Being related
Posted on | April 25, 2006 |
I drive my mother to the airport early, and on the way home stop for straight-from-the oven croissants and scones. I get a small coffee in a paper cup with maple syrup and cream, and snatch a little solitary time at my computer, nibbling on a date scone with lemon icing. It is only a matter of minutes before Bean and DH burst from the bedroom, tousle headed and ready for the day, but right now our tiny house is quiet, save for the cats who race in circles around the room.
Having a mother, and being a mother is a polarity I thought about often this weekend—How someday, invariably, my boy will grow up and his thoughts and ideas will shear away from mine like an ice berg from the polar cap. With unswirving certainty he’ll find criticisms of me; see me as different from him in fundamental ways.
Blood is a limited connective tissue—biological relation is only a small part of who we become, and I felt that this weekend, talking with my mother. Sitting next to her on the couch, I see small pieces of myself: my cheekbones are like hers, my nose. Occasionally, I hear a phrase, or a handful of sentences she says that wrap their way around an idea, and resonate with me. But most of the time her conviction, her intensely burning idealism, and her far flung beliefs: in palmistry, astrology, anthroposophy, cosmology, numerology, cause me to veer the other way. The outlines of our differences are stark.
I lean towards relativism; my reality shaped more by day to day experience than by esotericism. I value truth—both sacred and factual, as it resonates for me, but I don’t expect other’s to see it as I do. There are as many ways for knowing god as there are people; similarly for living a good life or raising children.
Childrearing came up a lot over the past few days, and I found myself always second guessing the things I’ve grown accustomed to trusting. Her perspective on raising a child is based on the implementation of a strict rhythm: meals and bed times marked indelibly onto the meridians if the day. She values a certain stoicism too: crying it out is a method that works for her, and doesn’t rip apart her every nerve.
The teacher in me has already for years valued the way children thrive in the security of a structured day—and routine is an important, predictable background onto which the daily activities are superimposed. But I also feel like there is a place for the willy-nilly glee of deviation; of following a whim, of breakfast in bed, of dinner out late on occasion, or skipping a nap for the sake of an adventure.
I try to exhale and shake off the residual tension that’s found its way to my shoulders and heart over the past couple of days. Outside rain is falling again and the cherry blossoms are just about to burst into bloom. Suddenly the house is filled with shrieking, and the patter of small running feet, coffee being made, the cats being chased round and round the kitchen island. On the counter, the bright orange roses my mother brought home for me from the market. We’re both growing.
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13 Responses to “Being related”
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April 25th, 2006 @ 10:29 am
I find the relationship between mother and daughter, even more complicated than between mother and son. There is so much comparing, expected sharing and bonding over emotional things — it can be such a complicated and complex relationship yet also one of the most rewarding ones in a woman’s life.
My mother is constantly amazing me. Both in good and, well, not so good ways. But then, I’m sure she feels the same about me and some of the decisions I’ve made in my life thus far. I mentioned this in my last comment — but have you read the book “Mother-Daughter Wisdom : Creating a Legacy of Physical and Emotional Health” by Christiane Northrup?
By the way, I love the photo.
April 25th, 2006 @ 10:54 am
You get better and better with each post. I am so happy I ran across your blog one evening, and so happy i continued to follow it. I am a biologist. I am talented in the ways of aseptic techniques and identifying bacteria with tried and true methods. My world does not include these beautiful words, and rhythms(why does that look like it is spelled wrong??) Sometimes when I am feeling something, I can’t put the words to the emotion, or the situation. But you, lovely Christina, your words and the way you tell a story … you just amaze me. Such a beautiful post, AGAIN! And maple syrup in coffee!! We have our VT interview this weekend, and I can’t wait!
April 25th, 2006 @ 3:22 pm
I am finding that, with my eldest boy, it’s not so much the physical separation and loss of snuggle time so much as a growing distrust in my perception of cool.
