Did you miss me?

About six weeks ago I had reconstructive surgery on my foot.  This meant a minimum of six weeks of being off my foot and at the mercy of those willing to care for a less-than-patient patient. 

It was both a blessing and a curse to be forced to step back and let someone else do those things that I firmly believed could only be done correctly by me.  (My husband will be the first to say we do it VERY differently, so this statement will not surprise him in any way.)

I learned:

• First and foremost, I don't like imposed growth opportunities.  I am not patient with slowing down and letting go.  In fact, some would say, I can't.
• My daughter who cannot hear me ask her to pick up her laundry and put it in the hamper, can hear me mutter under my breath and will repeat any criticism to the party in question.  Oops!  Another learning opportunity for me.
• "Making breakfast" is a very different thing to a Dad than to a Mom.  But, yes, in fact one can survive on toast and banana for six weeks.
• If my husband had to pack a suitcase for me without my assistance, he really has no idea what I wear on a daily basis.  This led to a few memorable fashion ensembles being presented to me without the slightest indication that they were jokes.
• My daughter will auto-correct daddy's fashion faux pas approximately 85% percent of the time.  This is not a bad percentage give her age.  However, we did learn the phrase "fashion refugee" during the time frame of Mama's recuperation.  (Refer to entry #2).

Perhaps one of the kindest and most humble moments in the six weeks came when my family got together to celebrate my mother's birthday.  I overheard my husband tell my father "I don't know how she gets it all done.  I didn't realize how much she does in a day." 

Our household is not completely traditional in its role assignment, but 90% of the time, if the lawn is mowed or the garbage taken out, it is done by the Mr., and 90% of the laundry, food prep, daily cleaning is done by Mama.  I'm sure there are millions of small details that go unnoticed by me in the chores Mr. takes on, and perhaps someday I will have the chance to be humbled by taking on his role as well.  Still, it was a silver lining in this LONG  recovery to know that he is far less likely to ask "What did you do all day?" when he comes home and finds the house in shambles and the kids dirty and clamoring for a sandwich and Mama having a bottle glass of wine and trying not to cry as dinner is still, STILL, not done!

Things my husband has learned:

• Kids will not tell you they are hungry until it is too late to feed them peacefully.  They are around the bend by the time they tell you they are hungry.
• Laundry piles up faster than you think it will.  Stay ahead of it.  You can't always wait until there is a full washer load of one color.  Sometimes a small/partial load, while not eco-friendly, will guarantee that the beloved blanket is dry by bedtime. 
• In relation to the above, if you are line-drying the blanket, HIDE IT BETWEEN OTHER CLOTHING, or buy earplugs and sedatives.  Give yourself time to guarantee that the little bugger is dry before naptime.  Trust me on this one.
• Do not start a non-negotiable request with "Do you want to...?"  You're sunk, pal.  Anything you say afterward is just more quicksand.
• We will be protecting Mama's foot like it is the Hope freakin' diamond.  There is no way any of us will survive another six-week stretch.

And now for something completely different

We cooked dinner tonight out of our own garden.  Zucchini and squash and basil from our own backyard.  Tomatoes from Edgewater Farm. 

Happy Birthday to me!!

Baked Ziti with Summer Veggies

Ingredients

• 4 ounces uncooked ziti
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 2 cups chopped yellow squash
• 1 cup chopped zucchini
• 1/2 cup chopped onion
• 2 cups chopped tomato
• 2 garlic cloves, minced
• 1 cup (4 ounces) shredded part-skim mozzarella cheese, divided
• 2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil
• 2 teaspoons chopped fresh oregano
• 3/4 teaspoon salt, divided
• 1/8 teaspoon crushed red pepper
• 1/4 cup (2 ounces) part-skim ricotta cheese
• 1 large egg, lightly beaten
• Cooking spray

Preparation

• Cook pasta according to package directions, omitting salt and fat; drain.
• Preheat oven to 400°.
• Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add oil to pan. Add squash, zucchini, and onion; sauté 5 minutes.
• Add tomato and garlic; sauté 3 minutes.
• Remove from heat; stir in pasta, 1/2 cup mozzarella, herbs, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and pepper.

