Memories

Two years ago tonight, I was going about my business of cleaning up the kitchen, putting the kids to bed, folding laundry.  I had this huge weight hanging over my head, the fact that my mom was dying, but this night two years ago I forgot about all that and got lost in the simplicity of my weeknight routine.  All of that was shot to hell when I got "THE" call - the call that I had been anticipating for about two weeks, the call that put me on edge every time the phone rang, the call that I finally figured wasn't going to happen on this mundane weeknight.  Then it did.

It was 12:30am, June 3, 2010.  I shot out of bed and said, "Oh shit."  I knew what a call at this time meant and I was completely caught off guard.  That's the funny thing about waiting for someone to die.  You think you are totally prepared, you get tired of waiting and then the shoe drops catching you by surprise.  I got the call.  I got in the car.  I drove like a bat out of hell.

I remember exactly what I was wearing.  I remember hitting every green light in my path.  I remember the gas gauge reading "72 Miles to Empty" when I left Ridgewood and somehow I managed to make the over 90 mile drive without running out of gas.  I remember walking into Mom and Dad's house and every light was on, but no one was downstairs.  I remember walking into their bedroom and I remember every detail of watching my mother die.  I really wish I could let that memory go.

The one thing I will say about my Mom's untimely departure from this earth is that she fought like hell not to leave while anyone was watching.  Mimi was so damn proud, she couldn't even die with us in the room.  The hospice nurse was amazing and gave Mom so many drugs it would have put a thoroughbred down four times over.  Mom would have none of it.  It wasn't until she was restful and quiet and we left her alone that she would finally let go.  She just didn't want to do it while we were in the room.  I am really glad she handled it that way.

I have said before that I am very thankful I could be there when Mom finally left, and I truly am.  But the part of it all that haunts me so much is coming to the realization of how sick she really was.  Mom powered through the last six months of her life putting on a brave face and enduring more pain than I can ever imagine.  She didn't want anyone to feel sorry for her, dote on her or worry about her.  She was always like that - putting everyone else first, to the detriment of her own health sometimes.  She was the consummate caregiver and until the very end, she never gave us a reason to care for her.  I just wish we had known how bad it was before it got so bad.  I wish she would have let us comfort her the way she comforted us.  I just really wish she was still here.

I am left with a lot of memories of my mom, the most harrowing of which is her last hours with us.  I am also left with three great kids who hold on to their own memories of Mimi, and bring them up at the most random and perfect times.  I am blessed that my children have these memories and they fight to keep them alive.  Although my last memory of Mom is not my best, it is a memory nonetheless and it reminds me of what a strong, gracious and tough woman Mimi was.

Love you Mom.

Being Mimi

The week leading up to Mother's Day is very challenging for me.  On one hand, I relish being a mom and getting showered with all the homemade gifts the kids make each year.  On the other hand, there are constant reminders of the fact that I no longer have a mom.  It seems as if every writer who has lost his or her mom publishes a piece about how painful this time of year can be, and somehow I end up reading every single one.  This week, I came upon an article written by a woman who lost her mom and her struggle to cope with the fact that she and her mom shared many characteristics.  She came to the resolution that instead of mourning her mother each Mother's Day, she was going to celebrate the fact that her mom lives on IN her.  I like this one, I really like this one.

Mom and I were very alike, and very different.  We shared the same smile, the same voice and the same penchant to have a good time (I strive every day to have as much fun as Mimi!).  Mimi was an extremely patient driver; I have critical heart palpitations every time I get on the Parkway and engage in some nasty road rage in my own neighborhood.  Mimi was an excellent seamstress; I shamelessly have the dry cleaner sew on buttons and fix hems.  Mimi always put everyone else first; I like to claim the inside post and make sure no one gets in my way.  Mimi could turn the worst situation into a positive one, making "lemonade" out of whatever "lemons" were thrown her way; I like to take the lemons, squeeze the life out of them and complain the entire time.

