Thursday, October 16, 2014
Back in my day
I just told my youngest he sounded like a broken record. He keeps asking for more screen time and I keep telling him there is NO MORE SCREEN TIME TODAY! After the phrase you sound like a broken record left my lips, I realized that my kids have no idea what this means. It's probably the equivalent of calling them a cotton gin or a typewriter. Or a Commodore 64. In one ear and out the other.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Kodak Moments
My mother had some old home movies (and I don't mean VHS tapes, I mean 8mm film. Hard core stuff like mushroom print blouses and bell bottoms and men with perms) converted to DVD's as a holiday present for my sister and me this past Christmas. It was delightful to see my young parents, aunts, uncles and the whole lot come to life in double knit polyester. And me, well, my best years were ages 10 and under. I was darn cute if I do say so myself. And talented, just check out the ballet recital footage.
Several things struck me as I watched these films. I watched a 7 or 8 year old me get very upset that I'd gotten water on my shorts and couldn't immediately go change them, and listened to my patient mother's voice from behind the camera try to talk sense into me. I was being absurd; I was out on on a paddle boat in a body of water in the summertime. But, apparently I thought my shorts would remain clammy and clinging to my thighs for all of eternity. I've had the same conversation with my oldest child, and tried to tell him his clothes would dry in no time. It's nice outside, it will be fine! So, it reminded me to let some things go even when Iknow feel my child is being ridiculous.
As I watched everyone sitting around and birthday parties and Christmas gatherings, it seemed to me that folks seemed relaxed. That one of my cousins, a teenager at the time, didn't mind sitting there, watching me unwrap a present, in fact, he appeared to be enjoying himself. I could be completely off base of course, but anyway, it made me stop and think. I need to host more family gatherings, enjoy myself as best as possible while doing so, and drag my kids around to all sort of relatives' homes, sans any electronic gaming devices.
Lastly, I saw my dad and his friends horsing around on some death trap mobiles called odysseys and an old timey car with the mention of wine having been consumed. My parent were certainly parents, but they were also having a good time. This has also happened when I've looked at snap shot photographs: Did my parents know what they were doing? Or did they feel like they were flying by the seat of their bell bottoms just like I feel (though insert skinny jeans into this image when considering me)? More importantly, if they did feel like they'd lost my owner's manual, did they obsess over it? Probably not, since I don't think there was an entire section devoted to parenting at bookstores back in the day.
Here is how it goes:
When you are a kid, a little kid say under the age of 12, you think your parents know everything there is to know about everything. You might think they are big meanies from time to time, but overall, you think they are the bee's knees.The cat's meow. The shiznit. Then you take algebra in the 7th grade and need help with your homework, and a tiny hole is ripped in the facade since they can't help you with this newfangled arithmetic.
Then you become a teenager, and your parents don't know anything. All their years of life experience are so far removed from your own that they can't possibly offer insight into anything. Ever. They exist in a parellel universe and aren't really human. That is, until you go to college or go out and get a full time job.
Well, you start learning about the world outside your hometown, start to put a few of your own life experiences under your belt, and you have an epiphany: Dude, mom and dad WERE RIGHT about a few things. How did I miss this before? And if you are me, you think to yourself, "oh man, was I an asshole?".
Fast forward about 10 years: you have your own family now. Visions of your parents cackling wildly at your misfortunes begin to appear in pools of baby spit up. "AH HA HA! I TOLD YOU SO". You wonder if your mother handled thing differently, or dare I say better, than you when she was a new mother. My oldest chatters NONSTOP, and I have a feeling that I did too. How did my mother not drink herself to death?!
I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that most parents feel, at least part of the time, like they don't know what they are doing and that they are probably messing up their children for good.I'm betting that has passed through the minds of every caveman, every poor schmuck born in the dark ages, every Victorian; you get the picture. But how we deal with that insecurity is what I am interested in. Actually, what I care about is this: Will my kids look at snapshots of them with us and will it be totally obvious that I was winging it? ;)
Several things struck me as I watched these films. I watched a 7 or 8 year old me get very upset that I'd gotten water on my shorts and couldn't immediately go change them, and listened to my patient mother's voice from behind the camera try to talk sense into me. I was being absurd; I was out on on a paddle boat in a body of water in the summertime. But, apparently I thought my shorts would remain clammy and clinging to my thighs for all of eternity. I've had the same conversation with my oldest child, and tried to tell him his clothes would dry in no time. It's nice outside, it will be fine! So, it reminded me to let some things go even when I
As I watched everyone sitting around and birthday parties and Christmas gatherings, it seemed to me that folks seemed relaxed. That one of my cousins, a teenager at the time, didn't mind sitting there, watching me unwrap a present, in fact, he appeared to be enjoying himself. I could be completely off base of course, but anyway, it made me stop and think. I need to host more family gatherings, enjoy myself as best as possible while doing so, and drag my kids around to all sort of relatives' homes, sans any electronic gaming devices.
