Mothers-in-Law

I love Marie Barone in the sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond.

Sure she’s a bit meddlesome.

Admittedly she’s even a tad overbearing.

Maybe she’s even off-putting to some.

But her motivation is pure.

She’s committed to her family. She really never puts herself first—even if we are led to believe that she does. If we are really paying attention, her scheming is done to ensure that her family is safe and sound and well-fed.

No matter what, it is always important that they eat. As a mother of three sons, I get how my own feeling of peace is tied to the care and feeding of my boys—and so I instinctively understand why Marie is forever handing food to whomever walks through the door. “Are you hungry, dear?” she asks while handing over a plate—without any regard to the answer.

Now, as my own sons grow older and the prospects of one day becoming a mother-in-law myself become a real possibility, I take note of mothers-in-law in a new way. And Marie Barone is at the top of my list.

I’ve got to admit, I think she’s great.

But she does give me pause. It is a daunting thought to recognize that my own quirks and traits and defects will be borne by future daughters-in-law who enter the family. These young women won’t be required to love or honor me through sheer genetic material.

And that worries me a bit. After all, I see how often Marie is misunderstood.

She makes me wonder if my future daughters-in-law may expect me to be a more perfect version of their own mother. My head starts swirling when I think of mother-in-law-hood.

If being a mother is a difficult task, how much more so being a mother-in-law?

My own mother-in-law has been a real blessing to me. She has loved and welcomed me but has also respected my own boundaries and decisions as a mother. I’m sure she was very worried in the first decade or so. She didn’t always hide her concern if I was taking good care of her precious son—which may well have boiled down to if I was feeding him; but all in all, I think she’s pleased with the job I’ve done almost three decades later.

Throughout the years, she has often told me how fortunate I am to have married her son. I’m not sure I always agreed (hey, he was lucky, too!) but now that my own sons are young men, I totally get that sentiment. I see my sons growing into wonderful young men who take their work seriously, have goals and ambition, are kind and respectful to everyone—and I know that their future wives will be blessed, indeed.

I realize that I may even have to voice that fact now and again. I’m entitled, right?

Regardless of what the future holds in my life as a mother-in-law, I am grateful to Marie Barone. No excuses, just commitment. Take it or leave it.

Whatever you do, though, please make sure to eat.

Cheryl Dickow

www.BezalelBooks.com

Bi-Locating and Other Necessary Motherhood Skills

I glanced at the clock when I heard my husband say to my oldest son, “Call me when you get home.”

“Where is he?” I asked.

When my husband replied, “He’s on his way home from work,” my stomach began churning. Not the hunger-type churn but the worried-mother-type churn. Our son had purchased a home just months before and was still getting a handle on things but between work and other demands, it wasn’t easy. My husband and I—and his brothers—had all helped out with painting, cutting the lawn, some electrical and lighting things and so on.

It took all our willpower (my husband’s and mine) not to completely take over, but to just be available to help if and as needed. We wanted to take care of our son, get him set up in his new house. Mostly, I wanted—needed, really—to know that he was “okay” and that he wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the demands of new home ownership.

The point of the call was to set up a date and a time that my husband would be able to come and help with another task. To hear that my son wasn’t yet home from work for the day brought me to full attention. My brain went into mother-calculation mode. It is the only time my brain can do any math. Okay, he started his day with the sunrise and will end it with the sunset. Given he needs to now cook himself dinner…that means he’s operating on five hours of sleep. By now my stomach is in full blown acrobatic action. I’m talking Flying Wallendas. I’m worried about what he will make himself for dinner and want to drive the 25 minutes away to greet him with warm food.

Every cell in my body is aching to go take care of him. The show on the television in front of me no longer has meaning. I can hear the words but don’t understand them as my mind creates a plan to get dinner to my son. My body sits on the couch but it is imagining the scenario in which I will feed my son. I want to bi-locate like never before.

Of course I know that this won’t happen—neither the bi-locating nor the actual delivery of food. I know that I have to let my son be and let him learn and grow. I know what my job is now—even as I ache to tuck him in just one last time.

I am so proud of him that sometimes I find myself crying. They are tears that remember that little boy who loved to sit and watch Mr. Rogers and eat dry Cheerios. They are tears that recall the day he received his college acceptance letter. Tears rim my eyes when I think about my son going off on his first job interview. My tears are those of gratitude that God has allowed me to know this incredible young man—an amazing son, a giving brother, a loving grandson—and has allowed me to be part of his journey.