Arrrgh! Family!

 I'm sitting on my porch with a gin & tonic in hand enjoying the solitude and peace that comes at the end of the day knowing that the day is almost done.

I'm watching one of the chickens peck at our visitor's license plate on his truck, I'm assuming bugs?, and am feeling relieved that my tomato in a hanging basket has been hung up once again, safely out of chicken reach. As they all carefully observed my husband moving the tomatoes out of harms way I shook my finger at them as I scolded "See, this is why we can't have nice things!" Nothing can destroy an unprotected garden faster than a handful of chickens.

But I digress. This post isn't about the chickens or the vulnerability of my garden. This is a post about my family. Or one small branch of my family anyway.

Confession time. Even though I live an hour plus drive away from my mom and brother and the family farm that I grew up on, I am often in the area (10 minutes away) to visit my son and his partner. I don't swing by very often to visit my mom and brother. Which I do feel a little guilty about, especially as mom is getting up there in years and has numerous health problems.

So yesterday I found myself in the area yet again, and I decided to make a point of stopping by for a visit on my way home.

After 30+ years of having been out of the house and living on my own, I no longer feel that vague discomfort of feeling like I should have some sort of nostalgic loss and feeling toward the place. And after all this time I no longer feel guilty over the rush of relief I feel for having escaped. 

My mom and I get along alright ever since I moved in with my then boyfriend now husband all those years ago. I think mostly because I have evolved enough that I have learned a certain degree of patience. Especially once I became a mom myself. Not that becoming a mom solved any of the mysteries of why mom was the way she was as our mom when we were kids.

My mom and me, April 1970

She's 19 here.

Other than the almost fight that we came really close to getting into  into over Roe v Wade (Libtard that I am),

there were a few good moments and it was mostly a pleasant visit.

My Mom had an envelope of old pictures that her older sister ( Aunt D.) had given to her, which was fun to look at, especially as they were mostly from before my time.

When I asked if I could take a picture of them with my phone she dismissively said "You're going to end up with them eventually anyways."

It took restraint to not rebound with

"But will I really Mom?"

Having learned from past experience I took some snapshots with my phone despite her assertions.

As I have gotten older I have developed a much greater appreciation of these snippets from the past.

In this picture of me as a baby with my Mom I am reminded once again of how incredibly young she was at the time. At just 19 she was dealing with a new baby, husband, and living away from home for the first time all at once.

And with this reminder I am able to gain enough perspective to maybe some acceptance?