Biddies, by Invitation Only

Yesterday, I was allowed the privilege of posing as a "Biddy."
What is a biddy, you ask? Well, the dictionary defines it as:  a fussbudget, especially a fussy old woman, a woman, esp an old gossipy or interfering one; or a chicken; a dialect word for hen. It was with this definition in mind that, as an adolescent child, I named my mother and her group cackling lady friends who met around our dining table every Monday night to indulge in wine and create show stopping craft projects, during which time I was banished to my bedroom to adhere to an early bed time. To be perfectly honest, I called them "Old Biddies." They called themselves a "sewing circle," but later adopted the word "Biddies" to describe their tight-knit group of crafty friends, choosing to forgo "old."
I am not sure what the initiation process was that made you a bonafide "Biddy," but it must have been brutal. Occasionally, by invitation only, ladies would audition. Few made the cut and even less stood the test of time. I am also not sure when the Biddies went from being a group of annoying cackling hens (in my mind's eye) to a tradition I admire.
The Biddies have been meeting regularly for nearly 20 years now, although I wonder if they realize that. They have supported each other through child rearing, moves (both long distance and short), divorce, college classes, menopause, illness and death in each other's family, grandchildren, and milestones that I do not even know about. They no longer meet weekly, but monthly with additional "celebrations" mixed in throughout the year to account for each other's birthdays, Christmas, or other party-worthy events. I use the term "party-worthy" quite loose, as they will find any mundane reason to celebrate and it will be a shindig to remember.
It was one of these party-worthy events I was invited to attend last night. We were celebrating the lunar new year; or Chinese New Year- the year of the dragon. The party was being hosted by my mother's Biddy bestie, Brenda; who, in true Biddy fashion, had pulled out all the stops.
Brenda's home was adorned with beautiful Chinese art and decorations arranged in beautiful displays. Chinese lanterns hung from the ceiling and wooden carved dragon art panels hung in front of the windows. Her home was warm and smelled of ginger and wasabi.
My mother and Brenda were dressed in traditional oriental attire made of silk, with chopsticks in their hair. Each Biddy, and myself- the Biddy poser- brought a Chinese dish to contribute. I can't prove that my recipe was traditionally Chinese, it was chosen because it had "Chinese" in the title, and the ingredients were in my cupboard. But what better dish for a Biddy poser to bring than a poser Chinese dish? Regardless of whether or not it was authentic, it was delicious and a total hit.
Here is the recipe:

Chinese Fried Walnuts & Pecans



Ingredients

• 1 pound shelled walnuts or pecans
• 1 cup sugar
• oil
• salt

Directions

1. Place walnuts in a medium stock pot. Cover with water and boil for 2 minutes. Strain, but do not rinse. Transfer to a bowl, and toss with sugar while still hot until well coated.
2. Heat 3 inches of oil in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. When oil appears to shimmer, fry 1 nut to test for heat. Nut should begin to sizzle immediately. Fry 1/3 batch of nuts at a time for 4 to 5 minutes uncovered. Toss nuts before each batch, and repeat. Using a slotted spoon, transfer each batch to a cookie sheet to cool. Season to taste with salt, and break apart when cool
3. Devour.

Besides wining and dining, the Biddies always exchange homemade or creative gifts. Jean, who, like my mother, is an O.B. (Original Biddy- a founding member), made origami kimonos to give last night. Brenda gave Year of the Dragon scratch tickets from which I won $4.

My mother beaded this beautiful charm out of Dragon Blood Jasper which, in Chinese culture, is said to enhance courage, strength and vitality. Above the Jasper stone is a black pearl symbolizing wisdom; and Jade for good luck and prosperity.

Later, the Biddies and I participated in a themed craft:

We made Luminary Lanterns by wrapping paper around a square block and gluing the sticks in place (like pictured) while still on the block. When the hot glue was dry, we slid the block out and, Viola! The paper illuminates beautifully with a lit candle inside.
We rounded out the evening with perhaps the greatest Biddy tradition: The Junk Swap. "'Cuz one Biddy's junk is another Biddy's treasure" ... or so I was told. I became a believer when I scored this fabulous dress form mannequin lamp!

