In the midst of all the hoopla surrounding the Fifty Shades of Gray movie/book (of which I shall not comment upon), I decided to focus on fifty things (in no particular order) that make me happy. Let's have a look, shall we?
1.) Typing my blog outdoors on a beautiful, crisp Autumn day
2.) Toddlers accomplishing anything
3.) My children's uncontrollable laughter
4.) Birthdays
5.) Black and white movies
6.) Walking barefoot on freshly mowed grass
7.) Homemade chocolate cookies still warm from the oven
8.) Manners
9.) A cold beer on the beach in the late afternoon (a good book and a good friend optional)
10.) College football
11.) The Howard/Ashenfelter laugh filling up a room and hearts
12.) Snail mail
13.) East Carolina University
14.) Camping
15.) A really, really, REALLY good glass of Cabernet Sauvignon
16.) Funny friends
17.) My Dad's whistle
18.) Ocracoke
19.) My marriage
20.) David's really, really, REALLY bad jokes
21.) Bubble Gum
22.) 80's Music
23.) Running at any pace
24.) Children
25.) An Irish Storyteller
26.) Charlotte's Web
27.) Play Dough
28.) Charlie Brown TV Specials
29.) Riding a bike downhill
30.) The twinkle in Grandpa's eyes
31.) Josh's unique word pronunciation
32.) A note from my Mom
33.) My sister-in-law's ability to name the Capitol of every country
34.) Playing football in the snow with my brothers
35.) S'mores
36.) My cousins
37.) My mother-in-law's beautiful and articulate descriptions of her childhood
38.) ECU Pirate Fans
39.) My Granddad's true zest for life and humankind
40.) The first snowflake
41.) Anna's imagination
42.) Cooking
43.) Mad Libs
44.) Field Hockey
45.) Rainy days and puddle jumping
46.) Hammocks
47.) Catching up with friends
48.) Wildflowers
49.) Baby clothes
50.) Laughing at inappropriate moments
Sigh. That was a fast fifty and my heart is joyful knowing there is MUCH, MUCH more to add to my list. Tag...your turn :).
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Thursday, August 8, 2013
The Joy of a Blank Page
Way back in my college days at ECU, a blank page terrified me. The infamous Writer's Block kept me up more nights than I care to mention. Or you know, there was that whole "waiting until the last minute to complete the assignment" thing that may have attributed to aforementioned Writer's Block, but I digress. I dreaded hearing from my professor that we needed "x" amount of words, double spaced on "x" amount of pages. I clearly remember thinking no one and I mean no one wants to read that much about Emily Dickinson and my interpretation of "465 :I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -". Much later I learned my English professors were very fond of wine. I like to think I contributed to their discriminating taste, but again, I digress. I was terrified of not being able to fill those pages with intelligible and persuasive arguments supporting my take on any written assignment. But I do have a diploma, so I guess I did OK filling up the blank page.
This year, I am looking at another blank page, but in a whole different light. Both of our children will be enrolled in school full-time, I have no occupation, I am not volunteering on a committee, a group or a neighborhood board, I am not a gym rat, I am not socially driven, and well, truth be told, after September 6th, my calendar has no writing on any dates other than birthday reminders. A totally blank page. People are curious: "Aren't you worried about not doing ANYTHING?". Well, I wouldn't say I'm not doing ANYTHING! I have a house to finish unpacking. I am sure I will pitch in from time to time at school functions. I will have coffee dates with friends. I have a garden that seriously needs my attention. I have junk drawers to organize. I have words in my head that need to be placed on paper. I have books to read. I have a hammock in my backyard that looks incredibly lonely. I have trails to discover and shops in Apex and Cary to browse through on a rainy day. I have music to play really, REALLY loud. And I have dance moves saved for my own private party in my living room. I have recipes dog-eared in magazines to try on my family. I have photos from decades that need to be sorted, labeled and gazed upon with fondness. I can have lunch with my husband! I can stroll through art museums and musty old book stores. I can try on really expensive clothes for a make believe trip and then decide, "Oh, well, not today.". I can have a glass of wine with lunch, just because. I can take a nap! I can rent my favorite movies and watch them in the middle of the day. I can miss my dogs. I can call my friends and family across the country and not hang up because a ruckus is occurring in the next room. I can visit my sister-in-law on her lunch break. I can surprise my niece at college (just kidding, cutie pie...but I could). Or the best part, I can do absolutely none of these things.That is the joy of a blank page.
Today I walked into a coffee shop and noticed they had a help wanted sign. "I can be a barista!" I thought excitedly. One of my friends just landed a great part-time gig watching children once a day during the week. "Oooh, I could be a substitute teacher!". I picked up the Town of Cary class schedule and thought, "Ceramics! Pottery! Water Colors! Short Story Writing!". I thought about my interest in Yoga and thought, "I could be a certified Yoga instructor!". "Oh! I could write my novel!". And then I read an article about a woman who would be teaching people how to open their own cooking business out of their homes. "Oh! I could sell my hummus and guacamole!". "Oh! Oh! Oh! The possibilities!!!". And then I got really tired. And then I heard loud voices erupting downstairs. And I was off refereeing, again, as my possibility train was derailed until school starts.
And then I will find myself staring at a blank page, wondering how in the world I will fill in the white space for the next eight to nine months. You know, blank pages used to scare me but now, I find myself excited, nervous, giddy and joyful. I can't wait for the first smudge. I'm guessing I'll do OK on this assignment, too. So, tell me, what's on your page?
This year, I am looking at another blank page, but in a whole different light. Both of our children will be enrolled in school full-time, I have no occupation, I am not volunteering on a committee, a group or a neighborhood board, I am not a gym rat, I am not socially driven, and well, truth be told, after September 6th, my calendar has no writing on any dates other than birthday reminders. A totally blank page. People are curious: "Aren't you worried about not doing ANYTHING?". Well, I wouldn't say I'm not doing ANYTHING! I have a house to finish unpacking. I am sure I will pitch in from time to time at school functions. I will have coffee dates with friends. I have a garden that seriously needs my attention. I have junk drawers to organize. I have words in my head that need to be placed on paper. I have books to read. I have a hammock in my backyard that looks incredibly lonely. I have trails to discover and shops in Apex and Cary to browse through on a rainy day. I have music to play really, REALLY loud. And I have dance moves saved for my own private party in my living room. I have recipes dog-eared in magazines to try on my family. I have photos from decades that need to be sorted, labeled and gazed upon with fondness. I can have lunch with my husband! I can stroll through art museums and musty old book stores. I can try on really expensive clothes for a make believe trip and then decide, "Oh, well, not today.". I can have a glass of wine with lunch, just because. I can take a nap! I can rent my favorite movies and watch them in the middle of the day. I can miss my dogs. I can call my friends and family across the country and not hang up because a ruckus is occurring in the next room. I can visit my sister-in-law on her lunch break. I can surprise my niece at college (just kidding, cutie pie...but I could). Or the best part, I can do absolutely none of these things.That is the joy of a blank page.
