Gift Parent

On a clear cool night a little more than fifty years ago, my mother died in a car accident on a lonely two lane road in New Mexico. I was ten years old and I had three younger brothers.

By the time my father remarried about fourteen months later, I was one unhappy little girl. In that period, we had moved from Arizona to Indiana--and then moved again. I was attending my second school in one year. I was mad. I was still grieving. And as often happens in such cases, my brothers and I were suffering from a lack of consistent discipline and attention.

Enter the brave soul who dared to take us on!

A step-parent has a very special role. Often they "step" into a situation fraught with chaos and pain. Initially, they may not possess much power to change those things that need to be changed. And through it all, they have to keep on keeping on. Meals have to be served. Clothing has to be cleaned. And kids have to go to school.

I call step-parents Gift parents. And I have one of my own. This year she celebrated her eight-third birthday. This year she and my dad celebrated fifty years of marriage. She has staying power.

When I brought my own children home from the hospital, she was the one who loved them and served as their Grandma. When they had birthdays, she was the one that sent them a card with a balloon and two pieces of gum inside--no matter where we lived in the country.

Today on Mother's Day, she lives 1800 miles away and I sit at home, unable to offer more than a phone call, a card, a wish that we lived closer. That, too, is part of the mothering deal...letting your children go to make lives sometimes far away. I know. My children are spread out in three different states, none near me.

I've been blessed by the two women who mothered me. They gave me a good start on life. For all they did, for all they hoped or dreamed, I give thanks. Happy Mother's Day to my moms!

anny

Reflections on Mother's Day

Yesterday was Mother's Day. And for once all of my kids called home. And more amazing, most of the news was good news.

A friend once asked if I had heard from my children that week. When I said "no", she asked why I wasn't worried. Um, well that expression, no news is good news generally is true in my family. It's usually a blessing when I don't hear from them as that means things are going well and they don't need my assistance to bail them out of jail, financial trouble, or car trouble. See? That's the way it works.

Another friend asked me if I regretted having four children. My answer to that is "Which one would I send back? How would I choose?" Four kids, ten kids, one kid... once you have them, they're yours for life. The only way to change that is to die or hire an "Eraser" to make you disappear. Not even sure that would work as most kids are pretty resourceful when it comes to tracking down mom or dad.

I have a friend in Queensland, Australia. She declares that its the best place in the world to live. Some days I contemplate finding out for myself. Those are usually the same days I serious think about going to live in a cave.

Children are generally a blessing... except for the days that they aren't. You know those days-- days that they take a notion to do something that curls your hair before it makes it fall out. I had a lot of those days when mine were younger. It seems that the number of those kind of days increases exponentially for each additional child that you have. That's because the younger ones learn from the older ones. They don't repeat what the older ones did... no, they learn what not to do so they can do something entirely different. That way the parents are never ahead of the learning curve.

Over the years my kids have just about done it all, although none of them have killed anyone--so far. It was a near thing a couple weeks ago when my daughter called me and immediately declared (no Hello! How are you?) "I'm going to kill your granddaughter!" To which I queried, "Oh? How do you plan to do that without creating a mess?" By the time she worked out the gory details, she was mostly over it, though she thought she ought to make a note of it all, just in case. In the meantime, said granddaughter locked herself in her bathroom. Probably smart.

The most potent curse I know is "May you have two (six, ten) kids just like you were!"

I once received a call at work. Here's my end of the conversation:

"Hello."

"Uh-huh."

"What kind of stain?"

"Did she drink any of it?"

"Well, mop it up with a rag."

"No, no problem. Now you have a couch."

"Uh-huh. I'll talk to you when I get home."

I put the phone back on the receiver and looked up to an office full of absolutely enthralled co-workers. After a minute one of them asked, "What kind of stain did they pour on the couch?"

"Furniture stain. Black Walnut."

"Oh. Well as long as no one drank it..."

Yep, that's my bunch. After the one that drank charcoal lighter fluid, a little stain on the couch is all good.

Anny

Don't forget to drop by the ladies blogs at Amarinda, Kelly, and OhGetAGrip where I'm holding forth on time management--or the lack of it.