The Joys of Having My Mom Live With Us (And One Puzzling Question)

 

My 80-something year old mother has come to live with us — whether for a long time or short — its up to her. I love having her here. I haven’t lived with my mom in 40 years. At first we were out of practice, but now it feels like we picked right up where we left off in 1978. This arrangement is not only nice, but shows me how astoundingly alike we are in the following ways…

Reading — When I was little, I always found the latest Dr. Seuss tale on my bed when I came home from school. When I got older, I’d borrow one of the many classics lining the shelves in our living room. At night, I’d find my mother sitting under one of those bonnet hair dryers in the den, reading Leo Tolstoy, Theodore Dreiser, or Thomas Wolff. She taught me to love literature. We still bond over books.

Curiosity – Mom and I love day trips and we’ve taken a few lately from our Connecticut home. Many have been to Massachusetts – Salem, Amherst, and the Berkshires. We also love pondering questions together. What was it like living in our woods as a native Algonquin three hundred years ago? How did the Revolutionary War soldiers get along in nearby Redding? Who’s that cute actor on the PBS series, “Poldark?” I’m thankful she always encouraged questions and open thinking.

Introverts – Even though we live under one roof, we probably spend an hour a day face to face, usually at dinner (many times glued to the TV news). We understand each other’s need for privacy. Although we don’t have a lot of “together” time, we still enjoy each other’s company. In fact, that may be our secret to getting along.

Neatniks – I’m still pinching myself. Mom cleans up the kitchen after dinner each night. Between my son cooking and her cleaning, my girlfriends will never speak to me again. I haven’t had this luxury since… well, ever. I also love the way mom cleans in that precise, detailed way of women. Not that my husband and sons don’t do the same, but, ahem… I’ll leave that to another blog post.

Nature lovers — Mom and I have always loved observing the natural world. Last summer, it was watching hummingbirds at the feeder. “Look how aggressive they are,” she’d say of little ruby-throated warriors defending their turf. She can identify almost every bird and knows their habits. Last summer, she pruned all my red and pink roses in the front yard, something I never did. They never looked so happy and abundant.

Sensitivity – We’re both canaries in the coalmine with our overactive nervous systems. This can be lovely as we notice small things like hummingbird bullies and roses that need trimming. But it also means other emotions are heightened…especially fear and anxiety. I’m not just a little nervous before a doctor’s appointment or getting on a plane. My heart’s pounding. I’m a wreck. Alas…my mom’s the same.

And that leaves me to my question… how much do parents shape us?

I was lucky to have a mother who was gentle, who understood what it’s like to need lots of solo, daydreaming time. But what if I had one of those intense, hard-driving moms who insisted I be head cheerleader or get straight A’s or stay busy and booked all day? What if failure was never an option and perfection required? (Yes, I’ve met a few of those). I would’ve always felt deficient, unaccepted, and unhappy.

Instead, as a child and teenager, my mother allowed me to be myself. She only lectured my brother, sister and I on one thing — kindness. “Always treat others as you’d want to be treated.” That golden rule was repeated many times.

Now in her eighties, Mom’s still spry, fit, and independent. She takes three exercise classes a week (pre-Covid), drives herself everywhere, loves having coffee with friends, and goes to her book club.

She talks of getting her own place and I understand. Someday (I hope not too soon) I’ll miss these sweet days.

In the meantime, we have fun trading good reads, discussing the latest op-ed in the Times, and pondering life. I love our nature walks and seeing my kitchen so sparkling clean each night. If I’m scared over something silly, she understands.

Sometimes I look at those well-tended red and pink roses in my front yard. I think how lucky I was…and how lucky I still am.

 

 

Are you close to your mother? Comments are always welcome and if you like, please share.

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