To look at my living room right now, one might wonder if a natural disaster had occurred, or if the apparent ransacking was due to a robbery of sorts. The truth is neither. The truth is that the one year old granddaughter has arrived, or better put: exploded onto the scene!
Yesterday I met my daughter at a half-way point and collected Penelope and her things for a week visit at Gramm’s and Pepa’s. I had spent a bit of time re-babyproofing the house in the morning. Penelope added her own decorating touches upon her arrival.
So now there are toys strewn from the front door to the back door. It’s a veritable obstacle course. Fortunately, I remembered to turn on the light in the middle of the night when I went to refill the bottle so that I didn’t locate any sharp corners with my half asleep feet.
I sat on the couch this morning, in the quiet before anyone else was awake. There was a time when the chaos of toys all over would have caused a frenzy within me. This morning it only made me smile. I love being a grammy. I love that when my daughter is having a hectic week (she starts a new job next week and has an open house for her House and Garden Party stuff this weekend) that I can swoop in and rescue both her and the baby from inevitable stress. I love watching Penelope play, the way she discovers and explores the world. I love calling her mom four times to tell her all the adorable things she’s doing, some for the very first time.
I love that there isn’t the pressure to produce a perfect child, to present the perfect family. I spent so much of energy when my children were little trying to raise them "right." That’s clearly leftover crud from when I was growing up. It was very clear that we (my brother, sister, and I) were groomed to make our parents look good.. But no matter how hard we tried, we were still the three monsters, and there was a definite sense in which we were always one step short of pleasing our parents.
My father died in 1989. Even as an adult, I still carried that need to please him, and the feeling that I never did. My relationship has definitely changed with my mother. The woman that I am going to spend the week with next week, is not the woman who raised me. This new woman is fun, laughs, plays, talks, weeps, and loves me in ways that really touch my heart. And I love her.
I knew that woman was changing the Christmas after my dad died. My girls were five and six then and we had gone to Mom’s for Christmas. My brother and his wife and children were with us too. My mom let the kids (all four of them) jump on the sacred living room couch. She didn’t freak out when they put their wee little hands on the mirrored tiles behind the couch. She even gave them bowls of whipped cream to eat. I watched in amazement and wept tears of joy.
It was as if my mother had come through a heavy fog, had come out from underneath a dreary life-weighting cloud. Over the years I have realized that part of what weighed her down and sunk her spirit was a slavery to alcohol. But there was more. I came to believe that though she loved my father, she was totally lost to that process. It wasn’t until he was gone that she could become the person of life and joy that she is today.
So back to the natural disaster in my living room, et al. There as I sat amidst the clutter, I began to wonder what might be weighing me down, limiting my growth, sucking out my joy? I’m not sure I have any answers, but I’m going to be doing a lot of playing this week, so maybe in the freedom, I’ll find a few answers.
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6 comments:
This really touches me, Daisy. I pray often that I can let my children be who they were created to be--but I'm fighting some of that perfectionism and grooming myself.
Enjoy that grandbaby. I thank God He gave your mother back to you--the real one. What a gift.
BTW, I loved your comment at gracereign. Thank you for sharing with me.
Your thoughts on your mother and father touched me. I recoginze myself in them. I still struggle to prove myself to my father -- I mix together the image of my father and my heavenly Father sometimes to the extent that I cannot pray. Cherish your relationship with your mother. My mother and I had moved to that place -- she was not only my mother, but a dear and cherished friend. When she died in 2001, I was devestated -- and I miss her every single day.
Blessings on you and your family today and I am so glad I stumbled upon your site.
Your words give me hope. Thank you. My mom is still freaking over the sacred livingroom couch. My kids are grown up pretty well now but all the freaking out - hers and mine - are not good memories.
I loved your post. I have no grandchildren. I am 57 and my daughters are 35 and 37. We have all three been alienated from my family for the last 5 years. I am retired. I am a strong christian believer. I am standing on the word that, whatever I ask will be done for me by HIS FATHER. I like that you are discussing the Lord and your Faith walk. Maybe I can come here, and share and listen and learn and grow with you
Cathy in Va in the USA
I can so relate to your comment "we (my brother, sister, and I) were groomed to make our parents look good.. But no matter how hard we tried, we were still the three monsters, and there was a definite sense in which we were always one step short of pleasing our parents." I love my mom dearly but it's clear she's doing the same thing with the grandkids (my sister's kids; I have none). My sister still struggles with the approval thing. I'm glad your mom saw the light and began to relax and enjoy your kids.
Wow, Daisymarie... Such a wonderful post, one full of insight. I could so relate. I, too, have a brother and a sister and we were preacher's kids who felt a lot of pressure to be perfect. Only these past ten years have I been able to shed most of that I-must-act-perfect stuff. It's wonderful that you are enjoying this time with your mother and how terrific that you have a small granddaughter to play with, too. Thanks for your comments at my blog, also! God bless... Debra
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