Friday, December 24, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Last but not least: Tonga and Air New Zealand
On my way home, I spent an hour layover in Tonga. Tonga is a country in the South Pacific. I would really like to go back someday. It's a kingdom, with a King and nobles, yet the King just decided to try out the whole democracy thing, allowing the people to elect their representatives. And it seems to be going well.
Finally, a word about Air New Zealand. They are the best airline ever. I would rather fly coach class on Air New Zealand over business class on ANY U.S. carrier. Why is that? The service. Smiling, caring, competent flight attendants who actually try to make you feel comfortable and at home. Plus, what other airline has a safety briefing that causes the passengers on the plane to laugh and cheer?
Finally, a word about Air New Zealand. They are the best airline ever. I would rather fly coach class on Air New Zealand over business class on ANY U.S. carrier. Why is that? The service. Smiling, caring, competent flight attendants who actually try to make you feel comfortable and at home. Plus, what other airline has a safety briefing that causes the passengers on the plane to laugh and cheer?
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
South Pacific Christmas
I came across this tropical themed Nativity while in Samoa:
Instead of straw and snow, palm fronds and leis decorated the stable.
Instead of straw and snow, palm fronds and leis decorated the stable.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Samoa Samoa
Samoa was wonderful. The country is beautiful and verdant, just like you would imagine a tropical island paradise in the South Pacific to be (The Polynesian hotel at Disney kinda got it right!):
The little beach at my resort. Unfortunately, I went to Samoa for work and didn't have a chance to spend much time here.
The ocean seemed to change color depending on the time of day.
The walkway leading to my room.
Coconut trees were everywhere. What's more, over 100 different kinds of bananas grow on Samoa. And oh yeah, there is also lots of fresh pineapple, Samoan lobster, and giant shrimp. Speaking of pineapple. . .
My virgin pina colada, and a toast to my dear husband on our 8th anniversary. Hopefully next year we won't be apart!
The little beach at my resort. Unfortunately, I went to Samoa for work and didn't have a chance to spend much time here. 
The ocean seemed to change color depending on the time of day.
The walkway leading to my room.
Coconut trees were everywhere. What's more, over 100 different kinds of bananas grow on Samoa. And oh yeah, there is also lots of fresh pineapple, Samoan lobster, and giant shrimp. Speaking of pineapple. . .
My virgin pina colada, and a toast to my dear husband on our 8th anniversary. Hopefully next year we won't be apart!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Pohutukawa
In New Zealand, the pohutukawa tree blooms at Christmas-time and the flowers look just like ornaments.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Hiking in Tawa
Earlier in the week, I had the chance to go hiking in one of Wellington's suburbs, called Tawa. Never mind that I have had a horrible cough for the past two weeks, I wasn't going to let a virus stand in my way of getting out and seeing New Zealand's famous countryside. And it was well worth the windy trek.
We hiked through a dense forest, so filled with primeval ferns and plants and trees that the air seemed positively charged with oxygen. Finally, after close to a hour of uphill trudging, we emerged into the light.
There were foxgloves blooming everywhere.
Standing at the top of the hill, the wind was blowing so strongly, you could almost lean against it.
Did you know that New Zealand has no poisonous spiders or snakes? (Truly my version of heaven!) Above, the fearsome nettle lies in wait for unsuspecting passerby.
There was a 360 degrees perfect panorama and I could not stop taking photographs.
Finally, no trip to New Zealand would be complete without an encounter with the ubiquitous sheep. New Zealand has a population of about 4 million people. However, it can boast of a population of 40 million sheep. That's ten sheep per person. These two were so cute, I'm sure the Kiwis wouldn't mind if I brought them back to the United States with me.
I am currently in airport purgatory waiting for my 12 hour flight from Auckland to Los Angeles. It has been a long day--I started my morning in Samoa and had an hour layover in Tonga on my way back to NZ. I bet you'd have a tough time finding those countries on a map!
This has been an amazing trip; but I have missed my family so very, very, VERY much. I am aching to hug my sweet little girls. All I want is to be home with them and my dear husband.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Wellington, New Zealand
Wellington harbor on a beautiful Saturday morning. The water was as smooth as glass.
