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Archive for the ‘Mothers & Daugthers’ Category

The Grandma Reunion

Sunday, July 24th, 2011

It started off-handedly.  It was an intriguing idea, and it was easy to do, so I created a Facebook page for my sorority sisters.  I built it, and I wondered if they’d come. Before I knew it, I was Social Chairman again, organizing what I thought of as a “pilot” reunion.   If it went well, we’d do others.

It went well.  It was a lot of things: a trip down memory lane, a chance to re-view our housemates–and to see them with fresh eyes.  It also forced us to remember–and cringe at–the not-so-nice byproduct of being in a close-knit, almost inbred community.  Legend had it that during rush-week, we made a grand gesture of folding the coats in, so as not to see the label.  It was untrue (I think), but no matter what others thought of us, we knew we were “the Iotas.”

Some have “joined” the page; others aren’t into social networking.  No matter, reconnection can happen on Facebook or in emails.  We go back and forth, sharing the Roman numerals of our lives: partnership status, children/grandchildren, careers.  It’s like time-lapse photography.

So what is it that’s so compelling about reunions–and reconnecting after so many years?  Ironically, I’m  coming up on my 50th high school reunion, and have been involved in a similar process with those classmates.  The woman–and former co-valedictorian–who’s organizing that event asked us to answer a few key questions for the reunion booklet, including your best and worst memories of high school.  (My worst was being spat on and called a “dirty Jew.”) I read the various blurbs, and then turn to my Class of ‘61 yearbook, juxtaposing this new information with each person’s 17- or 18-year-old self.  I read an inscription scribbled over his or her face and get glimpses of who that person was to me. It’s oddly satisfying.

The fact is, these people knew me when: when I went to sock hops and wore circle pins; when I acted in the senior play, when we ate French fries and cokes after school at my father’s diner.

And my sorority sisters know an even more significant “when.”  They knew the old boy friends, the ones I didn’t marry, the one I did.  They remember my favorite songs.  They remember spring formals.  One old friend still talks about the time she ate dinner with my parents and promptly splattered grease on my mother’s white collar.  It’s not just that our lives were intertwined or that they were privy to the details of my life.  It’s also that we can now piece together our young lives, the group experience, and see how we’ve been affected by it.   I sense that they know things about me I don’t even know.

Most of my high school friends and sorority sisters are now grandmothers, and we wonder how we got here. As one of my new-found sorors marveled, “Just yesterday we were putting on our dinner dresses and hoping not to sit with [our “housemother”] Aunt Edna.”

And what does this do for–or have to do with–our daughters?  For one thing, they see how important it is to acknowledge and keep up with one’s past.  Mine already gets this;  she has an annual girls’ weekend with her college chums, and is in contact with many characters from high school as well.  Thanks to the Internet, she doesn’t ever have to lose touch.

But there’s another important message here for our daughters: Despite the obviously  different frames of reference, we’re really not that different, are we?  I suspect my daughter and many of  her peers could relate to this statement, posted recently by one of my sorority sisters:

I loved the women! I loved being part of something, that quite frankly, I still think of as so very special. It was, and continues to be a memory of which I am so very fond.

And someday–just as we’re now doing–our daughter will be asking themselves. “How did we get to be grandmothers?”

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What About Daughters on Mother’s Day?

Thursday, May 5th, 2011

My Daughter, the Mountain Climber

I am in Paris (where Fetes de Meres is not until June 7).  This coming Sunday, May 7,  is the first American Mother’s Day (if memory serves me,which it often doesn’t!) that I haven’t been with at least one of my two children.  I suppose I’m fortunate to have had so many other Mother’s Days with them  Or maybe I should consider myself lucky this year.  We all know that it’s just a Hallmark holiday.  And isn’t every day supposed to be Mother’s Day?  Yeah, right.

Cynicism aside, this can be a hard day for mothers and daughters.  Those of us whose mothers have died feel the loss even more acutely.  And some women can’t stand being with their mothers, not even for one day.  But even close mother/daughter duos have “moments.” Who needs the pressure to have a “good” Mother’s Day?  As the family grows and changes, you also step parents and in-laws and all their ideas, potentially making the day more strained than celebratory. Plans bump up against prior traditions: “Mother’s Day has always been at my sister’s house” is met with, “But our family goes to the Pancake House.”

The good news is that any relationship can shift toward a more positive direction.  In her “5 Ways to Strengthen the Bond with Mom”– just published on The Buzz — relationship expert Terry Orbuch directs her advice to daughters.  Here’s a few points we older-generation mothers ought to remember as Mother’s Day approaches.  After all, now it’s their day, too!

