So much of who I am, I get from mother - the bad, the good, and the amazing. The bad. Our irrational fear of doctors and teeth. Knee pain - even down to an oddly shaped birthmark on my left leg right above my knee that my grandmother, mother, and I all share. Our unwavering loyalty to our friends, even when they do not treat us with the same care and concern. Our inability to walk without tripping over something that is not even there. In fact, I believe that clumsiness gene has been passed on to my own daughter as well. Finally, we both unfortunately share the "I am an extremely sensitive person gene." Some people would call this a bad trait, but I just think it shows how much passion we put into our relationships, our work, and our lives. See, crying at a sappy television commercial is something that I have grown to respect about myself, my empathy, and I hope my mother can only see the beauty in those tears too.
The good. Putting others before herself is something my mother took very seriously when I was growing up. She always made sure that we, her children, were happy before she was. For example, when I was a child, (oh - let's face it and still to this very day) I had this idea in my head that everything in life should be fair. So when my parents took our family on a trip to Florida and my brother and my father went on a special excursion to Space Camp, my mother, on her own, figured out how to drive to Disney World and took my sister and I to Disney World so we wouldn't be left out. Now, I remember absolutely nothing about the trip, but I do remember that it was raining and my mother still wanted to please us. Her "I'm a proud momma smile." As my own daughter has gotten older and crossed some of those thresholds in her life - her first steps, her first time she went in the potty- her first bite of ice-cream, I find myself stealing the smile that I saw so often growing up from my own mother. In particular, the image of myself and my brother jumping off of the side of a pool and into her arms keeps playing through my mind. Again, I cannot recall where we were, but I remember the feeling of safety, knowing that she would always be there to catch me. I saw that same smile when I got my Master's Degree as well. The smile that not only says I am so proud of what you have become, but of what I know you will be.
The amazing. One of the things that my mother forced upon my brother and I, and that I would complain incessantly about was our three hours of mandatory work over the summers. While my brother and I were in Elementary all the way to High School my mother would make us do three things in our spare time. Read. Type. And our Talent, which for me was to write and my for my brother, his art. At the time, my brother and I could think of no worse torture. But MOM! None of my other friend's parents make them to do this! It's not fair! Were some of my favorite complaints to her. I distinctly remember my brother and I taking Mavis Beacon, our typing tutor CD, and throwing it on the ground, stepping on it, and putting lotion on it so it would not work in the computer, and we would not have to practice typing. But, Mavis Beacon was swift and always worked when it was time for us to practice. To most people this forced enlargement of our minds and our talents would not seem like an "amazing" thing that their mother bestowed upon them. I can honestly say her dedication to my betterment as a child is what made me be the person I am today. One could not imagine how much further I got in high school, college, and my career than my peers because of this work ethic that she has instilled upon me. Not only am I an avid reader, writer, and English Teacher, but I can type faster than The Flash and with my eyes close! It is not that she enhanced my abilities in these areas, it is that she made me realize what a person can do with themselves and their lives with a little hard work and practice.
Speaking of her encouraging me to write - I wrote this poem to my mother after I found out she had a brain tumor. I never shared it with her because I was embarrassed to see what she would think. But, I think now is a good time to let her read it:
Brain Tumor
How do you write a poem that says,
“I’m sorry you have a brain tumor.”
There’s no Hallmark Hook fancy enough
to fluff the brevity of those words.
But it was absurd to think that life
would always drift by without
something to make it halt, an alarming stop
"But your only 53" and mumbles of
"this can't be happening to me" . . . "to you."
Crashing images of my youth flash before my eyes
my mind attempting to compromise
with my emotions, to spit out words of comfort and devotion.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for all the years of fights
the tears, "you were right"
I'd take it all back if I could -
isn't that what is always said? But, you know I would.
I was ten and purposely then
I laid out my diary on my bed
and in big, bold letters and in red
it said, "I hate my mom."
And when I came back that night
I had lost all my fight
when I saw her calm words on my page:
"I love you for always and all days."
And what I was mad at I don't recall
but looking back now, I am remembering you in awe -
what a wonderful woman you were.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for the pain you will endure
and for the fear and the bravery
as you push our worries out the door
to make us feel okay.
Most of all I'm sorry that I didn't say,
"I love you" each and every day.
So what does this mess of a blog have to do with a cake? I am not sure entirely. But I do know that it is my mother's amazing talent as a baker, specifically a cake baker that made me want to do this two year challenge of a cake a week. And that when I opened up my cake book for the first time, just flipping through the pages to see what cakes the book had to offer - the very first cake I stopped at was called the "Pineapple Hummingbird Cake." And although that was over a year and a half ago, when I stopped at that recipe I said to myself, that cake reminds me of my mom. Partially because my mom has always been in love with hummingbirds, partially because one of her favorite fruits are pineapples, and partially because the cake just looked like something my mom would make and eat while sitting out on her deck or in her backyard in Florida. This cake screams sun and summertime and light and air and all of the amazing traits that remind me of my mother. Besides flour, eggs, sugar, vanilla, and baking powder, this cake's recipe used cinnamon, sunflower oil, pecans, bananas, and pineapples, and cream cheese for the homemade icing. I guess the cake is kind of like my mother, a mixture of amazing flavors, a little nutty - but when put all together - sweet and perfect.
Happy Mother's Day Mom.
The book's cake:
My cake:
In the box and on my way to mom's!
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