own thing" generation, I chose differently, I made sacrifices for my family and my children.  But somehow I raised "do your own thing" children.
Don't get me wrong, I did may things right, many, many things, but for today, thirteen days before Christmas, with painting left undone, with boxes of Christmas decorations that they want someone else to put up, it's just a feeling I can't shake.  It's the feeling of being left half a block behind my children and them crossing the street without looking back.  What was I thinking?  I hate being codependent.