Mama's Girl
Giuli Hoffmann
mom
NounINFORMAL DIALECT
1 a person who has given birth to a child or who has responsibility for the care of children
“I never thought that I was important enough to have a biography.”
For as long as I can remember, my mom and I have been very close. After the divorce with my dad and especially in the early days of our move to North Carolina, before I had any friends, she became my best friend. She drove me to school, volunteered in my class, watched all of my soccer games, took me to the movies, went to breakfast with me before school, bought me an obscene amount of clothes and craft supplies, tucked me in at night. I have always been able to be honest and open with her (too much so at times), in part because she encouraged me to, but mostly because I was so comfortable with her.
In middle and high school, especially once Will went to college and it was just us in the house, we bickered endlessly, but always over mundane, forgettable things, never any real, serious arguments. Since sophomore year of college, when she's in town, every couple weeks, my two brothers, oldest brother's girlfriend, mom, and I meet up for dinner. Every weekend, we also get brunch somewhere on Franklin Street, just the two of us.
With my eyes closed, from a lineup of other women her age and size, I could tell you which one is her by touching her face or receiving a hug. She's the first person I text when I need to rant, get a new grade, or have a question that I'm too lazy to type into Google. Besides my best friend, she was the first person I told that I lost my virginity. She's one of the few people I talk to on the phone. She's the only person I frequently wish good night to.
“I went in with rose-colored glasses. I was in love with love at the time. If you looked at the guys I dated—and married—you'd go, 'Oh my god.' I'm the living image of that song, 'Looking for love in all the wrong places.' I was never confident in myself. I always questioned things I would do. I was very unsure. There was a lack of confidence in myself and my self-worth. That may be why I dated the guys I did. I didn't know I deserved better.”
My mom was raised traditionally. She grew up in the 1960s and her parents were born in the '20s. Her mother, who was brought up in a well-to-do German household, had nannies and governesses and only really saw her parents at dinnertime. Growing up, my mom and her siblings “were seen but not heard” because children were “not to speak unless spoken to” and were not to question authority. My mom didn't really spend time with her parents until she was 13 and they considered her a “little adult” that they could take out to dinner and dance. She and her parents were never close. But because my mom had never known any differently, she was never critical or resentful about her upbringing.
My mom is the second youngest of five children. Due to their mere 14-month age difference, her youngest brother Jeff was who she was closest to for most of her life. Despite their “love-hate relationship,” in which they argued, wrestled, and picked on each other, most of their time was spent playing and hanging out together, especially since he started school early to be in her grade. She's always had a good relationship with Denis, her middle brother, and she idolized her oldest brother, Vin, 13 years her senior, until she was in her 40s. She and Karen, on the other hand, didn't have a relationship with each other until my mom was in college because their interests, coupled with their ages, differed so vastly.
Like me, my mom didn't have a great relationship with her dad. He was stern and had a “my way or the highway” mentality. “When it came to more personal things, I just didn't feel like I could talk to him,” she said. “Maybe it's because I'm female and there's a 40-year difference.” Even as an adult, whenever she spoke to him, she always discussed her children or sports because she didn't feel like she could talk about herself or have a heart-to-heart. When he died a couple years ago, she regretted their lack of closeness, but she felt like she “never could have had that relationship with him.”
Like me, my mom went on a solo trip to Europe with her mom when she was a young adult. “We had a blast,” she said. “She was so much fun and so open. She was a lot freer, like she was in her element because that was where she felt happiest.” As my mom got older, though, she moved away from her parents to start a family, and that distance made it difficult to improve their relationship.
