I'm serious. This isn't going to be pretty, so you can skip this if you wish. Ironically, my mother tangentially hits on the issue in her most recent blog entry herself. Sorta' makes it look like this brought it up, but actually it didn't. I am hoping this is safe - Kristen made a comment that I'm hoping makes it okay, 'cause she's sort of at the center of it. And Kristen, please know I love and admire you.
So here goes. I hope I'm fairly concise.
1. My mother has pancreatic cancer (not the confession). As she states in her most recent entry, she has a 1 in 33 chance of living another 5 years (she's already almost made it 1 year, woohoo!). Now she is fairly healthy and we are thrilled to have her this way. But it has brought up certain issues for me. For example, ways in which I have been less than the perfect daughter.
2. Okay, the ways in which I have been less than perfect are too numerous to count, I am sure, but let me tell you a story. Shortly after my mother's surgery, one of my acquaintances came by to drop off flowers and tell my mother she was a 'crunchy mama' and that she'd learned all her own 'crunchy mamaness' from her. She also happened to be showing off her child and 8 month pregnant belly. I was spitting nails and wanted nothing more than to shove her off our front steps and dump her flowers on her head (I'm really not exaggerating).
Wow, you're saying, Mara I had no idea you were a psycopath. Well, I think I've gotten to the root of it. And it's my imperfections. First, let's address the kids. My mother has no grandchildren, and a few of us got mighty sad about that when my mother was diagnosed. We also didn't get to know her mother because she died of cancer at a young age, too. I was going to be different. My kids would know their grandma (and she will be a rocking grandma). So this news really really really hurt. Hence this 8 month pregnant belly making me venomous. Go take your happiness elsewhere. Cause I was J-E-A-L-O-U-S, duh, and hurt that I couldn't change the situation for me and my mother.
Now let's get to the "crunchiness" of my mother. Growing up, we were indeed 'crunchy' (can you tell I don't like the term?). We grew our own fruit and veggies. My mother made a lot of our clothes, sold her homebaked bread, and cut our hair. I didn't realize, until university (I kid you not), that not every mother baked her own pies. I was so stunned I had to go ask my mother as to the truthfulness of my friends' claims. (think about this, I was at least 19) Of course, she didn't have much choice. We was po'. Not that I felt it. I loved my childhood and I loved fresh baked bread and sweet peas off the vine. I knew we didn't have a lot of money, but that didn't particularly seem to affect my happiness (heck, it felt pretty abundant).
However. When it came to me learning from my mother, well, out comes my huge painful zit-like imperfection. I was neither patient nor determined. I was a snotty brat. I practically threw tantrums when she tried to teach me how to sew. Granted, I loved helping in the kitchen and frequently did. I can make a pie, for heaven's sake. But my craft skills are ... limited. And it's something that I occasionally reflect upon and regret. [as for that girl learning everything she knows from my mother - I still think that's total malarky. what, was my mother privately tutoring her?!]
Yes, Kristen, this is where you come in. You are a craft rock star. {goodness, and nearly a freaking decade younger than me, too} When you do stuff like THIS, not to mention this, a part of my heart breaks thinking, "she's the crafty daughter my mother didn't get". [yes, Rae, I know you haven't fallen down on the job like I have. I'm not trying to take you down with me.]
I know this is the life I've chosen, but these and little comments (like my mother saying, "Mara hasn't taken to gardening the way I was hoping") sear into me with pain. And I do NOT want to feel like throwing you, Kristen, down the steps - now or in the future (I don't, by the way). And I don't want to keep it bottled up - 'cause even if my mother dies in a year or five, my relationship with Mendon & Kristen hopefully will continue for years to come. I just wish I was more like you.
Did I just hurt a bazillion people I love and make everything worse? Is the obvious answer just for me to 'get crafty'? Am I just looking for yet another validation of my mother's love for me?
Dear Mara,
I love you, too.
You did not hurt my feelings (at all, promise :).
You made me cry. This was not because of me, but because of your beautiful honesty and outpouring of emotions, which are icky, sticky, freaking hard things to deal with (and it makes me happy whenever we/I/one can). A good cry.
I'm sorry that this upsets you. I'm sorry that you're upset.
To add: I'm jealous, too. Your Mommy is awesome. I've known her for about 3 years, and it may not be many more. I am greedy for more time with her (and 30 years just sounds really, really good). That's my small issue, and it's not meant to distract from yours. I just want to let you know that I think that you're really, really lucky (even if it comes with issues and baggage). I hope that's OK.
