Now her days will consist of her own schedule, one that she creates without me by her side. One that breaks the mold of the one she has held for eighteen years. She is beyond ready and I am getting there.
Before she left she articulated the specific feelings that led to her on-again off-again tears. She said, “it’s not that I’ll miss you (she’s only an hour away) it’s that I’ll miss this time. After next week, it will never be the same.”
And with that, she was able to effortlessly verbalize something I’d been wordlessly wrestling with. Together in this house we’ve built a beautiful history, one that we’re all clinging to as it changes shape and it’s impossible to be as enamored with the future.
There is excitement and hope, but not love — not yet. The ability to long for a future that hasn’t happened yet is a superpower few of us have, so we’re stuck clinging to the past, the thing we already know and love.
I often tell her it seems like we’ve lived a thousand lifetimes, parting with versions of ourselves that we hardly recognize. We’ve structured our days by two hour feeding windows and nighttime routines. Together, we’ve learned to roll over and sit up.
We’ve welcomed a baby brother and then another, and then finally a sister. We’ve stayed home all day learning colors and counting down the minutes to naptime.
We’ve made countless circles around the dinner table bouncing and dancing to Lady Gaga and Rihanna. We’ve learned every word from Blueberries for Sal and Goodnight Moon and blasted Michael Jackson’s music while we memorized every move in the “Thriller” video.
We’ve painted palm trees and made Rainbow Loom bracelets. She has begged me for Prince Ali, a puttanesca-ish pasta dish she named after the Prince in the Disney movie “Aladdin.” We’ve managed heartbreaking losses and come to terms with massive disappointments.
We’ve screamed at each other and slammed doors and apologized. We’ve covered our floor in slime and transitioned from a two-parent household to one.
I have been her caretaker but many times, she has been mine. We have logged hours at the pool and parks. She’s grown into a sister that all the siblings turn to for comfort, advice or a ride to Dairy Queen. I’ve looked on as she’s made mistakes, allowed them, and helped her learn.
I’ve hunted down clean towels and forks that have made a permanent home on her bedroom floor. We’ve “shared” bronzer, eyelash curlers and Pumas. We’ve done hip-hop competitions and softball games, during which I got to witness a timid player turn into a primetime talent.
I’ve taught her that “we do what we have to do before we do what we want to do.” and “we’re a solution-based family” and “if they love you for who you aren’t, that’s not your love” and to “tackle the uncomfortable.” I hope these resonate for a lifetime. We’ve worked through heightened anxiety and channeled our shared weaknesses into strengths.
I’ve watched the world fall in love with her time and time again, gushing as I nod in agreement. I even got to watch her fall in love with the perfect boy, made more perfect because she knew she deserved it.
I hope I taught her that.
Aren’t we lucky to have lived those thousand lifetimes? To feel so connected to each other but also to each moment lived; each one shaping who we’ve become and preparing her for a blindingly bright future.
I think maybe we’re allowed to be sad. We’re allowed to cling to this history we’ve created while we crack open the potential of what lies ahead. There’s a comfort in knowing we’ll always have that time — even though we’re no longer in it and even though the next decades will surely hold something equally bright — just different.
I made Prince Ali tonight, re-testing a recipe I wrote in my early 30s and have been cooking since, without measurements. The onions melted in the olive oil and the briny punch of the olives and capers filled the house.
I pictured her as a toddler, just for a moment, with wispy hair and a coral terry cloth romper looking up at me while I covered the pasta in her favorite sauce.
Yes, we are lucky to have lived those thousand lifetimes. Now go live a thousand more.
”But First, Food” columnist Whitney Kling is a recipe developer who lives in southwest Ohio with her four kids and a cat and is developing a food memoir that’s ever-nearing completion. If she’s not playing tennis or at a yoga class, she’s in the kitchen creating something totally addictive — and usually writing about it.
REED’S PRINCE ALI
2 T olive oil
1 large yellow onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, chopped
1/4 t red pepper flakes
4 T capers, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup Kalamata olives, coarsely chopped
2 cans good tuna packed in olive oil
1 28 oz can whole tomatoes with juice, chopped (I prefer just squeezing them through my fingers as I pour them into the pan, making smaller chunks of tomato)
A splash of decent white wine
1 16 oz. box/bag of Penne Rigate pasta (Rigatoni also works)
DIRECTIONS:
- Bring a large pot of salted water to a rolling boil. Add pasta and cook almost al dente. Reserve one cup of pasta water. Drain.
- Meanwhile, warm the olive oil over medium heat in the largest pan you have. You’re going to be adding your cooked pasta at the end, to mix it all together. Add the onion, garlic, and red pepper flakes. Sauté over medium heat until everything is nice and soft. You want to be patient and let the flavors really develop, but don’t brown anything!
- Add the capers, olives and tuna, with the olive oil from the cans. Break apart the tuna with your wooden spoon and let this all warm up together for about five minutes.
- Add the can of tomatoes and juice, breaking the tomatoes apart as you add them. Stir, and simmer for five minutes. Add wine. Turn down heat, stir, and simmer for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the liquids have reduced. Add more pasta water if it gets dry and sticks to the pan. In this simmer phase, you want a very subtle bubbling.
- Add the drained pasta to your sauce and turn and mix until the pasta is evenly coated in sauce. Let simmer on low for two minutes, letting the pasta really absorb the flavors and finish cooking.
- Serve alongside a great big green salad with lemon vinaigrette.
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