It's Not Really Mother's Day without a Hydra Death Match

I woke up yesterday thinking this year's mother's day would generally follow the direction set out over the previous four installments: I wake up (even though I don't want to), breakfast near bed, receive a homemade something something, and then lay out my trail of incessant and uncompromising desires that have finally broken ground after a full of year of tantrums and whining have beaten them to inevitable yet reluctant surrender.

(I so do love getting my way. At least one day of the year.)

And, for the first three hours, I was right. Mother's day followed a predictable and yet still joyous path. There was an omelette and a bowl of tea. Finn made me a card that he snipped and glued himself. Barry gave me a book of essays (even though I am decidedly not his mother--go ahead and put all those rumors away).

And Finn "gave" me a Golden Compass, from the movie of the same name, that he quickly co-opted, under the guise of "showing me how it works."

But that's not where things went awry. Even I could see that one coming.

After food, card, and treats, we decided to go for a one-mile hike through a nature trail near our house. I decided. (Whoop. Wish equals command.) But with Golden Compass secured safely in its purse and slung around his shoulders, Finn quickly announced the mission: find Narnia.

So we set out. Our water turned into elixir, our path turned to adventure. We were looking for anything out of the ordinary that might lead us to a gateway to another world. We jumped rivers of lava, we hid from ogres, we climbed a mountain. We deftly yet narrowly escaped enchanted nettles that reached out from the ground with their poisonous tentacles. We deciphered clues disguised as a self-guided walking tour. We successful traversed the dangers of the Waterfall of Nefarious Intent.

And then, just when we thought we had survived all the challenges of the nature trail turned evil forest, we met the five-headed hydra, camouflaged under a big pile of glass clippings.


But we weren't fooled. We had our eyes open. Using Finn's magic and my knowledge of mythic creatures (reading is power!), we defeated that hydra and left the forest much better than we had found it. And relatively monster free.

I think mother's day got an upgrade, too.

Counting Down to Thanksgiving

Yes, Halloween is the No. 1 holiday in these parts. We've already started counting down to next year's candy-filled, horror-drenched extravaganza (343 days to be precise. We even have a countdown calendar in our kitchen that helps us focus).

But Thanksgiving. That holds a special place.

It's a holiday without gifts or treats. It's not about scoping out sweet treasures. It's more about looking inward than out. (And if that doesn't smack of Jung and Joseph Campbell, baby, then I'm just not doing my job here.)

Now if you know me, and you know the seriousness with which I take adventure seeking (in that literary-not-literal sort of way), then you can fairly and verily predict how we started this holiday.

By watching Star Wars.

(And if you have to ask why, then you need to go back and read your Heroes with a Thousand Faces, because I have somewhere to go here, people, and I just don't have the time to spell out that logic and the complete OBVIOUSNESS of our choice for you. Puh-lease! And, no. I will not apologize for my flagrant and aggressive use of caps-lock. It is the holiday season after all and must get my game on if I'm to survive Black Friday. Stay with me.)

So today, on the eve of Thanksgiving, we continued our tradition by grocery shopping for Thursday's feast. Yes, we started the shopping today. (We planned the menu yesterday, cribbed from several articles in this year's Thanksgiving issue of Food and Wine. ) And yes, we did get everything we needed for our Indian-spiced turkey breast, our curry-roasted butternut squash and chickpeas, our creamed spinach, our creamed onions with thyme and sage, our pear and gruyere pie.

(I should've bulleted that list. I'm working through those issues.)

Yes, our traditions could be read as bordering unconventional, or even misguided. We don't watch Miracle on 34th Street or eat my mom's stuffing or rocked-out spicy spinach casserole that I've eaten and loved and pined over nearly every year (save maybe three) of my past 37. We aren't spending this Thanksgiving with my sisters or my cousins.

No. Instead, we watch Star Wars and Shark Boy and Lava Girl as our holiday flicks. (And they make perfect holiday sense to us--finding a family when far away from home, expressing gratitude for the simple things that we spend each day diligently taking advantage of.) We cook and eat food that has never graced a family Thanksgiving menu; that, this year, doesn't even resonate with our cultures, however far removed we are from them.

Part of that is by design. Most of it isn't.

