Vay-cay-shun!

It's the big one.  Three weeks of American bliss. 

Tomorrow is Bee's second birthday and we're taking her on an airplane ride home to see her grandparents!

I am off to finish packing.

Posting will probably be light, or nil.

See you in a few weeks.

A second method for stopping a tantrum

So tonight, Bee was running toward my bedroom yelling because she wanted to keep reading Richard Scarry's "Busytown" and did NOT want to sit down and have dinner. She didn't know it, although I did know it, that really the reason she was running and screaming was that dinner was late and she was hungry and tired.  

Poor David was cooking dinner and the fuse for the stove blew. Once this happens, it usually takes a few hours for it to cool down and work properly again. I don't know why this happens. Maybe it is our special Eastern European wiring.  Ever resourceful, David lit the stove with the gas and a match and carried on boiling the pasta. 

Anyway. . . the fuse box was irritated it decided to make all the electricity cut out.  Suddenly, the apartment became completely dark.  Bee, who seconds before had been speeding her way toward my bedroom, changes directions and starts bumbling back through the pitch black hallway, screaming even louder.  I groped through the darkness at toddler height until I found Bee.  Her tantrum stopped.  A blackout is dramatic method, but it worked.

Smile on my face

--My VIP visitor departing the country this afternoon.  

--Bee's request for kisses all around when David and I arrived home from work today, but particularly when she ordered, "Daddy, kiss Mommy mouth."  Great idea, let's do that again!

--Watching Bee slurp peanut noodles at dinner.

--Curling up in my bed under a warm woolen blanket that I bought once upon a time in Guatemala.

Guilty Pleasures

Magazine subscriptions. I think I subscribe to eight different magazines. 

The guiltiest pleasure of the lot is US Weekly.  US Weekly magazine is a dumbed down version of People magazine, which is already pretty dumb in its own right. 

I like to compare US Weekly to a McDonald's value meal--you get the same thing every time, it's cheap, tastes great, although it makes you feel a little bit sick when you're done.  Since I've all but given up Mc Donalds (don't watch Supersize me, just don't) US Weekly is my weekly junk fix.

Despite the lingering bad taste, I keep going back, week after week. I think it is the brightly colored pictures and gossip-y language written on a third grade reading level.  After a long day at the office, I don't want to puzzle out some postmodern novel, I just want to retreat to some lowbrow entertainment.  

I just got home a few minutes ago and it is well after 9 pm--the very rare work night out that I do my best to avoid.  (There is no dinner, meeting, or reception that is more important to me than after work cuddle time and Play Doh creation with Bee. But as it was my event, I had to attend.)  

I'm tired and off to bed with Oprah magazine.  David will probably be reading the Economist. Hopefully his intellectual pursuits will balance out my mental laziness.

All the live long day

Highlight of my day: sitting on the floor of Bee's room, playing cars and trains together.  I built her a long bridge with cardboard blocks.  We balanced her train and cars on top. We drove them underneath.  We landed helicopters and airplanes. We strategically positioned wooden trees and houses around the bridge. We sang nursery rhymes about trains.  We played until dinner was ready.  Just me and my Bee.  One of the purest joys of parenthood is the chance to be a kid again.

Test kitchen

Maybe it's the sudden drop in temperature. Maybe it's the fact that we're leaving for our vacation next weekend and won't be cooking for ourselves for three weeks.  Maybe it's because cooking is a form of stress management for me.  Whatever it is, David and I have been cooking all weekend long.

Here are todays hits and misses:

Pumpkin waffles with maple cream cheese syrup

Grade: B

I think this was a recipe from Mark Bittman's "How to Cook Everything Vegetarian," but I'm not certain because I was sleeping when David and Bee whipped these up.  Bottom line, you couldn't really taste the pumpkin and the syrup was a bit congealed.  However, I love waffles in all their guises.