Today I walked into a coffee shop and noticed they had a help wanted sign. "I can be a barista!" I thought excitedly. One of my friends just landed a great part-time gig watching children once a day during the week. "Oooh, I could be a substitute teacher!". I picked up the Town of Cary class schedule and thought, "Ceramics! Pottery! Water Colors! Short Story Writing!". I thought about my interest in Yoga and thought, "I could be a certified Yoga instructor!". "Oh! I could write my novel!". And then I read an article about a woman who would be teaching people how to open their own cooking business out of their homes. "Oh! I could sell my hummus and guacamole!". "Oh! Oh! Oh! The possibilities!!!". And then I got really tired. And then I heard loud voices erupting downstairs. And I was off refereeing, again, as my possibility train was derailed until school starts.
And then I will find myself staring at a blank page, wondering how in the world I will fill in the white space for the next eight to nine months. You know, blank pages used to scare me but now, I find myself excited, nervous, giddy and joyful. I can't wait for the first smudge. I'm guessing I'll do OK on this assignment, too. So, tell me, what's on your page?
Sunday, August 4, 2013
The Joy of Letting Go
"But Mommy, I don't want to let him go!". were the words quietly whispered by my son as I broke the news that our 15-year-old Jack Russell was terminally ill and the "right thing to do" was to let him go. We have had to let go a lot this year. We let go of our apartment lease because we found the house of our dreams. In other words, we let go of money. We let go of Dixon, our medically challenged Black Labrador Retriever. We let go of our selfish hearts. We let go of preschool and Third Grade. We let go of our comfort zone. We let go of MOPS. We let go of Friday gatherings that maybe, just maybe, Mommy was outgrowing anyway. We let go of people who may not have had our best interest at heart. We let go of anger, frustration and hurt. We let go of schedules, weekly commitments and registration deadlines. We let go of rushing around, watching the clock and turning down fun. Yes, we lost some things, but then again, we found so much MORE!
In 1 1/2 years, we have moved three times (two in less than five months) changed schools three times, buried two dogs, rejoiced at the fixing of a loved one's heart, prayed over the news of a diabetic family member, attended sporting events, school events, social gatherings, traveled a bit to visit families, hosted friends, organized events, led groups and somewhere in between, laughed at the craziness we were trying to control. And then I let go.
I said no to organized summer schedules. I said no to swim lessons. I said no studying over the summer. I said no to planning vacations. I said no to working all the way through the summer. I said no to making concrete plans of any kind whatsoever. And then, school stopped and I breathed in with a heart stopping gasp. "WHAT HAVE I DONE?" I have three months of nothingness looming in front of me with two kids that have nothing, N-O-T-H-I-N-G on the calendar. I distinctly remember thinking Lindsay Lohan and I would be roommates by July. And then I let go of holding my breath. And something amazing happened. We have had the best summer EVER!
Swim dates. Sleepovers. Museum excursions. Beach trips...yes, multiple! Cookouts. Play dates. Friendship discovery. Gardening. Running. Biking. Hiking. Picnics. Ad Libs. Libraries. Family Movie Nights. Surprise breakfasts prepared by our daughter. Volleyball. Paddle ball. Baseball. Sharks and Minnows. Night swimming. Glow sticks. Visits to grandparents. Farmer's Markets. New recipes. Art. Writing. Reading. Candy Land. Would You Rather? Go Fish. War. Dinosaurs. Home Spa Days. Pajama Days. Water Shooters. Random run ins with old friends. Staying up WAY past midnight. Imagination Station. Streams. Fireworks. Sardines - hilarious reverse of hide and seek.Go Carts. Miniature Golf. Despicable Me 2. Uninterrupted vacation time with Daddy. New hairstyles. Make up sessions. Junk food pass. Key Lime Pie. Swings over a creek. Sandcastles. Fishing. Boogie Boards and Body Surfing. Cartwheels into the pool. 3/4 Flips. Sundaes for breakfast. Categories. Laughing HARD and UNEXPECTEDLY. Dr. Seuss flowers in our garden. Tomatoes. Hot peppers. Floats. Seafood. Dance parties. Root beer floats. Tan lines. Flat out fun.
And then, on August 1st, I had to let go...again. And I wanted to scream, "NO! This is not in my plans! This. Cannot. Be. Happening.". An amazing thing happened at the vet that afternoon. Mason had been very tired and lethargic all day, sleeping on our bed. At 3:15, I hooked up his leash and placed him in the car for our final road trip. He snuggled up into my lap, and placed his head over my shoulder. I held tight, cried and wondered how could I let him go? We arrived, were escorted to our room, and were reassured by the vet that this was absolutely the right decision. When they took our sweet boy back to prep him, my husband and I prepared ourselves. David decided he was going to hold Mason as he crossed over. When Mason came back into the room, David scooped him up and Mason looked right at me. His ears perked up. His eyes gazed into mine and for a second, I saw the puppy we brought home fifteen years ago. I smiled, patted his head, said my goodbyes and let go.
The next few days were rough but each day becomes easier. The children have VBS this week and I will be home, experimenting with how this Fall will feel when both children begin school. Once again, I have to let go when I am not really ready. But the one thing I have learned this year is while the letting go stings, the letting go can also bring great joy, surprise and wonder. And in time, you learn to let go - again. Because it is the right thing to do.
In 1 1/2 years, we have moved three times (two in less than five months) changed schools three times, buried two dogs, rejoiced at the fixing of a loved one's heart, prayed over the news of a diabetic family member, attended sporting events, school events, social gatherings, traveled a bit to visit families, hosted friends, organized events, led groups and somewhere in between, laughed at the craziness we were trying to control. And then I let go.
I said no to organized summer schedules. I said no to swim lessons. I said no studying over the summer. I said no to planning vacations. I said no to working all the way through the summer. I said no to making concrete plans of any kind whatsoever. And then, school stopped and I breathed in with a heart stopping gasp. "WHAT HAVE I DONE?" I have three months of nothingness looming in front of me with two kids that have nothing, N-O-T-H-I-N-G on the calendar. I distinctly remember thinking Lindsay Lohan and I would be roommates by July. And then I let go of holding my breath. And something amazing happened. We have had the best summer EVER!
