Cheesecake

I haven't posted all month. Not because I don't have plenty to be grateful for, but more because it's taking everything in me to get through the day-to-day of my life lately. I have watched friends and family post their daily list of things they are thankful for and I keep telling myself that I need to sit down for a few minutes and just put down my thoughts. Of course, that never happened.

Then, as I was prepping for our Thanksgiving dinner last night, I realized I do have something to be thankful for, something that is near and dear to my heart. Cheesecake.

For the past 10 years, I have spent almost every Thanksgiving with my in-laws. Sometimes my family joins us, and some years we have brought in friends who didn't have anywhere else to go. But no matter the crowd, I make the same marble cheesecake.  It's not my grandmother's recipe, nor is it some sort of gourmet find. In fact, I don't even know if I can call it a tradition yet; it's really more of a ritual, marking my own transition to the holiday season.

Last night, as I dug out the wrinkled and stained recipe, I noticed the date I had originally printed it: November 23, 2003, the first Thanksgiving I spent with David, the first year I invited his parents into my home. We had been dating just a few months- I can still remember how nervous I was when we sat around the table and how overjoyed I was when I realized my dessert had won my future father-in-law over. The way to any man's heart, especially an Italian's, is through his stomach. 

As I measured the sugar and blended the eggs, I could hear the scraping of Morgan's stool as she dragged it across the kitchen floor. In a matter of minutes, we were working together, chatting above the hum of the mixer. She asked me questions about the recipe, I told her that it's her grandpa's favorite. She asked to lick the spoon, I obliged.

The cheesecake wasn't done before Morgan went to sleep, which meant she didn't get to see the finished product. As she stood over my bed this morning, she whispered, "Happy Thanksgiving, Mom. Can we go see our cheesecake?" We made our way into the kitchen, and Morgan gasped as I opened the fridge, "It's just so beautiful, Mom! And we made it!"

And so this year,  I am thankful for cheesecake. For the way it connects my family, the way it connects me to my daughter, and for the way it reminds just how full and wonderful my life is.

Toothless Wonder

Morgan has her first loose tooth. Ever since one of her friends lost a tooth this summer, Morgan has been wiggling her teeth daily. She has tried to convince me on several occasions that her tooth "broke off in the night" and that a new one grew back while she was sleeping. On the day she wiggled her tooth and it actually was loose, you would have thought The Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol had just showed up at our house with a check for $1 million. I, on the other hand, immediately began checking the Tooth Fairy's going rate. Times have so changed.

As we get ready for yet another milestone this year, I could remember all of the unfortunate experiences we have already had with teeth in our family:

January 2009: Morgan had just started daycare and was promptly bitten on the face by some bully 7 month old. I briefly considered pressing charges.

April 2009: Morgan cuts her first teeth...

And then immediately uses her new found chompers on me. I again consider pressing charges.

December 2009: David and I celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary -

Were we decide to share David's new party trick with our family and friends. They briefly considered pressing charges.

In discussing her loose tooth, Morgan asked whether David and I had ever lost any teeth, I explained that we all lose our baby teeth and then keep our adult teeth forever. Unless you're David, who smashed his face into the bottom of a swimming  pool when he was nine. After 2486 patch jobs, our dentist decided he just needed a new tooth. When Morgan excitedly asked what the Tooth Fairy brought him, I told her a $4,000 bill and a bone graft. She's stopped wiggling her tooth.

Grin and Bear It

Thank you all for your kind words and support for my friend Brittney. Some of you have asked how you can help; if you are interested, a memorial fund has been set up for her:
 http://fundly.com/alan-brandon-short-memorial-fund. We have spent the last week trying to get back on track, keenly aware of just how fragile our little family really is.

On a lighter note, this week also marked our very first parent-teacher conferences. I will tell you that I was a smidge petrified. Prior to the conference, David and I were discussing our own experiences as children, recalling those fateful nights when our parents would walk in the front door, lips tightly pursed and brows furrowed. Those conferences never went well.

David is always quick to retell his own elementary school traumas as a young boy in Catholic school. One year, David's parents were called in after David was caught stealing Jolly Ranchers out of his teacher's desk at recess. For whatever reason, the school frowned upon students stealing from nuns. Go figure.

I, on the other hand, have been plagued with the same comments on my report card for my entire life. In fifth grade, Mrs. Brady wrote, "Amy needs to learn to sit quietly while those around her are finishing their work." Mrs, Brady, I am still working on it. Those same comments may or may not have appeared on my last performance review.

