Meeting of the Mothers

This weekend, Shy Boy’s mother came to town. You see, in case that sentence didn’t make sense, Shy Boy’s mother lives several states away. Of course, I had already met her at the wedding, but I didn’t have much time to talk to her at that point because she was so busy helping her other son get married. I was pleasantly surprised by the events of this past weekend. The way Shy Boy presented it to me, I was ready for a long weekend of interrogations about my intentions with her son. I was ready for a meeting of the mothers where each sizes the other one up and draws up a dowry, in spite of the fact that he and I have only known each other for a little over three months. (The anticipation and apprehension for something being taken far too seriously than it should be would explain my anger toward Shy Boy and Jewish mothers in general in my last blog post.) In reality, Shy Boy’s mother felt bad that she hadn’t spent much time with him during the wedding weekend, and since he had some availability in his work schedule, she wanted to come see him. She had also heard great things about my family, particularly my mother, and wanted to meet her. We got together with her three times during the weekend, each day spent full of eating and shopping. The mothers instantly hit it off. I am a bit jealous of his mom. She worries about her son like any mother, but she seems to be so encouraging and just wants her son to be happy, even if his vision of happiness differs from her own. My mother is a great mother, but she’s more pessimistic and wants things her way when it comes to raising her children and how her children should live their lives. Shy Boy’s mother didn’t care that I want to go back to my beloved state out West. She wasn’t pushy. I was worried one Jewish mother might try to dominate the other, but they actually got along quite well. Both had a lot to talk about, and most of their conversations had nothing to do with Shy Boy or myself. I’m a bit odd about being too physical with Shy Boy when my mom is around. Even something as innocent as hand holding makes me nervous in front of my mother. He respected that, as he always does. This weekend, I felt more comfortable with touching him and having him kiss me goodbye in front of my mother. I still haven’t fallen for him. But I do feel more attached to him. I’m not in love with him and I’m not sure what it’s going to take to actually “fall in love.” (Besides, why should it be him out of anyone that I “fall in love with” anyway?) But I do love him. I feel much freer now that the mothers know each other and no one’s forcing us to do anything. I just enjoy Shy Boy’s company. I’m glad and hopeful that that’s good enough for now.