Swim dates. Sleepovers. Museum excursions. Beach trips...yes, multiple! Cookouts. Play dates. Friendship discovery. Gardening. Running. Biking. Hiking. Picnics. Ad Libs. Libraries. Family Movie Nights. Surprise breakfasts prepared by our daughter. Volleyball. Paddle ball. Baseball. Sharks and Minnows. Night swimming. Glow sticks. Visits to grandparents. Farmer's Markets. New recipes. Art. Writing. Reading. Candy Land. Would You Rather? Go Fish. War. Dinosaurs. Home Spa Days. Pajama Days. Water Shooters. Random run ins with old friends. Staying up WAY past midnight. Imagination Station. Streams. Fireworks. Sardines - hilarious reverse of hide and seek.Go Carts. Miniature Golf. Despicable Me 2. Uninterrupted vacation time with Daddy. New hairstyles. Make up sessions. Junk food pass. Key Lime Pie. Swings over a creek. Sandcastles. Fishing. Boogie Boards and Body Surfing. Cartwheels into the pool. 3/4 Flips. Sundaes for breakfast. Categories. Laughing HARD and UNEXPECTEDLY. Dr. Seuss flowers in our garden. Tomatoes. Hot peppers. Floats. Seafood. Dance parties. Root beer floats. Tan lines. Flat out fun.
And then, on August 1st, I had to let go...again. And I wanted to scream, "NO! This is not in my plans! This. Cannot. Be. Happening.". An amazing thing happened at the vet that afternoon. Mason had been very tired and lethargic all day, sleeping on our bed. At 3:15, I hooked up his leash and placed him in the car for our final road trip. He snuggled up into my lap, and placed his head over my shoulder. I held tight, cried and wondered how could I let him go? We arrived, were escorted to our room, and were reassured by the vet that this was absolutely the right decision. When they took our sweet boy back to prep him, my husband and I prepared ourselves. David decided he was going to hold Mason as he crossed over. When Mason came back into the room, David scooped him up and Mason looked right at me. His ears perked up. His eyes gazed into mine and for a second, I saw the puppy we brought home fifteen years ago. I smiled, patted his head, said my goodbyes and let go.
The next few days were rough but each day becomes easier. The children have VBS this week and I will be home, experimenting with how this Fall will feel when both children begin school. Once again, I have to let go when I am not really ready. But the one thing I have learned this year is while the letting go stings, the letting go can also bring great joy, surprise and wonder. And in time, you learn to let go - again. Because it is the right thing to do.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
The Joy of Watching Our Daughter Losing It
Last weekend my husband and daughter enjoyed a wonderful experience at Camp Seafarer in eastern North Carolina with a local Y Guides group. There was zip lining over water, kayaking, archery, BB Gun shooting, ghost stories, s'mores, giggles late into the night, horrendous snoring, and memories that made my daughter laugh so hard, she turned a reddish purple color with tears streaming down her sun kissed cheeks. Yes, my daughter was losing it...big time. And I was one joyful Mom.
Anna is nine and one-half years old. She is starting to find her way in this world. She is discovering some people are the most amazing friends and some are best left as acquaintances. She is learning some people will keep their word and some will leave it in a pile of leaves, crumbling, breaking and twisting in the wind. She is developing her own sense of style with clothes, decor, music, literature and art. And when she shares these new discoveries with me, I am in awe of her creative spirit. But lately, my biggest enjoyment has been her lack of storytelling. The kind of story that begins quietly and innocently, but is quickly transferred to a gut wrenching, giggle infested, arms wrapped around the waist, gasping for air, I give up telling you anything intelligible type of a story. And in a nanosecond, my daughter is transporting me back to sleepovers and camping trips of my youth.
My memory echoes with parents yelling down the basement stairs to "Hush, girls...you need to sleep now" after a barrage of uncontrolled laughter had filtered up to the main floor. There was never a firmness in those voices, but more of a lyrical "You will pay tomorrow, but I shall not". I imagine they were smiling...a lot. I remember Mrs. Stockdale, my Girl Scout Leader, reminding us on our overnight trips that we might be more lively in the morning if we would chat less in the nighttime. My cousin Amy and I were constantly reminded that while owls were hooting, we should not. Bah humbug! Will Smith was so on board when he sang, "Parents just don't understand.". But I am thinking they did...so much more than we understood.
When I look at my daughter's face, purplish, contorted and wet, trying so hard to convey a moment to me that I cannot understand...when she finally catches her breath and utters, "Never mind, you wouldn't get it", I smile, nod, and quietly think, " I so do." This part of childhood is fleeting, a bit indescribable, and tapped so far into your psyche, when you are 45 and in a reflective mood, these moments will step forward, a smile will spread upon your lips and your heart will be joyful for those moments when you totally lost it...and then found it again.
Anna is nine and one-half years old. She is starting to find her way in this world. She is discovering some people are the most amazing friends and some are best left as acquaintances. She is learning some people will keep their word and some will leave it in a pile of leaves, crumbling, breaking and twisting in the wind. She is developing her own sense of style with clothes, decor, music, literature and art. And when she shares these new discoveries with me, I am in awe of her creative spirit. But lately, my biggest enjoyment has been her lack of storytelling. The kind of story that begins quietly and innocently, but is quickly transferred to a gut wrenching, giggle infested, arms wrapped around the waist, gasping for air, I give up telling you anything intelligible type of a story. And in a nanosecond, my daughter is transporting me back to sleepovers and camping trips of my youth.
My memory echoes with parents yelling down the basement stairs to "Hush, girls...you need to sleep now" after a barrage of uncontrolled laughter had filtered up to the main floor. There was never a firmness in those voices, but more of a lyrical "You will pay tomorrow, but I shall not". I imagine they were smiling...a lot. I remember Mrs. Stockdale, my Girl Scout Leader, reminding us on our overnight trips that we might be more lively in the morning if we would chat less in the nighttime. My cousin Amy and I were constantly reminded that while owls were hooting, we should not. Bah humbug! Will Smith was so on board when he sang, "Parents just don't understand.". But I am thinking they did...so much more than we understood.
When I look at my daughter's face, purplish, contorted and wet, trying so hard to convey a moment to me that I cannot understand...when she finally catches her breath and utters, "Never mind, you wouldn't get it", I smile, nod, and quietly think, " I so do." This part of childhood is fleeting, a bit indescribable, and tapped so far into your psyche, when you are 45 and in a reflective mood, these moments will step forward, a smile will spread upon your lips and your heart will be joyful for those moments when you totally lost it...and then found it again.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
The Joy of a New Home
We are welcoming our third weekend in our recently purchased home and every day I fall more and more in love. Sigh. Not the teenage angst ridden emotional roller coaster state of love but those favorite faded, loose fitting, almost hole-in-the-knee and cannot throw out weekend jeans kind of love. Sigh. I cannot wait for all my friends and family to meet him kind of love. Sigh. The kind of staying up late imagining what we are going to look like in a few years kind of love. Sigh. The "I Do" kind of love. Sigh. I. Am. So. Gone.
David and I have shared EIGHT residences in our fifteen years of marriage. I laugh/shudder at the thought and jokingly/seriously say to my handsomely gray-haired husband, "This is it!". Because coincidentally, moving has always coincided with a job change. And I sort of smile because this is the same phrase I uttered after meeting David. I just knew.