Pumpkin bread (with the pumpkin I stewed yesterday)

Grade: A+

I used my Mom's recipe and it never disappoints. The fresh pumpkin gave the bread a great color and lighter texture than the canned variety.

Applesauce

Grade: C-

It tastes wonderful, despite the fact that I initially added chili powder instead of cinnamon (a quick rinse in cold water saved the apples), but I didn't peel enough apples and cooked them a bit too long.  Yield-less than one cup.

Chipotle roasted pumpkin seeds

Grade: A

I soaked the seeds in saltwater overnight and then tossed them with olive oil (dry off the water first) and chipotle popcorn seasoning.  Bake on a cookie sheet in a 300 degree  for 40 minutes, stirring the seeds every 10 minutes or so so they don't stick.  

Later today:

Sugar cookies (with halloween cookie cutters). I'd like to decorate them with royal icing but we'll see whether I have any energy left.

Vegetable stock (all the veggies are ready to go) and then Sunday's soup.  We still need to roast the red peppers.  

I'd also like to clean the house, start packing (beachwear), make playdoh, and go for a jog.  This is overly ambitious, I know, but this is why weekends ought to be three days instead of just two.

P is for possibilities

Three minutes until my pumpkin is finished roasting.  Now I just have to decide what I want to make with the puree.  It probably weighed about two kilograms whole, but I'm not sure how many cups that will translate into.

David is lobbying for pumpkin pie. I would like to make some mini loaves of pumpkin bread (freeze the extras to eat on rushed weekday mornings).  We also have two unopened containers of cream cheese in the fridge, so maybe pumpkin cake or cookies with cream cheese frosting? Or even cheese cake?  

Kittens

There is only one thing cuter than a black and white kitten with a tiny pink nose--A black and white mama cat with five black and white kittens with tiny pink noses, all curled up together in a comfy pile of leaves, fast asleep.

The building next to my office has a number of tenants, but none so cute as their youngest feline residents. They are street cats--skittish, shy, moving in the shadows, and most likely doomed to a short, trash-can scrounging life. They have grown old enough now that it would be more and more difficult for someone to adopt them.  

But, when they're all curled up together, with their paws and tails so intertwined its hard to tell where one kitten stops and the other begins, passerby stop and press their faces up to the fence, just to watch them--in all their adorable kitten-ness.  

No cats for me, though. I just watch and sigh.

Small victories

As Bee approaches turning two years old, she has become more and more dramatic.  She got angry tonight when David had to go out and run an, erm, errand.  (We didn't have sesame oil for our peanut noodles recipe, so we retreated from the kitchen and resorted to ordering a pizza.  I don't know whether it's a good thing or a bad thing that there is a take away pizza place less than two blocks from our apartment.)  

So, David was off picking up the pizza and Bee was angrily throwing my tennis shoes and crying that she wanted to go with her Daddy.  

I think Bee's tantrum stemmed from the fact that she didn't realize how much she had missed her father until he returned.  Tonight, she turned dinner from its usual 15 minute sit down to 45 minutes, perched on her father's lap, taking miniscule bites of her increasingly soggy pizza crust until we finally made her go take a bath.  

But I was talking about the tantrum. So she's yelling and carrying on and I'm too worn out from my marathon day at work to talk her down from the cliff.  My usual strategies are either to hold her and sympathize with her problem, without giving in, or to ignore the bad behavior. Really bad behavior, like hitting, earns an instant time out, but I try to use them sparingly.  All the yelling was getting on my nerves so I said, "Bee, I am going to go read some stories in your room." I walked away, without a word, went to her room, and began reading "Going on a Bear Hunt," which is one of Bee's top ten favorite books.  

Immediately, I hear, "NO BOOKS!" bellowed from down the hall. I pretend I didn't hear her and persist with the story, and she caves--stopped crying, came running even, climbed up on the couch and sat nicely with me while I read.  

Score one for parentdom.  

Athens

I have been wanting to post, and I want to write a long post, but my intentions have fallen through these past couple days as David has been out of town and I have been increasing my (already enormous) respect for single parents everywhere. 

