Mothers and daughters...sigh.

I've managed to not allow myself to totally fall to pieces over the idiotic way my mom has behaved this week. I really and truly think that she is having some kind of mental breakdown or something. I mean, who acts like that when their daughter is getting married?
I had a nice, long talk with Pez tonight. Thank god for the people in my life who provide sanity. Actually, for the first time maybe I've even chosen to react to my mom's bizarre self-centred behaviour in a different way.
On Wednesday morning I woke up very early and got out of bed. I was pissed. I pounded away at my blog (see previous entry.) Greg got out of bed. For a brief 30 seconds I shed a few tears. Greg's voice of reason: "What are you crying about? You didn't do anything wrong. You are planning a wedding and your mom is not happy with your decisions. It's her problem. Not yours. She is just trying to make you feel guilty and manipulate you into believing that you are doing the wrong thing. I'm happy with the plans, you're happy with the plans. It's our wedding, not hers. Let her deal with her problems. Or let her not deal with her problems like she's done her whole life. Whatever."
These were not his exact words, but it was the gist of what he was saying to me. And, he is right.
I am marrying my very own Doctor Phil.
So, I finished my blog, and then I went for a power walk. I marched along the downtown streets with a vengence, once in a while talking to myself. (I blended...surely I looked like every other nutbar pounding down the streets of TO!) I crossed lights, I turned corners and suddenly found myself in front of the Royal Ontario Museum. I was red-faced and sweaty, but I thought what the hell....I'm going in. The truth was, I was afraid to go home because I didn't want to dwell in my Blockhead German-mother problems.
Gotta tell ya. It was the best thing I could have done. I was lost for two hours just roaming, reading little plaques, talking to museum volunteers, looking at mummies, antique furniture, stuffed dead animals (ewwww...) bugs, butterflies and dinosaurs. Surprisingly, in my no make-up, yesterday's t-shirt, old yoga pants and pissed-off kind of state, I ended up having a really nice day.
In the end, I've come to a conclusion. I can not change the way my mom is. She will not change the way she is, because she doesn't see that there is anything wrong with her thought processes. She is happiest when she is not challenged, and even happier when she is complimented on her beauty. She is too proud to ever admit that she might be wrong. She is not interested in what anybody else has to say if it differs from her opinion. She is right, everybody else is wrong.
I love her because she is my mother. But I don't respect her enough to want her as a friend.
She is living her life, and I'm living mine.
And if I'm hard-headed and difficult in her eyes because I'm not like her, and don't think like her, so be it.

I'm happy to be me.