When asked to write about my mother, objective:
I, Shinay Tredeau, am presenting to the witnesses present, my uncensored observations of my mother, Rabia Tredeau (formerly Jean Mary Tredeau), and my relationship with here. I intend no judgement on her life.
Physical: 5'2", round face, prominent cheek bones, freckles, greying brown hair. Brown eyes, soft skin, big toes that turn in like mine.
I've never asked my mother if she wanted kids, yet I do know that neither my sister nor I were "planned."
My mother sacrificed her personal life for my sister and I.
I cannot begin to know what challenges my mother encountered raising children in community. I do know she sacrificed her relationship with her own mother and sisters to offer me and my sister an opportunity for a different kind of life.
M mother has fought battles for me, she has yelled and cajoled on my behlaf.
She has lied and coerced and gotten pretty damn fierce in order to serve her children.
I remember my mom yelling, "Calm the energy down!" as I tried to nap in the next room from where the older kids were rough-housing.
Sometimes I take my mothers live for granted.
I have said things to intentionally hurt my mom, knowing her so well I know what will hurt the most.
My mom's defense is to turn and run away from uncomfortable situations.
She cries easily.
She likes to laugh loud and when we're in the movie theaters together we can be heard clear back to the last row of seats.
She told me once that she used to practice smiling.
My mom tends to shy away from things that don't "feel" good.
My mom loves children and sweet things.
She never learned to cook very well.
My mother used to call me her Little Imp, her mischievous child.
We used to fight a lot; I remember yelling so loud the police came. This embarrassed her a lot and secretly pleased me to know I'd made her uncomfortable.
At 24, I feel like I could tell my mom anything and she wouldn't judge me.
I know that by doing things which I love to do, this influences my mother, it makes her proud to know she has brought someone so bright into this world.
My mother calls me fearless, and I know this quality she admires.
I am still learning not to take my mother's negative moods personally (or positive moods for that matter).
I remember the day I started to relate to my mother as another human being independent from only "my mom."
The only time I ever saw disappointment on my mother's face over/regarding something I'd done is when I lied to her in high school. In that moment, I disrespected her Trust, her wisdom, and her Divine nature.
I think my mother is one of the most beautiful people I know.
My mother doesn't life, but tends to fabricate stories.
I can now say "no" to my mother without her taking it personally.
There was one time in my life when I was sure my mom and dad were going to separate. Now I know that if they do, it's not my fault.
I think my mom likes my boyfriend because he reminds her of my father when my father was young. I like that.
My father has never hit my mom.
My mother has never hit my father, although she slaps him with her words and he sits there, like a rock, taking it until the storm of her emotions pass. He knows it's not his job to change her.
When my parents hug it is so tender and sweet.
I've come to know strength and independence from my mother—she is not attached to my father—their love knows no bounds.
My mother is extremely insecure.
My mother loves children I know I've said this already, but it's worth repeating).
I've learned to love the man in my life like my mother loves my father; strongly, with passion, independent of needing them by my side all the time, trusting them, trusting my heart to lead me in the right directions.
Often all I have to do is think about my mom and 30 seconds later she'll call me up on the telephone.
I am proud of my mother when she lets go of her fear and speaks her mind.
My mother disappointed me when she got out of the care when I was three-yers-old, and left me, my sister and my father waiting in the car in the gas station parking lot.
I am most critical of my mother when I know she's being small, being afraid, and not being bright.
She is most critical of me when I am impulsive and don't think things through.
I can most rely on my mother for unconditional love no matter where I am on the planet.
She can most rely on me for my honest and sincere opinion. I am also pretty good at telling her stories that makes here laugh and sometime cry (in a good way).
I am in denial about my mother getting older.
I don't want to think about taking care of her in old age. I dread the day of her death, and I'd rather not think about it... AND I'm beginning to realize the great eminence and inevitability of it. C'est la vie.
I tend to get angry and run away, just like my mother. I also tend to worry, just like her, although not as much.
I know I am capable of loving like my mother.
My mother keeps the check book and the cash.
I think I'll do the same.
My mother didn't change her last name.
I think I'll do that same.
My mothers isn't afraid to talk about sex, encouraged me, in fact, to have more of it!
My mother likes creamy, rich food, and told me once she likes the way carbs taste in her mouth.
We like to take walks together.
My mother likes to spend time alone.
I can tell my mother is content when she gets a mood of stillness and quiet ease about her accompanied by a serene look on her face—fulfillment. I sense this in her because it is in me too.
My mother likes to be eccentric and silly. This used to drive me crazy and embarrass the hell out of me. Now when we go out, we'll dress up for each other, her in her sparkly shoes, me in flashy pumps and we'll both wear scarves. Drinking wine or tea or whenever the occasion calls for, well talk and laugh rally loud not caring who hears or who minds.
My mother's most valuable legacy to me is her strong teeth, her ability to Trust the Divine Process, to love unconditionally, to listen to nature and children, and love her husband even over great physical distances.
Her most troublesome legacy is varicose veins, sensitive skin, and a hot temper.
I have created healing in my relationship with my mother by honoring our differences and accepting our similarities; by honoring her as a human being, as a woman, as a friend independent from being only my mother.
I have learned to trust her wisdom and ask for her objective guidance. (She likes to be used as most elders so).
I know that no matter the physical distance, her and I we are connected. I call her love into my being. In fact, just this afternoon I got a voicemail from her. When I called her back 18 seconds later, she said, "I just tried to call you."
"I know," I replied, "and I was trying to call you at the same time."