My husband and eldest child are enjoying a Daddy/Daughter outing at Camp Seafarer this weekend. I have received hilarious girlfriend pictures with a backdrop of smooth water and tall pine trees followed by update texts of an ice cream social and Friday night dance craze. And one phone call that included so many activity updates, I was happily exhausted. Meanwhile, I am home with our son who was diagnosed with strep this morning. Sure, this health hiccup changed my Mommy/Son plans for the weekend. Instead of getting to indulge with my sweet boy, I am getting to know our house a bit more and I have to admit, I skinned my knees a bit when I fell head over heels.
When we first purchased our house, I was giddy to have room again. And a backyard. And flowers in the yard. And a garage. And we could let Mason, our aging Jack Russell, out the back door and not on a leash,huffing up and down three flights of stairs...in the rain, or three feet of snow when we retell this scenario to our children. We had spent the past four months in an apartment on, yup, you guessed it...the third floor. But now, we were in our very own home with a front porch and a landscaped yard. Our backyard is plush with pine straw, pine cones and ivy. Proud pine trees guard us and protect us. We have a zip line, a playhouse and a playground. We have squirrels and cardinals and robins and um, a hawk so huge I scooped up Mason and bolted inside. We have neighbors who bake amazing pumpkin chocolate chip muffins and tutor me on the garden I always wanted but have no earthly idea how to tend.
Last night I wandered from room to room, stopping and sitting. Sighing. Thankful. Joyful. The journey was SO worth the wait. Thank you, Lord. I saw this house a year ago and now we call this funky green house with brown shutters on a hill....home. You were listening to me all along (note to self for blog entry down the road). Sometimes love is fickle. Sometimes love is not love but a misguided emotion of something you thought you wanted. And then sometimes, if you are truly blessed, love is enduring, comfortable, weathering and still unexpectedly, takes your breath away. We, at this moment, are a joyful family in a joyful house in a joyful life. Sigh. Isn't it dreamy?
David and I have shared EIGHT residences in our fifteen years of marriage. I laugh/shudder at the thought and jokingly/seriously say to my handsomely gray-haired husband, "This is it!". Because coincidentally, moving has always coincided with a job change. And I sort of smile because this is the same phrase I uttered after meeting David. I just knew.
My husband and eldest child are enjoying a Daddy/Daughter outing at Camp Seafarer this weekend. I have received hilarious girlfriend pictures with a backdrop of smooth water and tall pine trees followed by update texts of an ice cream social and Friday night dance craze. And one phone call that included so many activity updates, I was happily exhausted. Meanwhile, I am home with our son who was diagnosed with strep this morning. Sure, this health hiccup changed my Mommy/Son plans for the weekend. Instead of getting to indulge with my sweet boy, I am getting to know our house a bit more and I have to admit, I skinned my knees a bit when I fell head over heels.
When we first purchased our house, I was giddy to have room again. And a backyard. And flowers in the yard. And a garage. And we could let Mason, our aging Jack Russell, out the back door and not on a leash,huffing up and down three flights of stairs...in the rain, or three feet of snow when we retell this scenario to our children. We had spent the past four months in an apartment on, yup, you guessed it...the third floor. But now, we were in our very own home with a front porch and a landscaped yard. Our backyard is plush with pine straw, pine cones and ivy. Proud pine trees guard us and protect us. We have a zip line, a playhouse and a playground. We have squirrels and cardinals and robins and um, a hawk so huge I scooped up Mason and bolted inside. We have neighbors who bake amazing pumpkin chocolate chip muffins and tutor me on the garden I always wanted but have no earthly idea how to tend.
Last night I wandered from room to room, stopping and sitting. Sighing. Thankful. Joyful. The journey was SO worth the wait. Thank you, Lord. I saw this house a year ago and now we call this funky green house with brown shutters on a hill....home. You were listening to me all along (note to self for blog entry down the road). Sometimes love is fickle. Sometimes love is not love but a misguided emotion of something you thought you wanted. And then sometimes, if you are truly blessed, love is enduring, comfortable, weathering and still unexpectedly, takes your breath away. We, at this moment, are a joyful family in a joyful house in a joyful life. Sigh. Isn't it dreamy?
Monday, May 13, 2013
The Joy of MOMS!
It only seems natural I should write about Moms this morning after a weekend of celebrating the special women in our lives. I have always had the pleasure of being surrounded by amazing role models, from my Grandmom to my Aunts to my Mother-in-Law to "adopted Moms" and of course, my lovable, huggable Mom. When we spoke yesterday, I mentioned Anna and I had shipped off our package Friday, so of course, our wishes would be late but the sentiment was the same: We love you! And then I said, "You know, Mom, it seems by the time you can fully appreciate your Mom, you don't have the time to let them know how much you now 'get it'." She laughed her infectious laugh and agreed. So I am hoping these few sentiments will help my Mom and ALL Moms out there know, we get it 100%. You are the epicenter of our family and all roads of love lead to you.
You loved us when changing diapers in the dark of night or changed the sheets because of an "accident" in our sleep. You soothed us, comforted us and sent us back to dreamland while you finished what we started.
You surprised us with sentimental notes in our lunchboxes or in the mail. In the middle of our days, you made sure we knew someone cared.
You provided first aid for scraped knees, slammed fingers, bumped heads, broken bones, and broken hearts. Chocolate chip cookies were never far behind.
You listened for hours while we chattered on about trucks, cars, dolls, why things grow, why things wilt, did you know (fill in the blank), girlfriends, boyfriends, the meaning of anything and everything in our world, sports, frustrations, celebrations and why oh why doesn't Dad get it?
You bought us clothes and shoes without keeping a tab.
You drove us back and forth to sporting events, birthday parties, movie and mall meet ups, rolling skating rinks on Friday nights, friends houses, college and vacations.
You laughed with gusto at our really bad jokes.
You believed our artwork should be in MoMA and displayed our creations proudly on the refrigerator.
The trinkets we made you in elementary school appeared every year at Christmas time, Easter, and any other holiday we glued, cut, glittered and created a heart felt something for you.
You logged in reading hours when you yourself were ready to hit the hay.
You made our favorite foods. And you made us eat our non-favorite foods.
You hugged us. A lot.
You attended every band concert, music recital, sporting event, school play and child function imaginable. And you did it with a smile on your face and a gleam in your eye that can only come from a Mom's heart.
You planned menus, outings, vacations, weddings, family gatherings and stuff we don't even know about but will in time.
You took us to church.
You taught us how to read.
You encouraged when we were discouraged.
You said no sometimes.
You asked a lot of questions when we were in high school.
You made celebrations special and random days a reason to celebrate.
You let us play in the rain and the mud.
You taught us how to plant, grow and harvest.
You packed picnics and suitcases.
You cleaned toilets, sinks, floors and rooms.
Laundry. That chore earns it's own line.
You picked up after children and animals and husbands.
You played with us. You laughed with us. You cried with us.
