We are hosting Easter this year.
Usually my Mother-in-Love Monte hosts it at her house as she has a lot of space for entertaining. I piped up and volunteered to host this year at long last.
We have a tiny house. It is a 1920′s bungalow with about 1,400sf total. 132 sf of that is my 11x 12 dining room. Not big. Small. And if you get all Martha Stewart about it and want 24 inches for each person at your table the only way to make that work in my house is to knock down the walls and build an addition! But I am doing it. (Not the addition, the lotsa people in the little dining room.)
There are twelve people nose to tail that need to fit in that dining room, and I just landed a vintage table for 100 bucks including slightly awful chairs. With both leaves it will seat twelve in a very loving, intimate (OK crammed!) sort of way.
I am beyond thrilled to place so many folks at one table again. Entertaining is a great pleasure for me and I have missed my larger dining table from my single life. I even had to buy a longer white table cloth and twelve white napkins.
And I already started to recover those chairs…might even finish them by Sunday! I even created a marvelous Easter centerpiece I love for said table.
So that is ready.
That is all that is ready.
Because I still have to think about food. And how to please Two Meat Monte.
My husband and I have been married for five years and we are both blessed by loveably crazy in laws. My dad is John’s only parent in law from my side, and he stays overnight with us once a week. He is a beekeeper and sells honey and we are on his route so we get a weekly date night: fabulous. BUT my Dad is ever so likely to corner John as he is leaving for work. I mean travel mug in hand, bag on shoulder, front door open ready to leave for work. My Dad in his crazy pj pants and his geezer presentation will sidle up and cluelessly block the doorway as he tells an interesting but untimely tidbit of some moment in his day or week. John is sweet. He listens and smiles and nods. He responds. And then at last he leaves. For work. And Dad lets him.
My in laws are wonderful. I got parents, a sister, a brother and some awesome cousins for our girls. My Mother in Law, or Mother in LOVE as I say it, is so loving and accepting of my special brand of crazy I will never know how to thank her properly. She aches for me losing my own mother so young, and so she loves me like a mother. I ask her advice and share my vulnerabilities openly. She and I are very similar, and in good ways, so I think that helps. I love her, she loves me.
And Yet.
Even with a rock solid love relationship she is still, at times Mafia. And her Mafia name is Two Meat Monte. She has a heart so full and a desire to make life so much better at times it is overwhelming. She rarely comes for a visit without bringing food. Either Panera, or beautiful meals from her own kitchen. When I was pregnant and even fairly recently… she comes to our house and makes us dinner in my kitchen so I can do something else. She is awesome. Unless you tell her not to bring food. She still does.
And there is the small matter of a national holiday this weekend.
That I am hosting. I am cooking most of. I am decorating for.
I do not like ham unless it is Eggs Benedict and slathered with hollandaise sauce. I know it is an Easter tradition. Two Meat Monte knows it too. The Novaks serve ham.
I was thinking a leg of lamb my Dad makes for us. I do not like the idea of lamb, but it would be yummier to me in lieu of a big fat salty ham hunk on my table.

BUT.
The Novaks serve ham. And polish sausage. I always opted to eat the sausage at Easter although I actually enjoy Monte’s ham. I do. But I forgot about it in the planning. She reminded me. I said I didn’t want to be Two Meat Monte and she leveled me with one unspoken word: TRADITION. “Oh.” she says, “We always have polish sausage with the ham for Easter.” Even though I am hosting. I want to cook and surprise and delight, but it is not how they do Easter.
I know they would indulge me. They would tolerate a slight deviation.
BUT I love them. I love Two Meat Monte.
I realized I do not have a family of tradition. My Dad is just as outside the box as I am. My Mom was fun crazy too. I have been raised by one parent or the other without much family sprinkled in there to create and carry out a lot of tradition. My husband and I have weaved what traditions I have (champagne for everything, opening a gift on Christmas Eve, eating movie theater popcorn immediately instead of waiting for the movie to start) and merged them with his beautifully traditional upbringing. We have created some traditions of our own too, just for our little family.
I love our big family celebrations. My Dad and his Love Kim come to everything. They are as welcome as I am and the entire family enjoys each other mightily. My life is enriched by the vibrant experience of my new, improved sense of family. Raising our two girls amidst all this love and stability and tradition is a beautiful thing.
And there will be a ham on my big Easter table in my small dining room. And Two Meat Monte? She is bringing the polish sausage.
MAMAS:
What traditions do you enjoy, and which ones do you try to get rid of? If your family was mafia, what are their names?
Here more from Heather at Live Your Life OUt Loud and @farbrent.
Potty training is a venture every parent undertakes at some point before their kidlets go off to college…or kindergarten. Over the past year as my husband, toddler daughter and I have yelled, wept, bribed, cursed, sighed and laughed over our version of housebreaking a human, I have seen an interesting thing. (Yes, it is going to be interesting. This will be interesting even for those of you who have no interest whatsoever in the goings on or the going on the potty action with children.) So listen up: Potty Training is like working in the following situations:
Situation One: Everybody does it. Everyone works during their life like it or not. Just like everyone is at one time or another involved in potty training. Even if you aren’t signing up for parenthood, your folks aimed your tukus in the porcelain throne direction more than a few times, I bet.
