This Saturday, one of my dear friends was recognized as a Remarkable Mom. But the story of how she got there is a story of tragedy and heartbreak and friendship. Real, messy, tears-in-your-coffee friendship. It’s the kind of unbreakable bond you don’t mess around with. It’s our Mamafia.

In a recent Huffington Post story, The Momfia of Motherhood, the author describes a different kind of mom-mafia, one of mean girls and petty gossip. While I’m sure these are out there, I’d like to challenge that picture of the modern mom group.

 

Motherhood and Friendship

We all met when our kids were teeny. Some of us had been friends before; some of us met in a mommy-and-me class at our local park. None of us wanted to pay to join a playgroup that artificially put people together based on the age of the kids and where you live. But we were all seeking friendship and support and other moms who understood this crazy adventure we had all just embarked upon when we gave birth to our little bundles. Bundles of spit, bundles of poop, bundles of huge baby bags, and amid the exhaustion and constant self-doubt, little bundles of joy. We needed each other.

We slowly got to know each other, and we each found a little comfort in knowing that once a week, we could see other grown ups, eat real food and know we weren’t alone in facing the challenges and wins of motherhood. We’re all quite different in many ways, but we found common ground in our kids and made a connection. It was probably a pretty average playgroup. Then things got real. Fast.

 

A Mom in Need

While watching the kids play at the park, our friend, Amy, said her husband hadn’t been feeling well and she finally got him to go to the doctor. That doctor’s appointment led to another, and –  BAM! – they were hit in the gut with a cancer diagnosis.

Her young, 30-something life changed in an instant. Amy now had a 2-year-old daughter and a sick husband to care for. The rest of us, with little ones and families of our own, did the only thing we knew how to do. We rallied. We organized meals for her, watched her daughter when needed, and tried to be the “normal” in her life.

When treatments and therapies got expensive, some of the more enterprising mamas in our group planned fundraisers at the local movie theater, and we had a massive garage sale to help pay for the mounting medical bills. When her daughter turned 3, we threw her a birthday party – because those are the things you can’t do when you’re in the middle of cancer.

And when Jim finally passed, we were there. We surrounded her with as much love and support as we could, and, while physically surrounding her in a circle of friendship, a family member remarked that we were like her own personal mafia – there to protect her and fend off anything and anyone who dared to get in her space or challenge her fragile state of mind at that vulnerable moment. The Mamafia was born. Not the savage, stab-you-in-the-back version of mom-mafia, but the force-to-be-reckoned-with kind.

 

The Most Remarkable Friendship

Four years have passed since then, and we’ve stood together as our mama friends have moved, had babies, lost parents, struggled with illness and gone through divorce. Our kids attend different schools now, but we’ve only grown closer. We challenge each other and support one another. We protect the tribe. We take care of the family we’ve created. We’re there for each other.

Four years since Amy lost Jim, and now we have a reason to celebrate. As she and her daughter re-built their world after her husband died, they turned to a wonderful grief support group in town. Amy, a talented photographer, realized that as she was being helped through her grief and loss, she could help other families like hers. Now, she volunteers to take photographs of families who have a parent with cancer or another serious medical condition. She snaps photos of the good times so they’ll always have happy memories to look back on. She presents each family with a custom album filled with playful, loving smiles, capturing life and love, focusing on moments to cherish in the midst of their heartache and sorrow.

This beautiful organization formally recognized Amy as a Remarkable Mom this weekend, but we already knew that. As her mamafia, with mama ties that bind us, we couldn’t be more proud to help honor her at this celebration. With yellow flowers in our hair and red lip tattoos as our mamafia uniform, we were there by her side. And through whatever life throws at any of us, good or bad, I know these mamas will stick together. That’s how friendship is done.

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Does the idea of making homemade butter conjure up images, like the one above, of hours of backbreaking work using some sort of old-fashioned butter churn?

Fear not, good readers! Making butter at home is much easier than I could have ever imagined. You’ll only need two ingredients and about 10-15 minutes in the kitchen.

Here’s How You Do It

I followed the simple directions (and sound advice) from Montana Homesteader, but there are a ton of ideas and tutorials available online. Search Pinterest for “homemade butter” and you’ll see what I mean.

I chose the food processor method, and it couldn’t be simpler.

Step 1: Get out your food processor

Step 2: Pour in heavy cream (I used 1 pint, but use any quantity you like)

Step 3: Turn on food processor & let it go!

 

You’ll see your cream go from liquid to fluffy whipped cream. (I was tempted to stop there to satisfy my desert cravings, but alas, I forged on.) Then it will start to break up and you’ll start to see solid pieces form. Keep going! In about 10 minutes (from start to finish), you’ll have a blob of creamy, homemade butter!

 

Just a few more steps!

