mother’s day memories

I’ll be honest. I’m still getting used to the title of Mother. I think I went so long believing that I wouldn’t ever be a mother–not just for physiological reasons, but by choice–that when I did become one it took me a while to feel comfortable and competent in that skin.

It’s been five years since we brought Noemi home now, and I feel like I’m starting to make progress. But there’s so much gray in parenting that I often wonder. I’ve never been an overprotective mom, but in the early days, that stemmed more from the fact that I just figured Noemi had to be as safe, if not safer, with her dear daycare provider or the mom of a friend (especially if said mom had multiple kids) than with me. I felt so woefully incompetent. I’ve been on a gradual ascent out of that place over the past few years, but this spring finally popped me out of the pit.

Christopher and I have watched Noemi suck up any kind of teaching–intended or unwitting–all her life. When we first visited her in Guatemala at age 3-1/2 months, you could see the frown lines on her forehead as she tried to copy her Daddy’s OK sign (which she succeeded in doing) and she’d practice her razz so ardently that her lips would go numb. Now, Noemi reads anything put in front of her (she literally cried yesterday when I said the book she was working her way through the first page of was for Gammy and not her … it was Ann Patchett’s new novel). She’s always thirsted to learn and tends to challenge herself. It’s who she is. And as Christopher and I observed that trajectory, we started to feel she’d be more suited to first grade than kindergarten next year, but we had no idea what to do about it.

I asked for help. I asked for opinions. And I got both.

At first my “well I’m sure you know better than I do” mind chatter kicked in. But I started to realize that just because someone had an opinion didn’t by default mean they knew what was best for my child. I learned to take what others were saying and rub it up against my own experience with my daughter. Experience, it dawned on me, that no one else had. Experience that only comes from being the mother of your child.

When we were presented with the option to move Noemi out of preschool and into Kindergarten for the last trimester, I literally wept with relief. I knew at my core it was the right thing to do, and we’ve seen that played out by Noemi stepping confidently into her new shoes.

A few people have pushed me–hard–on the decision, and in the beginning I would analyze everything to try and divine whether we’d royally screwed up Noemi’s life. She cried once when I left the playground and I thought … OMG, she must have a latent attachment disorder and we’ve RUINED her by throwing her into a new setting–she’ll never be able to have a healthy relationship. She threw a fit about picking up her room and I thought … we’re pushing her too hard, she’s going to grow up resenting us!

Enough already. Sure, we need to keep an eye out for red flags and, if need be, adjust. But second guessing everything just eats at you; none of us can predict the ultimate path of our child’s life.

Knowing what I do of my daughter–before and after this transition–I’m confident we’ve made the right choice. And as gut wrenching as this all was to go through, there’s something else I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt. I AM Noemi’s Mom.

By Cheryl Sternman Rule

With Mother’s Day around the corner, I wanted to take a moment to honor grandmothers, those women a branch up from moms on the family tree. I’ve asked three cookbook authors, all representing different ethnic heritages, to reflect on how their grandmothers’ food traditions influenced their own.

cookbooks-post “I totally believe that grandmothers are the keepers of the culinary flame, especially for immigrant families,” says Patricia Tanumihardja, author of the recipe-packed, story-filled The Asian Grandmothers Cookbook (Sasquatch Books). “Language and food are the two most important ways that culture is passed down through the generations.” When her mother Julia was growing up, Pat’s Popo (Chinese for grandmother) would always prepare Julia and her siblings an afternoon snack of roti bakso, or sweet bread stuffed with pork. Julia, in turn, prepared the dish frequently for Pat, passing along Popo’s tradition. So even though Popo passed away when Pat was an infant, she remained a presence in the family’s household through that beloved snack.

For her cookbook, Pat interviewed grandmothers whose roots spanned the Asian cultural spectrum, from Chinese, Japanese, and Indonesian to Korean, Filipino, and Thai. She believes strongly that immigrant grandmothers are the torchbearers of a family’s culinary heritage. “Grandmothers are the closest link to an immigrant’s homeland. They cook for their grandchildren, and they speak to them in their native tongue.” If her own grandmothers were still alive today, she says, she’d “celebrate them on Mother’s Day,” too.

Monica Bhide, a Washington, D.C.-based food writer and author of several books on Indian cooking (her most recent is Modern Spice), recalls spending many hours with her grandmothers, Savitri and Kaushalya, chopping vegetables, peeling oranges, and shelling peanuts. One of the biggest lessons they imparted, she reflects, was to always cook enough for company. Though she was raised largely in Bahrain, Monica’s roots are Indian, and many members of her extended family lived together in the same home in New Delhi. Her grandmothers would work alongside their servants (not uncommon in many Indian households) for hours, preparing the evening meal for 20 or more family members each night.

Today, Monica has happy neighbors, largely because she has taken her grandmothers’ lessons to heart. “I make extra food, even now,” she says. “I have older neighbors, whom I love. I take them dinner every other day.”

Jennie Schacht’s Jewish paternal grandmother Henrietta lived to be 101. “She was a powerhouse of a woman,” Jennie remembers. “I absolutely adored her.” Henrietta did The New York Times crossword puzzle in 15 minutes every Sunday, and regularly turned out Ashkenazi Jewish specialties such as brisket, noodle kugel, and blintzes from the railroad-style kitchen in her tiny apartment on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. “I loved her blintzes,” Jennie says. “I could practically tell you how to make them just from having observed her so many times.” Grandma Schacht (as Jennie called her) also taught her how to flute a pie crust. “I can still picture her thumb pressing in to form the impressions.”

Jennie’s newest book, Farmers’ Market Desserts (Chronicle Books), includes a plum soup recipe her father raved about throughout her childhood. Her headnote to the recipe even reads: “One childhood role I had was to re-create my grandmother’s best hits for my dad.” That soup was one of them.

“Grandma Schacht would be enormously thrilled that I’m writing cookbooks,” she says, “because she just cared about food so much.”

This Mother’s Day, toast your mom, but raise an extra glass to your grandmothers, too. I’ll be toasting my Grandma Sarah and her soothing chicken soup, and my Grandma Eve, whose Sunday morning breakfasts always included bagels and butterfish. To grandmothers near and far, offer thanks for their lingering presence — in your lives, in your hearts, and at the table.

Cheryl Sternman Rule is a food and nutrition writer whose work has appeared in numerous national magazines, including EatingWell and Body+Soul. She is the voice behind the food blog 5 Second Rule.

Tag Archives: mother’s day memories

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