Grandmothers: The ambassadors of the World

Great Grandma Cleo Nice with her Great Grandson Chatterbox 

I just spoke with Mr. Rant's Grandmother. It's her birthday. 87 years young. We decided that she is much closer to 25 yrs old than 90.

The conversation reminded me of when I first moved here. I never felt weird attempting to talk to the Grandmothers, on either side. They know/knew zero English. Nothing. But they accepted me as one of their clan.

In all fairness, they were/are both used to taking in strays. Both have/had adopted many children and raised them as their own. It was common at the time. You have a sister, brother, or cousin of a sister or brother who not afford the newest and left them with these women to be raised well and with love.

My first visit to my husband's late Grandmother on his Mother's side was the most comforting thing for this new expat. I walked into her apartment, which smelled of home-cooked food, and she put her arms around me. Just that was enough. Whenever we were in the room together she had her little arm around my waist, as it had no hopes of reaching my shoulders. And she held me as if I was someone who had not been held by family, other than my husband, in a long time. You know what, I hadn't and it was exactly what I needed.

The Grandma on the Father's side declared to me that she is also my Grandmother. That, of course, came after thanking me for marrying her bachelor Grandson. It had been 5 years since his last relationship! Gasp! She was concerned that he would never settle down.

The funny thing was that I felt at home with them. They both, with all their sass, reminded me of my Grandmothers. They filled the hole, so surprisingly well, of my family. And surprisingly to me, the Queens of the family Monarchs made me feel so apart of a family that I wasn't sure would accept me.

To this day I look forward to family lunches just for this. Now I get to take my children, who quickly run around spastically like all children are known to do, and both women proclaim/proclaimed with pride "These boys feel at home here and they are!"

Two women from my husband's lineage gave this struggling expat a light in the dark at a time where I was afraid to be a woman, much less knowing how to be a wife. Their strength, stories, and ease with acceptance showed me a side to the chaotic Brazil that made me want to belong.

Not to mention the shock value of an 85 yr old telling you how important it is to give your husband sex when he wants to. Lion in the bedroom ladies!

Classic! 

Saying Goodbye

The ugly part of being an expat is the goodbyes. You become an expert in saying them, accepting them, and muffling the cries in an airplane pillow.  It just becomes a fact of life.

So where does that get us?  Personally, I`ve gotten to the point where I can almost convince myself that I am not upset.  The force is strong in this girl.  You see, I don't want to live "home" anymore.  That part of me is so little it gets drowned in the semi-occasional Brazilian beers, though that does not mean that I miss my people at "home" any less.

Tomorrow is Mom's last day in Rio. I have to say, we've had a LONG trip together this time around. 7 weeks at her place and 3 at mine is enough for most.  I am ready to get on with my day to day life as normal, and I say that with a sigh.

It's true that you can't live in this vacation mode forever. It's exhausting to entertain and enjoy the city with even the mellowest of visitors.  But there's also the 'it's over' factor.

This visit is done.  The togetherness was wonderful and we definitely didn't skimp on it this time around. It's time for the simple dynamic of the boys, Mr. Rant, and I. We need to get back to our norm, our friends, and our play dates.  Part of me actually looks forward to it.  Sorry, but I enjoy Mr. Rant walking around in his boxers.  Call me crazy, but that's just not Mom visiting appropriate.

But my parents don't live down the street. We live so far that they can't even splurge on a weekend visit.  So my Mother leaving means another year apart. It means my youngest will be 3 and my oldest will be 5 the next time she and my Father see them.  My parents will come and they will meet different little boys.

Sure we do skype, email, and do phone calls. Boxes, photos, and videos on facebook are a regular part of life.  We are as virtually connected as the world can possibly stand.  But it's not the same as "Your Mother just called. They are coming over... again."  You just can't fit enough annoying in a vacation, even 2 months of it, to make the other 10 go by fast enough.

