My mom is an amazing mother who dedicated her life to her two kids. She is selfless yet strong - and the most beautiful woman I know. She survived the death of her son and although she has never gotten rid of the pain, she learned how to show me her unconditional love and devotion and never made me feel -even for a second- that I am less important or less loved or appreciated because I am still alive and he is not.
Although my parents never made differences between us kids, it was always unspoken knowledge that my little brother was mama’s boy and I was daddy's little girl. Regardless of our alliances, I remember as a child walking 2 miles each way to the forest to collect Lilies of the Valley for my mom’s special bouquet. This was our thing. A small bunch of beautiful, to-die-for smelling white, tiny bells. I have kept this tradition to this day, sending my mom at least one dried stem in her Mother’s day card.
This year during my morning run – every day the same path - exactly on Mother’s Day I came across a patch of my favorite Mother’s Day flowers. They were peeking at me asking to be seen. Coincidence? A sign the universe is trying to tell me something? I ran the same path the day before and I did not see them. Pretty damn amazing.
Last Sunday although I wasn’t celebrating Mother’s Day (in my country we celebrate it on May 26th), I was thinking about all the mothers everywhere. The crazy religious mothers, who protect a purified piece of emotional land that they feed to their children at the detriment of their lives. The lost mothers, who follow their children’s paths, becoming whatever their children are, who look younger than their daughters, who will never be able to be a beacon of aging, of mothering, of acceptance. The mothers who cook and clean and make their own peach mush for infants, the mothers who never cook and never clean and leave their infants alone with pedophile relatives. All mothers everywhere, who have grown babies or adopted them, especially adopted, for they are the ones who waited in vain, who were not ‘chosen’ and still insisted on their right to the job of motherhood. They watch their children with a melancholy fear, what will it be? Did I buy a killer? Can I teach my child well on the right to the job of motherhood?
When we have kids we know better. We know that the living child matters more than anything in the world. That is why it is nature’s prime directive. Reproduce, like a rose through the cement, like grass breaking apart rocks.
Apologies to all my friends who sent me Mother’s Day wishes. Although I am not really sure why – I am not their mother – I never reply or send anything back. Please don’t take this personally, it’s not you, it’s me. Weirdo, who doesn’t like meaningless words and gestures. Who has her own strong opinions about things and goes a bit against the grain.
I will be thinking of my mom on May 26th, the day when we celebrate Mother’s Day back home, the same way I think of her every single day of the year. A day doesn’t go by without some kind of a connection, sometimes we don’t say anything for a moment both hoping and wondering if next year will see us both alive. That day I might even make her favorite pancakes and serve them to my child to celebrate motherhood the way I understand it.
Scant 1 ¼ cup mashed bananas (about 3 small bananas)
2 tablespoons coconut oil or butter, melted
1 tablespoon lemon juice (about 1 small lemon, juiced)
1 teaspoon honey or maple syrup
1 cup quick oats
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
In a small mixing bowl, stir together the mashed bananas, coconut oil (or butter), lemon juice and honey (or maple syrup).
Beat in the eggs. (If your coconut oil goes back to its solid state like mine did at this point, just warm the mixture for short 20 second bursts in the microwave, stirring between each, until it is melted again.)
In a medium bowl, whisk together the quick oats., salt and spices.
Form a well in the center of the dry ingredients and pour in the wet ingredients. With a big spoon, stir just until the dry ingredients are thoroughly moistened. Do not overmix! Add blueberries.
Let the batter sit for 10 minutes. You may want to thin out the batter a bit with a touch of milk or water.
Heat a heavy cast iron skillet/non-stick pan over medium-low heat, or heat an electric griddle to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Lightly oil the surface with coconut oil, butter or cooking spray. (If you’re using a non-stick electric griddle, you might not need any oil at all.)
Once the surface of the pan is hot enough that a drop of water sizzles on it, pour ¼ cup of batter onto the pan. Let the pancake cook for about 3 minutes, until bubbles begin to form around the edges of the cake.
Once the underside of the pancake is lightly golden, flip it with a spatula and cook for another 90 seconds or so, until golden brown on both sides. You may need to adjust the heat up or down at this point.
Serve the pancakes immediately or keep warm in a 200 degree Fahrenheit oven.