Family Strife

Sometimes, out of the blue, something happens to remind me of how radically different my family relationships are than the typical. It’s always such a surprise when this happens; so much so that I rarely speak up to say that family strife does not have to be the “norm.”

Last night my dd, 14, and I took a knitting class. I’m the one who wanted to learn how to knit; my dd came along as my security blanket. I have very little self-confidence when it comes to learning how to do something new in front of other people.

Anyway, the class was taught be a lovely Australian woman. Our classmates included two middle-aged sisters and one of their daughters and another young woman who was far too skilled to be in our beginner’s class!

Altogether it was a delightful evening, but at one point, the conversation turned toward children and teenagers. Our teacher talked about how her adult sons know nothing about her as a person; don’t even really think of her as a “person.” She went on to say how most children don’t know anything about their parents, aren’t interested in knowing, etc. The other mothers in the group agreed and the sharing of “teenager” horror stories began.

The teacher remembered how her oldest son was “impossible” and how every day on the way to school she would pull over and just tell him to get out and walk. She shared that she believed his sole purpose during his teen years was to try to make everyone in the family miserable. She couldn’t wait until he was out of the house and it would just be her younger son there. But no sooner had the older one left than the younger turned impossible as well… and on and on and on. The two other mothers laughed and agreed, with one talking about how at age 15 her daughter (named Sara) turned into the “anti-Sara,” etc.

I wanted to say that I have three teenagers now and they know all about me! My kids know my likes and dislikes, my foibles and skills, what makes me laugh and what makes me cry. I know the same about them. We have a relationship built on love and trust, honesty and caring, and mutual respect. I love who my children are and always have.

So why did these other women have such different experiences with their children? Could it be that their mother/child relationships were built on control and lack of respect? The experiences they shared were so foreign to me – I can’t imagine wishing for the time when my children leave home.

I wanted to speak up, but didn’t know how to break into the conversation without sounding critical. Instead, on the way home, I talked with my dd about our relationship and my relationships with her older brothers. I’m glad my kids know that I love who they are right now; that I trust them to make decisions about their own lives and will support them no matter what.

Rising to the occasion

Lately I've been on a bread-making jaunt. My last one was in January. They usually last a couple of weeks at a time, but I'm hopeful I'll be able to sustain this one for a longer period of time. I finally found a good all-purpose whole wheat bread that my youngest dd will eat. It soft and mild tasting, with no added crunchiness. This is essential to her favorite breakfast - a piece of bread with peanut butter and chocolate chips; milk-chocolate, not semi-sweet.

So far this week I've made bread three times; a whole grain oat bread, Vienna bread and easy overnight-started bread, all from Laurel's Kitchen Bread Book. I never used to have much success with many of the breads from this cookbook. Now that I have a Kichenaid stand mixer, I realize I never kneaded the bread long enough by hand.

Making bread is part of my desire to live my principles and eat as locally as I can. I have to be careful, however, as I tend to easily place myself in a box and then feel horrendous guilt and failure when, for example, I buy kiwi at the grocery store.

No matter what else, if anything, I accomplish during any given day, if I have made bread I feel successful. There's something about working the dough with my hands and feeling it come to life that nurtures my need to create. It took me years to finally allow myself to use a machine to knead the bread; it always somehow felt like cheating.

Years ago, when my MIL was still alive, she visited my family for a week. Hilde made bread for her entire family of 12 children for years and years. Though in her later years we tended not to get along well, this visit sticks out in my mind for things we had in common.

During her visit, I made bread at least a couple of times. I remember one kind was a whole grain raisin bread. Hilde and I discussed our love of bread baking and how it was a manifestation of our love for our families. Though I chose to bake bread, Hilde, as a farm wife and mother of a dozen, really had no choice; yet we shared similar feelings for the process and the result.

I remember agreeing with her that a perfect salutation would be, "May your loaves rise high and light."

Though she has been gone now for several years, every time I make bread I think of my mother-in-law and this very basic connection we will always share.