This week has been particularly Mom-ridden, so many comments and notes from bloggers referring to her, or starting their notes with, "I spoke to your Mom, today..."
Do I mind that half my traffic are fans of my Mom? No. In fact I should probably start tagging her to get more page views, though I'm not sure how to categorize her: under Saints? Midwestern Wonders? Stay-at-Home Feminist s(SAHFs)? Does it surprise me that people connect with her from areas of my life that I never imagined? God no. Though now I have to fess up to my secret weapon against much of the nastiness in this world. The meanies who have tried to undermine me; the bosses who didn't appreciate me; the bad boyfriends. I now have to reveal my source, if you will, my confidante. The person who hears it first, unedited, in its whiny, unprocessed form, then is the first to provide accolades when it hits the blog in saner fashion, as if hearing it for the first time.
When I was in high school I had it bad for this guy that could best be described, from my current, twice-as-old perspective as trouble. He fell for me hard, it seemed, though now I think I'd mistaken the impatience of his ardor for its intensity. I, being rather inexperienced with being fallen for, took my sweet time--a whopping two weeks--to return his declaration, "I think I love you."
He came over to the house regularly, and he would hang out with my family, watch basketball games with us, play board games, and try to get in my pants in our basement. He loved root beer, and when my mother found this out she bought cases of it--enough to keep him over for hours at a time. She also bought pizza rolls, soft pretzels, and bagel dogs, those potentially toxic microwaveable snacks that teenagers eat in buckets. With so many provisions he stayed all weekend. It was a blissful month.
When he cheated on me and we broke up, my mother was quiet but I'm sure a bit hurt; there was still at least half a case of unopened root beer in the basement. We'd been together only a month, but factor in that this was my first real boyfriend, and the first time I had invested emotionally in someone; I was devastated. After that he maintained contact with me sporadically, either being friendly but saccharine, approaching me like we'd just met, or he'd ignore me altogether. To even think I tried to figure out why a teenage guy acted the way he did, to think that he wasn't as confused as I, is almost laughable in retrospect. Still, I agonized over his behavior toward me.
One night several months later, the night before a holiday dance (that I was attending, uncomfortably, with one of his best friends), the doorbell rang. There he was, standing out there in the snow like he had earlier in the year, back when we'd dated. I used to kiss him there, before ushering him in, but this time I just stared at him, waited to hear what he had to say.
"Hi Jory," he said. I let him in. He removed his winter coat, and I hung it up for him. My mother, surprised but warm, gave him a hug and offered him a soda, sorry no root beer. I brought him a Pepsi.
We sat on the couch--him, my mother, and me. He had been acting so strangely all of these months. I just wanted to hear what he had to say. I wished my Mom would give us some privacy.
"Jory," he said awkwardly. "I came to speak with your mom."
I looked over at my mom, who gave me a reassuring glance, "Jor, why don't you go upstairs. He and I will have a chat."
They spoke for well over an hour in hushed tones. As I started to drift to sleep, my Mom yelled upstairs that it was OK to come down. When I did he was gone. I looked at my mother, perplexed.
"He had to go, Hun. I can't go into what's going on, but he's just really confused right now--about you--let's just leave it at that."
I tell this story because it is just a microcosmic example of the way my friends and community have reached out to my mother in ways I have never been able to anticipate. Even though this woman is related to me, people have somehow caught on to this woman's ability to not judge-- even in matters concerning me--to listen, and, if you're meeting her in-person, to feed you.
Stacie asked me earlier this week, after reading my mother's latest gush on my blog: How is it that you connect with your mother so well? There's an element that I can't explain, but for the sake of providing some takeaway with other identity bloggers out there who are contemplating how to gain their family's support for their blogging, I will try.
My mother is more open than most mothers. Not open like the mother and sex therapist I recently saw on Dr. Phil, who gives her son-in-law hives by patting him on the back and asking him if he's lubricating properly. My mother isn't quite like a Focker, but she'll listen to anything and not think it's all that outrageous. And believe me, over the years there have been doozies.
