Oh no...heavens, NOTHING like what was going on Last Year at this time!
I fell down the stairs today.
Fortunately not all 13 of them. Only about the bottom 1/2...ouch. And unlike a seasoned faller who would know to not to fight the feeling, I reached out, grabbed the banister and promptly twisted my body into landing in a contorted heap at the base of the steps.
And they were the indoor, not the outdoor, steps, so it was all my doing and not to be blamed on some random showing of ice.
I somehow managed to drive myself to the chiropractor, where for the second time in two weeks he had me in tears popping me into place. But I am prescribed ice therapy, "as much as I can" tonight as my left shoulder and the base of my neck is completely swollen (dude, no wonder it hurts so bad!) and to, um, 'pop' back in tomorrow so he can torture me a bit more into place.
So I will sit and give thanks for laptops as my neck ices and I plan the rest of the week's classes.
Side note updates:
My weekend away to Georgia was lovely. My girlfriend and I had not seen each other in about 4 years, and we desperately needed some catch-up time. Watched some old movies, one newer flick and did some shopping. Swapped class ideas and voila! We could have technically written that weekend off for taxes.
My mother is up to old antics again. The Christmas Letter included a lovely guilt trip blatantly directed at this Mama Llama about what a crappy daughter I am to keep her grandchildren at such a distance. She has also rejected the name that my daughter, the first grandchild of the family, gave to her. My sister and her husband are angry with her about this as well, and it makes it very hard to even make the efforts to pick up the phone. I'm getting tired of it. I guess the webcam I bought her for Christmas went over like a lead balloon. Can't say I don't make an effort. I just need to smart up and stop making the efforts...
...if she weren't my mother, it would be so easy.
As far as my Rocking Resolution list goes, I am doing well so far. Granted, we're only a week into the New Year, but still...
And with that I go back to the ice.
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta mothers. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta mothers. Mostrar todas las entradas
martes, 6 de enero de 2009
viernes, 25 de julio de 2008
the conversation and subsequent relief
Vegas was not all video poker, swimming, tequila and dancing.
My mother was also there.
No, no need to cue in Beethoven's Fifth. Not this time. There were a few moments that were uncomfortable because I knew that she wanted to talk to me and I am pretty much sick of being the only one to ever broach subjects so I just don't anymore unless I want to.
But those passed, mainly because there were four children under age 6.5 that wanted my or her attention, so "deep talking" moments were not really appropriate at those times.
One day, when out at the state park watching the peacocks running free and grabbing for our breakfast food, we were discussing the mating habits of these beautiful birds, uncertain as to whether they mate for life or not. La Princesita piped in: "Maybe the Mommy peacock and the Daddy peacock live together for a while then decide they don't want to be together anymore and then go live somewhere else."
I have been completely honest with her whenever she has asked questions, like why we don't sleep in the same room. That seems to be showing now.
The next morning there was a knock at the door that awoke me. I went to the door, thinking that Mom probably needed some help with something for some reason.
"Did I wake you?"
-No...yeah...um, it's okay. Do you need me?
"I would like to talk to you. Can you come down for a few minutes?"
-Sure, let me get dressed.
I closed my door and took a deep breath. Okay, here it comes. I promised myself I would have this talk with my mother this trip, because keeping this from her and constantly censuring myself is filling my life with too much stress. A few minutes later had me sitting next to her on her king-sized bed in her hotel room.
"I was hoping you would come to me and that I wouldn't have to come to you, but that hasn't happened, so I need to ask you. What is going on with you and your husband?"
Matter-of-factly, with no emotion at all, I said: -We've been living a domestic separation now for just about two years.
“I knew that. Even when your daughter spoke yesterday, that was pretty telltale. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Oh, how do I go into the myriad of reasons without bringing up the past I am trying so hard not to live in??
So, I talked of the disappointment factor, that I cannot handle disappointing the 175 people who came to the wedding, the huge thing I did not ever want (when the wedding is supposed to be all about the bride, anyway…right??!).
I did not say that it's my life and my mistake and not hers...therefore what's the point?
I talked of how she herself said, back when we lived in Sweden, ‘I give you two five years. That’s it.’ She denies, of course, ever having said that and many other really hurtful and cruel things. But my sister and I try to be understanding, knowing that she was still reeling after having been left a widow at 54 in the wake of the death of her husband, her lover, her best friend. It must be a pain so deep that I never want to know it.