If, for example, I say “Capoiera sessions?”, he says “No way, mom. That does NOT sound like a good idea.” Which is to say that, suddenly, my credibility is in question. What I am beginning to miss is the ever-inquisitive toddler days, when I showed him every new idea and the response was always wonder.
April 25th, 2006 @ 4:05 pm
You do such a good job of pulling me out of my own little world and into a bigger one where ideas float about like bubbles before my eyes and each one is glowing with rainbow iridescence. They don’t pop, either.
April 25th, 2006 @ 4:41 pm
you said it perfectly. motherhood has changed the way i view my mother and my childhood…in a good way. but other times i find myself suffocating in her ever present shadow.
April 25th, 2006 @ 5:29 pm
I was talking to my partner’s mom about mother-daughter relationships (she also has a daughter) and she recommended Deborah Tannen’s book “You’re Wearing That? Understanding Mothers and Daughters in Conversation”. So far, it’s really good. And different than I expected. Better than I expected (although she does make good recommendations, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised).
April 25th, 2006 @ 5:39 pm
For me, it’s been a shocking lesson in how very alike we are, my mother and I. I never wanted to be like her, believed we were violently different, but the more I parent, the more I see that we are the same. It freaks me out. We still have the necessary deviations, but on the whole I take so many cues from her I am often surprised at how raw and uncomfortable I feel when we don’t see eye to eye.
Great post, beautiful photo.
April 25th, 2006 @ 8:04 pm
I think the beauty of our parents is having a sounding board to base what we want and don’t want to incorporate into the lives of our own families. My mom left at a very young age and I’m often struck and stuck with the reality that I have no role model to base any of my mothering upon.
April 25th, 2006 @ 9:44 pm
I, myself, have been thinking about the relationship I had with my mother before my son was born. It was always centered around how different we were. All the things I wouldn’t do that she did. Now though, I find myself letting go of that past relationship, and finding solace in my “mother”. I find wisdom and understanding and love. She is a woman, not just my mother. It’s wonderful.
I just found your website a couple of days ago, and have spent every spare minute reading every post. You have me captivated with your writings and artwork.
You inspire me to live a fuller life, and to start exposing my son to more creative activities. Thank you.
P.S. Bean is absolutely gorgeous. What a wonderful little boy.
April 25th, 2006 @ 10:41 pm
I found mywself frustrated with my mother this morning over a phone call. She was trying to be helpful; I perceived it as a nuisance. While I will procrastinate, she will cross things one-by-one off of her mental to-do list. Sometimes I still feel like fighting for my independence, 12 years away from home and miles away with my own daughter.
Goodness! Sorry to ramble here. You articulated so much in this post that my feelings were stirred and spilled out.
April 26th, 2006 @ 12:23 am
I grew up thinking that I was similar to my mother, and it is only recently that I have started to see clearly how we are different. We had the worst fight of our relationship right at the time my daughter was born, partly because we wanted each other to be people that we’re not and partly, I suspect, because of my raging hormones (though I haven’t been able to admit this to her). For me, it was a necessary fight, and the positive outcome has been that we acknowledged that we’re different and no longer assume that we know how the other person will react. I used to assume that I knew what would hurt her and avoid saying it; now I don’t. I say it, and for the first time in years, I think that we both feel that we’re communicating.
I read your post this morning, but I needed until now to process my reaction. This post feels so true it’s painful to read (in a good way). Thanks again.
April 26th, 2006 @ 8:50 am
thank you for sharing
that…i’m certain there
are so many of us feeling
varying degrees of the same thing
you described…
whether it be with our own mother
or as the mother of a child…
May 8th, 2006 @ 12:28 pm
i loved reading your feelings on your relationship with your mother. i am about to go stay with my parents for a week away from my life, my husband and i suppose this has helped me prepare.
thank you for this.
so sweet that she brought orange roses in your home as a gentle reminder when she returns to her own home.