Through high school, my mom had always gotten A's, but that certainly wasn't the case when she was in college. “Back then, it was the disco era, and I would go out a lot,” she said. She skipped half her classes, didn't know how to study well (“I ended up highlighting everything”), and procrastinated on her work. “I think I had a 2.1 grade average,” she said. “The only thing that kept me going was Jeff. I would say, ‘I don't want to do this anymore,’ and Jeff would say, ‘just do another semester’ every semester until I graduated.” That said, her social life was far more pleasant, with 3-4 times a week spent dancing and then going to Hector's, a Greek fast food place on Franklin with “the best grilled cheese.” She went to concerts, basketball games (Michael Jordan, James Worthy, and Sam Perkins helped win the championship her senior year), intramural bowling games, homemade dinners at her friends' apartments, and skiing with her family (and later, Duke).
Between the ages of 14 and 21, though she's not proud to admit it, my mom had quite a few boyfriends (ah, another one of the ways in which we're exact opposites). “Most of the guys I dated were just not right for me,” she said. “Every guy I dated, with the exception of one, broke up with me.” For one of them, on several occasions, she took a 10-hour bus ride to spend the weekend with him at the University of Tennessee. Since a couple others were long-distance as well, she often missed classes to visit them. “That was also part of why, schoolwise, I wasn't really concentrating,” she said.
Duke and my mom met in the summer of '81, in between her junior and senior year of college, at his mother's townhome in Charlotte. Her sister Karen lived there at the time and my mom was going to visit her. “He was there doing some handy-man stuff around the place. I'm guessing his mom probably nudged him, thinking 'oh, nice girl, from a nice family,' that type of thing,” she guessed as to why he took an interest in her.
After only a few months of dating, they got engaged, and then only a few months later, were married. On May 16th, 1982, my mom skipped her college graduation for the wedding. “Then I moved into the grande shack in the woods, all 600 square feet of luxurious living,” she said.
Mom: “Our love of books and the commonalities we have in certain books or music or movies brings us together. Which is not to say that we don't have very different likes in those things, but despite our differences in views, those things have brought us close together. Jon is older, so it's easier with him. Will and I, of the three of you, have the least in common. Trying to find that common ground to be able to have that interaction is a little tougher with him.”
How to Foster an Obsessive Adoration of Europe that Will Become Your Defining Personality Trait and Annoy Every Single Person You Meet:
- Visit Europe for the first time when you're 9. Move to Staufen, Germany with your family when you're 10, then Lugano, Switzerland when you're 11, and Kitzbuehel, Austria when you're 13. Don't go back to the U.S. until you're 15, at which point you've become fluent in German, been homeschooled, and danced in countless European discos.
- Go on a solo trip to Zurich, Munich, Salzburg, and Kitzbuehel with your mom for a month as a senior in high school, and then again when you're 20. See how much more fun and open and free your mom is when she's in her element. Have an absolute blast.
- 15 years later, go with your husband, Bill, to visit your grandmother in Zurich for her 90th birthday and then go sight-seeing in Munich. In 2000, return briefly with your sister for your grandmother's funeral.
- Take your oldest child to Europe for 2 weeks for his high school graduation present. Vow to do the same thing with your two other children when they're old enough.
- Give your middle child the option of a trip to Europe with you or a trip to Greece with his friends. He chooses the latter. Start talking about the trip to Europe with your youngest years in advance, so often that nearly every person you've ever spoken to knows that it will be her high school graduation gift (literally even your nail technicians know about it).
- Plan every detail of your entire 2-week trip a year in advance, down to your daily itinerary. By now, you've established your role as “that woman who won't shut the fuck up about Europe.”
- Come March 2020, hope the pandemic will improve by the start of the trip in June. It doesn't. Cancel the trip. The summer after, there are still too many restrictions for the trip to be feasible. Postpone it again.
- Start planning on doing the trip in between your daughter's sophomore and junior year of college. Extend the original 2 weeks to 2.5 weeks because there's not enough time to do everything she wants to see. Extend it to 3 because what's another few days? Increase it to 4 because, wow, she really wants to do a lot of stuff. Consider the possibility of your daughter staying in London for a month after the trip for a study abroad class. Let her sign up. Decide to add another 3 weeks before her class starts because it's cheaper to stay than to adjust the flight to come home early. Even with an outrageous 8-week trip, every day's schedule is jam-packed with museums, landmarks, excursions, and more.