There were snippets of prose hidden in the most unlikely of places, delighting my English major soul.
I thought about commandeering a boat, but knew the police would be on me in a second.
I'm dreaming of white Christmas, but around here, folks are hoping for warm temperatures and plenty of sunshine.Auckland at Sunset
New Zealand is fantastic. If only it weren't so far away from my husband and kiddies!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Not in the parenting handbook
Yes indeed, indeedy. So, Miss Bee threw a fit tonight over a trash can full of trash. That was a new one.
My poor child has had the worst cold. She is chapped and scrawny and miserable. My sick Bean-pod has had three days of antibiotics which have taken away her ear infection, but given her hives and made her very temperamental, to say the least.
We have endured days of coughing and sneezing and Bee leaving crumpled Kleenex throughout the house as though she were Gretel venturing off into a dark forest.
In an attempt to corral the tissues, we placed a trashcan at the edge of her bed. This was having a positive effect until tonight. It was trash night in our house and my husband was busily emptying all the cans upstairs. Suddenly I heard screeching coming from Bee's room. "They're mine! They're my tissues. You can't take them out," she cried.
Disbelieving my ears, I hurried to my daughter's room and found her and my husband involved in a fierce game of tug of war over the plastic trash can.
You can guess who won that battle, but I had the harder task of consoling Bee over the thrown out, lost forever, dirty tissues. (It's really hard to do that with a straight face, by the way.) And then I had to make her go apologize for yelling at her father. Over snotty kleenex.
My poor child has had the worst cold. She is chapped and scrawny and miserable. My sick Bean-pod has had three days of antibiotics which have taken away her ear infection, but given her hives and made her very temperamental, to say the least.
We have endured days of coughing and sneezing and Bee leaving crumpled Kleenex throughout the house as though she were Gretel venturing off into a dark forest.
In an attempt to corral the tissues, we placed a trashcan at the edge of her bed. This was having a positive effect until tonight. It was trash night in our house and my husband was busily emptying all the cans upstairs. Suddenly I heard screeching coming from Bee's room. "They're mine! They're my tissues. You can't take them out," she cried.
Disbelieving my ears, I hurried to my daughter's room and found her and my husband involved in a fierce game of tug of war over the plastic trash can.
You can guess who won that battle, but I had the harder task of consoling Bee over the thrown out, lost forever, dirty tissues. (It's really hard to do that with a straight face, by the way.) And then I had to make her go apologize for yelling at her father. Over snotty kleenex.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Buying the cow . . .
So I guess it all really started when I read "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle," about three years ago. I went from not really thinking about the food we ate at all to thinking a lot about it, and how I wanted to feed my family. Since then, dear husband and I have dabbled in vegetarianism--organic food--buying local--farmer's markets--cooking from scratch--baking bread with a wild yeast starter--and now, milk delivery.
Over the course of several years, I have learned a lot of terminology: Grams of sugar. High fructose corn syrup. Cage free eggs versus certified humane. The prevalence of corn products in the American food supply. Feed lots. Factory farming. The difference between grass fed versus grass finished beef. Shopping the perimeter of the grocery store.
Some of the above activities were compulsory, a part of living in Romania. In Bucharest, if you wanted good vegetables, you bought them at the market. If we wanted to make an "American" apple pie, we had to make it from scratch. This new-found self-sufficiency has had such an impact on our lives, however, that we bought our house in America within walking distance of a farmer's market. I have learned a lot of things. Sure, you can buy canned pumpkin at the grocery store. It tastes fine. When I'm feeling lazy, that's what I do. However, it does not have the depth of flavor of the cheese pumpkin I bought at the farmer's market, baked in the oven, and pureed in my food processor.
Mainstream America would read the above sentence and roll its eyes in disbelief. I think most people would scoff at my refusal to buy Poptarts and laugh at my "Little House on the Prairie" pantry stocking tendencies. That's okay. And you know, I will eat at McDonalds once in a while, but in the full knowledge that most of my meal is some sort of corn by-product. We do buy some premade items, like veggie burgers, for the nights when we are feeling too lazy to cook much. We eat out and at friends and family's houses without worrying about where they buy their products or the ethics behind the meat that we're being served. (Because really, we are just ecstatic for anyone else to be doing the cooking!)
