The Monday Book – I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

Guest review by Janelle Bailey, avid reader/ever-an-educator/lifelong learnerand also now 7th grade teacher and part-time bookseller

I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

First: my personal opinion is that this is an absolutely horrible title for a book, no matter how many different angles I consider. The connotation, merely, and then its wave of suggestion, when indicating one has picked up a book with this title feels icky, most especially when one’s own mom is very much alive and one has no wish to lose her at all, let alone soon.

Beyond that opinion, this is still a difficult book to read. Think Tara Westover’s Educated in the challenge of reading about a mother who does not seem to have her children–or at least this daughter’s–best interests in mind in all she does with or for –even to–her. And yet, while it was all happening, that mom might possibly have believed she was doing a “good job.”

You may not recognize Jennette McCurdy by name at all, but the character she played on iCarly, Sam Puckett, is certainly recognizable to many. Many, many–especially young women who watched and/or their moms and others who watched with them and/or were aware–will recognize Sam. And at least as she conveys in this book, McCurdy rarely responds to people who call out to her with that identification, but does when known by her given name.

And that is because her successful career playing Sam Puckett is all tied up in why McCurdy maybe is–maybe is not–glad that her mom did die, troublingly complex as that all was, and even for her, given their difficult relationship McCurdy’s entire life. It’s truly all tragic in hindsight and from this observational perspective. McCurdy’s mom treated her much more like a “pet,” it seems, more as someone she could control and dictate a life and diet and more for, than as a daughter–a child, a human.

I’m Glad My Mom Died is a memoir.

It is sincerely hard to read. Maybe that is one of the reasons I opted to listen.

This mom of five daughters certainly considered, while reading, numbers of my own flaws and errors in parenting–and years in hindsight–as they are all now young adults. Having faced and probably daily (and for 30 years!) complex challenges of only ever wanting to be the “best” mom, wishing to raise each to be strong, independent, respectful, kind, smart, productive, sweet, thoughtful, resilient, caring, empathetic–really just successful in their own daily pursuits and lesson learning–young women…and: they are!

I also acknowledge from my own childhood into adult experiences with just one sibling, and one sister at that, that these young women of mine are very much five individuals, every single one of them. They are not, nor have ever been to me, in competition for anything with or against each other, but are each/all valuable members of a team, instead, and I have only ever wanted for each of them to be pleased and proud and “glad” that I was–am–their mom, despite my “best” not always matching their own wishes for who/how I’d be. I certainly want them–hope they!–feel differently about me than McCurdy shares she feels about hers. But moms and daughters (five…remember) are–whew–at best a living experiment; I continue to do my best each and every day, fully acknowledging and breathing deeply my own very slow discovery that I cannot be all the hoped for things for every single one of them, no matter how hard I try. I am only one me…and I continue to do my best each day. I grant them that grace: to grow and learn and gain wisdom every day, becoming always their own new selves, and I hope they grant that to me as well.

I am not sorry to have “read” this book, for learning so much more about Jennette McCurdy and how difficult the life of a tv star–and all that it entailed in her individual situation–was. And for all of the thinking I did about my own “daughtering” and “mothering/ parenting.” For McCurdy, the author, a brand new life and career are just taking off and finally with her own discretion as to how she lives it. As popular as this book is–so hopefully not solely for its title–and as long as I waited for my turn, even from the library, she is off to a very successful start. People will now truly know her name.

Sliding into Laughter

After the intense emotions of the “Hazel Days,” it is with glee that I steal my friend Heather’s FB post and offer it here. Some of you may remember Heather as our bookstore cleaner who moved to Colorado recently. Her older son, Reese, is a solidly built lad of 11 (who has autism). I would have asked Heather to use this, but in their first week in their new house, they don’t have Internet access yet, except in one corner, stealing wifi from a neighbor for five minutes at a time. And she has to fight three healthy boys (including her husband) to get chair share time. Besides, it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission. (For those of you wanting news of Hazel, she has her own FB page: CLAN Hazel.)

And  now, heeeeeeeeere’s Heather!!!!

So…. we are in the pool at the local Y, where there are two giant twisty waterslides. Reese is doing his usual ‘go up to the top, sit down, think about going down, scream, stand up, go back down the stairs’ thing three times in 20 minutes. In a moment of what I NOW know was complete stupidity, I go up the two stories myself and suggest to David he go down the slide to show Reese what it’s like while I stay with Reese at the top.

STUPID. STUPID. STUPID.

Picture this: David is at the bottom of the slide yelling up to Reese how great coming down is. Reese and I are at the top looking waaaay down. I eventually coax Reese into loosening his death grip on the sides of the slide, but I can see that he is not fully prepared emotionally for what is happening, and begin to help him to the stairs when he is caught in the flow. He starts clawing like almighty hell trying to stop the inevitable. He slides down around a bend and tries to stand and … climb… back… up!

David and the YMCA lifeguard are now screaming for Reese to sit down, and we watch him slip to a point on the slide where we can no longer see him at all. He does not come down. The lifeguard motions for me to slide down, find Reese, and help him the rest of the way.

Let me preface this next part by stating that I do NOT like waterslides. In the least.

I grudgingly sit at the top of the slide and start down…

and quickly realize that this water is moving VERY, VERY FAST, and there is no freaking way on heaven or earth I can stop or even slow down. How the hell did Reese stop himself?

I fly around what I feel must be the twentieth bend (in reality there are 5) and there is Reese – standing on the slide against the water flow, gripping the sides, FACING me. I yell for him to hold on as I hit him full force. He lands on top of me, and we smash through the last three bends like wrecking balls to land in the pool, falling to the bottom with such force I swallow and snort what must be a third of the pool’s total liquid volume. I flail myself to the surface like a mad woman, believing my child is quite possibly drowning right in front of me (at the YMCA).

I come up sputtering and choking to find Reese standing in the pool with a look of total surprise on his face. He then slowly breaks into a grin and exclaims, “Oh, yeah!”

Oh, hell no. Never again. Never. Ever.