Uplifting

It had to happen. And today was a perfect day to make it happen.

My daughter has been taking the heat all week for an article she had published in the Boston Globe. Writing in her usual humorous and self-deprecatory style, Jenn related how she and her two little girls handle the everyday occurrences of living in a very small house and how they often share moments of nudity (and hilarity). The vitriolic comments that followed her article were hard to read - mean-spirited and judgmental accusations which alleged that she was a "corrupter of civilization". How dare she show her naked body to her small children! How dare she answer their questions about such naked bodies!

What the inflamed, self-righteous readers fail to realize is that my daughter is one of the kindest, least judgmental people on this planet. She is also one of the walking wounded. Divorce and mental illness have become a part of her everyday life. She certainly didn't 'ask for' such heartbreaking circumstances but she has taken the cards she's been dealt and plays them with courage, compassion, and humility. She has had more than her share of what some will call bad luck for the past few years: job lay-off, nil finances, medications wreaking havoc with her memory and writing skills. Somehow she wakes up each day and struggles to find meaning and give meaning to the people in her life, including her priority - her precious two daughters.

There is not a mean bone in Jenn's body, so for her to read the hateful commentary following her magazine article came as a shock. However, she has met the hatemongers straight on and asserted herself online. I wish I could be as brave.

Knowing all this and how crazy a week it's been, I called her this morning. She needed a diversion.

Me: "Hey, Jenn, I really need to go shopping this weekend for clothes for my trip. I'm flying to Vancouver next weekend and nothing fits."

Jenn: "Sure, let's do it. I know you like to use me as your personal assistant on this kind of stuff. (Laughter at other end of the line.) Funny how I'm great at dressing other people but never take care of my own wardrobe."

Me: "Super. I'll pick you up for breakfast and then to the Mall. I really need a bra."

We do breakfast and a couple hours later ...

Jenn: "Find the fitting room. No, no ... don't touch the lingerie. Just give me your size and LET ME pick the bras."

Me: "You're such a good daughter. I have to look really nice for the visit to the television set."

Me (in fitting room with my daughter): "Wow, I hope these bras are what I'm looking for."

Jenn: "You've trained me well, Mom. A good foundation garment sets the tone - then we'll find you a nice top."

Now, if anyone reading this has had a problem with Jenn's Boston Globe article, I suggest that you stop reading right now. Go open your Reader's Digest. NUDITY AHEAD ...

Me (now stripped to my waist and struggling into Jenn's first choice for my foundation garment): "Er, are you sure this is my size?"

Jenn (chuckling): "Mom, the first rule of a good fit is to hang those puppies down and slide 'em into the cups."

Me (wishing I had inherited my father's genes rather than my maternal Polish peasant-stock knockers): "Okay, they're in. I hooked up the back. What do you think? It's a 'minimizer'. (Ha! That's like trying to hold back Niagara Falls with a bucket!)

Jenn (professionally as if she's done this for years): "Let me slip my fingers in here and pull the straps up a bit. Okay, this one works."

Me: "I need a sports bra today for when I finally return to the gym."

Jenn (looking dubious): "Mom, that's not what we came for today. Let's concentrate on everyday apparel and your upcoming trip, eh?"

Me: "Should I try the other two on?"

Jenn: "Mom, treat yourself. You certainly need more than one considering what you own right now."

I try, I squirm, I wiggle my aging, abundant flesh into my personal assistant's tasteful selections. She eyes me critically and helps me decide on the final choices. I look at myself in the mirror and wish that my youthful, perky bosom was staring back. As my best friend would say, "It is what it is. Deal."

By now, Jenn has found a bra or two for herself and proceeds to strip and try them on. She is now almost forty, the mother of two.

Our bodies are the bodies of women who have gone through many transitions. Jenn reminds me of this and we both take a moment to honor the reality of our soft flesh, curves and cellulite. We are what we are. We are real women.

We hug and smile. Our bodies are no strangers to each other. She sees her future; I see my past.

I suddenly say, "God, how sad about those commentators. They could turn all that negative energy into something positive, like an uplifting bra."

She looks at me and we are now laughing so loudly that we fear a sales assistant will come rushing in to check on us.

Between the giggles I manage to blurt out, "I meant an uplifting blog!"

Pilgrim soul

To my daughter on her birthday, a poem by David Whyte from The House of Belonging.

... one small thing
I've learned these years,

how to be alone,
and at the edge of aloneness
how to be found by the world.

Innocence is what we allow
to be gifted back to us
once we've given ourselves away.

There is one world only,
the one to which we gave ourselves
utterly, and to which one day

we are blessed to return.

I love you, Jenn, and bless you on your journey.

The wonder of it all

Twice in my life, I became a mother.

I was not ready, at first, for the tremendous responsibility of holding that tiny newborn and trying to calm her cries, giving her what she needed. Those first few weeks were a blur of anxiety and apprehension. Am I doing it right? The it, of course, being motherhood. My mother only smiled back at me, wisely and mysteriously. She knew what I had yet to learn, that children are resilient and everything was going to be fine.

By the time my son arrived, I had learned a lot. Not only was I more relaxed but so was he. Big eyes, quietly attentive ... watching, always watching.


I love the mathematics of motherhood. The years of struggling and caring and worrying and trying to get it right. Providing roots but also wings. The years fly by and suddenly, from 2, there comes a new generation of 1,2,3,4,5! Now it's my turn to smile and assure my grown kids that they are beautiful and strong parents, that they are certainly doing it right.


