Strawberry Banana Tart

I got a lot of things from my mother. Half of my DNA, my unusual toes, and my knack for leaving cabinets open. I learned a lot from her when I was growing up, most of it was meaningless until I became an adult when suddenly everything from “Use your words, Carol” to throwing together random ingredients in the fridge became all the things I needed to survive in the “real world.”

I’m not sure I’ve met anyone with a perfect childhood, and mine wasn’t either, but I think my sisters and I are doing ok because we are still learning from our mother, and she still takes care of us. She probably won’t stop showing up and folding our laundry even when she gets old enough to roll around on a scooter. There was this one time in particular that she showed me something new. She’s done it before, but I only recently saw what she was really demonstrating.

She pulled up to our driveway, a little late, with her freezer bag full of food and always with her bubble water. Zach and I gave her a hug, kissed the baby, and rushed out the door. She wasn’t feeling well that week, but the day prior she was at my sister’s house, and she told me since Uriah had the sniffles already anyways she didn’t mind.

I went to therapy and then Zach and I got a beer at a brewery and enjoyed each other’s company. When we got home it smelled like burnt something, and my mom and Uriah greeted us with smiles and hugs.

“Don’t worry! We didn’t burn the house down!” she joked, and she told us about a strawberry banana tart that got a little wild and overflowed in the oven, and then Uriah wouldn’t even eat it anyways. She laughed and rolled her eyes and asked us how our time was. We talked for a little while till it was time to put Uriah down to bed. Before she left she promised to come back and clean the oven, and told us to leave the windows open till bed time to air it out. She kissed our cheeks and promised to see us on Saturday.

When I put Uriah to sleep I thought about the day. I thought about all the ways I wished I did better. I thought about all the things that make me feel small. But then I thought about my mom’s strawberry banana tart. I’m not going to lie… I have a really big sweet tooth, and my mom knows this about me. I used to sneak Oreos and marshmallow fluff from the cupboards when I was a kid. I really love desert. But that night, when I went to bed I thought that the one thing I needed that night, even more than desert, was to be shown that mistakes happen, there is nothing to be ashamed of, and nobody really cares about a slip up.

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve cried over burning dinner for my family. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve forgotten a key ingredient at the grocery store. I’ve made little messes, and plenty of big ones, and my mama is still teaching me how to give myself grace and keep moving. I don’t need my mom to be perfect. I need my mom to be imperfect, because it’s normal, and it’s ok. And man, it’s so good to see someone handle their messes in stride.