I'm glad that you're able to bring this up. If we need to talk about any of this more/again, please, please, just get a hold of me.
Love,
Kristen
PS. Also really reassured to know that you don't have any stair-throwing desires for me.
Thanks, Kristen. I cried, too. I was just about to delete this because I suddenly realized (duh) how hurtful this could be to you. I'm glad I didn't and that you understood what I was saying without internalizing it.
I'm greedy for more time with her, too.
Sweetheart,
I laughed and I cried when I read your comment. It reminded me of me. My poor, dear, sainted mother tried to interest me and teach me both embroidery and crewel work. She wanted me to speak French, to be French. At all these things, I failed miserably. She wanted me to be tall ( 5'5") and have dark hair and blue eyes. Well, one out of three is . . . miserable. She wanted me to marry a Frenchman and 'up'. Daddy doesn't really fit that profile either. So, you can see why I can feel your pain.
What I have apparently failed to communicate is that I love you just the way you are. Really. When one's children are born, one has hopes and dreams for them. You imagine how things will be for them and who they will be. Rarely do things happen the way you imagine. Childern are their own people, born with different personalities and different traits. They grow up to be themselves. As parents, we can be disappointed because they didn't become what or who we dreamed them to be, or we can rejoice in the unique, talented and wonderful individuals they have become! I choose the later. A mother could not be more proud of what the four of you have become. Not all the choices you have made would have been my choices for you, but then, I am not you. And the choices you have made are right for you. (Thank God I can say that with an honest heart. I imagine not all parents can say that about the choices their kids have made.) If I have expressed what you might construe as disappointment (gardening), it is really more surprise. At first, it comes as a surprise when your children don't turn out quite as imagined, but you get used to it as time goes on and one child teaches you about acceptance and change, so you can be ready for the next one and learn to rejoice in the surprises.
And Perfect? Who the heck among us can lay claim to that one? Not the honest ones. And if one is already 'perfect', where is the growth? We don't learn and grow from being perfect. We learn from things we might wish we had done differently. Perfect is way overvalued.
And 'Crunchy Mamma'? Consider the source. I garden because I really like eating fresh veggies. Not to save money. Yes, the good food came in handy feeding a family of six, but we didn't garden because we were poor. Same for bread baking. It was a plus that it saved money, but I did it for other reasons. It was very satisfying to have my family eagerly anticipate the bread when it came out of the oven. It was even satisfying to mix and knead the dough. I did it because I enjoyed it. When I no longer enjoyed it and the bread wasn't being eaten, I stopped. Even sewing was as much a creative outlet for me as it was about saving money. It is true that many of these activities were sort of 'back to', but in truth, I was partly motivated to do them because my family didn't do them. And I am thrilled that we created memories of good times in the kitchen (even if there may have been some not-quite-as-sweet memories from the garden.) That was really the purpose. I also have wonderful memories of helping my mother in the kitchen, yet when I got married I could make pancakes, white sauce and tea. I still had to learn to cook on my own. Not because my mother didn't teach me, but because I wasn't ready to learn yet.
So you're not a craft rock star? Then why do I love your jewelry? What is that, if not a craft? So what if you don't find creative satisfaction in the same areas I do? Would I love you any less if you did no craft at all? What if you were blind or in some other way disabeled/imperfect? Do you think I would love you less? (I know I don't need to answer these.) The 'answer' has nothing to do with crafts. It has to do more with knowing I love you just the way you are, and then following my example.
I know this is written on Mara's blog in response to Mara, but it applies to all of you. I remember when Mensch was about 2 or 3 and Nathan must have been about 14 or 15. I apparently was tolerating some behavior that Nathan felt he would have been reprimanded for at the same age. (And he was probably correct.) Anyway, Nathan said, with some disgust, "You have turned into such a Gramma." I took this as a compliment because, what do grandparents do? They accept and love their grandchildren. I may not have grandchildren, so I am practicing on you guys.
Now it's my turn to laugh and cry! I love you all!! Because you're 'crafty' (and yes, Mara, you as well -- fabulously and you don't even realize it!)? Sort of. It is an objective term, no? OK, look at MY family (in which I include myself, which those of you who know me the best know that it's taken a LONG time to honestly say that). I have wonderful memories of 'growing up' in your family, too! And yes Mara, I'm sure you can still eat me under the table! I think I heard the two snicker-giggles (or were there more of you in the room?) I was anticipating from that comment. For the rest, who are wondering exactly what kind of person I am . . . . completely sane, I assure you. I'm just someone who enjoys Stephanie's homemade trail mix!
