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.

A moment to savor

Tee is the only on in our house dressed so far this morning. I am wearing a pair of fleece yoga pants and a purple t-shirt that has been washed too many times to be worn in public. Sweet Potato is still in her jammies, and my wonderful husband is still in bed. Tee, however, could not wait to get dressed into her favorite dress, a cotton knit sundress covered with large hibiscus flowers in orange, pink, and red. Due to frequent washings, it's just a little too short to be worn in public, at least with out leggings. And it's also a little to chilly for sleeveless attire this morning. But like almost every other morning for the past month, Tee has decided to wear that dress.

Only this morning she encountered a problem. The dress was on the hanger "brackards," or backwards for those who don't speak three-year-old. Actually, it had been hung up inside-out. Never mind, that it had been Tee who hung up the dress, she was quite confused about what had happened to her dress, and whether or not it could be fixed. But of course, thanks to some mommy magic, or just having more life experience than a three-year-old, the problem was immediately solved. And for my trick, I was rewarded with those precious words, "you are so cool."

I am so savoring those words. Granted at this time in our life, I am still her hero. She still thinks I'm beautiful, and wants to be just like me and do everything I do, at least most of the time. I know the days are coming however, and (from what my friends with older daughters say) sooner than I think, when she will not think any of those things. And if she tells me I'm cool, it will most likely be laced with sarcasm. It will be during those times that I will probably have to do something that does take a little mommy magic (or just more life experience) to solve more serious problems that could save her grades, or reputation, or at least her social standing. And my reward in those times will be remembering when I was cool for knowing how to turn a dress right-side out, and knowing that one day, she will appreciate or at least understand why I do all the things I do for her.

Pre-school Orientation

Today, more than ever, I felt like I needed my mom. Today, I took Tee to her pre-school orientation. What a crazy rush of emotions and nerves. For me. The three-year-old did fine. She is so ready for this experience. She is ready to take those steps toward independence, to make friends that are not my friends children, to explore and learn away from my supervision. Honestly, I'm not worried about her. But as I take this next step in letting go, just ever so slightly, I really wish I could turn to my mom for support and advice on how to do this with grace.

I'm sure I've said it before, but my mom was the quintessential stay-at-home mom. She served as PTA president and room mother and volunteer coordinator. She drove us to and from lessons of all types, and sports practices. She was there everyday after school, when we got home, with a snack to talk to us about our day, but since she spent so much time getting to know teachers, coaches, and other people in and around our lives, she probably already knew. (Although, that is more of an adult observation, she never acted like she'd already heard whatever we had to share.) So as I enter this next phase of motherhood, I can't help but wonder who I'm supposed to ask these random questions that pop up? And who am I supposed to share these silly fears with? And the small victories? And who is going to tell me when these thoughts are normal?

For example, not only was I concerned with what Tee was going to wear today, but I was panicked over what I should wear as well. This was first impression time. I needed to make sure that I was sending the right message to the teachers, as well as the other parents in the classroom, right? Or is this one of those times where I'm way off base? I wanted to make sure I appeared fun and casual, yet pulled together. Although, the fact that I'm even blogging about this, probably negates the fun and casual part. But I wanted them to know that I would be someone who can pitch in and help, who can be counted on to come through where ever and when ever help is needed.

And speaking of help, when they were passing around the volunteer sign-up sheet, I so wanted the counsel of my mother. Do I sign up for everything? There were only four slots under each request (these teachers by the way, very organized), what if they were all filled up by the time it got to me? I'm setting the life long patterns for communication with my childrens' educators. I need to have those opportunities to get to know them. And what better way to get to know them, than by working on a project/ event together.

But that fear, was quickly replaced by, "only four slots?!" I need to make sure that I give the other moms (who must be having these same fears, right?!) the chance to volunteer. These are the mother's of my daughter's future friends, and possibly my future friends as well. What's the right number? How do you establish yourself as an essential part of the parent team, without coming across as the mommy diva? Hey, I've heard some stories. I noticed that some of the other moms had signed up for two events, so I followed that pattern. Thank God I wasn't first, I would have held up the whole room by my mental angst.

For thirty-one years, I've been able to turn to my mom with these questions that are so insignificant, and yet the most significant at the same time. Now who do I turn to? Because this stuff can drive a girl crazy?

Oh, and in case you're wondering, Tee was just fine. When they took the kids out of the main room, and into their classroom, my girl was first in line. When I went downstair to pick her up, the teacher told me, Tee was definitely ready to start school (and yes, I know they tell that to every parent whose kid isn't crying in the corner or brutally attacking other children). Clearly, one of us will be fine. But one of us still has our mommy.

Looking back, looking forward

Yesterday marked nine years of marriage for my husband and me. In the week leading up to our anniversary, we kept coming back to the same question, "nine years ago, would you have predicted that this would be how our life would turn out?" And it's not the usual discussion that follows, you know the kind where you measure the success that you've had as a couple- is this the right career path? are you happy? should we have another baby? Instead, both of us are floored by what has occurred with our parents. If you would have asked us nine years ago who will live the longest, well it wouldn't have worked like this.

If you had asked us on our wedding day how our parents lives would play out, we would have predicted that both of our mothers would have lived well into their eighties, possibly their nineties. My dad would probably have died kind of young, maybe in his sixties, because of a pre-existing heart condition. My husband's dad would probably die first because he was a non-compliant diabetic who had already had a stroke and survived prostate cancer. But that's the thing about our inability to know the future.

My mom died this year at 53 due to a car wreck. My husband's mom died last year at 67 after a twenty month battle with brain cancer. And the year before that my dad died at 55 after a six year struggle with cancer. My father-in-law, he's alive and kickin' and the healthiest he's been in years. And I pray to God, he stays that way for at least another nine, and possibly nine more.