Famous Mommy

I will never be famous. I will never be some big time career lady who does power lunches (whatever those are), and I am certainly not one of those women who people look at and think "how does she do it?" In a world where we are all too often defined by what we do for a living, the ego of a stay-at-home mom can take a beating. This is all to apparent at social events where inevitably the question arises, "And what do you do?" My response is most commonly met with a polite dismissal, a few comments about how he or she could never stay at home followed by an exit to refill a drink or greet someone else (as if they could not conceive of having anything in common with someone who does not "work.")

Of course, I am stereotyping. Not all people are like this, although sadly there is still a huge problem with a person's job title being equated with what their somehow worth. And when you are a mom, especially one who stays home, you find yourself still fighting that, even though you know better. I continually feel like I need to justify myself to people, prove to them I am not some sloth-like person who is just too lazy to have a "real job." (Never mind that my real job, which I do not get paid for, could kick most of their asses on any given day). I find myself wanting the validation though, and since I do not get something concrete like a paycheck this can at times be hard to come by. Then I have to remind myself once more it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks or believes... I know the truth.

The truth is:

I wanted to be the one to kiss every injury and wipe every tear. I wanted to make the lunches and give the baths, and read the books, and play dolls, and restaurant, and fix her hair and help her get dressed, and tuck her in at night, and sing her songs, and take her to school. I even wanted to be the one to deal with her tantrums, and discipline her and teach her wrong from right because that is part of being a parent too.

No, I am not famous, but today I took my daughter sledding. Every time she reached the bottom of the hill in a spray of snow with a grin big enough to rival the Joker on Batman and every time she would yell, "Again!" And I could nod agreement and smile right back and say, "Again" too, because being a mom IS my job title and I didn't have to be anywhere else. Later we came in and baked Christmas cookies together in my kitchen, her little body pressed next to mine on her stool, rolling the balls of dough through the granulated sugar. No, I'm not famous, but in the eyes of my daughter, I am a rock star and that is more than enough for me.

Christmas Without Her

It was at about this same time last year when I kept thinking I saw her. Out of the corner of my eye I would get a glimpse but when I would turn ... nothing. Yesterday it happened again while I was perusing the Christmas isles at a local store. Something in the curve of the woman's small-boned shoulder and the tiny, impractical slipper-like ballet shoes she was wearing despite the cool December air, momentarily tricked my brain into believing my Grandmother was a mere few feet from me. But, of course, she wasn't, and when the second passed, along with its little bit of magic, the elderly woman, feeling my eyes on her, glanced over. I offered up a half-smile, hastily returned the forgotten ornament I clutched in my hand to its hook and fled the store, completely shaken.


I suppose it is only natural that my mind would conjure up thoughts of Grandma Elaine so frequently come Christmastime. After all, every Christmas day was spent at her house as a child, and some of my best holiday memories were made there... ALWAYS with Grandma as the central figure. I still remember the family opening presents from each other after dinner (which tended to be a chaotic affair .... picture a huge circle of chairs....aunts, uncles and a gang of my cousins all tearing into gifts and you get the idea) and Grandma and Grandpa sitting, watching it all with huge grins on their faces. Looking back now I am sure I have idealized it some, but truthfully, it was pretty ideal.

Last Christmas I cried when my first holiday card came in the mail and with it the realization that no longer would I receive one from my Grandmother. This week (after sudden inspiration) I dug in my hope chest and pulled out a bag of cherished cards I have saved over the years given to me by loved ones. Sure enough several of the cards were from her. For some reason it was comforting to see her signature there on the paper, still declaring her love.

Grandpa spent this past Christmas without my Grandma. This year they will not be apart. And as I decorate my house, bake my holiday cookies, write out my Christmas cards, wrap my gifts, and read Christmas stories to Isabelle, I know my mind will turn to them both again and again. And that's okay because as I am making my new traditions I want to also remember to embrace the old ones and weave them into this family tapestry for Isabelle. Then, with any luck, maybe someday, she too, will look back on parts of her childhood as "pretty ideal." Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa.