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!
Monday, May 13, 2013
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.
Monday, December 31, 2012
The Joy of Living in the Present
The last day of 2012. Many people will reflect on the last 365 days while others will make promises to themselves or loved ones that they will break sooner than later. One thing I have learned is to not dwell too much on either but more importantly, focus on the present. Revel in the mundane because as we learned this month, in a few minutes all hell can break loose. There has been much focus on the unspeakable horrors that unraveled in a small, mostly unknown town in Connecticut on Friday, December 14th. Personally, I walked around in a fog for a few days, crying at unpredictable moments and looking at my children feeling scared, helpless and wondering how to move forward in a world that was walking away from God instead of toward Him. But then I began listening, really listening to the parents that were enduring the hardest days I could not even begin to contemplate. They asked us to remember the beauty of these children and public servants. They spoke of characteristics of most young children with tidbits that made each one unique, as God has intended. They spoke of teachers and administrators who carried a bright light each day, fueling the flame of learning not to their students, but to "their kids". Every day these residents of Newtown, Connecticut were making a difference, carving a path for others to follow and one day, watch them lead another generation. I need to make a correction. Every day these residents of Newtown, Connecticut ARE making a difference and they are leading all of us with one simple fundamental idea: they BELIEVE. And I quietly whisper, thank you, thank you for showing the world in the midst of the chaos, hurt and devastation, we still have hope and faith and love. As a country we showed this same resolve on September 11, 2001 and then I realized, we show this resolve every single day, but the media and a few disgruntled others would rather show a different view of our world.
The premise for this blog was to find the joy in every day life. For a few weeks, I really couldn't find the joy, even in the midst of the Christmas season. I was feeling depleted, like a balloon who had zoomed around a room and then sputtered to the ground, spent, waiting for someone to refill me so I could float around again, happy, weightless yet full.
Slowly, I have begun to refill. I pray at random moments. My intimate times with God leave me a little lighter and a little happier. This has been an amazingly stressful year for our family but I have to remember we are still a whole family. We have no unopened presents sitting under our tree. We have no empty places at our table. We have children that fight and hug and play and sing. We have everyone present and accounted for in our house. My life may seem boring at times, a little bit like Groundhog Day and there are days when I wonder, "Did I really put myself through college for this?". And then I hear Him. Yes. Everything you have done is for this moment you are living right now. Teach your children to know me and they will never be alone and in the midst of despair, they will see joy and light and happiness and hope. Teach them what the residents of Newtown have taught you: BELIEVE. What a joyful thought!
I wish you a Happy New Year and a bright, shiny, joyous 2013. But mostly, I wish you the gift of another day, the joy of living in the present and knowing that the best gifts are not those you unwrap but those you carry with you in your heart one day at a time.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
The Joy of Random Acts of Happiness
Last week as I was enjoying my morning walk on Cary Greenway, I came upon a random act of happiness. Someone had spray painted a pink smiley face surrounded by blue dots on a tree. I have to tell you, this made my day. Graffiti as its best. And no harm to the tree. In fact, I think the tree probably felt better knowing people passing were going to smile for quite a while. I know I did.
We need more random acts of happiness. We have more than our fair share of random acts at the moment. But here is the truly wonderful thing about random acts of happiness...it is free of charge and the gift carries a positive impact and is extremely contagious. Here is what I know. I stopped my walk and took a picture of said tree. Later that day, I posted that happy photo to my Facebook page. Within minutes, people were hitting the Like button and I was receiving comments about what makes people happy. And those comments continued to make me smile. People across the country were affected by one person's random thought to paint a smiley face on the trunk of a very tall pine tree on a trail in Cary, NC. I bet they never even contemplated someone in Arizona or Pennsylvania or Texas or Massachusetts would be smiling at their simple artwork. And maybe, just maybe, there is a copycat artist in other parts of the country who will happily strike a tree or a boulder or a hill or heart with a simple random smile.
As we head into the Christmas season and you are contemplating what gift to give this year,
I humbly suggest a random act of happiness. A simple joy for a complicated world. A one size fits all that never goes out of style kind of gift. A present that will not be returned but hopefully regifted and somehow finds its way back to you. Randomly.
We need more random acts of happiness. We have more than our fair share of random acts at the moment. But here is the truly wonderful thing about random acts of happiness...it is free of charge and the gift carries a positive impact and is extremely contagious. Here is what I know. I stopped my walk and took a picture of said tree. Later that day, I posted that happy photo to my Facebook page. Within minutes, people were hitting the Like button and I was receiving comments about what makes people happy. And those comments continued to make me smile. People across the country were affected by one person's random thought to paint a smiley face on the trunk of a very tall pine tree on a trail in Cary, NC. I bet they never even contemplated someone in Arizona or Pennsylvania or Texas or Massachusetts would be smiling at their simple artwork. And maybe, just maybe, there is a copycat artist in other parts of the country who will happily strike a tree or a boulder or a hill or heart with a simple random smile.
As we head into the Christmas season and you are contemplating what gift to give this year,
I humbly suggest a random act of happiness. A simple joy for a complicated world. A one size fits all that never goes out of style kind of gift. A present that will not be returned but hopefully regifted and somehow finds its way back to you. Randomly.
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