Easy Dairy-free Cake

#2 is turning 3, so #1 and #2 helped me make a cake, while #3 provided moral support. Here’s what we used:

20160406_143825.jpg(We don’t drink soda, so this was all we had on hand. I would have preferred a non-diet soda had it been on hand.)

1. Empty Duncan Hines cake mix (Duncan Hines cake mix is generally dairy-free, but be sure to double-check the ingredients list of your desired flavor before purchasing) into a mixing bowl.

2. Add a can of soda to the bowl.

2. Mix and bake per the cake mix’s instructions.

3. Cool thoroughly, then frost with your preferred dairy-free icing  (most pre-packaged icings are dairy-free, but be sure to double-check your desired flavor before purchasing.)

Enjoy!

Happy Birthday #2!

Three years ago a calm, cuddly baby entered this world. He was round, healthy, happy, and wanted nothing more than to be close to my heart.

That boy grew… fast. He taught me how to divide my attention between multiple children, he taught me that I can parent boys, he taught me the beauty of cuddling, he taught me to slow down and appreciate a warm hug, he taught me the wonder of bubbles, he taught me to be fearlessly true to myself, he taught me how to listen and watch constantly for kid calamity, he taught me how to laugh at life’s ups and down, he taught me the art of doll hair styling, he taught me how healing an unplanned snuggle can be, but mostly he taught me that my heart can fill beyond capacity with love.

Happy birthday, #2! You were the best early birthday present I could ever have.

What is Sleep?

Pregnancy-related insomnia is common. Between hormones and a squished bladder, you’re awake frequently at night. It’s nature’s way of preparing us for the sleeplessness ahead.

The sleep deprivation from your firstborn is the hardest. You’re delirious, confused, so exhausted it hurts. As time goes by, you somehow adjust to the reduced and broken sleep pattern. It becomes your new norm.

With subsequent children, the newborn phase isn’t painless, and certainly isn’t flush with sleep, but you’re better able to cope. You’ve learned tricks to help you and baby sleep at bit more, your nerves are calmer, you’re so tired from chasing an older child and nurturing an infant during the day that there’s no room for mind-spinning wakefulness at night. You savor the sleep you get; you know this pain is momentary in life.

Sleep deprivation isn’t easy, it isn’t fun, but it’s temporary. Your baby needs you. You’re all he or she has in this world. In a few short years, you’ll sleep again. Then you’ll miss the nighttime neediness… because mom guilt and parenthood is twisted like that.

 

Where’s the Pause Button?

I just looked at the calendar and realized that there are only two months left of preschool this academic year. Two months??

Then my breath caught, my heart dropped, my eyes welled: my baby girl — the baby we weren’t sure would ever come — will be leaving preschool and starting kindergarten. How could this be happening?

Didn’t #2 just start his first year, toddling in with a backpack 3/4 his size? Did #1 just pick out her first day of school dress and insist on “princess hair” for the first day of her last preschool year?

How does this go by so quickly? How can I slow this down? I feel like I’m with them so much but I must be missing things because there’s no way so much time has slid by so quickly. Where’s the pause button?

 

Seeing Yourself through Others

One day I told my momspiration (the mom friend I hold in high esteem as a parenting example) — we’ll call her W — that I often examine parenting challenges and think to myself: “What would W do?” She was floored. She knew I considered her my momspiration, but she wasn’t aware how highly I thought of her parenting habits. She humbly responded, “But I…” and rattled off reasons why I shouldn’t consider her so exemplary. “You’re a great mom,”I told her. I was surprised she was surprised; I figured she must know she’s a remarkable parent because it was so obvious to me.

Today, I arrived at a playdate with a friend I hadn’t seen in years. I was one kid short (#1 was in preschool). Watching me walk over — #2 holding my hand, #3 strapped to my chest, and the picnic lunch over my shoulder — my friend warmly greeted me: “You are a professional mom!” I thanked her and laughed off the compliment, thinking how I’m just type-A and plan everything. I didn’t consider myself in anyway above the fray.

Each time I nursed #3 in the carrier during the playdate, my friend sweetly noted that she was “in awe” of my nursing on the go. It was so flattering and unexpected, as I never think anything of nursing in public. I do it at least four times daily. I never thought of my routine as admirable.

I drove home from the lovely playdate thinking how often we move about our routines — blinded by our rattling to-do lists and inner monologs — completely unaware of the admiration or flattering perceptions we stir in others. The world is filled with secret admirers.

Guys and Dolls

My nearly-3-year-old son loves princesses, dress-ups, and Barbies. Partially it’s because it’s what he is exposed to as “cool” since he has a big sister who loves these items. Partially it’s because, well, those interests simply appeal his preschooler self.

Considering he’s highly active, impressionable, and accident-prone, I’m grateful he hasn’t inundated himself in more violent interests. Instead of play-fighting or play-shooting, he’s diligently grooming dolls, practicing self-care through dressing himself in layers of costumes, and admiring females. I see nothing wrong with this in the least.

His present interests don’t make him lesser, don’t diminish his masculinity, don’t define his gender or sexual identity, and don’t endanger anyone at all… except for maybe those who feel personally threatened by a tulle-wearing blue-eyed boy holding a singing Ariel doll.

Lost and Found

It’s easy to lose yourself in the weight, the grind, the excitement, the worry, the messiness, the monotony, the beauty of motherhood. Rarely does one become a parent and remain the same person as before. This is good. Growth is good. Change can be good. This can also be very challenging.

When your mind, body, priorities, worldview, and life change so drastically, it can be hard to maintain the friendships you had prior to the upheaval. Often, we moms go through a lonely adjustment phase during early motherhood. We don’t quite understand who we are, what we’re doing, or where our old self went, but we realize everything has changed. Sometimes old friendships can grow with this shift, but often not. Many new moms go through a period of shedding as they try to determine who they are. It’s mournful. It’s lonely. It’s confusing. It’s temporary.

