seven quick takes

1. Miss A turned 3 last weekend! All she wanted was a Minnie cake...for her present, for her birthday dinner, and for dessert. We did give her actual presents, and she was a good sport about my chamber music concert falling on the same day. I can't believe my house is now devoid of babies and toddlers. It seems only yesterday that my day was a marathon of feedings and diaper changes.

My cake decorating philosophy is "know your limits."

2. The east coast has been blessed with a few lovely patches of warm weather. Unfortunately for us, it's either been so wet and windy, or I've had so many errands that we've spent less time outside than when it was just snowy. Goal for today: making the kids go outside, even if the time spend bundling up is equivalent to the time spent playing.

3. To get myself out of the winter doldrums, I'm planning my first-ever real vegetable garden for this summer. We finally have the space to start a decent number of seeds without worrying about the kids accidentally spilling everything. So far we have an odd mix of herbs and vegetables in potting soil, since I bought my seeds on clearance at the Job Lot last fall. #cheapskatesgonnacheap

4. Speaking of winter again, few things remind me more of the lack of forethought and planning than our barely-functional mudroom and the multiplication of outerwear items store in it this time of year. It's roughly 3' x 6', with more of the useful wall space taken up by a window, two inward-opening doors, plus another door to the kitchen.

My attempt at a 360º-ish tour.

The walls are too soft for wall anchors or 3M hooks, there is mold on the baseboards, one of the door frames is rotting, and I'm afraid to mop the stick-on vinyl tile because it's starting to peel off. Furthermore, there is no insulation in the walls or floors, except for a lone paper towel I found stuffed in the wall while hanging a row of pegs.

This means that snowy gloves, hats, and boots do not dry in our mudroom, but rather become stiff and frozen. At least I managed to find a single stud under the window for hanging said pegs.

5. On that DIY thread, thanks to some generous family members who sent us Home Depot gift cards for Christmas, we are starting to build our tool arsenal past basic hand tools and electric drills. I'm one part excited and one part terrified that I'll lose a finger.

I have big plans for all of the scrap lumber the sellers left in the basement.

6. It's becoming more apparent to me than ever that my youngest was somehow born without any sense of self-preservation. Her first instinct upon entering any room is to find the highest surface she can climb, and then climb and jump off of it. I was hoping putting my kids in swimming lessons would help them be safer around water...nope. After Miss A strolled down the steps and went over her head once, it didn't deter her from trying again and again. God bless our ever-patient swimming instructor.

7. On Instagram, I pledged to join a "practice every day and gram about it!" with other followers of @wholeparenting this past Tuesday. How many days so far have I practiced the repertoire for my symphony concert in two weeks? Zero. Eek. I guess I'd better slow down my wild goose hunt for free pianos on Craigslist and pick up the fiddle for an hour or four.

This page is going to kill me. Especially if I have to read off of someone else's copy without my fingerings again.

or

Flesch called. He wants his arpeggios back.

Linking up with Kelly.

ordinary time

I'll confess, toward the end of the Christmas season, I was looking forward to things going back to normal. Maybe it was the horrible cold-and-fever virus that hit everyone during the Christmas octave, or the disappointment of so many cancelled plans, or just the antsy-pantsy 4-year-old who was getting a too-long break from routine and preschool work.

Then it got far too cold to play outside. 

Didn't stop me from drinking iced coffee, though.

 And someone celebrated the night before our first blizzard by kicking her kitchen chair backward, splitting her head open, and taking a trip to urgent care. 

She's the family daredevil. I'll be amazed if she makes it to age four without breaking a bone.

After on-again, off-again fevers and isolated vomiting (including an amazing display all over the living room rug), Mr. B. was diagnosed with a minor ear infection.