Ha ha ha! Mara, I feel you. You think that you're falling down on the job based on some stereotypical gender role? NO! We all feel the pressure to be crafty, to do it ourselves that's us Dornbrook children. If Kristen feels like the daughter our mother never had, try being married to her. It's like I've become the in-law! I go off and do other things and maman and kristen poke around Joanne's (sp? I can't even fricken spell the name of the "Store of Terror!").
ARGH! No mommy, I don't want to go to the fabric store!!! I'll be good, I swear!
I said this only two weeks ago. It's funny how stuff sticks. I even did it when Kristen really wanted my input on the sofa fabric.
I kind of feel low about it too, at times. I've done things that are crafty, too. For example, I was really good at sneaking into the house late at night, different crafty. I think I wrote a good poem. Once. Maybe.
Feel better. Don't worry about the crafting. We all have picked up crafting in our own ways. I cook and have house plants. Kristen built our apartment from used match sticks. Nathan builds computers. Rachael creates her teaching tools (with a little help from her friends:). Mara you bead, knit, cook, etc. Most importantly though, you have CRAFTED an astounding online internet community and your blog is the hub. This is a goal that I've been striving for for a couple of years and so far, I've recruited Helen.
It's all right. Everything is going to be.
Absolutely! And the 'blame' rests squarely on Gramma. (hahahaha) When Daddy and I were first married, I went to buy Minute Rice, which is what I was raised on. Poor Daddy just wouldn't stand for that. We bought what I now think of as 'regular rice.' When I told Mimi that I had made 'real' rice, she was appalled, asking 'Didn't it take a long time?' Mimi was all about frozen/convenient foods. If we had a cake, she bought it. Now, she would go to the best bakery to get it. And sew? We had a seamstress, Helga, remember? The first thing she knit was the sweater you all wore, striped with the hat with the long tail. And that was when Nathan was two. I had knit several sweaters by then and she figured that if I could do it, so could she. What an inspiration I was! (hehehehe)
Ah...jealousy. Isn't it interesting when we have that feeling and finally put a name to it and realize why that feeling is so repugnant to us?
Well I'm sure the comments above have said far more loving and profound things than I could possibly add to this thread of comments, but I shall just remind you of two things:
1. I base all my opinions on your excellent cooking skills on the fact that I now have an excellent Basalmic Salad Dressing recipe that we came up with together.
2. When you move to Chicago I shall inundate you with knitting talk until you are as obsessed as I am.
XOXO,
Valerie
Love you, Valerie! :-)
And Mara, you couldn't have a better knitting coach than Valerie. She is so adventurous with her knitting. I stand in awe.
I love collecting these! I have so many of them that my husband is starting to get upset with me... Ohh well. What is one more?
As a result of France's extensive colonial ambitions between the 17th and 20th centuries, French was introduced to America, Africa, Polynesia, South-East Asia, and the Caribbean.
As a result of France's extensive colonial ambitions between the 17th and 20th centuries, French was introduced to America, Africa, Polynesia, South-East Asia, and the Caribbean.
French is an official language in 30 countries, most of which form what is called, in French, La Francophonie, the community of French-speaking countries. It is an official language of all United Nations agencies and a large number of international organizations. According to the European Union, 129 million (or 26% of the Union's total population), in 27 member states speak French, of which 65 million are native speakers and 69 million claim to speak French either as a second language or as a foreign language, making it the third most spoken second language in the Union, after English and German. Twenty-percent of non-Francophone Europeans know how to speak French, totaling roughly 145.6 million people.
French is an official language in 30 countries, most of which form what is called, in French, La Francophonie, the community of French-speaking countries. It is an official language of all United Nations agencies and a large number of international organizations. According to the European Union, 129 million (or 26% of the Union's total population), in 27 member states speak French, of which 65 million are native speakers and 69 million claim to speak French either as a second language or as a foreign language, making it the third most spoken second language in the Union, after English and German. Twenty-percent of non-Francophone Europeans know how to speak French, totaling roughly 145.6 million people.
French is an official language in 30 countries, most of which form what is called, in French, La Francophonie, the community of French-speaking countries. It is an official language of all United Nations agencies and a large number of international organizations. According to the European Union, 129 million (or 26% of the Union's total population), in 27 member states speak French, of which 65 million are native speakers and 69 million claim to speak French either as a second language or as a foreign language, making it the third most spoken second language in the Union, after English and German. Twenty-percent of non-Francophone Europeans know how to speak French, totaling roughly 145.6 million people.
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