Does it get any better?
My night as a guest in the exclusive members only Biddy club was bound to come to an end, but I am grateful for the delicious food, conversation, a night away from the kids, years of tradition, and my dress form mannequin lamp. Happy New Year, Friends and Biddies... and Biddy-friends!

The Deterioration of my Brain

Mothers laugh among themselves about the loss of brain cells, increased forgetfulness, and borderline mental instability that occurs to varying degrees of severity after the birth of each child. Women without children or moms of just one "perfect child" roll their eyes and snicker about us "crazy moms" and silently tick off impossible ways in which they could do it better, often based on what they read in books or saw on the most recent episode of Super Nanny. Husbands and fathers have learned not to roll their eyes, snicker, or even let on that they notice any change at all due the mental instability factor. I don't need to see science behind it, because I know it to be true.
I was normal once. I had one perfect child once. I could pitch the sale and close the deal all day long, then head home to my perfect child and prepare dinner for my family and the neighbor each night. I even had a rockin' body, void of stretch marks, that effortlessly bounced right back into shape after the birth of my perfect child. I literally had no qualms or hesitations about having another baby. I entertained the same ideological fantasies the snickering women do. I was caught completely off guard.
Again, I don't care what the science says, I only know my experience. My experience was that, with the birth of my second child, I was lobotomized. Every functioning brain cell I possessed prior to Lola's conception was given to Lola on July 7, 2007. She was born smarter than me. She acquired all of my knowledge and firing synapse, her dad's physical strength, and our combined determination. I was defeated before the game began. Lola was like a nuclear detonation within my brain, and the initial fallout period lasted for 6 months postpartum and looked like this:
Charlie (my perfect child) was late to morning kindergarten. Every. Single. Day. And, once, I forgot to pick her up and she sat in the elementary school office for nearly an hour until my brain finally solved for the nagging, anxious feeling in my gut.
Charlie missed 6 months of weekly girl scout meetings and cookie sale outings, resulting in my personally purchasing nearly $300 worth of cookies and Charlie not returning to Brownies the next fall. Charlie also missed nearly all of her cheer leading practices, resulting in her being one step behind everyone on her cheer squad until she finally just sat down on the court and traced the lines on the hardwood with her index finger talking quietly to herself.
I was depressed. I wrote myself reminders that I lost. I wrote myself reminders to read my previous reminders, which I lost.
Mundane tasks such as cooking dinner for my family became daunting. I would grocery shop for dinner, have it started on the stove and be missing ingredients that I 'forgot' while grocery shopping or lost somewhere between the checkout and my kitchen. I would then scrap dinner, throw a tantrum, and order pizza.
Today, nearly five years and two additional children later, I still exhibit symptoms including memory loss- long term and short term, disorganization, perpetual procrastination, subtle mood swings accompanied by the occasional meltdown, high aspirations/ low productivity, and love handles.
Last year, Charlie's 4th grade year, was a milestone year for me. It was the first year that Mrs. Barron, the school's secretary, didn't call me every day (no exaggeration) to tell me that I had forgotten to pack Charlie a lunch.
I don't want to use my children as an excuse for unacceptable behavior, poor habits or chronic laziness. I am willing to do anything to recapture my mind and take back my body. Vitamins, exercise, Ginko Biloba, crossword puzzles. Give it to me! I am willing to put in the work... if I can remember.
Until then, I have this blog. Here is where I will input as much as I can before my mind erases it forever. I am tired of my kids and husband asking, "Really!? You don't remember that?" I hate looking back and thinking, "Which child said that inappropriate remark that one time at that one place with those people watching?" I have spent hours staring at my children trying to memorize what they look like on any given day- the curve of their nose- the blue of their eyes, how they pronounce 'cookie' like 'tookie' (That's Jasper, by the way...), or the sound of each child's bare feet or knees slapping on the hardwood floor. But I do forget.
I refuse to forget anymore. I will remember.
I will remember that Charlie can find value in anything and turn garbage into art. That Lola runs everywhere she goes and holds your belongings hostage in Monster Jail. That Jasper has an imaginary pet named Mr. Pettibone who lives in her hat. And that Vera playfully shakes her head no, no matter the context, and giggles when you shake your head at her. I will remember all of this because of this blog. And someday, I will say to my husband and my girls, "Really!? You don't remember that?" and I will roll my eyes and snicker.