I no longer have a mother, but that is just part of who I am.  Not a part that I relish or enjoy, but a part nonetheless.  I cannot change what God decided for me, but I guess I can change how I view his choice.  It's a crappy one, albeit, but apparently he had his reasons, or she.  Reality is reality, and reality sucks.  That said, I decided this Mother's Day to quietly celebrate the fact that Mom lives on in me, and Regan, and Jack, and Thomas . . .and her other nine grandchildren.  I decided that I should be a bit more like her (more patient, more kind, more forgiving) and maybe a bit less like me.  She was the example I had for being a mother and I think she did a fairly good job.

So this Mother's Day I am a mother and a daughter, and even though I don't have a mother here with me to celebrate, I am celebrating the fact that she is hear IN me.  I love you Mom!  Happy Mother's Day.

Lemon Squares

Crust:
2 cups flour
2 sticks butter
1/2 cup confectioner's sugar

Topping:
2 cups sugar
4 eggs
2 tsp baking powder
4 Tbsp flour
4 Tbsp lemon juice

Preheat oven to 350.  Mix crust ingredients together and press into a 9x13 pan.  Bake for 15 minutes.  Mix all other ingredients together and pour over crust.  Bake for 25 minutes.  Sprinkle with confectioner's sugar.

Scars

I haven't blogged in several months, largely because the fact that Mom is gone has become a part of my daily life.  It's just something that I accept, something that is and something I cannot change. The saying goes, "time heals all" but I think that is a bunch of crap. Time just makes it slightly less painful.  There really is no healing.

I had a moment tonight.  One of those great motherly moments with my amazing daughter.  She came down to the kitchen, sat at the island and finished her homework.  Lately these days, Regan has taken to her room like it is a full-service suite at the Ritz.  She goes up there and never comes down.  I actually ventured up to the third floor this morning to check out "the-cleaning-lady-is-coming-so-clean-up-your-room" progress and I was totally disgusted.  Diet Coke cans, half-eaten bags of SmartFood, and dirty laundry piled high.  The advantage of moving her to the third-floor was that I don't have to see this shit every day.  The disadvantage is that raccoons could easily live off her trash.  God bless the cleaning lady!

Anyway, Regan has blown us away this year.  She started at a private school in the fall and the work load has been insane, but that has not phased her one bit.  She works her tail off in the classroom and on the sports field, coming home at 6:30 most evenings, grabbing some bit of dinner and heading to her room to plug away at her homework, oftentimes not hitting the sack until well after midnight. Which basically means that we don't really see her Monday through Thursday.  Tonight, however, was one of those rare moments when she wanted to be seen.  And I relished every minute.

We chatted about the boys, the friends, the school, life in general for a seventh grader.  She was funny, witty and more mature than I could ever imagine.  She jokingly tossed me the worksheet, diagrams included, from her health class where they are discussing all the topics that parents fear most and then rolled on the floor laughing when I glanced at it and squealed in disgust.  Yes, I am the 42-year old who birthed three children but I really don't want to go over that with my 12-year old daughter.

All-in-all, it was just 40 minutes of pure motherly bliss.  And there is no one, not a single person in this world, who would have enjoyed my euphoria more than Mimi.  But, she's not here.  So when Regan bounded out of the kitchen, with her lacrosse uniform still on, school books and laptop tucked under her arm, I was left here at the kitchen island all by myself.  As much as I would have loved to call Mimi to tell her about this moment, because I know she would have understood exactly how I felt, I couldn't.  She's gone.  And while the wound has healed, the scar remains.  It always will.

I guess the upside is the scars remind us that we have to move on, but we don't need to forget.

Family Ties

I love Christmas.  I really do.  And I love it more year after year.  I love watching my children embrace certain aspects of the holiday. I love making new traditions with our family and friends. And I just love celebrating all the things that are good, and special and monumental in my family.

I am blessed, so crazily blessed it scares me sometimes.  I have this really cool husband who works his tail off (but he does love his job so it's not too much work) to give his family a really great life full of wonderful experiences and moments.  He is, by far, the most generous person I have ever met and he is the master of picking out gifts.  I think he loves Christmas more than I do, and I know nothing gives him more pleasure than to see the joy on someones face when they open the gift he selected for them.  Although he may not like it, he's a lot like my mom.  Always thinking about others, thinking about the expression when they open that special gift, the joy of the holiday.

