Eat, Darling, Eat 

(by Kathy Lenney) Meetings like ours weren’t supposed to happen. In the 1960s, once you signed a relinquishment, you permanently gave up your rights to ever see your child again. But Pat found a way around the rules. She paid a private investigator $200, and after a few months, she had my contact information and mailed me a letter inviting me to call. When we spoke on the phone for the first time and I heard her voice, so similar to mine, it felt like God had finally gotten a

(by Rakhee Verma) The London borough of Twickenham is known for a film studio, a rugby stadium, and the homes of A-listers like Mick Jagger. The neighborhood has always been white and affluent. So, when my Indian family moved there in 1979, nobody looked like us. Working several jobs at once between them, my parents had scrimped and saved up enough to buy a small shop that sold newspapers and magazines, but everyone called it the “sweet shop” for the rows and rows of jars f

(by Aimee Lee Ball) I was on a business trip to my hometown of Philadelphia. After my meeting at the Four Seasons Hotel in Center City (what Philadelphians call their downtown), I went to the lobby…and walked right past my unrecognizable mother. What I didn't know was that my mom had started wearing a short blond wig. After two fender-benders that made her realize it was best to turn in her car keys, plus moving to a new neighborhood, it was less convenient to get to her lo

(by Connie Meyer) The first sip of Tiger’s Milk is the worst. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try not to taste the vile concoction as it slips over my tongue, and my mind only faintly registers my mother’s faith that this will fortify my bones and my skinny nine-year-old frame. Inspired by her bible, Adele Davis’s Eat Right to Keep Fit, Mother whips up this breakfast staple in her new Waring blender. I wonder briefly if she gags as she swallows her own glass of orange gooey sludge.

(by Christie Chapman) For the longest time, whenever I ordered French toast at a restaurant, I’d look down at the gussied-up, egg-battered bread the server placed before me and think: Where’s the Kraft American cheese? The version of that brunch mainstay, that Mother’s Day breakfast-in-bed-tray classic, that I grew up with wasn’t made with brioche, or challah, or any kind of fancy bread. My mom used regular old sandwich bread, the same kind she used for her three kids’ and hu

(by Jenna Dutcher) Recipe for Kathy’s Famous Green Bean Casserole: 1 can Cream of Mushroom soup (reduced salt) 2 cans French-Style Green Beans 1 family-size container of French’s Crispy Fried Onions salt and pepper to taste 1. First things first, you’ll have to locate the recipe. A secret family recipe, your mother always told you, until one day you read it straight from the back of the French’s Fried Onions container. Turn to that container now for the details. 2. Prehea

(by Deborah K. Shepherd) I’m on the phone with my sister. At 74 to my 78, she is my touchstone when memories of our childhood fail me. My...

(by Lenore Hart) My parents married each other for the first time in 1952. He was 27. She was 18, just out of high school. Mom learned to...

(by Sari Fordham) I'm sensible, the way my mother was sensible. She wore high-waisted underpants because they were comfortable and made...

(by Rosie Phillips) My mother is not someone I would ever describe as a prankster: Although she retains a slight dramatic flair from her...

(by Karen Sosnoski) It was holiday season, and my friends with kids in college had concerns that would have been mine had life gone as...

(by Laura Zinn Fromm) My mother is killing old age. At 84, she still works full time, plays tennis three times a week, and rocks...

(by Catherine Gigante-Brown) For the past few years, I’ve been telling my son, “Savor these beans. Grandma Raquel isn’t going to be...

(by Soma Mei Sheng Frazier) ...the hearty Italian sauce inspired by a rich, slow-cooked French stew called ragoût , derived from ragoûter:...

(by Carolyn Swartz) When an extended family lives under the same roof, the maternal figure we most fondly remember can leapfrog a...

(by Dawn Levitt) In my earliest memories of my mother, she did not cook. One such memory involves a can of cream of mushroom soup. When I...

(by Elizabeth Cohen and Aviva Lilith) Some dishes come with tasks easily divided among generations and between family members. For...

(by Laura Zinn Fromm) I was feeling somewhat glum about the end of summer, and did what I often do when I’m out of sorts—looked for...

(by Susan Ostrov Weisser) When I was a child and no one was around—maybe a babysitting older brother available for dire emergencies but...

(by Kathryn Louise Wood) “When Mama moves to Wilson.” That had been our family’s euphemism for when our mother would die and be buried...