You Can Go Home Again

You know how selfless moms are? They spend more money on their children than they do on themselves. They save the last piece of cake for the kids. They devote every waking minute to make sure the needs of their offspring are being met. Based on that description, I'm not actually a mom. I'm more of a mother (don't say it).

My mom, however, was, and is, that kind of mom.

Yesterday was mom's 70th birthday. You know what that means? It means I'm getting old. (Notice how I bring everything back to me?). Monday night I drove to my parent's house (about an hour away) to surprise my mom. She was certainly surprised given that I haven't been there in months. She was probably shocked that I remembered how to get there (but she was smart enough not to say it).

I love my parents dearly. I enjoy their company. I don't, however, feel the need to go home to their house. After all, I am a busy woman with a full-time professional career, a stupid number of volunteer responsibilities, and two children who can't drive. This means my free time is limited and, when I have any, I want to be home with my family and friends. This is another example of how not selfless (I suppose you could say "selfish") I am.

I also frequently point out (or would point out if I didn't think I would get in trouble for my "back talk") that they are retired and therefore have all the time in the world to come visit me at my house. In between soccer games, church stuff, school events, and social obligations, that is.

And that leads me to my "a ha" moment. I think my parents want me to visit them at their house because they get to have me all to themselves (and who wouldn't want that?). They don't compete with all the stuff going on in my life when I'm there. They don't have to listen to me yell at the kids (there's less to yell about at Nana's house). Of course they don't have to drive and spend the money on gas, either. (Where do you think I get my thriftiness?) And I think being together in my childhood home reminds them of when I was a little girl and they were the center of my world. As my children get older and I imagine them moving out and moving on, I have a sense for what that will feel like (though these days my children moving out sounds like nirvana).

Naturally my surprise visit for mom became a treat for me. Dad shared stories from when he was a young Navy sailor hitchhiking his way home from South Carolina. Mom passed along a small photo album from their wedding which had belonged to my grandmother. We ate out for every meal (I spent the night and much of Tuesday). I slept really well. And we laughed. A lot. I always forget what a respite going home can be.

Mom, Happy Birthday. I love you. And thanks for guilting me into coming home.

My party girl. Mom and I on St. Patty's Day 2011.