- Discuss what you plan to take half a year in advance, down to the very tube of travel toothpaste and exact number of q-tips that you'll pack.
- For you, May 9, 2022, is when you finally get to return to your favorite place in the world; for your weary friends and family, it's when they're finally free of your constant “Europe this, Europe that, oh, have I told you we're going here and staying there in Europe?” Unfortunately for them, when that day ultimately comes around, you've thoughtfully purchased an unlimited texting plan, so they're still stuck receiving all the daily updates they never asked for.
M: “When I was eight months pregnant, Duke decided that he was gonna take a job at the beach and leave me in Hendersonville. That was also the time that he told me he had feelings for Kathy, who was my best friend, but that she didn't reciprocate it. I should have known something when Kathy put together this montage of pictures for him and she was crying that he was leaving. Then he ended up not doing it and staying.
“A year later, Duke said that we needed to go to the attorney's office because we needed to sign some papers. When we went, I found out it was separation papers, which totally floored me because I had no clue. He said, 'I'm gonna move out, I need to figure out what I'm gonna do with my life in so far as a job, it's not you, it's me,' yada yada, blah blah blah. He moved out, and it was just Jon and me in the house.
“I did not tell anybody—absolutely nobody—about what was going on. I guess I thought if it worked out, why would I upset other people. I think also, I didn't want to jinx it. But then after 16 months, I realized, it just was not going to happen. I finally told him that if he's not there for me and he's not willing to work things out, then I need to move on with my life, I need a fresh start, and I need to leave Hendersonville.
“At one point, I had heard from a friend of mine that he had gotten Kathy an engagement ring, and I said, 'What? How could he get her an engagement ring when we're not even divorced?' A few weeks later, I got the papers in the mail, and we'd already been divorced for a couple months. I never got any papers or anything before then because it was uncontested.”
Strengths:
- Loyal*
- Emotionally expressive; everyone knows what she's thinking and feeling at any given moment
- Patient**
- Flexible and down-to-earth; has a go-with-the-flow type of mindset, doesn't let small things change her mood or ruin her day
- Enthusiastic and animated***
- Financially responsible; keeps all of her receipts, has all her bills on autopay, buys brands on sale at the grocery store, not a “I see it, I like it, I want it, I got it” typa girl
- ****But admits when she's at fault and apologizes
- Punctual to the point of annoyance. Her alarms are set 5 minutes early. “On time” is cutting it close. 2 minutes behind is a lifetime. 15+ minutes late is a death sentence
- Kind, empathetic, and understanding; does not bulldoze others or belittle their feelings
- Gives hugs that can cure all
- Excellent taste in music
Weaknesses:
- *Unless she's ranting to one of her siblings about another sibling, because then she'll nitpick all of their decisions and personality traits
- **Except when having to explain something repeatedly (probably because it doesn't make any sense)
- ***Though sometimes in an annoying, can't-shut-up, will-bring-up-the-same-story-multiple-times-like-it's-the-first-time way
- Insolent to the point of impudence, even if she doesn't have all the facts****
- Worrier, even over things that she has absolutely no control over (likely due to the undiagnosed anxiety)
- Scatterbrained; loses her train of thought and belongings often (likely due to the undiagnosed ADHD)
- Doesn't have a filter (also likely due to the undiagnosed ADHD)
- Not introspective; very difficult for her to come up with her pro/con list, (whereas mine is memorized and laminated and revised every day)
- Piss-poor taste in men. Outright depressing love life
- Like mother, like daughter
- We're exact opposites
“Mom! What fucking button am I supposed to press?! Whatever you said isn't fucking here!” I scream as I violently press through the menu on the printer.
“Giuli, calm down, alright? I'm not sure exactly which button it is. Can you flip the camera so I can see it?”
“Oh my fucking god! Fine! Here!” I change FaceTime to the back camera and show her the printer. “Now which fucking button is it?!”
