Looking Back on St. Patrick's Day

I was on a roll with posting, for a moment, last year! Then, the days faded into sameness, as I waffled between apathy and outrage (maybe more on that another time). I just had no inspiration or motivation to blog. But I've been thinking lots of thoughts, lately, so I thought I'd give it another go.

Today is St. Patrick's Day! Up until I met Kevin, I never gave it much thought. I would wear green and whatnot, but no Irish meals, music, or adult beverages. But Kevin is half Irish, and soon after we started dating, he started hosting St. Patrick's Day parties. After a few years, it was no longer "Kevin's" St. Patrick's Day Party, but "our" St. Patrick's Day Party.

The party has evolved a lot over the past 15-ish years. In the early days, our friends would kick a keg of Guinness, or Murphy's or Beamish, if we could get one of those.  Everyone would chug what Google tells me I can call an "Irish Slammer"...although you might know it by a more insensitive name. You know the one...where you drop a shot of Irish Cream and Irish Whiskey into an Irish Stout, knock it back, then probably make some more questionable choices. Our friend, Darren, would lead us in a rousing rendition of "The Barley Mow," during which you take a drink during each verse, finishing a pint of beverage, usually Guinness (or similar), by the end of the five-minute song. Don't think you'd finish it? You would, because at the last verse, Darren would yell, "FINISH IT!" and what else could you do but comply? I tried this with a root beer one year, and holy cow, it was so uncomfortably fizzy. Stick with the stout.

Anyway. Times change. None of us drink that much anymore or can hang that late. We stopped getting a keg because Kevin and I were drinking the leftovers into July, when no one really wants to drink an Irish stout. The thought of the day after an "Irish Slammer" is enough to make me think I may have had my last one. Many of us have kids now, so I put out St. Patrick's Day crafts and books, and we make sure to have kid-friendly alternatives to corned beef and cabbage, and booze-free desserts.

It's still fun. We still listen to Irish music and talk and laugh. The kids play. We reminisce about being young and fun, and having the time and energy to hang out all the time. It's nice to have this time to catch up. And we have new friends (although not that new, anymore!), now, too, and it makes my heart happy to see people from different parts of our lives chatting, having fun together, and maybe even becoming friends, too.

Here we are, this year, though. Our St. Patrick's Day Party was the first "thing" canceled last year. At the time, we thought for sure we'd make up for it by the end of summer. But then we missed birthday parties, our annual Octoberfest and Winter Wonderland Celebrations, too. Here's hoping our year of missed celebrations is bookended with this St. Patrick's Day. 

Not that we aren't still celebrating! My favorite corned beef recipe is in the oven, I tried my hand at Irish Brown Bread today, and made an "Irish Slammer" cake. We'll eat some Irish cheese and crackers for an afternoon snack, and enjoy a Murphy's and some Irish music this evening. I do have to admit, though, we will probably skip the "Barley Mow." 

One of my favorite St. Patrick's Day pics, from 2017

There is Nothing I Don't Miss

Over the past few weeks, I've seen a few posts on Facebook to the effect of, "What did you expect to miss during the quarantine that you don't?" 

The first time I saw one, I paused and considered, waiting for a revelation. What had seemed important to me before that was now trivial? The "aha" moment I anticipated didn't come. A new, minimalist perspective did not awaken in me, as I sort of expected it to.

The truth is, there is nothing I don't miss.

There are some things I don't miss as much as I thought I would. I don't miss taking the kids on outings as much as I thought I would - but a part of that is that they don't seem to miss it as much as I thought they would. I thought we'd go stir-crazy, but it's actually been...fine.

I, of course, miss the obvious things. Chatting at preschool pick-up, browsing Target, taking the kids to a playground or library. Sitting outside at a restaurant on a warm day, chatty and relaxed, not worrying about dinner or dishes. Oh, and not calculating every move when I go to a public place, and not wearing a suffocating mask. And, boy, could I use a haircut. 

But, I also miss unlikely things like squeezing in frenetic errands during school time. Dragging Mister P to the grocery store or Costco, because of the traditions we had woven into these trips. The questionable sanitation, but undeniable fun of bouncy houses. I even miss the morning hustle, because its cacophony culminated the blissful calm of two kids at school.

Maybe...I don't miss the kid junk scattered all over the back of the car. Or paying almost $3 for a gallon of gas. Not that it matters too much, considering I'm down just half a tank over the last two months.

The perspective that has changed for me is that I've been reminded how important it is to celebrate human relationships. I was keenly aware of this my last year of high school; in fact, I wrote a college entrance essay about it. I knew that my time with my school friends was fleeting and coming to a close, and I wanted to hug that time close. Since the pandemic, I've realized how much "friend-time" (and family-time) I'd been putting off until later...when we're not so busy, when it's more convenient, when we get around to it...and here we are, with so much time, and not able to spend it together. 

