The lovely island of Capri

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I could use this time and space to wax poetically about how motherhood as brightened my world and added an eternal lilt in my step. I could go on about how I adore my sons and want to wrap them in my motherly shawl to squeeze what’s left of their cherubic little boy bodies. I could bore you with yet another birth story or rave about my family and how I. Am. Simply. The. Luckiest. Mom. Ever.

But much of that treacly crap would be a lie. And it would be boring.

Commercialization has sucked out all the meaning from Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day is like Earth Day; just show your love and gratitude through simple means everyday. It would seem Mother’s Day is the new Valentine’s Day – over the top, commercialized, guilt ridden (which does play to the motherhood theme), and tacky. Ergo…meaningless. The original founders of Mother’s Day actually spent their final years fighting against the commercialization of the day they wanted to mark simply as a nationwide nod to mothers. They wanted to celebrate the beauty of motherhood with handwritten notes, not corporate greeting cards that bear nary a personal sentiment. I must say, I’m not a greeting card girl. I would much rather have a homemade card with a handwritten note. While I’m at it, I should also tell you that I don’t like to get flowers. Give me a plant over flowers any day. Flowers die, leaving me to clean up dead petals and wash out a vase; more work for me is not a gift at all.

What I really want is a Dyson. I think I’ll just go buy one for myself, whether it’s Mother’s Day or not.

I’m toasting all the moms out there. I invite you to sit back, put your feet up, and do whatever you want with your tray table. You deserve a cool drink and a cozy spot to kick back because you are the apple of some little peanut’s eyes.

Mother’s Day Cheer
2 ounces Absolute Orient Apple vodka
1 ounce ginger ale
splash club soda
fresh mint leaves
lime wedge

Toss a few ice cubes into a rocks glass. Add vodka and ginger ale. Squeeze in lime and break a couple mint leaves into the glass. Top with club soda. Stir, sip, sit back. Do not clean up. I recommend a bell to signal when you are ready for another.

Gratuitous photo of me with Bird and Deal

I’m going to say a simple thanks to the Fates for giving me two healthy sons and a loving mother and (mother-in-law!). And I’m going to say a simple prayer to honor those who lost their mothers.

Last gratuitous shot, I promise.

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Did you really think I was going to sit back with nothing to say about the message North Carolina sent to the world on Tuesday? I weighed in over at The Broad Side. Please read it. I think you will see that I am not hateful and bullying and offensive as some have claimed.

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She was about 16 and teetered between wanting to be cool and needing to be cuddly. She had had auburn hair that must have glistened marvelously with her green eyes. Bright green eyes are rare, and I remember hers as they stared in silence or twinkled in laughter. The laughter was rarer as the days wore on. Her thick Georgia accent weakened to a whisper. She was tired and had grown weary of the gray Minnesota days that crossed into night with nary a change of sky. She often laid prone looking at nothing but the white ceiling. We took turns sitting with her, holding her hand, reading to her, or tickling her forearm, which she found most comforting. She had spent the better of part of the year alone, with friends visiting when they could and when she was well. She was cared for by a cadre of nurses and volunteers. I was among them. Her older brother came once, unbeknownst to their parents. He had come to say goodbye.

This teenage girl was dying. She needed a bone marrow transplant and eventually got one from an unknown donor. Her own mother and father refused to be tested to save their daughter’s life. Her brother refused at first too, but eventually succumbed, to guilt or shame or heart, I’ll never know. In the end, he refused to be a donor too. He was a match.

But he came to say goodbye.

She had come out to her family the year before she was diagnosed. They shunned her. She was from a small town in Georgia, though I think that hardly matters. From what I understand, her parents were typical of what you’d expect from the heart of America’s Bible belt, for better or for worse. Her family sent her away so she lived with friends who took her in. You see, simply because this young girl was gay, her parents disowned her, refusing to even be tested to donate life saving marrow to their own flesh and blood. They committed the worst crime a parent can commit. Their closed minds and iron hearts cost their daughter her life. Literally.

I am a mother and cannot imagine…

And so tomorrow we vote on Amendment One in North Carolina. We vote to ban gay marriage in our state constitution. The push to pass this amendment comes from the same place the young girl’s parents came from. The move to amend our constitution comes from a place of fear, judgement, intolerance, bigotry, and hate. Where are the compassion and love and tenderness and mercy? Surely those are Christian mores; heck those are human values, plain and simple. Should we let this amendment pass in North Carolina, we are saying that we stand arm in arm with these same parents who let their daughter die, for we exhibit no courage or strength or virtue for our fellow citizens. We are better than this, North Carolina.

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All is not equal in the state of North Carolina. If Mitt Romney orders new address labels stamped with 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, we are facing even bigger crimes against equality. I cannot believe we are STILL fighting for equal rights in this country in this century. Land of the free, my ass.

We have a pastor advocating HITTING children who display “effeminate or butch” tendencies. Scratch that, he PREACHED about it. This monster used his power as a man of God and stood at the pulpit telling his congregation to abuse children.

We have an elected legislator who supports Amendment One because he sees it as a means to protect the Caucasian race. His wife remarked, “The reason my husband wrote Amendment 1 was because the Caucasian race is diminishing and we need to uh, reproduce.” That sound you just heard…was my head rolling off my neck.

This is madness.

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It’s only May, and it’s hot. Like sweltering July hot. So far we have had fall and summer in North Carolina. There was (thankfully) no winter to speak of, and spring sprang before you could spell daffodil. Summer must be a mean girl who elbowed Spring out of the way to make room for her own limelight. This naturally makes me veer toward the limes in the grocery store.