Or perhaps I do…which would mean that I, too, got to share some years of my life with a person that profoundly special to me.
I talked of expectation, of the fact that she never divorced and, although she was not born yesterday, that besides her brother's divorces, has not really ever touched our family and I did not want to be the exception.
“But it takes two,” Mom countered.
With relief, I sighed. -Exactly. And I can’t do it anymore all by myself. Sometimes I wonder if I haven’t tried hard enough. But no, I have given it my all. I have defended him to the end.
A lot was said, she feels hurt that I have lied to her for so long. My mother was never really approachable to me; I was very much my father’s daughter and have been quite lost in the lack of my daddy now for almost 9 years. That kind of relationship does not change overnight, but I am starting to realize that I can confide in her, that she is also a woman who has suffered much loss in her life and that she is not about to judge me for getting out of something that is making my life miserable but rather respect me for making the best decision I possibly can for the well-being of my children and myself.
In the end, she has offered to sell me her house, my childhood home back in Medford, Oregon. “Something has been making me hold onto this house, that is way too big for me to have on my own anymore. Maybe this is it.”
-I am not ready to make any huge decisions about where to go, Mom. But thank you, it adds another possibility to the equation that I had never before considered.
There would be work; I had been teaching at Southern Oregon and the chair was so impressed with me and my degrees that I was invited to stay on as a full professor--but had to leave to support my husband in Sweden. I could get back in easily as no bridges were burned; however, my dream of having my own business and using my own book would go down the drain. The local uni and community college have joined forces and offer a wealth of adult education classes at various locations and at great prices; the market in Southern Oregon is saturated.
Plusses: I would have a position that would give me benefits, and my children would attend the same schools I attended. I would Start Over…after having so wanted to get out of Medford when I was 18, it would be so ironic to end up living there as an adult.
The other big negative is that I would take the children from their father. He is a good man and does not deserve that. However, I don’t know how much longer we can share the same roof, even if separated by a floor.
He is gone for a few weeks investigating the oil spill in the Mississippi in New Orleans, which gives me some time here alone to think and clear my mind. Silence will have to be broken; we will have to talk and once again, I will be the one to initiate everything, fulfilling my role as ‘the bad guy’ once again.
All this aside I feel incredible relief now that my mother knows the truth of the situation. This has been yet another huge step toward doing what I need to do, and I feel a freedom of spirit I have not felt in quite some time.
So my questions now go out to those who have lived this process: Parental support, have you found, is constant or are guilt trips frequent? If your children were to come to you and announce they were divorcing, would you handle it in a different way than your parent(s) did? Or did you wait until parents had passed so as not to cause strife (a serious consideration I have made, and in consideration of my in-laws' health, I feel could be a valid consideration)? I feel I am taking a huge risk in letting my mother into my life because she has really given me great hell when I've tried to let her in before. I don't want to regret what I see now as a step forward.
My mother was also there.
No, no need to cue in Beethoven's Fifth. Not this time. There were a few moments that were uncomfortable because I knew that she wanted to talk to me and I am pretty much sick of being the only one to ever broach subjects so I just don't anymore unless I want to.
But those passed, mainly because there were four children under age 6.5 that wanted my or her attention, so "deep talking" moments were not really appropriate at those times.
One day, when out at the state park watching the peacocks running free and grabbing for our breakfast food, we were discussing the mating habits of these beautiful birds, uncertain as to whether they mate for life or not. La Princesita piped in: "Maybe the Mommy peacock and the Daddy peacock live together for a while then decide they don't want to be together anymore and then go live somewhere else."
I have been completely honest with her whenever she has asked questions, like why we don't sleep in the same room. That seems to be showing now.
The next morning there was a knock at the door that awoke me. I went to the door, thinking that Mom probably needed some help with something for some reason.
"Did I wake you?"
-No...yeah...um, it's okay. Do you need me?
"I would like to talk to you. Can you come down for a few minutes?"
-Sure, let me get dressed.
I closed my door and took a deep breath. Okay, here it comes. I promised myself I would have this talk with my mother this trip, because keeping this from her and constantly censuring myself is filling my life with too much stress. A few minutes later had me sitting next to her on her king-sized bed in her hotel room.
"I was hoping you would come to me and that I wouldn't have to come to you, but that hasn't happened, so I need to ask you. What is going on with you and your husband?"