I think about Mister P's last morning of preschool. I ran around, doing a thousand errands with my last 2 hours of unencumbered free time for who knows how long. It felt necessary. One of my stops was for a coffee at a local coffee shop, where I saw a group of moms from a class that had graduated from our preschool - I knew most of them. I imagine they will always be thankful they spent that morning together.  I wonder if I should've spent my morning differently. Probably. If only I’d known.

So, when the world comes safely back online, I’m doing all the things and seeing all the people. Hopefully, with a renewed sense of joy and gratitude.

Violet Syrup

Just this past week in Maryland, local strawberries finally started popping up for sale. Strawberries love the warm sun, and we just haven't been getting a lot of that, lately. If you live in a place where you can get local strawberries, do it. There is no comparison to even the reddest of berries bought in a clam shell from California or Mexico.  

I bought these, but here is a funny story - the first time I picked berries, maybe ten or so years ago, I had a romantic image of berry-picking. I pictured myself wearing a sundress, hat, and flip-flops, dropping berries into a darling little basket. Lucky for me, the day we went was drizzly and gross, so I wore jeans, a windbreaker and tennis shoes, and learned that fruit-picking was not a dainty activity.

I get why some people view fruit-picking as a ridiculously romanticized activity. I understand why people mock it as something Pinterest Moms insist their families do so they can capture those Insta-perfect moments, and maybe theoretically teach their kids a lesson about where food comes from. It can be hot, buggy, and time-consuming. But I actually really enjoy it. I don't love gardening, but I love gathering. One of the first days Mister P went to preschool this past September, I raced a half-hour to my favorite fruit farm to get in an hour of raspberry picking unencumbered. Once I start picking, it's really hard to stop. On the way out, I'm always picking just "one more" berry. The "gathering" heritage resonates with me, but I can see why it might not with everyone!

I got the itch to pick a few weeks ago, when I saw a friend post pictures of violet syrup she had made from foraged violets. Hmmm....our yard was carpeted with violets...

I'd like to imagine myself as a dainty ingenue, again, wearing a delicate sundress and floppy hat, and wiggling bare toes in the soft, green grass as I gracefully pop the blossoms off of the wild violets in our yard. Perhaps you could imagine me that way, too, instead of a thick, middle-aged mother of two wearing jeans, a stained sweatshirt, and garden clogs.

It was time-consuming, but really pleasant on that warm spring day. And the violets looked so pretty!

To make the syrup, I looked at a few different recipes. Many say to remove the calyx, the green thing at the bottom of the flower that holds the petals on. I had just spent an hour picking two cups of violet blossoms; I was not inclined to spend another one dissecting them. I may have been able to do it more easily when I initially picked them, but didn't realize I should, so...oh well. I did find a recipe or two that said it was fine to leave them on. So I did, and made a violet tea that sat overnight.

I strained it, and cooked it with sugar to make the syrup. It wasn't really a bright purple, but adding in some lemon juice brightened it up...it's hard to see, but...

The verdict: I think it smelled kind of grassy instead of sweet, which is probably due to those stinking calyxes. So, I might have been biased from the get-go, but I didn't think it had much of a flavor...just mostly sweet. Maybe I could've tried next to a batch of plain simple syrup to see for sure. I did use it in lemonade and also to make a violet soda with our SodaStream.

Not bad with a little gin and a squeeze of lime. 😉

This, too, shall pass...

Right around one month in to this quarantine, I noticed a shift. At first, it was just at our house. Mister P was especially sensitive and needy, wailing over seemingly little things and wanting to talk to someone almost every waking moment. I was getting tearful everyday, alternating between being lonely and wanting to be alone. Then, I saw it in my Facebook feed, too - lots of parents reporting that their kids' behavior was breaking down, and moms admitting their sadness, as well. I looked at our family, and looked at my friends and acquaintances online and realized that one month seemed to be some sort of milestone for a quarantine - and maybe other types of stressful times, as well. Did the novelty wear off? Were realizations sinking in?

I'm sharing what I noticed to let you know that, if you felt like things starting to fall apart around the middle of April, you, for sure, are not alone. 

I'm hesitant to share what continues to make me tearful everyday, when I know that others have far worse situations. Our family has so much to be thankful for, always, but especially now - Kevin is able to work from home, I am able to wrangle/teach the kids, our immediate family is low-risk, we have a yard for the kids to play in...I'm well-aware. 

Friends, I'm super-sad about my little boy missing his last months of preschool.

