#84 My mother-in-law

Oh, there was a day when I would have never thought I would say these words…but yes, I am thankful for my mother-in-law.  Our relationship started out pretty rocky, I admit.  In hindsight, she was more annoying than anything.  From my point of view, she was constantly picking fights with me or wanting to argue about nothing and everything.  Interjecting comments here and there that could be taken in multiple ways.  And then there was the whole deal with her son.  Her perfect little handsome son.  How she loved him and all.  And how it made me crazy.

For about 7 years, I could totally get why people ended their marriage because of their in-laws.  I knew that wouldn’t happen to us because my husband was totally on my side about it all.  He got, too, how nuts she was.  And we developed a strategy where he was always the bad guy.  So if either of us didn’t want her to come visit one weekend with 12 of her relatives, for example, he’d be the one to say No.  Which worked well for many reasons.

So the situation was tolerable – but not enviable.  Until one day when I became a mother to a perfect little handsome son.  And then when I began to roll my eyes at something she did or said, I noticed a light bulb sitting on top of my head.  Glaring into my eyes with severe accusation.  Ah-ha.  I got it.

I suddenly understood where she was coming from completely.  I looked down at my child and knew that no one, no one, could love him the way I love him.  No one.  Ever.  And I pity the woman who tries.

There has been much said about the way we love our children of the opposite sex, particularly the mother-son relationship.  It’s a loaded one.  And it’s all so true.  The way I love my sons is potent.  And they love me in such a way that I wonder if they will ever be able to recreate that with a partner some day.  I am the fountain of love for them.  The source of all things good – affection, food, comfort, warmth.  At this stage of their lives, I am It.  There is no need to look beyond me for anything they need.  The way they look at me and speak to me is not unlike the way my husband did in that Courting stage.  It’s all so familiar and loaded with psychological mumbo jumbo.  And I love it.

I know this will change.  Of course it will.  I know they will one day shift their gaze to some other female.  And that I will be left standing there, watching while she insults him or argues with him or makes him carry heavy things or otherwise doesn’t appreciate how perfect he really is.  Gulp.  I will need medication for this, Let It Be Known.

Nothing would make me happier than if all my sons were gay.  Because my position as the Utmost Female would never be usurped.  I could always remain the She of their lives.

I realize this is incredibly selfish, petty, insecure, and crazy-sounding.  But it’s there…buried deep in my soul.  This dread of the day they will love another.  And the day that I will be come…the Mother-in-law.

I am taking notes now and trying to decide how to be, not just a tolerable one, but a good one.  I know the boys will likely help in this process.  As they age and stop loving me so much and start to do things that make me want to crush their skulls into a thousand pieces, I am sure my love for them will take a new shape and it will be easier for me to let someone else have my throne.

I have become a much better daughter-in-law since the light bulb day.  Almost overnight, I went from leaving her house, slamming the car door and starting in with, “I can’t believe your mother…” to leaving her house, slamming the car door and starting in with, “I can’t believe you didn’t call your mother….”  Admittedly, this has been a little confusing for Husband.  And I try to explain it to him this way, “Look. You and I both know she makes you crazy.  And that you love me a zillion times more than you love her.  But She’s your mother for God’s sake.  You have no idea how much she loves you.  Call her back once in a while or you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

I got a really good mother-in-law, all things considered.  She’s funny and kind.  She’s sweet as all get out.  And even though she makes me crazy, I love her with all my heart.  Because we both love the men in this house with all of ours.  And I get the angst she felt about me and still probably feels today.  I’m glad she’s the wonderful person she is.  I’m glad I worked through my own issues so that I could appreciate her more.  I’m thankful for her.  Because she’s patient and loving.  And she raised a great son.

#83 Love

Here I was just bragging about my friends this week.  Thank God for them.  It’s nice to feel loved.

It’s also nice to be smothered with it at home.  Kisses, hugs, sweet words and back rubs.  I am not going to lie.  I like being the Queen of the Castle.  Maybe it’s really my fear of jealousy that makes me certain I never want another female in the house.  Either way, I love being loved.

#82 Coping Skills

Life got really stormy for me yesterday afternoon.  Family drama and all.  But it was one of those moments when you read an email or sit on the phone and feel your stomach fall inches in your body.  Like you’re on a rollar coaster.  And you wander how you are going to be able to breathe.  But then you do.  And it’s painful at first.  But you keep breathing and soon you forget about breathing and think about something else.  Like pouring juice.

I learned, from my son’s amazing therapist, that everyone has coping skills.  We all have our own methods for dealing with pain and stress.  Me?  I go numb.  Kind of like I’m in a cave and I keep going about my business, not thinking about the uglies, but I know they’re out there, because they haunt me like a dark haze.

