The Ebb and Flow of Living with Mother-in-Law

There are the victorious weeks, where we are sailing freely over life's beautiful ocean waves, where looking into her blue eyes I see a wondrous color with goodness as sweet as the salt air. And then there are days, dismal days and weeks where I simply want to sail alone, where I want to hear only the melodic crash of the waves, and not hear or see her.

One of my friends today told me that she could never believe I ever yell or get angry, and that she was so proud of the fact that I could live with my mother-in-law. I revealed the truth to her -- that indeed, I do have a terrible temper and that the only way I survive is by praying. I beg God for patience daily. This she could not believe, and laughed as if I was joking.

But I was not. In truth I can be a terrible person, with a terrible temper. A terrible person who might wonder at times why am I living this way and when will it end. Then, as quick as a wave recedes, another side of me grabs those thoughts, those words in the air and says, 'forgive me.' Those words are then repeated, a hundred times on many days.

On these days, I consider what triggers my angry reactions. She is no longer as snide and proud and venomous as she was in the beginning years, and yet somehow I have become not as patient, loving, caring. One day I identified the fact that I did not like her watching me cook and subsequently commenting on how I slice onions, for example. Another day, it irked me that she asked me what time I was leaving to drop off one of the children to an appointment. I needed to place myself in her position. Perhaps instead of being a back-seat cook she was actually trying to convey kitchen tips. Perhaps instead of being authoritarian she was actually trying to be concerned about my schedule of pick-up and drop-off driving duties.

Only God knows anyone's intentions. For now, I am taking long, deep breaths. I am preparing for an upcoming visit to spend time with my own mother. I am enjoying every minute with my husband and children, that gives me solace. And I am continuing to pray for patience, acknowledging that what I am doing is not only good and right, but also necessary.

Senior Spectacular

Next week, Worcester, MA area residents are in for a treat, the Senior Spectacular. My mother-in-law is especially looking forward to the event, priming herself for the walk expected for that day, the jaunt from the parking garage to the DCU, and then up to the exhibit hall itself. In a few days she will most likely have her sleeping pattern adjusted so that her nap-time will be pushed to the later part of the afternoon, as it is a morning event. She'll have her outfit chosen, walking cane set against her purse and new water bottle. Even her shoes will be ready to be slipped into, yet still half tucked under her bed so that her youngest grandson doesn't get tempted to try them on once again.

When I was a freshman in college, one of the most enjoyable evenings I spent was with my mother at my aunt's house -- a Tupperware party, of all things. Now I find my own self looking forward to this elderly event, making me wonder, am I a woman beyond my years?

In any case, the event is really spectacular. There are booths and booths of information about health, healthy choices, and local organizations that cater to the needs of seniors. We enjoyed complimentary coffee and popcorn, various samples, and advertising trinkets. Her favorite -- a collapsible plastic cup and a hearing health screening. My favorite -- the entertainment, live singing of old musicals and broadway tunes with puppets.

What I am sure she cherished the most were the conversations she had at each booth. The friendly smiles, the exchange of names and numbers, the information and small give-aways can only brighten up a person who normally lives a quiet life at home.

If you are a caregiver, like me, I urge you to investigate what your local community offers for seniors. Try a search on the internet. Our town announcement board had a huge sign for a health fair at the senior center to be held at the end of the month. Every June we attend an "Arthritis Symposium" at a local museum which includes a luncheon with a guest speaker, generally focusing on the latest research updates. Later there are workshops ranging from finances to gardening and exercising with arthritis.

Whatever you find, may it edify both you and your mother-in-law, and invigorate your relationship!

Beached

The 23rd of September recently passed, reminding me of how little I have grown. The autumnal equinox arrives only once a year, marking when the tilt of the Earth's axis inclines neither toward or away from the Sun. For my family, it means summer is over and beach days are done for the year. This year, I must confess that I did not take my mother-in-law out for a beach trip.

Since she has lived with us, I have made the effort to take her out on such excursions. Our first trip was exciting. The temperature was perfect, with a slight breeze, and the beach landscape was gorgeous. We found a quiet spot right by the water with barnacle laced rocks to sit on. We enjoyed the fresh ocean air and the rough touch of the sand, until, unexpectedly to her, water splashed onto her shirt. My sons had been swimming and frolicking in the water. Unaware of her aversion to getting wet, the boys had brought their splash game a little too close to our seating area.

