Recommended wine for today’s entry: La Crema chardonnay. This was part of my Mother’s Day gift … along with some Kentucky Oaks stemless wine glasses that fit in the dishwasher! Aw, they know me so well. La Crema is, as expressed in the Wine Weekly blog (http://www.wineweekly.com/wine-reviews/white-wine-review-la-crema-chardonnay/), “a fine match for grilled chicken.” (Or, in our case, grilled pizza.) “It’s also an enjoyable wine overall. The nose is expressive, showing full aromas of ripe pear, apple, and a touch of spice. On the palate you get a cremy, smooth texture that carries forward, ripe pear fruit with a good dose of vanilla spice and oak and a faint touch of honey. However the oak is not overpowering — it’s right on.”
Happy Belated Mother’s Day! I would have written this yesterday, but I was too busy sitting by the pool supervising my husband as he planted the tomatoes and sunflowers, then later I had supervise the preparation of my special Mother’s Day meal. Actually, it really did take a bit of supervision. See, we got this new pizza stone thingie that allows you to cook pizza on the grill…and while I’m not sure what the allure of that really is, grilled pizza was what I requested for my Mother’s Day dinner.
I am confident that others have better luck with their pizza stone, but we seemed to have purchased a special version that emits Gorilla Glue when heated. So we had a bit of trouble removing said pizza from the stone once it was finished cooking — which was supposed to be after 15-20 minutes but was actually more like 40-45 minutes. Yup, we were good and hungry by the time we set out to extract it from its base. I have to admit, it was delicious when we finally got to eat. Of course, I was thinking about filleting one of the cats by that time.
ANYWAY, while I sipped wine and watched my family trying to sever the bond between stone and crust, I got to thinking about all the feelings that are uniquely mothers’ … and these things came to mind.
That feeling of anticipation when the doctor says, “I can see its head. It won’t be long now!”
That feeling of dread when the doctor then says, “I’m gonna need the scissors again.”
The pride you feel when a crowd gathers around your baby at the airport, oohing and aahing over her beauty.
The humiliation you feel when you swab at what looks to be just a little drop of runny nose from the beautiful baby and instead you latch onto and extract a giant booger that must have been filling her tiny head … and the crowd scatters like the roaches on the Raid commercials.
That “I’m special” feeling that you get when your little one reaches up with two stubby arms and pleads to be held at the mall.
That “Uh-oh, child protective services should be along shortly” feeling that you get when, after you refuse to hold the 20-pound kid, she toddles up to a creepy man with a beard that is probably harboring fleas and says, “Will YOU howed me on your showder?”
The feeling of invincibility you get when you have a successful grocery shopping experience with two children under the age of four.
The desire for invisibility you get when the 3 1/2-year-old in Oshkosh overalls knocks down a beer display and puts her hands on her hips and shouts, “WELL F*#K ME!”
The heart tug when the curtain opens for her first ballet recital.
The angina when, four hours later, you still are sitting in the same seat, watching total strangers dance — and badly — in ugly costumes and you can’t stand the sound of peppy piano music — in fact, you can’t stand ANY piano music and probably never will be able to again — AND you are out of anything edible you ever had in the bottom of your purse, including but not limited to fuzzy cough drops and Tic-Tacs with ink pen marks.
The way your heart races when she comes out of the orthodontist’s office and flashes you her first post-braces smile.
The way the vein in your temple throbs the third time she announces she threw away her retainers.
The feeling of freedom you get when the youngest one gets her driver’s license.
The feeling of worthlessness you get when the youngest one gets her driver’s license.
The excitement of going on college visits and taking the tours with them, trying to see the campus (and the boys) through their eyes.
The excruciating pain of realizing that it’s illegal to look at the boys the way you are, exacerbated by the pain in your knees because you tripped over a crack in the sidewalk while gawking at the 22-year-olds.
The pride you feel as she leaves for her senior prom, with the perfect coiffure, the perfect makeup, the perfect dress…
The desperation you feel for a glass of wine after spending all day with her in pursuit of that perfection.
The pride you feel when you spot your graduate in the processional.
The urge (no doubt caused by ballet recital flashbacks) to get up and bolt out of the auditorium after your child gets her diploma and you still have half the alphabet to go.
The churning in your stomach as you leave her, alone and adrift, in her first dorm room, sharing a 10-by-12 space with a total stranger.
The relief when she calls you later that night, laughing with a crowd of new best friends.
The empty feeling you get when you realize that she doesn’t need you anymore.
The way you fill that emptiness with your new-found friends at the post office as you mail two or three packages a week of things only mommy can provide. Like Girl Scout cookies and contact solution and the picture of their boyfriend they left by their bed at home.
The thrill of being accepted as your daughter’s friend on Facebook.
The fear of looking through the pictures she posted after a fraternity party.
The satisfaction you get when you know that she can do it all without you.
The desperate hope you harbor that she doesn’t want to.
And I can’t mention Mother’s Day without giving a shout-out to my own mom, whose exploits have been forever chronicled here in this humble blog … and providing a link to the all-time favorite JoAnn story just once more: https://ashleyolsonrosen.wordpress.com/2009/07/10/if-my-children-think-i-embarrass-them-wait-til-they-hear-what-my-mom-did/