As soon as I found out the new “Wednesday” show came out, I sat to binge watch until midnight with my daughter. We watched most of the episodes, as she baked cream cheese pecan bars. My daughter loves baking and she’s gotten pretty good at it.
My daughter is not all sugar and spice and everything nice, as neither am I, and for a very long time I have considered myself more of an outcast than a “normie” so seeing this show was like a cold dark hug to my black heart 🖤
I saw myself in Wednesday, in her lack of interest in being hugged or approached by her family or classmates. I also saw myself in her mother. And I saw my daughter in the raven-haired character. Our relationship has always been stormy, tempestuous, many mother-daughter relationships struggle to see eye to eye. But it is clear for us both that we love each other. I also loved all the ways his father referred to her. “My little dark cloud,” “my little tormenta,” “My little dark storm.” I even started writing them down so I could use them myself.
That cold, hard stare where Jenna Ortega doesn’t blink and shoots daggers with her eyes, I see that everyday. I have my own little tormenta. She is a feisty one. But what can I do? The weather of motherhood called for dark storms ahead so it is what it is.
I have the umbrella that “Wednesday” has brought to my life and all is well, I can put the kettle on and wait for the storm to pass. She is just starting her teenage years, after all, and I there are dark skies for a while.
I started calling her my little tormenta and she says I’ll stop in two weeks. She doesn’t know that the night before she was born, I had a dream about being in the middle of a storm, until I walked on the edge of a beach and finally saw clear skies.
I didn’t know what my dream meant, but I do now. The most precious gift that “Wednesday” gave me was to remember that sometimes even little tormentas can bring us joy.
I love my little dark storm. 🖤