Offended, and fearful that her health was in danger because she might get sick, my mother-in-law put a damper on the day's events. I extended to her a towel, had the kids pack up, and we pretty much wrapped up our business there in a matter of minutes. In the car I cranked the heater on high and bought her a hot coffee from Dunkin Donuts on the quiet trip back. In hindsight, she still recalls joyful memories of that first trip, especially when she revisits the photos of herself on the rocks, wearing a huge, light blue beach hat and movie star sunglasses. I had vowed to myself to never take her out to the beach again with the children. It was their day to enjoy and because of her it was ruined.

But during those first few years we were all just getting to know each other's temperaments and personalities. The following summer, against my own promise to myself, I decided to take my mother-in-law and the children (my husband was out of town) to the Cape for a couple days. It was the perfect mini-vacation. The hotel was luxurious, the beaches were beautiful, the weather was perfect, the food fantastic. Even the long drive went along quickly enough, with good conversation and moments of silence which did not feel awkward. During those moments I felt we really bonded and that our family was truly united.

A few weeks later she accused me of wronging her and overall being a bad person.

Once bitten, twice shy. Twice bitten, you're beached.

I did enjoy two wonderful beach trips with my children this summer. Swimming, exploring, sitting and talking on the shore with pizza, soda, and fried dough from the boardwalk. It was peaceful and fun, but a small part of me wished she could have joined us. That is, wished that I could have asked her to join us. I reassure myself that all is forgiven; everyone has their emotional outbursts; everyone gets fed up. But like the Earth I am neither inclined toward her, the symbolic Sun, or away from her. We have managed to live with each other since that fall-out, but as for me, no intense feelings of hate or love overwhelm me when I think of her. Had I grown spiritually, this would have changed to the later.

My next benchmark is March 20 or 21st of 2012. God-willing we will both be alive and I can only pray that I grow.

A Little Bit of Advice

Dinner last night was at a friend's home. Well, our hostess is someone I do not know too well, and to me, is more of a good acquaintance. We see each other often since our daughters are very good friends. We all laughed out loud when her husband asked, "Is this the first time you have come to our home?" and when I replied, "No, I have been here so many times, just not inside!"

They had actually motioned me over inside on those particular days and nights -- for a quick chat over tea or even dinner one time when they were right about to start. But with this small, many times uncontrollable child by my side, I most often decline from social invitations. I was there as chauffeur, and nothing more.

When we arrived, my mother-in-law was out of breath. There were two sets of stairs and it was, for her, an incredible feat to climb them. She has never had knee surgery, but complains often of leg pain, and her excessive weight does not help contribute to that health issue.

So we sat, for what must have felt like 15 or 20 minutes, listening to her catch her breath, watching the antics of my youngest son, and hearing the music within the kitchen -- the tapping of the pot stirrers, the closing of the cabinets and refrigerator doors, the light clanging of the lids. The hostess's mother-in-law appeared to be cooking up a storm. I was impressed.

Later on in the evening, after the other guests arrived, the food was served, and an air of festivity pervaded the air, the hostess engaged in conversation with me. I complimented her on the delicious food, even asking her which dishes she prepared. She replied that she did not cook any of them on her own, that instead, each dish was prepared by both her and her mother-in-law, echoing what the elder had earlier told me -- they cooked with "teamwork."

Intrigued with this concept, I asked her to elaborate, veering us to the general discussion of living with mother-in-law. She, after all, was the only other person I knew who also did so, living with her mother-in-law for seven years. Having this one year seniority over me, I asked her for her best advice. She assured me that we were not alone, naming two other ladies in the city who also lived with their mother-in-law, one of them for thirteen years now. At that, in unison, we both gasped in admiration and then laughed.

Soon my mother-in-law waddled towards us, presumably to check on her youngest grandson, or maybe on my own activity. As she approached, my hostess looked seriously towards me, and in a soft, but firm voice told me, "Just be calm, calm, and ignore, ignore everything."

And that wrapped up my evening last night -- a great dinner and little bit of advice from a kind, wise friend.

A Comforting Moment

Being a dispatcher and chauffeur is one of the fun aspects of my life. I really do enjoy driving around, and I especially love it when I pick up or drop off one of my children at exactly the minute I had previously planned.

