Category motherhood

Lua’i

Lauren 1 Comment

It was a normal day.

Heading to our niece’s birthday party, we were ALMOST there when the toddler started throwing up. Our eight year old was sitting next to her and gagged and puffed out her cheeks and turned towards her older sister. Monty Python came instantly to mind.

puking-pumpkin-1-1320521-1600x1200

Accurate Squash Recreation

Screeching halt. Older children pile out of the car. Clean up is spotty and Mcguyvered from a Target bag, napkins of various origin, and an old water bottle from under the drivers seat. How long it’d been there I have no idea, but maybe the leached out phthalates would have a disinfecting property. I have my doubts, but beggars and choosers and all.

Once we’re at the party the toddler gets a bath because of Puke Hair and we chalk it up to a long car ride after a lunch of raspberries and cheese cubes.

It wasn’t the car ride.

After having to borrow not one but two teeshirts for myself from my sister in law, no extra clothes remaining for the toddler, and the other brother and sister in law vowing to take the older girls home later- my husband and I set off for home, over an hour away. Me in the back seat (puked on again at this point, but I’m not asking for shoes this time for Christ’s sake) holding a towel around the baby, and we’re trying to navigate by memory through the neighborhood.

And that’s when this happens.

“Did we take a left on Kaanapali Ln. or was it Kipahulu Dr.?”

“No, no, left on Manawianui Dr., right on Moku Manu Dr., and then another right on Heleakalaka Dr.”

“Man, I don’t recognize Keanahululu Ln., I think we went to far.”

“Does Lamaloa Ln. run into Nuuanu Dr., you think?”

“Crap! There’s Keanahululu Ln. again!”

That’s right, on top of everything else we were now lost in Tahitian Village in Bastrop, where all the streets have Hawaiian names! LONG and difficult and inexplicable Hawaiian names- none of which is “Aloha.” (Someone tell the developer Tahiti isn’t Hawaii)

THIS SHIT ACTUALLY HAPPENED IN MY LIFE.

(We made it out of the neighborhood and the toddler was fine the next day, but it was a confusing and puke filled commute. Commpuke? Maybe. And if you think for a MINUTE that I didn’t google map the neighborhood so I could use accurate street names you don’t know me very well.)

A Vow of Cake

Lauren 8 Comments

We had our middle daughter’s 8th birthday party yesterday at noon. And so when 10:17am rolled around and my husband and I were in bed and instead of getting up he pulled the covers over his head I was so, so proud of him. And I then enthusiastically joined him under the covers. It’s like a fort of delayed obligations… I recommend it. (Yes we still have a baby around. We got up at 6:30am with her and then crawled back in bed at 9:30am when she went down for a nap.)

Now, the house had been cleaned, food bought, and the cake baked the night before- we’re not total monsters over here. But what were the first 2 things I did upon finally getting up and getting ready at 10:30am? Winged eyeliner (HEY I’VE NEVER TRIED THIS BEFORE SURE SEEMS LIKE A GOOD TIME FOR IT) and painting my toenails. THIS is what happens when I don’t make a list, for god’s sake.

We got everything done by 11:54am though, so it all worked out.

And I think we can all agree that cake is the worst. Not mine, I make decent cake- I just mean in general.  Icing is gross. And even the best cake is just nuthin’ special. I don’t tie up a lot of pride in my baking- but I made a promise, many many years ago that I would make every one of my children’s birthday cakes. And they get to pick whatever kind of cake they want. Shark cake? plastic sharks on top. Giraffe cake? Plastic giraffes on top. Dolphin cake? You see where I’m going with this, I think. And I have made each and every one and did it with the hand mixer I bought at a Big Lots at 18 before I left for college and that has somehow made it through about a MILLION moves and that I actually don’t think I used, ever, until I started making my kid’s birthday cakes.

meleah-s-birthday-cake-1325964-1599x1201

Image by C. Glass… half full? Half empty? if I was that photographer I’d go by my full first name, honestly.

It’s a weird promise to have made, and I made it only to myself- but it absolutely stands in as a symbol of the mom I want to be. It stands in as a succinct version of all of this- rolled up in my head.