We have been a part of the amazing community at Forest Hill Nursery School for the past four years. It is a cooperative preschool, and as a stay-at-home mom, I have loved the chance to be in the classroom to see my kids socialize and learn. I love all those kiddos, the teachers, the routines, and the other parents. For the last two years, I've been on the executive board, and, maybe most of all, I have loved being able to work with grown-ups and use the grown-up part of my brain. 

Since Mister P is my baby, I know all the things he is missing now. Getting psyched for kindergarten. The field trips. The class parties. The special year-end traditions. Coming into the part of the year when the kids are mature enough and close enough to really play together and flourish. These kids have always loved to play together outside after school, no matter the weather. The last day they played together, Friday, March 13th, was a warm, sunny day. If I had known how likely it was to be the last day, I would've let him play until it was time to get Miss A off the bus. 

He doesn't really know what he's missing. But I do. And I cry for all those special memories that we won't make. I know, I know - we are making other memories. And, it's just preschool, and in the long run, he will remember very little of it, anyway. Here's the thing - I'm really sentimental; I would've cried, anyway. But this is not how this stage of our life was supposed to end. I want those end-of-year rituals to give me closure, to help me transition to the next part of this road to adulthood.

But, as I sit here, crying, I think of the high school seniors who are missing this most special part of their high school career. I know not everyone has a good high school experience, but I did, and this would have devastated me. And I think of the essential workers and the medical personnel, and people who can't weather this as well...and people who were suffering before this, like the homeless and refugees...and I get frustrated with myself for feeling so sad. We will move on and be okay, but not everyone will. I guess we (I, really) need to make the best of our situation, and do we what we can to support others.

Easter on Lockdown

This Easter was the first holiday we have spent as a family in our own house since Easter 2013. As much as we missed spending time with family, it was nice to not have a long drive and to cook a holiday meal in my own kitchen. We worked hard to make it special for the kids, since they wouldn't be seeing either set of grandparents this year.

We started early with a special breakfast Saturday. Kevin had a sleepover with Mister P in his room Friday night, and I guess I had promised pancakes at some point. It worked out, because one less complicated thing to cook on Sunday.

I mentioned in my grocery store post that I am an absent-minded shopper...meaning that I often forget things, like whipped cream for this little bunny's tail. Luckily, I had picked up this the last time I was at Trader Joe's a few months ago - shelf-stable whipping cream! It worked out well. I added some maple syrup for sweetness, and probably could've added a little more.

Saturday was a big cooking/baking day. I started working on this Samoa Bundt Cake. It calls for dulce de leche for the frosting, which I also forgot to add to shopping list. So, I spent 2 hours and 4 cups of milk making my own.  It wasn't hard, but time-consuming, and using all that milk made me a little anxious.

Cooking down milk and sugar into dulce de leche

I also adapted the cake recipe, because it called for two different batters to be a marble cake. One of the reviews, though, said that the textures of the two different cakes were a little odd together, and since we have people in our house with strong opinions about textures, I opted to just double the chocolate batter. And then, I also only had to make one batter. 😀With toasted coconut and chocolate drizzle on top, the cake was a hit.

I also spent Saturday baking Pascha bread, an Eastern European Easter bread. We had read a book about Ukranian Easter eggs, and a lesson I found to go with it suggested making it and included a recipe. It looked complicated and time-consuming, but what else did I have to do? But, then, my cousin posted that she had also been making Pascha bread, and when I mentioned I was going to, she shared her grandma's Slavak recipe. Swoon! Passed down grandma-recipes are the best. And, while I'm not sure it came out the same as the Ukranian version would have, it was much simpler and still delicious!

The Ukranian version also called for a sweet glaze, but I figured we were having enough sweets.

The final (actually, the first, because I made it on Friday) "fancy" thing I made was Smitten Kitchen's Cacio e Pepe Potatoes Anna from her second cookbook. It's like a scalloped potato cake, or, galette, if you like to be fancy. Other than me being terrified of using a mandolin (I enlisted Kevin to help), these were actually pretty easy and came out really well. I substituted some garlic olive oil for part of the butter, which I think added I nice contrast to all the other "simple" foods we had. It really didn't need a lot, though - if I had used more, it would've been too much. The trickiest thing is that you need to flip it twice - once out of the pan onto a plate, then onto the serving plate. I took a picture in the pan, because I had my doubts that the flipping would go well, but I guess there was enough butter and oil that it slipped right out.

So, dum-de-dah-dum....here is the completed meal, with local ham from Andy's Eggs:

And daffodils and grape hyacinths picked from our yard!

Lest you think all we did on Easter was cook and eat, the Easter Bunny came with baskets and hid Easter eggs. He also brought a LEGO bunny for Mister P, and paint-your-own ceramic bunny for Miss A. Perfect projects for these two! 