“What on earth is your problem? If I were there I'd do it myself. I don't know exactly which button it is, gimme a second, okay?”
“Why can't you just wait to do this yourself when you're back from Ohio? I have shit I have to do!”
“Yeah, well I have shit I have to do, too. I can't wait until I get back home to do it, I need the documents now. Can you get a little closer? I can't read the buttons.”
“Oh my goddddddd,” I moan, thrusting my phone closer. “Happy now?!”
“Okay, hit the menu button and scroll through the options.” I huff before jamming through the keys. “I think it's the second button. Press that.”
10 minutes later, she still hadn't figured out how to scan some documents and send them to her on the computer. “JESUS CHRIST, MOM! How do you not know which fucking button I need to press!” I scream as my eyes become watery. “I told you how much homework I have to do, I'm not fucking helping you anymore!”
“Fine, Giuli! I don't know what has gotten into you! I'll just get Will to help me with it.”
“Soooo fucking glad I did all this when he could have done it all along! Thanks so much! BYE!”
As I drive the 40-minute back roads to Chapel Hill, I'm still crying and shaking with anger. When I turn a curve, the trees clear away, and I suddenly see how vibrant the sunset is. I take a deep breath and begin to calm down. Earlier today, only 2 weeks into the school year, UNC notified us that due to increasing COVID cases on campus, classes were going entirely online and we had to move out of our dorms immediately. I guess I hadn't realized how upset I was about it.
europhile
Noun
1a person who is fond of, admires, or loves European culture, society, history, food, music etc.
M: “I was the one that always carried the benefits for the family. When you kids were little, I was going to work early in the morning, coming back to get you kids to activities, then get you fed, help you with homework, get you ready for bed, all that kind of stuff. And then he'd come rolling in 9:30ish, after you guys were already in bed, and the first thing he'd say is, 'I need to have time to myself.' An hour and a half later, I had to be in bed because I had work early in the morning. We were literally leading separate lives. We were almost like roommates.
“I told him at one point, ‘Bill, I can't keep doing this. I can't afford to pay for everything, you need to get a job. If it were me, if I had to, I'd be cleaning houses.’ And he goes ‘you want me to clean houses?!’ I said, ‘No, Bill, I was just saying that if I knew I needed to make money and right now the only thing I could do to make that money is clean houses, I would do it.’ But your dad was too good for everything, with his MBA from Northwestern. I was making more money than he ever did and I sure as hell didn't have an MBA. I only had a 2.3 GPA from college, with foreign language as my major.
“The kicker was when I learned that my position was eliminated, and it hit me full force when I came home, and I cried. He put his arms around me, and he made the comment of ‘well now you know how I feel.’ ‘No, I don't know how you feel, because you got fired from job after job after job after job after job. I never did.’ It was almost like he belittled my losing my position. He wasn't even working anymore. At that point, I was paying all the bills.
Maybe I got to the point where I'm like, 'you know, I've had enough of this.' If I'm paying for everything, if I've got no emotional support, no financial support, no nothing, why are we still married?”
When she had her first child, my oldest brother Jon, on a subconscious level, she knew she wanted to do things differently than her parents had. She tried to spend a lot of time with us and be involved with whatever activities we did, whether it was sporting matches, school field trips, or goodnight stories. When it came to extracurriculars, she let us explore our interests freely, and she always allowed us to hang out and have sleepovers with friends, which was very different from how she was raised. “I spoiled you guys,” she said. “I went all out and spent a lot on birthdays and Christmases. It was ridiculous. But I loved it.”
She met my dad, Bill, on New Year's Eve of '90 at the Hendersonville Country Club, which his mom was a member of and her parents owned at the time. They spent time together while he was in town for the holidays, began calling each other, and then visited each other in Raleigh and Florida a couple times. Less than a year later, while my mom was visiting him in Florida for Christmas, he proposed to her. “Not with an engagement ring, but with a wedding ring, which is also what I was married with, because, as you know, your dad was a big spender” she said. “Also for that Christmas, he gave me a can of La Sueur peas and a permanent air filter for the car. I guess I should have known, shouldn't I? I know how to pick 'em, don't I? And you know what's even more sad about this? I think after that, there was only one other Christmas where he gave me any other gifts.”
