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Choosing to Savor

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It’s 40 minutes into naptime and here I am pinned beneath my slumbering 1.5-year-old in a dark room. I could be resistant, I could be irritated, or I could choose to savor.

After checking all of the boxes for a solid toddler nap — an active morning playdate, a hearty lunch, a fresh diaper, and a belly full of breastmilk — I figured this would be a simple part of the daily routine. Mommy hubris strikes again!

After my toddler drifted into a milky slumber, I tried transferring him to his crib. No dice. As soon as he left my arms, his eyes sprung open and he wailed that heartbreaking cry of abandonment. Two more attempts. Two more failures. Finally, I caved.

Defeated by my own offspring, I picked up my tot, grabbed his fuzzy blanket, and sat down in his glider. I allowed him to nuzzle and curl into me, so that he may drift back to sleep.

And so, as I sit here rocking my sleeping son, feeling his blanket-bundled weight in my arms and his soft sleepy breath against my cheek, I have three choices: 1) I can continue to fight a losing battle to transfer him into his crib, 2) I can resentfully rock with my little one and lament the break I’m missing, or 3) I can enjoy the moment. This time, I’m choosing option #3.

At 17-months-old, this may be his last time wanting to nap in my arms. He’s more of a climber than a cuddler, so these tender moments are likely to be distant memories once he’s weaned. What seems bothersome now will be deeply craved in not-so-distant time.

And so I sit here in a dark room holding my toddler, savoring the moment. Enjoying my growing boy.

The World through a Toddler’s Eyes

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To see life through the eyes of a 1.5-year-old must be a wondrous thing. A simple stroll is akin to an amusement park when all the world is new

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Yesterday afternoon my youngest and I went for a neighborhood walk. Down the sidewalk we strolled, his chubby toddler hand in mine. “Wow!” He exclaimed, pointing at a service van parked in a neighbor’s driveway. We stopped and admired the van, then returned to our ambling.

“Up!” He pointed with a pudgy finger. A hawk flew above us in the autumn sun. Then, my toddler took a few steps and found a stick. He drew in a deep, dramatic breath and held his prized find.

Every few feet he’d plop down on the pavement without warning and poke at the grass with his stick. I’d pause for a bit then gently return him to his feet, and on we walked.

A delivery truck pulled into the neighborhood. “Choo-choo!” He gasped, since trains and trucks are interchangeable in his 1.5-year-old mind.  Then we turned the corner: the mail truck! He froze, jaw open, staring in awe. The mail truck drove on and so we resumed our journey.

A buzzing whir pulsed through the air. A neighbor was using an air compressor in his garage. How fascinating! We paused briefly so he could catch a glimpse.

On we strolled. A broad rottweiler with a vigilant owner ambled towards us. The dog’s owner commanded his well-fed pet to sit as we walked by. “Dog!” my companion called. “Dog! Dog!” He wrenched his head around and plopped himself square in the center of the sidewalk, wanting to do nothing else but play with the sizeable canine who was at least a head taller than him. The dog had plodded his way down the sidewalk, entirely disinterested in my toddler. He was on his own expedition; we needed to return to our own.

I scooped up my partner and pointed at the colorful leaves. “Yellow,” I said, “yellow leaves.” A gust of wind rattled the branch, sending shivers through the dry golden leaves. He was delighted.

I set him down on the sidewalk, held his hand, and on we went. He stopped. “Uhh! Uhh!” He grunted and pointed. Yellow spinning pinwheels in the neighbor’s garden. He pulled away from me and marched head first up the driveway. I collected him and tried to walk him back to the sidewalk. Not happening. He shook away from my hand and charged through the grass. “Nope! Not your yard.” I said. He fussed and twisted in my arms. Mean mommy. Time to head home.

The woosh of an airplane refocused his attention. “Up! Up there!” He pointed at the plane. He looked on happily from his perch in my arms. I carried him for a bit, he cuddled in close, and I doused him with kisses. Knowing, in time, such affection would be entirely dismissed.