On most Sunday evenings, my mother-in-law tries her best to go out and meet friends at a prayer group. Watching her excited about the weekly event, prepare, and dress up livens the spirits of the whole house.

Last week, we had planned that I would pick her up at 6:15, giving me time to drop off my oldest at work. I stopped by the local bakery to buy a cake for her to share. It took me a few minutes to decide -- a nicely frosted, two layer decadent chocolate one or a rectangular flat one topped with glazed strawberries, grapes, and blueberries. As I stood, my toddler was rummaging about, attempting to dump garlic bread and banana creme pies into his little push cart. After finally deciding on the fruit glazed one, I realized that we needed to run to the register and car if we were going to make it on time.

Out of breath, we came home, not even realizing that my husband's car was gone. It was only 6:14, but even she was gone.

The teenagers informed me that they had both left for somewhere a few minutes ago. Despite the routine, it could have been a shopping trip as far as they were concerned. I left the youngest with them and drove towards the original destination.

And there they sat, in the parking lot, waiting for her friends, who rarely arrived before 6:30. Eager for a distraction, she waved towards me. Apparently my husband was trying to do me a favor by bringing her for me.

My mother-in-law's friends arrived shortly after. They assumed that at least one of us was attending with her, because it was a different sight to see -- the both of us standing around her. It was a mix-up after all, the kids, the little one were all at home alone... In her shoes, it must have been a comforting moment, family and friends surrounding her. I admit, there is the latent feeling of exhilaration that for two or three hours I can walk around freely in my house. I can sit around, feel relaxed, and talk, maybe even sing, with ease to my children. Despite the formality she indirectly tends to keep us under, I hope that when I am old and unable to drive that I too might someday look around and see family and friends right there, surrounding me.

Social Security

After listening to the highlights of the GOP presidential candidates' debate last night, I kept thinking about the "monstrous lie" -- social security.  My parents actually survive on it.  They, along with my many aunts and uncles, carefully calculated the best date to retire based on it.  Their whole financial planning is based on that monthly deposit.

My mother-in-law, who has not worked to contribute to it, does not collect.  She has her own savings and she has no bills to pay living with us.  With the privacy of her own room and bathroom, all utilities, technology (she is very computer savvy for her age), transportation, entertainment, and food available to her, I feel confident in stating that she is all set.

Of course, nothing is perfect, but it made me consider the scenario that if everyone took care of their parents and in-laws (I would need to have a bigger house to include my own parents), and if in natural exchange the elders took care of the youngsters, we, in an ideal world would be rid of the necessity for daycare and nursing home expenses.  Ideally, with everyone helping each other in this multi-generational house, we would achieve a sense of safety, belonging and community, in other words, a sense of social security.

Footsteps

I hear the shuffling of her footsteps and it is 4:14 in the morning.  I rarely do paperwork this early in the morning any more, but due to the new school year starting today and unpaid bills needing to be sorted out, I thought I could wake up a little earlier to get things done.

Yet with the creak of of her bedroom door and the shuffling of her footsteps, I know I will be interrupted.  It will be just a few minutes of explanation and whispered exchange of updates.  She will tell me, once again, that she was not able to sleep (she yet has to understand that taking long naps during the daytime interrupts the nighttime sleeping pattern), and I will need to tell her why I am awake, though the stacks of mail and papers and ironing board covered with school uniforms might alone be the picture worth a thousand words.

At times it is frustrating-- the realization that there is no privacy when living with a mother-in-law, not early in the morning, and not late at night.  Phone calls and all conversations are open to every curious ear.  It is not the size of the house or the design of the house, it is just the way it is.

I'll smile when we talk and do my best to be happy to see her, once again.  This is how I would hope my future daughter-in-laws will greet me.  I'll just remember to give them more space to do what they need to do when it's my time around.

All Quiet on the Home Front

There is no monotony in peace.  For months my mother-in-law and I have been living fairly harmoniously, even though I am no longer working full-time and out of the house most of the day.  We have adapted a routine for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  We each have our own tasks during the morning, afternoon, and evening.  Our schedules overlap whenever she has a social gathering or healthcare appointment.  Whenever we are eager to chat, doors are open and we find ourselves in the common areas of the kitchen, family room, dining room. or deck.  Whenever we need our privacy, our separate rooms are our refuge, even more so now that our rooms are no longer directly across the hall from the other. 