After that, “everything moved pretty fast,” she said. She moved down to Florida in January of '92. One Friday, the 24th of April, her boss said to her, “'Oh, Gina, I want you to take off early before the courthouse closes in Jacksonville. I need you to pick up a tax form.' I said to him, 'I can't get it here, in Fernandina?' And he said, 'No, they don't have it here. You need to pick it up there.’” When she walked in, my dad was standing there with a bouquet of flowers and they got married in front of the justice of the peace.
“Honestly, early on, I think we had a good relationship,” she told me. “In the early years, especially in the apartment, I think things went well and we had a good relationship.” But she did notice that during that time, he was in and out of jobs because he never had one longer than a year. “And what he did was most important, meaning his job was more important than my job, him looking for a job was more important than my job. At the time, I didn't really clue in to this 'it's about me, me, me.’”
In 2009, when my mom was let go, she realized that the marriage hadn't been good for the last few years and the only reason she had stuck it out was because of her job. In a session with a marriage counselor, she told my dad that for the past 17 years, she had supported him and all his endeavors, and now that she'd lost her job, she felt it was her time for him to support her in whatever endeavor she wanted to do. She told him that she wanted to move back to North Carolina because they both had family there to support them, and since neither of them had jobs, there was nothing keeping them in Florida. “And then I basically said, 'and if he's unwilling to do this for me, then I may have to consider moving up there with the kids without him.' But I honestly knew when I said I wanted to move back to North Carolina, that he never would. I knew that for a fact.”
That year, when they first separated and my mom moved into the spare bedroom downstairs, she said, “I didn't sleep, I couldn't eat. You kids were like my sanity back then. I would pick you kids up, take you to your activities, and then home. Then, for me, the nightmare would begin.” After “four months of pure hell,” she told her attorney, “‘Barry, I fear for my life. He's doing all this bizarre stuff, I'm not sleeping, I've lost 10 pounds, he's up all hours of the night, he's got guns, he's got knives. I don't know what he's capable of. I don't know what to do. I'm afraid I'm gonna collapse and have a breakdown and I won't be there for the kids.’ I just remember him saying, ‘Gina, I hear you. You start looking for a place. When you find one, you tell me and then I'll let his attorney know. But you're moving out with the kids.’ I got off the phone with him and I cried.”
After that, the three of us moved to a different house, and then in 2010, we moved to Cary, North Carolina, only a mile away from Karen, Jeff, and my mom's parents. The first couple of years we were in NC, my mom said she was “constantly in a state of nerves” because the drama and nastiness was “continuous, continuous, continuous” with my dad. “I just never knew what he would do. I can't describe to you how scared and—and—whatever, I was. It was a relief just to get out of that toxic house.”
One of the reasons she moved back to North Carolina after the divorce with my dad was in hopes that she could get closer with her mom. “She was always a lot more understanding and willing to listen than my dad,” she said. But she never got the opportunity because by the time she moved back here, her mom wasn't herself anymore. My grandmother has had dementia for over 15 years. When I was little, she didn't remember who I or my brothers were. By the time we moved here, she couldn't remember who her children were, either. A few years later, she didn't know her husband or even herself anymore. “I try to make the most of the time I have with her,” my mom said, starting to cry. “But I really regret that I never could have that relationship with her.”
M: “You were very independent from a young age. You'd want to pick out your own clothes, so I'd give you a couple options to choose from. I used to love how you could occupy yourself for hours playing with something. I could hear you talking and telling stories… you were just so animated. Even then, you were so creative in what you were doing. I would at times just stop and listen to you. Your thought process, especially in writing, you were way ahead of the kids in your class starting in elementary school. Well, either you were far ahead, or the other kids were just idiots. Until middle school, you were the sweetest kid. I never really had problems with you. You were very much Mama's girl.
