Today we bought apples. Lots of apples. For eating and for making pie. Apples are my daughter’s favorite food.
On the way home from the store, she asked, “Can I have an apple?”
“Sure, bug, when we get home.”
“Do you want an apple, mommy?”
“Yeah, I should probably have an apple, too. I haven’t really been taking care of myself.”
“That’s okay, I’ll take care of you.”
Oh man, right in the heart.
I hadn’t meant to say that part about not taking care of myself. The truth just unconsciously rolled off my tongue. I keep vowing to quit sugar. Then I click on The Atlantic and see a bunch of white nationalists gathered at the Reagan building in D.C. doing Hitler salutes, and suddenly I need sugar in my coffee and a piece of buttered toast. I make phone calls and sign petitions and struggle with a helpless feeling in the swirl of this madness. None of it is okay. Bigotry will never be the new normal. I will continue to resist it with my entire being.
I will make a beautiful apple pie. I will love my family. I will resist the fascists. It’s holiday season 2016.
(Post 307 of 365)
There was a popular article circulating on social media a few years ago, before I was a mom, called The Mom Stays in the Picture. I couldn’t relate to it back then, but it left a strong enough impression that it surfaced from memory this morning.
Somehow I am always behind the lens, never in front of it. The article is written from a postpartum perspective, and I can relate to dodging the camera during those puffy-faced, leaky-boob days.
Now I no longer dodge the camera, I just forget to include myself. In the swirl of distraction, I remember to take a few photos of my daughter with her grandparents and with her dad, but I always forget to ask someone to take a photo with me in it.
This year I will remember to get in front of the lens, maybe even before I snap the photos of everyone else.
I wish I had a lovely photo of our Easter eggs colored with homemade beet and tumeric and cabbage dyes. Yes, I actually did that last year.
But we haven’t dyed any eggs, and it’s not looking like there will be time. I remembered to hard-boil a few this afternoon and then popped them in glasses with some old food-based dyes and vinegar. No child participation, just a big rush.
The lead-up to the holidays always feel like a scramble. In my defense, our holidays involve a minimum of two events but usually three, travel, and a good amount of baking. It will all come together. If only I could find a way to feel a less frantic…