Lastly, I saw my dad and his friends horsing around on some death trap mobiles called odysseys and an old timey car with the mention of wine having been consumed. My parent were certainly parents, but they were also having a good time. This has also happened when I've looked at snap shot photographs: Did my parents know what they were doing? Or did they feel like they were flying by the seat of their bell bottoms just like I feel (though insert skinny jeans into this image when considering me)? More importantly, if they did feel like they'd lost my owner's manual, did they obsess over it? Probably not, since I don't think there was an entire section devoted to parenting at bookstores back in the day.
Here is how it goes:
When you are a kid, a little kid say under the age of 12, you think your parents know everything there is to know about everything. You might think they are big meanies from time to time, but overall, you think they are the bee's knees.The cat's meow. The shiznit. Then you take algebra in the 7th grade and need help with your homework, and a tiny hole is ripped in the facade since they can't help you with this newfangled arithmetic.
Then you become a teenager, and your parents don't know anything. All their years of life experience are so far removed from your own that they can't possibly offer insight into anything. Ever. They exist in a parellel universe and aren't really human. That is, until you go to college or go out and get a full time job.
Well, you start learning about the world outside your hometown, start to put a few of your own life experiences under your belt, and you have an epiphany: Dude, mom and dad WERE RIGHT about a few things. How did I miss this before? And if you are me, you think to yourself, "oh man, was I an asshole?".
Fast forward about 10 years: you have your own family now. Visions of your parents cackling wildly at your misfortunes begin to appear in pools of baby spit up. "AH HA HA! I TOLD YOU SO". You wonder if your mother handled thing differently, or dare I say better, than you when she was a new mother. My oldest chatters NONSTOP, and I have a feeling that I did too. How did my mother not drink herself to death?!
I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that most parents feel, at least part of the time, like they don't know what they are doing and that they are probably messing up their children for good.I'm betting that has passed through the minds of every caveman, every poor schmuck born in the dark ages, every Victorian; you get the picture. But how we deal with that insecurity is what I am interested in. Actually, what I care about is this: Will my kids look at snapshots of them with us and will it be totally obvious that I was winging it? ;)
Monday, February 4, 2013
Coco Choco Chia Balls
 |
| Crappy cell phone picture of balls |
Ingredients:
16oz pitted dates
1/2 cup almond butter
6 TB cocoa powder
2TB chia seeds
Finely shredded, unsweetened coconut (I used Let's Do...Organic brand)
Directions:
Blend the dates in a food processor until they form a big dough ball. Add in almond butter, cocoa powder and chia seeds, blend until combined.
Dump the mixture onto a cutting board and form into a large dough ball. Break off small pieces, roll into balls and then roll in the shredded coconut. Devour immediately, or store in an airtight container for up to a week. I think I might keep mine in the fridge. Or my belly.
Note: I made the almond butter earlier today in my Vitamix, since I didn't have any jarred on hand, and I didn't feel like putting on pants to go to the store. I thought I was going to catch the blender on fire. I did not, but I would like to upgrade to the variable speed model at some point. I had to add some melted coconut oil to obtain the proper consistency. You could used jarred or peanut butter if you are so inclined.
Tip: I got the dates at Costco some time ago. I guess they store well (right?). I like fragment sentences.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
What do you want to be when you grow up?
What do you want to be when you grow up? Children are asked this question throughout childhood. I remember writing a response to that very question in a "school years" book my mother bought for me. The book had a place for a school picture, class picture, list of friends, favorite subjects, and so on. I remember a couple of my desired vocations were hair stylist and teacher. I did eventually become a teacher, but lasted just 3 years in the profession. I have never known what I wanted to be. I'm envious of my husband who always knew he wanted to be an accountant. Handy for me, as budgeting is not my strongest skill.
Anyway, long story short, I've decided my calling is to be a mother. People tell me I'm good at it, and I certainly enjoy most aspects of the job. I'm 6 years into the gig and I have no plans of switching careers.
I've come to realize that I don't need to do big, front-page of the newspaper worthy things to do good in the world. In small ways every day, I'm helping to create grateful, productive little people who will someday leave my nest (sob!) and run this country.