Matter-of-factly, with no emotion at all, I said: -We've been living a domestic separation now for just about two years.
“I knew that. Even when your daughter spoke yesterday, that was pretty telltale. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Oh, how do I go into the myriad of reasons without bringing up the past I am trying so hard not to live in??
So, I talked of the disappointment factor, that I cannot handle disappointing the 175 people who came to the wedding, the huge thing I did not ever want (when the wedding is supposed to be all about the bride, anyway…right??!).
I did not say that it's my life and my mistake and not hers...therefore what's the point?
I talked of how she herself said, back when we lived in Sweden, ‘I give you two five years. That’s it.’ She denies, of course, ever having said that and many other really hurtful and cruel things. But my sister and I try to be understanding, knowing that she was still reeling after having been left a widow at 54 in the wake of the death of her husband, her lover, her best friend. It must be a pain so deep that I never want to know it.
Or perhaps I do…which would mean that I, too, got to share some years of my life with a person that profoundly special to me.
I talked of expectation, of the fact that she never divorced and, although she was not born yesterday, that besides her brother's divorces, has not really ever touched our family and I did not want to be the exception.
“But it takes two,” Mom countered.
With relief, I sighed. -Exactly. And I can’t do it anymore all by myself. Sometimes I wonder if I haven’t tried hard enough. But no, I have given it my all. I have defended him to the end.
A lot was said, she feels hurt that I have lied to her for so long. My mother was never really approachable to me; I was very much my father’s daughter and have been quite lost in the lack of my daddy now for almost 9 years. That kind of relationship does not change overnight, but I am starting to realize that I can confide in her, that she is also a woman who has suffered much loss in her life and that she is not about to judge me for getting out of something that is making my life miserable but rather respect me for making the best decision I possibly can for the well-being of my children and myself.
In the end, she has offered to sell me her house, my childhood home back in Medford, Oregon. “Something has been making me hold onto this house, that is way too big for me to have on my own anymore. Maybe this is it.”
-I am not ready to make any huge decisions about where to go, Mom. But thank you, it adds another possibility to the equation that I had never before considered.
There would be work; I had been teaching at Southern Oregon and the chair was so impressed with me and my degrees that I was invited to stay on as a full professor--but had to leave to support my husband in Sweden. I could get back in easily as no bridges were burned; however, my dream of having my own business and using my own book would go down the drain. The local uni and community college have joined forces and offer a wealth of adult education classes at various locations and at great prices; the market in Southern Oregon is saturated.
Plusses: I would have a position that would give me benefits, and my children would attend the same schools I attended. I would Start Over…after having so wanted to get out of Medford when I was 18, it would be so ironic to end up living there as an adult.
The other big negative is that I would take the children from their father. He is a good man and does not deserve that. However, I don’t know how much longer we can share the same roof, even if separated by a floor.
He is gone for a few weeks investigating the oil spill in the Mississippi in New Orleans, which gives me some time here alone to think and clear my mind. Silence will have to be broken; we will have to talk and once again, I will be the one to initiate everything, fulfilling my role as ‘the bad guy’ once again.
All this aside I feel incredible relief now that my mother knows the truth of the situation. This has been yet another huge step toward doing what I need to do, and I feel a freedom of spirit I have not felt in quite some time.
So my questions now go out to those who have lived this process: Parental support, have you found, is constant or are guilt trips frequent? If your children were to come to you and announce they were divorcing, would you handle it in a different way than your parent(s) did? Or did you wait until parents had passed so as not to cause strife (a serious consideration I have made, and in consideration of my in-laws' health, I feel could be a valid consideration)? I feel I am taking a huge risk in letting my mother into my life because she has really given me great hell when I've tried to let her in before. I don't want to regret what I see now as a step forward.
martes, 10 de junio de 2008
psycho mother from hell
Okay, granted I live in "Alpha Mom" land.
This is the term I have given to the tendency, that I am certain exists everywhere but here, in Ivy League Corridor, is especially prevalent among mothers to push their children to be involved in everything, to have every last minute of their waking hours scheduled with activity after activity, and doing their homework for them and ensuring that their good name as parents is maintained through the overachievement of their youngsters.
But today's events blindsided me.
