Mom and Dad

I'm thinking about my parents tonight. They're out of town and so I didn't talk to them this weekend as is the norm. I think as a blogger you're not supposed to refer back to previous posts, but I think that's also why they are on my mind. My first entry was about them, in not such a positive light. (Don't feel like you have to go back and read it now or anything! I mean, no pressure!) I think that what I've realized lately is that the issues I have, become noticeable to me when I'm around them. Not so much that the issue IS them. It's just my stuff to figure out. Everyone has that, yeah? Anyway, I wrote about the yin and now it's time for the yang. Or is it the other way around? One is dark and one is light, right?

Mom and Dad are great folks. I have always been quite attached to them, more than most people I know at my age. I was a clingy child. The first memory I have is my mom dropping me at Mother's Morning Out (what I called Pamper School) when I was 3, I think, and screaming bloody murder for her. She promptly returned.

I think my parents have always done the very best that they can. I think both of their childhoods were not of the happiest sort. I think they grew up in a generation where parents didn't talk with their children a whole lot. And certainly parents didn't praise their kids. And really, I loved my grandparents, but they were not the warmest people.

I think both of my parents are stronger than they realize. My mother lost 2 brothers and both parents by the time I was 21. She lived around the world and ended up in teeny tiny Gallup, New Mexico. I am quite fond of it now that I don't live there anymore. But I think when she first lived there people were not all that friendly or welcoming, as small communities can be. My mother has always been one of the warmest, great smelling (she really does smell great, one of those ways she has of making you feel good just getting a whiff of her! This is to say it's her normal smell, not her perfume-y smell) most friendly persons I know. She has always supported me, listened to me, and loved me.

My dad grew up with a not-very-happy or well adjusted father. A man who drank too much and shouted a lot. His parents divorced. They didn't have much money. But Dad worked hard with the same company for over 30 years. He saved money like crazy and now they live in a beautiful home in Santa Fe. My dad has never cared what people think of him, (why didn't I get that trait? The flip side to that coin is that he can wear the same Corvette shirt for 3 days in a row, holey and faded, and not understand why you ask him to please change his shirt before going out to dinner) has never been judgemental, and has always been a great listener and problem solver. I still call him "Daddy" and he still calls me "cing" (couldn't tell you why?)

I have always felt comfortable talking to them about almost everything. Well, uh, except sex. Which is a bit ironic that, me, the Catholic-going-girl, got pregnant at 23 before I was married. This was not what I had intended. I think I was making myself literally sick when I found out. I felt dumb and ashamed and depressed. I was terrified of telling my folks. What would they think of me? I always cared what they thought. But I knew I loved hubby, long before he was my hubby. I knew we were going to be together and that we would love and care for this child. My parents seemed to know the same thing. When I told them (shaking and almost throwing up again) my mom just said, "Well we figured this would happen. And we were just waiting for the wedding announcement." Like it was no big deal. Maybe it WAS for her, but she sure pulled off the relaxed grandmother-to-be persona. She was so cool, she could have been driving down Highway 1 near San Francisco, in a convertible, scarf around her head and smoking a cigarette. I will always be grateful to her for that.

I got much sicker then. Was I doing it to myself? Maybe partially but not completely. I couldn't stop throwing up. I had just moved with hubby to Fort Collins, didn't know anyone, didn't have a job, and all I could do was hope to make it to the toilet. My mom, living in Arizona at the time, came to help for a weekend. Meanwhile, hubby's (who was at the time fiance) smell was overwhelming to me, in not a good way. I don't think he understood. I'm not sure if I did. But it was his smell, onion bagels, and bacon cooking, that just a whiff could do me in. I told my mom, "I'm coming back with you." I don't think she knew what to do and I don't think she really wanted to take care of her preggie-throwing-up daughter. But she agreed. Didn't utter a complaint.

I stayed with my folks for more than a month in my first trimester. I had to go to the hospital twice for IV fluids because I wasn't keeping water down. I lost 10 pounds. The baby seemed to be fine.

All I did at their house for that month was lay on the couch, watch re-runs of Beverly Hills, 90210, and run to the bathroom. Thank goodness for cable! I can't remember what channel it was, but they showed 90210 24/7. But the re-runs were not the good ones. They were not from when they were in high school but around the time when they graduated from college and were living in beach houses and doing different stuff with their hair that I didn't like.

The really exciting times were when there were scorpions in the sink or toilet. It was just that time of year in Arizona. Were they making fun of me? Taunting me in the toilet? "I can take you, you little punks. Wanna peice of me? Do you?" You'll get a piece! My middle name is "throw up". Ohhh, gross joke.

Believe it or not, I think I was starting to go a little nutty. But I think I knew in my heart it was the last time I could be my Mom and Daddy's little girl. It was time to grow up. I hadn't planned it this way, (well, I mean, I did make my own choices) but it sure seemed to happen fast for me. Now I think, the pregnancy was a transition time of turning from girl to woman/mother. My parents would never take care of me like that again.

I returned to Fort Collins, got married, had a fabulous honeymoon in San Diego, tolerated hubby's smell, and continued to throw up throughout the pregnancy. It got better after the first trimester but never really stopped. I started thinking, and getting worried, that maybe this was a sign that the baby was going to be a terror.

I was wrong. As soon as I had that baby, he was the most precious thing ever. A very, very, good baby. And a wonderful boy now. He is so sweet, sensitive, and empathetic. I've never seen a 6 year-old like him. He was meant to be. I'm so thankful he is in the world. I wouldn't change that for anything.

And, I liked hubby's smell again. Until I got pregnant the second time but that's a different story. Also, if he rides his bike home from work, then works on the bike, proceeds to work on the car, and then makes vomitous smelling beer (I swear I'll quit talking about vomit soon!) I just want to hit him over the head with a frying pan, 1980's cartoon style-WHAT does it take for you to get in the shower?

My good parents adore all the guys. Hubby, the 6 year old and the 3 year old. They are so good to them and they take really good care of them. The boys love them too. I'm very pleased they have such a nice relationship, especially because they don't live here. I wasn't as close with my grandparents. It's amazing how the generations change. I think we're just supposed to keep learning and do the best we can with what we have. I know that's what my parents have done. They've done a good job.