When I came up for air, I thought: Good grief.  I cannot go about my business today.  I need to stop and crawl deep in a hole.  I must call Husband.  He must come home and take over.  So I can curl up in the fetal position. But I didn’t.  Instead, I found my keys and loaded up the van with snacks and gear and went about the pick-ups, homework, karate, dinner at a restaurant, parents’ meeting at the kids’ school, etc.  And didn’t deal with anything unpleasant until last night at almost midnight.  (Which made for a killer post-cry hangover this morning, FYI.)

I have been searching for my thankful thing for 24 hours, I must admit.  It’s been hard to find one.  But I realize tonight that I’m thankful for my coping skills.  I learned from my son’s amazing therapist that there is no right way to deal with pain.  That we find a way to tread water and breathe, and if it works for us, that’s all that matters.  For my son, he plays dumb.  Like it never happened.  Doesn’t want to talk about it or think about it.  Pretends it never existed.  I decided early on that was Unhealthy.  And tried to cure him of this by talking about unpleasant things over and over.  Until she (Wise Therapist Lady) made me stop.  And reminded me that he has learned the survival skill of silence.  And that I should be glad he has.  It’s kept his head above water and for that I am thankful.

And I’m thankful that I have some skills too apparently.  And that I can ‘just keep swimming’ when I need to.

#81 Co-sleeping

I’ve talked about it before, but we are/were a family of co-sleepers.  It wasn’t a philosophy choice on our part.  More of an accident.  We discovered once in the wee hours of crying infant time, that we could all go to sleep if we were just in the same bed.  And Boom!  A family of co-sleepers were born.

Yesterday I saw this on CNN.  And I was a little bummed.  Another story making it seem like putting a baby in your bed is like swapping her pacifier with a steak knife.  I have no idea what the circumstances were with this particular mother.  And my heart aches for her loss.  But I don’t think co-sleeping is any more dangerous than all the other things we do with babies – taking them in cars or airplanes.  Pushing them in infant swings, strollers.

To be fair, I never co-slept with a newborn.  (Because I never parented a newborn.)  I guess the youngest age we had in our bed was probably around 6 months or so.  I can’t really remember.  I do know that the risk is greater when the child is younger.  So maybe I don’t know squat.  I only know our experience.

I think you have to know your child.  Know yourself.  And know your surroundings.  When my babies were babies, I slept with one eye open.  Literally.  And for as long as I can remember, and it’s still true today, I haven’t been much of a tosser and turner in the bed.  I could go to sleep in one position and wake up in that same position and sometimes do.  Plus, I have always been a cuddler with my kids.  Even today, 4 year old will get in our bed and tuck himself right into my elbow.  I usually sleep with an arm wrapped under and around a kid.  All this means it would have been very VERY hard for me to have rolled on top of a baby.

But my husband?  Sure.  He could do it today and not notice.  He’s a totally different sleeper.  So I can see why co-sleeping could be dangerous for some people.  (And before you think um…okay…wasn’t the baby in the bed with your husband too? – The answer is kindof.  He sometimes got kicked to the guest room.  Or I slept in the middle.  Or we used a body pillow to create a barrier.  And I know, I know.  Pillows can cause kids to suffocate!  Tiny babies, maybe.  But not bigger ones.  Or toddlers.  I’m not biting.)

Anyway, my point is that I think you know…you just know…whether it would be safe for your family or not.  Whether you toss and turn or not.  Whether you are a heavy sleeper or not.  Whether your kid can disappear under the comforter or not.  You can figure it out by using common sense, in my opinion.  And erring on the side of caution, by all means.

But let’s not jump on the “co-sleeping is bad” bandwagon here.  It’s good.  It gave me sleep.  SLEEP.  When I needed it the most.  And not just sleep – but sweet sleep.  Wrapped up in kiddy love.  We have one who gets in our bed each night sometime between midnight and 3 AM.  And another who jumps in the bed first thing each morning for at least 5 minutes of snuggles before he can start his day.  We’ve honestly had the best of the co-sleeping world during our parenting journey.  Because while of all our kids have spent some time sharing our pillows, none of them have started out the night in our bed.  Which translates to – we still have the falling asleep and before…ahem…time to ourselves.  But the actual sleeping part we get to share.  And I like doing that.

Just tonight husband said, “You know.  He’s almost 5.  Isn’t this turning into a problem?”

To which I replied, “For whom?  Are you bothered by it?  Am I?  Is he?”

The answer is no.  If one of us ever starts to be bothered by it, then we’ll have some rethinking to do.  But until then, I think it’s sweet as candy.  And I’m glad I’ve gotten to sleep many nights wrapped up close to the people I love the most.