As we entered the conference, we hedged our bets.

Morgan's teacher was just delightful. She is working hard to instill a sense of responsibility in each child and is actively creating a positive learning environment. She showed us samples of Morgan's work, highlighting how well she is performing academically.

I was almost breathing a sigh of relief. Almost. Until she uttered these words, "Morgan does really well in class. That is, when she's focused. She just really is a little social butterfly." Dammit, dammit, dammit. I am not going to suggest I was even remotely surprised, but that didn't make the sting any more bearable. I endured so.many.years of having to will myself quiet when I was POSITIVE the rest of the world was dying to hear exactly what I was thinking. And I had passed my affliction on to my daughter. To add insult to injury, I had also just lost a bet to David. At least she's not stealing...yet.

As we parted ways, Morgan's teacher handed me Morgan's school photo. When I opened the envelope, I couldn't help but chuckle:

If that smile doesn't say "fake it 'till you make it" I don't know what does. I suppose I would be too if I had just found out I have to spend the next 12 years sitting quietly. I feel your pain, baby girl. I feel your pain.

The Deepest Sorrow

I am not sure this story is appropriate for my blog. It's not funny, it's not joyous, and it has nothing to do with my daughter. But my heart is so heavy, almost suffocating, pulling me into a place of despair I do not know how to navigate. 

I told part of this story last summer when I wrote about a wedding that David had the unique opportunity to officiate. I wrote these words, "David spent the next 20 minutes performing the most beautiful ceremony, helping two wonderful people begin their lives together." As with so many couples, Alan and Brittney had a story. The path to finding each other had been a long and arduous journey, giving them each the unique insight to know just how precious their relationship was. And they let us share in that day.

We were especially endeared to Alan and Brittney, perhaps because they reminded us so much of ourselves. A love for each other, a passion for the outdoors, and a commitment to building a life that mattered. And they were so in love. 

On the day of their wedding, I took this picture of Alan. We were on a boat, headed to the secluded shore that would serve as the backdrop for their ceremony. His eyes scanned the shoreline, watching for any glimpse of his bride. As with many grooms, Alan was nervous, fidgety, restless. But he was also at peace, confident that he was about to begin his life's journey with the person who truly was his other half.  When their eyes finally met, I watched him. His shoulders relaxed, his smile broadened, he knew. This day was magic. And it was. 

In an instant, it was shattered, broken in a way I will never understand. Alan was killed in a car accident on Monday night while on his way home from work. He leaves behind his bride of just a year, and a precious newborn baby daughter. The night we found out, I laid in bed next to David, listening to the deep swells of his breathing. I sobbed, crushed under the weight of knowing Brittney slept alone that night.

I hadn't seen Brittney since their wedding. The last vision I had of her was so radiant, so full of life. As I entered the church, I saw her standing among dozens of friends and family, all gathered to show their love and support. She was gracious and kind, thanking everyone profusely for attending.

We hugged, and the tears immediately began to flow. As with everyone there, I just kept telling her how sorry I was, how brokenhearted I was, how incomprehensible this was. She leaned in and whispered, "Amy, our fairy tale wasn't supposed to end like this. It just wasn't supposed to end like this."

No, it wasn't. It wasn't supposed to be like this at all.

Two Wheelin'

We went camping last weekend for the first time this year. I had two goals on this trip. One, cook my dinner over an open fire. Two, get my child to ride her bike sans training wheels. We nailed both.

Sunday morning, we got ourselves all geared up for the event. After several wipe outs earlier this summer during prior riding attempts, Morgan had requested some additional padding. This included not only the standard issue helmet, but knee pads, elbow pads, and wrist guards. At one point she asked me if we could get something, "To keep my hiney safe if I fall." I declined, explaining that genetics had already given her plenty of padding in that department.

After crashing into three bushes and a tree stump, David decided to help give her a running start. And by running, I mean scrambling like hell on his short little legs and Fred Flintstone feet. That guy can hustle.

And then it just clicked. She balanced, pedaled, and steered. At the same time.


Right after I took this video, David decided it would be a great idea to have her start from the top of a small hill at the edge of our campground. Not surprisingly, she immediately crashed into a concrete pylon and refused to get back on her bike. One step forward, two steps back. Because that is how we roll. But she'll get back on...it's like riding a horse. Or a bike. Whatev.