I got a tattoo to mark my transition from a legal career to life as an artist. I am past the age where I require my mother’s approval, but I couldn’t help worrying about her reaction. But when I showed her the small tree above my ankle, Mom said, “I want one of those.”
This month, I am getting Mom her tattoo. Several siblings, their spouses and our grown children want to get inked as well. So in a few weeks, three generations of my family will meet at the best tattoo parlor in town to celebrate Mom’s 83rd birthday.
When our three kids started heading off to college, my husband and I looked for ways to economize. We vacationed closer to home, re-evaluated our cable channels and spent nights at home watching rented movies. Everything in our budget was scrutinized — even our occasional pizza delivery. So it was that one Friday, I announced we would make homemade pizzas. I spread toppings out, broke dough into pieces and instructed everyone to create their own pizza. We had so much fun that the next Friday night we did it again, and again. When our college students returned home we introduced them to Friday night pizza. Our kids soon brought friends home for pizza night. It became common for us to have a kitchen full of teenagers on a Friday night laughing and talking over one another as our oven worked overtime. Our youngest will graduate from college this year, and her sisters are working or in grad school. But many Fridays, they and their friends still show up for pizza.
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