What's the Difference?

Now that our family gathering is over, I've been reflecting on the differences between a week with in-laws and a week with my parent(s). I'm having trouble putting my finger on it, but there *is* something there.

Maybe it's the lack of corporate anxiety and the notion that at any moment something may be said or done to cause spontaneous combustion. That would certainly be the case with get-togethers with my mother. If my father were there, the whole thing, of course, would be about him.

That brings me to an entirely different topic that I started with, but I feel like going with the flow, so whatever.

My final year at university I lived alone in a small house within walking distance of the campus. One night, I woke-up to what sounded like a mouse scratching or gnawing. I lifted my head in an attempt to get a fix on it, but it had stopped. It was a hot July night and I was buck naked, lying on top of all the covers. I had fallen asleep reading and all the lights were still on. I laid my head back down and started to fall back asleep, when I heard the noise again, only this time I could hear it wasn't a mouse, it was a human voice whispering just on the other side of the window over my bed. It said, "She's lying right in there." Enter Fear.

To make a long story short, I called the police who confirmed that there were men's footprints at and leading up to my bedroom window. I didn't sleep much that night. The next morning, I called my boyfriend, how husband, who came to stay with me.

I never considered calling my parents. It wasn't until recently that I had any idea why and that bothered me. You see, I believe it was wrong to have my boyfriend come and live with me; yet, I couldn't imagine doing anything differently. It seemed like my only possibility. I think I've finally figured out the reason I didn't call my parents. Had I done so, my father would have sprang into action, taking charge and running the show. While that's not necessarily bad by itself, I would have become a minor player without any say in the matter. My needs and feelings would be immaterial. It would be all about Him and all the wonderful things He did to help His daughter. Whether I felt safe(r) after it was all over wouldn't even enter the equation.

So, what does this have to do with my in-laws visit?

I have a medical problem right now, and many days I need to nap. One day during the visit, while my spouse was at work, I needed a nap. One of my sisters-in-law volunteered to watch my kids so I could rest. She cared for them, fed them, but didn't make A Big Deal about it. She didn't draw everyone's attention to it or bring it up in conversation multiple times afterwards. She didn't announce all the troubles she'd had with them, or how she'd had to sacrifice to look after them. In fact, I don't remember her mentioning it at all except to tell me that she'd fed them pizza. It was all so......low key. It was all so foreign.

I'm not sure how to put it into words, but that's the difference.

To Grandmother's House We Go

Narcissistic grandparents. That's an oxymoron, right? I wish.

The first time my mother watched my children was a month after my father died. My father hated children so even had she wanted to watch them, it simply wasn't a possibility. They were 2 and 4 years old. She actually offered to watch them. It was only for a few hours while I went out to dinner. On returning I find out that she allowed them to watch a movie I specifically told her I didn't want them to see. She explained that they saw the video case so she *had* to let them see it. Not wanting to make a scene in front of my children, I mumbled an "uh-huh" and said my good-byes. Of course, she couldn't let it go at that. She followed us outside and made a big show of telling the children that I was unhappy with Grammy because she had let them watch the movie. It was the perfect end of me ever leaving the children with her.

My father, on the other hand, didn't bother to put on the allusion that he was their grandfather. He talked to the children only when reminded to say goodbye. He picked each child up once on the prompting of someone else. He made absolutely no attempt to have anything resembling a relationship with them. They were of no value to him. They only served to take the attention away from him or to annoy him by making noise. He literally sulked in a corner when we combined the celebration of one child's birthday with his.

Whenever I hear a grandparent lovingly describe spending time with their grandchild I can't keep my eyes dry. A few Sunday's ago, our pastor talked about a grandchild due not long in the future. He spoke of loving the baby, of holding the precious baby in his arms and getting to know the child, of watching the child grow and develop. What a wonderful gift for a child to have. I can't help but feel sad that my children don't have that same blessing.