I saw some fallen leaves beside the sidewalk and set him down. He stomped and crunched, savoring the texture and sound. On we went. Another airplane flew over head, then another. He was equally enthralled by both.

By the time we arrived home, I had soaked in every bit of my growing boy that I could. And he had glimpsed a neighborhood full of fascinating finds. To see the world through his eyes must be marvellous. I am fortunate to see him see it all.

I Wonder What Outsiders Think

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I can only imagine what I look like to outsiders. Every day at kindergarten pick-up, my two boys run and play on the school lawn. There, beneath a shedding oak tree surrounded by grass and partially encircled by a well-tended flowerbed, the younger siblings of the school’s students play as we await the daily exodus.

The preschoolers and toddlers run in the shady grass, sharing toys and digging with sticks in the dirt. Meanwhile, moms look on from the sidewalk, chatting about extracurricular activities and school happenings.

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Then there’s me. I bob from one mom group to another uttering perhaps one maybe two complete sentences before racing to fish acorns from my 1-year-old’s mouth (trying not to get bitten in the process and swiping his back-up acorns from his soil-smothered mitts), fetching him from the flowerbed as he attempts to hurl a rock at the school building, redirecting him when he acts like a chinchilla and hurls fistfuls of dirt over himself as if taking a dust bath, prying him off of a bike left locked to the metal bike rack, reminding him not to tackle bigger kids, correcting him when he uses the metal flagpole as his own personal xylophone. Meanwhile, my 3.5-year-old scampers happily with the others, playing tag or airplanes in the sun.

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Every day I leave pick-up feeling like a haphazard bulletin board. Ideas and phrases, reminders and memories tacked at random but none of it illustrating a cohesive work. It’s simply an organized mess. Harnessed chaos.

And such is my life with three kids 5 and under. It’s a mess. It’s chaos. It’s exhausting. It’s mine.

One day I’ll be able to speak in complete sentences. One day life will be calm.

Until then, I will run and chase and scold and laugh and save and redirect, all while trying to pretend I am still capable of adult conversation. I will live this mayhem — exhausted and fulfilled — every day I’m able.

Who cares what outsiders think? I hope they laugh. I do.

Dairy-free Caprese Sandwich with Creamy Kale Soup

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Looking for a no-cook, fast, fresh, and flavorful family-friendly dairy-free meal? I’ve got you!

This easy, perfectly summery meal was a hit with my herd. Even my dairy-loving husband gave his belly-patting star of approval.

Crunchy ciabatta bread encases this summery sandwich. Acidic-yet-sweet vine ripened tomatoes, aromatic fresh basil, and velvety Follow Your Heart Vegan Mozzarella sing in the company of the creamy-tangy zip of balsamic mayonnaise.

Pair this fresh and fast sandwich with the vegan, simply prepared, and perfectly delicious LAJ Foods Creamy Kale Soup for a easy, nutritious, family-pleasing dairy-free meal.

DAIRY-FREE CAPRESE SANDWICH AND CREAMY KALE SOUP

Dairy-free Caprese Sandwich with Creamy Kale Soup

Dairy-free Caprese Sandwich with Creamy Kale Soup

Ingredients

Dairy-free ciabatta bread (such as Wegmans’ bakery’s variety)

Extra virgin olive oil

1 Tbl mayonnaise

1 Tbl balsamic vinegar

Follow Your Heart Vegan Mozzarella 

Handful of fresh basil leaves

2 thick tomato slices

Salt

Fresh ground pepper

LAJ Foods’ Creamy Kale Soup

Directions

Cut the Ciabatta bread in half lengthwise to create a sandwich top and bottom.

Place the bread on a baking sheet so that the cut side of the bread faces up.

Drizzle olive oil in the cut side of the bread and broil until golden.

Remove bread from oven.

Mix the mayonnaise and balsamic vinegar in a bowl and spread on the cut side of one slice of bread.