Then middle school came along… then you were a shit. That's when you started cussing. You became much more confrontational. It was like overnight, you went from this sweet girl to this foul-mouth. You started cussing, you had a sassy mouth, you questioned things. I thought, 'Oh my god, where did this child come from?' I don't worry about Jon. I don't worry about Will. I do worry about where you will land, though, because you don't know what you want to do.
But the way you think and your creative process, I am in awe of some of the things you do. And the maturity you've shown in how you think, especially back in high school, compared to your brothers. Your insights into yourself, I don't even know if I have that kind of insight into myself, to be honest.
I know that you and I can get on each other's nerves, but I wouldn't have traded my time with you for anything. Being able to go to Europe with you, to be able to see everything through your eyes, is an experience I'll never forget.”
Mother. Sister. Daughter. Friend. Caregiver. Volunteer. Two-time divorcee. Fantasy and romance reader. Good listener. Avid gossiper. Child bragger. World traveler. Europe lover. Language Learner. Home renovator. Former minivan driver. Financial analyst. Familial hairdresser. Furniture builder. Former Catholic. Registered Independent. Jean wearer. Christmas obsessor. Crime podcast-consumer. Diamond art-maker. Frequent movie crier. Speed walker. Disco dancer. Lifetime skier. Former tennis and volleyball player. Movie theater frequenter. Panera regular. Sprinkle pancake-maker. Decaf coffee-drinker. Pants pooper. Baby Boomer. Birthday rememberer. Postcard and antique furniture collector. Generous gift-giver.
Just 4 hours after we had put down Callie, my cat of sixteen years, I wake up from a nap, walk downstairs, and immediately notice that the fleece blanket and covers we always kept for her on the couch—permanently full of her hair and dander, no matter how long you shook them out on the back porch or ran them through the washing machine—are gone. I quickly look through the kitchen, bathroom, and laundry room, all clear of the medicine, treats, tiny bed, food and water bowls, and litter box. Upstairs, on the floor of the guest room, I had left the fur-covered blanket that I used to sleep with her last night, and after seeing the emptiness downstairs, I know I should tell Mom not to wash it yet. I'm not sure why, but I don't.
Sure enough, a few hours later, when I go back upstairs, planning on falling asleep on the only tangible thing I have left of her, the bed is made up, the blanket gone.
“W-why did you get rid of all of Callie's things?” I bawl as I open the door into Mom's room. She's sitting in her recliner in the corner.
“Oh, hun, I'm so sorry,” she says, reaching up to pull me to her.
“W-why didn't you…bother to ask me…before doing it?” I barely manage to get out, choking on my tears and shallow breaths as I squeeze beside her. “N-now there's n-nothing…left of her. It's like she…n-never even…existed.” I sob even harder and she hugs me tighter. “I-I was…g-going to…sleep with…the blanket…from l-last night.”
“Giuls, I'm so sorry. I should have asked. It was my way of coping, I guess. I thought not seeing her stuff would be easier,” she says as she continues to embrace me. “I should have asked first. I'm sorry.”
She was right, in a way; I hadn't thought much of Callie since I had woken up from my nap. In fact, I had been oddly calm and normal the whole day. But when I saw the clean guest room, it all hit me. Mom felt terrible about it, but it was too late. I slept in Mom's bed for a week, bawling and hyperventilating for 20 minutes every night before I fell asleep. I couldn't bear to sleep alone in my own bed after spending Callie's last night with her stiff and frail body in the guest bed.
How to Travel Europe for Three Months with Your Mom without Murdering Her:
- Fly into Rome.
- Appreciate the history and beauty of the city, that even the cobblestones you walk on are old. Soon realize that cobblestones are not conducive to lugging heavy suitcases.
- Immediately discover that Google Maps is not user friendly and doesn't give accurate walking directions. Confirm that you has a very low tolerance for stress and confusion. Insist you can do a better job at directions. You cannot. Take out your frustration on your mom by being a pissy asshat.
