There's something compelling about the narrative of the Difficult Mother. You know, the mother you love but who has never fully understood you or approved of you or validated your life. The mother you grew distant from, only to reconnect with later in life, perhaps after the birth of your child or the death of a loved one or a sign of your mother's oncoming frailty.
When you are young, grandmothers seem so very old -- ancient, even. They favor knitting over Angry Birds, think texting is something you do on a skateboard, and prefer shopping at Sears for their 'comfortable slacks' rather than snagging a pair of cute skinny jeans at GAP. When you are young, even your own parents seem old-ish.
I have survived two decades of parenting by talking to myself. My incantations are my alter ego reminding me to put things in perspective, step back and take a breath and that things will probably be okay. So while the mom voice in my head is shrieking, at myself or my kids, there is a calmer quieter voice reminding me to count to 10 before I speak.