Nooa... aspiring to adulthood
Last night, Nalin and I had a great, full moment of laughter. After the kids were sleeping, dishes done, hot water back on (story for another time), we sat alone on the torn sofa we can't bear to throw but have neglected to reupholster and opened my mother's day gift from him. I read the card, lovely as usual, but just as I was starting to get into that fully "awe, shucks" moment, I burst out laughing. Nalin had written that I was a "loving, generous, and aspiring mother" to our children. "Aspiring?" I questioned. "Aspiring to what???" Perhaps you meant, "inspiring"? We found it incredibly funny and a bit Freudian, perhaps. On the front of the card was a dot-to-dot exercise, spelling out slowly in cursive writing... "i love you," which, of course, I chuckled, should have said, "Aspiring to love you" to keep up with the theme. However, beneath the laughter, after a tiring day where all I wanted for mother's day (should I really admit this?) was a day away from my constantly bickering sons, I couldn't help but feel that I was, indeed, often aspiring to master the true art of motherhood.
This day came at the end of a fantastic few days of family fun. Our sons' school has an annual "Grandparents" day, and my parents, along with Nalin's aunt and uncle, surrogate grandparents on his side, came into town to witness the magic of all things Montessori. Having everyone around, especially during this holiday, was a gift not lost on any of us. In five days, we mark the four-year anniversary of the death of a mother and grandmother who many of us lucky to be in her family, by virtue of birth or marriage, aspire to reflect. Nalin's mom died near Mother's Day in 2011, surrounded by her family, the same family who also lovingly prepared her body for burial. I awaited the news in Missouri, where I had taken the boys for the five-to-six weeks Nalin was in India attending to his mom, along with his siblings and other family members, before her death from cancer. I'm sad to say that I didn't know her well. Distance and different mother languages forbade an intimacy both of us would have relished. When we came together, her sparkle and warmth was nearly overwhelming. And oh what a smile... I see that smile in Anu now. I little mischievousness mixed with the depth of happiness. On a day like yesterday, when the noise and naughtiness of sibling rivalry gets the better of me, I struggle to recall how even in her sickest moments, my mother-in-law wanted the sounds and proximity of her rowdy grandchildren as near to her as physically possible. Of course there is the tendency to award sainthood to those who have left us, and we all know that we are all capable of moments that are far from saintly, but I look at those last days, especially, and marvel in the ways that motherhood and grandmother-hood just became her. She raised five beautiful children and was the dearest of friends to her adoring husband and her siblings. Her kitchen and hospitality were to be revered, as equal to her intelligence.
I wrote a little about trying to give back to our mothers when Nalin was in India back in 2011 in my post, "Things just [don't taste] the same without you." I referenced the cycles of life as we come full circle in our relationships with those closest to us. Sometimes we succeed and sometimes we fail. Throughout our lives we aspire to greater things... to be greater children, citizens, artists, parents, you name it. The gift Nalin gave me last night was a beautiful book I'd been perusing whenever I came across it, The Kinfolk Table, described as "a quarterly journal about understated, unfussy entertaining." I think those two words might be the most perfect words for my own aspiration to motherhood, as well as cooking, writing, marriage, friendships, etc.: understated and unfussy. (Another good one: uncomplicated.) This is what I often saw in my mother-in-law and what I admired so much. There was an unfussy and uncomplicated way of living and relating that felt so beautiful and organic. And as I hosted my own kinfolk this week, I could only expect to achieve a modicum of that. As for motherhood, even when I feel like my own actions reflect more accurately the unforgiving mother in Where the Wild Things Are, sending my kids off in a fit of irrational anger, at times, I hope that even in the midst of that, they will yearn for that closeness and sustenance that they ultimately know will be there, as is the food that is still hot and waiting for them when they return from their long journey. Our aspirations are foolhardy and full of hope at the same time. And that is the journey. Happy Mother's Day to all of you aspiring mothers [and fathers] out there.