My mother, myself?

I recently returned from taking my family to the Pacific Northwest where my mother and brother both live, having moved from CA in the '80s.  I visit as much as I can, either by myself or with the family, but I always am left wanting more of them, as we are so very close, in my regular day-to-day life. 

My mother has Multiple Sclerosis and is now in a nursing home, confined to a wheelchair, and needs help with all of her personal and daily tasks.  It's hard for me to see my mother this way.  She's 76 but seems 86.  I feel that she's only getting small bits of my children's childhood.  Still, I want her to know how important she is in how I'm raising my own kids.  My mom has always been someone I've turned to for advice, to share about my day, and to hear about how her stoic, confident, and resilient individualism has seen her through the death of her own parents (her mother at age 3 and her father at 17), a divorce from my father, a death of her second husband, and this debilitating disease while remaining positive and enthusiastic for life.

I remember my mom as a vibrant, loving homemaker.  She was there making the kitchen the hub of our existence.  I remember the black ceramic tea cups that held the vinegar mixture that my brother, sister and I used to dye Easter eggs.  They would splash water colored webs on the newspaper covered table.  I remember the same table at Christmas when we would bake cookies and the table would be filled with sugar-sparkled newspaper.  She was providing these environments and then she was gone, like a ghost.  I think now that she was probably off doing laundry or making beds or somehow doing the mom things that needed to be done.  She'd check back in and see where we were in our activity, but I don't remember her judging or commenting, although she must have. 

My brother, sister and me--see the black cups?

My older brother, me, my younger sister

She would take meat out of the freezer, leave it sweating on the counter, quiz us on what she might serve for dessert with initials, like "tonight we're having 'CH'" (stood for cream horns, pastry filled with cream.)  She looked happy all the time--but I know she wasn't.  That was the gift she gave us.  She allowed us to be kids by keeping her emotions to herself allowing us the freedom of whatever stresses may have been bothering her. She let our lives evolve while we grew into the people that she was hoping we'd be.

That swollen eye isn't from my brother--I had a sty--she made me pose anyway

Sometimes I feel like I fall short in that part about letting my children grow into the people they're going to be.  My mother didn't deconstruct every parenting book on the market trying to find a philosophy that would be the panacea for all her fears.  She took us to church, sent us to a good school, put us on "restriction, missy" when discipline was needed, and then got out of the way.  I wish I could build upon her wisdom as I go through this journey, assured that I'm doing the right thing.

But she's aging rapidly now.  This is one of the drawbacks of having children older--everyone in their lives is older.  The MS has affected my mom in ways beyond her physical limitations.  A recent MRI and CAT scan reveal advancement of the disease.  My mom's mind is softening, not nearly as sharp as it used to be.  She repeats her small bits of conversation over and over, for she has little stimulating to say because her life is so routine.  "Did I tell you that your niece left for London today," she'll say, 3 times in a conversation.  It's the biggest news to reach her room in days.  I just say, "Yes, you did. Do you think she'll have a good time?" trying not to draw attention to her repetitiveness.  I still see that woman with the apron and the jokes in the kitchen, raising a brood of silly squirmers, the woman who still listens intently to my every word and makes me feel loved.

Someday, I'll be like her, and my kids will be like me--only much younger than me.  Will they be frustrated with me and ache to have me back the way I was in their childhood?  I know that the times I share with them now are their memories in the making.  When we go hiking, they're seeing me active, athletic.  When I go on every ride at Disneyland (some they won't even go on), I'm to them what my mom was to me.  Even when I'm too old to do these things anymore, they'll remember fondly, the way I do when I reminisce with my mom.

As Time Goes By, the Future Glints on the Horizon

Between 2000 and 2010, so many life-altering things happened in my life.  And while 10 years seems like a really long time, as I put together more decades, I am ever more cognizant of how short those 10 years can be.  In the past 10 years, I got married, became a homeowner, had 2 children--at the same time--, moved to the suburbs, and became a tenured professor in my job.  Those are pretty big things, and of most of them, I am extraordinarily proud and extremely ecstatic.  I can't believe that my life has gone in the direction it has; in 1997, I thought my life was over.  I had given up the idea of the bucolic, serene life with a family and the white picket fence, but now I actually have that, and I am overjoyed at my good fortune.

Don't get me wrong; you all know how life with kids can be.  It's hectic, messy--hell, I won't even think about buying a nice rug or furniture until sometime in the next decade.  Oy, and if I think about the stress of keeping them safe, or making sure that they grow up learning how to be polite and generous, or making sure that their elementary school experience ensures they get into a good college, I'm as agitated as a a 16-year-old whose cell phone battery just went out while waiting in line for his license at the DMV.

But I think the next decade holds some magic for me too.  I have things that I can't wait for and things that I certainly could live without, but I know are coming in the next 10 years.