Don't get me wrong.  Two more different people you could not find.  Mimi and Pete clashed quite frequently over the years.  But they clashed for the exact same reason - loving me.  Mom wanted the best for me and so did Pete.  He went about it in a way that didn't quite fit Mom's formula, but he did it all the same and he did it his way.  Pete has provided for me and our three beautiful children an amazing life.  Mom didn't quite get that at the outset.  He was a trader, unconventional in his mode of providing.  He went back to business school with an 11-month and a nagging wife (yep, that's me).  But he did, and he kicked ass along the way.  And, he provided for our kids an outstanding example of work ethic and ambition, which I know they will embody as they embark on their own careers.

Mom was hard on Pete, really hard.  I am the oldest, first married, first to have a grandchild - blah, blah, blah.  And Mom fulfilled the role of the stoic, hard-ass, Irish mother-in-law.  She did not cut him one damn break.  But in her last few days, she told me how proud she was of the family we had and the life we had built.  She told me she did not need to worry about me and Pete.  I knew it was in there, she just liked to give him a hard time.

But here's the twist - I'm not so sure Pete would have had it any other way.  He always loved the challenge and Mom sure provided one for him.  Hell, he could have given her the Canary Diamond and she would have some snarky comment about how it didn't match her earrings.  But, I know they loved each other.  I know they respected each other.  And I know this because I am the one thing they had in common.  Kind of a special gift to each of them, huh?

Melting Moments (World's Most Tedious Holiday Cookies)

Cookie:
2 cups flour
3/4 cup butter
1/4 cup butter flavored Crisco
2 Tbsp powdered sugar
1/2 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp lemon juice
1 tsp almond extract

Filling:
1 cup powdered sugar
1 Tbsp butter
dash vanilla extract
milk added a little at a time until right consistency

Preheat oven to 350.

Mix all ingredients for cookies together to form dough.  Refrigerate to make dough easier to work with.  Roll into small 1/2" balls, flatten with fork and bake for 10 minutes.

Mix all ingredients for filling and sandwich between cookies.  You can add food coloring to the filling if you like.

Christmas Joy

Do you remember your favorite Christmas ornament from your childhood?  That one piece that you could not wait for your mom to unwrap or pull out of the storage box?  Do you remember decorating the tree as a kid and all the stories that went with every ornament you carefully placed on the tree?  That one was from Aunt Joan. . . Mom got you that when she went to San Francisco. . . You made that one in first grade . . . That was from your first Christmas . . .

All these tacky pieces, dripping with globs of glue and glitter, handmade crafts and special mementos of trips near and far.  Bright vivid colors, pieces you loved to hold, memories you would cherish.

My favorite decoartion didn't go on the tree.  It was this centerpiece-thing that Mom would put on the coffee table.  It had three felt reindeer covered in gold glitter and it was tacky.  I'm talking Carol Brady-1970's-tacky.  But I loved this piece.  I played with it so much that those damn reindeer were bald by the time I hit middle school.  Dad would crank up a fire, Mom would attack the Christmas tree with a vengeance, and I would just sit at the coffee table and play with this silly centerpiece.  And not once, not a single time, would Mom ask me to leave it alone.  She would let me have my fun, sweep up the glitter remnants when I was done, and softly smile while humming some John Denver holiday tune.

I am the complete opposite.  I am the annal retentive holiday decorator.  No one, and I mean no one, gets near my tree.  All the decorations have a certain place and when it comes to holiday illumination, I am the queen.  Pete picks out the tree and leaves the rest to me.  The kids don't dare come within a four foot radius of the tree until every light is in its place.  They know this, and they stay back.  Until this year.

