One day. One day! It's only been one day and already my mother has made me cry.

Maybe I just cry easily.

But it wasn't anything, really. I went shopping with her, and she bought me new pants so long as I helped her with the grocery shopping. So I did. One of the things she wanted was Kraft barbeque sauce. I remember exactly what I heard: Three Kraft, emphises on KRAFT, barbeque sauce, any kind you like but nothing with honey on the label because barbeque sauce is already sweet enough. That's what I heard. Not the part where it had to be 99 cents. But apparently she told me that, too. So I scoot off and return with three, put 'em in the cart, and *joy*, we're off. We get home and my mother, being her usual self, looks over the receipt and discovers the barbeque sauce wasn't on sale, and cost her about six dollar extra. I know, I know, six dollars is a substantial amount to lose, but she turns to me when she discovers this (after hissing and spitting and grumbling her fate), and looks at me with a look of hate in her eyes and says in a spiteful tone: "You're *so* unreliable, Rosie."

That's what really got me. I left the room. Quietly, of course. I never let my mother see I'm crying. She'll just get the same look and the same tone of voice and go: "Don't cry. Crying is for babies. If you don't stop, I'll *really* give you something to cry about."

I hate that. I really do. I hate it more than anything. I hate that look and I hate that tone, and when ever I see people using it, whether to me or to each other, I break down in tears. Or come incredibly close. I can't stand it. I just can't. It's my one weakness.

I'm teetering on the edge of crying just thinking about it.

When I returned to the kitchen, she proceeded to tell me how she had lost so much money when Heather, my foster sister, had run away, how much money she had spent on Heather and me today for school stuff, how much more she'll have to spend on us, how she doesn't get paid for teaching 'til the fall when she actually starts, how much her trip to New Zealand had cost, how I could never remember anything, how I could have gotten her to write it all down (although I had done perfectly fine fetching basketfuls of stuff without a single flaw)...All over three bottles of Kraft barbeque sauce. I remember the kinds, too. Extra thick original, garlic, and hickory.

So I proceeded to tell her I really didn't mean to do it, and I hadn't heard her say it had to be 99 cents, I was concentrating on the details of what she wanted, the brand, the type, etc. She stopped heckling me then, but told me that she "couldn't rely on me for anything and to pay attention next time."

Was it wrong for me to cry? Should I have tried to keep it in? I could have gone impassive and stoney, like I do when she's *really* mad, and quietly and calmly walked up to my room...then proceed to break down in silent tears behind the door? Was what I did alright? I don't know. I don't get along with my mother very well. She doesn't understand why.

She doesn't understand why I don't like shopping with her. She always picks things she likes and tries to force them on me. She acts like kind of a boss...That's really the difference between my mother and my father. My mother, it's like shopping with your boss. My dad, it's like shopping with your equal.

Ah well. Maybe our relationship will be better once I move out, so I don't have to put up with her on a day to day basis. That will be one nice thing about moving out...

And I run. My shoulder is sore and I want to finish beading the favor I'm making.

'Til next time, my friends.

.

Rosie.

Before&After