My little one had an end of the year school BYOP(icnic) and it was a lot of fun.  We had our wolf quilt spread across the grass, our wicker picnic basket stocked with goodies, and our hoyden was running wild with a bubble gun.  We could hear the shrieks and laughter as other children chased after the glistening bubbles floating in the air.  It was such an old fashioned thing … and so simple; a picnic.  People were outdoors with phones down and I did not see one kid playing a video game.  The Texas heat was not yet unbearable and time pleasantly slowed.  I can remember SO many picnics on my great grandmother’s quilt with my parents at White Rock Lake; the anticipation of long summer nights just around the corner.  Mama would watch me while Daddy snoozed on his grandmother’s quilt.  I would run and go swing just like our girl did.  We closed the playground down and took the last train out … literally, on Stanley the Steam Engine.  Pictured here is our little one happy, red-faced, and disheveled after having taken her seat on the train.  Nutrition and fitness consultant Liz Applegate said, “There’s something for everybody at Picnic Day.”  Indeed there was; BYOP was not just a bring your own picnic; it was family, food, and fun.

My little one’s school had a photographer come as a thank you for moms who had volunteered during the year.  When I told Maris she said she wanted to wear her Chapel uniform (their most formal) and I was so pleased she wanted to have her picture with me.  Her school has a beautiful organic garden complete with a bridge under which fish placidly swim and flowers upon which newly hatched butterflies land.  It cannot be said enough:  I adore a theme.  So this year my little one had all things fox.  She had a fox lunch box, a fox water bottle, a fox backpack, and a fox nap mat.  She even had a fox ice pack and fox reusable sandwich bags.  And all the stickers I put in her belongings of course had foxes next to her name.  So I decided to wear my fox sweater in her honor.  She adores it because it is of a mommy fox kissing her baby.  Since we have wolf hybrids, I love coyotes and foxes which are their cousins.  The famous Roman writer Horace, said, “A picture is a poem without words”.  I find myself uncharacteristically without words but I can say what this picture exudes for me — and that is love; love for my clever little fox.

My Mother had a huge, heavy solid gold charm bracelet for as long as I can remember.  It was one of her nicest pieces of jewelry and jammed with mementos of her life.  I remember it had a little San Francisco trolley car, a lamp post from her honeymoon in New Orleans with Daddy, a grand piano because she studied classically and played for almost two decades, and many other little things that would jangle when she’d walk.  She wore it to church sometimes but always on Mother’s Day.  When Maris was born I told Burk I would like to start my a charm bracelet of my own only in silver.  Although we had been to some great places on our travels, I wanted the bracelet to begin with the three of us as a family.  I also thought it would help him have a built-in Mother’s Day present each year where he wouldn’t have to struggle to come up with something.  It would mean a lot to me and not even be expensive.  (I am assuming Maris will take command of this in a few years.)  Just like Mama, I wear my bracelet to church sometimes but always proudly on Mother’s Day.  Mine only has about 14 charms so far.  It started with a pair of baby booties that has Maris’ name and birthdate engraved on the back.  Next was a Saguaro cactus commemorating our first family trip to see my cousins in Phoenix before Maris was even six months old.  Then came a tiny Zia sun representing Santa Fe, and a scalloped shell to commemorate our first family trip to the beach which was Sanibel Island.  In the center is the Eiffel Tower for our first family trip to Paris, where Maris would walk by herself for the very first time, and I have the pyramid we climbed in the ancient Mayan ruins of Coba.  American author James Patterson said, “I love to tell stories.  It’s a delight for me.”  Sharing stories of personal experience is one of my delights.  Each charm in my bracelet is like a mini novel I can reveal or simply privately recall as a reminder of a special time in my life.  I look forward to adding more — for the experiences, the memories, and the stories.  Maybe someone else will be charmed, too.

I have always known my daughter and my mother shared a special connection; just as I did with my mother’s mother, Grandmother Maris.  The similarities between them are uncanny.  My mother was a little older in her picture here and I notice she’s wearing a good dress and pearls.  Mama was a true red head with light brown eyes and Maris is auburn with eyes so dark brown you cannot see her pupils.  But the resemblance between them is not merely physical.  They have the same mannerisms and say the EXACT same phrases, which is inexplicable given my mother passed away when my daughter was barely three; so one cannot argue they were learned.  My husband remarks upon it almost daily.  I lost Mama the day after Thanksgiving two years ago.  She was 81 and she had physically started slowing down so I affectionately called her “Zoom.”  I cannot tell you the number of times Burk has bulged his eyes out and pointed at our daughter hollering, “LOOK!  IT’S ZOOM!!!”  I always tell him not to point, holler, or refer to our only child as an “it” but I do love that he recognizes it.  She is almost the spitting image of my mother physically and in so many other ways as well.  I had three precious Mother’s Days where I had Mama with her namesake.  Now my mother lives on through my child.  And that is a great kindness God, in His infinite mercy, has granted me.  When I ache for my mother I watch Maris get her purse just like Mama would.  I see her put on “Chapsticks” in the precise same way my mother used to apply her lipstick.  We cannot leave to go to a restaurant until she has picked out a necklace — just like my mother always did.  I am so glad my husband got to know my mother since he was never able to meet my father, whom I lost when I was 28.  I will always take with me the greatness of my parents.  And they were great.  American soprano Leontyne Price said:

“Momma was home.  She was the most totally human, human being that I have ever known, and so very beautiful.  Within our home, she was an abundance of love, discipline, fun, affection, strength, tenderness, encouragement, understanding, inspiration, support.”

That is the kind of mother I strive to be for my daughter.  I hope one day she says I am great, too.

Today I’ll be writing about irony.  My husband got a scratch/scrape/invisible hurt of some kind on his arm and it was a whole big thing.  I needed to look at it; no under the light.  What should he put on it?  Did I think he should go to the doctor?  Finally our little one appointed herself his nurse, slathered on something (possibly toothpaste) and then crowned it with all the pomp and circumstance of a queen bestowing knighthood.  She even doled out one of her beloved Hello Kitty band-aids for such a serious occasion.  I will say it takes a secure man to sport little pink cats on his arm, and frankly I think he wore it well.  But did I think it was it healing?  Could I just look at it again?  Did it look better?  What did I think it was?  Should he spray something on it?  Meanwhile it turns out I have been running around on a broken shoulder with nary a peep for an entire week.  I am wearing a big black sling and can barely lift my arm.  Last night Burk sent me a text asking if I’d brought home the wolfies’ 80 pound bag of bison vittles.  Really?!  I told him between working for 12 hours, dressing and taking our daughter to and from school, seeing not one but two doctors, and hauling in three heavy bags of groceries one-handed I had not.  Sadly, the sarcasm was lost.  The orthopedist to take it easy for two months and I have to have a CT scan on Monday to make sure it does not require surgery.  (If you are reading this please pray it does not!)  American Olympic gold medal gymnast Shawn Johnson said, “Injury taught me I need to learn how to face challenges.”  I really like that quote.  Now my real challenge will be to get my husband over his grievous ailment and not relapse.  I would throw my arm dramatically over my eyes … but I can’t.