Dear Mom,
The longer I am a mom, the more I sit in wonder at the things you did and the kind of mother you are. If I were to catalog a few of the ways you amaze me, it would look a little something like this:
I marvel . . .
. . . that your fingernails were always shaped and cuticles tended.
. . . that your eyebrows were always plucked.
. . . that I don't remember you ever leaving the house with your wet hair in a sloppy bun.
. . . that you ground flour and made whole wheat bread weekly for years.
. . . that you canned peaches and pears and cherries and pear butter ALL BY YOURSELF.
. . . that Dad always had his dress shirts ironed.
. . . that you clipped coupons.
. . . that your photo albums were consistently updated and labeled.
. . . that the house looked clean.
. . . that the car looked clean.
. . . that the clothes looked clean.
. . . that you agreed to have cats, a bunny, a dog, and even a rat.
. . . that you always had a supply of birthday wrapping paper.
. . . that, speaking of birthdays, you decorated the house and made a special cake every year.
. . . that you read books to us.
. . . that you made sure we had vegetables with both our lunch and dinner.
. . . that you helped with school projects before the Internet was invented.
. . . that you recognized our talents and encouraged us to develop them.
. . . that you taxied for and sat through soccer, basketball, softball, baseball, dance, swimming, piano, plays, band, and whatever other extracurricular activities were going on.
. . . that we never ran out of toothpaste or shampoo or deodorant or contact lens solution or band-aids.
. . . that you sewed wearable clothes.
. . . that you found ways to spend time with each of your kids individually.
. . . that you let me stay up and watch Magnum P.I.
. . . that you tied ribbons on birthday and Christmas presents.
. . . that our sheets were washed weekly, without fail.
. . . that you had wise suggestions on how to deal with childhood conundrums.
. . . that you kept up on traditions and made holidays fun.
. . . that you stayed on top of the budget, filed everything, and payed bills and taxes.
. . . that you got us to church on time and were often even early to take care of your callings.
. . . that you managed to feed us with fast food and cold cereal being a rare treat.
. . . that you managed to feed us without a microwave for most of my childhood.
. . . that you parented without a TV for many years, and never with the benefit of Disney channel.
. . . that you sent out birthday cards to everyone and made sure they arrived on time.. . . that you listened to us without looking like your mind was somewhere else.
. . . that you allowed us to have sleepovers.
. . . that you shopped and provided for us without the perks of Costco or Walmart.
. . . that you succeeded in producing four functional, happy, productive adults.
I'm convinced the older my kids get the more things I'll add to this list. It just never ceases to amaze me all the things you did, and do, so well. I aspire to achieve even a few of the things here. That would be the best way I could say thank you and show you how much I love you. Happy Mother's Day!
Love, Me
You know the saying, "Home can be a heaven on earth"? Well, apparently I've discovered the key to achieving this feat, at least according to one member of the family. I finally signed up for the food co-op called Bountiful Baskets. Each week, or less often according to your family's wants and needs, you can make a contribution for a fruit and veggie basket. I have thought about joining for a long time but never committed until last Saturday. After navigating the crowd of produce enthusiasts, I brought home a hefty box full of watermelon, strawberries, bananas, apples, grapefruit, spinach, cucumbers, onions, zucchini, mushrooms, herbs, broccoli, cauliflower, and even an eggplant. Marissa immediately started sifting through the bounty and said, "This is HEAVEN!" Me: brushing my hands off, and done.
[If you're interested in more information about the co-op, check out their website at www.bountifulbaskets.org.]
I finished The Grass Harp by Truman Capote a few months ago. It was a unique little story with some beautifully descriptive passages. Here was one of my favorites:
Wind surprised, pealed the leaves, parted night clouds; showers of starlight were let loose: our candle, as though intimidated by the incandescence of the opening, star-stabbed sky, toppled, and we could see, unwrapped above us, a late wayaway wintery moon: it was like a slice of snow, near and far creatures called to it, hunched moon-eyed frogs, a claw-voiced wildcat. Catherine hauled out the rose scrapquilt, insisting Dolly wrap it around herself; then she tucked her arms around me and scratched my head until I let it relax on her bosom -- You cold? she said, and I wiggled closer: she was good and warm as the old kitchen.
Ahh, don't you just want to curl up and witness that night sky?