1.  Make a gratitude list. Just as Orbach advises daughters not to focus on what Mom does wrong, it’s a good idea for mothers to “take 10 minutes and write down a handful of things you really appreciate” about your daughter, too.  No one is all bad all the time, and humans have an unfortunate tendency to elevate the negatives. Consciously listing the good will help you gain a balanced perspective. And by the way, if you have trouble thinking of what’s she’s “given” you, just look at your grandchildren! (more…)

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Why We Need to “Re-vision” Our Mothers

Monday, April 25th, 2011

This post was inspired by the newest addition to The Buzz, written by Janice Eidus, author, among other books of The War of the Rosens and The Last Jewish Virgin.  Janice and I met each other through Facebook, and when she passed through my town recently to do a reading, we finally met in person.  Being mothers, we both talked about our children and our mothers.  I suggested she write something for Mother U–perhaps exploring how the mother/daughter theme works its way into her novels.  Little did I realize that Janice’s piece, My Mother/My Writing: Turning Childhood Memories Into Fiction, would evoke memories of my own childhood.  “We had the same mother,” I quipped in an email to her.  Well, not exactly, but close enough to bring back memories–and some regrets.

My first grandson was only four months old when my daughter and I first began discussing the “motherhood union.”  Jen actually came up with the term, when I said to her, “It’s like we’re in the same club now.”

It’s easy for me to think of Jen and I as part of the motherhood union.  Not so my mother and me.  It’s not that we had a contentious relationship–the screaming in our family was delegated to my eleven years older (and very protective) sister.   At first it was simply that I didn’t know my mother.  A former teacher who now was the lady of the house, she was considered “old”–35–when she had me, her third child. (She had lost a baby after my brother, nine when I was born, and often reminded me that I was her “change of life” baby, her “surprise.”)  Everyone was out of the house when I was growing up, so I spent a lot of time alone or with “the help.”   My mother was always busy, shopping, volunteering and, mostly, putting out elaborate spreads when “the girls”  came over to play mah-jong or canasta.   Then there were the times she’d take to her bed, claiming another “sinus headache,” which, looking back, was depression.

I wasn’t angry as a child–maybe a little sad, but I didn’t feel deprived.  It was the only kind of mothering I knew.  By the time I was a teenager, I had developed great people skills.  I was a kid other kids’ mothers loved.   It got me places.  Still does.

Cut to a week before my wedding.  One of “the girls” called my mother to tell her that my father had been having an affair with Shirley–a buxom redhead (think Jessica Rabbit) who lived across the street and just happened to be my mother’s best friend.  Although I saw his behavior as reprehensible–and felt guilty because even I had known about Shirley–it was my mother who turned their divorce into public spectacle.  She’d rant about my father to anyone who’d listen.  At one point, she aired her complaints on national television, to the delight of host Alan Burke who loved stories of sex, sleaze, and sensationalism.   I saw as little of her as I could.  I had my own marriage to worry about.

Even after Jen was born, I bristled at every visit.  I hated that sometimes she’d just show up, asking if she could take the baby for a walk.   Then, as Jen got older, it was lunch.  Then, it was for an afternoon at her apartment.  But slowly, as she and Jen developed a relationship that had nothing to do with me, I began to soften, seeing a side of my mother I’d never have imagined.  (more…)

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Consulting Grandma: How to Make the Most of An Often-Wasted Resource

Saturday, February 26th, 2011

“What do I know?” said a master family therapist in mock self-deprecation,  “I’m just the grandmother!”  One of her grandchildren had a learning disability, which she–a well-known and respected professional–knew a great deal about, both professionally and personally, because she had also raised a son who had an LD.  She now saw similar signs in her grandson. “But they don’t ask my opinion,” she said of her older son and daughter-in-law,” so I don’t offer.”

Many modern grandmas find themselves in similar positions.

New-Style Grandmas

Old-Style Grandma

Grandma was once a kindly lady whose “career” was motherhood, and as the children left the nest, her life grew increasingly smaller.  Not so the current crop of grandmothers, many of whom have adult children and PhD’s. Gail Sheehey calls them “fly-in” grandmothers.  They’re constantly on the run, now juggling their multiple interests and responsibilities with randmotherhood.  The irony is that strangers consult them, but their grown children don’t.

What a shame–and what a wasted resource. Whether you’re dealing with a learning disability, an eating disorder, or some other type of parenting issue, your mother might have invaluable information both as a mother and as a professional. So here are some guidelines for both generations that might help. (more…)

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Remembering Mom in the New Year

Wednesday, September 8th, 2010

L’shana tova–Happy New Year.  Even if you’re not Jewish, fall is a reminder of the cycles of life and of milestones. Each new school year is, in fact, a “new” year. You look at your children or grandchildren with fresh eyes as they trot off to school. There’s no denying the passage of time.