We have had our share of clashes and struggles, all emotionally draining.  On bad days, suspicion and remembrance of past grievances may hover in the air, but overall we are able to forge on in peace.  Journaling is one critical way I have been able to survive, so to speak. In my next few blogs, I would like to address other methods that have allowed me to continue living, somewhat unconventionally in this society, with my mother-in-law.

A Blessing

While shopping at a grocery store the other day, I happened to stand in line with a parent of a former student of mine years ago.  I didn't recognize her at first. Her eyes were dry looking, with dark lines below.  Her outfit was unusually casual, a little unbalanced. She had always struck me as a sophisticated dresser, complete with fine skin, cosmetics, and a stylish hairdo. She looked, for the first time, to me anyway, humble, and tired.

As our conversation continued, I asked her if she was feeling okay.  I knew that she was a professional and lived the hectic life of dropping off the kids to school and going to work, not lulling around the grocery store like I was to dissipate the morning energy of a toddler.  She had revealed to me that her in-laws recently moved in with them, and that she was feeling exhausted caring for them.

It was her first time to have to care for a sick, elderly person.  The doctor visits, the pharmacy trips, the additional groceries and chores around the house had made this woman completely worn out. She did not know how long they would be staying and for now she was just trying to survive.  As we spoke, I could feel her exhaustion, the physical and mental endurance she required to please, entertain, and care for her husband's parents. 

Despite all of the distress, she mentioned that it was a "blessing" that they were here.  I have recognized the blessing of having a parent live in our own home, despite the work, physical and mental, required to maintain the tranquility.  Speaking with her made me realize another blessing -- our health, and especially my mother-in-law's health.  At seventy-nine years of age, she is still medication-, wheel-chair-, and surgery- free.  We have it so easy compared to this woman and I need to continue to thank God for what we have.

A Gift for No Occasion

I may have mentioned once or twice that I am not the type of person who enjoys shopping trips, especially to department stores or the mall.  When my daughter recently informed me that she was invited to a party during spring break, I braced myself, knowing full well that this would require a trip to a store to buy a gift for the hostess.

Last minute it seemed, we pulled into the local Wal-mart, a store which I have always considered the worst of the worst.  There to greet me was a door greeter too engrossed with chatting with another employee.  No help with the cart there.  No morning smile.  No sticker for my little one. 

I chose to shop early, around 8 am, knowing that my ability to deal with too many shoppers and the store in general, was limited.  The aisles were more spacious without other carts in front or behind me, and my daughter did find some nice pieces of jewelry to give.  She even selected another piece for a different friend whose party was also upcoming.

As we were about to check out, I noticed some sales at the Ladies' Department.  I momentarily considered how much my mother-in-law would have loved coming here.  This store has a nice selection of plus-size garments, with affordable prices.  With great elation, I found something suitable for her in less than five minutes (my type of shopping).  With these being clearance items, the low cost was surprising for these fairly pretty fabrics.  Of course, the excitement of the experience stopped when we reached the express lane -- not exactly rude, but an unfriendly sort of gentleman with a strong accent scanned my items.  The only words he was able to exchange with me were how much the total cost was. 

I tried to not let this robotic, perhaps ungrateful man (wouldn't anyone be happy with a job in this economy?) ruin my shopping experience, and began to feel satisified that I had a nice gift to present, with other gifts, for a future holiday.  When I reached home and was greeted by her (sometimes a rare experience), I was overcome with the sudden urge to just give her the clothes then and there.

And so I did, whole-heartedly.  I truly wanted her to enjoy them, especially the pink blouse -- it was so perfect for the springtime.

My mother-in-law was very pleased.  And I, despite the people I had to deal with when shopping at that store, felt happy, too.  Gifts surely soften the heart and take us away from malice.

Another Errand

Every mother can relate.  Multi-tasking is not an option, unless sleep deprivation is.  Yes, I drive with a headset while scheduling appointments or inquiring about a credit card bill.  Yes, I vaccum while three pots are boiling or frying dinner on the stove.  Yes, I do my own checkbook paperwork while intermittently helping one of my children with math homework. I am a strong defender of multi-tasking, careful multi-tasking.  Research can claim all it wants about the inefficiency of it.  Without the the idiomatic killing two birds with one stone, my day would require at least 27 hours for me to finish what I need to have done.