I also insisted they watch the 1996 Walt Disney World Happy Easter Parade (our marching band was in it!), and remembered how annoyed I was that the hosts talked over most of the song. Oh well. Mister P was unimpressed. 

We hope that those who celebrate Easter had a beautiful day with their families, and those that don't are enjoying the blossoming of Spring and the rebirth around us. Or, at the very least, are hanging in there during this unusual time.

Adventures in Grocery Shopping

Last week, I went grocery shopping for the first time since Maryland's stay-at-home order. I had gone one other time since school's closed, but it was before the order, and at a smaller, less-popular store. This time, I went to Wegmans, which is huge and in our well-traveled shopping corridor. When I came back, I felt as though I had been on a quest to a strange land. I am typically one of those slightly-unusual people who enjoys grocery shopping, but even I felt battered when I returned. I found it so stressful to try to buy enough groceries for two weeks at one go. Because I have favorite places to get certain items, and am also an absent-minded and spontaneous cook, I often go 2-3 times a week...especially since Patrick has been in preschool. So, trying to imagine what would get us through the next few weeks was daunting.

Me, in the store:

"There's not much peanut butter here. There's no limit, but how much do I need, really? I don't want to be a jerk...Limit 4 bags of flour...that's a lot of flour...I don't need four bags of flour; I'll just get two...half and half...only two left...I should really only get one...but if I don't have half and half for my coffee, I'll be sad...really sad...ok I'll take the last two..."

Repeat for another hour and 15 minutes, substituting other items. This internal dialogue exhausted me. But, my kids were thrilled to get these giant marshmallows when there were no regular-sized marshmallows.

I am lucky that I have a hearty immune system and try to be a rule-follower, because my brain is not wired for the kind of vigilance we are supposed to have now. It seems like most people I know are good at being vigilant; I am not. I see people posting about being very conscious of how close people are at the grocery store; I only was when I remembered I should be. Luckily, Wegmans was very good at prompting me to keep my distance and sanitize my cart and hands.

I know these things, but they are not always at the front of my mind. Not to say that I wandered around, completely oblivious, but I just think I'm not as conscious of it as some others. And I won't even go into the stress of decontaminating everything when I got home.

With all that, I still forgot some things. Which is why I spent two hours on Saturday condensing 2% milk in to dulce du leche. But, more on that next time.

Quarantine 15

Most people are familiar with the "Freshman Fifteen." A student goes off to college, and faced with unhealthy all-you-can eat cafeteria options and countless late-night pizza (and other) parties, gains 15 pounds their first year. Of course, not all first-year college students gain 15 pounds. I am sure many people will take this time at home to cook healthier foods and focus on their exercise routine. As for us, I am cooking more...but not necessarily healthier ("Hey! Look at this cake on Pinterest! Heck, don't have anything else to do today, might as well bake it!"), and not walking to the bus stop or running errands is definitely cutting into my step count. So, after two months of tracking my diet using Noom (more on that another time, maybe) and being somewhat successful, I fear I am looking into the face of the QUARANTINE FIFTEEN (and yes, I know we do not truly have a quarantine, but that's what everyone is calling it, and it rhymes). Or, as I've also heard it called, of course, the COVID-19.

For me, personally, things feel stressful enough without having to decide between wine or dessert, or fretting about what snack to have. I'm not looking for a pep talk; it is what it is.

In that spirit, here are some of things I cooked last week. I'm running a week behind; it turns out having two kids at home all the time has really cramped my style.

• GF Irish Soda Bread - my mother-in-law's adapted recipe. One with raisins; one without. It came out pretty good!
• Corned Beef and Cabbage - I started making Pioneer Woman's Corned Beef and Cabbage a few years ago, and it would take a lot to convince me to make it any other way.
• Loaded Potato Waffles - I didn't do so much loading, just popped a fried egg on top and served it with Tomato Jam from Food in Jars, which I actually canned two summers ago.
• Poultry Stock - While cleaning out our freezer, I found a chicken and turkey carcass, so I boiled them with some veggies and herbs to make poultry stock. I later made regular and GF chicken noodle soup with it. Calling it just "chicken" soup to keep it simple for the kids. 

I also found a stash of meat in the freezer when I was cleaning it out. I have a thing with buying "Special Today" meat and throwing it straight in the freezer, but it turns out I had quite a backlog. So, for no special reason, we had filet mignon with hasselback potatoes last night. 

So, we're eating well for the time-being. I'm thankful we have everything we need on hand or accessible at the moment. 