Though that's not to say that she's never had issues with my writing. When I first started writing my book, before I blogged, she always insisted on reading chapter drafts, and I always resisted. When I thought the book was OK to read I sent it to her. This was a memoir, and I was nervous about how she'd react to seeing herself in print. I'd even held back a little bit on some of the more sexual parts, thought better of it, and pasted them back in. She polished off the manuscript in a day--this from a woman who falls asleep reading such eye-taxing fare as People magazine. And she left me a voicemail saying that she had some comments. "Oh shit," I thought. "What's she got to say?"
We talked the next day and went over her list. As expected, there were several objections, but not to the sex or to anything written about her. She was concerned about how I'd represented my brother's weight, and about something I'd attributed to my older sister.
"Your brother was 50 pounds lighter at the time you write about here," my mother said, matter-of-factly, "And Jenna never said that she wanted to have her wedding UNDERwater, just NEAR water." The rest, she said was brilliant. I had written about some fairly grizzly stuff, including a suicide, but none of that was an issue. Why should it be?--I now understand my mother's thinking--it's life! But if you are going to add 50 pounds on someone you really should check your facts first.
Of course, my mother's reaction shocked me. I'm a mentor to a teenage girl and when SHE asked me about sex and using protection my guard went up--I immediately thought of fabrications, stories just short of exploding pudenda, I could tell this young woman to convince her to never have sex, ever. It made me realize how hard it is to separate yourself from a situation when you care about a person, not to mention if it's your daughter. Fortunately my mother was born with a mechanism that doesn't react to sensitive information, at least not without compassion. This is why my best friend in Jr. High came over when she got a hickey; my friend knew her strict, Eastern European parents would throw her out of the house and that my mother would diffuse the situation with a good chat and a lot of concealer.
While this behavior made my Mom cool with the pubescent crowd, it certainly put her at risk among her peers. One mother, upon learning that her daughter had run away to our house, called my mother something profane that made her cry, and then something worse, a Bad Mother. For crying out loud, we weren't harboring this girl; my mother made it no secret that she was at our house and thought her mother would be happy to know she was safe. But she wasn't going to turn her over to Abu Gahraib in handcuffs, either. Mom learned the hard way that sometimes boundaries have to exist. My mother knew this and disciplined us when necesssary, but I get the feeling she was quite pleased with having us grow up and be old enough to talk unfettered without having her parenting abilities questioned.
The most common question I'm asked by bloggers in relation to my mother is "When is SHE going to start blogging?" For the past year I've approached her about it and heard the same thing, "Hun, I just like reading them." And boy, does she. My mother develops mild interests that become enveloping lifestyle choices, like when she started planning her days around Chicago Bulls games, or when she converted my older sister's bedroom into a mausoleum of Beanie Babies. Now, my mother can't sleep without having read her favorite blogs and perused the Blogosphere. I no longer have to proofedit my blog posts since she always gets to my blog as soon as I've posted it (I taught her to go in and fix my posts herself, since she'd call if there were mistakes--a few times if I wasn't home. I figured it made both our lives easier).
Since she lost her job in March, it's become a little too easy to pursue this latest obsession. BlogHer kept her busy reading for a while, but unless the ThirdAge bloggers churn out copy a little faster, there may not be anything left in the Blogosphere for her to read.
I've realized my dubious role in all this. It's sure nice having someone read and love your work, even fix the errant commas, and email you important blog posts that you're too busy to dig for yourself (thanks for letting me know, Ma, that Jarvis hates Dell, too).
But the more people ask me, why isn't your mother blogging? the more I know the inadequacy of my answer: She's a blogger's fantasy; she reads, she comments, and she doesn't want links back! But the fact is, my mother is a communicator and connector, and she's denying the rest of us what even lame ex-boyfriends have been able to get--a chance to connect with someone who supremely listens.
I brought it up to my Mom again. Maybe she should start a blog.
"What could I possibly write?" my Mom said.
"You don't have to write anything personal, Mom, if you don't feel like it. You read everyone in the Blogosphere; maybe you can just point to blogs that interest you. Lord knows you already have a blogroll."
"That's a good idea!" Mom said. "Nothing too drastic; I don't want to sound like an idiot. I don't want to bore people."
