Toilet Water

Little One recently glimpsed a toilet bowl of murky (unflushed) water; we generally to keep her away from toilet bowls these days, so she gazed in confused assessment. Finally, she burst into a decisive grin and squealed ecstatically, "TEA!!!"

No, Darling. Not tea 

DIY Window Clings

Little One just figured out that if she slobbers sufficiently on the window, she can adhere bits of torn paper to it. 

Way to problem-solve, darling.

#diy #veryorganicwindowclings #thebesttoysarefree

When you think they're dying...

Little One had an unusually difficult day yesterday, crying endlessly and biting/hitting everything for hours. I assumed it was teething, until she woke up early this morning with a diaper full of pure black gunk. My heart dropped; something was clearly wrong. We'd head straight to Urgent Care!

... But then, I remembered she'd discovered blueberries yesterday, and eaten most of a carton. (And I'd totally let her.)

Ecclesiastes 3:1

Aaaaand some days, we just kinda make it to bedtime.  Feels like I spent all day dicing cheese and peeling apple slices, singing the Eensy-Weensy-Spider and Pat-A-Cake and Pee-A-Boo and Hide-And-Chase, and following her around and picking up after her.

Sometimes, I'll think, No, don't let her play with that!  It'll just be another mess!  And then, I think, But, she's 15 months old.  It's unbelievably fun for her to remove all the pans and lids and bags of rice and pasta and Q-tips and books.  Just don't let her tear anything open; we might never recover from that...

Sometimes, she puts things back IN.  That's awesome.

And sometimes, I do forbid her to, say, gnaw on a still-wrapped stick of string cheese or play with my laptop or climb the stairs alone or chew on our furniture.  (Teething?  Yes.)  I do intervene when necessary.  I don't want a child without a sense of boundaries.  Today, she wept dramatically when (after 45 minutes of playing on it) I finally removed the step stool so I could, erm, venture further away from her than 6 inches (lest she fall when I step away; you know they always fall as soon as you step away) and I felt like a cruel mother.  

But then, I thought, Sorry kiddo - Momma's gotta function, too!

And when, after she's in bed, and I tiredly walk back downstairs, and I see everything strewn all over, in every room... I seriously wonder how that's even possible.  Did I not just spend my entire day cleaning up behind her?  What is all this?  Where did it come from?!

It's 8:22 p.m.  Dinner is in the crockpot, and I expected to feel all accomplished.  Husband won't be home for another while; there's a training exercise happening on base.  I was going to fry him some potatoes, too, just the way he likes them - but that takes time and I haven't even used the bathroom all afternoon.

I only have one child.  How can this feel so heavy?  I'm fortunate enough to stay at home all day.  Why can't I manage my time better?  I tried so hard all day - is it even possible to find balance between the repetitive tasks (dishes, laundry, floors, bathrooms, email, groceries, coupons, meals) and the extra goals I set (writing, making photo books, assembling her baby book, bringing meals to neighbors, working out)?

It's moments like these when I'm not even sure what to do.  Should I play piano and take a few deep breaths?  Do several yoga poses and just calm down?  Or fly around my house and try to fry potatoes and turbo clean so that it doesn't look SO bad when he gets home?  So that it looks like I really, actually did something all day?  So that *I* can feel like there's a justified reason for my weariness at 8:29 p.m.?

And I even took a nap today.  Maybe that was my fatal misstep.  Cannot afford to sleep.  Clearly.

Deep breath.  Wipe off the bathroom sink.  Pick up the pots and pans and lids.  Put the diapers back in a stack.  Eat the bits of rejected banana.  Chop potatoes.  Heat the pan.  Remember to write and mail that check for your makeup order.  Take ibuprofen.  Rinse the plates.  Pray.  No, really - stop and pray.

My brain started singing Trace Adkins.  "You're gonna miss this.  You're gonna want this back.  You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast..."

And I started to get a grip.

