I'm A Little Tea Pot

There are so many different ways to make iced tea.  There is the plain ole unsweetened tea. Black tea, green tea, and all kinds of different flavored teas.  There is the Suthern Sweet Tea that will put you into a diabetic coma, without being a diabetic.  There is the warm tea, without ice. Tea with lots of ice.  Vodka that tastes just like tea. (YUM!)

Then there is the tea my mom and grandmom used to make.  

Grandmom would make pitchers and pitchers all in one day and store them in the fridge downstairs. She would boil the tea on the stove, let it steep, then mix some sugar, a glug-glug of orange juice and a glug of lemon juice.  It was SO yummy!  My second stop at Grandmoms house was the kitchen for a glass, ice and her tea.

Mom's recipe was very similar but tasted different somehow.  I don't know if the type of tea bags made a difference, the length of steeping or the fact that Mom would make it one pitcher at a time. 

I tried to learn how Mom made it.  I remember her tea pot sitting on the stove with the tea steeping. I remember her pouring it into the pitcher, mixing in more water to fill the gallon, a couple scoops of sugar.  Then the "glug-glug" of OJ and lemon juice.  I watched her when she was making it, I tried making it with her watching.  But I never mastered it.  

Mom's Tea Pot

How much is a "glug" anyway?

Lately, I've been craving Mom's Iced Tea. I've taken my normally sweet tea and added a shot of OJ and a twist of lemon juice.  Still not Mom's but is close enough to satisfy my craving.

What is your favorite flavor of iced tea? Anyone like OJ and lemon juice in their sweet tea?

CraftsmanShip

My Mom was crafty, oh so crafty!  She could create anything she wanted with fabric.  We would go to the Mall and she would sketch something, go home and the next day I would have it.  She made Halloween costume, baby clothes and even cabbage patch kids! We had planned for her to make my wedding dress but she was just too sick.  She did make a beautiful christening dress that all her descentents will be christened in, starting with Jakes.

My Mom got the crafty genes from her father, only he worked with Wood.  He could build anything he put his mind to.  He built the house my mother grew up in.  There were so many lovely touches to it.  There was a central house vac; all you had to do was plug the hose into the wall socket, not dragging a canister out and about.  There was a laundry shoot that went from the third floor to the basement where the machines were.  No excuses not to have your clothes down there, just drop them on down.

I remember Granddaddy coming to stay with us once.  He was converting the attic into a sewing room for Mom.  He'd already done the first half of the house, making a bedroom and half bath for my parents.

When converting the attic, there were sloping walls that would have been wasted space, no one over three feet would have been able to stand.  So Granddaddy built dressers in that space.  All along one wall there was dressers for Mom to store fabrics or whatever she needed.  The other wall, he framed in and behind there was a cubby hole for storing the Christmas decorations and such.  As the piest de resistance, he built a table that was waist high and 4 x 4 foot square.  It had to be built IN the room.  I don't remember how we got it out of there after Mom passed.

I know Granddaddy made lots of things over the years.  After building the house, furniture was needed.  So he built a bedroom suit.  A double bed frame, two twin bed frames, a chest of drawers, a dresser and a night stand.  There was also a matching crib that my mom and her siblings slept in.

When my grandparents passed, I inherited the bedroom suit.  When I was preggers with Jakes, I got the crib but the bars were too far apart for today's standards and the Ex neven finished modifying it in time for Jakes to use it.

My granddaddy knew how to build things to last.



Nigth Stand



chest of drawers



Dresser
Beautiful craftsmanship!



The other night I was sitting on my bed wallowing cause I've got a cold when the bed suddenly collapsed under me!  YIKES!  After moving the matress and box spring, this is what I found:

the siderail broke off leaving no where for the brace to rest

OOPS!

Fortunately, AZ was able to screw the piece back on and he checked all the other ones and reinforced them as well.  Hopefully, the bed is secure for another 45 years or more.

What's in a Name?