I had my strong feelings about this particular mother the first time we met, in the produce section of Whole Paycheck. It was Valentine's Day, a day I do not observe except to make valentines with my children, and she was in a panic regarding what kind of chocolate she ought to purchase for the special "dessert" of the night.
With my (nasty) mind, of course, I was thinking, 'Why, the most spreadable possible...'
But we had just met and I did not want her getting the wrong idea about me (a-hem).
So then she asked what I would do and, as I opened my mouth to answer, another flood of other worries came rushing out at me and I had to grasp my shopping cart so as to not be knocked over with the flood.
Okay, so I exaggerate just a bit. Point is, every time I opened my mouth to answer a question she posed to me, she herself went on as if it were hypothetical. No problem, I thought...we just met, sometimes we all get a little nervous when we first meet someone but...ay ay ay. I don't know if I can take this woman.
Over margaritas at Artie's a couple nights later I mentioned this to my girlfriends. One had been an expressive therapist with a local hospital, and she said that this lady sounds like many of her patients. "Just be nice but stay at a distance," I was advised.
P.M. (Psycho Mom) telephoned to inquire if La Princesita would be interested in a playdate. I explained that, during the days I (at that time) was with various students and I really didn't feel comfortable having other children at my home when I could not be 100% available for supervision...nor did I want to take unfair advantage of an offer that would turn into "childcare" since I would be working. She countered that she could also be at my house but then quickly added, "And don't worry, I wouldn't go through your purse or be getting into your personal belongings or anything."
I honestly did not know what to think about that remark, and could not figure out how on Earth such a thought could occur to somebody.
Over the course of the past couple of months, her daughter and mine happened to be on the same T-ball team, and her husband was the coach. I can take him with a grain of salt, and as she and I got to know each other a bit more, I felt that she relaxed more and we watched many games together and actually enjoyed our time together with the other parents watching the games. A little intense at times, but we all have our quirks, right? She's human, and I am all about giving new acquaintances the benefit of the doubt--especially if we are going to be potentially "connected" for the next 12 years through the schooling of our daughters.
So...
Today she called me, extremely upset by the fact that the kindergarten class, as well as the 1st and 2nd grade classes in the same corridor of the elementary school, was in their second day without air conditioning. She was disturbed by the fact that the children had to go to another classroom and sit on the floor for part of their classtime today. They were slated to take a standardized test today which was postponed until tomorrow due to the uncomfortable classroom conditions. Curriculum teaching is essentially over; the school year ends on Friday.
She had been on the telephone to various "powers that be" yesterday to complain. From the response, I am judging that this is not the first that They have heard from Her this school year.
So what happened today?
She "made" me telephone on her behalf 1) the County Board of Supervisors to find out to whom to complain, and then 2) the School System Main Offices to report and to find out what is wrong.
"Made" me...allow me to explain. She insisted on making a three-way conference call ("HA! My first threesome," I joked. She actually got it.) and then on remaining silent on the other line in order to "listen in" on what was said...as if to verify that I would actually make the call? The nerve. But what unfortunately got me involved was the indirect definition with which she assessed others' parenting, by stating that full-time working mothers, of course, cannot be on the phone all the time about these matters but those of us who are not working full-time should be on the phone for the good of our children and the benefit of their education, standing up for them and not letting things slide...in other words, imposing that BAD mommies don't call, GOOD mommies do call.
That, of course, in my present mental and emotional state, is a raw spot with me and I won't have anyone questioning my parenting. I tried to rationalize everything with her calmly, explaining that they were trying to not have to extend the school year another day into next week and making everything work, that the children were not upset and, instead had a great time. If it had been for a week at the beginning of, say, May when curriculum was still being taught and there was no evidence of anything being done to remedy the situation--well, then things would have been different.
But this is one of the best school districts in the country. That does not happen here, and apparently there are some parents who still look for any problem spots, no matter how microscopic in nature, and make the mountain out of the proverbial molehill. I spoke to another mother who knows P.M. and she told me horror story after horror story of what she has had to deal with being co-room parents with her...and what the kindergarten teachers think of her, let alone the PTA President and the principal.
Yikes. Unfortunately, the one who will end up suffering will inevitably be her daughter. This other mother with whom I spoke has a child diagnosed this year with ADHD, and she said that this woman demonstrates how ADHD, when not worked with, manifests in adults. Incapability of reading social cues. Mind whirring at 100 mph without realizing that things are not operating in a linear fashion. Intense in her dealings with people. She needs understanding--but at the same time, she needs to not corner people in the way she cornered me today, or she will only succeed in isolating herself.
