Stages

No one told me about this stage in life.  The one where your heart kind of swells with pride, practically explodes with love, and then also breaks slowly all at the same time.  No one talks about that. The stage when your children start moving from the “Mom, hug me! Hold me!” Stage, to the “I need my space.”

When I first got pregnant, I heard all about the morning sickness possibilities.  I was given advice about making sure to walk a lot and the right things to eat and foods to avoid.  So I prepared and I planned. Finally the moment comes and I am given this absolutely perfect baby in my arms.  My life before that moment was completely forgotten. Nothing else mattered looking into those eyes.

The advice follows me with the birth of my babes.   A longer list of do’s and don'ts. With every stage of the younger years, terrible two’s, potty training, starting school, I heard advice.  Everyone had opinions, and in a way it made me feel better because it helped navigate my uncharted ocean. I could always see land, so I was grounded even when the seas got rocky.  No one told me though, about the letting go bit. No one told me about what to do when my kids start growing up and maybe don’t need me quite as much as they used to. No one warned me about that mix of emotions.  The hurt for myself, excitement for them and pride in them. Maybe because it’s different for everyone. Or maybe because it’s truly hard to explain all the emotion or give advice for this stage. You just have to experience it.  

The closing of the school year, floods our facebook pages with graduation caps and gowns.  Faces of proud mommas and daddy’s, and hope in the eyes of their children. Little ones moving from the pond of elementary school diving into a new place with much bigger fish.  Lots of firsts come with the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another. As a parent, it’s blessing to be a part of every stage. It’s been an even bigger blessing to have a team of people stand by you when any amount of words or advice doesn’t really help.

As my son enters high school next year, and my daughter middle school, I feel a mixture of emotions.  These are uncharted waters. I no longer truly control the direction of the boat. I now have two co-captains with opinions and dreams, and they to want to sail their own boat.  They have their own path to explore and conquer. I will be okay to sail beside them. Maybe even sometimes behind them. I have no other choice. They know I will be there when they need me, just like I know I have people to pick me up when I’m struggling, or a friendly ear for listening.  The sea is too big to handle alone after all.

~Esmeralda

The Roman Brides

By: Susan

I made ñoquis (also known as gnocchi) for dinner tonight.  It is a kind of pasta made from potatoes, eggs and flour.  I once learned how to make it from scratch from two very special ladies that showed me love when I was a stranger in a strange land. 

My first-born was a picky eater.  Up to the age of two she hardly tried anything other than milk.  Most of the pureed fruit and vegetables ended up on her clothes and the high chair instead of in her.  She also never sat still.  My theory was she was too busy moving around and exploring her world to sit down and eat.  That’s why she preferred a bottle or Sippy cup that would allow her to be mobile. 

Photo credit: http://www.la-juvenil.com.ar/productos.php?categoria=11

One night we went out to eat at an Italian restaurant and I ordered the one thing on the menu that was completely new to me.  When the plate of ñoquis arrived, I offered a bite to Miranda and was surprised that she actually took it and asked for more.  She almost cleaned the plate for me.  It was such a momentous occasion in my life as a young and inexperienced mother that I told the story to whomever I met. 

I had two Italian neighbors in my apartment building.  Both widows, both immigrants to Venezuela after the Second World War and both living alone, one two stories below me, and one in the building across.  Neither had grandchildren so they had adopted Miranda as theirs.  They loved to hold her and play with her and watch her while I cleaned or cooked.   Couple of days after I shared the news of Miranda’s devouring ñoquis with the two Señoras, there was a knock at my door.  It was Silvana, the tall, blond one who looked like Gina Lollobrigida. She grabbed Miranda from my arms and ordered me downstairs to learn how to make ñoquis.  Laura, the soft-spoken, more grandmotherly one, was busy in her beautiful kitchen taking potatoes off the stove.  She put the boiled potatoes through a special instrument, which I later learned was a potato ricer, added some flour and cracked an egg on top.  She kneaded the mixture until it resembled a softt dough.  She then rolled pieces of the dough into long strips, cut them into ½” sections and used another special instrument to press a pattern into each piece.  The pasta was cooked in boiling water in a couple of minutes while she made a simple tomato sauce.  She served Miranda the homemade ñoquis and we all sat around and watched her eat. 

I went out immediately and bought a potato ricer and all the ingredients.  If this was what would make her eat, I would be making ñoquis every day.  The first batch turned out fine.  The second one was a bit doughy.  Luckily, I found a place in town that made fresh pasta everyday and I became a regular customer. 

When I eat ñoquis, I do remember it as Miranda’s first food, but the sweeter memory is of the two ladies that befriended me at a time when I lived in a country away from my family.  I didn’t have a lot of friends yet.  I didn’t know what to do with a baby. They must have remembered how they had felt when they first came to Venezuela as young brides, lonely, not speaking the language, not knowing the culture.  They became my guides, my mentors, my friends.  I often wonder how they are doing these days.  Are they still living in Puerto Ordaz?  How are they bearing the difficulties the country is facing?  Did they migrate back to Italy?  Wherever they are, I hope they know how much their love and friendship meant to me.  I know I cannot repay them.  I can only pay it forward by showing kindness and friendship to others.  And by making ñoquis from time to time.