You loved us when we weren't lovable.
You forgave us.
You prayed for us.
You. Were. Always. There. Loving. Unconditionally.
And my hope is you know how much you are loved, admired, needed, thought of and appreciated by this daughter who never had a clue. Until now.
Thanks, Mom. You are a joy!
You loved us when changing diapers in the dark of night or changed the sheets because of an "accident" in our sleep. You soothed us, comforted us and sent us back to dreamland while you finished what we started.
You surprised us with sentimental notes in our lunchboxes or in the mail. In the middle of our days, you made sure we knew someone cared.
You provided first aid for scraped knees, slammed fingers, bumped heads, broken bones, and broken hearts. Chocolate chip cookies were never far behind.
You listened for hours while we chattered on about trucks, cars, dolls, why things grow, why things wilt, did you know (fill in the blank), girlfriends, boyfriends, the meaning of anything and everything in our world, sports, frustrations, celebrations and why oh why doesn't Dad get it?
You bought us clothes and shoes without keeping a tab.
You drove us back and forth to sporting events, birthday parties, movie and mall meet ups, rolling skating rinks on Friday nights, friends houses, college and vacations.
You laughed with gusto at our really bad jokes.
You believed our artwork should be in MoMA and displayed our creations proudly on the refrigerator.
The trinkets we made you in elementary school appeared every year at Christmas time, Easter, and any other holiday we glued, cut, glittered and created a heart felt something for you.
You logged in reading hours when you yourself were ready to hit the hay.
You made our favorite foods. And you made us eat our non-favorite foods.
You hugged us. A lot.
You attended every band concert, music recital, sporting event, school play and child function imaginable. And you did it with a smile on your face and a gleam in your eye that can only come from a Mom's heart.
You planned menus, outings, vacations, weddings, family gatherings and stuff we don't even know about but will in time.
You took us to church.
You taught us how to read.
You encouraged when we were discouraged.
You said no sometimes.
You asked a lot of questions when we were in high school.
You made celebrations special and random days a reason to celebrate.
You let us play in the rain and the mud.
You taught us how to plant, grow and harvest.
You packed picnics and suitcases.
You cleaned toilets, sinks, floors and rooms.
Laundry. That chore earns it's own line.
You picked up after children and animals and husbands.
You played with us. You laughed with us. You cried with us.
You loved us when we weren't lovable.
You forgave us.
You prayed for us.
You. Were. Always. There. Loving. Unconditionally.
And my hope is you know how much you are loved, admired, needed, thought of and appreciated by this daughter who never had a clue. Until now.
Thanks, Mom. You are a joy!
Thursday, May 9, 2013
The Joy of Backward, Neutral and Forward
This week has been a culmination of closure and the beginning of discovering new paths in our funny, messy, adventurous life. Josh ended his preschool life today. I finish my term as co-leader of a local MOPS group tomorrow. And we will celebrate two weeks in our very own home after a one and a half year hiccup of transplanting ourselves from Austin, TX to Cary, NC.
Life, like motion, is constant change. And I have found if you keep looking forward instead of backward, you are less likely to crash. But sometimes, just sometimes, staying in neutral isn't always bad for your engine.
Josh's preschool was the biggest blessing of the year. Most people would disagree and say, "Um, didn't you just buy a house? Whoa! Huge blessing!". True. But the transformation of our son this year was close to the metamorphosis of caterpillar to butterfly: if you don't watch closely, you'll miss something magnificent.
Josh grew. Josh molted his old self of shy and insecure to outgoing and extremely confident. Sometimes, he liked to hang upside down. There were moments when I wasn't sure Josh was changing, he seemed the same on the outside. But inside, BIG changes were occurring. Little nuggets would slip out letting me know "stuff" was happening deep inside where Mommies can't always see until a word is spoken. Like, "Mommy, I know who my BFF is" he said one morning over breakfast. Smiling, I waited to hear the words, "Alex", his best friend that is moving to New Hampshire the end of May. Instead, I saw a big smile explode across his face as he said, "GOD!". Not often is Mommy speechless.
And then there were moments when he was a typical preschooler: dawdling, short attention span, long sentences that neither seem to end or have a point but at the same time extremely important that I listen intently, justifying why food is more fun to play with than eat and my all time favorite childhood epidemic - selective hearing. "When are you going to change?" I would catch myself screaming in my head. And then one day, I look around, and there is a young boy, contentedly playing cars, singing songs, chewing with his mouth closed, saying words like "proboscis" correctly (Hello! I cannot say that word), telling his sister she looks pretty today, thanking me for making breakfast, calling Daddy on the phone just to chat, and I find I have lost my breath. Here, directly in front of me is an energetic, playful, intelligent young boy, ready and excited for Kindergarten. "I will have Lunch Buddies every day!". "I will have two playgrounds at my new school!". I will ride the bus with Anna!". It is hard for me not to look back to September when I turned an extremely shy four-year-old boy over to a very loving, hilarious, patient woman who in the end returned a vibrant, happy, confident five-year-old boy. I know I need to look forward and prepare for his first day of "real" school. But for now, at this very moment, I am content to stay just where I am; a snuggly Mommy with a snuggly boy who still thinks "I know most things " ("but" he says, "you are not like Anna who knows everything!") and still lets me kiss his face in public. Sooner than I am ready, we will be shifting into forward, heading in a new direction and picking up speed. For a moment, I will look in the rear view mirror watching the road turn into a narrow, winding ribbon. I will tuck the postcards of yesterday into my joyful heart, take a big breath and smile, knowing there is another rest stop just around the bend with a butterfly waiting to be discovered.
Life, like motion, is constant change. And I have found if you keep looking forward instead of backward, you are less likely to crash. But sometimes, just sometimes, staying in neutral isn't always bad for your engine.
Josh's preschool was the biggest blessing of the year. Most people would disagree and say, "Um, didn't you just buy a house? Whoa! Huge blessing!". True. But the transformation of our son this year was close to the metamorphosis of caterpillar to butterfly: if you don't watch closely, you'll miss something magnificent.
Josh grew. Josh molted his old self of shy and insecure to outgoing and extremely confident. Sometimes, he liked to hang upside down. There were moments when I wasn't sure Josh was changing, he seemed the same on the outside. But inside, BIG changes were occurring. Little nuggets would slip out letting me know "stuff" was happening deep inside where Mommies can't always see until a word is spoken. Like, "Mommy, I know who my BFF is" he said one morning over breakfast. Smiling, I waited to hear the words, "Alex", his best friend that is moving to New Hampshire the end of May. Instead, I saw a big smile explode across his face as he said, "GOD!". Not often is Mommy speechless.