#80 Make-up

I realize this sounds incredibly shallow.  But here it is.  I love make-up.  My face loves make-up.  My face needs make-up.  Yes.  Yes, it does.

I was the fourth grader who coveted lip gloss once upon a time.  Who turned into the teenager who spent about 20 minutes each morning with high-powered mirrors, getting it just right.  Who turned into the adult who would never, ever, EVER leave the house without make-up.  Ever.

And then kids arrived.  And slowly, I began to let myself be seen without Clinique.  A quick trip to the grocery for milk with a baseball cap is how it all began.  But it slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y evolved into actually going somewhere where I know I will be seen, noticed, conversed with, etc. – and not by strangers.  And I am, indeed, very proud of myself for reaching this point.  I am okay with going places (okay – SOME places) without even a drop of make-up.  And that is progress indeed.

But I am thankful for make-up, nonetheless.  I don’t think every person needs it.  I wish I didn’t.  But I do.  I look very scary without it.  Bulging veins, lots of blue stripes on my face, giant pores filled with black emptiness.  Invisible lips that are a weird natural shade of gray.  It’s simply not pretty.

And every time, EVERY time, I journey out with a naked face, I get at least 4 people to ask me a variation of, “Are you okay?  Are you sick?  You look exhausted!”  or even a “How are you doing?” with a pitiful head-tilt.  You know the one.  The one that signals you look lost and pathetic.

I used to answer, “Oh, yes…I’m tired/sick/whatever.”  Until it dawned on me that the real problem was that I was make-up-less.  So today, when I got two back-to-back “Can I help you out?  You look like you need a hug.” comments…I started laughing.  And then boldly announced to 3 other listening friends that sometimes I didn’t wear make-up.  And that this is what it looked like.  And that my eyes are really, indeed, this scary without anything covering it up.  And that it was okay.  I wasn’t sick/depressed/hungover/whatever.  This was the real me.  Now can we please talk about something else?!?!

Which makes me thankful for make-up.  Because I don’t think I’d like the constant pity if I had none.

#79 That I can sing like Yoda

Because when you have a 4 year old, dangling on the edge of a bedtime tantrum, because he can’t find action figure #762 which he cannot sleep without… singing the “Oh Mr. Moon” bedtime song in the voice of a little green guy is such a distraction.

These are life skills, I tell you.  At least when you’re mothering three boys.

#78 Friends

I have amazing friends.  Lately I have been reflecting on that quite a bit and am just blown away why these wonderful, amazing, smart, fun people want to be my friend.  But I am counting my blessings.  Because friends are powerful people.  It’s amazing how they can impact my general state of well-being, turn my emotions around, and calm me down – all at once.  It’s especially amazing to me because I’m a huge introvert and would rather be in my own cave all alone than anywhere else in the world.  So how did I get so lucky with this terrific collection of friends?

Anyway, I am thankful today because 7 year old has made his first real friend of the year.  All year long, I had been asking who he liked to play with (the teacher had no clue), who his favorites classmates were, etc.  And he was drawing a blank.  Part of the problem is that the amazing preschool/kg that he attended has the habit of calling all the kids “friends.”  So instead of saying, “Boys and girls, I need you to come to the circle rug,” the teacher would say, “Friends, it’s time to come to the circle rug.”  And so on.  So when you ask my kids who their friends are, they usually recite the names of everyone in their class.  Which I really like.  But it was not helping me to figure out who 7 was hanging with during the day.

Another part of my problem with this was the kid barely has any time to hang.  They get recess probably once a week.  (I am not exaggerating here.)  And these days it’s inside.  And lunch is 22 minutes long.  With assigned seats.  So there really isn’t much chance for him to pal up during the day to begin with.

But anyway, two weeks ago he wanted to invite this kid R over.  I said okay.  They exchanged phone numbers.  And R arrived yesterday with him right after school.  A sweet kid.  I tried to keep 4 and 5 out of their hair for the first thirty minutes. I think this is because I remember hating when I had a friend over as a kid that I had to include my kid sister.  My mom would make the three of us play together and I just wanted to do “big kid” stuff with my friend.  So I was remembering that and trying to help 7 out.

But 7 kept saying, “Mommy.  It’s fine!  We want them to play with us.”  So I gave up.  And it was fine.  The 4 of them had a blast for two hours and made more noise than is legally allowed without a permit.  But my neighbor was gone.  So it was fine.

I continue to be blown away at how close my kids are.  I know this can’t last forever.  But it’s so frickin’ delicious right now.  I am trying to savor it.

This year is the first year that all three of them really have little BFFs.  They’ve each been drawn to a best friend or two instead of just playing with whoever is around.  And that’s really nice for me to watch that unfold for them as individuals.

