Gather and Nest

{I had a friend ask me over the weekend what I had been up to; what great things I had made or recipes I had tried. I had no response. Nothing. The sun is shining and my days are busy chasing around a very curious almost eleven-month-old that is walking (trying to run!) and busy exploring this crazy world. I will get back to my crafty, let’s make it or bake it self. But right now there is nothing I would rather be doing than watching this little miss look up at the clouds in amazement, put her arms up, smile with delight and spin around only to fall to the green grass and squeal. Yes. That is where I want to be.}

Today I will eat strawberries,

juicy bites of sweet sorrow,

and I will remember you,

your short cake stature

and your kind ways.

I will remember your amazement in the very small,

your love of all things strawberry,

your deviled eggs, your mischievous smile,

and how you treasured handmade gifts and cards like pieces of fine art.

Today I will eat strawberries

and I will think of you,

your stubbornness and your independence,

qualities that have been passed on to my mother

and then to me.

I will forever imagine you gleefully shouting “BINGO!”

because that makes me smile.

And one day I will eat strawberries with little Clementine

and tell her stories of her great grandmother,

“Once upon a time there was a strawberry queen…”

I’ve made my share of new mom mistakes. I forgot to pack a change of clothes in my carry-on bag on our first flight together at three months which resulted in a blow out of the smelly kind, a onesie that had to be peeled off and thrown in the trash and a baby wearing only bloomers and a zip up hoody.  I’ve gone off to meet a friend for lunch and forgotten to pack a bottle resulting in me scarfing down half of a sandwich and racing home. I learn from my mistakes; there is an extra onesie in my bag at all times and I never leave home without my little cooler packed with a bottle and a teething treat.

Yesterday, after music class which ends at noon, we decided to go out for lunch. We being my husband, who was the only dad at class, and my friend and her daughter who is ten days younger than Clementine. The adults sat in the booth and two high chairs were placed at the end of the table. This sounds risky but it actually was fine. Both girls sat like little eight-month-old-ladies throwing one toy on the ground after another (why don’t those high chairs have a built in net under them to catch everything?) and watched us eat.

Clementine is at a stage where she stares at us and our food and gives us looks like “Hey, I love steak. What’s up with all of these pureed fruits and vegetables? Have you tasted this rice cereal?” There happened to be two thick round carrot slices on my plate next to my panini. Oh, a little color on the plate, I thought to myself, how healthy.

Why not? She can gum the carrot and feel like she’s eating with us. It will be fine.

Happily, she took the carrot and started sucking. I was listening to my friend’s story intently when my husband interrupted to ask what was wrong with Clementine. I looked over at her and her face was bright red and her eyes were all watery as she kept right on licking that carrot. What’s going on?! Is she allergic to carrots? No, she eats them all of the time! What is it?! My husband picked up the other carrot on my plate and took a bite.

It just so happened that it was a pickled spicy carrot.

Oops.

She had a little water and forgot all about it. That’s the best part about babies. They still love their parents even after they do something stupid.

As for me, add it to my list of rookie mom mistakes. Taste food before giving it to your baby. Noted.

Thinking of my grandfather this Veterans Day.

When I was younger I was going through my grandparent’s records and came across a 45 in a simple kraft cover. It was a record that my grandfather had made for my grandmother while he was away. “My darling, I miss you…and your sparkling green eyes…”, that’s what I remember from it. Really, that’s all I needed to hear. I was the age where that made me giggle and tease my grandfather.  ”Oh, I miss your sparkling green eyes, my darling,” I would coo at the two of them. They would just smile, my grandfather blushing slightly.

I loved to listen to that 45 and imagine the soldiers waiting in line to record loving messages for their sweethearts at home. And the girls listening to  them over and over just to hear that voice and be comforted. I imagine the excitement, the butterflies, and the angst of missing someone so much.

Whatever happened to “my darling”? It seems to be a sentimental phrase from the past. I close my eyes and can only hear it in black and white. “My darling, I miss you…and your sparkling green eyes…”

So romantic and true.