There is no substitute

When I was in middle school, my mom once went to Massachusetts to visit family without us, putting my dad in charge. He took his double-parent role seriously. One night in particular, he christened his new meat smoker and, full of aspiration, cooked a meal for us. All day he worked at that meat, assuring us we would never taste meat so good. While he was working on side dishes, I spotted a box of just-add-water mashed potatoes on the counter. He might as well serve us cardboard - this, even in my view then, was the atrocity of atrocities. "Mom would never serve just-add-water mashed potatoes," I snapped in my middle school impetuosity. "You won't be able to tell the difference," Dad said. Sensing a contest at hand, I made mom's mashed potatoes (whipped to perfection with butter, milk, salt and pepper). I placed my bowl beside his as we sat down to dinner with my two brothers, complete with a blind taste-test. And, unsurprisingly, my mom's potatoes won hands down. In fact, the potatoes were really all we ended up eating. Rather than being flavored with hints of oak (as the smoker had promised to do), that meat tasted as if it was the oak tree. My dad laughed about it then, and still laughs about it today. And in the end, of course, he could have done worse than instant potatoes and petrified meat.

Every once in a while, someone in the family tells this story, usually while we are enjoying a feast my mom has prepared. I think the purpose of its retelling goes beyond a compliment to my mom's cooking - we want her to know that there simply is no substitute for her. (And naturally there is an alternative set of stories we tell that highlight my dad's good qualities - it's just that cooking isn't his strong suit!).

My mom just left us after a month-long visit. She supported Dave and me as we became parents, as I became a mom. Watching her with Naomi sparked memories of my own childhood, memories infused with security and love. And now as I set out on this journey of motherhood, I gather around me those elusive intangibles in hopes that I can in some way impart them to my own daughter. Because of my mom's example and influence, I hope (even if the reality won't always measure up) to be the kind of mom who goes beyond the just-add-water-kind-of-solutions.

Here are some snapshots from my mom's visit:

Most of the time was spent around our flat. My mom did lots of Naomi's laundry:

She made this quilt for her:

The last weekend my mom was here, we rented ('hired') a car, and did a bit of touring - which helped to inspire a bit of confidence in a couple of nervous parents. We first saw Blenheim Palace:

Then we met up with the Bockmuehls and visited the village fête in Cuddington, where we used to live:

Finally, we drove through the Cotswalds, stopping at the picturesque villages of Bibury, Cirencester and Burford. Here's a few photos of Bibury:

In the stream that ran through Bibury, there were tons of fish. We took this snapshot in honor of my brother Paul: