Happy Birthday Mom

Happy 58 Mom!

If you were here, I’d take the day off from work. But I bet you’d want to meet me at work. You’d want to see my office and meet my co-workers. I’d like to think you’d be proud of me.

I’ve gotten to know “your” city a lot better since you left. I think you’d be quite impressed. I never even have to look at a subway map.

I had always wanted to treat you to a meal at Erin’s restaurant, so we’d have to go there for lunch. You never got to go there, just like you never got to meet Erin. You would love her. You would also love how we would get “fussed over” at her restaurant, treated like princesses, or celebrities, or both.

We’d have oysters (did you ever get to try oysters? I hope so, at least once…), shrimp cocktail, ceviche, goat cheese tart, followed by chicken paillard (we’d split it, “halfsies”). You always liked to have “lots of little things instead of one big thing.” And of course there would be Sancerre. Lots of Sancerre. And for dessert, profiteroles. Heavenly. Maybe just as good as the chocolate fondue we had one Valentine’s Day at Bread & Ink in Portland. You'd complain jokingly, "so much food!" But secretly, you would love it.



After that big lunch we’d have to take a nice, long walk. We’d meander through SoHo, (you’d marvel at how much the neighborhood had changed, when you and dad lived here there were “real” artist lofts). We’d stop in the wonderful bookstore on Bleecker and then we’d get lattes on Mulberry at one of the outdoor cafes (and maybe another glass of wine) and we’d people watch as the late afternoon light began to dim towards evening, the buildings and people like outlines in a Magritte.



Then we’d head back to New Jersey, because you’d probably want to spend at least part of your birthday with your daughter-in-law and grandchildren. You would remark how you couldn’t believe after everything, that I would end up in the suburbs, but you would understand, and I think you’d be proud of the sacrifices we made (no Thai or Indian takeout! No coffee shops in walking distance (unless you count Dunkin Donuts-pfooey)! so that Leo could attend an amazing school and so that both children could have space, a yard, room to grow.

You’d love my garden. I would complain how I don’t have enough time to make it look as good as I’d like it to, to look as good as yours, and you’d tell me there will be plenty of time for that someday.

And of course, you would marvel at your little grandchildren. You’d remark how light their hair is, how blue their eyes are (thanks for that Mom!). You’d delight in Ellie’s dancing, her “conversations,” how she nods her head in agreement/approval when you feed her something she enjoys. You’d compliment Leo on his sense of humor, his whistling abilities and at how well he writes his name. You’d read him book after book (you would be so proud of how much both children love to read). And you’d laugh as you watched Leo chase Ellie around the stairwell, the contagious giggles reverberating through the house.




You’d say you wish Bubby could have met them.

I’d make a nice dinner (though you would protest and insist on helping). We would snack on manchego and bread, both laughing about how we would never be hungry for dinner but knowing it didn’t matter.

Happy Birthday Mom.

I love you and I miss you.
xxxooo,
Maya