For those of us whose mothers are no longer with us, the fall can bring sadness as well.   In the last 37 years, I can’t count the times have I said to myself, I wish my mother were here to see…Jen walk down the aisle,  Jen becoming a mother, my eldest grandson reading, his little brother going off to kindergarten, and the littlest one lurching across the floor like Frankenstein as he takes his first tentative steps and falls into my arms.   I want to believe that she still “sees” us, but my heart aches nonetheless.   Earlier today, as I sprinkled salt, garlic, onion power, pepper, and paprika on a five-pound slab of raw meat–brisket, vot den?–my mother was with me.

That’s the theme of our newest offering on The Buzz, a sweet piece by Esther Mizrachi Moritz, Keeping My Mother’s Spirit Alive that begins…

Directly after my mother’s funeral in February of 2009, a crowd of people filled my parents’ tiny Brooklyn living room.  I made a beeline for the freezer.  Heart pounding, I opened it, hoping to find some sambusak. I was obsessed with the idea of bringing home my mother’s Middle-Eastern delicacies to my children, Alexis and Jesse, then 13 and 16.

Moritz shares how she’s learned to sustain memories of her colorful mother, a woman of Latin American and Egyptian descent.  We hear often enough that death is part of life, but most of us feel as cheated and alone nonetheless.  I was only 29 when my mother died. Jen was four; Jeremy, only six months at the time, never knew her.   Moritz was 48 and her children considerably older.  But it’s always “too soon” to lose your mother.

When I hear a woman complain about her mother, I often say “At least you still have one!”  So, ladies, whether you’re annoyed about the fact that Mom meddles in your business or that she insists you do things her way or perhaps that you now have to take care of her, take a deep breath.   Try to find some moments to cherish and freeze them in your mind.  I guarantee, you’ll want them one day.

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Mother to Daughter: I know more than you realize

Saturday, September 4th, 2010

Over the five years we worked together on our three “Baby Whisperer” books, the late Tracy Hogg and I often marveled at the fact that so many modern mothers had stacks of parenting books on their night tables, went to parenting classes, consulted the Internet and various child-rearing sites when they were confused or worried–but overlooked an important, and often better,  resource:  their own mothers.   Some worried that their mother’s advice might be “out of date.”   (Admittedly, we don’t know how to close that damn stroller, but babies haven’t been similarly modernized!)  Others feared that if they turned to their mothers for advice, they would somehow open the door to endless intrusions.  Still others felt as if asking Mom was a sign of their own incompetence.

Of course, mother/daughter collaborations run the gamut, from women who don’t feel they can function without their mothers to those who believe that Mom has nothing to offer.   In “My Mother, the Parenting Expert,” our latest addition to The Buzz, psychologist Mindy Greenstein, author of the upcoming memoir, The House on Crash Corner, was solidly in the latter category when her son was born.  Daughter of a Holocaust survivor, she had spent most of her childhood fending for herself–and struggling to understand her mother and to be understood.  She couldn’t imagine calling on her mother for anything.  But as is often the case when a young woman joins the Motherhood Union, circumstances forced her to take a second look.

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Mother to Daughter: What kind of car did you rent?

Friday, June 25th, 2010

…and other minutiae that interests me about my daughter’s life.

Am I too invested?  I don’t think so.  That’s how lots of mothers of my generation relate to their  daughters: as  chums.

So when she takes a family vacation, we text.  She lets me know she arrived safely, and I ask, “Why kind of car did  you rent?” (more…)

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Motherless Daughters & (Other)mothers.

Saturday, May 15th, 2010

This morning, I followed a link to a Mother’s Day contest sponsored by the Selah Independent, a local newspaper in central Washington (state), and noticed that out of the eighteen elementary school finalists — all of whom wrote lovingly about their mothers — this was the grand prize winner:

“Dear Mom, Mommy you use to buy me stuff a lot. I loved it when you massaged my back. It feals good. You are the best mom. You tuck me in my bed. You took me to the mall. I liked to play roly poly at bedtime. We laid on the floor and rolled real fast. We laughed. I miss you a lot, a lot, a lot. What is it like in heaven? How are you doing up there?” – Bella

(more…)

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Daughters Say/Mothers Say

Friday, April 30th, 2010

We’ve been talking to mothers and daughters about their relationships and their roles. Here are their thoughts on various subjects.

Daughters Say

Mothers Say

On the early days of motherhood when Mom came to help out…

Your mother is the only one who really understands how it feels at that moment. She did the laundry, she made me food, and she kept saying, “You take care of the baby, and I’ll take care of my baby.

