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.