- Realize you're in for a rude awakening about European life because of a consistent lack of elevators and AC.
- Establish that your mom grossly overstated her ability to understand Italian and that when she said she could “get by,” she meant that she knows basic greetings and goodbyes. Watch your mom drink an entire bottle of wine by herself at dinner on the first night because she mistranslated "bottle" as “glass.” Discover that she sleeps excellently when she's drunk, which you know because her snores could put an old man to shame.
- After five nights, take a train to Cinque Terre. Remember how you struggled to lug your suitcase up a single flight of stairs at the Airbnb in Rome. Stare up at the hundreds of curvy, narrow, steep stairs weaving into the cliffside town and start to panic. Learn that Google Maps is even less reliable here. Take multiple wrong turns. Double back. Get lost. Your stress and frustration are palpable now. Snap at your mom. Snap some more. Let her figure out how to get to the room while you watch the luggage and try to drown out the roaring in you with calming music. The roaring becomes a whimper. Sit on a stoop for 10 minutes before your mom comes back, she's found it, it's another 3 flights. It's a roar again. Stubbornly refuse her offer to carry your bags for you. Feel the tears forming on flight two. Finally get to the room. Have a panic attack. Take a few minutes to calm down. Apologize to your mom.
- Go to the closest restaurant you can find, which is seafood. You order a white fish and it comes out with all of the skin, scales, and eyeballs still on it. You don't know what to do so your mom graciously picks all the meat off for you. It's delicious. The food (and alcohol) instantly improves your mood. Go to bed with a full belly and in a pleasant state with your mom.
- Repeat this process of pleasantness, minor bickering, and full-blown meltdowns (usually over trouble with directions and after a long, stressful day) over the next 6 weeks. Throw in the occasional really, really good day, like that night in Paris when you and your mom drank 3 pints of cider each, were already thoroughly tipsy, then took complimentary shots with the cool bartender and got absolutely plastered, so after approximately 15 minutes of being back at the apartment, your mom holds your hair back as your head's in the toilet. Despite all the arguing, hangriness, language barriers, and poor map skills, you have a truly excellent time.
M: “Our arguments, it seems like it depends on our moods or whatever. What happens is, your personality, your stress level, you have a hard time dealing with stuff that's going negatively. It starts building up and building up. You have a low threshold of tolerance. Anything I do, you start acting negatively, and then I start actively negatively, and then it just becomes a bitch fest and a mutual piss off at each other. If I have someone that's calmer, I can laugh it off as this or that. Whereas you have a tendency to be a little bit—well, not a little bit—more negative and it brings it out in me. If I don't understand something, and you're trying to explain it, I think at times you get ticked at me. But we were around each other the most out of my kids. That's conducive for getting on each other's nerves.”
Mom's Bucket List:
- Get married
- Have kids
- Be stay-at-home mom
- Develop closer relationship with parents
- Travel Europe with Jon
- Travel Europe with Will
- Travel Europe with Giuli
- Retire
- See Scotland
- Renovate house
- See archaeological sites out West like Mesa Verde and Chaco Canyon
- Visit New England during autumn
- Go to Tuscany, Scotland, and Ireland for a month each
- Take 3 kids on family trip to Europe for 2-3 weeks
- Go on family skiing trip
- Have grandkids
Mom: “I think for me, what I saw in Duke, was he was probably the most decent guy I was with through all those years. He was not a college student, so he was more mature and intelligent, and I thought he was nice looking. I think in my mind, I had always wanted to get married, have kids, be a stay-at-home mom. Unfortunately, Duke is neither marriage material—as seen by his second marriage—nor father material. I did have a good time with him, skiing and just getting together and doing that kind of thing. It's great, all that stuff, but it's not really a marriage. The emotional aspect of marriage was missing. It was more, in a way, like… buddies when I look back.”
Giuli: “And you have no idea what he saw in you?"