Situation Two: Potty training a hungry tired angry distracted annoyed devious lying laughing toddler is about what your average work meeting looks like. (You are chuckling because you know this to be true.) A staff meeting in any business setting always has a herding of the cats element to it. Or in the case of my point, a herding of the heiny to the potty element to it. Potty Training, Working!
Situation Three: You can lead a horse to water, (WAIT. That could be gross, never mind.)
Situation Four: Even though you want a person to be responsible for their own mess, sometimes you are the one man clean up crew.
Situation Five: Sometimes in your work life, you think your idea is AWESOME. You think you have nailed it and you are set up for advancement, a raise and the corner office. But then you step back and notice…your aim wasn’t so great after all.
Situation Six: Sometimes at work there is a line for the bathroom and you have to wait a bit. Or you need a bit of….privacy…and so want to claim the bathroom all to yourself privately. Potty training is the same except the bathroom is always needed as soon as you have availed yourself of it, and no, they are not willing to wait in a line.
Situation Seven: Dressing for success is common in business. When it comes to potty training, undressing for success is the way of it. (Frankly undressing for success can be common for work and potty training, come to think of it.)
Situation Eight: Potty Training is like working in an office because sometimes what starts out as a team building event ends up with everyone in tears sitting on the floor together. Except in potty training there is also hugging. And M&Ms. Not likely to be found in an office. Well, maybe the M&Ms?
Situation Nine: At work there are countless occasions when someone does something so basic and expected for their job but still want a big kudos. In Potty Training that Someone also does something so basic and expected and still want a big kudos for it.
Situation Ten: Finally, in both working and potty training every day the poop is the same and you are often the one in the middle of it…but eventually everything gets cleaned up and put to right and tomorrow is a whole new day. With clean underpants!
Heather lives in Valporaiso, IN and is a member of Porter County, IN Chapter 47. Make sure you check out here blog, Live Your Love Out Loud and follow her on Twitter!
Don’t you hate those subtle yet undeniable reminders that you’re aging? After the age of 40, it seems every year holds a little something new – and I don’t mean new as in something you’d get excited about like a NEW purse or a NEW pair of shoes! I’m learning to deal the fact that I’m starting to gray (why does it work for a man, but not for a woman?), I’m getting skin tags (you have to save up those skin tags, my dermatologist charges a flat fee for their removal – up to 10 for $150 – what a deal!), my face is starting to wrinkle and sag (I have lines that look like I’ve slept with my face on a wrinkled sheet only it’s the middle of the afternoon) and I’ve officially entered perimenopause (but don’t worry, I’m not suffering from any type of %$@# moodiness). And, now, during an innocuous visit to the optometrist yesterday, I added a NEW ailment- presbyopia – age-related farsightedness.
I walk into what I’m thinking is a routine eye exam (I’ve worn glasses or contacts since the age of 12 – no big deal) and I’m in the middle of the same exam I always get – you know the one where they show you the same object with different lenses – “Number one or number two? Number three or number four? Number four or number five?” We’re coasting right along when my clearly middle-aged female doctor wraps things up by saying with a smirk and a glimmer in her eye like she’s just beat me at a game of chess, “Ok, I have your reading glasses prescription!” Say what? There was no warning, no lead up. “It’s a natural sign of aging,” she says tipping her readers at me like she’s happy to be adding another one to her club. “It usually occurs around the age of 40 when people experience blurred vision while reading or looking at the computer.” I was just about to lose my perimenopausal cool when I salvaged a smile and calmly asked the sly optometrist what injection or surgery I could have done to take care of my NEW *&%$@ age-related ailment. I just knew if I threw some money at it, I could make it go away. I mean you have gray hair, you die it; you have wrinkles, you get an injection; you are in menopause, you buy some synthetic hormones on the black market. Like she was taking some kind of twisted pleasure in my mental anguish, Dr. Sees A lot says, “They are working on different surgical procedures, but nothing is out just yet.” NOT what I wanted to hear.
So I ask my apathetic optometrist, “You tell me there is no injection, there is no surgery – what am I supposed to do?” She says with a smile, “You have several options; the first of which is to wear one contact lens that acts like the near-sighted eye and one contact lens that acts as the far-sighted eye.” She goes on, “You might have some minor problems with depth perception. You mentioned earlier that you ski. This might not be the best option for you.” “What the @#$%?” that mean little perimenopausal voice was screaming in my head. “Yes, I ski; I also drive a car!” The second option, she explains, is to ditch the contacts and wear split lens glasses – “nope, not happen’n,” I say to myself. And of course, the third option, pick up a pair of those “we’ll try super hard to make you look chic, not old” animal print and cosmic colored readers.
You know what I say – forget it! Until I dislocate a shoulder or give someone a black eye extending my arm out to inconceivable lengths to read that dreadfully small print, I’ll stick with option number four – DENIAL.
So I did go to Walgreen’s just to “see” what kind of readers they had, and look where I found them:
Let me zoom in a little closer for you.
It’s a little depressing! Thank God for retail therapy ‘cuz I need some!
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