And I say to myself, "When will things go back to normal?" But then I realize this is normal. It's normal for little kids to get hurt, get sick, and it's normal for me to worry about them. It's normal to have days of chaos where the playroom looks like a bomb went off, and every hamper in the laundry room is overflowing. It's normal to have a pipe freeze in the winter when you're still in the process of fixing up your house. Normal, normal, normal problems. I can worry, yes, but I can also be grateful when my ears pick up happy shrieks instead of sniffling and gagging. I can be content to shovel load after load from washer to dryer to hamper to drawers, wipe down tables, sweep floors content in the ordinary cycle of clean and dirty in the rhythm of our day. I can take an afternoon off when the kids are tired, and sit and watch Toy Story, reveling in their delight in seeing a 23-year-old movie for the first time. I can dry the tears, endure the screams, enjoy the giggles that won't last forever. I can simultaneously mourn and enjoy that my diaper bag is empty of diapers because my kids are no longer toddlers.

My vocation now is ordinary time.

it's the little things

Why can't everything go my way?

I feel like I spend a lot of time trying to get my children to understand that not everything can go their way, particularly Sir Toddler. He's only allowed to watch TV during a designated time of day (while I'm making dinner and not every day), not just any time he asks. He can't have any special desserts in the house without finishing his dinner. He has to clean up one messy toy before he's allowed to take out another. All very little things. And yet, it's equally little stuff that helps bring out my inner whine.

Why couldn't there have been a parking spot in the lot at rehearsal?

Why can't the baby nap when her brother naps? Why won't she stop crying?

Why are the stroller tires flat for my run?

Why did it start raining the second we headed for the playground?

All very little things. I like to make plans and lists and systems and have everything go according to them. But, honestly, it's pretty shortsighted to think that my plans and my desires should be the measure by which the world should run. I'm one person, and a pretty flawed, young, and inexperienced one at that. I'm not the only one who makes plans, and mine aren't the best.

Sometimes I get lucky enough to find a parking spot less than a block away from rehearsal with the meter already paid.

Sometimes the muffed simultaneous lap allows me to enjoy one-on-one time with each child.

Sometimes the flat stroller tire brings my attention to the messy, sticky chocolate all over the stroller before I toss it into the trunk and spread the mess.

Sometimes the rain on the way to the playground encourages me to expand our play horizons to making art inside.

And sometimes, I'm simply being taught the lesson that I still can't have everything I want when I want it.

What's for Supper {pt. 3}

Linking up with Simcha Fisher.

Let's pretend that I actually planned our meals this week instead of what I really did, which was wing it with whatever needed to be used up out of the fridge.

Saturday
Despite our resolutions to junk our collapsing gas grill, a half-full tank of propane is a terrible thing to waste. More grilled chicken + barbecue sauce, pasta e olio, and nuked frozen veggies.

Sunday
Mr. Husband was working another late shift. Incidentally, we had a repeat of Friday's dinner, which was macaroni and cheese. I tried to alleviate the shame of my utter laziness by adding a few things from the refrigerator that really needed to be used up: spinach and bacon. Fancy schmancy.

Monday
At 1 PM, I realized that not only did I not have a dinner plan, but I had to be out of the door by 6:30 to get to my first orchestra rehearsal of the season. I made Two-Ingredient Crockpot Chicken with rice and broccoli. We were actually out of salad dressing, but I found a 1/3 full can of pizza sauce in the fridge that did the job nicely.

Tuesday
A red bell pepper in the fridge and a can of Ro-Tel in the pantry inspired me to improvise a Tex-Mex -ish chicken stir-fry. I cubed some boneless skinless chicken breasts, browned them in a pan, added chopped pepper and onion, then the Ro-Tel, heaped on cumin and chili powder, and served it over rice. It came out better than I thought it would.

Wednesday
Meatballs. My half-Italian heritage seems to come with a biological imperative that I make this dish at least once a month or I'll crave it constantly. That being said, based on what was in my pantry and the perfectly-browned-in-the-pan-meatballs gene skipping a generation, I had to deviate from the old family recipe.

