I am counting down the days to when I'll have this lovely lady within arms reach. She and her handsome catch will join us here in Our State as Spring ends this year. I'm not sure how we lucked out (between the six of their offspring) to get them so close, but I'm not asking questions (just hoping the other five will migrate a bit closer, too). I imagine my days now, but with my mom nearby. In all my married life, I've never tasted that luxury. Visits from my Mom usually always coincided with the birth of one of our four children or a move across the country. They were too short and I was in a post-delivery stupor (whether it was a child or our belongings being delivered). After the stress of these events subsided and I recovered and experienced the return of my faculties I would wish for just a normal day, sitting on the couch for a chat, with Mom. I can hardly believe this daydream is nearly realized.
I'm nervous, too. I don't want my mother to witness my "fork flinging" moments as she watches me mother my own. These nerves are born of my own insecurities not a fear of judgment from her. As a mother, it is one thing I strive and struggle for in my own parenting. To be like her in this. To never judge my children. To leave the air between us free of choking guilt and muzzling manipulations. To let them wear reggae-striped knitted hats in seventh grade, to lead not lecture as they make life-altering decisions in their twenties, then, to be the patient hearer as they finally try their hand at fumbling fatherhood or mismanaged motherhood. She never interceded, only understood. If I can do that, I think I might brush arms, at least, with the mother she is.
Happy Birthday, Mom. We can't wait to welcome you home.