(See that chiffonade, yes I said chiffonade, of basil?  That was out of my garden and picked by my own Miss 4, who went out and picked it herself while I waited in the kitchen and counted to thirty.  I'm working on this independence thing!)
• Combine ricotta, remaining salt, and egg. Stir into pasta mixture. Spoon into an 8-inch square glass or ceramic baking dish coated with cooking spray; sprinkle with remaining mozzarella.
•  Bake at 400° for 15 minutes or until bubbly and browned.

I do..

"Mama?  Do you remember when you married Dad?"
"Yes."
"How do you remember?"
"I just do.  It was a big day.  A big deal."
"Do you think Dad remembers?"
(insert adult punch-line here)  "I'm sure he does."
"What was I doing that day?"
"You weren't there.  You weren't born yet?"
(indignantly)  "Why didn't I get to go?"  (stomps off)

"I made this for you."

"It's you and Dad marrying."  (Clearly, Mom has been up all night based on her deep-sunken, completely dilated eyes.  Please note that Dad has also been in a recent fight as he is sporting a bloody nose.  I further offer that Mom is wearing a barely there slip-dress.  How chic!  Clearly no skirt was required that day.  Finally, shoe size has not been exaggerated for artistic effect on either party.  Sadly,....)

"That's beautiful Miss 4!  Look how happy we are!"

She scampers off and quietly works for another few minutes returning with the following:

"This is a better wedding.  See Little One and Miss 4 are there!" (I am clearly so overjoyed there is a balletic leap into my husband's mid-section,...or I am auditioning for the Matrix.  One of my children has succumbed to exhaustion, but happily, while the other stands by on one very, very long foot, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.  Clearly this is a happy day.  Veil, askew I gaze vapidly into the future, while my husband stares vacantly into space.  Actually, maybe this is a picture of parents with young children.   Dazed and glazed parents...child underfoot...sibling grinning mysteriously...Hmmmm.)

And before I can respond, she runs away and returns with the final episode of the trilogy:

"This is when we were jellyfish."   Gone is my jaunty leap, my fluttering veil and lithe figure.  Now I am a many-appendaged child-minder.  However, note that I am still happy.  I gaze lovingly at my tiny jellies.  I may be pulled in many directions, propelled by the ebb and flow of life around me, but it is okay.

"Do you like being my Jellyfish Mama?"

I do.  Unequivocally, I do.

Don't ask, Don't tell.

Like many parents, we freeze yogurt tubes and call them "pops".  Our oldest would eat them all day long and our youngest, would like to be like her big sister, but hasn't quite figured out what to do with them just yet.  She grins from ear to ear and then gives a confused look that I interpret as "Well, that was a whole lot of nothin'.  Now what do I do with it?"

Today Miss 4 finished hers and began taking bites from her sister's pop.  They alternated nicely back and forth and Little One began tentatively trying bites of the frozen yogurt.    There were grins and giggles and everything was going smoothly. 

Now Little One held the pop out to me.  "Bite?"  I would honestly almost rather put my own foot in my mouth than share ice something like ice-cream or a popsicle with a child, especially a child with a runny nose.  But in the spirit of reinforcing sharing and trying new things, I tentatively took the tiniest bite I could muster. 

Patting myself on the back for getting through it, I watched them walk away happily.  I was just far enough behind them to hear Miss 4 say "Now it's [dog]'s turn again."

AGAIN???    I think the lesson I learned today is that sharing, while a lofty principle, is not meant for food application in my household.

 Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a boiling water, Listerine and/or bleach cocktail to address.

All in a day's work...

It has been nearly fifteen seconds since the last crazy, child-related incident in my home.  It has been the quietest and most bizarre fifteen seconds of the day.  Thus far today

·         Little One has figured out how to remove her diaper like a Chippendale removes his tear-away pants.   She has mastered the art of grabbing and flinging the offending article nearly across the room.  I have resorted to using postal tape on this last diaper just to buy me enough time to kick a path through the toys littering the downstairs and possibly make dinner.

·         Miss 4 has decided that she wants to have pink hair like the server at the local diner.  She has been following me and asking "How does the hair grow in pink?  Do you have to eat pink food?  Is it like the flamingo in Sylvie?" alternately changing it up with "How old do I have to be?  Why do I have to be 18?"