  • I promise to be the mom that can make you dinner.
  • and make you laugh and to also make sure your sense of humor is top tier.
  •  to mend your clothes and sew on buttons and who can make curtains if I have to and gives you a clean house to live in.
  • I promise to call you outside to see possums and hawks and birds and snakes. And point out the biggest earthworm I’ve ever seen in my life holy hell that thing is HUGE!
  • I promise to impart upon you a concept of self that is more than to be decorative.
  • But also to let you see that being a feminist badass doesn’t mean having to deny one iota of the nurturing that goes into home cooked dinners or mending or you know. Cake baking.
  • I promise to give you a chore each and every time you say “I’m bored” and that you’ll get to a point where you’ll open your eyes wide in horror after you say it and say “NEVERMIND, NEVERMIND!” and run off to your room to do something creative.
  • I promise to make you play on at least one team in your life.
  • But I also promise to not overbook you because free time is important to kids, and also your father and I like sleeping in on Saturdays.
  • I promise you’ll love reading.
  • And hell no you can’t get a phone!
  • And I promise to sing you a song at night as often as I can and you know what? You’re 10 and 8. I really should just do it EVERY night still, because how much longer will you even let me? But the baby still gets the Silent Night treatment every night.
  • I promise to have National Geographic in the bathroom and that it’s totally cool if you drop them in the bath, I’m just glad you’re reading them. (hasn’t happened yet, but they’re in there for y’all. Ready for whenever you pick one up.)
  • And while I’ll bake your birthday cake, I promise to never get tied up in the Pinterest-y competition between moms and do all the stupid other crap that isn’t for the kid who’s birthday it is, but to show off for the other moms. I’m looking at you, mom who prints labels saying “Caitlin’s Birthday!” for the goddamn water bottles.
  • Also? No goodie bags, ever. Though we did give out whoopee cushions that one memorable time. That was awesome.

And so, I will continue to make birthday cake, every year, three times a year and neither rain nor snow nor heat nor gloom of night will stay this faithful courier from the swift completion of her appointed rounds.

And the only other promise I’ve made myself that I have never ever once wavered on? No more tequila. Super committed to both. Make kids’ birthday cakes and no more tequila.

Words to live by.

The Concept of Free Time/ Ode to a Young Family

Lauren 3 Comments

My husband and I had some neighbors over the other day, both retired, and at one point they asked me- “You’re so busy! When do you get free time?”

Now, we were cooking and doing some minor kitchen cleaning afterwards, juggling a mildly fussy baby (we would find out less than eight hours and a fairly sleepless night later that she had an ear infection) and 2 well behaved but energetic older girls… music on, dog wandering around, etc. The question took me aback a bit- I didn’t even know how to answer! Is there an answer? Because this life- I don’t see any of that as not free time! It’s busy but not exhausting. Full but not taxing. Requires pretty constant effort, but not draining. And yet it was so foreign to them they were close to being shocked by the noise and pace of it. (and we’re not a pot banging, child screeching crew, mind you.)

swans

I don’t know. I guess it’s because I work in an empty house all day by myself and travel and have all the free time I could want in the hotel rooms in the evenings… and I hate it. All I want is to get back to the bustle here. Free time isn’t exactly fun time- give me my four favorite people in the world all in one spot, existing together- I’d never want for more.

Sure. I don’t paint much these days, but I could if I wanted to without causing hard feelings. Or write. I conveniently use the general humm and cadence of the household to complain I can’t exercise… but I could if I wanted to. (Do. Not.)

And I guess, there are definitely days where I’m not keeping up. (Is running behind considered exercise?) The laundry never seems like I get in front of it. And the floor, well I think I wrote a blog post about it the last time the floor was mopped (before Christmas 2016, if memory serves).

And while I certainly don’t need their sympathy for the busy young (ha!) couple down the street… the husband and I will take our kind neighbors up on it; because they’re offering to let us step out for a date night soon. And if memory serves the last one of those we had was around my birthday in August. Unless you count the other ones, that is. The date nights that were every  other night after that. And mornings. And afternoons… and I wouldn’t trade a one of them for all the open hours in the day.

Recipe Post: Penne Pasta with Wine Sauce and Sun-dried Tomatoes

Lauren

And… another recipe post. These will automatically tell you that the paralysis of going too long without a post has set in and so I trot out the already created content as a way of knocking myself out of it. It’s like my L Dopa. (Oliver Sacks reference there. Drink up.)

And , as I’ve mentioned before, I am working on a LONG running project of trying to finish a cookbook which is why I have so many recipes as existing content to use. This is ongoing from 2011 and it’s about damn time to not have hanging over my head anymore. Write a cookbook, I said. It’ll be fun, I said…

steel-pots-1328949-1598x1062

You’ll need a couple of these. Image by Andrzej Jakubczyk

 

Penne Pasta with Wine Sauce and Sun-dried Tomatoes

I would recommend memorizing at least one recipe- it impresses the hell outta your friends if you bust it out of thin air at their house. Also it’ll mean you are pretty guaranteed* to not forget ingredients while grocery shopping. This is the one I always can pull out of the ether,  hippocampus, or wherever memories are actually stored. Typing sounds. Google tells me memories are stored in the limbic system of which the hippocampus is a part. Jesus. Did my hippocampus actually just remember that the hippocampus is where memories are stored?! It’s too damn early for this.

Oh. Does that literally tell you NOTHING about this recipe? Okay, well let’s see, This is universally loved by everyone from the 1 year-old through inlaws and all kids/ teens/ adults in between and that’s great considering the amount of onion it has in it. Ummm… it doesn’t need a side dish- like what a huge plus that is, right? Reheats well for next day lunches (woot, woot- right teachers?), and… ah! Is vegetarian! But not vegan- because of the cheese. And seriously vegans- if you are against cheese then you have NEVER felt the relief of being a breastfeeding mother and being able to nurse after a delay in your normal schedule. Ugh… look. I don’t know where this is going either, honestly. Back to the pasta.