And then there were moments when he was a typical preschooler: dawdling, short attention span, long sentences that neither seem to end or have a point but at the same time extremely important that I listen intently, justifying why food is more fun to play with than eat and my all time favorite childhood epidemic - selective hearing. "When are you going to change?" I would catch myself screaming in my head. And then one day, I look around, and there is a young boy, contentedly playing cars, singing songs, chewing with his mouth closed, saying words like "proboscis" correctly (Hello! I cannot say that word), telling his sister she looks pretty today, thanking me for making breakfast, calling Daddy on the phone just to chat, and I find I have lost my breath. Here, directly in front of me is an energetic, playful, intelligent young boy, ready and excited for Kindergarten. "I will have Lunch Buddies every day!". "I will have two playgrounds at my new school!". I will ride the bus with Anna!". It is hard for me not to look back to September when I turned an extremely shy four-year-old boy over to a very loving, hilarious, patient woman who in the end returned a vibrant, happy, confident five-year-old boy. I know I need to look forward and prepare for his first day of "real" school. But for now, at this very moment, I am content to stay just where I am; a snuggly Mommy with a snuggly boy who still thinks "I know most things " ("but" he says, "you are not like Anna who knows everything!") and still lets me kiss his face in public. Sooner than I am ready, we will be shifting into forward, heading in a new direction and picking up speed. For a moment, I will look in the rear view mirror watching the road turn into a narrow, winding ribbon. I will tuck the postcards of yesterday into my joyful heart, take a big breath and smile, knowing there is another rest stop just around the bend with a butterfly waiting to be discovered.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
The Joy of Dixon
Saturday, February 9, 2013 was a difficult day for our family as we said goodbye to our lovable 10-year-old Black Labrador Retriever, Dixon. The four of us huddled around our sweet boy, hugging and grieving as he slipped into a peaceful, painless place, knowing he was loved in our world. Loved hard. And hard things break.
Dixon bounded into our lives Thanksgiving weekend in 2002. We selected him from a pile of pups located in the country of Eastern North Carolina. Unfortunately, when the day came to pick him up, he was an absolute mess: covered in mud and feces. Ugh! But my goodness, he was happy. And that would set the tone for Dixon's short but memorable life.
My husband and I had one other baby waiting at home. A smart and energetic Jack Russell Terrier named Mason who had yet to discover he was a dog. In his mind, he walked on two legs, slept in our bed, went everywhere with us so therefore, he was a human. And then Dixon arrived. Jubilant, clumsy, affectionate, and ALL dog. Mason retreated to the backyard, shivering and shaking by the tall pine trees, while Dixon raced around the yard, happy, free and completely out of control. To this day, Mason has not forgiven us for turning his human world upside down. But eventually, against his better judgment, he came to love Dixon, too. He couldn't help himself.
About a month after Dixon "settled" into our family, an ice storm descended upon our small town and we lost power for approximately four days. Thankfully, we had a wood burning fireplace and fold out couch in our tiny den, so we transformed the small room into the family headquarters. Mason cowered on the pullout bed while Dixon circled like a shark down below, trying over and over again to get his chubby, uncoordinated body closer to his brother. Dixon never became frustrated. He never attacked the sheets or ripped the upholstery. But he never gave up. He knew he would reach his destination so in the meantime, he would just enjoy the journey.
There are many, many, MANY entertaining stories of Dixon as a puppy, as an adolescent and as a full grown dog. And there were times when my husband threatened to send him to a farm. Secretly, I think Mason wished "Dad" would follow through with his threat, but he never did. Staying mad at Dixon was not in the cards. He was stubborn and difficult to train. He had his own agenda and things would get completed in his due time. Yet no matter how frustrated you may have become, no matter how loud your voice may have risen, no matter how many threats were thrown his way, he would love you, unconditionally and effortlessly. We did not realize, Dixon was in the midst of training us.
People were Dixon's greatest joy and children were his greatest happiness. Oh, how he loved play dates for the children. He would lift his front legs off the ground, chase his tail and bring his big, goofy self to everyone who entered. But sometimes Dixon was a little too energetic for people and he would have to go upstairs. Ears down, eyes sorrowful, back legs firmly planted on the carpet, each step up a cardiovascular workout for me until he would be placed in our room for a little time out. And he would lay his big, heavy body right up against the door, listening for footsteps, a sign he would soon be released. Eventually, he worked on the ones who were fearful of the big, black dog and rarely did people not want to be around him. Dixon had a knack for changing people's preconceived notions.
Dixon was destined to be a dog that dealt with health issues, but he did without complaint. Early in his puppy days, he injured his hind leg and would never completely recover. If he ran too hard or walked too long, he would be gimpy the next day. He had deteriorating muscles in his hind quarters. Typical of big dogs, he dealt with arthritic hips. His liver and kidneys weren't always at full functioning capacity. And his gray came early, but beautifully. But he never complained and was happy just to be in the midst of family.
As the seasons passed and he became a senior dog, he didn't get up quite as often. But his tail thumped up and down when you came into a room. He might not have felt well, but he was always happy to see you. Steps were not a favorite and as we moved into a third floor apartment during a transition time, he would saunter up while his brother zoomed up the steps. He would pant and breathe heavily. And lie down quickly upon entering home. In the middle of the night, he would pace in our bedroom, trying to signal us he needed to go outside. Never a whimper. Never a cry. And rarely an accident. He was trying so hard. And I realized, so were we. He deserved better.
I have had the privilege of many dogs in my life, whether they were my own, a friend's or a family member. I have loved them all. But Dixon was different. My heartbreak over him is immense, more than I thought possible when the decision was made to end his suffering. I still have trouble being at home when the children are at school. I have yet to put his bed, leash or collar away. And I still talk to him like I did when he was lying here beside me as I typed my words. He was a phenomenal editor. He was a phenomenal dog. I am grateful he was ours for a brief amount of time and unknowingly, my life changed in an unexpected way from an unexpected teacher. I love you, Lumpy. You were a true joy. Go get 'em, boy!
Dixon bounded into our lives Thanksgiving weekend in 2002. We selected him from a pile of pups located in the country of Eastern North Carolina. Unfortunately, when the day came to pick him up, he was an absolute mess: covered in mud and feces. Ugh! But my goodness, he was happy. And that would set the tone for Dixon's short but memorable life.
My husband and I had one other baby waiting at home. A smart and energetic Jack Russell Terrier named Mason who had yet to discover he was a dog. In his mind, he walked on two legs, slept in our bed, went everywhere with us so therefore, he was a human. And then Dixon arrived. Jubilant, clumsy, affectionate, and ALL dog. Mason retreated to the backyard, shivering and shaking by the tall pine trees, while Dixon raced around the yard, happy, free and completely out of control. To this day, Mason has not forgiven us for turning his human world upside down. But eventually, against his better judgment, he came to love Dixon, too. He couldn't help himself.