Thomas pulled out an ornament Mom had given him on her last Christmas with us and I just melted.  I stopped in my tracks and I remembered that damn gold reindeer centerpiece.  I stepped away from the tree and let the kids do the rest.  They had a blast - chatting about the ornaments, which ones they loved, how they remembered certain ones, hanging them all haphazard on the tree.  I sat on the couch, watched with a heavy but very happy heart, and wished Mom could see this.  Wished more than anything that I could play with that silly reindeer centerpiece.  Wished more than anything I had an ounce of Mom's patience during each and every day.

Cherish the small moments, relish the big ones, and celebrate everything in between.  Merry Christmas from me and Mimi!

Christmas Cookies

2/3 cup shortening
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg
3 Tbsp milk
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups flour

Icing:
5 Tbsp butter, softened
3 1/2 cups confectioner sugar
6 Tbsp milk
1 tsp vanilla
pinch of salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Mix shortening and sugar together.  Stir in egg, milk then vanilla.  Add flour a little at a time.  Wrap in wax paper and chill.  Roll out on floured surface and cut with cutters.  Bake on greased cookie sheet for 10 minutes until done but not brown.

Icing:
Mix all ingredients adding mile last (a little at a time).  Separate and color with food coloring.

Going Bananas!

Looking back, I realize what a gift it was to be with my mom while she was dying.  It was hard as hell to watch her slip away and, as I've said before, the last few hours of her life were brutal. However, I had all these really special moments, hanging out by her bedside, chatting about all things random.  I got to ask her a lot of questions, get her advice, calm her nerves about leaving my dad and the six of us.  But I forgot to ask her one question, a question that plagues me every single day - "how the hell did you raise six kids without ever raising your voice?"

It's true.  Mom was not a yeller.  Can you believe that?  I feel as if I spend 80% of my day yelling my head off at my kids.  As if, somehow, by raising the decibel level and pitch of my voice they are going to listen to me.  I'm a smart person, graduate degree and all, yet I still can't get through a day without losing my cool and yelling at my kids somehow expecting that, miraculously, this one time they will listen.  Isn't the definition of insanity repeating the same action and expecting a different outcome?  That proves it - I'm insane.

Don't get me wrong.  It's not like we don't have wonderful, calm, "Rockwellian" moments in this household. But there are so many times when I just completely lose my cool and yell, and yell, and yell . .. and get ignored by the three Lilliputians who are clearly running this insane asylum.  So how did Mom do it?  How did she manage to get all six of us out the door, fed, cleaned, clothed, homeworked without raising her voice.  I mean we had family dinners every single night, home cooked meal on the table, all six of us sitting there (invariably talking over each other so it wasn't a quiet meal) and mom didn't have to yell to get us to the table.  Yell to turn off the TV.  Yell to clean up the toys in the basement.  Yell to get us out the door.

I would like one morning in my household where my boys actually get their socks, shoes and jackets on without me raising my voice.  One football practice carpool where we aren't rushing out the door, football pads trailing behind us, helmet bouncing on the ground, me yelling "Get IN the car!"  One afternoon where homework just gets done, no nagging required.

In one of my recent running chats with Mom, I asked her advice (note: see above comment about my insanity).  How did she manage to keep the level of chaos in our house manageable?  How did she do it without yelling?  Well, it's pretty clear.  Just stop yelling.  Take it one step at a time.  Start getting the kids ready 10 minutes earlier and give yourself some wiggle room.  Touch them on the shoulder so you command their attention instead of yelling from two rooms over.  All these things I know, I just have a hard time putting them into practice.  Let's face it, it is far easier to sit on my duff in the kitchen typing this blog and screaming for the kids to come for dinner, then to get up, walk into the family room and ask them in a civilized tone.  

As Pete continues to tell me, don't make everything an issue.  He truly is the voice of reason in this household, although he is the voice that gets to shower every morning, go off to a cool job on Wall Street, travel and eat at really nice restaurants; so while I respect his opinion, I'm not always sure if we share the same reality.  That said he is right: stop making every little thing an issue.  But, when this is all I do all day long, everything seems like an issue to me.

