Tinfoil Yamaka

Having three daughters, my parents had to deal with a variety of young lads a courtin' on the Radford girls. Whenever I talk about my Dad dealing with his dating daughters, I like to share the bit of advice he gave me about men: "Missy, guys have two heads, and neither of them are for thinking." He would also threaten to send me out on dates with a nickel in between my knees with the instructions that I had to keep it there. My Dad. Such a quotable guy.

Anyway, one of the fine, young lads that came around was a Jewish boy named Jeremy. He had a large crush on my oldest sister, Amy. Now Amy was always dating other guys, but that never deterred Jeremy. I remember him stopping over at our house for years. He spent so much time at our house one summer, my parents called him their "Adopted Jewish Son."

To Jeremy, I think I will always represent the annoying little sister. But, I have to give him credit for a few things. One, because of him I know how to make a blow torch out of a can of Aqua Net and a lighter. Two, I know that it is possible for a person to like both John Denver AND Prince. And three, he's the only guy to ever convince me to get on the back of his motorcyle. (Sorry, Dad!)

I remember him stopping over at our house one day. This day happened to be a Jewish holiday and he was supposed to be wearing his yamaka, but he had forgotten it.

So Mom, in classic mom-form, lovingly made him one out of tinfoil.

I would love to see what Mom could've done with a roll of toilet paper and a wedding dress challenge.

For A Quarter

I've been missing Mom a lot lately. There are so many things about being a Mom that I wish I could share with her. And I wish that she could enjoy this guy:




There are really so many things to enjoy about him...the 2-tooth smiles, the giggles, the snuggles, and the chunky, chunky you-can-hide-quarters-in-those-rolls goodness. I know if Mom was still Mom she'd be eating it all up with a spoon. But, Mom hasn't been Mom for a long time.

And now that I'm a Mom, I feel like it's stirred up some more memories of Ma. I'll be going about my day - feeding Drake or changing his diaper, and a memory will hit me over the head. The other day I was in the car with Drake - on our way to daycare, and we were listening to an 80s station on the radio. I was waxing nostalgic to a Cyndi Lauper tune, and I remembered being in the car with Mom and listening to the "oldies" station. Mom would be in the front seat with Dad and a tune would come on the radio and she would turn around and offer my sisters and I a quarter if we could name the artist.

And then Amy, Heather and I would shout out the 3 "oldies" singers that we knew; I don't think we ever got a song right. But, it was always fun to try. Mom always seemed to find ways to make everything more fun.

And that's the kind of Mom that I want to be. The Mom that makes everything more fun.

I want to be the Mom that offers Drake a quarter for naming the singer of "She Bop."

I might even double it for a Prince tune.

Thank You Easter Bunny

Mom liked to overdo things - especially for the holidays. For example, for Valentine's Day she never bought us the $1.99 class pack of cards to hand out at school - no - Mom would special order Valentine's cards from a catalog that included a matching pencil and sticker.

Easter was no exception. I definitely remember the Easter baskets filled with hollow chocolate bunnies and plastic trinkets, but my most memorable Easters were the ones from my late teen years. Mom scrapped the Easter baskets and instead set up an Easter egg hunt for me and my older sisters. Yup. At the crack of Noon on Easter Sunday my sisters and I, still in our pajamas, would scour our family room for plastic eggs filled with cold, hard Easter cash.

Mom would get a variety of bills...$1, $5, $10, $20, and stash one in a hide-a-egg. She'd hide, say, 30 eggs and we each could gather 10 each. So, it was possible that the Easter Bunny could bring you $10 or $100, depending on your luck.

After we found our 10 eggs each, we'd sit on the floor and take turns opening our eggs. It was like we were on our own game show. There were "ooos and aaahs" with each egg opening. And, year after year and one by one, I would open 10, $1 eggs. My sister, Heather, the girl who loves money so much she used to wash and sort the coins in her coin jar on a regular basis as a kid, would open a series of $10 and $20 eggs. I think she could smell the bigger bills through the plastic eggs.

But then something magical would happen...the spirit of Easter became stronger than Heather's desire to horde cash, and she would offer to trade one of her twenties for one of my ones. I always quickly accepted the offer.

And the Easter Bunny would just sit back and smile.

Drake!

On Tuesday, February 17th at 1:30 a.m., we welcomed Drake Jerritt Mohn. I am now officially a Mom. The little guy fills me with all sorts of gooey feelings inside. He's finally here.




Prior to Drake's birth, I would talk to Mom and Dad on the phone about his arrival. Dad seemed anxious and excited for another grandson. But, with his joy, there was also sadness that Mom wasn't aware of what was happening and that she couldn't share the experience with me.

Here was my typical weekly conversation with Mom:

"Mom, did you know that I'm pregnant?"

"Oh, really?"

"Yup. I'm going to have a baby boy. You're going to be a grandma again. What do you think about that?"

And then Mom would typically trail off with a string of nonsensical words. I'm not sure that most of our conversations even registers with her anymore. But, despite our discouraging conversations, each week I continued to remind her about her grandson on the way. Somewhere deep inside her there had to be a part of her that could still feel happy - a part that could still remember the joy and excitement of a new baby.

Mom and Dad came to the hospital the day Drake was born. Dad asked a good friend of theirs to make the trek with them, as long car trips have gotten hard for Mom. Dad had talked about coming to the hospital for a while. Part of me was very glad that they were going to make the trip, and another part of me was really worried about how the visit would be for me emotionally.

And in the end, I was able to focus more on the sweet than the bitter. Even though Mom didn't really seem aware of what had happened at the hospital, Dad was beaming. I had that. And that was worth plenty.

Mom Club

Here's a picture of my newborn self with my Mom and two sisters. Mom looks tired and pale, but she looks happy. And I think this might be the one and only picture where my sisters look pleased that I exist. I would also like to add there there were two photos taken from this sitting. In the other photo, I was completely cross-eyed. A sign of my budding personality, I think.

As a little one, thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up, I'd often ask my parents the same question. My Dad would say that he wanted to be a pilot. The first time he told me, I heard it as "pirate". I was understandably disappointed. When I asked my Mom, she would say without hesitation that she wanted to be a Mom. That was her dream job.

And here I sit on bed rest at nearly 36 weeks pregnant. I could have this baby boy at any time now. That idea fills me with a random collection of emotions that I have a hard time describing. The decision to become a Mom was not an easy one for me, and it took me a while to get there. Sometimes I wish I was entering into this new career without hesitation and with the certainty that my Mom had. I wish that I could talk to her about becoming a Mom.

But, then I think most of her wisdom she's already passed on by example. I've had about 30 years to observe an expert - I need to work on having some faith that Mom has already instilled in me the things I need to know to become a good Mom.

However, there are two things I know for certain: I'm looking forward to joining the Mom Club, and I can't wait to meet this little guy.