Day #48-49 Writing Through COVID-19: On Puzzles, Yogurt, and Marriage

My sister sent my mom six beautiful large-piece jigsaw puzzles for Mother's Day. On Wednesday my dad tore himself away from his book long enough to join my mom in constructing the outside flat-edge frame of a farm scene. When I came downstairs and saw their progress, my mom praised my dad as if he'd designed the Sydney Oprea House.

Same for yogurt. The first time I served it, my mom said, "Your father didn't like yogurt, but now he does!" as if he'd discovered King Tut's tomb. She repeats this with the same adoration each time I serve yogurt on the breakfast tray.

I am happy that my mom thinks my dad is wonderful. But her mental slippage causes her to repeat herself. Hearing that my father is Man of the Year because he joined her for 10 minutes at the puzzle table was a little cringy. But by the third time she said it, I was crawling out of my skin. Since when is eating yogurt a labor of Hercules?

I know my father also loves my mother very much, but the gushing cheerleader role is mono-directional.
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The power dynamic in any marriage is enigmatic. All couples bring a complex amalgam of traits to the relationship. Financial contribution is, for better or for worse, often the starting block. In my parents' case, my dad's breadwinner role gave him about a two-lap lead on my stay-at-home mom before the race had even begun.

My mother is (was) every bit as smart and capable as my dad. She is (was) a make-things-happen sort of person. Had she been a man in 1955, she would have been en route to a position of leadership: a superintendent, a CEO, or a Methodist bishop.

Instead, she resigned from teaching, as was expected, when she became pregnant with her first child. She then stayed home and poured her mental and creative energy into what every stay-at-home mom knows is a whirlpool of tedium and self-doubt. How can raising children feel simultaneously indispensable and meaningless?

My parents' marriage is more egalitarian than many of their generation. More so in some ways than my own.

My dad admits that his faltering heart will likely give way before my mother's sturdy body does. And he says his only fear of dying at this point is my mother's mental deterioration and how she would cope without him near. This devotion is powerful.

They both love each other very much.

But only my dad is praised for eating yogurt.

My mom finishes the farm puzzle while my dad eats ice cream (not yogurt).

Enough.
Stay well.
Write.

Allison