Too many tomatoes

Those who have seen my garden might be surprised to learn that I hate tomatoes. Well, uncooked tomatoes anyway. My mother never understood this about me. To her a tomato fresh from the garden was just about the most perfect example of God's creation. Our disagreement about this came to a head the summer I was nine-years-old. I was already firmly entrenched in my dislike for tomatoes, but she kept insisting that I eat them.

One day for lunch she served her favorite, tomato sandwiches. Basically, this is a slice of toast, spread with mayonnaise and thick, fresh tomatoes on top. If you like tomatoes-it is a slice of heaven, or so I'm told. But to me, she might have well have served dog vomit on bread. What happened next, is something I understand much better now that I am a mother myself.

After being told nothing else was for lunch, I finally relented and started to eat. No sooner had I started chewing on the first bite when my gag reflex kicked in, and I of course spit the chewed hunks of tomato, mayonnaise and bread on to my plate. And then my mom told me to eat it anyway. In my memory, I did finish the sandwich. My mom stood her ground, but never again was I forced to eat raw tomatoes. Although, she frequently commented that she did not understand my dislike for them.

When we planted the garden this spring, I put in three tomato plants. My thoughts were that I wouldn't have to buy them for my husband's sandwiches, that my mom would be here often enough through out the summer that she could take what she needed, and that I was not going to stand in the way of letting my girls tastes for tomatoes develop one way or the other.

Even the most novice gardner can tell you, three plants has produced more tomatoes than one family can possibly use, especially when you add an unusually long and hot summer. We have tomatoes to put on sandwiches, to add to salad, to turn into sauce, and still more tomatoes keep coming. Not sure how to use them, I've began giving them away as much as possible.

Yesterday, I picked two large bowls full for a friend who needs them for a big event. Tee, who seems to have my taste in tomatoes, was quite eager to help pick. She took a bite of one of the cherry tomatoes earlier in the season, and has no interest in eating one again. But she still loves any excuse to help in the garden. Meanwhile, as we were picking, Sweet Potato tottled over, and pulled a red cherry tomato off the vine and popped it in her mouth. Then another, then another, and then another. Eventually, much to her dismay, I had to pull her away, so that I could go back inside. I really wanted to call my mom and tell her. She would be thrilled to know how much her little granddaughter loves tomatoes.

Unmet Expectations

I just settled my mom's Macy's account. Really, it wasn't much of an ordeal, except that when I called to have the late fees reversed (the only reason she would have paid a bill late was death), they said that the bill had to go through an estate process, which would take about thirty days. So thirty days later, I am paying her final bill minus the late charges. Of all the paperwork, I've had to do for her estate, this was really among the least cumbersome, until as I wrote the check, and thought about the items being paid for, and it reminded me just how unexpected a loss this truly was.

The only items listed on the bill were a pair of capri pants and some sandals, purchased on July 7. I don't know if she was wearing them the next morning when she was in the accident or if they were in her suitcase. As strange as it is to think about these items that may never have been worn, what really struck me was what was represented by the balance carried forward. The bulk of that was the outfit she had worn to my cousins wedding not a month before.

Although my mom always loved and invested in quality. She was very modest in her style of dress. I'm sure part of that came from being a bit overweight, but I think a lot of it was just her preferences. She never wore a v-neck or anything above mid-calf. She also preferred boxy shapes. A cardigan and long skirt was pretty much her uniform. Since she was willing to invest in quality and tailoring, she was able to look very nice. After the death of my dad, she started to talk about needing to update her look.

This wasn't because she was free of some strict expectations of my dad. My dad loved my mom, and was constantly buying beautiful clothes for her. She would keep those that met the standards of her uniform, and return those that were a little too daring--and I'm really stretching the meaning of the word daring. I think in the stress of dealing with my dad's illness, it was just easier for her to stick with what was comfortable.

In the two years that followed, she traded in some of her cardigan sweaters for slightly more fitted jackets. She started wearing pants much more frequently, even jeans. She was experimenting with growing her hair out and wearing bangs. Although losing my dad was horrible, she embraced her new life. She was traveling, going to plays and other events with friends, and looking forward to all the things she could do in the next thirty or forty years.