I started teaching Sunday school, and I love learning right along with the children. I teach my children to say please and thank you, and to respect themselves and others. I'm in the process of helping them to understand that our family is very blessed, but there are others in the world, and in our lives, who don't have as many toys, have a smaller house, or sometimes have trouble finding something to eat. I want to foster the growth of a servant's heart in my children. I think that is a trait missing from many of today's youth; performing service for others without the goal of personal gain.
Now, if I could get the youngest child potty trained and the oldest to pick up his toys without being asked, I would move on to world peace. :)
Anyway, long story short, I've decided my calling is to be a mother. People tell me I'm good at it, and I certainly enjoy most aspects of the job. I'm 6 years into the gig and I have no plans of switching careers.
I've come to realize that I don't need to do big, front-page of the newspaper worthy things to do good in the world. In small ways every day, I'm helping to create grateful, productive little people who will someday leave my nest (sob!) and run this country.
I started teaching Sunday school, and I love learning right along with the children. I teach my children to say please and thank you, and to respect themselves and others. I'm in the process of helping them to understand that our family is very blessed, but there are others in the world, and in our lives, who don't have as many toys, have a smaller house, or sometimes have trouble finding something to eat. I want to foster the growth of a servant's heart in my children. I think that is a trait missing from many of today's youth; performing service for others without the goal of personal gain.
Now, if I could get the youngest child potty trained and the oldest to pick up his toys without being asked, I would move on to world peace. :)
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Mile a Minute
I have been meeting with basically the same group of lovely women and their children for a weekly playgroup for about 4 years. Or longer, I just know my oldest was crawling. Or wasn't crawling yet. Or should have been crawling according to some developmental chart and I probably obsessed over it and talked and talked and talked to them about it.
Today I talked a lot. About happy things, troublesome things, funny things. Things maybe I should not have verbalized because it resulted in a bit of a rambling rant about being teased on the school bus in 1988. Our conversations need no segues; we can be discussing kitchen remodeling ideas and transition seamlessly to what kind of underwear someone likes the best (for children and adults) all the while getting snacks for the kids and mediating any preschool-aged scuffles that may arise.
I need this time. I assume all the other women do too, because they keep coming every week despite what dirty laundry one of us may have aired over Pirate's Booty and coffee the previous week, or how many toys were strewn through their homes. Today I belly laughed twice. I can't recall what was said that made me laugh so hard, but I'm thankful it was said. I kept putting off our departure. At one point the topic of conversation had moved to toilets and toilet seats, and who can just up and leave during that debate?
I do a lot of listening too, but today I was particularly loquacious. But that is okay, next week someone else will talk more than I do about something, and we will laugh, give advice, take advice, probably gossip a little (I lie, that is going to happen for sure) and have more Pirate's Booty.
See you next week ladies!
Today I talked a lot. About happy things, troublesome things, funny things. Things maybe I should not have verbalized because it resulted in a bit of a rambling rant about being teased on the school bus in 1988. Our conversations need no segues; we can be discussing kitchen remodeling ideas and transition seamlessly to what kind of underwear someone likes the best (for children and adults) all the while getting snacks for the kids and mediating any preschool-aged scuffles that may arise.
I need this time. I assume all the other women do too, because they keep coming every week despite what dirty laundry one of us may have aired over Pirate's Booty and coffee the previous week, or how many toys were strewn through their homes. Today I belly laughed twice. I can't recall what was said that made me laugh so hard, but I'm thankful it was said. I kept putting off our departure. At one point the topic of conversation had moved to toilets and toilet seats, and who can just up and leave during that debate?
I do a lot of listening too, but today I was particularly loquacious. But that is okay, next week someone else will talk more than I do about something, and we will laugh, give advice, take advice, probably gossip a little (I lie, that is going to happen for sure) and have more Pirate's Booty.
See you next week ladies!
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Worst.Blogger.Ever
Oh my, how long has it been? Quite a long spell, because I have two children and am precariously perched back in the land of the living.
Let's see, I had a fantastic natural childbirth in July 2010 at The Puget Sound Birth Center Yes, I used the words fantastic and natural in the same sentence. I know this will sound like a cliche, but it was a life-changing experience. Even the prenatal care was thorough and empowering. The center itself is warm and inviting, and the staff is beyond supportive. I came away from it knowing I could conquer most anything I set my mind to. Which right now is eating Nutella from the jar with a butter knife because I ran out of crackers.
Anyway, coming away from that experience-with no stitches, no 2-week headache, I remembered most every detail of the entire labor and birth, felt instantly connected to and in love with my new baby boy-made me wonder if nearly an entire generation of women has been robbing themselves of this important biological and emotional experience. What are the ramifications of this? Both for the women personally and for society? Not to mention how much cheaper it was than a hospital birth!