Cut your desired amount of vegan cheese for your sandwich.

Place the tomato slices on top of the bare bread slice and sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Top the tomato slices with the basil leaves and vegan cheese.

Place the balsamic mayonnaise smothered bread slice mayo side down on the vegan cheese.

Heat LAJ Inc.’s Creamy Kale Soup and serve alongside the sandwich.

Enjoy!

 

The Busy Season

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Summer: the stay-at-home parent’s busy season. Long days, warm nights, swimming pools and splash pads, playdates and summer camps, vacations and family outings. Summer requires a lot of planning.

2016-05-31 07.04.54When you go grocery shopping, your entire herd goes with you. There’s no quick Target run while the kids are in school or mom coffee date with just the baby in tow. You’ve got all of your minions all day long, every day.

This is great because you love your kids. The extra time to focus on appreciating them, experiencing summer fun through their awestruck eyes, stockpiling the new experiences, and revisiting family traditions… it’s magical. All of that magic doesn’t happen on its own though.

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Months of planning, researching, budgeting, and form-completing goes into making a summer great. Getting the right balance of vacation, relaxation, and scheduling takes effort.

Amidst all of this well-planned fun, your to-do list is ever-growing: schedule playdates with friends the school year holds hostage, pack and unpack suitcases and day trip bags, buy tickets and passes for destinations and summer events, scour websites for family activities, get medical forms completed for camps and the eventual school year, ensure bathing suits fit and flip flops are functional, buy cart loads of sunscreen and bugspray, stock up on Band-Aids. Meanwhile, all of your usual chores — from dishes to laundry, from sweeping to bathroom tidying, from grocery shopping to meal preparation — amplify with all of the extra sweaty, chlorinated, sun-baked, snack-obsessed bodies constantly milling about.

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The extra family time. The opportunity to be with your children, to soak them in. The countless memories. The sun and salt and sand. Summer is wonderful! It’s also a crapload of work.

Here’s to you, stay-at-home parents! Enjoy it. Savor it. Survive it.

Mean Mommy

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I am the hard-ass. I make the rules. I dole out the punishments. I say, “no”, “be gentle”, “say ‘excuse me'”, and “are we being friendly?” countless times daily. I ensure vegetables eaten and hands are scrubbed, manners are remembered, and squabbles are settled.

I also arrange the playdates, ensure we do fun activities outside of the house twice daily, keep the calendar stimulating, manage camp registration and extracurricular sign-ups, plan the parties, and scope out family activities. I make the fun stuff happen but that is thankless work, the stuff of elves and magic wands.

I’m ok with that. It’s not credit I’m after but the outcome. You don’t beccome a stay-at-home-mom for the glitz, glory, and benefits.

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I know that being “mean mommy” indicates I’m caring enough about my children and their future to suck it up and do the undesirable, unglamorous, necessary part of parenting. As the primary caretaker, I consider it a method of self-preservation to have the kids see me clearly as a loving authority figure. If I had to wait until my husband was available or defer to him for every infraction or, worse yet, have my authority questioned without his immediate backing, my days would be disastrous.

That said, there’s a trade-off. Mommy is “The Enforcer” which means Daddy is “Fun.” Full disclosure, that part sucks. It just does. I mean, I want to be taken seriously but I’d also like to be picked first for tickle fights and fort-building. I’d love for the littles I birthed and cherish to glow with excitement when I walk through the door, to want to run any errand with me, no matter how dull, because it means being in my fun-filled company, to consider me top choice for preschool pick-up and drop-off. Instead, I get correctional enforcement, nutritional policing, toilet duty, and skirmish negotiations.

However, there’s one job I wold never rebuff: healing. When karma bit you, when you scraped your knee, bruised your ego, caught a stomach bug, or you just need a hug: “Moooom!” Daddy is fun; Mommy makes it better. Sometimes, being Mom has its perks.

Comforting #2 at the beach

Comforting #2 at the beach