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Who is Mother’s Day for?

I joined TikTok about four years ago, intending to promote my books. But with the uncertainty of TikTok staying around, I stopped making regular videos, not wanting to put too much time in a social media platform that might vanish at any moment. Yet, that didn’t mean I stopped watching TikTok videos.

As a writer I see TikTok as a wealth of story fodder. I’m not talking about plot ideas for stories—I am referring to character profiles. Especially interesting to me is to hear what members of the younger generations have to say.

A topic that seems to come up around Mother’s Day each year, is an idea expressed by some millennial mothers, the notion that Mother’s Day is for mothers in the trenches, AKA mothers with young children still at home.  By the comments on the videos, there are many young mothers out there in agreement with this sentiment.

This viewpoint stems from the resentment they harbor at being expected to participate—or help facilitate—celebrations at their mother or mother-in-law’s homes or locations of choice, when it is them—the mothers currently “in the trenches” who should be able to decide how they want to spent “their day,” which might be nothing more than staying home alone, binging on Netflix while someone takes the littles off their hands for the day.

And while I get the desire to have an entire day to do just what you want and not worry about someone else’s needs, I wonder if claiming Mother’s Day as that day, is sort of missing the point of Mother’s Day.

Now I can’t speak for all mothers out there; we all have our own personal experiences. Some women aren’t close to their mother’s or their partner’s mothers. But for many of us, the other mothers in our lives helped us to be better mothers—and often helped us to navigate those trenches.

Looking back over the years, I can’t imagine excluding my grandmothers or my mother from Mother’s Day and wanting to keep it to myself. It’s not like they suddenly stopped being mothers when their kids became adults. 

If I wanted a day designated to me, the more appropriate day would be my birthday. My mother—who I lost just seven months ago—never for a moment stopped being a mother. She helped me during those more trying times of young motherhood.

Speaking of which—I remember what my mother told me about the “trenches.”  When I first became a mother, Mom told me that the constant demands of early motherhood—caring for an infant and then a toddler will seem overwhelming, but to remember it is not forever—in fact, that brief moment of motherhood is over fairly quickly.  She was right. Although, if you are a mother of twelve children, I will understand if you disagree.  

The first year I was in the “trenches” I was lucky, because Mom was around a lot, helping me with my newborn son. I wish I could have been as helpful for my daughter, when my grandkids were little, but during those years we lived states apart. However, we were able to go to California and help for a time, when our granddaughter was born, and when my grandson was born, I flew to Alaska to help take care of my granddaughter.

Motherhood is for a lifetime.  We don’t stop worrying about our kids when they leave home, or when they get married, or when they move across the country away from us. I know mothers who are helping to raise their grandkids, who have helped their kids get an education, start a business, or buy a home. 

Of course, not all mothers, just like some mothers never step foot into the trenches. Take my paternal grandmother, for example. She and my grandfather divorced not long after my father’s older brother was hit by a car and killed. Neither Grandma nor my grandfather stuck around to raise their remaining son, my dad. Instead, they left Dad to be raised by his maternal grandparents, while my grandfather married another woman, and raised her daughter as his, and Grandma took off with a traveling salesman, who she later married.  Dad was just 3 years old when his only sibling was killed.

So, was my paternal grandmother unworthy of a Mother’s Day? No. My Grandma Madeline proved to be a far better grandmother than mother. I lived with her for a few months when I was in college, right before I got married. And when I was first “in the trenches” after the birth of my first child, I remember visiting her in the nursing home. I had brought along her first great-grandchild to meet. I remember how she looked at my son with longing, and the comments she made about my apparent love and devotion to this tiny human. Her wistful comments were not reflecting on how she had failed as a parent—but that she could not remember anyone loving her that way. She was thinking of what her childhood lacked—not what her son’s childhood lacked.

While some might see that as profound selfishness, I disagree. Humans are complicated. The last Christmas Grandma was well enough to cook, she prepared a recipe from Dad’s childhood, one he had mentioned weeks earlier. Dad hadn’t asked her to make it—in fact Grandma, who had been an amazing cook, had lost her touch at the stove. But it was her way of showing her love. It took a lot of her energy to make that dish for Christmas dinner, and while it didn’t taste as Dad remembered, I think he could taste the love. Some women excel during all phases of motherhood, while others stumble and fall short.  

Since Ai is the newest rage, I decided to ask it to estimate, using current data, what percentage of mothers don’t fall short, and who were loving and nurturing. Ai estimated 80%. With that being said, I can’t agree with the notion that Mother’s Day belongs primarily to those moms in the trenches, AKA with children at home.

Motherhood does not come with an expiration date.  And there is something else to consider. The most effective way a parent can teach a child is by setting an example—not lectures or nagging. 

So, remember, how young mothers treat their mothers on Mother’s Days, will ultimately teach their children how to treat them.

As for me, I’ll be spending a quiet Mother’s Day at home.  I was lucky enough to spend almost two weeks with my daughter and grandkids at the end of April, and since they live in California, and we are in Oregon, we won’t be spending today together. My son is working all day, and just sent me a happy Mother’s Day text. But my husband and I had a great dinner out with our son and his wife last night, so all is good.

