So I think a big part of the reason why I’m still standing on two feet today is due almost entirely to the moms in my life. No lie, I would most definitely not be in any sort of good place without them. And I say “them” because I have a few (biological AND chosen AND given) that have significantly impacted me in all kinds of ways. “Mom” is no loose term for me, however I am known to call lots of people “mom” who aren’t moms or more specifically and more importantly not my mom. Let me explain; “mom” is a name for a strong woman in my life that has taken very specific care of me in one way or another thousand. For example, Elizabeth my soul sister and best friend is mom, my room mate’s dog is mom, my former manager and current cooking partner is mom, my best friend’s mom is mama, and of course my mom, the mom to trump all moms, gets the distinguished title of ma (she is also mom to my best friends, of course).
Perhaps you’re wondering what any of this has to do with the title and occasion of Easter… allow me to take you on a colorful Easter journey. This is the first year that my roommates (formerly mentioned soul sister Elizabeth or “Biz” or “Bizzy”, kitchen brother Tyler, and most dapper and handsome boyfriend in the universe Tony) and I have spent multiple holidays in a row together and, more notably, away from home. Sufficed to say we are overcompensating for the missed nuances of our overly traditional mothers.
Tyler’s mom ranks probably #2 behind my ma in my aforementioned “mom” hierarchy. Her name is Sherry, I call her mama but in the interest of not confusing with my overuse of “mom” terms we will just use her name. It feels weird but I’ma do it anyway. I digress. So for Easter this year she really topped herself out in the mom department. Sherry lives in North Carolina, where Tyler moved from to come here to Sacramento, California. Literally the opposite side of our United States. She knows that we’re having our fair share of financial struggles in our new place (as everyone does after a big move). So early last Saturday morning our doorbell rang and upon our front doorstep was laid a massive box. None of us had ordered anything (we’re broke, right?) so it was a bit confusing but, hey, big box = happy fun times, right? SO RIGHT! Mama Sherry had sat down at her desk and from behind her cute reading glasses ordered and sent us a veritable Easter feast! The box was full of frozen treats like scalloped au gratin potatoes, green bean casserole (complete with crispy onions, duh), HUGE white chocolate lemon cake and the penultimate Easter centerpiece, a HoneyBaked Ham (caps and trademarked, y’all). There could not have been a more perfect way for us to spend a Sunday night in our new house as a new family in a new place, than with the flavors of home. It was unreal and will feed us for the next two weeks, my fridge is still full of leftovers. Sherry, your status as eternal mom queen is solidified in this, among the (and I kid you not) MILLIONS of other beautiful things you have done for us. Luh you.
Item number two on my Easter list of exciting events is the egg hunt. My mother insists every year on filling baskets for my brothers and me and hiding them in various spots around the house. Like we’re 8 years old, guys. Austin, Noah and I are, respectively, 19, 17 and 25 years of age. She still makes us hunt for the baskets. It’s uncanny and unrelenting. But we LOVE it because the woman can build a damn Easter basket. Her gifting abilities are unparalleled. So this year was no exception; I went back home for a few days last week and mom had built me an Easter basket. I won’t go into all the details of its contents even though I should… well maybe you want to hear about the absolutely magical passion fruit dark chocolate (found at our favorite store, World Market and pictured below) but that’s it. The point of this is that I could never explain how much a basket of chocolate and socks with lambs printed on them could possibly mean to me. Especially the fact that she had hidden it higher than my 5 foot tall person could actually see (she thought it was hilarious). Anyway it really messes with your perspective and stuff. Like it’s candy and socks and I cried. I’m getting old, man. Anyway I know my mom would have wanted me to spread this Easter message so I’ll say it for her. HE IS RISEN! (that was for you, mom)
Luckily I still live with a mom and that mom is the Bizzy. Bizzy’s mom is a very traditional lady and that resonates and peeks through Biz’s personality every once in a holiday while. Easter, for Biz, manifests in dying and decorating eggs with very inappropriate designs. She loves it. And after marveling over their colorful naughty nonsense she makes them into delightful deviled delicacies (alliteration, YO!). We’ve discovered collectively that deviled eggs are one of those things that you take from your childhood and hold on to with a firm powerful grip. We argued over the method and ingredients for probably up to an hour. She does hers with pickle juice, Tony does his with bacon bits, I add smoked paprika and a dash of cayenne. We stay true to our moms in this way. And don’t lie, I know you do too.
So this Easter we all sat down to a HoneyBaked feast and dyed eggs covered in drawings of boobs. Together. We’re making our own traditions. Like a bunch of moms.