About a month after Dixon "settled" into our family, an ice storm descended upon our small town and we lost power for approximately four days. Thankfully, we had a wood burning fireplace and fold out couch in our tiny den, so we transformed the small room into the family headquarters. Mason cowered on the pullout bed while Dixon circled like a shark down below, trying over and over again to get his chubby, uncoordinated body closer to his brother. Dixon never became frustrated. He never attacked the sheets or ripped the upholstery. But he never gave up. He knew he would reach his destination so in the meantime, he would just enjoy the journey.
There are many, many, MANY entertaining stories of Dixon as a puppy, as an adolescent and as a full grown dog. And there were times when my husband threatened to send him to a farm. Secretly, I think Mason wished "Dad" would follow through with his threat, but he never did. Staying mad at Dixon was not in the cards. He was stubborn and difficult to train. He had his own agenda and things would get completed in his due time. Yet no matter how frustrated you may have become, no matter how loud your voice may have risen, no matter how many threats were thrown his way, he would love you, unconditionally and effortlessly. We did not realize, Dixon was in the midst of training us.
People were Dixon's greatest joy and children were his greatest happiness. Oh, how he loved play dates for the children. He would lift his front legs off the ground, chase his tail and bring his big, goofy self to everyone who entered. But sometimes Dixon was a little too energetic for people and he would have to go upstairs. Ears down, eyes sorrowful, back legs firmly planted on the carpet, each step up a cardiovascular workout for me until he would be placed in our room for a little time out. And he would lay his big, heavy body right up against the door, listening for footsteps, a sign he would soon be released. Eventually, he worked on the ones who were fearful of the big, black dog and rarely did people not want to be around him. Dixon had a knack for changing people's preconceived notions.
Dixon was destined to be a dog that dealt with health issues, but he did without complaint. Early in his puppy days, he injured his hind leg and would never completely recover. If he ran too hard or walked too long, he would be gimpy the next day. He had deteriorating muscles in his hind quarters. Typical of big dogs, he dealt with arthritic hips. His liver and kidneys weren't always at full functioning capacity. And his gray came early, but beautifully. But he never complained and was happy just to be in the midst of family.
As the seasons passed and he became a senior dog, he didn't get up quite as often. But his tail thumped up and down when you came into a room. He might not have felt well, but he was always happy to see you. Steps were not a favorite and as we moved into a third floor apartment during a transition time, he would saunter up while his brother zoomed up the steps. He would pant and breathe heavily. And lie down quickly upon entering home. In the middle of the night, he would pace in our bedroom, trying to signal us he needed to go outside. Never a whimper. Never a cry. And rarely an accident. He was trying so hard. And I realized, so were we. He deserved better.
I have had the privilege of many dogs in my life, whether they were my own, a friend's or a family member. I have loved them all. But Dixon was different. My heartbreak over him is immense, more than I thought possible when the decision was made to end his suffering. I still have trouble being at home when the children are at school. I have yet to put his bed, leash or collar away. And I still talk to him like I did when he was lying here beside me as I typed my words. He was a phenomenal editor. He was a phenomenal dog. I am grateful he was ours for a brief amount of time and unknowingly, my life changed in an unexpected way from an unexpected teacher. I love you, Lumpy. You were a true joy. Go get 'em, boy!
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
The Joy of Birthdays
I love birthdays. And it doesn't have to be mine. I just love the whole celebratory aspect of rejoicing in another 365 days on Earth. Of course, children's birthdays tend to be a bit more jovial just because they spend 364 days waiting for that one day to arrive. When they will be bigger. Stronger. Older. Oh and that whole present thing. We have an ongoing list in our house for presents. Whatever holiday is coming around, we ask the children to add the request to their list with a disclosure statement of, "Just because it's on the list, doesn't mean you're going to receive it." because present requests have changed with each generation. My parents generation begged for dolls, jacks, Cowboys and Indians figurines, comic books, marbles, etc. My generation brought Atari games, boom boxes, designer clothes, name brand shoes (we HAD to be like Mike) and well, we just were not going to settle for anything from a five and dime store. My children's generation has graduated to iPhones, iPads, laptops, hand held games, Wii, X Box and probably gadgets I don't even know exist. In the race to keep up with technology, I will finish last every time. And I'm ok with last place in this particular race.
But my favorite thing about birthdays is not about the gifts. Sure baubles are nice for those special occasions, but honestly, I don't visit many places where I would wear a pretty piece of jewelry. And I am terrified of losing anything valuable. A trip to the spa sounds relaxing but I tend to spend the whole time wondering what my family is doing and how much longer do I have with this stranger rubbing my skin? Do I have time to fall asleep and if I do, will I be grumpy when they wake me? Are they noticing that I really should have left that last doughnut on the plate last Sunday because now I have a new dimple on my thigh? Dinner with my husband is always a delightful treat but then you add in babysitter fees and suddenly you've blown your budget for the month. Granted, I am stretching the truth a bit but honestly, my favorite gift is time. I love receiving cards in the mail with a little handwritten note from a loved one wishing me happiness and health for another year. I love the funny emails my friends send me letting me know I am growing older and while maybe not gracefully, I am not aging alone. I love the handmade cards from my children with misspelled words but perfectly placed I love you's and funny pictures and accolades that only a Mother can receive with a completely open heart. I love the cards or notes from my husband reminding me that in the midst of this busy, hectic life of children, bills and work, we still are best friends making our way down the messy road of life without a map. But we wouldn't have it any other way. I love the phone calls and voice mails that pop up throughout the day just to wish me Happy Birthday and nothing else. And I love that my Mom and Dad still sing Happy Birthday to me on the phone and make me feel like that little six-year-old that could not sleep the night before her birthday because she was going to simply burst from excitement. And I love that sometimes my bestest friends help me stretch out my birthday celebration for a whole month because they always think I was born 30 days later. And that brings a huge smile to my face because I have never been on time with a birthday card. But I always think about the celebratory person on their special day.
And that's the part that I love. That someone spent time doing a little something simple to make someone else's day brighter. And somehow, that made them a little brighter, too. So birthdays are not just for you. They bring great joy to all who know you and love you and celebrate you. And they just have a way of showing you that they are glad you are still here, being you, only you and that is the best gift a person could receive. Happy Birthday, everyone and may you continue to find great joy in the next 364 days!