That said, I am impressed, even a little envious, with the pace of the elderly.  Bathroom visits section off a good portion of time for many.  Cooking entails slow simmering, eating requires careful chewing, which equates to savoring the flavors and textures of each part of the meal.  Walking may at times be a struggle, but the deliberate steps allow one to really stop and smell the roses.  Watching a television show, or engaging in any form of recreation, is Zen-like.

Tomorrow I have plans to take my mother-in-law to the medical center.  I partly dread it.  It takes time from my normal schedule, my children, me.  I worry about our conversation in the car, what she says, and how I respond.  My OCD pet peeve hovering about me -- will she cover her mouth when she coughs or sneezes in the car?  When she had first arrived to live in our home, I took her out frequently.  She had more dental, medical, and specialized visits than I ever had!  In addition to mammography, bone scans, gynecology, and dermatology injections, she had met with nutritionists and a few times, physical therapists.  Despite all the health care, she still felt she was not being treated well at home, and from that point, our outings had been limited to the essential physical check-ups, vision, and sick visits.  I was prepared at one point to just relegate the driving and supervision of those visits to someone else, a hired hand, for instance. But that is another story...

To help me prepare for this trip, I pack ahead and brainstorm how I can multi-task.  I'll grab the incoming morning mail and read it in the waiting room, along with my newspaper, if my toddler allows me.  I'll feed this boy mashed organic bananas from those convenient Gerber tubs, and write my to-do list for the following days.  If I need to push the stroller around I'll make the calls I need to make to my older kids' schools, to the electric company, maybe a friend.  I'll multi-task so that I won't feel my morning time will be swallowed up from driving and waiting and driving some more.
 
But more importantly, tomorrow I, Dilara Channing, will try my best to enjoy and relish each moment of this trip.  It is my duty to help out anyway, is it not?  If not to her, then to my God.

Weekend Getaway -- Mother-in-lawlessness

I love hotels.  The luxury and ironic simplicity of a suite allows one to really sit back, relax, and reflect.  I had this wonderful opportunity over the weekend.  My daughter had a high school event planned in the Boston area and I jumped at the idea to stay with her there in the evening as a quasi-chaperone for her and the other girls in the group.  After the logistics of seat placement, luggage and equipment fitting, and caravaning through Mass Pike, I suddenly found myself and my two younger ones in complete quietude and freedom.

We could go anywhere and we did -- Fanueil Hall, Quincy Market, USS Constitution, Children's Museum.  I had no worries about opening doors, climbing stairs, locating handicap accessible ramps, estimating the feasible distance of a walk from the vehicle to the destination.  I found myself twirling around and singing songs like Maria in the Sound of Music, as I am normally more reserved around my mother-in-law.  I found myself racing with my son along the cobblestone streets of Boston, zooming along with the baby stroller, hearing and loving what each of my sons had to say.   I did not have to listen to the daily update of a nagging headache, leg pain, tooth pain, back pain, urine pass, or constipation.  I did not have to hear complaints, regrets, wishes, or nostalgia for what is gone. And I did not have to worry about what my mother-in-law would have for the upcoming meal.

This complete immersion with my two younger children conjured up uneasy feelings of what I might be missing each day.  Afterall, if I was spending so much time worrying about my mother-in-law's needs, wasn't that compromising my children's? 

Perhaps.  But someone has to care for her.  And I know it is the best way for my family to live -- together in a multi-generational home.

Coming back from two days and one night of "mother-in-lawlessness"  I found our conversations rejuvenated, our company invigorated.  Weekend getaways certainly can bring forth wonderful feelings of joy!

