I was just contemplating my kitchen. My mother is arriving soon, from out of town, and I have dirty dishes. I may do them, I may not. I'm not sure. It's my birthday, after all, and I just don't feel like it.

I spoke with my MIL this morning. She asked if I was cleaning up for my mom, and commented that she always cleans when her mom is coming to visit.

My home is less clean than it is at other times of the month, but I am ok with that. Things are tidal, and I am trying to tune in to the ebb and the flow. Besides, my mother doesn't judge me.

That's what I came to, while looking at my lived-in looking kitchen. I don't have anything to prove to my mom. And that feels really, really good.

In fact, I think that my mom has a bit of John Holt within. During my life, she has beamed with pride upon my various accomplishments. And she has held back disapproval, when I was exploring the less savory aspects of adulthood in the 20th Century, and just continued to love me. She has trusted me to find my own path, and always been there for me, no matter where my path has wandered.

I think she is also very much relieved that I have settled down somewhat, into a less eccentric mode of living. Her baby girl is finally growing up.