This past September, my husband and I planned a four-day trip to Seattle — partly for work, partly for play. We rarely get away without our 3- and 5-year-olds in tow. As the week of our trip approached, my mother-in-law, who had agreed to stay and watch our girls while we were away, had to shift her plans unexpectedly, and so, with our nonrefundable plane tickets in mind and a body full of nerves, I decided to reach out to our next best option: my mom.
My relationship with my mom has changed over the years
Now, let’s lay down some facts: my mother has never watched our children for an extended period, either alone or with her new husband. She lives more than five hours away from us and still works, so when we visit during the summer or for the holidays, my whole family often stays for a week to try to maximize our time with her.
Our relationship has also changed dramatically in the last 10 years. Losing my little brother to suicide and then weathering my parents’ tumultuous divorce were difficult for us both, and it weakened our bond. Then, the pandemic coincided with early motherhood, which I experienced in isolation. All of these things were contributing factors to the dissipation of our once Gilmore Girls-like closeness.
We used to talk on the phone daily, catching up on life as I went into or left work; in recent years, though, our catch-ups have morphed into sparse calls and texts, weeks or even months apart. Of course, I’ve grieved all the changes — all the loss — heavily, as I’m sure she has. But one thing that parenthood has taught me is that there is always room for repair — there is always room for more love.
Though I was nervous, I knew my mom would take good care of the kids
So even though I was nervous about asking my mother to watch our small children for a few days, I knew deep down in my heart that they’d be fine — they’d be loved and fed and cared for, just as I was as a child. The real questions were: What would become of us after yet another test of our fractured relationship? What would become of me after?
A large source of my apprehension was that my mom’s life looks very different from ours — different seasons, different strokes. To ease my anxiety and worry, I created a thorough guide of our daily schedule, which included details such as when we woke up, ate, and went to sleep, among other things. When I walked my mom through all of this, I was taken aback by how readily she accepted the information and respected my decision to keep them in school while we were away.
While we were away, I resisted the urge to call or text often. I wanted to be mindful and intentional about what this time signified and respect the importance of it — not only the time she was getting with my kids, but the shift in my relationship with her, as well. Daily, I’d exchange a text or two with her to hear how the morning or evening went, and on the last day of our trip, we video-called the girls to let them know we were coming home the next day.
Without my asking, though, my mom would send photos daily — sometimes hourly — of their afternoon adventures, which included ice cream shop visits, playground escapades, and home-play shenanigans — and smiles. Oh, the smiles! I found that by letting go of my worry, I was able to be more present with my husband and enjoy the time away. Based on my 5-year-old’s report upon our return home, my mom followed all the rules for the most part — except for a slightly later bedtime on their final night together.
My mom is a house cleaner and works hard, very hard. I wanted this rare time to feel like a vacation, a gift, to her — a nice break from her labor-intensive job. I also wanted her to get a real glimpse into our lives. She doesn’t get to see that often, and she doesn’t get to see the fruits of her labor as a mother herself often either — I hoped to show her all the good that she had a hand in producing, even if that hand was imperfect.
It’s difficult to trust a parent when many things in life happen to erode that trust — albeit, in our situation, the things that occurred were largely unintentional and out of her control. I can see that bigger picture now that I’m an adult and parent myself.
We can’t change the past; we can only move forward. And sometimes, moving forward looks a lot like offering an olive branch — an acceptance of the past, a focus on the present, and a hope for a happier, healthier future, one where I call her more often to reconnect and one where I ask her if she’d like to come watch the girls again on our next trip.
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