Here I am all know-it-all and confident teaching a workshop on nonfiction writing at the Philadelphia Writers’ Conference. I’m there as a teacher, an author, and a relationship expert. By now, I think I’ve heard or been asked everything having to do with moms and daughters-in-law. Then one of the attendees stumps me.
A psychologist who writes about military spouses, she asked me as the author of It’s Either Her or Me to weigh in on the way many military wives feel when their husbands return home from a tour and Mom is waiting with open arms.
I did an unscientific survey of a number of female friends today – all moms and all with sons. Some said of course the mother goes first enveloping the returned, much-missed son she raised. Others said the wife. She’s his partner for life. She deserves the attention. The mom can wait.
Ooh. Ouch. I see both sides. And I’m in the process of formulating an intelligent response worthy of a RELATIONSHIP EXPERT. But in the meantime, it makes me think of how I handled my son’s graduation from graduate school last weekend. Clearly not the same thing as a son coming home from a dangerous war zone, but I was there with a lot of family and his significant other.
Me, his mom, jumped up to take his picture as they were lining up along Brown’s hilly campus in preparation for their procession. Me, his mom, rushed up to the front to take his picture as he was handed his diploma, defiantly ignoring the security guard who told me to return to my seat.
Me, ordering a special cake from a special bakery so we could surprise him at dinner. Me, not sleeping, when I saw the size of the moving van he was using to empty his apartment in Providence and move to Washington, D.C. And would be driving by himself.
How could I tell this writer in my workshop that the mom needs to make room for the significant other when I recalled my own actions last weekend? And then I thought about it.
I wasn’t alone filming the procession. I was standing with his girlfriend. (And my mother, for that fact, since no one, but no one, is going to tell my 80-something mom to sit down). I wasn’t alone moving him out of his apartment. I was with his girlfriend (and some stronger folks than us, fortunately). I wasn’t alone picking up the cake. I was with his girlfriend who discovered the bakery and excitedly told me about it.
Throughout the graduation weekend, I was with my son. And I was with his girlfriend. It was perfect.
Hmmm. I believe I might know how to handle the situation involving military wives and mothers. Look for the answer in a future blog. And, as always, let me know what you think.