Good morning

     The other day it happened that I was in the kitchen, one of the common areas of the house, and I heard my mother-in-law's bedroom door open and saw from an angle her body slowly shuffling her way over.  It must have been her mode of walking -- groggily, exaggeratedly weak for someone who was the last to wake up in the morning, or her general disheveled appearance of unmanaged hair and clothes from the previous day, that made me want to retreat.
     I wondered why, at that moment, I felt the urge to flee.  Generally I try to greet her in the morning, prepare her tea, make sure there is breakfast food.  For that morning I had baked banana bread.  But, for some reason it  bothered me suddenly to see her, so listless and enervated, the first thing in the morning.  It felt demoralizing, especially with the thought that we would be crossing paths many more times that day.
     To retreat, according to Webster is "an act or process of withdrawing especially from what is difficult, dangerous, or disagreeable."  My own fleeting destination was my bedroom, my noun form of retreat, or "place of privacy or safety."  As I neared the end of the hallway, I paused and stood quietly to assess her location.  Our home is over sixty years old and originally built with only 994 square feet.  The wooden floor creeks at various spots and I figured she was exactly opposite to the microwave.  The entry of the heating button options confirmed this.  I really only had to wait it out for a few minutes for her to warm up the meal that I had already prepared for her, and then I would once again have the kitchen area to myself.
     As the distinct hum of the microwave continued, I thought of some of our previous clashes together.  I then thought about how I had only a few more minutes until my baby would awaken from his nap and how I was wasting time just innanely standing there in front of my bedroom door.  And then I considered a lively interview I saw featuring Julianna Margulies on the Ellen Degeneres Show.  I rarely watch anything on television, but paused for this former ER star while I was searching for the PBS channel for "Martha Speaks."  Julianna won another Screen Actors Guild Award for her performance in "The Good Wife" and created a bit of a hoopla during her acceptance speech by including a thank-you to her in-laws.  
    That must have been a humbling experience, a veteran actress wearing couture among famous Hollywood stars, showing gratitude to her mother-in-law.  And here I was, at the foot of my bedroom door, not even wanting to see mine that morning.  Of course, I am quite sure the actress does not live with her in-laws, making the situation quite different from mine.  But at that moment in time, I had no feeling of gratitude for my mother-in-law.  Was I not forgiving enough?  Was I not caring enough?  Was I not the type of person I strived to be?
     Seconds before the microwave beeped, I quickly made my way back to the kitchen.  I stood my ground.  I greeted her and asked her how her sleep went the night before.  I may not be a glamorous Hollywood actress, but I certainly must try to live in my own home freely, happily, kindly, optimistically.  I know deep down inside, I too am thankful for my mother-in-law. 

A Yarn to Tell

     The principal of an elementary school I once worked in one day directed another teacher to me for art inspiration.  I was so creative, she had said.
     If only they knew how unartistic I really was.  Although I enjoyed a nice stroll at the museum once a year if lunch at the gallery cafe ensued and yes, I was able to recall masterpieces, ones from my Art 101 college text, my only real aim with color was to present math and science in a more appealing way to my students.
     Living with my mother-in-law these past years has opened me, reluctantly, up into another realm of the arts and crafts world -- knitting.  Now knitting was never exactly foreign to me.  One of my grandmothers used to crochet constantly.  She would sit in front of the television for hours every afternoon, somehow managing to watch the soap operas while concomitantly producing lacy looking tablecloths, bedspreads, and even ornaments.  Knitting appeared to be practically the same hobby, with two needles instead of one.  Indeed, knitting seemed to be a perfect outlet for my mother-in-law, making  "idle hands are the devil's tools," a very fitting idiom for every daughter-in-law to be cautious of.
    However, going to the craft stores, and trudging behind my mother-in-law through the yarn aisles, was a test a patience for me. One store did not suffice for her, since there were three craft stores in town (that she was aware of) and a Walmart.  She not only wanted to look at each product, but she also wanted to compare all the prices.   It reminded me of the days as a child where I had to patiently wait for my mother to finish shopping in the linen department, or heaven forbid, the furniture store.  My grandmother the nurse, too, would lug me around.  How endless it seemed, waiting for her to get a piece of jewelry fixed or select a handbag or pair of shoes.  Weren't they all the same, functionally, anyway?
     Shopping is a perfunctory errand for me.  I like to make my list and go in and out as quickly as possible.  But, for my mother-in-law, and perhaps for all elderly people regularly cooped up at home, slowly perusing each product was essential to the shopping experience.  Hence, we were taking baby steps instead of the speed walking I was accustomed to.
    The types of yarn available are staggering -- cabled, socked, boucle, brushed, chenille, thick, thin, plus the variety of novelty yarns-- suede , ruffle, and then the eyelash and sequins embellishments.  Did I really care if it was superwash?  Did I really prefer one light blue shade to the other?  There I stood, juggling a thirteen-month-old on my hips, appeasing his own screaming boredom, while having to smile and agree or disagree with the colors, textures, and prices she pointed out.  Was it too rude for me to just express my feelings?   Listen, here's fifty bucks, buy what you want, I'll be waiting for you in the car.  Take your time and have fun.  Hasta la vista.
      I chose to be diplomatic.  If I were in the classroom having a parent-teacher conference I could not just express my feelings.  Listen Mrs. X, your son is way too hyper and undisciplined.  You need to cut the cereal in the morning and lay off the cookies for snack.  Plus, can you give me some back up here and help him review his times tables?  Oh, it would also help if you required him to finish his daily homework before letting him play those violent video games!
     Not only did I choose to be diplomatic, I chose to be what I would consider a dutiful daughter-in-law.  I smiled.  I gave her my sincere opinions of the shades of colors.  I weighed the issues of sequins.  And, I drove to the other stores for more comparison shopping.
     In the end, as the photos exhibit, our children, namely the screaming toddler, has a full wardrobe of beautiful, hand-knit sweaters, scarves, pants, booties, and hats. The designs on these articles of clothing are not only attractive, but mathematically titillating.  The patterns are so intricate, so symmetrical.  She planned the intersection of horizontal lines to vertical ones; weaving V-shaped trims across parallel blocks of plain colors.  One of the hoods even beheld a polygon, what appeared to be a hexagon on the outside, but mysteriously a pentagon on the inside, all of which I was tempted to calculate the area of.
     I soon realized that the cost of time and patience were definitely worth paying for and that the display itself, of a grandmother happily and eagerly fitting on her grandchild something she has devoted hours and days on, is really priceless.