And when life gives you limes…

Call your friend Gina to get a good recipe for a mojito!

You might remember the review I wrote of Gina’s new cookbook, Taste This! The Delicious Sequel. I’m looking to her book today to lift a cocktail recipe to chill out on these warm days. Actually, I mean warm evenings. I’m not a day time drinker, regardless what you might glean from my Twitter stream. 

Cuban Mojito
4 Fresh mint leaves
1 lime
1 teaspoon powdered sugar
Crushed ice (The rabbit pellet ice from Sonic is perfect for this drink!)
2 ounces light rum
2 ounces club soda
Extra mint leaves, for garnish, natch

Place the mint leaves in a tall Collins glass and squeeze the lime into the glass. Add the powdered sugar and gently smash the mint into the the lime and sugar with a muddler or back of a spoon. Add ice and top with rum and stir. Top off with club soda. Garnish with a sprig of mint.

Say ahhh….

Oh, did I mention that Gina’s book has 79 urban and family recipes with global appeal – Peru, Italy, New Zealand, Germany and more? A color photo accompanies each recipe, and I’m telling you, everything I’ve made from her book looks just like the picture. That hardly ever happens!

*Clink*…that’s a virtual toast from me to you. Cheers!

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When Bird was an infant I was feeling haggard and sluggish. Gone was my youthful, dewy face, along with my spry gait and sunny outlook. I was tired and fumbling and feeling like I was not equipped to be a mom. I hardly ever babysat when I was young, and had only changed one diaper before I had Bird. Imagine me learning how to change a diaper and swaddle, which I never did figure out. Thank goodness a friend told me about the Miracle Blanket when Deal was born. Seriously, that little swath of cotton is indeed a miracle! But I digress… Motherhood was foreign to me, and I didn’t grow up in a nest of clucking mothers or mother hens tending to our needs. I didn’t have younger siblings or cousins and extended family growing up around me. I never grew up with a nurturing, mothering quality. Motherhood simply wasn’t instinctive to me, and I had a loads to learn.

But being tired was debilitating. Two adults to care for one infant seemed easy enough, but in reality, it was extraordinarily trying. I was aglow while pregnant and ashen after becoming a mother. I rummaged through my bathroom cabinets to find the right antidote. I hightailed it to department store make up counters and paid exorbitant prices for serums and creams and polishes and such. Bobbie, Trish, and Estee all tried to work their magic. To no avail. My wallet was lighter, but my under eye circles were darker.

I strapped my baby into the stroller and walked to my local drugstore.

I harkened back to my college days when all I could afford were drugstore brands and generic Vaseline. But let’s be honest, back then I either trudged through campus with no makeup or didn’t bother to take off my mascara every night. I also took my smooth, unlined skin for granted and didn’t own sunscreen. But that was then. My hand reached for the familiar pink and black Oil of Olay. I noted there was a yellow box with SPF so I bought that and a little jar of night cream. I was skeptical, having been an over priced expensive brand name girl for so many years.

Fast forward a couple months.

At Bird’s first Thanksgiving he was fidgety and whimpering and just couldn’t get comfortable, whether in Mac Daddy’s arms or my own. He was not yet three months old so we sat at the dinner table among a cadre of family and friends with him propped into the crook of my arms and then Mac Daddy’s. When my arm fell asleep and eating one-handed became too difficult, we switched. But still, the baby wouldn’t rest. We walked. We rocked. We swayed. We laid him down. We picked him up. Finally, a family friend’s mother, whom we had just met, said, “Let me hold that baby.” She was in her seventies and had raised three children of her own. She sat at the head of the table wearing a simple shift that was simply fabulous in a Mad Men sort of way. Her hands were soft, and fingers slim. She gently put her hand under baby Bird’s head and and held him as if he were a feather. Miraculously, he stopped fussing. She looked into his face and he into hers.

Mac Daddy and I sat awestruck. How did she do that?

She beckoned us to eat and enjoy having the freedom of two hands, which is important to someone like me who gesticulates an awful lot. She lightly hummed to Bird and sat contentedly, as did he. We inquired what her secret was. She gave us a coy wink, indicating it must be something magical that comes with age. I noted that her skin was smooth and youthful, belying her age. She seemed so bright eyed and kicky for a woman in her seventies. I was struck by her gentle command and her confidence. Her smile lines were evident only when she laughed. I finally asked her what she used on her skin to maintain such a lovely complexion.

“Oil of Olay, honey. It’s what I’ve always used.”

And so I sighed and smiled, knowing my laugh lines will be evident one day too. It was then that I embraced aging and motherhood in one deep breath.

Check out the Olay Facebook page. In honor of every person who signs the Beauty by Example declaration, P&G will donate one ounce of Olay product (up to one million ounces) to Look Good…Feel Better, a non-profit organization dedicated to improving the self-esteem and quality of life of women undergoing cancer treatment. 

I happen to have a box full of Olay products and other goodies to give away! Simply leave me a comment telling me who your beauty example is. I’ll use random.org to choose a winner on May 11.

Disclosure: I was given free products to try and was compensated for this post from a partnership with The Motherhood. All opinions are my own, and compensation was not based on a favorable review.

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This is what Sunday morning conversations are like in my house:

Deal: “I’m Hungary.”

Bird: “Let’s go to Turkey!”

Mac Daddy: “And get some Greece!”

Me: Face palm.

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