To be honest, this Mother’s Day I am not pouting about not being surrounded by my kids and grandkids. The first thing I thought about this morning, when drinking my coffee, was how if Mom was here, I’d be making her chili rellenos for breakfast, and using the fancy dishes. Mom loved that.  I would love to be making Mom a special breakfast today. 

Happy heavenly Mother’s Day to Mom! Thanks for being my mom and one of my best friends.  And happy heavenly Mother’s Day to my MIL Doris, who was a great Mother-in-law. And happy heavenly Mother’s Day to Grandma Hilda and Grandma Madeline. Happy heavenly Mother’s Day to Auntie Margaret. I love you all!

Happy Mother’s Day to my daughter, Elizabeth. You are an amazing mother. Your kids are very lucky to have you!

And happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there!

JAX made me cry…

Have you ever started listening to a song and then just broke into tears? Until a few weeks ago, I hadn’t. But over on TikTok a new song by Jax came across my FYP (aka For You Page). It was from her newly released debut album, Dear Joe. The song that made me cry? Too young to be Old.

If you don’t know who Jax is, she’s a young songwriter who is rather well known over on TikTok, especially for her song, Victoria’s Secret.  I really liked that song, but the one that knocked me over and makes me sob every time is the one she wrote for her father. And I am serious—I actually cry real tears when I start listening to that song. It triggers something in my heart.

Not sure if I was the audience Jax was going for, but I have a feeling it’s a demographic that might find itself crying along with me. 

I’m a sixty-nine-year-old woman who, for over five years, was the full-time caretaker of her mother with vascular dementia, until Mom had to be moved into a memory care facility last year. Mom is 96, and I visit her every week, spending four or five hours with her each visit.

There is a line in Jax’s song that goes, “The hardest part of growing up is watching time take everyone you love.”  When I hear that line, I think of Mom, and how all the people in her life have slipped away. Her father when she was a child, and in later years her mother, my father, her siblings, and most of her friends. 

When she was still living with me, and not as lost in dementia as she is today, she would tell me how lonely she was, as most of her friends were gone, along with all her siblings and cousins. But the song also stirred emotions about my father.

My sister and I were daughters of a girl dad. I found the lines in Jax’s song poignant and relatable. There is one line about her father moving her into an apartment and assembling all her chairs. I remembered Dad moving me into my first apartment with my sister, and all the times he was there to put something together—not always furniture and sometimes metaphorically.

Jax’s line, “The hardest part of growing up is watching time take everyone you love,” didn’t just slam me in the gut because I thought of Mom’s losses. I thought of mine. Dad died over thirty years ago, with Mom and me by his bedside. 

Her lyrics about her father’s aging and her wanting to deny it because she still needs him, took me back to my own experience dealing with my father’s illness and his subsequent death.

Her song made me think of both of my parents—losing my father, and the long painful goodbye of my mother. It reminded me of my own mortality, and how short life is. These days when my husband and I go onto Facebook there always seems to be news of another friend passing. In fact, next week we are attending the memorial service of a dear family member.

I urge you to check out Jax’s debut album. I would love for you to buy her music. She’s a talented young songwriter, and I’d like to see people support her, after all, she made me cry. 

A Busy July

Wow, it’s been almost a month since I last posted. But the weather has been incredible at our new Oregon home, so I’m spending more time outside these days. But the weather isn’t the only thing that has captured my attention.

Before I give you an update, I’ll share with you the release date for The Ghost and the Medium’s audiobook release date. According to the Tantor Media website, it will be on the market September 27, 2022. Once again it will be narrated by the talented Romy Nordlinger.

Earlier this month I did something crazy, I jumped into TikTok.  I have to admit, I have been having a lot of fun with it. If you want to check out my videos go here.

This month was our Talbot Family reunion. (My Mother-in-law’s maiden name was Talbot.) We started this tradition back in 1983, and since then there has been a Talbot reunion every three years. Typically, around 50 people attend. My husband, our daughter and I have attended every reunion. Our son has missed three (I think) but fortunately he and his wife were able to attend this year. As always, it was a blast.

This year the reunion was held in Montana. And while there, I looked around and thought, “This is what an American Family looks like.”

The Talbots came to America before we were a country, back in the 1600s. If we are talking DNA, my mother-in-law (according to Ancestry DNA) was about 42% Sweden & Denmark, 25% Scotland, 14% England & Northwestern Europe, 12% Norway, and the rest Ireland, Wales, Finland.

So, am I suggesting a typical American family is white, considering my mother-in-law’s DNA?  

Nope. Because a few generations later our family is a colorful multi-race collection of people I adore. Some family members married into the family (like myself), others were adopted, and others are the children of mix race marriages.

Those early Talbots were Quakers, but now the great-great-grandchildren of my mother-in-law’s parents might have parents who are Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, Muslim, Agnostic, Pagan, or something else. And we aren’t all straight. But that’s okay too.

An American family is not defined by the color of their skin, their faith, their sexual orientation, or even their DNA. 

In my opinion a family is a group of people who take time for each other, who cares for each other, and who will travel across the country to spend time together and ensures the younger generation can form invaluable bonds with cousins they rarely see in person. I’m eternally grateful for our Talbot family and the love and support it has given me all these years.

(Photo: the family photo of our son, our daughter-in-law, my husband, myself, our grandchildren, and daughter and son-in-law, at the Talbot Family Reunion. Montana July 2022.)