Beyond the abundance, I return to a simple act - holding my daughter, stroking her until she falls asleep. Doing what I did so many years ago, wiping her tears and providing a safe space.

I think being a mother takes you to the heights and depths of human experience. Your children's joys and sorrows carve niches in your soul. Sometimes, the richest moments are the most basic. Holding. Comforting. Knowing when to be silent. Looking down at your grown daughter's sleeping face and catching your breath ... remembering those eyelashes on a baby, held and sung to so, so long ago. Smiling your mother's smile and praying that everything will, indeed, be fine.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL OF YOU AND THANK YOU FOR READING MY BLOG!

Swimming lessons

I usually write positive things but this seems the perfect day to release some bad news at the micro level.

My job is 'being eliminated' on July 1. My boss told me the same afternoon I found out that I have some dental problems. The dental problems have turned into three surgical procedures. No dental plan. Small amount of savings as a nest egg for the unemployment will now be re-directed to the periodontist.

Sophie's favorite goldfish (it was actually black and silver) went belly up under my watch. I have yet to tell Sophie who named this little fish Midnight and faithfully reminded me to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" each night to both Midnight and Goldie. At her last sleepover, though, she announced that the fish were older now and didn't need the lullaby. I think I need the lullaby. Goldfish is tucked away in a plastic cup in the freezer. I owe it to Sophie to let her decide how to settle the remains of her little friend. One if by land, two if by sea ...

Jenn is still trying hard to keep herself afloat. The latest there is a hole in the roof. You can't even make this stuff up.

May day, May day! I guess we'll keep treading water until the rescue ship arrives.

A mother-daughter sitcom. Or the Titanic.

Declarative sentences

"I'm glad you moved here, Babci."

It was spoken softly by the little dark-haired girl descending my staircase. I was in back of her and almost missed the spontaneous words. Sophie's sincerity caught me by surprise.

"Sophie, I'm glad I moved up here too, to watch you and Hannah grow."

"You would have missed a lot."

"I know." Oh, dear heart, I know. Believe me, I know.


"Thank you, Babci, for having me for a birthday sleepover."

"My pleasure." My delight.

Lambs and sinners

March has suddenly morphed into early April and still the cold lingers. Sophie spent another delightful weekend sleepover and we raced to the car last night while blowing snow tickled our faces. At least Easter will be arriving soon with its message of renewal and redemption. I think I need both. I've been a bad girl.

Sophie and Hannah and their mommy had treated me to dinner out a few weeks ago to celebrate my birthday. I made the mistake of ordering grilled lamb. Ah, by the time our dinner plates arrived, both girls had scolded me into losing my appetite.

"Babci! You're going to eat LAMB? Poor baby lambs?! Aw, poor SNUGGLY, CUTE baby lambs?" Hannah, in between her chocolate milk and fresh rolls and butter, continued to fix me with a mother-superior glare which wilted the lettuce on my plate.

"I promise not to order lamb ever again, girls." Wink, wink. Nod, nod. When did kids get to be so politically correct?

Faced with their pleading looks and the knowledge of just how much those two shriveled lamb chops were costing, I opted for the economical solution. I ate the lamb.

Years ago, when their mommy was about their age, I was a member of a church folk choir aptly named "Lambs and Sinners". Some weeks, depending on how well we played and sang, we were the lambs; other weeks, the sinners. We took turns spreading the collective catholic guilt around based on our musical performance.

Yesterday, at another restaurant, I tried to swat a tiny fruit fly buzzing around my drink but missed. Good thing I missed. Sophie, the lone witness, delivered an incredulous stare while asking, "Babci, you weren't really trying to kill that fly, were you?!" Sigh. Foiled again.

You think I would have learned my lesson but it doesn't end there. While shopping for some household items at the same mall, Sophie grabbed my hand as I reached for the Windex. She nodded a firm 'no'. "It's bad for the environment, Babci." I passed.

Life's teachable moments. But aren't I the one who's supposed to be the teacher?

Ecological awareness in the youngest generation ...

Lambs = 2
Sinner = 0

Mary

My mom was born in Greenfield, Massachusetts. Greenfield is less than an hour away from where I, my daughter and granddaughters now live. I find this quite amazing considering that all our family stories are set in Philadelphia.

Just why Mom was born in New England remains a family mystery. Philadelphia was where she and her folks set down roots, where I was to grow up. Perhaps my granddad (who became a steel worker) was cheap immigrant labor on a railroad project. Driving from western Massachusetts to Philadelphia is an effort even now, six hours by car. How the heck did my grandparents make the trip up here in the middle of winter, a century ago?

They are all gone, long gone. The mystery will not be solved unless Jenn and I do some serious genealogical research in the state archives. We plan to one day.

One hundred candles would have adorned her birthday cake today. Many live to that age now. She was not destined to do so. We lost her too soon, too fast. A doctor would tell me, after emergency open-heart surgery, that she was "in God's hands". We had her with us ten more heroic days but her damaged heart could not recover. In the end, she squeezed my hand and whispered, "Be good. I want to go to sleep now." She had earned her rest.

The family caregiver. The big sister. The loyal wife. The loving mother. Serious child (Sophie again). A flapper, a flirt. Funny (I hear her now in my daughter's laugh). An immigrant's child who scrubbed the marble steps of wealthy families. A laundress. Beautiful, in many ways. Her smile was radiant. Her patience and kindness, steady and admirable.




She was born just over those nearby mountains. I'd like to think she's found her way back just to be close to us. I'd like to think that smile is still shining down on the great-granddaughters she never got to know and on that one granddaughter whom she adored.

Happy Birthday, Mom. We miss you.