If Mama Ain't Happy, Ain't Nobody Happy!

I hate that saying. It smacks of manipulation and passive-aggression and brings to mind the not-too-flattering image of a self-centered, nasty sort of person with multiple unresolved issues. But I like it as a title, so, there you go.

My mom lives in a different city, and I visit her, on average, once a month. During this visit, I make it my business to make Mama happy. This wasn't always my mission on my periodic visits to town. Rather the opposite, in fact. When I was younger, I considered it an unpleasant necessity to sort of stop by for a few minutes, just to say hello. Hanging out with Mom was not exactly on my Top 10 list. I imagine that's not necessarily unusual. Well, at least I hope it isn't unusual. Otherwise, I'm a truly horrible person, and nobody wants to be a truly horrible person. But I digress. Nothing unusual there, either.

Over the years, though, I have become better acquainted with my Mom, the woman, as opposed to my Mom, the mother. Not that my Mom was a bad mother, by any means. It's just that, you know, she was my MOM, for crying out loud. So, naturally, she didn't know anything, she understood even less, she messed with my business, she gave me advice I hadn't ask for, she disapproved of things I approved of, she gave me "the look," and so on. Oh. Wait. I'm describing me, the way my children would. Oops. You know how you swear up and down that you will NEVER be like this or that or the other? Ya. There you go.

My Mom, the woman, is kind, caring, compassionate, patient, and wise. And she's also funny, which, who knew? In fact, she has a wicked sense of humor, which she uses to maximum effect with a simple look, accompanied by a well-timed grunt or chuckle. I love her. I'm so glad I still have her, and I'm so grateful that I can hang out with her, chat with her, do small things to delight her and help her, and chauffeur her to places she needs to be. It can never be enough, but I hope it has made up a tiny bit for the earlier times.

Yesterday, it was not raining. Months and months ago, Mom and I had purchased beautiful new silk flowers for Daddy's grave. We had a fabulously wet winter, much to everyone's relief after three years of drought, and every visit to Mom was punctuated by rain showers. You don't walk out to the middle of a cemetery in the rain and squish through the uneven sod around sunken grave markers with an 88-year-old, silver-haired lady. Unless it would please you to pace nervously around the emergency room for the rest of the day and then rearrange your schedule so you can nurse her hip back to health.

But yesterday morning, it was gloriously unraining and even, perhaps, intermittently sunny and warm. So we drove off in my Little Blue Bomb to Lawncrest Memorial Park to visit Daddy. It's been almost five years since Daddy's death, but the sight of his name on that plaque always nonplusses me a bit. It's so surreal. Confusing. He's there, but he isn't there. He's with Jesus, dancing, but his body is in the ground. Dust to dust. Not sure how all of that works with the cement, in-ground, crypt-thingies that are required now, but there you have it. It's so final, but not.

I verbalized my thoughts and feelings to my mom and asked her if she thinks and feels the same things, and Mom seems very philosophical about it all. She doesn't seem to have any trouble wrapping her head around the reality of his departure. The caregiving years have melted away, and the memories that are deeply implanted surface in dreams. She dreams about him often, she says, and things are like they always were, then. She dreams of ordinary, younger married life, with her husband beside her doing ordinary, younger married life things. And she wakes up, but he isn't there. It seems as though he ought to be, but he just isn't. And then she remembers, and, somehow, it's okay.

Get That Log Out of Your Eye, Lady

People often have...issues...establishing appropriate boundaries within which to live their lives, and I spend quite a bit of time and energy helping others to set healthy ones for themselves. It's interesting that folks come to me for help in this area, since I have the very same problem.

I've never met a request for my time that I could refuse, unless it came from my husband. He'll understand, right? Someone is right in front of me with tear-filled eyes, or an urgent project, or a problem to get advice about, or a terribly important meeting to rope me into, or whatever. How can I say no? And so, I cave, even if I'm already on my way out the door. With my coat on. And my keys in my hand.

Wimp. There I am, with my boundaries caved in all around me, trying to figure out what just happened and how I got myself cornered and lassoed again. There is simply no joy whatsoever in feeling trapped, you know that?

So, what is the lesson in the situation I find myself in this time? I guess I could start by listening to my own advice. Before I say "Sure, I can do that," I need to ask myself a few questions. Questions like:  Is this request reasonable? Do I really have time to do this, or will it just add unnecessary stress to my life? And, of course, the coup de grace...Do I want to do this thing, or do I just feel backed into a corner and unable to extricate myself?

Grow a backbone, lady. You feel ambushed, and you know it. Now, what are you gonna do about it?

You want me to make WHAT for your birthday?!

Today is a very special day. My twins were born on this date...quite a few years ago. I remember it like it was yesterday, of course, like all moms. It was a wild ride at first, taking care of two little babies, an older child who saved my bacon on a number of occasions (may many blessings flow to him), and a husband who worked really hard to provide for our little family. 

But that isn't what this about. This is about a meal. No, I'm not going to go into all the terribly interesting details of slicing, dicing, chopping, sauteeing, and whatnot. This is not a cooking blog, but I do (on occasion...okay, on rarer and rarer occasion) prepare what I hope will be a tasty feast in celebration of something momentous. A birthday, for instance. And so, when I innocently asked, "So, any special requests for your birthday dinner?" the last thing I expected to hear was "Gnocchi!" And I thought to myself, 'No problem...They sell that at Raley's.' But, no! Alas, then came the qualifier:  "Homemade gnocchi!"

Yikes. Now, I remember my mom making gnocchi. Interestingly, I remember her making gnocchi for me as a special request for my birthday meal. Here, I feel I must once again apologize to my mother for all that I put her through during my childhood, early adolescence, teen years, young adulthood...okay, all the way up to the present. Sorry, Mommy! May your sainthood be recognized by all who have known me.

I would ask Mom about the recipe, and she would say something like, "Recipe? What recipe? You take some potatoes, and you add...etc., etc." "Well, how much do you add?" "Oh, until the dough feels right." Seriously, Mom? Until the dough "feels right"? And how do you know when that is?

So, today, I boiled some potatoes, and I added this and that, and I measured nothing. Mom will be so proud! I added things until the dough "felt right." I kneaded and floured, I rolled out the long ropes of dough with my hands, just like I'd seen her do. I cut the dough into "little pillows," just like I remembered. And now, the gnocchi are waiting for a large pot of boiling water in which to take a quick plunge before being smothered in the sauce and served immediately to a small group of folks who are very precious to me.

I hope they will find the meal delightfully delicious, just what they'd hoped for. Just as I always did (Thanks again, Mommy!). I only hope they don't ask me for the recipe...

It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood!

Spring has finally sprung, and I was out in the yard today, tending to some long overdue clipping, trimming, and pruning. My trees and shrubs will thank me in the end. They'll be fuller and thicker and healthier and prettier. And that led me to thinking about the clipping, trimming, and pruning that's been going on in my life and how that's going to lead to growth and maturity. Someone else will have to judge about the beauty.

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