The Other Side of the Doorway

I look at the bouquet of flowers on our dining room sideboard that I bought during my last grocery store trip last Friday. Just something to brighten things up during our two-week quarantine. I feel like I bought them in another lifetime. It was the same when, yesterday, I pulled a receipt out of my pocket from eating lunch out with Mister P last week after shopping at Costco. Or when I look at the shirt I bought there a little more than a week ago, when closing school seemed like a vague possibility, but not something that I really expected to happen; at least, not so soon. These things are like relics from "before," and I wonder when everything will be from "now."

I have a vivid memory of, a few days after Miss A was born, standing in our kitchen, overwhelmed and delirious with exhaustion. I had the distinct feeling of having walked through a doorway that I could look, but not pass, back through. I saw an enormously-pregnant, but relatively well-groomed woman using her brain at work, casually shopping, laughing with adults, cooking, and chatting with her husband after dinner. I missed being her so much, I cried. I wanted to go back through the door, but here I was. I could only look.

I feel like we all have passed through another doorway. I'm not sure what this new dimension holds, yet. It seems so unsteady. I didn't know then, either, but I know now that that moment was the lowest, or close to it. I guess my fear is that we are not there, yet, or even close to it.

Well, I Guess This Is Growing Up

I've wanted to write a COVID-19 post since last week, but have had too many unrelated thoughts tumbling through my brain to come up with anything cohesive. I'm not certain this will be be cohesive, either. But, I'm able to tie in a post that I've wanted to write since before I stopped working seven years ago, so, at least, there's that. 

When I worked at Howard Community College, I participated in a program called Step-Up, where volunteer faculty and staff provided life-coaching for students. For about two years, I coached a young woman who was 19 years-old. One day, she told me about a weekend trip she planned to take with her friends - her first trip without any "adults" (in quotes since a 19 year-old is technically an adult, anyway). I remember thinking about what a milestone that type of trip was on the road to becoming a Grown Up (tm). And, it got me thinking about when, really, does one become a Grown Up (tm)? From the very beginning, kids are on a path towards independence, but at some point, they cross a threshold and become a Grown Up (tm).

So, for me, it certainly wasn't turning 18. Going to college? A little, but not really. I was still mostly financially dependent on my parents, their house was my permanent address, and I didn't have to cook my own meals. Moving from Pennsylvania to Maryland, renting my own apartment, and paying my own bills? Maybe that was it. But things have happened since then that made me "grow up" more...getting a full-time job with benefits...settling down with partner ...buying a house...having kids...

I think I thought I was done "growing up."

Dealing with COVID-19 with school-aged children and aging parents is a new, unique "growing up" milestone. The stratagizing and planning. Trying to maintain a sense of calm and normalcy that we've taken for granted. Finding the balance between being honest and earnest (like, really, please, wash your hands and do NOT PUT THINGS IN YOUR MOUTH), and not making the kids feel anxious or scared.

A friend commented how the world feels like it did after 9/11...surreal and full of uncertainty. How were we supposed to feel? What were we supposed to do? I remember that. But now, even though maybe we have a little more control (do we?), almost 20 years, a mortgage and two kids later, I feel like more is at stake and I am worried about more. Twenty years ago, I would've looked at this current situation with more curiosity and less anxiety. Now, I don't like not knowing what will happen. I don't like not being able to plan into the future. I'm worried about kids' education - more other kids than mine. I'm worried about small business owners, low-wage workers, and health care professionals. I'm angry about our Administration's incompetence and wonder how/if things could have been different.

This is a new world for us. I don't know if we're ready for it. I think this will be more than our children's generation's lunar landing or Challenger explosion. Even though the world changed after 9/11, I think this will have an even greater impact. I hope we rise from the ashes on the other side of this.

Gluten-Free Diet, an Introduction

For as long as I've known Kevin, he's had digestive issues. There have been periods of time when the issues have bothered him more than others, and there have been times when it has really interfered with life. Over the years, I've read about a variety of diets and how can they can impact the digestive system, but, honestly, I found it all overwhelming. "These foods will help reduce inflammation. Unless you have a sensitivity to X, then your belly will be on fire. And also, those foods you have a sensitivity to are healthy and delicious." And, of course, other than dairy, we hadn't pinpointed anything that caused a problem. I told him, "Look, if you can figure out what kind of diet will help you, I'll be happy to cook it." I just wasn't up for playing detective for someone else's gut.

About two months ago, after a day of unintentionally eating gluten-free, after dinner, Kevin said, "I've been thinking about trying a gluten-free diet." His mother had been on one for about a year to treat an inflammation disorder with some success. "Oh, ok," I replied. "When do you want to start?"

"How about now?"