On Monday evening, I flew back to the wilds of Eastern Europe with Bee. David stayed on in Athens for a conference.  Flying with an almost two year old is an adventure and I was very nervous about how we would manage alone. I shouldn't have been so worried. We only had a few dramatic moments (wanting to go on the bus that was going out to the airplane flying to Sofia, and she was so angry at me I almost considered letting her go for a second) but for the most part, she was surprisingly angelic. 

Once onboard the plane, she chanted over and over "airplane, big noise" because the plane to Athens had been a turboprop, and it was very loud.  We were both relieved to fly back on a jet. Neither of us enjoyed the airplane food, but we had fun playing with her "Cheerios" book and singing quietly to each other.  The only perilous part of our journey was the cab ride from the airport to our apartment. Our driver was from the Congo and basically only spoke French.  He had a GPS navigator that gave him directions in French. I don't speak French so I was praying the entire way that he wouldn't get lost. Fortunately, we made it home without incident. 

But, Athens . . . was wonderful minus the motorcycles. They swarm like mosquitos, driving on the sidewalks and plazas and in between the lanes of cars.  There was so much to see. Unfortunately, I forgot the memory card to my camera so I couldn't take any pictures. To compensate, I really soaked up the scenery and tried to create as many mental snapshots as I could.  

The weather was warm, the Athenians were so friendly, and the food was so, Greek (either fried or drenched in honey or both).  Athens gives off an amazing sense of history.  You will round a street corner and run into an excavation of an ancient road, or a pair of several thousand year old graves.  There is an aura of permanence. The city has been there, has been Athens, for thousands of years and it is reassuring to know that it will continue to be Athens for many thousands more.  

Our hotel, the Baby Grand, was delightful, and I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to anyone. Bee fell asleep in the taxi ride from the airport and David carried her, car seat and all, over to reception. Upon check in, they told us that they had upgraded our room to a gorgeous suite and that it would be ready in 30 minutes. 

David and I curled up in the very eclectic bar and lounge with our magazines and some tea. We had the whole place to ourselves and we relaxed while Bee napped in her car seat.  After Bee woke up and we were settled in our room, we headed out to find the city, with no particular direction in mind.  David inevitably does this to me.  Whenever we go on vacation, he will sent off, a rudderless ship, wandering the wild sea of streets.  Irritatingly, some internal compass of his always manages to find the main tourist attractions. I remember during a trip to Copenhagen, we wandered through the city and he found the "little mermaid statue" within an hour.  It's a talent I guess.  His other talent is ignoring me while I trot behind pleading with him to look at a map or ask for directions.

So, as a result, within 15 minutes we had arrived at the Plaka, the touristy cafe and shopping district.  The afternoon sun blazed in a bright blue sky.  Suddenly, framed by a pair of buildings, the Acropolis and Parthenon, bone white against the sky, came into view--a mental snapshot I will keep forever.  How can that ancient ruin still dominate a modern city?

We ate an early dinner at a Taverna and ordered enough Greek food to cover the table.  We ate outside and enjoyed watching the crowds of people going by-- Greek Boy Scouts, Scandinavian tourists, women with headscarves, and African men selling "designer" sunglasses.  On the way back to the hotel, by complete coincidence, we ran into a friend attending the same conference as David. We plunged back into the Plaka and found another cafe where we sat and drank a bottle of Greek red wine.  I was defeated by a chocolate souffle. I didn't ever think something could be too chocolate-y, but this was.

The next morning, David navigated us to Starbucks (my vice, I know) and afterward we met up with a friend of mine who is working in Athens, and her husband. Her husband has a masters in Greek archeology, so we had our own private tour guide to take us to the Acropolis.  The highlight of the tour was standing next to the Parthenon and looking at the city spread out before us.  My friend's husband points out the spot where St. Paul is said to have preached to and converted the Athenians.  It gave me chills.