M: “No, no. It's not one of those things where I would ask, 'so what do you see in me?'”
G: “I don't know, did you never have any deep conversations with him?”
M: “Nn-nn.”
G: “You never had any deep conversations with him and you were married to him?”
M: “Yeah, no, not really. That's what I'm saying, it was like friends.”
G: “Yeah but I have deep conversations with my friends.”
M: “Oh, well, no. Sweetie, what do you want from me? I was in love with love, my big thing was I wanted to be married, and have kids, and be Susie homemaker.”
G: “That's just so...”
M: “--sad.”
G: “I mean, yeah, but I was just gonna say weird. Did you know anything about him?”
M: “Uh, yeah, but I—mmm…well I knew about his family…no, he really— nn-nn… not really. Think about it, hun. I met him in the summer, I was going to school, we were engaged at Christmastime, and we were married in May. Maybe a part of me just wanted to get out of the house too, like start my own life.”
G: “And what about with dad?”
M: “Again, I'm not sure. It was somebody that took an interest in me, and I think a part of me, in my life at that point, was sort of scared that, here I was with a 3-year-old, by myself. It scared me. I didn't want to be alone. And here's this guy, who I thought was nice and he took an interest in me and I took an interest in him.”
Gina Milissa Romeo → Gina Romeo Angier → Gina Romeo Hoffmann → Gina Milissa Romeo
Testimonials from friends and family:
- “Genuine, down to earth, she would do anything for her family.”
- “Sometimes she can never shut up, but sometimes she is a really fun and interesting person that cares about everyone. I love her a lot even though it may not seem like it.”
- “Devoted and poopy”
- “A loving mother, quirky, and a fun friend!”
- “She loves me unconditionally. She drives people nuts over her love of Europe.”
- “I miss our long chats, sitting on my swing, enjoying a beer. A great neighbor who becomes a dear friend is rare.”
- “She has been my guardian angel throughout my sickness.”
- “A loyal and thoughtful friend. She's a great tennis player and snow skier. She's fantastic at foreign languages and loves to travel. Always looking for the sunshine even when life throws her curveballs. Willing to do absolutely anything for the well-being of her kids. Fun. Young at heart. Authentic. A wash & wear girl who is beautiful without glamming it up. Deep. Wise. Does not let life's curveballs affect her joy in life.”
- “#1 Roommate, #1 Mom”
- “Selfless and loving. She puts her family first and you can always count on her! Amazing aunt, sister, mother, sister in law!”
- “She makes you feel special in moments you feel like nothing. She never forgets your birthday which is so sweet!”
- “Haircuts and sprinkle pancakes. That's what Mom does best.”
“No matter how old you are, I'm always going to worry about you and make sure that you're happy. Despite how I raised you, you guys have a good head on your shoulders. Despite me, I feel like all of you are great kids. You three are my legacy.”
I quietly open my door and tiptoe the 20 feet through the office loft to her closed door. I outstretch my right hand and place it where the right edge of the door meets the frame, while gripping the lever handle with my left hand and pulling it carefully towards me. With my right hand still braced on the door's edge, I slowly turn the handle before pushing the door open to ensure the inside mechanism won't click. I open it just wide enough that I can safely fit inside without letting too much light from the loft in. Once in her room, I turn around, put my left hand on the door's left edge, turn the handle with my right hand, and slowly push it back until my left hand gently meets the frame. As I tiptoe to her bed, she stirs.
“Giuls? Is that you?” Damn. All that quiet maneuvering for nothing.
“...No?” I whisper as I creep towards the bed.
“Is everything ok?”
“I can't sleep. Can I sleep with you?”
“Yes, of course.”
I pull the right side's covers down and shimmy underneath.
“Jeez! Your feet are like icicles.”
“I know,” I giggle. “I need you to warm them.”
She huffs, but turns to face me before holding my hand. “Goodnight,” she says. "I love you."
“Goodnight, Mama. I love you too.”