Two days earlier, I had purchased literally a dozen boxes of pasta on sale (we eat a lot of pasta), and, obviously, I had given this no thought at all. But, he felt like he was on a roll from his GF day, so I agreed to...roll with it. 

We've tried a variety of GF pasta, which I'll try to review at some point, and GF breads, which are all pretty much terrible. I've also tried some GF recipes for things where a GF alternative is not readily available, or is awful. I'd like to share some of those, too. 

Many times, too, it just means a substitution or just skipping all together. Rice or potatoes instead of noodles. Forgoing bread with dinner, which is probably healthier, anyway.

Apparently, it can take several months to determine whether eliminating gluten has helped your gut, so it's really too soon for us to know if this is making a difference for him. But, at least we are trying something. 

Hello? Is anybody out there?

I've been trying to figure out how to introduce this post.

With a tired old joke?

*tap tap tap* "Is this thing on?"

Or with a GIF?

Or a meme (Is it the text that makes it a meme? Is it still a meme if it also a GIF? I used to be up on this stuff!)?

In any case, since the New Year, I've been thinking about resurrecting this blog. It's been nearly 6 years! The almost-toddler I last wrote about is now a sweet and sassy seven year-old! And, the little boy who was not yet even a twinkle in his daddy's eye will be five in June! I've thought about restarting this several times, but now that both kids are spending more time in school and playing together independently, I might actually have...time? I'm going to give it a shot. I do feel like maybe I missed sharing a lot of good content from the last six years of being a stay-at-home mom, and maybe that is partly inspiring me to publicly document my final months in this stage of life. 

I also question whether people even really read blogs anymore, since so much is documented on other forms of social media. This thought almost made me not bother, but...I read through some old posts, and you know what? I kinda like blogging. The landscape has changed since 2014, but maybe some folks will kinda like reading it, too. 

An Octopus Garden Party

I know, months have gone by since I've posted!  I keep taking pictures and videos, and filing ideas away under "Blog this Later" in my head.  But when I finally sit down in the evening, my brain goes all foggy and the best I can do is catch up on Facebook or take a Buzzfeed quiz.

This past weekend, an expecting friend allowed me to throw her a baby shower.  I say, "allowed" because she was initially kind of anti-shower, but recognized the benefit.  After I promised no cheesy games, activities, or fuss, she warmed up to the idea and even suggested a theme: An Octopus Garden, because that is the theme for their nursery.

At first I thought, "What is in an octopus's garden, anyway?" But I needn't have worried, because, Pinterest.  So, we hosted An Octopus Garden Party, with cupcakes and mocktails.

I found some perfect table supplies at Party City, with blue and green sea creatures.  I had the most fun making the octopus decorations, though.  Because, of course, there are octopus in an Octopus's Garden.

This guy was easy.  We saved toilet paper rolls for about a month.  I painted him and five of his siblings in light blue, sea green, and coral.  I meant to take a picture of the whole family, but forgot.  After letting the paint dry, I cut eight slits about halfway up for the arms.  I put a rubber band around the center of the tube to make sure I cut the arms (fairly) evenly.

Then, I gently rolled the arms out.  I wanted to put something on the bottom of the tentacles to be like the suckers, and settled on pom-poms.  A little hot glue:

I originally thought I'd use them the whole way up the arms, but one at the end of each was perfect.  And, of course, the googly-eyes.

I also made these guys:

My intention was for them to be octopus, but I think he might look more like a jellyfish, so, you know, whichever.  These felt more time-consuming to me, and required a bit more an assembly line approach.

First, I painted paper plates, although I certainly could've used colored paper plates.  I also thought paper bowls would've worked well.

I then cut all the lengths of streamers for the tentacles - I just guessed at the length, and then used one as a template for the rest.  I think they're about two feet long.  I used eight per critter, and just scotch-taped them around the inside.

I also cut two lengths of string with which to hang the octopus/jellyfish, and taped it at the four edges, and in the middle for good measure.  What a mess, right?  So, I took a plain paper plate and attached it to the bottom.  I intended to use my go-to, hot glue, but it didn't work out with the ridges.  So, I used double-stick tape all around, and that held up fine.

So here's how everything looked the day of the party:

In the center of the table is a gummy-fish bouquet, with gummy-fish skewers I found at Wegmans and fish lollipops from Amazon.  There's a tiny fish bowl (a candle holder from Michael's) with assorted colors of Swedish fish, and the homemade cupcakes have either a gummy-lobster or gummy-whale on top.  I thought maybe we needed something to balance out the cupcakes, so I made fresh fruit bouquets...maybe not in an underwater garden, but garden-y, yes?  And I can't believe it didn't occur to me to get goldfish crackers to put in the tiny fish bowls, as well!  Oh well.

