Time o the Year


Lori got Oscar the world’s cutest baby mittens which he will don for his big outing to the pediatrician.  He is 16 weeks tomorrow.  I look forward the the visit even though there will be some shots for my little man.  I weighed him in at 10.2 lbs last night- amazing.  He is totally weaned now and doing well with it.  I am too.  The guilt is awful of course, but any mother understands that’s just part of the job.  I am starting to return to my normal state.  Or some new normal.  It is humbling how dilapidated my body is after this odyssey I have been on.  

This week marks 16 years since my mother passed away.  Friday to be exact.  I have started a tradition where I bake gingerbreads using our family recipe on that day each year to remember her.  She used to keep me home from school to help bake the 800+ cookies she made each year.  She gave them away to various lucky recipients.  Try as I may, mine are not yet as paper thin as hers always were.  Maybe in time…

This year I have invited the kids in the family to participate.  Because that is what my mom was all about.  Kids and family.  I know her spirit will fill my kitchen as I recall the many hours we spent rolling dough and choosing shapes.  It was a serious undertaking, and one to be shared between mother and daughter.  Those were truly special moments for the two of us.  I used to have my own table and rolling pin just my size.  We went at it for hours on end, with a little TV on the countertop watching the news.  It had rabbit ears and handle on top.  That is how I heard about the Challenger crash.  I was home baking with my mom watching the portable TV.  My sense memory of it is so vivid it is like yesterday.  

My most overwhelming recollection is the gravity with which she approached this task.  The cookies represented something more than Christmas to her.  They were the crispy, spicy incarnation of family in its truest sense.  Made together with love, given with an open heart to those we wanted to celebrate.  My mom did this everyday, whether it was baking day or not. It is something I try to keep hold of, to varying degrees of success.  But when I manage to I know she is right there next to me.

How I miss you mom.


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