Cake Batter for the Soul

I stared at the phone as it rang in my hand.

She was calling me.

I was standing next to the Bearcat course at Hermann 'cross race last Sunday.

Should I answer it?

I really didn't have anything to say.

I really didn't know what to say.

She seemed to have forgotten once again that I existed, so the ring in itself was curious.

Did she need something?

Was she checking to see if I was dead?

Had she finally realized that I had stopped communicating with her?

My birthday had come and gone without acknowledgement from her.

It had been a month.

A lot had happened while she was being her.

For all the shit that I listened to about the pain and agony and time spent pushing me through her birth canal, it seemed slim that she would somehow forget the day.

The entire first 17 years of my life I heard, "Abortion should be retroactive to the age of 21."

I felt like a child as I starred at the phone for what seemed like an eternity but was in reality only 2 rings.

It wasn't about my birthday being missed.

It was about my childhood being lost and the slap in the face that all the repair work we had done over the past 8 or 9 years had been in vain.

I've been there while she needed me.

I didn't need a gift from her. I needed a call. A small and free gesture that after all we have been through, I actually meant something to her.

When I was about to turn 16, my grandfather had gone to her and asked her what she wanted to contribute to my birthday. She handed him a few rolls of quarters.

I didn't get a call that year either.

Nor the year prior or after.

For decades I have simply hated my birthday and then they became somewhat OK again...until this year.

This year flat out sucked on multiple levels...and not getting a call from her put the cherry from hell on it all.

In my juvenile way, I wanted to blame her for the issues that she has brought to the surface for me again.

In reality, I was transported to a little girl who simply did not understand this woman's inability to love selflessly...or at all.

I stood there with Jay's race going on not knowing if I even wanted to hear her voice...today of all days.

It had been 2 weeks since my surgery.

A surgery that she was unaware of.

I had just raced the first 'cross race of my season and I was emotional as it was. I didn't need any bullshit...

...but I also knew I would feel awful if something was wrong and I had ignored her call.

(Dammit!)

I answered.

She was fine.

Calling as if the previous time period with lack of communication had not happened.

She was calling me because she has not heard from me in a while.

(I was always under the impression that phones worked both ways, but in my mother's case that is only true when she either:

• has a personal emergency/drama/meltdown...
• gets a burst of conscience and realizes that she actually gave birth to 2 humans whom she regularly forgets...)

The latter pisses me off because unlike my useless sister, I have actually worked really hard to establish a relationship with this woman...

...and I am a bit jealous that for this reason, she does not have the power to hurt my sister.

I had felt really strong until that phone rang.

I had suffered through my race, feeling the stitches pull with each revolution of the pedals...

I welcomed the stabs of the climbs without the use of my core muscles...

(Note: Climbing hills on a bike with almost flat 'cross tires without the use of stomach muscles is tricky, but good fun that I think all ladies competing in tomorrow's Hermann 'Cross Under the Lights Women's Open race should try...so that we are all having the same super cool level of psychocross fun! It really is better than getting a flaming Dr. Pepper hand-up. Try it!)

I had let out victorious cries as I reached the top of each hill...at least in my mind.

I had been soaked in pain and sweat and was in love with the smell and feel of a race I was told I would likely not make...

I was now reduced to a baby as I listened to her.

I wanted to yell.

I sort of nonchalantly, but with a little bit of a bratty tone mentioned to her that I hadn't called her because she didn't seem to "need" me now that "that other sibling" had moved back in and she had him to talk to.

I matter-of-factually went down the list of things that had been going on in my pretty little world while she was busy, leaving out the fact that she had missed my birthday. (I feel that you shouldn't have to remind people it's your birthday, especially if you exited their personal uterus.)

I did not feel like Molly Fucking Ringwald. I wanted to smack this woman right through the phone. (Ultimately, I am still happy that my mom is a soulless bitch instead one of those Disney moms who sings at you like she had a Prozac martini followed by a bong water chaser when life's issues arise.)

I saved my energy and put on my dead-on-the-inside/passive-aggressive hat and didn't tell her how I felt.

(I have learned that she is the type of person who uses the information that she has the ability to affect you against you like one of Bush 43's famed WMD...)

She let me know that I need to let her know when I have pesky little things like major surgery and I smirked through the phone but put on my most sugary voice and told her that I don't like to upset her and prefer to keep her blanketed and tucked safely in the comfort of omission.

I'm pretty sure she either did not hear or did not understand this.

I promised that I would call her more regularly and we hung up just as Jay was coming through on a lap...

I felt blank. Empty. And a bit angry that she had tainted my day of 'cross.

Later in the car, I told Jay that she had called.

We spoke about it for a minute and he asked me how I felt. (Methinks someone had too little electrolyte water in his race to be asking such touchy-feely questions, Sir.)

I still felt blank and empty...and that made me sad.

It had been an emotional 2 weeks for me and I didn't want to think about anything.

I just wanted to ride my bike and be left alone.

I think I liked it better before people realized that I had feelings.

However, it was impossible for me to feel like crap.

'Cross season had started that day and I was still a little high.

The sadness didn't stick. Jay and I quickly moved on to discussing our races and plans for the week and this week's badass night race and as The Sass chirped away in the back seat, we drove home pretty happily.

I'll tell ya, people read that "Chicken Soup for the Soul" shit all the time and I have 2 thoughts after that day:

1. I've never seen anyone get all worked up and excited (or even happy) after a cup/bowl of chicken soup. At most, chicken soup is a placebo that temporarily makes you feel better while the high salt content bloats you but keeps the water in.
2. Cake batter is the shit! No matter your age, everyone becomes a kid around cake batter and even after the smallest taste, one will get that self-satisfied smile across their face and everything really is a little easier to deal with.

Cyclocross is cake batter to me.

So if you want to start some shit with me, now until December 6th is the time to do it. After that, you're pretty much screwed.