I, Shinay Tredeau, am presenting to the witnesses present, my uncensored observations of my mother, Rabia Tredeau (formerly Jean Mary Tredeau), and my relationship with here. I intend no judgement on her life.
Physical: 5'2", round face, prominent cheek bones, freckles, greying brown hair. Brown eyes, soft skin, big toes that turn in like mine.
I've never asked my mother if she wanted kids, yet I do know that neither my sister nor I were "planned."
My mother sacrificed her personal life for my sister and I.
I cannot begin to know what challenges my mother encountered raising children in community. I do know she sacrificed her relationship with her own mother and sisters to offer me and my sister an opportunity for a different kind of life.
M mother has fought battles for me, she has yelled and cajoled on my behlaf.
She has lied and coerced and gotten pretty damn fierce in order to serve her children.
I remember my mom yelling, "Calm the energy down!" as I tried to nap in the next room from where the older kids were rough-housing.
Sometimes I take my mothers live for granted.
I have said things to intentionally hurt my mom, knowing her so well I know what will hurt the most.
My mom's defense is to turn and run away from uncomfortable situations.
She cries easily.
She likes to laugh loud and when we're in the movie theaters together we can be heard clear back to the last row of seats.
She told me once that she used to practice smiling.
My mom tends to shy away from things that don't "feel" good.
My mom loves children and sweet things.
She never learned to cook very well.
My mother used to call me her Little Imp, her mischievous child.
We used to fight a lot; I remember yelling so loud the police came. This embarrassed her a lot and secretly pleased me to know I'd made her uncomfortable.
At 24, I feel like I could tell my mom anything and she wouldn't judge me.
I know that by doing things which I love to do, this influences my mother, it makes her proud to know she has brought someone so bright into this world.
My mother calls me fearless, and I know this quality she admires.
I am still learning not to take my mother's negative moods personally (or positive moods for that matter).
I remember the day I started to relate to my mother as another human being independent from only "my mom."
The only time I ever saw disappointment on my mother's face over/regarding something I'd done is when I lied to her in high school. In that moment, I disrespected her Trust, her wisdom, and her Divine nature.
I think my mother is one of the most beautiful people I know.
My mother doesn't life, but tends to fabricate stories.
I can now say "no" to my mother without her taking it personally.
There was one time in my life when I was sure my mom and dad were going to separate. Now I know that if they do, it's not my fault.
I think my mom likes my boyfriend because he reminds her of my father when my father was young. I like that.
My father has never hit my mom.
My mother has never hit my father, although she slaps him with her words and he sits there, like a rock, taking it until the storm of her emotions pass. He knows it's not his job to change her.
When my parents hug it is so tender and sweet.
I've come to know strength and independence from my mother—she is not attached to my father—their love knows no bounds.
My mother is extremely insecure.
My mother loves children I know I've said this already, but it's worth repeating).
I've learned to love the man in my life like my mother loves my father; strongly, with passion, independent of needing them by my side all the time, trusting them, trusting my heart to lead me in the right directions.
Often all I have to do is think about my mom and 30 seconds later she'll call me up on the telephone.
I am proud of my mother when she lets go of her fear and speaks her mind.
My mother disappointed me when she got out of the care when I was three-yers-old, and left me, my sister and my father waiting in the car in the gas station parking lot.
I am most critical of my mother when I know she's being small, being afraid, and not being bright.
She is most critical of me when I am impulsive and don't think things through.
I can most rely on my mother for unconditional love no matter where I am on the planet.
She can most rely on me for my honest and sincere opinion. I am also pretty good at telling her stories that makes here laugh and sometime cry (in a good way).
I am in denial about my mother getting older.
I don't want to think about taking care of her in old age. I dread the day of her death, and I'd rather not think about it... AND I'm beginning to realize the great eminence and inevitability of it. C'est la vie.
I tend to get angry and run away, just like my mother. I also tend to worry, just like her, although not as much.
I know I am capable of loving like my mother.
My mother keeps the check book and the cash.
I think I'll do the same.
My mother didn't change her last name.
I think I'll do that same.
My mothers isn't afraid to talk about sex, encouraged me, in fact, to have more of it!
My mother likes creamy, rich food, and told me once she likes the way carbs taste in her mouth.
We like to take walks together.
My mother likes to spend time alone.
I can tell my mother is content when she gets a mood of stillness and quiet ease about her accompanied by a serene look on her face—fulfillment. I sense this in her because it is in me too.
My mother likes to be eccentric and silly. This used to drive me crazy and embarrass the hell out of me. Now when we go out, we'll dress up for each other, her in her sparkly shoes, me in flashy pumps and we'll both wear scarves. Drinking wine or tea or whenever the occasion calls for, well talk and laugh rally loud not caring who hears or who minds.
My mother's most valuable legacy to me is her strong teeth, her ability to Trust the Divine Process, to love unconditionally, to listen to nature and children, and love her husband even over great physical distances.
Her most troublesome legacy is varicose veins, sensitive skin, and a hot temper.
I have created healing in my relationship with my mother by honoring our differences and accepting our similarities; by honoring her as a human being, as a woman, as a friend independent from being only my mother.
I have learned to trust her wisdom and ask for her objective guidance. (She likes to be used as most elders so).
I know that no matter the physical distance, her and I we are connected. I call her love into my being. In fact, just this afternoon I got a voicemail from her. When I called her back 18 seconds later, she said, "I just tried to call you."
"I know," I replied, "and I was trying to call you at the same time."