Fortunately I am extremely diplomatic, I can make inquiries and find out information without anyone feeling threatened--and basically, as the adage goes, tell someone I don't know to go to hell and make them look forward to the trip.
But not to her. We must peacefully coexist for a long time to come, and that will not solve anything.
Time to put this caller ID to good use.
This is the term I have given to the tendency, that I am certain exists everywhere but here, in Ivy League Corridor, is especially prevalent among mothers to push their children to be involved in everything, to have every last minute of their waking hours scheduled with activity after activity, and doing their homework for them and ensuring that their good name as parents is maintained through the overachievement of their youngsters.
But today's events blindsided me.
I had my strong feelings about this particular mother the first time we met, in the produce section of Whole Paycheck. It was Valentine's Day, a day I do not observe except to make valentines with my children, and she was in a panic regarding what kind of chocolate she ought to purchase for the special "dessert" of the night.
With my (nasty) mind, of course, I was thinking, 'Why, the most spreadable possible...'
But we had just met and I did not want her getting the wrong idea about me (a-hem).
So then she asked what I would do and, as I opened my mouth to answer, another flood of other worries came rushing out at me and I had to grasp my shopping cart so as to not be knocked over with the flood.
Okay, so I exaggerate just a bit. Point is, every time I opened my mouth to answer a question she posed to me, she herself went on as if it were hypothetical. No problem, I thought...we just met, sometimes we all get a little nervous when we first meet someone but...ay ay ay. I don't know if I can take this woman.
Over margaritas at Artie's a couple nights later I mentioned this to my girlfriends. One had been an expressive therapist with a local hospital, and she said that this lady sounds like many of her patients. "Just be nice but stay at a distance," I was advised.
P.M. (Psycho Mom) telephoned to inquire if La Princesita would be interested in a playdate. I explained that, during the days I (at that time) was with various students and I really didn't feel comfortable having other children at my home when I could not be 100% available for supervision...nor did I want to take unfair advantage of an offer that would turn into "childcare" since I would be working. She countered that she could also be at my house but then quickly added, "And don't worry, I wouldn't go through your purse or be getting into your personal belongings or anything."
I honestly did not know what to think about that remark, and could not figure out how on Earth such a thought could occur to somebody.
Over the course of the past couple of months, her daughter and mine happened to be on the same T-ball team, and her husband was the coach. I can take him with a grain of salt, and as she and I got to know each other a bit more, I felt that she relaxed more and we watched many games together and actually enjoyed our time together with the other parents watching the games. A little intense at times, but we all have our quirks, right? She's human, and I am all about giving new acquaintances the benefit of the doubt--especially if we are going to be potentially "connected" for the next 12 years through the schooling of our daughters.
So...
Today she called me, extremely upset by the fact that the kindergarten class, as well as the 1st and 2nd grade classes in the same corridor of the elementary school, was in their second day without air conditioning. She was disturbed by the fact that the children had to go to another classroom and sit on the floor for part of their classtime today. They were slated to take a standardized test today which was postponed until tomorrow due to the uncomfortable classroom conditions. Curriculum teaching is essentially over; the school year ends on Friday.
She had been on the telephone to various "powers that be" yesterday to complain. From the response, I am judging that this is not the first that They have heard from Her this school year.
So what happened today?
She "made" me telephone on her behalf 1) the County Board of Supervisors to find out to whom to complain, and then 2) the School System Main Offices to report and to find out what is wrong.
"Made" me...allow me to explain. She insisted on making a three-way conference call ("HA! My first threesome," I joked. She actually got it.) and then on remaining silent on the other line in order to "listen in" on what was said...as if to verify that I would actually make the call? The nerve. But what unfortunately got me involved was the indirect definition with which she assessed others' parenting, by stating that full-time working mothers, of course, cannot be on the phone all the time about these matters but those of us who are not working full-time should be on the phone for the good of our children and the benefit of their education, standing up for them and not letting things slide...in other words, imposing that BAD mommies don't call, GOOD mommies do call.
That, of course, in my present mental and emotional state, is a raw spot with me and I won't have anyone questioning my parenting. I tried to rationalize everything with her calmly, explaining that they were trying to not have to extend the school year another day into next week and making everything work, that the children were not upset and, instead had a great time. If it had been for a week at the beginning of, say, May when curriculum was still being taught and there was no evidence of anything being done to remedy the situation--well, then things would have been different.