In the next 10 years,

I will turn 50

My children will be teenagers

DG's range of motion will lessen with the RA

I will probably get a new dog (which means my beloved Jack will move on--he's already 13 for God's sake)

It will finally be time for new, adult, not hand-me-down furniture

The kids will stop wanting to hang out with me

My sister and I will grow closer

I might lose my mother and/or father

DG and I can have date night without having to hire a babysitter

My metabolism will slow even further and I will probably gain weight

I will go through menopause

I'll bet my style will change; I'll no longer try to get away with some curvy-girl version of skinny jeans

I'll be able to renovate the back yard, pool area, and actually want to spend time out there

DG and I might be able to take a vacation longer than 1 week

I'll probably go to Disneyland a hundred more times

One thing I hope happens is that I'll be more accepting of who I am as I grow older.  I hope to no longer be as concerned about what people think of me as I've been in the past.  I hope to grow in wisdom garnered from my vast life experience (insert sarcastic tone here) and be happy with life as it comes each day.

While balancing all the facets of my life, I am excited about the prospect of what the future holds.  I hope to look back in another 10 years and write about all the good friends I made, wonderful experiences I had, food I tasted, places I visited.  In the future, I'll still be spinning plates, and they'll still be holding steady.

Family Vacation -- an oxymoron

I heard once someone said a vacation is something you do on a South Pacific island or a Mexican resort. When traveling with kids, you're on a trip. There is nothing remotely vacation-like about it, other than the fact that you're eating out at restaurants. When you're with kids, however, the restaurants force an inedible kid's menu on children with the same 4 deep-fried, questionable chicken items on it.

Traveling with kids to visit family is an altogether different kind of trip. When we travel to visit my family who live on the same coast, but two, long states away, it's as if we went to another world, my kids think. They love seeing their cousins, their grandparents, aunts and uncles. They relish in the sleeping in a hotel and watching TV in the morning.


They get excited that they get to sleep in and maybe even get a day off from school.



I, on the other hand, find this trip to visit my family (which we do at least twice or three times a year) to be difficult on so many levels.

First, I hate, and I really do mean hate, being so far away from my family. For reasons that are best for everyone, I live in Southern California, and they live in the Pacific Northwest. Every time we go there, I long for them more and more. To just hop over and visit, or have my brother come by and hang out while I wash my car would be dreamy. Alas, it is never to be, so I feel like I have to cram in together time. Too much togetherness does not make for the carefree, happy days of my childhood that I think I'm trying to recreate. We just end up getting on each others' nerves.

Second, my mother is in a nursing home. She has a degenerative disease that has her wheelchair bound and unable to walk. (This trip, she held T2 on her lap in the recliner. This was the first time she has held one of my children since they were born. Damn, too, if I didn't leave the camera in said hotel room in the moment that I would have wanted to capture the most.) Nursing homes and small children don't mix, people. I think you get the picture. I wish that she didn't have this disease. I wanted my kids to have a grandmother who would babysit or take them to the park or walk with them. This is not what we have, so I have to take whatever time with her I can get.

Finally, the over-stimulated, TV-laden, junk-food haven nirvana that my kids find this trip to be is exasperating for me. While trying to create all the together time mentioned above, my kids get my shortened temper, lack of consistent discipline, and annoyance. Sometimes it's hard just to keep them moving forward. They, too, find each other intolerable after 16 straight hours together. Their short fuses combined with mine are a volatile combination.

And then, after 4 days, it's over. I'm back home and wondering how soon we can go back.

I was filled with a kind of ennui today as I went back to my routine. Something about the trip, despite all of its difficulties, is exciting, a way to escape the everyday. A vacation it's not, but I'll take the trip anyway, and many more like it.

Saddle...Not Sandwich

I am a part of what they call the "sandwich generation." I think it's more accurately described as the "saddle generation." I straddle a fissure between my aging, disabled parents and my young, energetic children, and, like negotiating a saddle for one who is newly accustomed, it is not always a comfortable place to be.

I'm travelling to Washington to visit my parents for the weekend. You'd think I was going for a month as far as my children are concerned. "Hug, Mommy, hug," baby-like from my six-year-old daughter as I get out of the car at the airport. Maybe she does it to work the guilt factor. "Why do you have to go, Mommy." says the other twin as we skip on the way to school.

"Grandma needs me," I say.

"But she's got Granddad. Can't he take her shopping?"

My son doesn't understand the extent of their disability. The perfect storm of co-dependent care.

My mother was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis about 20 years ago. After this, she met a wonderful man and they married, knowing that he'd signed on to help her up from the couch, a chair, the car. Her deteriorating mobility over time was less noticable as he did more things for her; she even struggled to do more and more for herself. I can't imagine the freedom of mobility slipping away even as I worked more and more at trying to regain it. Last year, my stepdad was diagnosed with dementia.

BOOM. We all know what the blow meant. As his memory falters, his ability to care for her in the same way is slowly ticking away.

This is not a sad story. They live in a fabulous nursing facility with 24-hour care and 4-star hotel-like surroundings. The facility is even green-designed for heaven's sake. It is Seattle after all. They play bridge, go on outings, eat with the other residents in a restaurant-style dining room.

But my mother is bored. She misses her children and grandchildren. Seems to be the most enjoyable thing for her to look forward to.

I'm excited to see her even though I'll be doing some regular everyday sort of tasks, the kind my brother usually handles but who will be given a break this weekend by my visit.

I hope to reconnect with my mom. She has wonderful memories from my childhood that she sees me recreating for my own children. I'm in the saddle with one foot planted firmly with my mom--relaxing, reminiscing, and the other foot back home--hearing about the end of the school year party that I'm going to miss.

Oh, to be in two places at one time...