Happy Mother's Day

My new book, Life Cycling, is filled with short glimpses into the many moving parts of female life, from my perspective anyway. Menopause, Dieting, Drinking, Family, Grieving, Exercise and Motherhood.

Whether you are a mother, have a mother or have someone in your life who you mother or have been mothered by, Motherhood is a great source for stories.

I Love Being a Mother

I love being a mother to my son. I knew early on that one child would be all I would be able to handle and I have never regretted this decision.

When I was married, we used to camp a lot. My son learned how to ride a bike while we were camping, how to fish, how to paddle a kayak and the many outdoor activities that camping brings to life.

One of my favorite memories was a story about making butter. It is short and sweet and comes from the time in my life when I was married. There were many good memories as I reflect from the perch of retrospect. This is the juiciness of getting older, the ability to let go of the not so good moments and focus on the ones that enrich and spark joy instead.

Looking Back

When I look back at my married family life through my lens, I am struck by how many little nuggets of moments flew by the way that those little white feathery pollen spores fly by in the height of the season. Barely noticeable, but plentiful at the same time.

If you have purchased my book already, the BUTTER story below is on page 113. If you haven’t purchased my book or want to purchase a copy to send to a friend, I can ship it with all my added fun accoutrements too in time for Mother’s Day. The Create More Joy box is also a great gift.

I hope you enjoy your day, maybe you have some writing inside of you with a story you want to remember like a photograph. Happy Mother’s Day.

Here is the story, written in 2004, from my book: (page 113)

Butter (from Alayne White's Life Cycling)

Mommy, can we make butter today? No, I say, without even considering the question. Why do I automatically say no to that simple question? I definitely inherited the saying no habit from some of my family. I became hyper-aware of this at that moment.

Please can I make butter? I don’t have any heavy cream, I don’t have a mixer, I don’t, I can’t, I won’t, I blah blah blah, my internal voice says. Why am I stifling his creative juices? I must admit the fleeting thought traveling through my mind is the possibility of him quietly trying to make butter while I lounge in the hammock, undisturbed, finishing my book.

Alright I say, what the hell? Get a bowl, pour the half and half, dash of salt, get the wire whisk and let him give it the old college try. We truck back to our campsite after our breakfast and I organize his experiment. I lay in the hammock to begin my reading and within thirty seconds my husband is challenging the concept, putting his practical, scientific mind out there for Michael’s little mind to embrace.

It’s never going to work, he says firmly, like some type of butter-producing farmer with first-hand knowledge. I must speak; I rest the book on my stomach: How do you think the pilgrims did it, I say. Dave pauses, contemplating the possibility. He takes the bowl from our son’s already tired out arm and begins beating the half and half. Who knows if half and half will work; the pilgrims must have started with milk, right, so I figure at least half and half is a bit of a head start. Dave is starting to doubt my theory; he gives the bowl back to Michael—who has obviously not yet developed his beating wrist at seven years young—who beats for about ten seconds and passes it back to Dave.

As I attempt to finish my reading, my senses are activated. I am savoring what I am seeing, hearing, the sounds between the family unit. The simple easy bantering, conversation, humor and sweetness over this simple little activity reminding me of the need to say yes more automatically to those little requests that seem an inconvenience to my narcissism at the time. The unexpected gifts that come from these little things always surprise, amaze and satisfy—even if we never did get the butter out of it.

Read more stories like this in Alayne White's Life Cycling.

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