Why I don’t hate becoming my mother:

Cuz we’re supposed to, right?  It’s the cultural stereotype, daughters conflict with their mothers and whine about it. There’s a successful (and funny) ad campaign about young homeowners becoming their parents.  We all chuckle when they fumble with technology or try to order a salad.  It’s funny until your own phone rebels.  

Two events made me realize that I didn’t have to follow this path: 

• Four grown women, late 30’s, successful professionals at a medical conference.  We’re drinking wine and discussing our mothers.  Two of us have very contentious relationships with our mothers, and there is much debate about how and why this happened, and laughter over the ridiculous portions of this.   Because some of the stories shared bordered on Greek mythology, where mothers would devour their children out of spite.  I haven’t much to contribute, other than the very superficial and mundane changing of my body to resemble hers and the purgatory of trips with her to the fabric store.  Our 4th friend, whose mother is present in her life daily, helping with childcare, hosting at the holidays and weekends at the family cabin, says, “I cannot imagine not having her in my day-to-day life.  She is my rock.  I’d be sunk without her.  My father, on the other hand...” 

We all stopped in admiration, knowing this to be true.  And respect that she could name and value that relationship, without irony or mockery.   And more than a little envious.  How on earth could she have a mom that she valued as a friend in joy and in need? 

• Not long after: dinner with friends at our house.  Daniel’s mother has dementia, and he and his siblings rotate care of her every three months.  She’s at the point where her antics are frustratingly funny, like eating a pretty bar of soap, because she’s forgotten that it tastes terrible by the time she wants another bite.  Or eating all six dozen treats he’s bought for a charity event—at which point he says, “You ate all the cookies for the poor people?”   We mull on parent-child relationships and how they evolve over time, and he’s now parenting her.   A few more stories are shared, commiserated.  I try to contribute, and he stops me.  “I find your mother delightful!”   

And I realize that she is.  I think back to my friend who embraces her friendship with her mom, and grasp that I too could have that.  I don’t have to fall into the societal expectation of a friction, a dread of evolving into her.   

We still tease her, of course.  Mild mockery and laughter being our family love language. 

My mother’s frustrations with her mother, my Grandma Bing, still ring in my ears : “Don’t you let her run the power washer/climb the ladder/burn the ditches”--all the activities that maybe an 80 year old woman should think twice about.  And the minute my mother’s back was turned, Grandma Bing reached for the power washer. ”Gimme that”.  Never mind that it almost knocked her over.  I was helpless to argue with her, just as I was without words when Mom returned, exasperated with my grandmother’s fierce independence.  

Mom’s social worker persona bothered me to no end when she met my adolescent woes and anger with “Hmmm.”  Or “How would you feel if your sister did/said that to you?”  There was no rising to the unfairness in my life, no taking the bait or sides.  Now I realize what a gift that is, as I try to not be the yelling or swearing mom.  I seldom win the cursing battle anymore, now that Clive has clogged my filter. 

I try to take a breath when things could easily turn contentious with her, and remember how lucky I am. How lucky we are to have a delightful mother and grandmother, and appreciate her while we can.   

My sister has her every day, since they live next door.   A blessing and a curse at times.  I envy their proximity, the presence my mom has in their lives.  But geographic closeness doesn’t guarantee a smooth relationship.  Yet, they have dinners regularly, check on each other.  My nephew will fiercely defend my mother if there is a hint that our teasing may cross the line.   

My sister has adopted the phrase, “Grandma is a free spirit” when my niece or nephew ask about something--different--that Mom has said or done.  So far she’s not eating the soap.  

As my mom ages, I understand more why she would try to rein in my Grandma Bing, and why Grandma resisted it. 

I still jump a bit when I accidentally open my camera in selfie mode and it is her face looking at me.   I know that my cowlick in the morning mimics hers, as does my tendency to wear some of my last meal on my chest.  I am not always thrilled when my wife points out a new momism, be it a phrase, a laugh, a mannerism.  My mother is delightful.  I am beyond grateful to Daniel to have pointed this out when he did; I was able to maneuver out of the expectation of mother/daughter conflict defining our relationship.  

When my daughters want to spend time with me, I make an effort to put down my phone, pause the TV, try to listen and be with them.  I’m not always successful.  Sometimes I am the yelling/swearing mom.  I try more often to say, “Hmmmm” and “Say more” instead of jumping into their problems.  Because I would love for my daughters to have the relationship with me that I have with my mom.  Morning hair and all.  

Happy Mother's Day.