Moms
It is not Mother’s Day, but my youngest child turned 33 this past weekend and because I am a mom,
I could not help but think of my own. She was the one who comforted me when I was once bullied
at school and took all that pain away with a single conversation in which I was assured that I was the
most wonderful child anyone could ever have, and for a lifetime that gave me the confidence to ignore
meanness if it was unwarranted and directed at me.
One summer day my brother, Bruce, younger sister, Marcia, and youngest sister, Laurie, and I were
walked to “the checks” east of our house by our mother, Eunice Fredrick. We would shot through the
thrilling current several times and then float home, and Mom would walk home as we floated down to
get out at our place. Marcia was old enough to do this on her own with a life jacket. Bruce and I were
old enough to swim on our own, but Laurie was too small. She begged to go. Bruce and I, on her behalf,
told Mom we would shoot through the checks but then grab the side bars and then catch Laurie when
she floated through on an inner tube and take her right to the side safely. My mom was reluctant and
refused for a good 30 minutes but finally gave into the constant whining and begging of a five-year old
with three cheerleaders encouraging her to let her have some fun with us. She finally relented and as
Laurie excitedly slipped into the water with her inner tube firmly around her waist fifteen feet upstream
from the checks, my mom told her, “If anything happens, just dog paddle to the side.” Bruce and I went
through the checks and looped our arms around the bar of the check with the other arm outstretched
waiting to catch her on each side just as we had promised. Mom let her go. Laurie was smiling and
hooting in anticipation. She came shooting through. We reached for her but not before the back wave
caught the inner tube and flipped her backwards and into the swirling, roiling water of the checks. The
inner tube surfaced immediately. I could hear my mom screaming. Bruce and I began diving deep into
the water to find Laurie. Each time I came up, the only thing I heard was screaming from Mom. Bruce
and I surfaced after what was the longest five minutes of my life, terrified and breathless. For the first
time in my life I knew real fear and real guilt and knew that life can change in a heartbeat is a cliché for a
reason; it is true. I had drowned my sister. We were frantically beginning to search again when we heard
from about 20 feet down the canal, “Mommy, I did it. I dog paddled to the side.” This taught me three
things: Do not let your children convince you of anything you have to think about twice! I know what
real fear feels like. The sweetest words I have ever heard are “Mom”, “Mommy”,” Mom 2”, (Marcy),”
Wannabe Mom” (Shawna), and Grandma. Oh, and the fourth lesson: Swimming in the canals is no
longer legal or safe, so do not do this!
My mom and dad did so much for me. They took care of my children. My mom gave me money secretly
when I overdrew my new husband’s of two days bank account until I could pay her back. My dad has
been gone now 20 years. My mom still helps me with grandchildren, but with age she has been robbed
of her sight, hearing, and some of her memory. The roles have changed, and now I want to be the mother to her that she was to me. Many times in public, people will come up to her remembering her care of them while ill, having a baby, or grieving from the pending death of a loved one. Sometimes this came on the tab with your hospital bill, but many times it came free with a visit to your home before there was Home Health and Hospice.
Because pie season is just around the corner, I am remembering my favorite recipe from my mom. She
would double this, fill them and then freeze the rest for me and my sisters because we just couldn’t get
them right and still cannot; they just aren’t quite the same; that’s because Mom made them for us.
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Mom’s Pie Crust
1 1/3 c. Butter-flavored Crisco, chilled
3 cups flour
½ teaspoon salt
Stir together and cut with pastry cutter until dough is the size of peas.
In a separate bowl place:
1 egg
5 Tablespoons of water
1 Tablespoon of vinegar
Beat until frothy and foamy. (I use a Cuisinart Smart stick)
Pour over dough and cut again with pastry cutter until dough comes together Do not stir. Divide into
three discs, wrap in plastic wrap, and chill slightly. Roll each out separately on heavily floured pastry
cloth. My mom would roll them around the rolling pin using the cloth as a backing and then easily reroll
them right into the pie plate—which she always sprayed with Pam.
2 Comments on "Ann’s Adoped Edibles"
HI Ann – loved reading your article and will save the recipe. I too miss your MOM as I do mine. They are and were both wonderful, giving ladies. There were times, after school, that Mom and I would stop at your home. Many times no one was home, but luckily the door was not locked. Mom always said that Eunice was go kind and giving to others, that she needs kindness in return. We would spend a couple of hours cleaning, doing laundry and getting dinner fixed. I always enjoyed this time and loved your family like my own! Hope you are enjoying your time/home in NC or is it SC? Hugs, Anne
What a great story! Love you and miss you!