Category Archives: Motherhood

Why I Love My MIL (No, This Is Not a Joke)

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My in-laws will be arriving in a few hours and will be staying with us for several days. So am I: (a) scurrying around the house frantically trying to make it picture perfect, b) begging my husband to check them into a hotel or c) mixing up my second batch of martinis? The answer is … drumroll, please … d) none of the above.

You see, I absolutely adore my mother-in-law. Get those shocked looks off your faces, ladies, and I’ll tell you why. It’s because she loves me without judging me — or at least if she is judging me, she’s awfully quiet about it. Here are some examples:

  1. When my husband and I decided to move in together six weeks after we met, she accepted it and welcomed me into her family.
  2. When we announced two years later that we were running off to Vegas to get married, she and and the whole family joined us for the adventure.
  3. When I chose to breastfeed our kids, she supported me — even though I was definitely in the minority on that decision 13 years ago. (That’s another blog post.)
  4. When my 3-year-old daughter fell out of a shopping cart and split her lip wide-open, my MIL consoled me instead of making me feel like the bad mother I was convinced I was.

I could go on and on here, but I think you get the point. When I hear some of my friends’ MIL horror stories, I thank my lucky stars. And with Mother’s Day fast approaching — my first without my own mom(s) — I am really looking forward to spending some time with her. Did I mention that she’s a hell of a lot of fun too? Maybe I’ll mix up that batch of martinis after all.

So what’s your MIL like? I’d love to hear your stories.

Weather Girl or Waitress?

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My childhood career role model: weather girl Marilyn Turner

My daughter, who turned 11 yesterday, has informed me that she wants to be a food critic. I love her reasoning: You get free food, you get to tell people how it is, and you get paid for it.

But I wonder if she’s thought this through.

For example, does she know that a food critic has to be knowledgeable about fine dining, gourmet cooking, food history, the restaurant scene, chefs’ backgrounds, etc.? Does she realize that decent writing skills are a prerequisite if she wants to be successful? Does she recognize that Food Network stars like Anthony Bourdain and his butter-loving nemesis, Paula Deen, weren’t just handed TV shows? And, finally, does she understand that no matter what she tells me she wants to be when she grows up, she is absolutely, positively going to college? (I think I’ve successfully drilled that last part into her brain.)

I ask her these questions because I lacked a professional female role model at her age. I was all set in the “how to be a good mom” department. My aunt, who raised me, was an amazing mother. But most women I knew didn’t work outside the home, which meant I didn’t know any female doctors, lawyers or accountants.

In search of some guidance, I turned to my perpetual babysitter, the television (don’t judge my aunt; it was the ’70s, after all). On the evening news, I saw blond and beautiful Marilyn Turner, the WXYZ-TV Detroit weather girl. I watched her smile and “forecast” the weather (i.e., read the teleprompter), and I was hooked. I drew a map on my chalkboard and I practiced … a lot. Let’s face it: You sometimes find odd ways to amuse yourself when you grow up without siblings your age.

In the mornings, my TV babysitter presented me with an alternative career goal. While watching Rita Bell, host of “Prize Movie,” give away countless dinners for two at the Roostertail, I decided that being a waitress at the glamorous waterfront restaurant might be right for me.

How I ended up an editor is a whole other story, complete with lots of twists and turns, and I’m not sure I ever shared these childhood career goals with anyone in my family. I lived in my head a lot as a kid — also a product of being a virtual only child. But these early notions of what I might like to do as an adult are why I ask my daughter pointed questions about her career aspirations. I know they will change over the years — mine sure did — and the end goal, of course, is finding something she’s good at and loves to do. Whether she ends up a food critic or a brain surgeon, I hope I can offer her a little guidance along the way.

Spring Break: Embrace the Chaos

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Spring break officially begins just a few hours from now. That means for the next 10 days, my two children will be invading my work space, my daytime haven of solitude, my “me” time. Truth is, I couldn’t be happier.

Go ahead, say I’m crazy. You wouldn’t be the first. I know plenty of moms who cherish those hours alone during the week, and I get it. They love the quiet, they savor the freedom. They relish in the downtime from the insanity of their daily lives.

Not me. I was the mom who bawled her eyes out the first time she dropped her 3-year-old son off at preschool. I was the mom who sobbed for hours when he got on the bus for his first trip to kindergarten. And today, when my almost 13-year-old not-so-little boy heads off to the bus stop by himself, I am the mom who aches just a little each time he steps out the door.

I’m sure this makes me sound clingy, borderline neurotic and in need of my own life. To be honest, it’s not like I spend the entire day pining away for my long-lost little ones. I work. I do housework. I run errands. I do all the things other moms do.

But every so often, as I sit at my desk in my quiet house, with my sleeping Yorkie curled up in my lap, I crave the sound of my children’s voices, their laughter, their movements throughout the house. And I recognize, painfully, that someday they will be gone for good, off living their own lives and raising their own kids. When that day comes, our house will be eternally quiet.

So as they constantly interrupt my train of thought and add extra hours to my workdays for the next week and a half, I will remind myself to savor their company. I will try to tolerate the arguing. I will attempt to overlook the door slamming. I will make every effort to embrace the chaos because I know someday I will miss it madly.