On Being a Mom/Mother/Mama/Nana/Grandma/Grandmother-The List Goes On

Billy and me in front of Old College, Aberystwyth

Recently the daughter of a friend blogged about being tired as a mother, sometimes filled with self-doubt, aggravation, and running from hugs one minute to time out the next with her small brood of four, not so small when one considers that for most of the waking day it's a four-to-one ratio.  She went on to add that it was a burden to young struggling moms to have older women return their complaints of exhaustion or frustration with the cherry and oft-spoken, "You'll miss this time when it'is gone."  Though well meaning, and I've said it myself, I could suddenly and totally see her point.  When one is battling for sanity in a sea that threatens to drown, one needs a life preserver and a word of encouragement not a reminder that it is an opportunity for a character building experience. It set me to thinking about my own child-rearing days.  I wrote her a response.

The good news is that all the tough, hard, or they vomited in their bed, you cleaned up, then they vomited in your bed episodes, the times-out, the I-would-pay-cash-money-for-8-hours-of-straight-undisturbed-sleep, and the feelings of helplessness, incompetence, and exasperation become somehow quite funny when retold over holiday tables. Trust me, it becomes hilarious; but at the time it is happening, it is just 'hard work.' Stay the course and know that the Grandma's of the world survived and so will you.

The not so great news is that you'll never stop being a mother, even after they're launched. You become cheerleader, sometimes confidant, therapist, and sometimes "mom-on-a-shelf," who is taken down when needed. But this confusing time is beautiful too. Just when you know how to be a mama, you have to learn how to be a mom/mother to adults that you can't scoop up and put in time out. The frustrations and feelings of inadequacy are equal but different and sometimes you want to scream into a pillow or put your head in an oven (not really, well kinda sorta), but you love over and above, in between, and forever. 

It's this love that is the constant through the confusing stages of life. So hang in there, lovely girl. Take naps with the kids when you can. Be kind to yourself because you are a brilliant mom and just exactly made to order for your little brood. Laugh out loud. Dance. Allow yourself to be human. Motherhood will drive you to your knees, to tears, and to the heights of testimony. It's all part of of an amazing journey. 

Blessings on you from a survivor!

Which then brought me to my time in Wales, away from hugs and kisses and relegated to Skype, email, Facebook, and the occasional letter.  There's nothing quite like a handwritten letter, but I digress...

Our oldest son, Billy. found himself in London recently and generously planned an extra day to visit his mom.  That's me smiling in the top photo.  "I've got a car," he emailed.  "Looks to be about 2 hours from London as the crow flies.  How far is it?"

Well, for one we have rooks in Wales.  They are noisy but had little if anything to do with road design.  The north/south roads were made by the Romans when they invaded Briton years ago.  They have multi-lanes and are fast.  Unfortunately the east/west roads were made by the early Druids, who were either following cattle or sheep, or were so deep in their own thoughts that they went round in the most imaginative curvilinear paths that it is nearly a seven hour drive from London to Aberystwyth, longer if you stop for a picture or a break.

After some checking, I found that there is a "fast" train from London to Birmingham that takes only an hour and another that travels from Birmingham to Aberystwyth that takes only three... so that's four hours each way.  (I didn't know that Euston Station was an hour away from his London based hotel. 

Billy's a good sport, a very good sport.  At 18 months old he gathered toys for the other children in nursery and passed them out.  He grew to be a great big brother... we talk a lot about his big-brotherhood over holiday tables... I now understand much better what all the upstairs noise was after I so lovingly and tenderly put them all to bed and collapsed in a wilted heap on the living room sofa near my husband.  In my case there was an 8:1 ratio for the bulk of our daylight hours.

But back to my post, these are not photoshopped pictures.  They are real.  Billy came to Aberystwyth in spite of the inconvenience and added travel time to his already busy schedule. We shared castle ruins, college campus, St. Michael's cathedral, Old College, a double ice-cream to celebrate his birthday that had just passed and the occasional sit-down to just talk.  We walked the Prom and viewed the Irish Sea from the end of the Royal Pier.  We ate at Wetherspoon's where he ate Dragon sagsage, visited the Ceredigion Museum, and, of course, stopped at the Sweetie's shop to send home British treats for the grands.

I guess what I'm saying is that there are joys and challenges that are part of each stage of motherhood.  Would I trade the downs if it meant I'd miss the ups?  Never.  How would I come to recognize the sweetness?   Would I trade the plethora of reasons that created sleepless nights?  No, because they brought me to my knees and taught me faith.  Families come in all shapes and sizes, each with an assortment of personalities, challenges, and enough"growing experiences" to fit all comers.  I love my family with all its good and not so good.  Why?  Because they are mine.

Thank you, son.  Your visit was just the best.

                                               

January 2013 - Home to Home - Part I

Clock Tower near Birmingham, England

 An epic journey home to the West Coast of America marked the beginning of my holiday hiatus.  Thinking to be quite clever, I spent a bit more on tickets, choosing to fly to Amsterdam and then take a direct 13 hour flight to Portland.  Alas, arriving at Birmingham hours early to accommodate international travel, I was greeted with the news that it was snowing in Amsterdam.  Lovely, I innocently thought.  Not only will I see the country of my forefather's origins but it will be very Christmassy!  This is, however, when I learned that planes do not fly in the snow if they can help it and that one of the things that the Brits do best is "queue."

Used to American efficiency and a certain amount of impatience in being thwarted by one's travel plans (did I say that nicely?), no one else in line seemed to be at all surprised when we had to wait for someone from KLM to show up to reroute us... all 200 plus of us.  I fortunately was in the beginning of the line (early arrival has its perks). The someone from KLM showed up and was just that... one...  someone.  There were actually two but one was shunted off to the side to handle elite ticket holders, class will out!

 I met the loveliest people in line: a young blond, blue-eyed student going home to Finland and three British South Africans journeying to visit family.  The nearly three hours in queue passed pleasantly.  I was rerouted to Dublin, a four hour layover, then Boston, and finally home.  Flight time was up 50%.  So much for expensive tickets.  But at least I was going home or so I thought.

Flight into the morning

Arriving in Boston, I was told to take the shuttle to the ticket counter.  Being inexperienced, I did.  "I'm sorry, madam, but your gate is closed."  "Yes," I replied hopefully.  "Call them and tell them I'm here and have them hold it please."  "That is not possible.  The gate is closed."  "My luggage is on that flight.  I've been in these clothes for 24 hours.  I have no American money with me. Can I speak with your supervisor?" My American impatience was beginning to crack. Failing to impact Boston, I began to cry (didn't work!).  "I don't even have a toothbrush," I exclaimed.  Boston mumbled something about not scheduling adequate time between international and domestic flights, arranged to put me in a hotel overnight, gave me a toothbrush and a small packet of sundries, and a $6 meal voucher for dinner and another for breakfast.  I walked to the hotel, dropped what little I had in my room and went downstairs to eat.  $6 voucher + Boston prices = a very nice dinner salad and since they didn't take pounds Sterling, I now have $1.42 on my American Express card.  The next day I was rerouted to Atlanta, Georgia, before being sent homeward.  Fourty-six hours all totaled!

And the hours traveling faded like dew on a sunny morning when my little three-year-old grandson rounded the corner of the kitchen and saw his Nana sitting on the kitchen floor playing with his cousin.  He looked like a young fawn startled in a thicket.  I raised my arms.  He ran and buried himself in my lap.  The journey... what journey?  That moment filled my heart, healed my aching body, and brought me fully home.

Please join me next week for Part II of "Home to Home" or "What I Did On My Christmas Vacation."  See you then.