"Don't worry, you won't."
Later this morning I received an email attachment from my mother. A piece that she wrote at three a.m. because it called to her; it wouldn't let her sleep. It was a story about her father, who died when she was 21, before I was born. It was such a distinct, powerful memory that I cried while reading it. I'd never heard this story before. Never knew this about my grandfather. I wonder, had my mother never thought to tell this story, or had she not told it because I hadn't asked? She had taken in everyone else's confidences and stored them in safety, guarded by her own. I might never have known this story if I hadn't called her out like she's been calling me.
I wrote back to her: "I love it, Mom. You should just go for it. We can even get you blogging by Monday. Whenever you're ready."
She wrote back: "My head is spinning a little over all the possibility. What a blessing I have you to guide me through...love you more than you know."
I hardly feel qualified to guide the person who guided me through fear and doubt. I'm more afraid than she is. Afraid to share her. And yet, I can't wait.
Oh, my sweet baby....I can't even talk....I can barely see.
I guess we're even today! -Mom xo-
Posted by: Joy DJ | August 18, 2005 at 07:28 PM
Okay, I'm back. I had to regroup, leave you a message on your machine and toss the mound of kleenex off my desk. Taking me out of the equation here....this is a funny and beautifully written piece Jor....
-Mom xxx
Posted by: Joy DJ | August 18, 2005 at 08:17 PM
Go for it Mom!
Posted by: Jason Siffring | August 18, 2005 at 11:26 PM
Take DJ Mummers out of the equation - why? Aren't you a key part of Jory's life? Isn't she the person she is (and whose work people like me love to read) due in no small part to you? You share yourself already, with a readership, through your comments here, and elsewhere (I trip over your comments everywhere!) - just take it a tiny step further and tell some stories in your own right. Pretty please?
Posted by: Koan Bremner | August 19, 2005 at 02:53 AM
Thanks, Jory. This was truly remarkable.
Posted by: Stacie | August 19, 2005 at 06:28 AM
Jason, thanks so much for cheering me on...so thoughtful of you.
And Koan, I'm so appreciative of those wonderful words of encouragement. If I close my eyes I can actually hear you saying them...you know I LOVE your voice. -Joy
Posted by: Joy DJ | August 19, 2005 at 06:51 AM
Go for it, Mrs. DJ!!!! You have a lot to offer and a lot to share--the web would benefit from having more des Jardins on it.
Posted by: Erin H. | August 19, 2005 at 07:49 AM
Hi Erin,
How are you sweetie? What a nice surprise to see your comment...thanks honey...Jory has been terrific. I just hope she doesn't have that moment of awakening.... (gulp) "What did I just bite off here? Chew Jory, chew." You and I both know her very well. It's not like she doesn't already have a full plate. -Mom DJ
Posted by: Joy DJ | August 19, 2005 at 09:00 AM
Yay for daughter and mom blogging teams! I keep trying to convince my mom to start one of her own, too. She let me post something she wrote once, but otherwise so far has been too timid. Do it, Joy, please!
Posted by: nina | August 19, 2005 at 12:12 PM
Thank you Nina...it appears we're going to give it a shot....YIKES!
-Joy
Posted by: Joy DJ | August 19, 2005 at 12:30 PM
Yay! I didn't even know I was hoping for this, but when I read this story I got very, very happy. Jory, thanks for being willing to share your mom...and Mrs. DJ, thanks for being open to a new adventures. Can't wait to see what you write.