According to T.S. Eliot's Poem, The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter.  Each cat must have THREE different names.  One that that family uses daily, practical every day names.  Then there are names that belong to just one cat.  And lastly, there is the name that no human research can discover, the name that the cat himself only knows.  So if you see a cat in profound meditaiton its because he is contemplating his ineffable effable, effanineffable, Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

I was surprised at how much of this poem I remembered from the musical Cats.  It started me thinking about names I use for people in my life. People who have been there for a long time and I love very much.

I have many parents of friends that I call "Mom" or "Dad"  Nancy and Ray are Mom and Dad.  AZ's mother is Mom.  Kimber's Mom was "Mom" before she passed.  Janet's mom is "Mom."  Its just easier and most of the parents don't mind.

But for ESM, who has been a part of the family for SO many years, I still call her by her first name.

When I refer to Dad and ESM together, I say my parents.  To Jakes, she is Grandmom and has been for many years. 

But I just can't seem to bring myself to call her Mom.  Or even some variation of Mom.  She has never tried to take the place of my mom.  When I need a mom, she is there in whatever way I wish.  When Kathy would refer to ESM as my mom, I would correct her.

Why am I so afraid to have this world think I am this fabulous woman's daughter? Most people who know us, know my mother passed and know that ESM is not my biological mother.

Her birthday is in January and Dad and I are at a loss as to what to get her.  Maybe my gift to her will be to call her Mom.  Its an inexpensive gift yet one that could mean the world to her.

Happy Birthday, Mommy - WW

Happy Birthday Mommy! 
Love and miss you!

All Good Things

This was inspired by Brian's story "Remnants".  Check out WayStationOne for your inspiration.

They gathered in the dining room, the funeral had been over for many weeks.  Jesse sat cradling her infant in her arms while everyone chatted to get caught up on news.  Jesse shared the story of Michael's birth, leaving the graveyard and how quickly Michael made his way into the world.

There was an aura of sadness at the table; it was obvious that Jesse's mom was missing and they were still working accepting the new dynamic.  Jesse's dad looked sad and proud at the same time, if that was possible.  He had lost his wife and soul mate but gained a grandson at the same time.  He too was struggling with the new way of things.

Michael finished his bottle and was sleeping.  The group decided to start in the sewing room upstairs.  Jesse's dad was going to stay downstairs and watch Michael sleep.  He said he wanted everything cleaned out as quickly as possible.  The memories just hurt too much.

They found so many things that showed Kathy's love of her husband and family.  There were measurements of the kids as they grew and notes about projects she wanted to tackle for them family.  Hidden away was a pattern that Jesse had said she wanted as her wedding dress.  Jesse was flabergasted to know how much her mother wanted to give her the dream dress, even though she was too sick to make it.

In the cubby hole was an entire box of baby clothes and a blanket that Michael still uses today.  Some were handmade clothes, some were obviously store bought.  Some had labels of who made them and those were packed away as heirlooms.  The dismantled sewing room looked forlorn and lonely when they were done. The table her grandfather had built was empty for the first time in Jesse's memory.  It hurt Jesse's heart to see it that way.  She knew how much peace and pride this room had given her mother.

They moved into the bedroom.  Judy suggested that Jesse look over her mom's jewlery box.  There were many treasures in there, not monetarily valuable, but valuable to Jesse and her family.  In there was jewlery from Jesse's mom's mother and father, a bite disc from Jesse's grandmother, a ring suitable for a child and many other things that Jesse had never seen.  Also in the box were the dog tags for Jesse's father when he was in the Navy.  They were lovingly encased in plastic to protect them.  Jesse's father may not have wanted a reminder of his time spent in the service, but Jesse's mom obviously wanted those memories.  It was after all, the beginning of their love story.

Also hidden away in a dresser drawer was a family history.  There were pictures and letters from relatives Jesse had only heard about briefly.  And a detailed account of how the family came to America.  What a treasure!

Its amazing that such a hard and trying day could bring such good things and wonderful memories.

My Momma

For the past couple of days, I've been pondering ways to honor my Momma.  See, she died 13 years ago today.  Last year, I wrote her a letter telling her about my year, the year before that I shared the story of her death and Jakes birth.  I though about typing in the eulogy that was given at the funeral.  But that just seems sad.  I read through it today and cried.  That's enough sadness.

