A couple of weeks ago, I had some cleaning and organizing to do around the apartment (or, to be more specific, our laundry was threatening to overtake the entire universe and kill us all, and no, I am not exaggerating), and I was finding it difficult to get to it with both kids in the mix (or, to be more specific, now that Max is not napping and Maggie is throwing hapless stuffed creatures down the toilet any time my back is even partway turned, I am finding everything that is not vital to survival difficult to get to, and even the survival thing is questionable). My parents offered to take the kids for the day, so that I could have my hands free. It was delightful. Yes, even though I was mostly just doing laundry. But the point I am trying to make is this: it was delightful because I did not have to worry about the kids at all. Not about their safety, not about their happiness, not about whether they would be nurtured and cleaned and cared for. And rather than feeling burdened or taken advantage of, my mother's only complaint about the day was that Max got tired and wanted to come home long before my mum got tired of playing with him.
I think that I am a good mama. I know that I try very hard, and that I derive a lot of joy from the job. But it is much easier to be a good mama if you have a good mama, and I am lucky enough to have a very good one. Happy Birthday, Granny, and thank you for being there so often and with such cheer that we never have to even imagine what this job would be like if we had to do it without backup. The Tillmans 4 all love you muchly.