Posted by: Jennifer Warwick | August 19, 2005 at 08:50 PM
What a GREAT cheerleader you are Jen. I hope I don't let you down...thanks for the boost! I just pray I don't suddenly turn incoherent! -Mrs. DJ xo
Posted by: Joy DJ | August 19, 2005 at 10:05 PM
Monday?! Why the wait?! :)
Posted by: Marilyn | August 20, 2005 at 08:08 AM
Hi Marilyn,
Well, we have to iron-out the logistics...you know...setting the site up, etc. Jory is calling me sometime this weekend to do that. I'm kind of organized...but not. We don't really even have a name yet. Jory's been asking me to get some things together, and yesterday I made a list of people for my blogroll. I hope you don't mind being on it. As a matter of fact, everyone who have commented on this post are on it...and quite a few more. Hope to be up and running soon. Thanks Marilyn. -Joy
Posted by: Joy DJ | August 20, 2005 at 08:40 AM
This is the first time in my life I have participated in a blog. Joy has mentioned her daughter's blog a few times, but I never had the inclination to visit. Why now? No special reason, other than I have been thinking about your Mom a lot recently. She and I worked together at the Evanston office, and when she was let go I knew there would be several phases she would go through in finding her next steps. Now that it has been a while, I have been especially interested in those next steps. The first phases of grief/loss/whatdoIdonow, are over, and the longer haul of deciding how to run your life starts to set in. What happens to your Mom matters to me. A lot. I guess that is one feature of what makes up love. I know she has been stewing over what she should do for a JOB. In my way of thinking, her job is to be Joy. If the world was fair, she would get checks in the mail for just being Joy. I am hoping that in these next phases of her life, that she remembers that whatever she comes up with, is secondary to just being Joy. She has always been my Confidant, and I know many others feel the same way. I have told Joy before about Carlos Casteneda's reference to special people in your journey as "Warriors" and she is one of my Warriors. I love your Confidant, Bob
Posted by: Bob Patterson | August 21, 2005 at 08:29 AM
My sweet Bob,
There's not a word I could type here that could possibly convey what I'm feeling right now...none.
Thank you is no where near it, but
that's all I can muster at the moment...you get me every time Robert. Love, Joy
Posted by: Joy DJ | August 21, 2005 at 11:12 AM
I would love nothing more than to see your mom's stories and thoughts regularly. I miss hearing them early in the mornings over a nice dish of candy at work. She's so wonderful at listening to others, and truly understanding what they're saying and how they're feeling. She makes me laugh, she makes me cry, and more than anything, she makes me glad she's in my life. Come on Joyful...life's more fun if you take a few risks.
Posted by: Mary Cary | August 21, 2005 at 02:49 PM
MARY! Hi sweet face...
Yea, we sure have had some GRAND times haven't we...and will have a lot more. When is our next outing? We're getting very close...tonight or tomorrow, I think...Jory's been a brick! Thank you sweets...just for being YOU! -Joy xo
Posted by: Joy DJ | August 21, 2005 at 04:44 PM
If mom is still having reservations about starting her own blog, I am sure there are a couple of dozen fans that would be more than happy to give her guest blogger spots.
Posted by: Troy Worman | August 21, 2005 at 07:43 PM
I am so sorry to be so trite, but what happened in the conversation with the childhood ex-boyfriend?
Reading these stories brings tears to my eyes. My mother passed away when I was twelve so I never had the chance to become close to her. I am so glad that you (Jory) have opportunity to bond with your mom and that you cherish this bond. If I ever have children, I hope to become the compassionate mother like Joy. I have to brush up on my listening skills and the detachment part!
Jory, I just love your eloquence. You have such a way of cutting to the quick of issues. You describe a complex situation is a short sentence and I find myself scratching my head thinking “Yea, that is the way I have felt. I never bothered putting it to words!”
As for you Joy, sounds like this is a shoe-in. I have a feeling that you will have a ton of readers. Put your in-tuned-ness to good work! You have wonderful gifts to share! ~Tracy
Posted by: Tracy | August 22, 2005 at 10:11 AM
Thank you for the contact Jory. I would love to meet you sometime. Your mother has been so important to me, it would be nice to know the lucky daughter she has. Your blog is interesting, and I look forward to more of your articles and the discussions. Bob
Posted by: Bob Patterson | August 22, 2005 at 02:14 PM
Jory,
Why did you do this to me? I came to your blog for some thoughtful laughs, and look at me know. I ran out of Klinex. My husband got really worried when I started sobbing (he doesn't mind tears so much).
Mothers and daughters. I wish I could feel, even for just a moment, the trust and connection you feel for your mom. You are a lucky gal.
But please stop making me crying that hard.
Thank you.
Posted by: Antonella | August 22, 2005 at 09:46 PM