So I will bust out my steady chin again tomorrow.  Mom will sob like a small child. She's done steady chin enough.  She deserves the cries.  Then I will go back into my small Brazilian apartment and see her gone. I will go to her room the next morning and see that she is still not there.  I will shed an over dramatic tear as I am now. And I will go on.

On a cup half full note, her leaving does seem to make my small and cluttered Brazilian apartment look that much bigger and emptier. But that's just like her, coming in and fixing things up so that they are that more comfortable for me after she has left.

She's a Mom like that.

And I'm really going to miss her.

History Lesson

On my trip to Argentina, I was told the story of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo.  I plead American on this one because I had NO idea and do not remember ever learning about it in school.  And the story stuck with me.  I haven't been able to get it out of my head for days, thus this post.

In case you can plead as ignorant as I did, here's the summarized version.  During the gnarly Argentinian Dictatorship, the Argentinian government kidnapped pregnant women, or mothers and their very young babies, who were a part of the anti-dictatorship movement and killed them, giving their babies up for adoption to military families. 

The Grandmas, being fierce as only Grandmas can be, have been fighting to find their Grandchildren since 1977.  Some of these women were killed in the process to find the truth. They are searching for potential lost children and demanding DNA tests to prove their true paternity. 

Not surprisingly, some of these children (now in their early 30s) are resisting.  They either think they are the biological children of their parents or are protecting their adoptive parents, many of whom have said they saved them from certain death.   Some, obviously, just don't want the only family they know to be throw in jail. 

One of the big cases going on is against one of the richest women in the country.  There's a huge back and forth that the government is against her and that her children were adopted out of love in a time where you didn't question the government. Her children have given DNA samples and been harassed into giving more.  No testing have been done since the two sides can not agree on where to do them.  Here's the original article: Time Magazine

My question is, who do you think is right?  I agree that the people should be punished for stealing these children and the murder of their Mothers. Of course!  But are the Grandmothers thinking of the children when they rip apart the only family they know?  Is it the best thing to send the only parents they have to jail and shake up their world beyond repair?  On there hand, aren't the Grandmothers only trying to mend a world that was originally shaken up by the baby stealers in the first place?

As a Mother, I'm torn.  I would hate for my children to have to deal with the pain of such a tremendous revelation.  Regardless of the intent, it will sting.  At the same time, I would break my heart to not have them know the truth or their family.  To die in anonymity, without my own child knowing who carried them with so much love is a thought that just breaks my heart.  I think that's what the Grandmothers are trying to undo.  I will say, it's hard to stomach letting something so wrong go unpunished!

What do you think?  Do we let the past go or do we expose it?  

Here are some more interesting articles on the subject: Truth vs Right To Privacy: The Battle of the Abuelas

and

http://www.npr.org

Smokin' Grandma

There are a fair amount of Grandmas in Rio de Janeiro that help with the Grandkids. You can see them pushing them in strollers, picking them up from school, and every other activity imaginable. 

What I like is the difference between Granny and Mommy. Granny doesn't care about nearly as many things as Mommy. I've seen Granny stop at first wine to get that lollipop.  I saw a Granny this evening walking about 2 steps in front of her Grandkids as they were attempting to walk and smack each other at the same time.  She didn't intervene, she just looked back occasionally to make sure they were still following.  You see them walking the 90 degree streets with newborns bundled up as if they were in Antartica. With all this they still manage time to tell you that you are too skinny, fat, tired, a bad mother, etc.

The Grannies of Rio de Janeiro are a special breed. 

My all time favorite Granny happened upon me as I was walking my son to school today.  She stopped mid sidewalk to light her cigarette.  Another not too uncommon sighting here.  What made this cigarette lighting special was that she stopped to light her cigarette right before a gas station. Yes, she stopped right in front of it, lit her cigarette, and the cut threw the middle of the gas station smoking.  Now that is a Grandma that really does not give a damn!

Note to self: Do not google Grandma smoking unless you want to get an eyeful of Granny va ja ja