In 1963, the Easy-Bake Oven was introduced to millions of future little bakers around the world. And I was one of them. Excited, didn’t quite come close to that tickled-pink moment when my mother placed it in front of me, all wrapped in a box and bow so beautifully. For a long time I just sat there transfixed. Probably because I wasn’t used to getting gifts out of the blue other than a birthday or Chanukah. So yeah this was a big deal for me and she knew it. And although I was rather amazed by the gadgetry, the bowl, the utensils, all the tools of my new trade, I had no grand illusions what this strange miniature replica of a oven complete with Betty Crocker cake mixes, would actually produce. Didn’t need to be Mr. Peabody to figure that one out.
Didn’t care.
All that mattered was the joy of being a kid who just so happened to have a new toy that everyone wanted. And better still a toy that would allow me to flex my tiny MasterChef Junior wings of creativity and soar to those heights and boundaries yet untested. Needless to say I was in heaven. I was whipping, I was folding, I was beating those ingredients senseless. And with each new thumbnail masterpiece popping out of a lightbulb-operated oven it was there in the kitchen baking side-by-side with my mother that something wonderful, something enduring began to cement as I sensed the first glimmer of who I was, who she was and all the many things she would, in time, come to do for me.
Like all children and folks with puffy egos we believe we know everything. So naturally whatever words of wisdom were imparted to me in those early years fell on dummy ears. Fell but lay silent in the background of life’s noises just waiting for the right time and the right me to pick them back up. It would be a while before that happened. A long while. You could say from ages twelve to twenty the relationship I had with my mother was pretty typical. We were a family of women. So yeah, hormones bounced off walls and knocked down doors on a somewhat regular basis. Having a few good days interspersed with a truckload of bad ones. And more often than not hurtful things were said, things I couldn’t take back, things I didn’t give a second thought to.
Then.
But with each passing year while a part of me continued to sow my oats at every garden patch or farm I passed, another part somehow managed to look beyond all that petty bickering knowing, also instinctually, that the day of reckoning was closer than I could possibly imagine. A day when I’d gaze into the mirror and it would be my mother’s face staring back — not mine.
* * * *
In my sixty plus years on this planet, I’ve often thought about the complexity of mother-daughter relationships. How the stories behind them are not always so simple, rather they’re hard and sometimes heartbreaking. And yet despite whatever anguish prevails, so too does this one common denominator. Love. A love that sits and waits. A love that transcends, that connects a moral compass pointing home. Always, always pointing home. Even for someone like me. The girl who wore that “badass daughter” badge like nobody’s business. I know I put my mother through the proverbial tunnel of hell and back. Sometimes I actually believed that was my mission in life. To make her as miserable as she was making me. Maybe as kids we all feel that way. Maybe that’s simply part of the rebellion thing. I don’t know. I just did it with such gusto it was a wonder she still had enough energy left over after all that to love me, let alone like me.
But she did. She remained vigilant to see me through. She clung on fiercely like a drowning swimmer. A stance that told me I needed to start paying attention, I needed to listen and more importantly, I needed to learn.
Many years ago I experienced what I call this “aha” moment. A formative split-second realization while sitting at my sister’s deathbed, that today is all we have. All I have. And if I don’t show my mother how I feel about her and NOW in the simple and ordinary ways: a phone call, a kind and patient word, a visit and an “I love you,” I’d regret it for the rest of my life. It’s hard to believe that in the middle of all that fucking crap landing in my lap, I had a wake-up call. But if not then … when?
I think this is what it all comes down to. As much as I’d love to keep Hallmark and 1–800 Flowers in business, there’s no way I can set aside just one day out of the entire year to honor my mother. Nor can I possibly squeeze into a twenty-four hour timeframe a verbal list of all those incredible sacrifices, those things she’s taught me about life, about being the kind of woman, the kind of mother I need to be, the meaning of unconditional love, that relationships worth having are hard fucking work and those that aren’t don’t waste your time with, how to have grace in the face of death, not to slouch, make sure I take care of my skin earlier than later, and that friends are those superstars who stick around long after the shit hits the fan … I simply can’t.
So as I stare out the window and see my mother slowly and carefully walking up the path in the direction of my house, my Dad right there by her side, all I can say is how incredibly lucky I feel. How grateful and dare I say blessed (us Jews don’t really use that term too often), that she’s still with me. And while the tables are now turned and it’s me showing her a thing or two in the kitchen, me helping her transition from the stone age to the digital age, and me acting as her steadying arm in and out of cars and up sidewalks — I’m okay with that.
More than okay.
You know, we all have our heroes. They come to us in the most diverse parade of shades, shapes and bulletproof uniforms. Mine just so happened to come in the form of a cute, ninety-year-old lady named Mom.
(This essay had been previously posted but since I gave it a major facelift, I decided to give it another go-around.) Hope you liked it! Thanks and love.
Photo source
8 Comments -Leave a Comment
As always, your posts are a joy to read, Lauren! And this one reminds me of something that happened to me.
I, too, had the best gift ever when my daughter last Xmas wrote in a letter to me how, as a teenager, there was no way she wanted to be like me. But as an adult, with the years passing, she is thrilled at how much she is developing into a person so much like me….talk about tears flowing!
Bless you for your well expressed philosophies of life! 😍😍
As parents, as mothers, that singular affirmation that we didn’t screw up is what we live for. So take a well-deserved breath my dear friend Sarah. Kudos!!! Like my granddaughter Meghan would say … good job! Then give you a fist bump. So here’s my fist bump {knock, knock}.
Wow, intense, what memories! My mom also bought me an Easy Bake Oven and remember her being by my side when I used it, I was in awe! But, unlike you, I lost my mom when I had just turned 16 and had not reached a rebellious stage. This may sound weird, I envy that stage you went through, because through it all, you had your mom. There was so much left unsaid, she just left to give birth and never came back home and I was not able to tell her the last, “I love you”, this tragedy changed my life forever. At the same time, I don’t feel any guilt because I never put her through anything, just minor typical things here and there that all kids and teens may do.
Keep enjoying her, you are truly blessed!
I’m extremely appreciative for this long stretch of opportunities I’ve had with my mother to do just that. Say all those things. To leave no stone unturned. To part with a full heart. I completely empathize with that gaping hole of words “left unsaid.” I understand that deep regret. And my heart goes out to you. Know that. Know you are not alone with that feeling. But know that she loved you. If there’s any solace in this f**cked up world, it’s the belief those that love us, never leave. We carry them with us always.
Just love this Lor!!! Thanks for writing so eloquently!!! And although I was the least rebellious teenager, I still can relate to many of your feelings about moms!!!!!!
Yes, another Miss Goody Two Shoes. You and Marilyn. But you still turned out pretty good. And you are also fortunate having a wonderful Mom, who’s still here. Thanks for reading and feedback. I’m glad you’re enjoying my little musings. Please feel free to share on your social media platforms. Would appreciate it greatly. 🙂
Thank you so much. What a beautiful post.
I’m so glad you enjoyed the post Suzanne. Feel free to subscribe to get more of my thoughts on this … that and the next thing. Have a great weekend. 🙂