But this is one of the best school districts in the country. That does not happen here, and apparently there are some parents who still look for any problem spots, no matter how microscopic in nature, and make the mountain out of the proverbial molehill. I spoke to another mother who knows P.M. and she told me horror story after horror story of what she has had to deal with being co-room parents with her...and what the kindergarten teachers think of her, let alone the PTA President and the principal.
Yikes. Unfortunately, the one who will end up suffering will inevitably be her daughter. This other mother with whom I spoke has a child diagnosed this year with ADHD, and she said that this woman demonstrates how ADHD, when not worked with, manifests in adults. Incapability of reading social cues. Mind whirring at 100 mph without realizing that things are not operating in a linear fashion. Intense in her dealings with people. She needs understanding--but at the same time, she needs to not corner people in the way she cornered me today, or she will only succeed in isolating herself.
Fortunately I am extremely diplomatic, I can make inquiries and find out information without anyone feeling threatened--and basically, as the adage goes, tell someone I don't know to go to hell and make them look forward to the trip.
But not to her. We must peacefully coexist for a long time to come, and that will not solve anything.
Time to put this caller ID to good use.
miércoles, 5 de marzo de 2008
Life
My father-in-law is doing better, sounding clearer, and will be checking out of the rehab hospital for home this week.
My mother-in-law cannot remember what she has eaten during the day due to agressive frontal lobe degeneration (aka Alzheimer's) and will doubtfully even remember her own name, let alone her children, in a few months.
It is so difficult to see those we hold in such high esteem for all of our lives become weak and decline with age. Perhaps because it is a constant reminder to us, in our "prime", of what we are to become with age...and such a thought is just not very promising.
My father almost died of a pancreatic tumor that doctors at OHSU had never seen before back in 1980, when he was 40. That recurred in his liver in 1995, finally killing him in 1999. Instead of looking forward to my future, I find myself dreading the aging process that I face over the next few years. Logically, it is highly doubtful that I will suffer the same issues that my father battled; our lives are so different--many external variables were in play in my father's life that have not ever been applicable in my life. However unreasonable, the fear and the dread exist.
My mother was diagnosed with Graves' Disease after my father's death, so I have been watching closely my thyroid as well. However, with her that is the extent of any "malady" of age that she has experienced thus far. I consider myself, in a way, lucky to have not had to deal with the problems, yet, that many face when their parents become older. That may sound extremely self-centered, and interpret that as you may...but I do not for a moment wish that my father were dead instead of being here to complete my mother's life and to be known by his grandchildren.
La Princesita, the highly sensitive soul she is, can tell that something is up so we talked about it this evening. The situation is completely beyond her comprehension, but I vowed when I was about to become a mother that I would not allow anything to inhibit my communication with my children, so when they come to me with a question, I do all I can to answer it at their level (Today's magic question was, by the way: Mommy, what is a "hippie boy?"...duuuuuuude...).
Bringing Real Life to their level also makes me think a lot about growing older, and how much easier it would be to just end Life so as not to put our loved ones through the pain of watching their parents decline, forget who they are, forget their children, have their insides eaten up or rot away by some disease...whatever. But that is no solution, either, and is selfish to boot--not to mention morally unacceptable by the standards of institutionalized religion and social standards.
So what do we do? How do we grow old with grace and beauty? Do we live each day as if it were our last? To what extent is such living possible? The accident of two years ago brought this to the forefront of my mind, as all who came to our rescue in our overturned, afire car were prepared for a carful of fatalities. Had it been a car made to a lesser quality standard, we probably would all be four little crosses on the side of the road just east of Nashville.
But we weren't.
Why?
How do we live each day as if it were our last? I honestly am not sure how, when we get so caught up in the to-do lists, work, the children and their schedules, trying to salvage even a moment for a little me-time--then start feeling guilty when I think that I should be taking every moment with my children and making it as if it were my last.
I never thought this way before the accident.
Now I find myself thinking it more and more.
My mother-in-law cannot remember what she has eaten during the day due to agressive frontal lobe degeneration (aka Alzheimer's) and will doubtfully even remember her own name, let alone her children, in a few months.
