Dear Someday Baby,

When I was in my 20’s I used to fantasize about some of the  things I would do when I became a mother.    Most of those things are based on what I was given as a child.

I was very fortunate to have a stay-at-home mom and also a nearly-second mom, J, who I spent lots of time with.  Both are/were incredible women (J passed away 7 years ago) and I learned different things from each of them.

My own mom – your Grammy – has a wickedly sweet sense of humour and loves to laugh more than anyone I know – her laugh is contagious.  She and I used to listen to Barbara Streisand, John Denver, Bee Gees, Abba, Barry Manilow and Roger Whittaker when I was younger.   I get my love of  music from her.   A few years ago, she and my dad – your Grampy – gave me the piano I had grown up playing.  I love having it in our house.

Mom taught me how to blow the yoke out of an egg so it could be painted for Easter. 

One of my favourite times with her was when she allowed me to help her with the annual ritual of planting marigolds in her circle garden in the front lawn.  I hated the smell of those flowers, but it was worth every icky whiff,  just to watch as my mother would place the flower in the little hole I’d dug and then swiftly pull the loose soil into the remaining hole and press down firmly on the ground to secure the little bud in place….with her bare hands.

My mom usually had fresh cookies or banana bread cooling on the counter when I got home from school.  She often made perfect, flaky biscuits at supper time.  There wasn’t a birthday that didn’t come with a homemade cake.  Her baking was a thing of great comfort to me.

My second mom, J, was an arts-and-crafts type.  When I was with her I was always drawing, cutting, painting, sticking…creating.  I can still remember the thrill and surprise the day she showed me how to throw spaghetti at the ceiling (to see if it was cooked) and then told me we would leave it there to dry.  Later, I waited with eyes wide as she gently peeled the hard spaghetti strands off the ceiling and handed the delicate creations over to me.  I took the pieces and glued them onto contstruction paper and pretended they were works of art.

J was known for her prize chocolate chip cookies.  Nobody could top them. Even my mother knew it.  It was just the way it was. 

Tonight for dinner, I made biscuits.  It’s something I rarely do – in fact I hardly ever bake anything, ever.  I stood there with my ingredients and my mixing bowl and as I mixed and added and stirred, I found myself a little bit sad that after all this time…I still don’t have anyone to bake for. 

Deep down in my heart, I know there are many things I avoid or have put off for this same reason.   

I don’t bake fresh cookies. 

I don’t plant flowers in my garden.  

I don’t decorate at Easter, Halloween or Valentine’s day…and I don’t much care about Christmas decorations either. 

I don’t play my piano.

I used to do all of these things with great excitement and anticipation because I thought you were right around the corner.   Over the years however, they have stopped bringing me joy – rather, they break my heart.

Someday though…someday, they will make me happy again.

Love,

Momma

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