The dress she chose for my cousin's wedding seemed to represent the woman she was becoming. I was with her when she chose it, the girls and I had driven down to for an impromptu visit a few days before the wedding. She mentioned that she still wasn't sure what to wear, so we went shopping. While we were there she pointed out a dress that she thought was beautiful, but wasn't sure if it was her. I encouraged her to try it on, and while it broke many of her self imposed rules, it also made her look so stylish and pretty. It was a combination between a wrap dress and a shirtwaist. It had a v-neck, no sleeves, and may have even been slightly shorter than mid-calf. In the dress, my mom looked instantly smaller. I was so proud of my mom for choosing that slightly more daring dress. As insignificant as the purchase of a dress might seem, to me it showed just how far my mom had come.

For as long as I can remember my mom always put others ahead of herself. She wasn't a martyr, or passive-aggressive-she honestly just thought about what everyone else needed first. And finally, maybe it was because she had the time, she was considering what she wanted. She was taking care of herself. It wasn't stopping her from being the compassionate person that she'd always been, but it was opening up new dimensions in her personality. Even before her sudden death, I had noticed this new joie de vivre. Which is one more reason that her death is so hard to believe. How can someone who had so much passion, charisma, and potential be taken so unexpectedly? It just feels like she was taken away before her work on earth was finished, like too much has been left undone.

Yet Another Milestone

Today was Tee's first day of pre-school. My girl was so ready. She picked out her outfit right down to her magenta mary-janes. She went to bed with out a fuss or a fight, and woke up energetic and early. She sat still while I fixed her hair-no small miracle. In fact, her overly compliant behavior is my only sign that she might have had any anxiety over this new adventure. We were at the school before the teachers' even opened the door to her class, and when they did, she walked right in with out looking back.

I know she had a great time. For the first few hours afterward she kept talking and singing. Although the more she talked the less I understood about what she did during the two hours she was in school. She painted a sunflower with yellow paint. She brought home a library book. She told me there are dress-up clothes and a sandbox. But when I asked her if she played dress-up she said no.

It's not like I've never left Tee before. She has been in the nursery at church and stayed with baby-sitters for few hours. Heck, she even stayed overnight with my mom for a week. But I've always been able to rely on the adult for an update or a report. Other than "she was great," I have no idea what my child did for two hours. This is strange territory for me. I know it is necessary, and I'm thrilled my child is one who walked right through the door to the next phase of her life. But I also realize that this is where I begin to ever so slightly let go, to let her grow up and away from me.

And as I open my hand to give Tee a little more freedom, how I wish I could grab the hand of my own mother. As I drove away, I wanted to call her and report that I'd just dropped Tee off, and how brave she was. I wanted to hear my mom's half-giggle-half-sigh that popped out for any one or thing that was adorable. And to be able to go on and on about how cute my girl looked, because I know that she loves Tee almost as much as I do. And mostly, I missed that I wouldn't have had to say anything in particular, because after thirty-one years of being my mother she would have known what I was feeling, and she'd be able, with out a word, to assure me that everything was alright.

More Milestones

Today is a big day at our house. Two dates of record coincide. One marking the happy occasion of my baby's first birthday, and the second marking two months since my mom's death. Two months seems like it should only be acknowledged by a comment in passing, "can you believe it has been two months already?" but the juxtaposition of these two dates is magnifying the loss.

Both my parents loved to celebrate and entertain. And both of them loved traditions. My dad, a deeply religious man, had ideas on when to break out which types of Christmas music, secular verses sacred, so as to emphasize the message and celebration of Jesus's birth. My mom was all about finding little ways to make ordinary days special and special days extraordinary. Today also, marks the first day for students at the middle school where she worked, and she would have brought homemade cinnamon rolls for the office staff to enjoy on this hectic morning.

Dad died 23 days before Tee turned one. Knowing that his death was approaching, he had spent much of that year purchasing books and toys for her. Some she is still a little too young to appreciate. Mom brought her those books, plus a bookcase for her first birthday. It was a great way to remember my dad that day, without being to sad. My mom made all three of her birthday cakes. It was a task she cherished. In fact, we had already discussed Sweet Potato's cake, banana to match the monkey theme, and her birthday was over two months away. So much of how we are celebrating Sweet Potato's birthday is based on that conversation the weekend before she died. But Mom won't be here.

She isn't going to call at the exact moment Sweet Potato was born. She isn't going to arrive with some ridiculous present that we have no idea where to put. She isn't going to bake and decorate the perfect cake. Or sing extra birthday songs. I know that I can take charge of most of these things (except for the cake, thankfully I have a good friend with those talents), but I want my mom to be here to do them. I had made peace with the fact that my dad would not be physically present to mark any milestones with my girls, but I never planned that my mom would not be here.