finding our place together
Monday, September 21 
Oldest Son (black jacket) Middle Son (in my arms) and I take a break during a hike with the family we married into several years ago. MIL is on the far right. Photos by the amazing landscape painter at www.aaronschuerr.com.
We went camping earlier this month with my in-laws, Shawn’s younger sister and her husband and their three boys. (Their three boys + our three boys = testical festival.) In case the whining has already faded from a few posts ago, I’ll remind you that I didn’t want to go camping. It was sort of like being forced to eat chocolate mousse until you upchuck: too much of a good thing with all these weekend adventures stacked up and no time to enjoy the splendor of our messy home.
We camped in the Gravelly Mountains with plenty of room for the boys to act feral without reprimand, and within a day (we camped for three days) I felt my grouch melting. Even more remarkable, Younger Sis, my mother-in-law(MIL) and I sat easily around the fire reading books, chatting and passing the hours. It was only 4 1/2 years ago that I first met this family, and on paper, MIL and I might not look like a perfect match for combined-family bliss.
Shawn grew up in a nearby Dutch community with a biblical upbringing, while I on the other hand, was raised by hippies. MIL shared the pain with Shawn when he went through a rough separation and divorce years ago. I’m sure she must have hoped he’d meet a woman who was similarly raised, settle down and not waste any time blessing her with a granddaughter. What she got instead: A potty-mouthed woman a year older than Shawn with three half-grown sons (who already had grandparents). I put this all together shortly after meeting MIL, and felt the heaviness of wondering if I was a profound disappointment for her.
But if MIL felt this way, she never showed it. Still, the pressure of that wondering proved too much for me. This Dutch mom intimidated me, and I knew it just wasn’t going to work if we couldn’t find our places together in this “both of us love Shawn” club. We were picking raspberries in her back yard patch a few months after we first met when I decided to go there. Straight for the painful spot.
“I want you to know that if one of my boys was divorced and didn’t have children, a lady with three sons wouldn’t be my first choice for him,” I offered casually while dropping berries in my bucket. “I adore your son, but I also get how you might feel about me.”
I don’t remember exactly how she replied, but MIL later told me that she respected me for having the guts to open up that conversation. She’s also told me that she thinks I’m good for Shawn — that she can see how happy he is with me— which is really all I need to know. And while it is true that a divorced woman with three kids probably wouldn’t be my first choice for one of my boys to marry someday, MIL has taught me something.
We don’t get to choose how love shows up in our children’s lives. But we can have the grace to be thankful when it does.
We all hiked Black Butte together while camping nearby. The high point of the Gravelly Range at 10, 542 feet, there is some vertical scrambling to get to the top. Most amazing is that MIL and Youngest Nephew (who is only 5!) made the journey as well.Can I tell you something? I've always been a little bit of a cheater (math tests, boyfriends — I'm better at that one now). MamaKat posted her writer's workshop questions on Tuesday or Wednesday, and I posted this the day before...Was I channeling her? Anyway, this post seems to fit the bill for prompt #2 (Moxie? Courage? My mother-in-law? Hello?), so I am shamelessly linking to it with the hope that my fellow bloggers will probably let it slide. Thanks :)
Reader Comments (1)
But honey you and your tribe were the answer to all our prayers. And you will notice none of us married dutch.