·         Somewhere in early toddlerhood Miss 4 began referring to her diaper region as her "bits".  I didn't put a stop to it as it was initially entertaining, but now I think we're stuck with it.  Miss 4 has a slight lateral lisp as well, therefore when she says "bits" her little sister has heard "beets".  Little One has stood in front of me chanting "wet beets" every time her diaper is wet today. 

·         I was writing down information from a book I was reading when Miss 4 approached.  "What are you doing?  Are you erasing the words you don't like in your book and writing in new ones?"

·         "Mama?  I need a wooden spoon and a piece of string……(why?)….So I can play ManPuppy….(how do you play that?)…"I'll tell you when you're little again.  But its gonna save the whole world."  That’s one fine wooden spoon right there.

La-La-La...I still hear you!

When I was a child, my sister and I could not chew gum or eat potato chips in the car because the sound would drive one of my parents right out of their tree.  It was one of the childhood moments that both mystified me and later became part of my list of things I would NEVER say as a parent.  How can anyone care THAT MUCH about a small noise I wondered?

Today I am humbled by the restraint it must have taken for said parent not to open the car door and leave us perched on the guardrails for the next available circus recruiter. 

For today, my oldest has followed me from room to room clicking her tongue, hissing, and singing in the vibrato soprano known especially to four year old girls for no fewer than two hours.  When this concert ended, the ghostly wailings and moanings began.  At the end of this round, we were presented with an operatic rendition of "I'm starving and I need a peanut butter sandwich".  (It closed to mixed reviews.)

It is taking everything I have not to scream and pull hair, (mine or anyone else's).   This is the kind of moment when I think I might be slightly too crazy to be a parent.    When I finally broke and snapped between clenched teeth, "Please go and sing somewhere else.  Away from me.  Away!"  She left the room singing in vibrato "Somewhere else, somewhere else, somewhere else."    I counted 32 repetitions before she moved on to random beatbox noises.

Are you freakin' kidding me?!?  I may not survive this.

Now that I have used my self-imposed time-out to fly the parenting distress flag, I need to go and be a Mama again. 

One with earplugs.

There Is Enough

Last night Miss 4 committed a particularly egregious act of sibling nastiness against Little One.  It was clearly premeditated and unprovoked.  It was a power-play; a total act of bullying.  I may or may not have over-reacted and sent Miss 4 immediately to bed.  By which I mean no stories, no lullaby, no snuggling and cuddles.  It was in fact nearly bed-time.  For nearly an hour she wailed and flailed and sobbed and moaned theatrically.  When the tempest was over, I went to her room and the following conversation unfolded.

"Miss 4, I will always love you.  I will also always love Little One.  I have enough love for both of you.  I will not ever, EVER, let one of you hurt the other one on purpose"

"But sometimes it doesn't feel like you love me."

"I always love you, even if I don't like the thing you are doing.  I love you even when I'm mad at you."

"It doesn't feel like you love me at all."

"I do.  I show you that I love you when I read to you, do projects with you, help you brush your teeth, keep you safe, snuggle you to sleep, and when I keep you and your sister safe.  I have enough love for both of you."

"I think you only love my sister."...

The conversation lasted much longer, but this is the blow I'm still reeling from.  I too am an oldest child with a younger sister.  I remember feeling like my parents loved my sister more because she was little and cute and never got in trouble.  Is it just a stage that kids, particularly oldest kids, go through?

I do know that there are times when I find myself expecting more, (too much?), from Miss 4 because she is older and I question whether I am giving her enough outward love and approval.  I also know that there are times when Little One takes a nap and we get to do big kids things together and I thoroughly enjoy the benefit of her age.  Does she know how cool I think she is?

So, here is my quandary; I don't want to give too much power to "You don't love me..." because she is sure as shootin' smart enough to use THAT against me indefinitely.  I also don't want to ignore a genuine feeling of imbalance, despite my attempts to give her the best of me as frequently as I can.  Pairing this with recent research that you can actually cause unintentional damage to a child's self-esteem and self-worth by providing too much praise and affirmation, what is a Mama to do?

This morning I have to content myself with the following thought: 

“Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.” 

Yes.  There is enough.