A Mother's Prayer

I will soon be reading Tina Fey's memoir Bossypants. In the meantime, let's enjoy this hilarious, patently-Tina Fey mother's reflection. This prayer for her daughter comes from her recently published memoir.

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes and not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes. Amen.”

Thank you Tina Fey! 

A Mother's Instinct

It's almost Mother's Day. To salute all you beautiful, loving, hardworking mothers out there, I offer a beautiful story.

The Atlantic, 2010

The Atlantic published Autism's First Child, a brilliant piece of journalism that stirred my heart, wet my eyes and made me think of all my mothers-in-arms, particularly those who live with special needs.

It tells the story of Donald Triplett from Forest Mississipi, the first person ever diagnosed with autism. He will be 78 this year. He lives independently, drives his own car, plays golf, and travels the world. And as writers John Donovan and Caren Zucker put it:

"… he has a community that has always accepted him, since long before people in town had heard the word autism. Tranquility, familiarity, stability, and security—if we were talking about healing, these would create an ideal environment. Forest provided all of them for Donald, who didn’t need to heal. He needed only to grow, and that he did, spectacularly."

Donald's story is significant in many levels--for the history, the highlight on education for adults living with autism, etc. My focus is on this: It is about love and acceptance. It is also about the fine, tricky balance between nurturing and letting go--a mother's universal mission. Mary Triplett, Donald's mother, valiantly carried on, struggling to even the scale amidst overwhelming odds. She made mistakes too, calling him "the most insane child", putting him in a sanitarium, but in the end… well, just look a Donald now. Autism Case No. 1 had wonderful parents, and an especially admirable mother. My life raising children is so different in circumstance from Mary Triplett. I can never really know how it is to nurture a person like Donald, but I celebrate how she did it. How fitting that I stumbled on this fantastic read just last night, as we approach Mother's Day. It's a gift, really.

May you be inspired.

A Mother's Day Oxymoron

Happy Mother's Day Nana! Here's a piece of artwork that just may come close to your awesome-mamaness...

Art installation by Caledonia Curry, a.k.a. the street artist Swoon.

Happy Mother's Day to all mothers out there... changing the world one child at a time. You are all awesome in more ways than one. I really believe mothering is an art.

More of Swoon's work featured on Flavorpill.

Grateful to the those who nurtured us so now we can do the nurturing. Cheers to my Nona! I miss you even more on Mother's Day. I am bona fide laking-lola, and bona fide thankful for it.

My Nona was lovely in so many ways. Brilliant too.

Nona with friends on a ship from Manila to Tangiers.

She was on her way to study and expand her mind in Europe.

I'll admit, "happy mother's day" has been an oxymoron of sorts for me. Let's just say, I strive everyday to be the mother I wanted to have. Sometimes you look at your family or some of the people you grew up with and wonder... what the hell am I doing here? Often I still feel like that person on the outside looking in. The perennial outsider, that's me. Can one really outgrow being the family oddball or the new girl in school? Maybe not.

But today... today I am grateful. I look at the people I go home to everyday and realize, I truly belong. Finally.

Here's an advanced Happy Mother's Day card made by Cheecha last week.

And here's a family portrait painted by Bear when he was 5. He makes me look fabulous in an orange mumu dress and green face. Hands down my favorite portrait of myself.

Happy Mother's Day to me. No oxymoron there. The gift is already mine.

Nana I

I love hearing stories about my grandmother, mom's mom. The real Nana was cool, grace and spunk all rolled into one. She could whip up a super souffle, mix a mean cocktail, down it and entertain us with her stories. At the same time.
The Mak-Tatos and I (we missed you MacDaddy!) just got back from the mountains up North. We were there to attend a golf tournament that honored Original Nana.

Original Nana's daughters and great grandkids posing with the welcome sign

The family at the awarding ceremony

We stayed at Nana I's place. Kitchen looking exactly the way she left it.

Nana I's grandkids circa 1978.

New generation: Nana I's great grandkids. March 2010

You see apart from being all cool and super and grand like I told you, she helped change the landscape of women's golf in the country forever. Because of her, us girls now have equal rights in what was once a testosterone-filled arena. She was one of the few women on the rules committee (or was she the only one? must check sources). At an age when most people retired, she began a career as general manager for a golf club that didn't even allow women to step foot in the club on certain days. She knew every rule in the game by heart and led by example. I once whined to her that MacDaddy, BigBro and I were disqualified from a tournament we could have won because of some careless move we didn't even realize we did. Hellooo... whatever happened to good intentions? She said they were right and didn't join our pity party. She showed everyone who knew her that she embraced the rules but knew how to break out of the mold. I told you she was cool. Didn't I?

grace

The New York Times has this fantastic web project called One in 8 Million featuring some great characters from their great home city. No celebrities, just real people living quietly extraordinary lives. Basically it's beautiful pictures telling even more beautiful stories.

Their feature on Ms. May Wong Lee is a touching ode to adoptive mothers. She and her husband already had three biological sons when they decided to adopt a 3-year-old girl from Ethiopia. Turned out their adopted daughter Mebrat was already 6-years-old - just malnourished. Here's their story.