Entries from the Encyclopedia of Me, Volumes J-S

By Andrea

J is for Jesus

All my life I had known about Jesus.  I heard about him from my mother, grandmother and great grandmother. I learned about his life in weekly Sunday school lessons and by participating in vacation Bible school during the summers. Yet it was not until 1997 did I seek sincerely to know Jesus. I prayed about questions of why my knowledge of him was not transformative as others claimed it was for them. So I studied the Bible, read books and listened to great teachers to find out who he is, why he is important and how he could change lives. The Bible teaches “seek and you will find” and that's exactly what happened. On August 17, 1997, I committed my whole heart to walking in his ways.  Seeking, believing, repenting and being baptized were just the first steps of this lifelong journey toward becoming a Christian.  Sometimes I stumble along the path.  Yet the beauty of my relationship with Jesus versus my knowledge of Jesus is I know he is with me.  He leads. I follow.  I go off track.  He brings me back- sometimes gently guiding me by the hand, sometimes by the neck with his shepherd’s crook.  Always with wisdom, true love, mercy and grace.

K is for Kai

In October, my heart was stolen by the world’s most beautiful baby boy, Kai Alexander, and I have not been the same since.  I am now one of those grandmothers.  At the most casual query as to his well-being, I whip out my cell phone to show him off. One or two will not do, I must show ALL of the pictures. People are so kind. They yield to my enthusiasm. l used to check Facebook when I had a minute to play on my phone.  Now, I stare at my baby’s little cherub face. He has the wisest eyes, a sight I have never seen on any other baby.  He’s got the cutest little nose and elfin chin.  All I want to do is kiss his sweet head full of big soft curls and tell stories or sing songs to him.  When he looks intently into my face, hope makes sense.

L is for Lexus

Anyone who knows me well will be able to tell you I'm not very much into name brand anything. I like high quality products, and I will pay for it, but I also love a good bargain as much as the next girl. When it comes to the car of my dreams, however, I would throw out all of my pragmatism, stop my eye-rolling at American consumerism and brand fandom. I have no real idea when this adoration started, but it shall not be assuaged until a milk-white ES 350 belongs to me. I've been an adult making money for a long time now, but I've yet to choose and purchase a car for myself. I think a Lexus would make a great first car for a middle-aged lady.

M is for Mommy

I am 42 years old, and I still call my mother “Mommy”.  So do my siblings.  My husband and his brothers still refer to their late mother as such.  We are not the only ones. Every black person I know, who grew up calling their mother “Mommy” uses that moniker always- even as adults.  During a conversation a few years ago,  a friend curiously said “Wow, you still call your mother mommy.”  I had never thought about it before.  Was this unusual? So I started to pay attention to how people referr to their parents, moms in particular. I asked people of other communities and found if they had used the term Mommy at all, they had outgrown it somewhere in the preteen years and switched to Mom or Mother.  We tend to view the world from our experience and where I’m from, a predominantly black community, almost everyone calls their mother Mommy (Ma is probably the second most popular).  I actually cannot think of a black person who addresses his or her mother as “Mom.”  Nonetheless, my mommy by any other name would be just as wonderful!

N is for Noni

We have already started teaching baby Kai to call me Noni and his grandpa, Pop. The latter will be easier because that's what our son calls his father. Sometimes, I slip up when talking to the baby and refer to myself as granny. I guess that comes more naturally to me because that's what we taught our kids to say to their grandmothers. I'm just too young to be called Granny. Noni just sounds cooler, more hipster. Don't you agree?

O is for Optimism

My uncle, Herman, likes to tell the story of seeing me for the first time as an infant. He recounts that my mother opened the door to her New York apartment with me in her arms and as soon he looked down at me, my face spread with the biggest gummy grin. He always ends the story with “you've always been my happy, positive Punky!” In the world of personality theories, I'm a sanguine. Easygoing, optimistic, looking for the good.  I've had moments in the past when I wished God had given me a different personality. I thought I wanted to be more serious, more ambitious, more demanding or more take charge. Thank goodness God saw fit not to grant that wish. The older I get, the more I get me. My optimism is probably the thing I like most about myself.

Q is for Quiet

It is quite odd that someone as gregarious and extroverted as I am longs for and looks forward to quiet. I raised four children and work as an elementary school teacher. Maybe it's not so odd now that I think about it.

R is for Rest

My motto used to be “We can rest when we get to heaven!” For the first 40 years of my life I was the Energizer Bunny. I lived at the speed of right now, right fast. By God's grace, I started questioning the wisdom and effectiveness (or lack thereof) of my pace and prayed to see the value of rest. In the Old Testament, the Sabbath day was established for the Jews and is still practiced today. Apparently, they needed rest. I bet the same is true for the rest of us, too. On the 7th day of creation, God rested. If he rested though he does have the whole world in his hands, I had to ask what's my excuse? Rest. It is good.

S is for siblings

Brother-sister-brother. The children of my mother. I am the oldest by eight, eleven and sixteen years. This means I was practically grown by the time they were becoming cool kids. My little brother used to answer me “Yes or No, ma’am” because he grew up with my kids and that is the required response for them. It was too weird coming from my little brother so I had put a stop to that.  They spent every summer with me and my family as they were growing up. Those times were special to me then, but the memories are more special now that they are all grown. We don't spend nearly as much time together as we did back then. I miss them and wish we weren't so far apart, in distance and time.