Urban Mama

You Know What I Did Last Summer

Last year, my immediate family didn't go on a summer vacation. Instead, faithful readers of this blog know my husband and I crazily drove from D.C. to Tampa with a four-month-old, 3.5-year-old and 6-year-old, so I could spend three weeks visitingMami at my sister's house. My siblings and I knew the end was near, so my sister Diana and brother-in-law Larry generously allowed all of us to crash at their house for 20 days.

This exact weekend marks the penultimate visit I had with my mother, and the final time my husband and older two children ever saw her. I'm so thankful, looking back, that my sister and I have the kind of relationship that made that trip a possibility. Even though it was difficult to be away from my husband for 15 days (he drove us down, took a flight back to DC, and then flew down to drive us back home), those three weeks provided me with some beautiful final memories ofMami with my children and me.

It was, after all, an Olympic summer, so Michael Phelps' glorious gold streak shall forever be strangely linked with my last summer withMami. It was a summer of buying her Pollo Tropical and Colombian take out, because neither my sister nor I could adequately prepare a proper a Latin-flavored meal -- at least not toMami 's rigorous standards. It was a heartbreaking summer, when I began to do my anticipatory grief work, preparing my heart as best I could for the eventuality ofMami's death.

But it was also a joyful summer, with young cousins flapping in the pool, camping out every night in the playroom, making mini-movies on my Flip camera, and playing Rock Band over and over again. Every day, the kids spent time with theirAbuela -- bringing her ice in the Bubba Keg, talking to her briefly, and giving her hugs, kisses, and coos. The kids would have a decade of more traditional family vacations, but last summer, that trip toAbuela's was absolutely the best thing we could've done.

This year, we are going on a summer trip. We're headed to Ocracoke Island in the Outer Banks for a week, and we're all looking forward to unplugging (a bit) and relaxing on the beach. As we make our way down, I can't help but remember, with tears and a smile, how last summer's vacation began with a similar road trip. And I wish, more than anything, that we could take that trip again -- just to seeMami one more summer.

John Hughes: A Tribute

Writer-director-producer John Hughes died this morning in Manhattan at the relatively young age of 59. Although he had not helmed a film since 1991 (he continued to write and produce, however), he was the unparalleled master of '80s teen flicks. Six of the eight movies he directed (Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Weird Science, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, She's Having a Baby, Uncle Buck) remain among my favorite films of tweenhood.

I never quite understood why he stopped directing after Curly Sue, although he continued to write and produce many TV and film projects. It was as if the '90s swept in and washed away his directorial creativity. Now that I'm a professional movie reviewer, I often see an adolescent-targeted movie and long for the Hughes movies of my youth.

Part of Hughes' legacy, in my opinion, is that so many people mistakenly think he directed all of the teen-oriented '80s movies like Pretty in Pink and Some Kind of Wonderful, both of which he wrote but Howard Deutch directed.

Here are some of my favorite quotes from Hughes' movies. I'd love to see yours.

John Bender: "Oh God, you richies are so smart, that's exactly why I'm not heavy into activities."

John Bender: "My impression of life at Big Bri's house, "Son?" "Yeah, Dad?" "How was your day, son?" "Great, Dad. How's yours?" "Super. Say, how would like to go fishing this weekend?" "Great, Dad. But I got homework to do." "That's okay, son. You can do it on the boat." "Gee." "Hon, isn't our son swell?" "Yes, dear. Isn't life swell?""

Andrew: "Just me. Just you and me. Two hits. Me hitting you. You hitting the floor. Anytime you're ready, pal."

John Bender: "Sweets. You couldn't ignore me if you tried. So... so. Are you guys like boyfriend-girlfriend? Steady dates? Lovers? Come on, sporto, level with me. Do you slip her the hot beef injection?"

Principal Rooney: "I did not achieve this position in life by having some snot-nosed punk leave my cheese out in the wind."

Ferris: "Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

Schoolgirl: "Um, he's sick. My best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw Ferris pass out at 31 Flavors last night. I guess it's pretty serious."

Jeannie: "Look, it's real nice that you hope my brother is feeling better, but I'm in danger, okay? I am very cute, very alone and very protective of my body. I don't want it violated or killed, all right? I need help! Speaka de English?"

Ferris: "Not that I condone fascism, or any -ism for that matter. -Ism's in my opinion are not good. A person should not believe in an -ism, he should believe in himself. I quote John Lennon, "I don't believe in Beatles, I just believe in me." Good point there. After all, he was the walrus. I could be the walrus. I'd still have to bum rides off people."

Grandma: "Oh Sam, let me take a look at you. Fred, she's gotten her boobies."

Jake: "Happy birthday, Samantha. Make a wish." Samantha: "Well, it already came true."

Last Year This Very Week

My 4 1/2-year-old daughter wore this exact same dress yesterday, a fact I realized just now as I was searching for a completely different picture in iPhoto. I know it's rather morbid to admit, but I keep dreading the day when the "last 12 months" button will no longer render any photos of my mother. Thank God that day is not today.

Today, as I filtered the visual library of my life, Mami's in the very first photo, from this same weekend last year. She was gaunt, and she had made an extraordinary effort to simply come down the stairs to participate in the family get together at my sister Diana's house.

Clad in her illness uniform -- undershirt, pajamas, housecoat -- she didn't seem to mind the camera snapping pictures. Obviously, my heart and mind must've been somewhere else, because this is a pretty damn awful shot, but it does not matter. There she is, sitting between her two youngest granddaughters, trying to keep my niece from squirming away. The time for fixing herself up for a photo (when she was healthy, she would not even allow herself to be photographed without makeup or with her glasses on) had long passed, and she was simply happy to be surrounded by her adored and adoring grandbabies.

One year later, D still fits into that pink Baby Lulu dress, my niece is still a wriggly little thing at 2 1/2, but their Abuela, she is gone. As my good friend Jean expressed in the final lines of her beautiful post about photographs of her father, these girls may not remember their Abuela's face or voice or the everyday impact she had on their earliest years, but they will always have these photos, this history. A history my siblings and I will make sure our children never forget.