But my favorite thing about birthdays is not about the gifts. Sure baubles are nice for those special occasions, but honestly, I don't visit many places where I would wear a pretty piece of jewelry. And I am terrified of losing anything valuable. A trip to the spa sounds relaxing but I tend to spend the whole time wondering what my family is doing and how much longer do I have with this stranger rubbing my skin? Do I have time to fall asleep and if I do, will I be grumpy when they wake me? Are they noticing that I really should have left that last doughnut on the plate last Sunday because now I have a new dimple on my thigh? Dinner with my husband is always a delightful treat but then you add in babysitter fees and suddenly you've blown your budget for the month. Granted, I am stretching the truth a bit but honestly, my favorite gift is time. I love receiving cards in the mail with a little handwritten note from a loved one wishing me happiness and health for another year. I love the funny emails my friends send me letting me know I am growing older and while maybe not gracefully, I am not aging alone. I love the handmade cards from my children with misspelled words but perfectly placed I love you's and funny pictures and accolades that only a Mother can receive with a completely open heart. I love the cards or notes from my husband reminding me that in the midst of this busy, hectic life of children, bills and work, we still are best friends making our way down the messy road of life without a map. But we wouldn't have it any other way. I love the phone calls and voice mails that pop up throughout the day just to wish me Happy Birthday and nothing else. And I love that my Mom and Dad still sing Happy Birthday to me on the phone and make me feel like that little six-year-old that could not sleep the night before her birthday because she was going to simply burst from excitement. And I love that sometimes my bestest friends help me stretch out my birthday celebration for a whole month because they always think I was born 30 days later. And that brings a huge smile to my face because I have never been on time with a birthday card. But I always think about the celebratory person on their special day.
And that's the part that I love. That someone spent time doing a little something simple to make someone else's day brighter. And somehow, that made them a little brighter, too. So birthdays are not just for you. They bring great joy to all who know you and love you and celebrate you. And they just have a way of showing you that they are glad you are still here, being you, only you and that is the best gift a person could receive. Happy Birthday, everyone and may you continue to find great joy in the next 364 days!
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
The Joy of Homemade Chocolate Chip Cookies
I do not know a simpler pleasure than enjoying a warm chocolate chip cookie from your very own oven. Not one that burns your tongue, but a cookie that deflates a little when you press your finger in the center. One where the chocolate morsels seem to stretch like mozzarella cheese when you break it apart. One that is not perfectly round and maybe a bit too puffy. One that was made with flour, baking soda, salt, butter, eggs, vanilla, chocolate chips and maybe a secret ingredient that makes this delectable treat all your own. One that makes you close your eyes, smile and immediately reach for another one. Without guilt.
I love to bake. I thank my Mom for letting me help her in the kitchen when I was younger. And now that I am a Mom, "helping" is an operative word and has many definitions in the official Mom dictionary. Chocolate chip cookies were a staple in our baking lessons. I have never perfected or even come close to her pie crust and I have accepted I will never replicate her divine flaky creations no matter how many times I try. But, I can hold my own when it comes to cookies. And not just chocolate chip. I love to make snickerdoodles, peanut butter, chocolate mint, oatmeal raisin, lemon, cookie press, sugar, iced, refrigerator, bar, no bake, drop, rolled, or monster mash creations. Which basically is whatever the kids want to add to a basic oatmeal cookie recipe. I recommend trying this with your children...they will surprise you and your taste buds will thank you.
But the best memory of my childhood chocolate chip cookie baking adventures is the time spent with my Mom. As the youngest of three active kids, a little quiet one-on-one time with my Mom was as rare as me finding a pen in my pocketbook these days. I remember the copper colored canisters with the black lids and cursive writing. I remember the measuring spoons in the top right drawer next to our avocado colored stove. I remember the baking pans standing tall in the skinny cabinet next to our avocado colored refrigerator. I remember the mixing bowls in the corner cabinet to the left of the sink. And I remember the avocado green standing mixer that I graduated to when I showed I could do the process from beginning to end. And I remember mixing by hand made a better cookie than mixing by machine. But mostly I remember my Mom with a quick laugh and gentle reminder to measure salt over the sink and not the ingredients bowl. I remember her telling me I needed to finish the task of dropping the cookie on the sheet, even if I was bored. She would not do that for me. I remember her letting me take the cookies out of the oven for the very first time. And I remember her letting me eat raw cookie dough even though some expert said we should not. And I remember she stuck her finger in the bowl, too. And I remember we always had to taste a few chocolate chips before we added to the batter. I remember that my Mom was teaching and tasting right beside me. And each time, I would do a little more by myself until there was a time you did not have to be in the kitchen any longer. But I knew that you would come if I called.
I now make cookies with my children. I see my Mom's hands in my own. I hear her voice as I ask them to pour the salt over the sink and to stir gently when adding the flour. My daughter is needing me less and less when we make cookies. And my son wants to do more and more on his own. After all the years of my Mom having me follow the same recipe over and over again, I finally figured out her secret ingredient: add a little love when no one is looking. And I couldn't think of a better secret to pass down to the next generation. There is great joy to sharing family traditions and recipes. Especially if you add a little chocolate and a lot of love.
I love to bake. I thank my Mom for letting me help her in the kitchen when I was younger. And now that I am a Mom, "helping" is an operative word and has many definitions in the official Mom dictionary. Chocolate chip cookies were a staple in our baking lessons. I have never perfected or even come close to her pie crust and I have accepted I will never replicate her divine flaky creations no matter how many times I try. But, I can hold my own when it comes to cookies. And not just chocolate chip. I love to make snickerdoodles, peanut butter, chocolate mint, oatmeal raisin, lemon, cookie press, sugar, iced, refrigerator, bar, no bake, drop, rolled, or monster mash creations. Which basically is whatever the kids want to add to a basic oatmeal cookie recipe. I recommend trying this with your children...they will surprise you and your taste buds will thank you.
But the best memory of my childhood chocolate chip cookie baking adventures is the time spent with my Mom. As the youngest of three active kids, a little quiet one-on-one time with my Mom was as rare as me finding a pen in my pocketbook these days. I remember the copper colored canisters with the black lids and cursive writing. I remember the measuring spoons in the top right drawer next to our avocado colored stove. I remember the baking pans standing tall in the skinny cabinet next to our avocado colored refrigerator. I remember the mixing bowls in the corner cabinet to the left of the sink. And I remember the avocado green standing mixer that I graduated to when I showed I could do the process from beginning to end. And I remember mixing by hand made a better cookie than mixing by machine. But mostly I remember my Mom with a quick laugh and gentle reminder to measure salt over the sink and not the ingredients bowl. I remember her telling me I needed to finish the task of dropping the cookie on the sheet, even if I was bored. She would not do that for me. I remember her letting me take the cookies out of the oven for the very first time. And I remember her letting me eat raw cookie dough even though some expert said we should not. And I remember she stuck her finger in the bowl, too. And I remember we always had to taste a few chocolate chips before we added to the batter. I remember that my Mom was teaching and tasting right beside me. And each time, I would do a little more by myself until there was a time you did not have to be in the kitchen any longer. But I knew that you would come if I called.
I now make cookies with my children. I see my Mom's hands in my own. I hear her voice as I ask them to pour the salt over the sink and to stir gently when adding the flour. My daughter is needing me less and less when we make cookies. And my son wants to do more and more on his own. After all the years of my Mom having me follow the same recipe over and over again, I finally figured out her secret ingredient: add a little love when no one is looking. And I couldn't think of a better secret to pass down to the next generation. There is great joy to sharing family traditions and recipes. Especially if you add a little chocolate and a lot of love.
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