It is so difficult to see those we hold in such high esteem for all of our lives become weak and decline with age. Perhaps because it is a constant reminder to us, in our "prime", of what we are to become with age...and such a thought is just not very promising.
My father almost died of a pancreatic tumor that doctors at OHSU had never seen before back in 1980, when he was 40. That recurred in his liver in 1995, finally killing him in 1999. Instead of looking forward to my future, I find myself dreading the aging process that I face over the next few years. Logically, it is highly doubtful that I will suffer the same issues that my father battled; our lives are so different--many external variables were in play in my father's life that have not ever been applicable in my life. However unreasonable, the fear and the dread exist.
My mother was diagnosed with Graves' Disease after my father's death, so I have been watching closely my thyroid as well. However, with her that is the extent of any "malady" of age that she has experienced thus far. I consider myself, in a way, lucky to have not had to deal with the problems, yet, that many face when their parents become older. That may sound extremely self-centered, and interpret that as you may...but I do not for a moment wish that my father were dead instead of being here to complete my mother's life and to be known by his grandchildren.
La Princesita, the highly sensitive soul she is, can tell that something is up so we talked about it this evening. The situation is completely beyond her comprehension, but I vowed when I was about to become a mother that I would not allow anything to inhibit my communication with my children, so when they come to me with a question, I do all I can to answer it at their level (Today's magic question was, by the way: Mommy, what is a "hippie boy?"...duuuuuuude...).
Bringing Real Life to their level also makes me think a lot about growing older, and how much easier it would be to just end Life so as not to put our loved ones through the pain of watching their parents decline, forget who they are, forget their children, have their insides eaten up or rot away by some disease...whatever. But that is no solution, either, and is selfish to boot--not to mention morally unacceptable by the standards of institutionalized religion and social standards.
So what do we do? How do we grow old with grace and beauty? Do we live each day as if it were our last? To what extent is such living possible? The accident of two years ago brought this to the forefront of my mind, as all who came to our rescue in our overturned, afire car were prepared for a carful of fatalities. Had it been a car made to a lesser quality standard, we probably would all be four little crosses on the side of the road just east of Nashville.
But we weren't.
Why?
How do we live each day as if it were our last? I honestly am not sure how, when we get so caught up in the to-do lists, work, the children and their schedules, trying to salvage even a moment for a little me-time--then start feeling guilty when I think that I should be taking every moment with my children and making it as if it were my last.
I never thought this way before the accident.
Now I find myself thinking it more and more.
jueves, 7 de febrero de 2008
a boxful of memories
My mother has been cleaning house.
Today I received a box in the mail. Its contents included:
Why cry? Do I mourn? Do I wish? Is it the handwriting? Is it that I want for simpler times? Is it that I know I will never give my children the family life that I grew up with just because there is no way that I can be happy here? Should I sacrifice my happiness and my completeness in life for after they are grown and out of the house, only so that they might have at the least a façade of a stable, happy home (in which, of course, the parents don't even sleep together, let alone hardly speak)? Is it that I just miss my father so terribly? Is it that my last interaction with my grandmother was that of an emotional, hormonally over-reactive teenager who ran off from her parents and acted like a spoiled brat and worried them all terribly...then she died of a massive coronary two weeks later in the middle of the night, without my ever making it right again? Then felt like I was being more punished when my other grandmother, my only other living grandparent, died not six months later? Is it that I miss my mother? Is it that I miss feeling like a part of a family? Is it that I'm tired of for so long trying to force a family out of what is not strong enough to make that happen?
She says that she has made lots of trips to the Goodwill for donations and has just gotten rid of so much stuff.
I hope she finally let Dad's shirts go. They have been hanging in the closet upstairs for eight years now.
And it makes me so terribly sad to see them still there every time I return to the home of my youth...not so much for her and her need to hold on, but for my missing him so...
But, of the three of us left, I'm the strong one who can't let that be known.
So please don't tell her that.
Today I received a box in the mail. Its contents included:
- a coin from a show we saw together as a family in Beijing in March 1997
- a framed crosstitch that my grandmother had done, that my mother had always hung in the laundry room
- a clay picture I had created as an art project in elementary school, which she had hung, also, in the house
- an envelope filled with photos--everything from me at one week old to the Oak Alley plantation tour we took the week I was to be married, and postcards representing so many of the different countries I visited throughout my 20s
- two sweaters, hand-knit, that my mother had made my sister and I when we were La Princesita's age...she, in fact, wants to wear one of them tomorrow to kindergarten
- a family portrait of the four of us of when I was in the third grade. After my father had his first tumor removed, in the spring of 1981. He was 40. And so thin.