Instead of using flavored bread crumbs, I pulverized our freezer cache of hamburger and hot dog buns.

Instead of pan-searing or broiling the meatballs briefly, I cooked them most of the way in the oven.

If I don't do this, my meatballs fall apart and my kids learn new four-letter words they shouldn't know.

I cooked the sauce separately and added the meatballs at the very end. Nobody complained.

Buon appetito.

Thursday
I tried to have an off week from it, but then some last-minute company had me resort to it. P I Z Z A. It's an easy way feed a bunch of people because it's easy to make, inexpensive, and everybody likes it. Including Sir Toddler, who is auditioning to be the next Little Ceasars guy.*

Friday
Enchiladas. I know, I know. They've been on every link-up. But I had decided a month ago to deliver an enchilada meal to a friend who's just had a baby, and the day for that was yesterday. So now I'm in the mood for them again.



*We took him to Uno's once and ordered him a kids' pizza. He ate all but one slice. HE'S TWO. The pizza was bigger than his head.

Beware of Toddler

Schedules, rhythms, routines, seasons. They were part of my life as a teacher. Motherhood has its rhythms and seasons as well, but routines are unpredictable. As much as classroom teaching was subject to changes based on the varying needs of my growing students, life with small kids is volatile.

If I'd written this post a few days ago, I would have mentioned how Sir Toddler was reaching a happy medium. He's no longer waking up in tears in the middle of the night. He has started napping in his bed, or, if not napping, at least sitting quietly. He's always had a cheerful disposition and for the last year and a half has had an impressive obedient streak for his age. When we went to the playground on Monday, he didn't shy away from the other kids but charmed several school-age children into playing with him (the public schools were out for Rosh Hashanah). I pushed Lady Infant in the swing, chatted with my fellow playgroup moms, and was reveling in reaching the stage where I could more or less let my son play independently on the structures.

Then he fell down the steps and banged his head on the baby-sized structure. I didn't even notice the enormous goose egg welling up on his brow at first because his hat obscured it. (Fortunately, apart from an ugly bruise, he is ok!) Yesterday and today Sir Toddler has had some ugly tantrums over the most mundane things...being forced to choose his snack from what we actually had in the pantry, not wanting to go for a stroller ride (usually one of his favorite things), and not being allowed to play with the trucks at Target because we were pressed for time.

(I bought him a cheapity cheap truck ONCE. For the beach. Two months ago.)

It was an awful moment for everyone (except for Lady Infant, who is usually the fussy party). I wanted to melt into the ground while I pushed my sobbing, screaming, flailing toddler, still sporting his shiner from the playground, to the checkout, braving the palpable discomfort of the other shoppers and employees. I felt like I should have been wearing a T-shirt that said, "I didn't hit my kid! He's usually really good at the store! Please don't judge me!" But there was nothing I could do except ignore him and get through the checkout as quickly as possible.

Indeed it was an awful moment. But it was just a moment. He was over it by the time we got to the car. I'll probably see more public displays of Sir Toddler's burgeoning temper as he learns to communicate his feelings, manage his emotions, and come to terms with a world where he can't get everything he wants. That season has its limit and he'll eventually outgrow these tantrums (I hope!). At the same time, this season I'm also seeing his ability to put together sentences, have short conversations, remember the words to songs and sing snippets independently, and occasionally play with his baby sister. This season, he loves to give me unsolicited hugs and kisses, tells me I'm pretty, and asks me to sing his favorite songs to him. And that season has its limits, too.

Being a parent of small children is hard. It was hard with one baby. It was hard with one toddler. It is hard with a toddler and a baby, and from my brief glimpse into teaching adolescents, I know parenting will still be hard with teenagers. I certainly don't consider myself an expert on parenting, and you won't catch me telling a mom with a screaming baby, "Enjoy them while they're little!"

All I can do is try to get through the bad parts of the season, and savor the good. Because the season won't last.