Cleanliness

I have this image on my fridge:




It helps me with the guilt I have about my dirty floors, sticky counters and all the Cheerios in my couch.

And then not that long ago, I remembered my Mom had a plaque hanging in her kitchen that said this:



Except hers was a wooden plaque with hand painted orange letters and yellow daisies. I love how her wooden plaque had a lasting impression on me.

I guess I have my Mom to blame for the Cheerios in my couch.

I Love a Parade

The cute one looking right at the camera with the fantastic brunette bee-hive...that's my Mama.

Mom really knew how to work a parade float.

Last Supper

A few weeks ago, Jason and I were talking about our last meals. If we were going to be executed, what would we pick as our last meal? A nice, light evening discussion topic.

It didn't take me long to decide: A giant bowl of rigatoni noodles swimming in butter. And I'm totally serious about the butter - the noodles should be floating on top of a pool of sweet, golden goodness.

Mom used to make this for me as a kid. She really didn't cook much, but she used to make me "fat" noodles whenever I requested them. And she never did skimp on the butter (she didn't really skimp on anything) but, the woman could have used an ice cream scoop. I have these warm and fuzzy memories of sitting on the bar stool up at the bright orange kitchen counter top, listening to Juice Newton on the radio, sipping milk from the yellow Tupperware cup, slurping buttery fat noodles from a bowl, and being with my Mom.

It seems like just the right emotional place to be just before a nice long dirt nap, don't you think?

And Jason's last meal?

"The liver of my enemy."

Happy New Year!

Yikes! It's been nearly a year since I've added a post! One of my new year's resolutions: To write more about my Mama. I've had stories floating around in my head all year, but haven't taken the time to type them out.

I'm gonna blame this guy:



Mom would've loved this little dude. Every stubborn and hilarious inch.

Drake is what you would call an "active" child. And has moved into a new stage of general destruction around the house. Which got me to thinking about what things I destroyed as kid...

An oven. I destroyed an oven.

And I wasn't even a kid. I was in my early 20s.

When I was in college, I had an internship at the Minnesota Children's Museum. Part of my internship was to help create and execute an art activity for kids. The theme was: Crazy Crayons! And in my research on activities with crayons, I stumbled upon instructions on how to make your own crayons by breaking up old crayons into muffin tins and melting them together in the oven. My first batch? Brilliant! The different colors of wax swirled together in a cookie-shaped crayon of crazy! Success!

It was the second batch - I couldn't leave well-enough alone. I wanted to break new ground in crazy crayon-making...what other shapes could be made? I dug around in my parents kitchen drawer and found a gingerbread man cookie cutter. Fun! A man shaped crayon!

So, I carefully wrapped the bottom of the cookie cutter in tinfoil and filled it with broken crayon bits and threw it in the oven for the few minutes of melting. It wasn't long before smoke started billowing out of the oven, and when I opened it, I could see that the crayon wax had seeped through the tinfoil, dripped onto the cookie sheet, and then onto the bottom of the oven. My Mom's oven had a large puddle of crayon wax in it. Crap!!! Was every Thanksgiving turkey from now on going to have the taste of Burnt Sienna or Cadet Blue?

And just as I was having a minor freak-out moment, Mom walked in to see what all the fuss was about...

Me: "Um, Mom - I think I may have ruined your oven."

Mom: "Eh - I don't care. I don't cook much anyway, and I've always hated that oven."

Made in Germany

Mom and Dad honeymooned in Germany. And every now and then, they'd dust off the slides from their trip and give us the slide show tour. They'd get to the picture of just a room in some bed and breakfast where the bed was stuffed with feathers, and they'd proudly proclaim that was where my sister Amy was conceived.

EEEEEEEEEEWWWWWW!

As if that wasn't enough, they'd continue and tell us about the custom rubber stamp that Mom had made for one of her gynecologist appointments... Her doctor lifted her shirt to find "MADE IN GERMANY" stamped on her big round belly.

The kid-me thought that was weird and gross. The adult-me thinks it's fantastically hilarious.

So, in a little homage to Mom, someday I hope to weird and gross-out Drake with this:

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.