- all the Mother's Day cards I had made or given her, and all the Father's Day cards I had made or given Dad
- a couple of cards from my grandmother, who had died back in 1985 when I was 13
Why cry? Do I mourn? Do I wish? Is it the handwriting? Is it that I want for simpler times? Is it that I know I will never give my children the family life that I grew up with just because there is no way that I can be happy here? Should I sacrifice my happiness and my completeness in life for after they are grown and out of the house, only so that they might have at the least a façade of a stable, happy home (in which, of course, the parents don't even sleep together, let alone hardly speak)? Is it that I just miss my father so terribly? Is it that my last interaction with my grandmother was that of an emotional, hormonally over-reactive teenager who ran off from her parents and acted like a spoiled brat and worried them all terribly...then she died of a massive coronary two weeks later in the middle of the night, without my ever making it right again? Then felt like I was being more punished when my other grandmother, my only other living grandparent, died not six months later? Is it that I miss my mother? Is it that I miss feeling like a part of a family? Is it that I'm tired of for so long trying to force a family out of what is not strong enough to make that happen?
She says that she has made lots of trips to the Goodwill for donations and has just gotten rid of so much stuff.
I hope she finally let Dad's shirts go. They have been hanging in the closet upstairs for eight years now.
And it makes me so terribly sad to see them still there every time I return to the home of my youth...not so much for her and her need to hold on, but for my missing him so...
But, of the three of us left, I'm the strong one who can't let that be known.
So please don't tell her that.
viernes, 23 de noviembre de 2007
tooth fairy, revisited
Dear Princesita, she just can't get this whole losing-teeth thing down.
Deal is, she puts the lost tooth under her pillow so the Tooth Fairy can grace her pillow with a small token of gratitude? of rite of passage? whatever. The point is, she gets something.
This time, a Little Pony and 50 cents for her piggy bank.
But she lost the tooth. Again.
It came out as we were Mingling with the Masses this Black Friday (a tradition my mother enjoys, and it was fun for us as we didn't get too involved with The Masses) at the local Mall.
(sidenote) Mom was hit with some culture shock she hadn't experienced for many years today. She had never seen so many people in a mall as she saw today. In her life.
Okay. So I told K to put the tooth in her pocket so that it would not get lost this time.
I do know it got home. She took it out at some point in our basement, placed it in her new Barbie house, from which it fell and, in her words, "bounced in the carpet". We have a burber carpeting, rather enamel-colored with flecks of other colors, not a shag. So one would think that it would be fairly easy to find this little bottom front baby tooth.
Think again.
Never found. That's two for two. I told her that the Tooth Fairy is going to stop believing that she's actually losing teeth if she doesn't start producing.
The Tooth Fairy likes results.
She wants teeth.
She needs a trade-in for the good stuff.
Now this, of course, made K cry.
--sigh--
I guess we'll work on it for the third tooth.
Deal is, she puts the lost tooth under her pillow so the Tooth Fairy can grace her pillow with a small token of gratitude? of rite of passage? whatever. The point is, she gets something.
This time, a Little Pony and 50 cents for her piggy bank.
But she lost the tooth. Again.
It came out as we were Mingling with the Masses this Black Friday (a tradition my mother enjoys, and it was fun for us as we didn't get too involved with The Masses) at the local Mall.
(sidenote) Mom was hit with some culture shock she hadn't experienced for many years today. She had never seen so many people in a mall as she saw today. In her life.
Okay. So I told K to put the tooth in her pocket so that it would not get lost this time.
I do know it got home. She took it out at some point in our basement, placed it in her new Barbie house, from which it fell and, in her words, "bounced in the carpet". We have a burber carpeting, rather enamel-colored with flecks of other colors, not a shag. So one would think that it would be fairly easy to find this little bottom front baby tooth.
Think again.
Never found. That's two for two. I told her that the Tooth Fairy is going to stop believing that she's actually losing teeth if she doesn't start producing.
The Tooth Fairy likes results.
She wants teeth.
She needs a trade-in for the good stuff.
Now this, of course, made K cry.
--sigh--
I guess we'll work on it for the third tooth.
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