1 8oz. package of Penne pasta

3 Tbsp. olive oil

4 cloves garlic, minced

10-12 Cremini mushrooms, sliced

1/2 yellow onion, diced

8 sundried tomatoes, reconstituted in water, drained, and sliced lengthwise

1 small jar marinated artichoke hearts, drained and cut into thirds

1 can black olives

1 ½ cup white wine, dry

Juice of half a lemon

1 cup of Parmesan cheese

Salt and pepper to taste

Handful of fresh parsley, chopped

Cook pasta, drain, return to pot and put lid back on to maintain temperature. In a large skillet or sauté pan heat olive oil over medium high heat. Add onion, garlic, and mushrooms. Season with salt and pepper and cook for 3-5 minutes until mushrooms have reduced in size and released their juices. Add sundried tomatoes and continue to cook for 2 minutes. Add wine and lemon juice as well as artichoke hearts and olives. Continue cooking until sauce is reduced by half. Pour sauce over pasta, add Parmesan cheese, and mix to combine. Top with fresh chopped parsley.

This is also good topped with grilled chicken or shrimp, but I prefer it just like it is, honestly.

*Nope. I usually forget the olives, myself. It’d be nice if it worked that way in real life though, wouldn’t it?

Insufferable Parenting #489- Of Wood and Plastic

Lauren 4 Comments

Plastic is scary stuff, what with all it’s mimicry of estrogen in the human body. And in fish. And in animals. And… yeah. So I actually think this latest generation will be similar to the last generation that grew up with lead paint and leaded gas- we are very close to a full realization as to how dangerous this stuff is and our behavior as a society and products WILL change to reflect that very soon- of this I believe. *Hand on heart while staring knowingly into the distance. Sunset behind me. Eagle cries ringing overhead.*

BUT- I sure as hell wasn’t going to wait for Johnson and Johnson to make the change for me. So with all the girls- we used glass jar baby food as much as we could. Glass storage containers. Few plastics in the girls eating utensils- no melamine plates, ever, but there were some plastic cups for a short period of time. Those have long been replaced with small glass jelly jars. I buy olive oil in glass jars. I’m… yeah. It’s important to me.

I have gone off the deep end, a BIT, with it with our latest daughter. Metal baby spoons (turns out Oneida makes some still). Organic blankets. Organic crib mattress and mattress pad. I tried glass bottles, but she wouldn’t go for it- but we use the only organic, American made formula once we started supplementing at 7 months when I was just DONE pumping at work 3 times a day. Morning and night we still breast feed though. And yeah, we can’t help but use the plastic baby food pouches, but they’re organic at least- scout’s honor. Wooden toys and teether (she uses the teether to hit the wooden drum and has never once put it in her mouth. But then, she hasn’t been teething yet either, so I’ll hold off saying that $17 was wasted yet. Who am I kidding. Totally was.) Did I order wooden baby bowls and plates? Maybe.

The biggest one- which I could CARE LESS at the expense of- was a 100% wood high chair from Great Britain. Yes- I had a damn high chair shipped from Europe- but the only one I could find in the US was plywood- and hell, that might be worse than plastic. I just plan to turn it into a heirloom. And I figured we saved so much by borrowing baby stuff and not going overboard on swings or other baby gear that we still came out on top. And it may sound like it, but I am not justifying the expense- I’ve never once felt guilty about it- it was totally worth it for my plastic fearing self.

wooden-high-chair-rdymjoxh6

Wooden high chair, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways…

How self righteous does this post sound? Oh god. So very. Here’s my point though. What’s the WORST plastic in the house? The cheap bath toys- can’t seem to find a good alternate to those. What are Mary’s favorite toys? Take a guess. Does she crawl around the house with one in her mouth, INTENT on torturing me? You bet your ass she does.

 

Parenting Advice: Kill the Pajamas

Lauren

Baby sleepers and pajamas are ADORABLE. And I still have some. And my older girls still have pajamas- but DON’T YOU BUY THEM, IT’S A TRAP!!!!!

Look- it’s PERFECTLY acceptable for a baby to sleep in a long sleeve onesie, soft pants and socks. And guess what? You don’t get judge-y looks at the grocery store when they’re still dressed like that at 2 in the afternoon like you would if they were in a sleeper. And besides- diaper changes are easier like that. #somanybuttons

Older Kids: Soft leggings or cotton shorts and a teeshirt- perfectly acceptable to sleep in. And lookie there- that’s looking on the up and up if someone drops in at 2pm (why is it always 2pm? Shrugs.) and they’re still dressed like that! And maybe they go the whole day wearing those clothes! And then that’s an entire outfit (times THREE in our house!) that I don’t have to wash and fold! *Cackles maniacally and then starts crying while looking at laundry pile*

 

TL;DR: Don’t change your pants twice a day. (Is that the real lesson? Read the post then, Lazy.)