After the Acropolis, we all had lunch at another Greek restaurant where we savored such delicacies as fava beans, little fish fried whole and oh, the calamari. Just incredible.  We went back to the hotel for Bee's nap. When she (and David) woke up, we headed out again and walked around and around, mostly aimlessly, through a shuttered city (Sunday afternoon is not the time for touring or shopping). We ended up back at our hotel with no idea of what to do for dinner. We ended up eating dinner in the hotel restaurant, and, while the breakfasts were delicious (each morning I had a pastry and bowl of Greek yogurt with honey, walnuts, and jam) dinner tasted like someone's failed leftovers.  

Monday morning was the last morning of our trip and we did a little souvenir shopping (olive oil soap and a silver owl pendant for me, a worry bead bracelet for Bee, and a number of small gifts for my work colleagues). We checked out of our hotel and taxied over to the Hilton, where David was staying for the conference. We had lunch in the hotel, which always seems like something out of a novel to me, something from back when people embarked a Grand Tour. Now it's just grandly expensive.  

Bee fell asleep in the taxi on the way to the airport, which really worked out well. We arrived early and poor David carried Bee in her car seat (with her in it it's about 50 pounds all together).  After I checked in we maneuvered up to the second floor where they had a McDonalds and McCafe (a Starbucks wannabee).  Despite the music and loud conversations going on all around us, it was a nice quiet time for David and I.  So much of our day-to-day lives are taken up by parenting, meaningful adult conversation is usually squeezed in in the few minutes before falling asleep.  

So, with our peacefully sleeping daughter wedged into the booth with us, we sat and talked about our hopes and the future. As we talked. the noise around us dulled and we just enjoyed being together.  Too often, I get caught up in the concept of vacationing--the going and seeing and doing and buying--that I miss out on the concept of vacations as restorative, as a time for simply being. Well, of all the possible places, in a crowded McDonalds, we were.

I hate a problem I can't solve

At the risk of stoking the little tornado of seething indignation that is churning in my stomach: Our evening flight to Athens was cancelled due to a strike.  We have been rebooked to fly late tomorrow morning, which shortens our long weekend considerably.  

On the bright side, I am looking forward to meeting up with friends there on Sunday and touring the Parthenon.

David and I are off to watch a strange sci-fi series that he ordered from Netflix. I think it's called Red Dwarf?  We shall see. . .

Off to Greece

We are leaving work an hour early tomorrow to catch our flight to Athens, Greece!  It should be a very excited weekend.  I'm embarrassed to admit that I haven't really planned for this trip other than booking a hotel room.  

I know we'll want to see the Parthenon.  Other than that, we'll probably walk around the historic districts, find interesting little restaurants, and find a park where Bee can run and play.  

I'm nervous about how the flight will go tomorrow, because we won't arrive until past Bee's bedtime (I'm bracing for a major meltdown at some point, just hopefully not while we're on the plane).  It will be a good practice flight before we head back to the US at the end of the month.

Well, I am off to pack and spend some time with David as he is back from his ports visit.  

Prayers for Nie Nie

When a blog becomes a living hope.

They do the wrap

You know you're in Europe when:

At the first hint of frost in the air, every woman under the age of 40 is suddenly sporting an artfully wrapped cotton scarf around her neck. The longer and more colorful, the better.  Some are looped round and round and then loosely tied to tuck the ends under. Others are dashingly draped over the shoulder.  

Whenever I try to artfully arrange a scarf, it manages to come loose and is flapping about within minutes.  Clearly I am not European.  I also walk to work carrying a lunch bag.  This is another dead giveaway and major fashion faux pas.  

But I was talking about scarves. . . The scarf is usually worn over a skinny jacket, paired with tight jeans and flat shoes (strangely enough, Keds seem to be making a comeback with teenagers here).   