I'm thankful that she's alive enough to cry.  Secure enough to express all these emotions.  Able to climb and crawl and grab.  Curious enough to explore. Developmentally normal enough to get bored.

I'm grateful that teething doesn't last forever.  That I can spend my days with her, nurturing her, teaching her, managing our home, making it a (hopefully) happy place. That I have a loving husband coming home tonight.

And that insomnia is not a current problem for me.

Tea. Tea.

My beloved daughter is a conflicted morning person. She wakes with loads of energy and an urgent desire to start the day, but then goes incoherent and teary for the first hour.

However, she's a natural problem solver, and lately has begun whimpering, "Tea! Tea!" until we give her sips of our own. Sweetened milk or water will not do; she's not easily deceived. And within minutes, she's a beaming darling again.

We really should volunteer her for a Celestial Seasonings commercial.

Pear, Pesto, Pinenut, Gorgonzola Pizza. Mmm!

So, we discovered this pizza as an hors d'oeuvre at a wonderfully expensive restaurant, and fell in LOVE.  

We came home and tried for several months to recreate it.  What we devised it the merger between ungodly levels of expense and work, and divine amounts of tastiness.  

This is a quick and dirty path to deliciousness.

Step #1:  Buy good quality whole wheat tortillas.  (Or make your own crust and feel smug.)  Slather with good quality basil pesto.

Step #2:  Add sliced pears.  We use canned pears, because they're mildly pre-cooked, but if you want to make your life complicated (and possible elevate the taste) feel free to precook your own pears.

Step #3:  Add toasted pinenuts.  

Step #4:  Sprinkle Gorgonzola cheese - don't use too much.  A little is perfect.

Step #5:  Broil in your oven until crispy, and until pears are golden.  We've tried using a cookie sheet, a perforated cookie sheet, and a pizza stone; best results seem to be on the perforated cookie sheet - but honestly, we've never quite gotten thoroughly crispy crust.  The center is always a bit soft.  Let me know if you figure out how?

But seriously.  This is amazing.  You must try it.  You will want to eat more than is healthy for you.  But really, it's quite healthy!

On Cleanliness and Feeling like a Failure

... I visualized this stage so clearly before I was in it.  

I got married a bit later in life, so I had years of listening to my peers mourn their messy homes and disorganized schedules, when their children were young.

And I was all, “Oh, that isn’t important” and “Good job focusing on your children!” and “Don’t worry, you can dust when they’re gone.”  Smiling encouragement, I thought my sentiments were.  

But, now that I’m here in that same phase, when my house isn’t clean, I totally feel like a failure.  My years of previous moralizing evidently did not prevent my own sagging morale at all.  It feels inexorable.  I can’t manage to catch up on laundry and dishes and floors and meals in the same day ev-er.  And I definitely can't figure out how to spot those stained clothes, dust, trim wee fingernails, clip coupons, exercise, shower, weed, mend, glue, de-clutter, donate, sell, fix, babysit, write, reply to, call-back, schedule, or ohmygosh DO CRAFTING.

And I feel like a failure.  I just do.

My most frequent question is, “How do all those other women do this?”  It seems they manage so much better.  No idea how. 

And I only have ONE child.  (<-- The ultimate shaming thought.)

But, the other day, I was admitting this mental struggle to a mother of 7 (soon to be 8!) and she sympathetically said, "It's kinda like running.  When you start running, that first mile kicks your butt!  And then, you keep doing it for a while, and you get it down.  Then, the second mile kicks your butt - but never quite as shockingly as the first mile.  The third kid is tough, I tell you, because you are suddenly outnumbered.  You can't put one on each side of you on the couch anymore, you're always one hand short, you can't possibly get all three to nap at the same time.  But, by the fourth child, it's like a familiar sort of struggle.  Like adding the fourth mile to your running routine."

This comforted me.  Except that I've never made it to that break-through point with running; I always got injured.  Ironic, no?  *chuckle*

But maybe, someday, I'll be able to legitimately compare parenting to, say, swimming.  A really, really far distance.