So, I'm going to try and take it down a notch.  Apply all the things I learn in yoga and relax.  Who cares if they are a few minutes late for school?  Why do they have to do homework right when I tell them?  Let the kids have some control over how the day is structured, and maybe they will do a better job listening next time.  And, stop yelling.

Since I have come to the conclusion that I am going bananas, today I made banana cake for the kids and they loved it.  Thomas helped me mash the bananas, Regan and Jack fought over who would lick the beaters, and I didn't yell at anyone.  Not making everything an issue, just like Pete.  One day at a time, just like Mimi.

Banana Cake

1/2 cup butter
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
2 bananas (ripe)
1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1 cup powdered sugar
1/2 cup chopped walnuts (optional)
milk as needed

Preheat oven to 350.

Cream butter, sugar, eggs and bananas.  Combine flour, salt, baking powder, baking soda.  Mix into creamed mixture.  Spread batter into a 9x13 baking pan.  Bake for 45 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean.

Mix powdered sugar, chopped walnuts and enough milk to make an icing.  Spread over warm cake and serve at room temperature.

Meatloaf and Mashed Potatoes

Birthdays were a huge deal for Mom.  She always did her best to make our day special and she did that for everyone she knew - family, friends, neighbors.  Mom had a stack of cards on deck and her birthday calendar was overflowing with names; there was hardly a day went by when she wasn't passing birthday wishes along to someone.  She had a penchant for picking out raunchy cards, especially for her close buds.  This used to embarrass the crap out of me when I was in high school, but now I find myself searching the aisle at CVS for that perfect card with the dirty joke.

Going off to college, Mom would call me every year as close to 6:30 am as possible (aided slightly by the fact that I was a whole time zone behind) so she could remind me of the time I came into this world.  I'm fairly certain the roommates did not appreciate this call, but I sure did.  It was just one little thing I came to expect each year, and now as my second birthday passes without Mom I realize how much I miss that call. Half the time I was barely awake, or slightly hungover from the night before, but Mom's call always made my day.  We'd chat for a few minutes, share my plans for my big day, thank her for the gift she sent and the day would begin.

I've had some awesome birthday celebrations throughout my short 42 years - the Big Wheel my roommates got me junior year in college and the ensuing keg party that almost got us kicked off campus, sleeping out for ND tickets on the eve of my 21st birthday, taking friends to Great Adventure in my teen years, my 40th surprise dinner party with the mac-daddy limo into the city, hanging at the Willie Nelson concert in Big Sky with the family.  Good times, really good times.

I am blessed and I am lucky, but I still feel a little sad.  Whether Mom was here to celebrate with me, or just a phone call and card away, I knew how much she relished my special day and I miss that.  As a mother, I completely understand how special it is to celebrate the birth of your children.  It's not just a time to plan a party or make that special dinner.  It's an amazing miracle that these children have graced our lives and their birthdays are special beyond words.  Regan, Jack and Thomas won't understand that until they have families of their own, but they love to hear the story of their arrivals in this crazy world and I love to tell them all about it.

I'm trying hard not to forget my special story but with Mom gone, those details are starting to get fuzzy.  I do know I was born at 6:30 am and I do know that my birthday dinner always consisted of meatloaf and mashed potatoes.  So, I share with you Mimi's meatloaf recipe.  Not exactly the fare you would expect on Labor Day weekend, but give it a try sometime and make sure to remember your friends' birthdays (preferably with a raunchy card!).

Happy Birthday to me. . .

Meatloaf
Meatloaf mix (or 1 lb ground beef, 1/2 lb ground veal, 1/2 lb ground pork)
1 cup bread crumbs
2 eggs
2-3 dashes worcestershire
1 small onion diced and sauteed until soft
1/2 cup sour cream
1/4 cup mustard
1/3 cup ketchup
parsley flakes
Italian seasoning
garlic salt
salt and pepper

Sauce:
1/2 cup ketchup
1/2 cup maple syrup

Preheat oven to 375.  Mix all ingredients and put in loaf pan.  Bake for 1 hour.  Top with sauce and bake for another 15-20 minutes.