WAS IT ANY GOOD AT ALL?

My sister and I enjoyed making fun of certain annoying phrases Mom always said.  These were standard Mom-isms she would repeat over and over throughout our lives.  Just as normal as

 “IF THE KIDS IN YOUR CLASS ALL JUMPED OFF A CLIFF, WOULD YOU DO IT TOO??"

  came these gems:

 “And there‘s NOTHING you can do.”

 “I just about FLAT give up”, and 

“Well was it ANY GOOD AT ALL?” 

This last one was her way of fishing for compliments after a meal she had worked hard on.  Laura and I would roll our eyes across the table from each other and mutter,” Yes Mom, it was great.”  I mean, obviously it was good because we had just scarfed all of it.  We were highly annoyed at her obvious need for attention.  She was a great cook and always put a lot of effort into  making everything perfect.  Since she wasn’t good at delegating, all the work fell to her.  Sometimes in frustration she would demand help only to criticize when it wasn’t done exactly to her specifications.  So we sort of steered clear while she was in her frenzy mode of cooking and assembling. 

Earlier this week, I had a light bulb moment.    Today for the first time, I get it.  

It was suddenly Christmas, the culmination of a month long effort to clean and decorate the house, put my annual party together, buy the perfect gifts, wrap them in pretty paper and bows, ship some, and place the others lovingly under the tree.   Cookies were baked, cards were written, and of course everything had to be completed by the 12/24 deadline.  Just like Mom, I'm no good at delegating either, so I'm kind of an exhausted mess by the time Christmas is over.  Still, I love this time of year and spend all my time, energy and money into trying to make it all perfect, even though it never is.

This is another reason why Christmas Vacation is my favorite movie.  

No matter how screwed up our holiday is, at least our tree didn't blow up and the SWAT team didn't come smashing through our windows.  The dog didn't chase a squirrel through our house or yak on a bone under the table, and our pets weren't  electrocuted.  Yes, I'd say we had a pretty good Christmas in comparison.  Whew.

Cookie baking time!

Family traditions are important.  They are supposed to create comforting memories to last you a lifetime.  Our traditions include baking sugar cookies together (for Santa of course), going to a church service on Christmas Eve, and everyone coming to my house for oyster stew.  

This is a tradition passed down from Mom; something I always loved and my sister did not.  She texted me from Reno, "Are you making your barfy oyster stew?"  Offended, I texted her back, "You've never had mine and it's not barfy!" Her reply: "All oyster stew is barfy!" 

So, yes, I served my barfy oyster stew and everyone loved it.  Take that, Sister!

My kids' father still thinks it's important to read "The Night Before Christmas" after dinner, even though our kids are young adults now!  

 

Chester, Kyle and Chelsea listen intently

I think he just enjoys performing but it's still fun to watch and is somehow comforting, as if we could be transported back in time to when they were little and still believed in Santa.

 

Shh! I think I hear Santa!

My son and I enjoyed our Christmas morning together.  I served the traditional Christmas morning hot toddy as we opened presents, another of Mom's traditions. (Kind of an alcoholic one, but still cherished.)  I love the smell of bourbon on Christmas morning.

Kyle especially enjoyed unwrapping this present from his cousin, lovingly wrapped in duct tape. Boys.

 Kyle and I had a good laugh when we discovered we had bought the same present for each other from Barnes and Nobles.  Great minds think alike?  

Doesn't everybody want a book on strange German words??

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up and putting a fabulous dinner together for my ex, his brother, my daughter and two of her friends.  I prepared the prime rib according to The Pioneer Woman’s recipe, crushing peppercorns and kosher salt, and staring nervously through the oven window, ready to yank it out when it reached medium rare.

Apparently, none of my meat thermometers work. This one indicated the meat was well done so I quickly pulled it out of the oven about an hour before my guests arrived.  There’s nothing worse than  dried out, overdone meat, and I was scared I had overcooked it. "Please don't be too well done!" I prayed silently over it.

However, when it was time to eat and we cut into it, my beautiful roast was clearly underdone and I was forced to crank up the oven and shove it back in for another 40 minutes. 

I tried to make casual, entertaining conversation with people who were obviously starving while the back of my mind was screaming in terror, “Cook, damnit!”

I'm starving!

Pepper, contemplating a Tangerine snack

 

Is it ready yet??

 My dinner was delayed almost two hours and then I sat on the edge of my chair, watching as my guests chewed on expensive beef that was just a little too tough.

I had to really restrain myself from asking that dreaded question I had always scorned and thought I would never ever ask: 

“Well is it any good at all?”

No, no!  I wasn't going to say that!   I tried other tactics, casually apologizing for it not being as good as I thought it should be, fishing around nonchalantly for information from the masses.  They all acted like they didn’t notice it wasn’t perfect but I knew better and was so disappointed. 

After everyone left, I tried delicately quizzing my son on his thoughts on the meal, but he got impatient, and just said, "It was fine, Mom" in a tone that said THIS IS BORING. PLEASE DON'T ASK ME ANY MORE QUESTIONS.

Please stop asking me things

And then it hit me.  I’m just like Mom!  I need that feedback.  I NEED TO KNOW (oh my God that’s something else she always said!) that all my hard work and efforts were admired and appreciated. 

My prime rib, which I’ve never had a problem cooking before, was a disaster in my eyes.  My family is broken and dysfunctional and I could go on and on about everything wrong in my life, but I’m on a quest to focus on the positive.  (insert maniacal laughter here.)  

Still, it’s hard not to fret about whether my efforts were in vain.  Did they really like the dinner?  Does my life have any positive impact on those around me?  

I guess I’ll never know.  I don’t have an angel like George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life to show me all the wonderful ways I’ve saved people just by being alive.  I suppose, like me, my kids won’t appreciate their mom’s eccentricities until I’ve been dead and gone a long time.  Was I a good Mom? Did I give them pleasant memories?  Did I live a meaningful life? 

 I will never know ...

 Was it any good at all?