Chocolate Tarts and Mother's Day

Mother's Day has become a minefield of colliding emotions in our family in recent years. It's possible that Carl has never recovered from my rejection of the wilted lilacs he and little one proudly carried home one Mother's Day Sunday two years ago. Since then, he tiptoes around the day like it's a grenade soon to explode. Interestingly, as I've been negotiating more anxiety in recent weeks, I've changed my tendency to suppress my feelings and there are less explosions. I'm still mystified about the wilted lilacs, but have realized it's a straightforward deal. I requested them, and they were available at the deli on Hudson street. When I point out the myriad places to purchase flowers, I'm met with a quizzical look. I think Carl expects things to be imperfect. Perhaps that's the point. This year, I steered clear of flowers and I'm happy to report that I scored - yes - scored, a gorgeous cameo necklace. I found it while poking around the gift store at Olana, a National Park Service site perched on a bluff outside of Hudson, New York. A few weeks ago, we embarked on an ambitious and enjoyable road trip with Lady L. and A.T. (little one's best friend and confidante) to Olana. Lady L. encouraged Carl to buy me the necklace, saying, "she deserves it." Much to my surprise, Carl did so. We also purchased a beautiful box, inlaid with ivory, for his mother. She was working on Mother's Day and will be away for a few weeks, so her gift awaits her. Anyway, as the actual Mother's Day loomed, I continued to walk gingerly around some residual feelings of anxiety. This is unfamiliar territory and the family system was definitely uncomfortable with the idea that their anchor might be temporarily sinking. As a result, by Saturday morning, I was distraught and feeling unappreciated. As I ranted and raved at a perceived slight, which occurred Friday morning on a rainy cab ride to Chinatown with Carl and little one, Big Daughter reverted to a "pull your bootstraps up" approach. That did not go over well with me. After I finished weeping, I staunchly protected my (occasional) right to sadness and tears. It didn't help that Carl tends to wander around in a non-responsive daze when I become emotional and begin to rant. Little one was rubbing my back, but she too finally succumbed to the sadness of my mood. Luckily, Young Sir C. (who made an earlier appearance in the blog -see Belcourt) - came to the rescue. He presented an invitation to spend Mother's Day with his parents, at their second home in upstate New York. It was my understanding that the invitation was in the spirit of acquaintance-ship, and not a definitive move to mark any serious business between Young Sir C and Big Daughter. His gracious (and wonderful parents) had organized a day which involved walking through the gardens at Mohonk Mountain House (outside of New Paltz), followed by a late lunch. We had hoped to meet Carl's cousin R. and her family for an early dinner in Chinatown, but quickly realized that time was limited. Carl was unable to rent a Zipcar, without paying through the nose, so we piled into Young Sir C's Jetta, and became cozy. After a quick stop at Jacque Torres on King Street - to purchase a beautiful chocolate "clutch" for young Sir C's mother - we made one more stop at Grounded (in the West Village) for breakfast on the go. This is my preferred pattern as we head out of NYC on Sunday morning road trips. Luckily, there was no line. After we ordered one iced chai latte, one latte, one iced mocha, one coffee, a bagel, a quiche and a cookie - a long line had formed behind us. I was wished an incredulous "Happy Mother's Day" from the sweet counter person, after leaving the $6 change in the tip jar. I also heard her excitedly inform her co-worker about the 20% tip. We continued onto the West Side Highway, where I confess to engaging in a little back seat driving. The Norwegian Dawn, a huge cruise ship, was boarding and I urged Young Sir C to remain in the far right lane. Carl was actually supportive. He remarked that two weeks prior, our exit from NYC was expedited by doing the same thing. Directions and driving can be a touchy subject with us. As we got closer to Mohonk Mountain House, Big Daughter became more and more anxious and finally had a full-blown anxiety attack. I was interested in the parallel process being played out between us. Earlier that week, after many years of calm, I'd had an anxiety attack and finally succumbed to an Ativan to soothe myself. Big Daughter was now asking for the same relief. I remarked that as a mother I seemed to be contagious. She finally fell into an uncomfortable sleep. A little later, as we drove down the main street of New Paltz, Young Sir C. explained that Mohonk traffic is generally heavy on holidays. That morning, he noted the situation wasn't too bad. After leaving New Paltz, the drive to Mohonk was quite beautiful. Everything was lush and green with the vista of the Catskill mountains surrounding us. At the entrance to Mohonk Mountain House, Young Sir C's mother was waiting for us by the guard house. She explained that despite the family membership, the staff was attempting to charge $22 per person for a 1/2 hour walk in the garden. Young Sir C was quite affronted at this (something that Carl was in agreement with). While we waited for his father (who had taken their two adorable chocolate Labradors home), his mother convinced the staff to use the family membership, with only a small additional fee. After his father returned, we took the school bus shuttle up to the garden. We had a pleasant walk and gently became acquainted as we admired the beautiful setting. There were several families in attendance and a general atmosphere of gratitude. Afterwards, his parents escorted us to an amazing lunch at the Village Inn, a restaurant in Krumville. Set alongside a pond framed by tall green trees, the Village Inn was a perfect place for us to settle in. It was quiet when we arrived around 2 p.m., and we were seated at a long wooden table set for 7. Big Daughter had calmed down during the walk. During lunch, she became anxious again. When little one wandered over to sit between us, Big Daughter looked like a thundercloud. Without creating a cold war, I negotiated little one to my other side and remained next to Big Daughter. We started with two orders of Carrot Ginger soup, which arrived with a little dab of creme fraiche on top, one order of Razor clams, a Beet salad with Ewe's Blue and an order of fried Calamari. Although I have discomfort with it, the word succulent aptly describes the Razor clams. For entrees, Young Sir C, Carl and I ordered the Brouffade (a beef stew with carrots and noodles). Carl and I shared our entree, and I left him my portion of the thick noodles. I think they were homemade, but couldn't be sure. Both Young Sir C's mother and Big Daughter ordered the Pan Fried Breast of Chicken, which arrived with a side of herbed polenta. It was heavenly. Little one had chicken tenders, and Young Sir C's father ordered the Pan-fried Trout with herb stuffing. Big Daughter clandestinely sipped my Lindeman Framboise and Carl was momentarily overwhelmed by his glass of dark ale. For dessert, Carl informed me of a Coconut Creme Brulee and I promptly ordered it. When Young Sir C and Big Daughter alerted me to the Chocolate Tart with Carmel and Sea Salt, I asked for one of those too. Young Sir C and Big Daughter also opted for the Chocolate Tart. It was phenomenal and my stomach hurt from the richness, in a good way. I ended up sharing their Chocolate Tart when, in the true spirit of sharing, Carl handed the other Chocolate Tart to our gracious hosts. I was pleased to see them enjoy it as much as I did.