The story itself mostly took place in a tree house, which might explain why I enjoyed it. I spent a good deal of my younger years in the trees. The home in which I lived from about the age of 5 until 10 had a fantastic tree house wedged between 3 huge trees in our backyard. The fort had a ledge around 2 of its sides, 2 windows, and a trap door. We played for hours in that fort [except for the period of time when an opossum was decomposing underneath the bottom level], and I have lots of funny memories from my time spent there. Maybe someday I'll make a list of some of them. If I wasn't in the tree house, you might have found me climbing up another tree in our yard and swinging out of it on the rope swing. It was a pretty great back yard.
Back to the book -- it included a few other short stories I could have done without. They left me with a disturbed and unresolved feeling and sort of tainted my experience with The Grass Harp. Overall, however, if you are seeking some lovely language and a transport back to your childhood, you might find it in this quirky tale.
I love my garden. I don't have a particularly green thumb, and most of the productivity I see is more of a happy accident than the result of any knowledge or skill. This being said, I felt pleased as punch a few weeks ago when Jeremy set out to clean out the garden and discovered a bounty of wintering carrots. He summoned the kids and put them to work gathering two garbage sacks worth of the orange veggie.
The next order of business was to decide what to do with so many carrots arriving all at once. I decided I had to make a batch of carrot soup. Once I got scrubbing and peeling and chopping [and scrubbing and peeling and chopping], I figured I might as well double the batch while I was at it. Doubling soon turned to tripling and finally quadrupling. Since my biggest deterrent in ever making this strangely addicting soup is the preparation part, I thought I could make the base and then put the extra batches in the freezer.
Let me just say that I struggle with sticking to repetitive actions [like chopping vegetables or packaging candy for The Peppermint Place]. I get bored and weary and irritable pretty quickly. But my desire for self-sufficiency and for a taste of this, my favorite soup, overcame my hatred of menial tasks, and I persevered. A few hours and several semi-permanently orange-stained fingernails later, I had 12 cups of finely chopped carrots ready to simmer. The first batch declared by Morgan to be "de-wicious," now I anticipate savoring this satisfying concoction a few more times before the next season of carrots arrives.
Puree of Carrot Soup
2 Tbsp. butter
3 c. finely chopped carrots
1 qt. chicken broth [I'm a fan of Better Than Bouillon from Costco in lieu of bouillon cubes]
2/3 c. chopped onion
2 Tbsp. uncooked rice
1/2 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. pepper
1/2 c. light cream, evaporated milk, or half-and-half
Melt butter in large saucepan. Add onions and cook until soft. Add carrots, chicken broth, rice and seasonings. Simmer, uncovered, for 30 minutes. Puree soup in blender. Return to saucepan and add cream. Heat just to boiling. Makes 5 cups. [Recipe courtesy of my friend, Meri Ann.]
So Morgan got into the tub of lotion [again] while I was in the middle of teaching a piano lesson the other day. I could sense something was afoot, so I went to find her. Upon discovery, she calmly spread a glob of lotion over her arms and said, "This will protect me from sin." I'm curious what we're teaching over here to make her feel the need for such protection, but I guess I'm glad she's prepared. Better sooner than later!
[Maybe I should add that her comment made me laugh out loud, after which she asked, "Are you happy now?" This question is her latest clever effort to get out of trouble. Or perhaps I should take it as a message that I need to smile more.]
I am not a dancer. As a little girl I thought I wanted to be a ballerina when I grew up. I remember doing ballerina leaps all through the house. [Evidently I also wore my tutu without reservation. I wonder where Morgan gets that from?] That ended as I became more self-conscious and realized I really didn't have great coordination. However, I find there is a time and place to bust a move. One of my friends teaches a free Zumba class on Saturday mornings, and I take my two left feet pretty regularly. It gets me moving and I laugh a lot, both of which are good things. I've discovered an additional benefit to my Zumba experience: my friend uses all sorts of fun music for her routines, which helps narrow the gap in my vast pop culture divide. Sure, I listen to the radio, but I have a fairly stunted repertoire when it comes to such things. Anyway, my latest favorite is one she uses for the cool down. It's a mash-up, which I didn't even know existed before. You should take a listen, just for fun. . .
Dear Mom,
