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.
I married a man who is of a different culture, country, religion, political ideology and even taste in music. I consider myself a progressive as I assumed Ben is ever so grateful that I accepted his marital request. Before kids, I never really gave a thought of how I would deal with our opposing world views when it came time to parenting.
And, it wasn’t until I moved to Summerville, SC and joined Mothers & More that I realized I would dread the day when every house we visited for a play date or book club had a…dog or cat or hamster or sheep or all of the above!
If you personally know me, then you know that I am absolutely positively afraid of animals, be it domesticated or wild. I have to clarify, I do not hate animals. I am extremely afraid of animals because I am not sure how to handle a hostile animal-to-human conflict.
My Political Science degree did not offer Conflict-Animal-Resolution and Animal-to-Human public policy courses. Though, if there was a talking-rabbit who was also a radical conservative and a member of the GOP, then I would know how to ease our tensions.
Also, I don’t have fangs or claws to defend myself. With that, I hate the zoo. I refuse to take my child to the circus because I don’t know when an elephant will snap and stump on my head. If you were wondering, I am okay with aquariums. Animals are meant to be in the wild. They should be somewhere in the jungle singing and dancing like in the cartoons “The Lion King” or “Jungle Book” – not in my backyard. And, in Summerville, SC everyone, and I mean everyone, I knew owned some sort of animal, rodent or both.
Then, that dreadful day came when Mariam was almost three and asked for a puppy. How did Ben feel about this? Well, for one, he loves animals! He grew up on a horse farm, had several dogs, cats, a bird, and maybe a rabbit or two growing up. His mother was the town’s veterinarian. Put it this way, when I was giving birth to both Mariam and Emilia respectively, he told the nurses he was confident about coaching me through it because he had witnessed and even assisted in birthing horses. (Note to Ben: I am still not a horse)
At first, I would entertain the idea. Some days Mariam will bring one of her stuffed puppies (did I mention stuffed animals also give me the creeps?) and pet it in front of me. And, with her huge big brown eyes try to convey that having a puppy is a blessing.
I told her that when there comes a day when a puppy learns to use the potty then I may consider it. Until then, the electronic puppy that does back flips with a touch of a button will have to do.
Mariam stopped to pick her wedgie as we were walking through her school’s parking lot. She did it at least four times before we even reached the entrance. By the time we walked into her school she stopped me midway and said, “Mommy, you need to get me bigger girl panties. These panties are for two-year-olds and I am four!” She said it like a big girl.
Her voice sounded like a four-year-old but her demeanor was a mixture of valley girl meets vampire slayer. She twirled her index finger around all while attempting to roll her eyes back while the other hand was on her left hip. Now, we were in public and the Fari, before kids, would have contemplated to answer her daughter with a slap to the face for getting a snarky attitude. The Fari, after kids, stopped and got on Mariam’s level and talked to Mariam like the big girl that she is. I told her sorry sista’ but the panties are staying on, and if she is a good girl and loosens that attitude then I will buy her four-year old girl panties.
And, this is the part that makes parenting worth it. She stopped, stared at me, thought for a second, and then wrapped her arms around my neck cushioned with two layers of jackets and thanked me with a big kiss on the cheek.
I am a conflicted person. You could probably tell by now of how I react to situations like my daughter’s uncommon obsession for the color yellow and being a stay-at-home mom. I have a running joke with my friend Lindsay that before kids I won the Mother of the Year award three years in a row but I lost my winning streak the day I gave birth to my eldest. The Fari, before kids, wouldn’t take crap from no one, especially from her own children. Now, I try my best to cover up their crappy attitude and wipe their crap clean from their little tushies.
After the warm hug, kiss good bye, and I gently but firmly shoved Mariam into her classroom, I let out a huge sigh. I start daydreaming of sipping mojitoes while sailing toward a Caribbean island alone with a steel drum band playing in the background. In my daydream, I am wearing a size two indigo maxi beach dress, a large beige brim straw beach hat, and oversized Armani exchange sunglasses that covers half of my face. I hear a faint “what about me” from Ben, my husband. Yes, Ben can come too.
Keep up with Fari in her post-kid life at Don’t Eat All the Food: The Misadventures of Majestic Tulip, The Not–So–Naval Officer’s Wife.
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