Once your blob has formed, carefully drain the butter in a fine mesh strainer over a bowl. The bowl is important because you want to capture all the rich, delectable liquid that separated from the butter. What is this treasure? Buttermilk!

So drain the butter over a bowl, capture all the buttermilk, and set that aside for making delicious baked goods (think bread or waffles or pancakes).

Once you’ve drained the butter, return it to the food processor with a cup of cold water. Whir the processor to “rinse” the butter. Drain again – this time you can just drain over the sink since the buttermilk has already been captured. Repeat this process until the water remains clear. Mine took 3 rinses.

After you’re done rinsing, turn the butter into a bowl and add a little salt. Since you’re using fresh cream, adding the salt will help preserve your perishable butter so it keeps longer in the fridge. Stir to blend the salt completely through the butter, drain off any remaining liquid and you’re done!

You can also add herbs or honey to flavor your butter at this point, but I kept it simple. Pop the butter in the fridge to set up. Take it out before serving to let it soften up a little. This will ensure it’s nice and spreadable.

It’s creamy, rich, tasty, and oh so simple to make!

I whipped up a loaf of super simple Irish Soda Bread to serve alongside my homemade butter. If you’ve never made bread, this one is easy enough for anyone to make. There’s no rising time and hardly any kneading, and I was able to use the buttermilk I saved from the first strain. It’s rustic and homey with a nice crust and soft middle, and from beginning to end, it only takes 30 minutes to make. Here’s the recipe if you want to try a loaf!

Trust me when I tell you that this is easy enough for a weekday, but fancy enough for a special occasion. What could be better than that?

You know you want to try making your own homemade butter now, don’t you? Go ahead & give it a try. Then come back & tell me how it went – I’d love to hear from you!

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May is Asian Pacific American Heritage Month, and while I hate to only think about or talk about my Asian American heritage during one month of the year, it does present an opportunity to share a small piece of my history with you.

Chinese Americans

I’m either a first or second generation Chinese American, depending on how you look at it. Here’s the short story of what that means.

My mom’s mom was born here in the United States, but then went to China after she got married. By the time she came back, with several kids in tow, the US had already enacted the 1924 Immigration Act, barring immigration and denying citizenship to all Asians. So her birthright US citizenship was taken away and she wasn’t allowed to come home without a fight.

Eventually, and with the help of some influential people, my grandmother was allowed back on US soil and she settled down in California, and eventually, my grandfather and my aunts back in China came, too, and the whole family was together again.

Writer, Teacher, Collector

My grandma was a teacher and ahead of her time. Born in 1899, she not only was the first Chinese woman to attend Oberlin College in Ohio, but she was one of only a few women with professional careers during that time. She taught middle school science along with English literature and grammar. In 1979, she won an essay contest for her story about fleeing the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, and she was always willing to share her stories with others.

Listen to my grandma tell her story about fleeing the fires after the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.

She also collected things. Lots of things. Perhaps it was because she lived through many wars and hard times when you never knew if you’d ever be able to get something again. Perhaps it was her way of preserving her memories.

When she passed away, my mom and my aunts tackled the piles in her house as best they could, but it wasn’t easy. We were all enlisted to help, and on one of my cleaning missions to her house, I found this photo album. My mom and my aunts were only too happy to have me keep it since it meant that it would be one more thing out of the way.

Snapshots from the past

That photo album held more than just pictures. The pictures told a story of China’s history and my family’s connection to it. My mom and my aunt’s think it belonged to one of my grandma’s older sisters, Mancy, who grew up here in the United States, but took these pictures after living for a time in Nanking, China. So, are these an early glimpse of a Chinese American woman getting in touch with her heritage?

Whatever they are, they’re beautiful, carefully arranged, and they were thoughtfully & poetically captioned, in handwriting very much like my grandma’s. I treasure them for the link they provide me with my own history and how they tell a different story of China than the one we hear in the media these days.

Here are a few of my favorites …

 

The next few photos capture the Ming Tombs – burial ground to 13 of the 16 Ming Dynasty emperors. Now a huge tourist site, the album shows what it was like before the tombs were restored and readied for visitors – when the land had all but reclaimed the emperors and their final resting place. Compare these to what tourists see now here and here.

 

There are so many more cherished photos in this album. Too many to share without losing some of the magic. But they’re part of my story – a glimpse into the past and a China that has been lost to more modern landscapes and images. With the rise of the communist-capitalist machine, my parents’ era – and their parents’ and our ancestors’ for generations past – has been largely overshadowed and forgotten by those of us in America. That’s why I hope I’ll always have these snapshots to treasure and pass on to future generations. They remind me of what my heritage is. It’s not the ruthless and deceptive China that we hear about on the news. Rather it is a rich culture, full of personal, human stories of struggle and hardship and tradition and wonder.

Do you have glimpses of your past hidden somewhere? What can you share to honor your heritage? I’d love to hear or see your stories!

 

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