European women are chic.  They look like they have an expresso for breakfast and no immediate plans for lunch. As pedestrians, they walk aggressively and quickly.  There is a daily "on-foot" rush hour in my neighborhood.  Keep up or be run over. Despite the rush, they don't seem to be going to work.  Perhaps to university, or to a dingy cafe to smoke cigarettes and talk about philosophy.  

In any case, I like to watch them as I hurry to my American job, scarf swinging, lunch bag bouncing with each step, unfashionably enjoying life here in the wilds of Eastern Europe.

Sunrise, sunrise

The highlight of my day today was first thing this morning. Bee woke up just before 6 am and greeted me with, "Mommy, nudle."  

"Nudle" is Bee's attempt at pronouncing "cuddle" and in my early morning grogginess I was more than happy to oblige. I trundled her back to my bed and the two of us curled up and went back to sleep.  

David was very exasperated at his two girls lazing in bed on a Monday morning, of all days. He left us sleeping and went to the kitchen and began cooking breakfast. A little while later, I could smell pancakes cooking. 

Once breakfast was ready, David came back to the bedroom and rousted us out of bed and we all ate whole wheat apple pancakes and celebrated Max's fifth birthday (a little early this year, since he goes to the kennel tonight for ten days).  He had his own pancake with a candle and he sat proudly while we sang "Happy Birthday."  

After we sang,  Max wasn't sure what to do about the candle, as it impeded his immediate access to the pancake.  He started lunging toward it (I think he planned to eat around it) and for a few seconds was in immediate danger of singeing his fur.  I blew it out quickly and he ate his treat in a few quick gulps. 

It is quiet family mornings like today that sustain me during the hectic work week.  The pancakes were an extra bonus.

Weekends are too short

Well, it's 7 pm, David is giving Bee a bath and I have "Flight of the Bumblebee" running through my head. Despite cleaning up earlier this morning, there has been another toy eruption in the living room. I need to attack that and then go make up the bed.  

My one autumn housekeeping task for the weekend was accomplished: flipping the mattress, washing the mattress cover, bedding, and putting the duvet in the dryer to fluff.  Between the princess birthday party yesterday and a friend's 40th birthday party all afternoon today I didn't manage to do much else. 

My cold (avian influenza/walking pneumonia/plague) is still going strong.  So, I'm off to clean up, put Bee to bed and then take up residence on the couch with a magazine and box of tissues.

Sugar

We just came back from a neighbor's birthday party.  Miss M. turned three years old and celebrated with a pink princess party complete with a children's entertainer, face painting, balloon animals, loud music, a pinata, and lots and lots of children.  

Bee oscillated between being totally overwhelmed and wildly enjoying herself. She didn't want to have her face painted but braved having a flower painted on her arm.  She really, really, liked the cake. 

David is taking Bee and Max to the park and I am headed off to clean up around our apartment. It looks as though a party was thrown in here too, but it is only the vestiges of a toddler entertaining herself.  

I am looking forward to a quiet evening.

Nursemaid's elbow

This morning we were all getting ready for work, as usual, when Bee dislocated her elbow.  Bee was seated on the floor and she stretched her arms up toward David to be picked up. He reached down and picked her up by her arms (something neither of us generally do but every parent has done once in a while) when Bee's elbow goes "POP!" and she starts to cry.  

At first I thought okay, she has strained her arm a little bit and she'll be okay in a minute, this is typical toddler drama.  Ten minutes go by and Bee is still crying every time she moves her arm and I am thinking it's broken and using every ounce of self control not to freak out and start screaming at David.  I tell him to call our pediatrician. He immediately calls and explains what happened. Our pediatrician says, "This is nursemaid's elbow, I know what to do, I'll be right over."  

Let me just say that we are so lucky to have an American pediatrician, also living in Eastern Europe, who is our neighbor within walking distance. It is a blessing beyond belief.  Bee was calmer and in less pain, but every time she sees David she points at him with her good arm and says, in tones laced with venom, "Daddy did it."

