Tag Archives: Mother’s Day

Rocks In My Head

8 May

When I was a kid, I grew up living on a trout stream in New Jersey called Spruce Run. It was shallow and ambled throughout Central Western Hunterdon County. My siblings and I spent many hours building dams. Hot vacation days involved stacking rocks to raise the water higher than our knees so that we could swim in the summer and ice skate in the winter.

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A painting of our 200 year old farm house in NJ. An anniversary gift for my parents made by a family friend.

When my mother died, I took her ashes to New Jersey to sprinkle in the stream behind where our house used to be. She loved it there. I hadn’t been home in years since the house was destroyed by fire.

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Rest in peace Mom.

Lisa and I currently live on the shore of beautiful Laguna Bacalar in Southern Mexico. Some days I have to pinch myself that we’re living the life we created.  To walk into the Laguna to launch the kayak or swim means a painful stumble over a rocky bottom.

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This week Luna (our dog) and I were playing in the water and I mindlessly began moving rocks to try and create a pebble beach that would be easier on the feet and paws. I was immediately flooded with childhood memories. Sitting in the water moving rocks. Life doesn’t get any sweeter.

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My dad’s favorite picture of my mom. She was twenty-something.

Happy Mother’s Day all. DOS TORTAS

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Dia de las Madres

12 May

I do not remember celebrating Mother’s Day while living in Mexico in 1974, but I do remember how children were treated. At 21 years old, my focus was not on children, but the difference between what I observed in my US life and my Mexican life was unmistakable. First, there were no crying babies. NONE! Babies were breastfed and mom was always close by. Children and babies were everywhere and were content. I’d never seen a baby at it’s mother’s breast in New Jersey. In Mexico it was the norm, but it was more than a way to feed a baby.

Second, babies were transported on the body in a rebozo, a shawl wrapped over one shoulder and under the opposite arm used to sometimes carry chickens or cabbages, but most often a baby. Little feet would be sticking out while suspended hammock-like from the front or back of the mother’s body. If older, curious eyes observed the world perched from mom’s hip. There were no bottles or pacifiers or strollers. Attachment parenting was the norm. Dads were also very involved with their children. It was not uncommon to see a man playing with his children on the bus or at the park. Children were visible. There were no baby sitters, with the exception of an older sibling. Children were an everyday part of life. A toddler running down the aisle in church was not met with rolling eyes or clucking tongues.

Recently I was introduced, from two sources to a blog Revolution from Home, written by Beth Berry, a mom raising four daughters and living in Tulum, Mexico. Her observation of the treatment of children and the importance of family tells a better story than I, and supports one more reason for our move to Mexico.

Wearing the Baby - Our Granddaughter Sophia

Wearing the Baby – Our Granddaughter Sophia

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