A Grand Idea

     I grew up in New England and at least one grandparent lived in my home throughout my childhood.  They each stayed with us for months at a time, travelling abroad or visiting other relatives the other months of the year.   I enjoyed adapting to each grandparent's personality and idiosyncrasies.  Their transitions to and from the house reminded me of the seasonal weather changes.

     Not only did they keep me company after-school, sparing me from being a latch-key kid, they each were grand role models of hard work, industriousness, savings, and modesty.  One of my grandmothers was a chef in her own right.  She was always cooking, stirring a pot of soup or rolling up meatballs.  I recall walking home from school on hot, sunny afternoons occasionally seeing her sitting on a lawn chair by the driveway.  To my chagrin, she would be drying hanged meat strips for our dinner of exotic tapas. If she wasn't cooking, she was crocheting, generally while watching the daily lineup of soap operas, and on weekends, pro-wrestling.  My other grandmother was a diametrical opposite.  She preferred to eat her meals out.  After her career as a top hospital's head nurse and nursing school instructor, and later a nurse at an assisted living home, she enjoyed a comfortable retirement. I learned the circle of life from her, watching her slow down during her later years, relishing in her hobbies of reading, sewing, and gardening.  Her spirituality and wisdom would guide me for decades.
     My only living grandfather frequented our home even during the seasons he wasn't staying with us in the basement.  When he rented an apartment somewhere else in town, he still spent his summer afternoons napping in our living room.  He lovingly chauffeured me to the library, mall, and downtown.  I attribute my 500 hours volunteering at a local hospital to him, since he was the one who mainly drove me home.  Like his  former wife, my grandmother the nurse, he rarely cooked.  Going to diners for lunch and having coffee or juice and a dessert at Dunkin Donuts were some of our pastimes.  From him I learned the fine art of conversation, as he would easily strike it up with other customers seated by us.
     I look forward to one day hearing what my children will say about what they have learned from their grandmother, my live-in mother-in-law.  All of the hours they have spent side by side with her, watching movies, watching her cook, watching her knit... Seeing her spiritual side, her sense of fashion, her sense of humor, her kindness...  Thinking about this strengthens my resolve as a daughter-in-law.  The minor, or even major, brushes of disagreement we might have seem so very small in the overall picture.  I continue to cherish every moment I shared with my grandparents.  Reflecting on that, my children, too,  have so much to gain from a loving, stable relationship with their grandmother.