I lived dangerously and did plan one (possibly) cheesy activity.  Ok, two, but one is more interesting than the other.  The less-interesting one was just to have slips of paper out, asking people to give advice to the expectant parents.  However, I also encouraged people to give advice or their favorite inspirational quote. Not everyone is a parent, and I remember always being at a loss at baby showers when I was asked to give advice before I was a parent.  Not that I have great advice now, necessarily! But I hoped that helped non-parents not feel as awkward.

I wish I had a better picture of the second activity.  I bought a small, cheap-o wooden frame at Michael's and painted some coral-looking stuff on it, and left the rest of the frame blank.  I put out paint markers and asked people to doodle their favorite sea creature on the rest of the frame.  We had everything from starfish to a crab to one of those glow-in-the-dark fish. I was a little worried about how it would turn out, but it came out better than I expected.  Here's a picture of one of the guests working on her fish:

You can kind of see the frame.  If the guest-of-honor sends me a photo of the frame, I'll update with it.

Finally, or I guess, it was really first thing since it happened before the shower - I asked everyone to send me their favorite children's songs, and I made a compilation CD, with who submitted each song in the track listing.  I think it was the mom-to-be's favorite bit of the shower.

I should add that I travelled to Pittsburgh alone for this shower, leaving Miss A home with her daddy.  I missed her so much, but enjoyed hanging out with the one guy at the shower.

This is one of the guest's little guy.  The shower really zonked him out, but he was most charming during the party, in his little suit!  

Ok, ok, for CERTAIN friends and family who will be disappointed they read this whole post, and didn't get a single picture of Miss A, and who say, NO, a cute picture of another baby WILL NOT CUT IT:

Here she is getting tickled by her Daddy on Memorial Day.

Cabin Fever

I know it's pointless to complain about the weather.  I wish it wasn't, though.  I wish there was someone I could complain to, like the manager of a restaurant when the service is bad.  I want to scold the weather like a naughty child, and say sternly, "That's enough. "

Today's 60-degree weather was like the child who you're just getting ready to send to timeout, but then does something really sweet and adorable.  So, Miss A and I headed to the Lyn Stacie Getz Creative Playground after we ran some errands today.

She was so happy to be swinging again!

For contrast, here was the last time were at this playground, in September or October.

Since she's started scooting around a bit, I've been looking forward to seeing what new things she might be able to do at the playground.  Now that her balance is better, she really enjoyed going down the slide.  It's hard to spot a baby going down a slide and take a picture at the same time, so here's one from last October.

Anyway, I wanted so much for her to crawl through this pipe to get to me.

She wouldn't do it.  She won't do it at My Gym, either.

She goes in part of the way, then decides to back out, no matter how cheerfully I exclaim, "Come to Mama!"

Today, at the playground, she was too busy looking at the other kids playing...

...or picking up pieces of...bark? mulch? rocks?

Oh, well.  Once Mother Nature starts behaving herself, we'll have plenty of more times to try!

Crawling at a Snail's Pace

If there weren't already a thousand other reasons to know that Abby is definitely our daughter, her "slow by little" approach to...well, I guess just certain things, is definitely one of them.  For example, after starting to teeth at around four or five months, Abby was over eleven months old before poking through those first two teeth.  To be fair, though, she has no control over how fast her teeth come in.  If she did, I'm sure she would have them in faster so we might give her apple slices and tortilla chips.

What she has taken her time with, is crawling.  We've watched our friends' babies, three and four months younger than her, start scooting right past her, while Abby sat like a lump. She's aging out of her class at My Gym, but I'm keeping it on the down-low.  How can she go on to the next class when half the kids in this class are crawling or even walking, and Abby is still just a world-class reacher?  It really is kind of amazing how far she can reach - Kevin and I swear she has "Go-Go-Gadget" arms, and she can fold herself in half to reach something she wants.  Or, if she can't reach it, you can almost see her thinking, "Oh well," as she decides to play with something else, like her pant legs.  Our pediatrician actually suggested that Abby might just be lazy, and we couldn't disagree.

We weren't particularly worried.  Crawling is actually not an "official" developmental milestone, and the age-range for first steps is up to 18 months.  Kevin has probably been a little more anxious to get her moving than I have been - he won't have to chase around the house once she gets going!  But, on the other hand, that baby is getting heavy, and it might be nice to not have to carry her everywhere.

We've followed the pediatrician's advice to "leave her own defenses" (I think she meant "devices") when playing, so she'd be forced to get things on her own.  Another friend was advised to keep her kiddo on his knees as much as possible, so we've been doing that, too.  And maybe it all paid off, or maybe she would've crawled for the first time on Valentine's Day, anyway.