Then, one day, you realize who you are, you’re more comfortable in your stretch-marked skin, more self-aware and self-assured. This confidence allows you to make new friendships and even rekindle old ones. Your mom friend circle grows but, more importantly, it strengthens. These friends are your pack, your village, your treasures.

Growing up, I never quite felt I fully belonged. I was told I was wiser than my years, that I had an old soul… perhaps I was simply awkward. Whatever the case, I often held one or two individuals close and enjoyed a smattering of widely varied acquaintanceships with people who often would not be friends with one another, despite their ties to me. Looking back, I note the commonality among them: genuine individuality. These people were unflinchingly themselves — unabashedly outspoken, shy but funny, quirky, hippy-chic, goth-punk, soccer player, preppy, music enthusiast, etc. — every one was different but each held my admiration because they were uniquely themselves.

This ability to fearlessly be myself didn’t come until I had my second child. I’d finally come out of the first-time-mom shedding fog and was realizing who I was. I was content with myself. I began making friends that I hold dear… friends I know hold me in the esteem I hold them.

Motherhood may have initially caused me to lose myself, but the new self I found is better. The friendships I’ve made and rekindled are stronger. I am a better me and, consequently, better friend now than I was before. Motherhood helped me grow. I am a mother.

 

Mom Guilt

Mom guilt is a beast. It is the ominous haze that lingers in the back of our minds, making us second-guess ourselves, inflating our flaws, and tarnishing our strengths. It feeds on our insecurities and rattles our anxieties. It’s deafening and inescapable. No mom is absolved, but rarely do we discuss the plague.

Sometimes the guilt is predictable, such as five minutes after you’ve sat down in a — FINALLY — quiet home at the end of a year’s-long day rife with tantrums, misbehavior, mean mommy voice, and a drawn-out bedtime. Other times it’s illogical, such as when you lament your inability to express your undying love through butterfly-shaped lunch sculptures, or your failure to mold your trashcan-lickers into geniuses by way of upcycled sensory tables. Then there are the minute perceived failures escalated into life-changing monstrosities, like when you let your littlest eat who-knows-how-old Puffs from carseat crevices, or when your child’s dinner plate resembled less of of a food rainbow and more of a beige paint sample card. Yet still, there are the reasonable triggers that instigate an onslaught of mom guilt because, let’s be honest, we’re humans parenting humans all day, every day — so help us — and that leaves immense room for screw-ups.

So, what do I say to mom guilt? Don’t ignore it, don’t embrace it, just let it keep you humble. Let it fuel your growth towards becoming the kind of parent you strive to be. Let it enhance your self-awareness, not paralyze you with fear of failure or self-doubt. It’s always going to be there because it stems from love. You love your child(ren) so much, you self-flagellate because you believe your offspring deserve the very best.

In the end, do your best, know you’re human, and try again tomorrow. You’ve got this!

“That” Mom

I was just “that” mom. I am accustomed to the looks of bewilderment and shock I get when I walk in public with #1 (4.5yrs) and #2 (nearly 3yrs) holding my hands as #3 (9mnth) is strapped to my chest. Today, though, I didn’t even bother noting the surrounding glances, gawks, and glares as we painfully selected balloons for #2’s upcoming family birthday gathering.

Three “Bubble Guppies” balloons… the errand should’ve been uneventful and swift. Hahaha!

#1 had to touch every single pink ballon in sight, got a nasty case of the “I wants,” and then came the back-talk. Mean mommy verdict: “No treats tonight!” Cue the 4.5yo elbow to my thigh which she regretted about 3/4 of the way through the swing. Mean mommy point and glare.

We head to the register… My Little Pony toys, Frozen t-shirts, candy… the party store gods loathe me. I decide to ignore the rapid-fire “I wants” for sanity’s sake.

We make it to the register — I’m still ignoring — then, as I swipe my credit card, #2 decides he wants a Rapunzel party. He selected the “Bubble Guppies” theme a month ago. We have the plates. We have the cups  He came with me to order the dairy-free ocean-themed cake. We just got our three freakin’ “Bubble Guppies” balloons. Get me out of here! Sorry, bud, you’re getting “Bubble Guppies.” #2 flails. Meltdown. On the ground. Complete loss of leg control. So I drag him toward the door in the manner least likely to cue a CPS call. Now, he’s demanding his birthday is today: “My burpday is April 7th!” “Yes, but today is April 1st and your family party isn’t until the 3rd.” “Noooooooo!!!!!” I contemplated the carry-of-shame but figured he might kick #3 who was strapped to my chest. So I tried reasoning with him. It worked enough to get to the car before he melted, body half in and half out of the minivan. #1 stepped over him muttering about My Little Ponies as I slid #2 on his belly inside the van.

Buy birthday ballons: check.

Life with #2

“MY STUCK!!” It’s an announcement we hear almost daily in our house. #2 is like a beagle: cuddly, goofy, loyal, curious, and calamity-prone. He gets his elbow stuck in kitchen chair backs, his head stuck under sofas and in buckets (in public… numerous times), his hand stuck in princess teapots, his elbow stuck in ball maze toys, his bum stuck under armoires… he even got his head stuck in between a pew and a column at my mom’s church.

The other day I heard the familiar call from his room. He’d managed to buckle himself into a rocking toy but couldn’t unbuckle himself.

As I freed my bumbling minion, part of me thought: one day I’ll miss freeing him from these mishaps. Then I realized, no… this is life with #2. His body will get bigger, the places he gets stuck will get more impressive, and I will need a bigger tub of Vaseline.