Several years ago, when Bear and I were living in Bloomington and couldn't afford to travel to spend Thanksgiving with family, we tried to recreate my mom's Thanksgiving dinner. We laughed as carved the finished turkey and found a bag of gizzards hidden in some secret turkey compartment. We struggled and sweated (salt is good seasoning) over my mom's spinach casserole. We grappled with the sense memory of her stuffing. (She makes it by taste, not by measurements.)

I remember calling my mom every 2o minutes or so--I was far from an accomplished boiler of hot dog (which I've since learned should never be boiled), much less executor of an entire T-day menu.

We thought that recreating my mom's menu, dish by dish, teaspoon by teaspoon, would be a good way to recreate home, to vicariously share a little piece of the holiday with my family when we were living so far away.

We've wised up.

Home should be where you are, not where you want to be. Traditions should be as much personal as they are historical.

And there's nothing, not even perfectly executed cornbread stuffing, that takes the place of spending the holidays with your family (even when mom mistakes salt for sugar in her pumpkin pie.)

I miss you.

On Mother's Day

Being a mother is not about what you cook or bake or clean or sew (and I very much ascribe to that philosophy, obviously). It's about who you share with the world.

So this is to Barry's mom, my mother-in-law, for sharing such a rock out scone-maker, omelette crafter, protector of my beauty sleep, and uber-papa.

(And well, other stuff that, since she's now a reader of my blog, I don't feel comfortable enumerating here. You know. That Stuff That Cannot Be Named.)

Thanks for being so generous with your love, your humor, your patience, your really good hair--and, of course, and your really hot progeny.

Making an Entrance

Bear here.

Mother's Day seems like a good time to put my first post onto the blog. The Smab Mouth herself has been hounding me for months to post. She keep reminding me that SMAB is an acronym for both of us. But hey, I communicate in images not the written word.

Still, here we go with the words...

I woke up early today to begin the prep for the Mom's Day brunch. I was taking my first crack at making scones so I wanted to allow for ample time for screw-ups. I'd like to think that I can get around fairly well in the kitchen. Who am I kidding, I rock the kitchen, as long a it doesn't entail baking. Can you see where this is going?

I didn't feel quite ready for the full-on, from-scratch scones so I went with the box variety. And yes, I screwed the pooch on the first round. Black bottoms, doughy centers. Just as I was about to leave for the grocery for another box, Finn called out from his room.

"Papi...Papi..."

I asked him if he wanted to go with me to the store, but he said he wanted to wake up Momma. It was still quite early, so I reminded him that he should let her sleep in a bit, it being her day and all. It's not always a good idea to wake her up too early anyway. She is known to be a might "unpredictable" in the mornings.

I couldn't convince him to go with me to the grocery, so, being the stellar parent I would like to think I am, I sat him down in front of cartoons. The Perils of Penelope Pitstop to be exact. One of my childhood favorites. I asked him to stay put until I got back.

After buying another box of scones mix, as well as the eggs the I forgot to get the day before for her favorite lox/spinach/cheese/sour cream omelet, I returned home to find Finn dutifully watching the Boomer network.

Here's the impressive thing. This is why I love and respect my child so much.

As soon as I returned, my 3-year old boy got up from the couch to turn off the TV and the surround sound stereo. I asked him if he was done and he replied...

"Yes Papi. I watched cartoons while you were at the store but it's Mother's Day and I have to clean up the toys in my room before Momma wakes up. I told her that would be my present."

He proceed to clean up all of the Legos, Megablocks, Transformers, and Star Wars figures that he literally threw into all corners of his room yesterday will trying to empty boxes to use as his impromptu transportation vehicles.

I really can't stress what a milestone this was. He is a good kid, but like most kids, he always refuses to clean up his toys. I can't say that I really blame him. How can you truly survey the landscape of your imagination with all of your components neatly piled into boxes on shelves. Still, he was willing to make the sacrifice for his Momma.

Of course, as soon as he was done, he went to find his card for her and ran into her bedroom to wake her up. Luckily, our window of "unpredictablity" was over and she was happy to begin her day.

However, Finn didn't allow her to open the card herself because as he clearly informed her...

"I have to open this. I'm a much better opener than you."