I always thought it would be our cat or the iPhone that motivated her to crawl for the first time, but it was her books!  I think she may be more of the bookworm type, anyway.

With her Great Grandma at Christmas.

Nursing Dreams and Dream Feeds

Tonight is Kevin's last "dream feed" with Abby.  A dream feed is a bottle you sneak to your baby in her sleep, right before YOU go to bed, with the hope that the little extra will be enough to keep them asleep the rest of the night.  We didn't really start off with that intention.  At the beginning, when we gradually weaned to breastfeeding from full-time bottles, and were still trying to get in 9-10 feedings a day, Kevin wanted to hold on to this one.  It was one less nursing session I had to figure out how to fit in, and Kevin loved this special daddy-daughter time.

When I mentioned in an online mommy-group that we were still doing dream feeds around six months, some gently mentioned that most babies dropped the dream feed around this time.  Kevin practically turned pale when I told him this.  At this point, Abby was sleeping through the night, while most breastfed babies wake at least once during the night for a feeding for at least the first year.  "So," I told Kevin, "maybe the dream feed is like, her night feeding, so you might as well keep giving it to her."  We agreed to wean her off of it around a year.

Abby is nearly 14 months old, now.  We've kept it a little longer than originally planned, because our girl had some other plans.

See, I had planned to breastfeed at least until I get pregnant again, if I do.  Which, if things go as we have planned, would be around 18 months.  I figured she'd probably wean herself around then, anyway, since my supply would most certainly drop.  I always intended for her take the lead, though, and while I don't love the idea of nursing while pregnant, I would've tried it for her.  I imagined we'd drop a feeding every couple of months until we were down to one or two, and gracefully stop.

After a feeding, around 2 months

She did take the lead.  She surprised and confused me by weaning during her eleventh month.  It was very unusual, because it was early (before 12 months), and abrupt.  Both of those usually signal a nursing strike (where a baby won't nurse for a few days for some reason, then hops back on the train).  Around Thanksgiving, she began biting more often than not after nursing...then at the beginning of nursing, repeatedly, so no nursing actually happened.  Within a few days, it was every feeding except for the morning one, and then it was that one, too.

I tried for weeks.  All time, at first, then once or twice a day, then every few days.  I tried every trick in the book to discourage biting.  I was firm, I was calm.  I offered her a teether, I fake cried, I put her down, I left the room.  As it stretched from a two-week, "Well, maybe this is just a long strike" into Christmas, I had to accept that our nursing relationship had ended.

This was the last time she fell asleep after nursing.
 Mid-September.

I think you may have to be a mother, but maybe not, to understand how devastated I was.  I want to tell you, in case you've been through it and you can tell me I'm normal, or in case you're going through it and I can tell you you're normal.  I loved nursing, once we got the hang of it.  I know not all mamas do, and that's okay.  I loved the calm, the sweetness, the excuse to just "be" with my baby.  It was special to nurture my baby in one way no one else could.

When I wasn't sure if she was striking or weaning, I was almost as emotional as I was postpartum.  I'm sure it was partially hormones. But a lot of it was also the "not knowing," and the intense feeling of rejection every time she would bite me or turn her head away.  One of the worst things was, she had just learned the sign for milk, and would do it.  I'd offer her the breast, and she'd bite.  But she kept asking, and it broke my heart.  I don't think she thought the sign meant what I thought it meant.  I cried a lot, and I cry thinking about it now.    I would think crazy, irrational things like, "She doesn't love me," or, "I bet she never did like to nurse."  I had to stop trying, because I couldn't take her refusal.  I was so heartbroken.

I'm mostly past it, now.  Although it happened in an unusual way and at an unusual time, I know it's just the first of many things that I'm going to let go of as a mama, as my baby girl grows up.

Which brings us back to the dream feed.  When Abby's first birthday rolled around, we still didn't know what she was doing with this nursing business, so we thought it would be good to continue the dream feed to make sure she was getting enough milk.  Now that she's pretty well established with cows' milk, I'm weaning off of pumping, and her daddy is weaning from the dream feed.  He's been gradually skipping more nights in between feeds for the past few weeks.  At first, we thought she'd wake up hungry, but not a peep.  Not a single time.

I know it's a little the same for him.  Probably without the crazy hormones, though. But that special, quiet, daddy-daughter time that has become so familiar to him.  How he still holds her like a tiny baby when he feeds her, although she has grown so much since he started.  How he has cuddled and snuggled her the same way before putting her back into bed, although it's been months since her head would rest comfortably on his chest.  He will have to let go of this, too.

I didn't have any pictures of him giving her a bottle, so here's just one of their first pictures.

Our little girl still needs us.  She'll just need us in new ways as she grows up!