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!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)