#momzilla

I've never been a role model.

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@zella-tremaine Things had been quite hectic and absurdly dramatic around the Tremaine household the past few weeks-- it was the kind of chaos in which Rodmilla Tremaine could not thrive. For once, she’d fallen behind on her work due to her pesky miscarriage (this is how Milla had come to think of the hospital event: pesky, annoying, frivolous-- it helped her flit over the topic whenever it tried to intrude in her thoughts). For another, examinations loomed on top of the even-more-frivolous event of Prom, which, nevertheless, filled her daughters’ heads with dreams of frills and fancy. Milla let the girls coo and giggle and plot away though-- watching with a little smile actually, remembering all the dances she’d attended as her girls paraded their dresses in front of her and flashed their lipsticked smiles.

But once prom was over, the fun would be too. Life was a balance of work and play. They had their silly fairytale evenings; Milla hoped they enjoyed them. And after the weekend passed, it was back to business.

She did not fret over Ana, who presented her with strong marks and always did her homework and was set on going to her school of choice. Even if, through some insanity on the part of the admissions board, Oxford did not take her, Milla would make just one phone call to rectify. She’d been diligently donating money to that school for years. She took  postgraduate interns from Oxford every season and was on their advisory board for philosophy. Did they really intend to lose all of the support Milla had been giving all these years?

Of course not.

And so it was Zella who was, like always, the problem. The wrinkle, the blemish. Milla had been after her daughter for years on keeping up her grades and crafting goals for herself. But Zella was like some rabid pitbull who refused to behave-- who bit her mother the tighter Milla wound the leash. It didn’t matter if Milla was kind and sensitive and told her daughter it was for the best, or if she was mean and yelled herself hoarse.

But now there could be no excuses. She called Zella into her office again after dinner and as soon as her daughter had slunk in, Milla shut the door and she locked it. She went directly to the chair opposite her daughter and sank into it. Her back was straight, her ankles crossed, her knees slanted toward one side. She took off her reading glasses and let them dangle by the chain around her neck. And Milla put on a little smile for Zella.

If Zella wanted a fight,, then she’d have to bark first.

My mom started calling it a “white girl wedding” (insult intended since we are Mexican)

She threw a fit that I didn’t want to invite a couple family members that are Trumpers because I’m “burning bridges for no reason”

I didn’t want to invite some people from our gym that I’m not close with/I don’t like.

I didn’t want to invite HER friends which she says isn’t cool because they’re like family (I don’t know them that well just because I used to babysit for them)

She threw a fit that I wanted to have a child free wedding

Said the music sucked and tried to change part of my and my finances songs even though it had special meaning to me and wanted me to make two cousins that I have met MAYBE 3 times my groomsmen.