Momma

I think its time to just share the good things about Momma.  Its time to stop being sad over her passing and rejoice in her life.  She knows how much I still miss her every day, she knows how much I love her and cherish the memories that I have of her.  So let me share some with you..........

Momma wasn't a morning person.  But she got up with us each and every school day.  She made sure we had breakfast, made our lunches and then sat at the dining room table to watch us get on the bus.  I think most mornings, she went back to bed once we were gone, but she was there went it mattered.

Christmas mornings found Brother and I in the hallway, blocked by a baby gate, waiting for a decent hour to wake the parents up.  At 6:00 am, we'd start yelling and jumping up and down to get them up.  Eventually, Mom and Dad would come downstairs to let us tear open the presents.  After the mess was cleaned up, Mom would head to the kitchen to start making the cinnamon buns and coffee for the relatives who would be stopping by later.  Brother and I would be playing with our new toys.  I loved the smell of coffee percolating.

I remember Brother and I fighting or causing trouble and Mom yelling "JAMIE!"  Brother and I would stop and wait for Mom to decide which of us was in trouble......  Brother = Jimmy, me = Amy   Jimmy+Amy= JAMIE when Mom was angry.  It was usually ME in trouble for something or other.

Mom was a wonderful seamstress.  She made so many of my clothes.  If we were in a shop and I saw something I liked., Mom would whip out her sketch pad.  A week or so later, I'd have the same garment!  Every 6 months or so (especially before Christmas), Mom would make us kids stand in her sewing room and get our measurements taken.  Without them, she couldn't make new stuff for us.

Halloween 1985
All made by Momma

OH! And from November 1st through Christmas, you'd better NOT be in her sewing room without her permission!  You never know what she's got on the table for you or someone else.

Mom loved Broadway musicals, she's the one that got me hooked.  One day I came home from school to find her listening to her CD player.  She handed me the headset and said "You HAVE to listen!"  The CD started out low, with someone talking - no singing yet.  I'm listening intently when all of a sudden, the music starts up LOUD!  I tossed the headset off while Mom sat there laughing at me.  She knew it was going to get loud.

Jenni
She hangs in my hallway
Momma cross-stitched her

I remember taking the train to NYC with Mom and my Aunt.  Once in the City, we grabbed a cab to take us to Broadway.  I remember hanging on for Dear Life and praying for all I was worth on that short cab ride!  Once we arrived at the theatre, Mom, Aunt and I piled out of the cab as quickly as humanly possible.  We hugged each other, laughing to make sure we really did survive.  I think we had a greater appreciation for the show we went to see because of that cab ride.  I also remember walking back to the train station.......

The Patch Family
Momma made so many to share
I still have Momma's two favorite

Mom had a predictable menu throughout the week.  Wednesday was Spaghetti night. She would spend all day making sauce, usually with tomatoes canned from her garden.  It was Dad's favorite meal.  There were usually homemade chocolate chip cookies waiting for us after school.

I remember so many summer afternoons standing in the kitchen, slicing tomatoes to cold pack them or working the food mill for tomato sauce.  Then in the fall, we'd make applesauce.  There was also the time spent blanching the green veggies for freezing.  And soaking the broccoli to make sure there was no worms!

One evening in the garden, she was pulling weeds or something and it was my turn to get the potato bugs off the potatoes and tomatoes.  She had an old peanut butter jar for scrapping them off the leaves.  All the dead bugs just stayed in there, with no air, in the sunshine, cooking away.  gross.

The Family
Momma made everything we are wearing, even Dad's tie
(except Brothers outfit)

Another year, we borrowed the neighbors field to plant extra corn.  It was a particularly dry year and we spent lots of time running soaker hoses out to the field, between the rows of corn stalks.  Mom would be running down one row, I'd be in the next one, dragging the hose behind us.  By the time we got to the other end, I was itching and broke out in hives wherever the corn stalks had touched me.  That was the first time I'd broken out over the corn but there was no panic in Mom.  Just sent me to the house for a benadryl.