I pull Bee into my lap and we read stories, endless board books, while we wait.  She is distracted, but David is even more distracted because when he placed the call on his Crackberry he saw an email congratulating him on his promotion.   The long awaited promotion lists for our jobs had been released. We were soothing Bee and trying to surreptitiously confirm that he, and I, had been promoted.  The nervous excitement was really too much.  

After about 20 minutes, the pediatrician arrives. I create a distraction while she firmly grips Bee's arm and with a twist and an audible "pop," her elbow slides back into place.  A nursemaid's elbow is a partial dislocation where a tendon slides over the bone. It is not as serious as an entire dislocation.  Amazingly, within minutes Bee was using her arm and no longer in pain.  

My stomach still twists when I think about this morning.  The evening was not much better. David was at a reception, so I came home alone.  I went out walking with Max and Bee in the stroller when a little boy about her age runs over and pokes Bee in the eye. Completely unprovoked.  Bee started screaming, less in pain but more in pure outrage. By the time we had got back to the apartment, her mood had moved beyond arsenic hour blackness into a poison all its own. 

There is a short flight of steps leading up to the door of my apartment. In order to get everyone inside, I have to take Bee out of the stroller, bring her and Max to the top of the steps and then go down and bring up the stroller. She was having none of it.  Screaming and doing the "worm" (going limp and refusing to move). 

I finally got everyone up and into the apartment. Bee was screaming at the top of her lungs, slung over my shoulder like an accident victim.  Max was not enjoying the noise and was refusing to follow me inside. I could actually see his Labrador brain calculating if he should make a break for it and go find a quieter family, preferably one with no family members under the age of 5.  I got everyone in, managed dinner, bath time (although the water was brown tonight) and bed time.  Since we all have colds no one will sleep well tonight. 

For now, though, it is quiet. David is home. I have a glass of pink champagne.  And yes, I got promoted. 

Hold me tight

David and I were walking home from the metro tonight, through our neighborhood park. It is a daily chance for the two of us to steal some private conversation. We can talk about our day while not trying to feed Max, make dinner and keep Miss Bee from wreaking kitchen havoc as she is wont to do. 

So today we were strolling arm in arm through the park, past my favorite group of rose bushes, the ones with Creamsicle orange roses as big as saucers, when, 15 meters ahead, I spot Bee and her babysitter. The babysitter saw us and pointed Bee in our direction. She took off running towards us, chubby legs pounding the sidewalk path shouting "Mommy! Mommy!"  

All the ladies on the bench turned their heads to look.  I was waving and hurrying toward her. I squatted down and held my arms open. She raced into them and hugged me tight saying, "Mommy here!" 

I savored hugging my baby for a few seconds longer than necessary, my face buried in her shiny hair.  For a brief moment the people on the benches, the park, the whole world vanished and it was just me and my daughter.  

I know that in a few years there will be drama and slamming doors and pre-teen angst.  Even now, parenthood challenges me every day.  

Life with a toddler is often like trying to keep a spilled glass of milk from pouring off the table and onto the floor.  You're flailing about trying to contain imminent disaster. The milk is everywhere, it's dripping, you're mopping it up and exasperated.  And then, some days, you have life with a toddler and spilled glasses of milk.  

But the spills and the messes and the tears--they all disappear when your daughter runs toward you, calling your name, arms wide open.

They aren't little trees. . .

Bee likes broccoli.  

Who has ever heard of a toddler wanting to eat broccoli?  Her exact words tonight while eating it were, "Yum yum, body good." (As in the "Milk, it does a body good" slogan David taught her.)  

We were both aghast.  I didn't like broccoli as a child and still do not particularly care for it. 

I rewarded my adventurous eater with healthy chocolate goldfish crackers for dessert.

October brings

so many wonderful things:

--Our trip to Greece.

--Our vacation at home in the United States.

--Bee's 2nd birthday. 

--Sweater weather.

--31 excuses for hot chocolate.

--Red, yellow, orange and brown leaves.

--Pumpkins and butternut squash for baking.

--Halloween.