#309: What's Dippy Dip?
What's Dippy Dip?
I've written many blogs and journal entries about my dad. A lot of these have been a form of grieving, or perhaps an effort to keep his energy alive, or simply to serve as memoirs of who he was.
It struck me one night that losing my dad has given me reasons to write about him - reasons I don’t have for my mom, because she is still here. And in that same thought I felt compelled by different reasons to write about my mom - a person who has very much influenced my life and the person I’ve become. To take time to reflect, to express gratitude, and to serve as an acknowledgement of who she is while I have the opportunity to do so.
Even though I've been fortunate to have always been close with my mom for all of my life, our relationship has seemed to deepen over the last two years specifically. And this could be because I'm of course no longer a child needing to be taken care of nor am I still in my rebellious teenage years. And as for my college years, moving to Florida meant mainly just phone calls and winter breaks were the only times we really got to talk. So in the last couple years, I feel we've finally had the opportunity to do more together as adults - go on trips, take nature walks with the dogs, do city day trips, enjoy dinners together, and most importantly, share way more laughs and hugs.
This growing bond has led to more realizations in my mind of all the little things she did for me growing up that I've recently reflected on and now truly appreciate. And though I could write a lengthy list about all she's done to support me and help me grow the last 25 years, I'm going to share just two things to keep it short and simple. Two things that I believe speak wonders. They may even sound silly and could be "had to be there" type things, but I'll share anyway.
Number 1 - When we were kids, she would always make my sisters and I breakfast in the morning. Our plate would have two fried eggs on it with a piece of toast and sausages (back in my carnivorous days...) But it wasn't just the mixture of breakfast foods that made it so good. It was the way she made the eggs. She cooked them so that we could always dip the bread and sausages into the yolk. The memory is ingrained in my head as having been such an enjoyable experience for some reason - I remember loving the first dunk and the yolk breaking. The special name she called this was "Dippy Dip Eggs." The other day, my sister shared the memory of going to a sleepover at a friends' house in elementary school, and when the girl's mom asked how she'd like her eggs the next morning, Christina's response was, "Dippy Dip, please!" When the confused mother asked what that meant, she couldn't quite explain it to her. And therefore, she settled for scrambled.
I thought about my sister's funny story while I was cracking an egg on the side of the pan a few weeks back, when I broke the yolk by mistake. It turned flat like a pancake. And it was at that moment of minor disappointment in which I realized how my mom always made sure NOT to break it. And somehow got it perfect each time so that it could be... well... dipped! Now every time I mess up my eggs, I think about all the times she didn't.
Number 2 - In middle school, there would be nights I'd be in my bedroom alone after dinner reading or doing homework, and I'd hear a knock. She'd then step through the doorway with a plateful of homemade chocolate-covered strawberries. I remember the refreshing feeling of taking the ice-cold dish from her hand that had just come out of the freezer. It never seemed like a big deal then, but looking back, I realize how lucky (perhaps actually spoiled is the word) I was to get a special treat like that brought to my bedroom, making studying a bit more pleasant. I'm sorry I didn't fully express my gratitude to her back then for that hand-delivered plate of deliciousness as I was getting chocolatey fingers all over my papers.
While these two things are quite specific images that came to mind, I could think of dozens and they all point to my mom’s deep care in noticing the little things and perhaps the little things are not so little. They are strung together over and over in a fabric of love I could never ever repay and which I see in all of my sisters -- Christina, Jaime, Danielle – as well. We are a sensitive group of caring sisters and I am so grateful to have the wonderful imprint of our mom.
I am thankful to be able to write about these things all these years later and to be able to tell her. To this day, she still takes the extra few minutes to prepare savory desserts and to cook breakfast to perfection. And she also puts an absurd amount of sweet time into preparing our dogs' meals each night too. But that's a whole 'nother story.
I could never thank her enough for all the love she shared and the countless thoughtful acts she did to keep my sisters and I happy over the years. But I am glad I can do a bit more for her now too.
Amanda, Mom, Christina, Winter in Central Park, NY 2022