As I became a teen, I'd spend tons of time with my BFF, Kimber.  My parents knew her parents and communicated frequently to make sure we were behaving when we were together.

Mom and I butted heads on plenty of occasions.  I thought I was more grown than I actually was.  Typical teen.  But once I moved out and truly "grew up", Momma was my best friend.  We talked daily, shared almost everything.  I had a wonderful childhood (not that I always thought so then) and Mom did a wonderful job of raising Brother and I.  I always thought Mom loved Brother best and he thought the same of me.

Momma and Me
1995

I do know that no matter how annoying, mouthy, obnoxious or bad I was, Momma always loved me.

Hobbies

When I was growing up, my mom was the most talented person I knew.  In addition to keeping the house and raising us kids, she sewed beautiful projects, she cross-stitched, and she gardened and canned the veggies.

Since I have been out on my own, I have never found that "thing" to do to amuse myself when the housework is done and the kid is in bed.  I've typically sat in front of the TV or surfed the web looking at stupid mind-numbing stuff.  Occasionally, I will find a book to read.

I can sew a bit (mom taught me the basics) but I never fell in love with it the way she did. I certainly don't have her talent.  She could see a dress in a store, do a quick drawing of it and come home to stitch it up.  I don't have the patience for cross-stitching and just don't have the desire to learn knitting or crocheting.

At one point, I played the flute and I love just about all things associated with music.  My choir practices start up again in September.  I can't WAIT!

I am looking for hobbies to do in the evenings after the house work is done and the kid is in bed.  I am looking a hobby that won't necessarily take me out of the house but has the possibility of expanding my social base.  I would love for it to be fairly inexpensive.

What are some interesting things you do with your down time?

Mommy-hood Guilt

*** This week Jakes is with his dad and it gives me lots of down time and time to think about things in my life.  And to hopefully figure somethings about my life out. ***

My Mother was a wonderful woman.  She was great at everything she did.  She was a loving wife and mother, she kept the house, sewed beautifully as well as grew fabulous vegetables in her garden.  Mom was a stay at home mom and was there for everything my brother and I needed.  She was the healer, the disciplinarian, the inspiration, the cheerleader, the taxi driver.

My brother was the slug, the one who would prefer to sit and watch TV all day long.  I was the adventurer, the one to climb trees and jump off chicken coop roofs.  I was the cheerleader, the one active in 4-H and other clubs.  I was the headstrong one that challenged my mothers authority. Many, many times my mother said "I hope you have one just like you!" to me when she was exasperated.   My mom lived to be a wife and mother.

Through it all, the love shared with Dad, the raising of the children, the lean years, the teen years, and finally her illness, she was never mean, negative or seemed to struggle with anything.  I can only remember her crying once and that was because Dad lost his job.  They worked through that and they were stronger than ever.

I am constantly comparing myself to Mom.  How she was as a wife and mother and wishing I had half her skills at both.  When my marriage was failing, I held on and fought to make it work for many reasons but one was because I was afraid of what Mom's opinion would be if I failed.  (mom had passed several years before my marriage failed.)  Mom and Dad (and most of my friends) didn't want me to marry him, they saw him for the crap that he was, but I was blinded.

I know that I am not as good a mother as she was.  I don't have the patience for being a mom.  When I am struggling with Jakes and his behaviors, I try to think how Mom would have handled it.  And I fear I don't measure up to her expectations.  In my head I know that I am not my mother, that I am a completely different person than she is, that I have been raised in a different time.  Mom was raised with the expectation that she would marry, stay home and take care of the husband, babies and the house.

I was raised knowing that I would have a career outside of the home and I would have to work with my significant other to care for any children we would have together.

It doesn't always stop the guilt and expectations I place on myself.  I don't think I will ever stop comparing myself to my mother and her skills as a wife and mother.  I just have to find a way to not allow the guilt to paralyze me when I am living my own life.

I am ME and I have to do things differently from Mom.  I have to hope and pray that she would be proud of how I am living my life and raising my son.