She wasn’t in there holding the twins, and that’s what I wanted her to do. It was a crushing blow to me, because she I realized that if she was that way when I needed her most, that’s how it was going to be. I think it was because she had no help when she was my age and doesn’t ever want to be in the trenches again.

On seeing Mom through new eyes:

Before it felt like kid against Mommy, but now I have kids myself. I’m less adversarial and critical because I recognize that I’m going through what she did and have a better understanding of why she did certain things.

We have this whole realm in common now.  When I ask her what it was like for her going through the different stages of child-rearing, we have hours and hours of conversation

She’s much more intelligent than I gave her credit for, and we’ve shared thoughts I’d never imagined we could share.

On letting go of past hurts:

I was still fighting and angry for a long time and then I hit this point where I realized, she’s a good person.  I could have done worse.  If anything were to go wrong, I know she’s be here in a heartbeat.  So now I try to appreciate rather than nit pick about everything that drives me crazy.

We have come to a new relationship since I became a mother.  Where she failed me in my adolescence and twenties, I can now appreciate a lot of her strengths, especially with young children–and I can see that she gave me a good solid foundation.

On fielding advice and handling your mother’s ideas about parenting:

My mother takes all her cues from me.  She could have her own approach, and probably she did do things differently, but she has supported my direction and choices in child-rearing 100%.

I wanted to let the baby cry for a little while but my mother said, “Let me just go up and I’ll rock her for a second.”  I said, “If you go up, I’ll be really mad at you because I’ve been working on this for a week.”  It did make me feel guilty, though, and it made me second-guess myself.

I still nursed my baby at 14 months, and, my mother was very sarcastic: “What are you–a woman from Appalachia?”  I didn’t find it funny, especially coming from her.  Things are a lot more relaxed now that the children are older.  The less I needed her and depended on her, the better the relationship became.  Point by point, we don’t agree on that much about parenting, but I don’t easily get bent out of shape because I’m used to it.

On missing your mother:

I wish I could ask her questions and know more about her life

Every milestone occasion, even every little thing like his first steps, it hurts because I think, Why couldn’t she be here to see this?

On becoming a grandmother:

It took me almost until the baby was born to be comfortable with the term grandmother. It meant that I was older, that I had to be a certain kind of thing that did have a name. It was like belonging to a particular class. But the word has a very different meaning now.

It didn’t make me feel old. I was a little proud of it, being only 52 at the time.

I was eagerly, proudly, happily looking forward to it.

It made me feel old at first, but you never saw such a metamorphosis when that baby arrived. It was instant warmth and a feeling that this is a real baby–a direct line from me.

On giving advice:

I do it obliquely, like “Oh, is it all right for him to be climbing on that?”

I try to share my own experience, rather than tell her how to live her life.

When I watch her with the kids, I remember how hard mothering was for me–I had help and it was still exhausting.

On seeing your daughter as a mother:

When she had her first child, I was mesmerized watching the two of them. It brought back all the good and wonderful things I’d forgotten.

I don’t worry about her in the same way. I see her as very capable. She’s not my little girl; she’s someone’s mother. I like seeing her so competent

On changes in the mother/daughter relationship:


Her having a child of her own strengthened our relationship. Each time I’d visit, our relationship got closer and closer. I became a real person to her. When she tells me what’s going on with her son, I relate similar experiences. We’re more on equal ground.

On today’s parenting practices:

I hate all those safety contractions–the belts, the buckles, the helmets. It’s amazing that our kids survived childhood.

I never breast-fed, so I couldn’t help her there. I felt a little inadequate and even guilty because she thinks it’s sooooo important.

Both my daughters say that there are rules about TV, but I’m not so sure. We didn’t have an electronic baby sitter in my day.

On differences between a mother’s relationship with her daughter’s child(ren) and her son’s:

You’re not as close to the boys’ children, because it’s the wives who run the men’s lives. They’re the ones who communicate, who make the plans, send the pictures. And usually they’re closer to their own mothers.

It’s definitely not the same with each grandchild, regardless of whether it’s a daughter’s child or a son’s. But it depends on how far you live from the child, the child himself, and where you are in your own life. I had more time when my daughter’s baby was born, and they lived twenty minutes away, so of course I was closer.

On aging:

I don’t want to burden my daughters with old-lady issues.

When my mother was 52, she was old. At 52, I was going for my Ph.D.

I’ve always thought about my mortality. I try to exercise and take care of myself. The fact that my mother lives with my husband and me makes me think about my mortality. I want to be alive when this child goes to college, when she gets married, but the truth is, at some point, I’ll check out and I’m going to miss something.

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