What happened next, um, it's a bit of a blur, but somehow I now have a happy, healthy, spunky 15-month old who thinks his big, 5 year old brother is the cat's meow. There were a few bumps along the way, Griffin had Torticollis and required some physical therapy. Once again I had milk supply issues, despite trying every known method to increase production, short of prescription medication, with no luck. I gave it a good effort for 6 months and then fully surrendered to formula. Everyone was fine.
Oh! I had my gall bladder removed in September, it finally stopped working altogether(Literally. Testing revealed it was functioning at 0%)and was causing me a hell of a lot of pain and discomfort. Remember my earlier post about buying a girdle? Now, I'm not saying that I've got washboard abs here, but that darned malfunctioning gallbladder was the main cause of my midsection woes. Crazy.
Most days I manage to leave the house fully clothed and even groomed. I usually remember to put the kids in the car, too.
Well, that's all for now.l I've got a high chair tray to clean. Again.
Let's see, I had a fantastic natural childbirth in July 2010 at The Puget Sound Birth Center Yes, I used the words fantastic and natural in the same sentence. I know this will sound like a cliche, but it was a life-changing experience. Even the prenatal care was thorough and empowering. The center itself is warm and inviting, and the staff is beyond supportive. I came away from it knowing I could conquer most anything I set my mind to. Which right now is eating Nutella from the jar with a butter knife because I ran out of crackers.
Anyway, coming away from that experience-with no stitches, no 2-week headache, I remembered most every detail of the entire labor and birth, felt instantly connected to and in love with my new baby boy-made me wonder if nearly an entire generation of women has been robbing themselves of this important biological and emotional experience. What are the ramifications of this? Both for the women personally and for society? Not to mention how much cheaper it was than a hospital birth!
What happened next, um, it's a bit of a blur, but somehow I now have a happy, healthy, spunky 15-month old who thinks his big, 5 year old brother is the cat's meow. There were a few bumps along the way, Griffin had Torticollis and required some physical therapy. Once again I had milk supply issues, despite trying every known method to increase production, short of prescription medication, with no luck. I gave it a good effort for 6 months and then fully surrendered to formula. Everyone was fine.
Oh! I had my gall bladder removed in September, it finally stopped working altogether(Literally. Testing revealed it was functioning at 0%)and was causing me a hell of a lot of pain and discomfort. Remember my earlier post about buying a girdle? Now, I'm not saying that I've got washboard abs here, but that darned malfunctioning gallbladder was the main cause of my midsection woes. Crazy.
Most days I manage to leave the house fully clothed and even groomed. I usually remember to put the kids in the car, too.
Well, that's all for now.l I've got a high chair tray to clean. Again.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Dear Evolutionary Biology
Dear Evolutionary Biology,
It has become apparent that my people must have gone through periods where food was scare at times, thus causing our bodies to pack on the pounds whenever given the chance. However, I had at least 15lbs of "maternal fat stores" all ready to go when I hopped on board the crazy train to babytown, so really, there is no need to keep converting every morsel I consume to fat. Stop it, just stop! There will be plenty of snacks available to me. I do not need 30 extra pounds in fat alone to breastfeed. I live 2 minutes from Safeway. If I get hungry, I'll send out the hunter for take out.
I had to go buy some "full panel" maternity shorts and extra large maternity shirts yesterday. The shorts I wore comfortably over my belly at this exact stage during my pregnancy with Nicholas are now more like a tourniquet than clothing. The belly is pushing down my pants and taking my underwear with them.
9 more weeks (hopefully 6), 9 more weeks (hopefully 6).............. :)
It has become apparent that my people must have gone through periods where food was scare at times, thus causing our bodies to pack on the pounds whenever given the chance. However, I had at least 15lbs of "maternal fat stores" all ready to go when I hopped on board the crazy train to babytown, so really, there is no need to keep converting every morsel I consume to fat. Stop it, just stop! There will be plenty of snacks available to me. I do not need 30 extra pounds in fat alone to breastfeed. I live 2 minutes from Safeway. If I get hungry, I'll send out the hunter for take out.
I had to go buy some "full panel" maternity shorts and extra large maternity shirts yesterday. The shorts I wore comfortably over my belly at this exact stage during my pregnancy with Nicholas are now more like a tourniquet than clothing. The belly is pushing down my pants and taking my underwear with them.
9 more weeks (hopefully 6), 9 more weeks (hopefully 6).............. :)
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