We are moving up and out of this place next year.  So I highly doubt that they are making friends now who will stick with them for life.  But it’s nice that they are learning about the power of friendship.  And I’m thankful their friends are as wonderful as mine.

#77 Players and coaches who get the bigger picture

I know I have PMS, but I cannot stop crying about this.  If you haven’t already heard about the basketball game in Wisconsin last week, here’s a quick summary.  It was a high school game.  A team traveled two hours to get there.  When they got there, they waited for two more hours or something because the home team coach wasn’t there yet.  He was at the hospital, with one of his players, whose mom had died of cancer that day.

The beautiful part of the story is what happens between the two teams during that game.  I’m not even going to try to sum it up.  Just go read the letter that the home team coach wrote to the local newspaper.  And try not to cry.

I love reading about good people doing good things.  What a wonderful coach!  What a wonderful team.  I would have been very proud to be a part of either school that night.

#76 My kids

There are at least a hundred different ways I could approach this and look at my kids from as many angles to tell you why I’m grateful for them.  But today, it’s because they’ve made me a better person.

People will tell you, before you have kids, that doing so will change you.  And you will nod, thinking, Yes, I know.  I will learn about diapers and toddler nutrition.  And memorize state capitals.  And worry about them dating. But that’s all wrong.  That stuff is just what you do on autopilot.  It really has nothing to do with you.  Who you are as a person.  And that gets a total makeover when you become a parent.

Or at least it did for me.  Being my kids’ mom is giving me an education and awakening I never realized I needed.  I went to college, after all.  At a fancy, schmancy liberal arts place.  But for all the eye-opening classes I took there, nothing has changed my perspective like these little people living in my house.

Because of them, I have immersed myself in literature about emotions, personalities, and human attachments.  Trying to learn about them, but learning more about myself and those around me in the process.

Because of them, I have started paying attention – really paying attention – to discussions on race, social justice, human rights and politics.  The conversation becomes immensely weighty when your family has stakes in the game.  And suddenly I get (what I thought I already got) about the importance of equality and standing up for other people.

Because of them, I have learned to travel.  I’d much prefer to be home with a book than in line at an airport.  But they have passports.  That are begging to be stamped.  And there’s a whole world out there that I haven’t seen.  And they ask me about it.  And how can I explain it to them if I don’t know?  And how can they understand it if we don’t go there?

Because of them, I am attempting to learn another language.  A language that if you look at my school transcript, it would appear that I should already know.  But other than a sentence about a donkey, I didn’t.  And now I do.  A little.  But enough to talk to people who don’t speak my language.  About complex things such as divorce, illness, babies, and depression.  And learning another language is not only cool – but it apparently helps scare off Alzheimer’s.  Which I’m all about frightening away.

Because of them, I eat better, sleep better, and have a much better list of priorities.

In fact, if I listed everything I care about, every part of me I’m proud of, every passion that defines me today, I can trace it all back to them.  Somehow they snowballed it all.  Every single thing.  Isn’t that amazing?

I would feel sad if I never had kids because I would have missed out on the way a child can be completely swallowed up with love for you.  And I wouldn’t want to miss out on that in life.

But I would also be cheated if I’d never had kids.  Because I think it would have left me in another dimension.  As a person who could have been so much better/greater/wiser/nicer…but never had the inspiration.

Thank you, small little miracles.  For making me a better person.

#75 That I missed his presentation

In kindergarten, they are studying dinosaurs.  And each kid spent about a week making a large dinosaur.  (Taping bottles, etc. together and then paper-macheing and painting and so on.)  Then they drew a picture of it, and wrote some sentences about their creation.

This culminated today with each kid standing up to “present” his dinosaur.  This meant reading from his sheet to explain about what he made.  I thought they were doing this tomorrow.  Because I had planned on staying around after drop-off to catch this on video tape.  I am quite glad I didn’t.

My son made a green triceratops.  It’s adorable.  It’s amazing.  It’s a work of art.

But apparently, it’s also named “Horny.”  Horny the Dinosaur.  So my kid spent a good five minutes today talking about his friend, Mr. Horny.  I know this because the moms who were there gave me a wicked smile and a grin.  And said, “We really enjoyed your kid’s presentation today!”  Uh-oh, was all I could think.

And at dinner tonight, he told his dad about it.  When he said his dino was named Horny, Daddy almost choked on his roll.  And then tried to stifle a laugh.  Which 5 year old didn’t understand at all.

Which is why I am very glad I wasn’t there with the video camera.  Because that microphone could have easily caught my reaction.  A chuckle, a snort, a really bad word.  Who knows.  Better to just save the picture instead.