But so I actually wanted to write about our milk delivery service. There is a small dairy in Maryland called South Mountain Creamery that delivers milk, orange juice (from an amazing farm in Florida), yogurt, cheese, eggs, meat, bread, and even some pre-made dinners. The milk is incredible. It even comes in glass bottles (you return them to the company when empty.) You sign up to participate through their website and within a few weeks you house is added to a delivery route. On delivery day, you have to leave out a cooler with ice so that the products don't spoil. I cannot tell you how much I enjoy this service. It's a worthwhile splurge. I am grateful to be able to feed my family well and hopefully raise adventurous eaters in my daughters!
Over the course of several years, I have learned a lot of terminology: Grams of sugar. High fructose corn syrup. Cage free eggs versus certified humane. The prevalence of corn products in the American food supply. Feed lots. Factory farming. The difference between grass fed versus grass finished beef. Shopping the perimeter of the grocery store.
Some of the above activities were compulsory, a part of living in Romania. In Bucharest, if you wanted good vegetables, you bought them at the market. If we wanted to make an "American" apple pie, we had to make it from scratch. This new-found self-sufficiency has had such an impact on our lives, however, that we bought our house in America within walking distance of a farmer's market. I have learned a lot of things. Sure, you can buy canned pumpkin at the grocery store. It tastes fine. When I'm feeling lazy, that's what I do. However, it does not have the depth of flavor of the cheese pumpkin I bought at the farmer's market, baked in the oven, and pureed in my food processor.
Mainstream America would read the above sentence and roll its eyes in disbelief. I think most people would scoff at my refusal to buy Poptarts and laugh at my "Little House on the Prairie" pantry stocking tendencies. That's okay. And you know, I will eat at McDonalds once in a while, but in the full knowledge that most of my meal is some sort of corn by-product. We do buy some premade items, like veggie burgers, for the nights when we are feeling too lazy to cook much. We eat out and at friends and family's houses without worrying about where they buy their products or the ethics behind the meat that we're being served. (Because really, we are just ecstatic for anyone else to be doing the cooking!)
But so I actually wanted to write about our milk delivery service. There is a small dairy in Maryland called South Mountain Creamery that delivers milk, orange juice (from an amazing farm in Florida), yogurt, cheese, eggs, meat, bread, and even some pre-made dinners. The milk is incredible. It even comes in glass bottles (you return them to the company when empty.) You sign up to participate through their website and within a few weeks you house is added to a delivery route. On delivery day, you have to leave out a cooler with ice so that the products don't spoil. I cannot tell you how much I enjoy this service. It's a worthwhile splurge. I am grateful to be able to feed my family well and hopefully raise adventurous eaters in my daughters!
Monday, November 15, 2010
Is it still a vegetable if it's fried?
So I am trying to summon the energy to get up a do at least a few chores before going to bed. It's chilly downstairs though and my bed is just so comfortable. Both the girls are asleep. We have finally managed to get Miss McGoo to go to sleep around the same time as her sister, which is a blessing. (Never mind that she still wakes up in the night, at least we have the whole going to sleep thing figured out.)
Tonight my dear husband made eggplant parmigiana and boy was it good. He has perfected this recipe, as he has with most things that involve cheese and/or frying. Eggplant parmigiana is that perfect combination of decadent and down-home that elevates an ordinary weeknight into something special. It almost makes you break out a tablecloth and some candlesticks. (I say almost, because we didn't quite get that far. But Miss Bee did set the table quite nicely.)
So here's how you make it:
Eggplant Parmigiana
by Dear Husband
Slice 1-1.5 lbs eggplant and put in a large bowl filled with cold salted water. Let them soak for ten minutes or so.
Prepare the eggplant for frying: dip the slices in flour, then into a beaten egg, and then panko bread crumbs.
Fry eggplant in a large skillet with as little oil as you can get away with.
Stack on paper towels to drain.
To make the sauce-mix one can tomato sauce and one can chopped tomatoes. Season liberally with salt, pepper, basil, oregano, and red pepper.
Slice one pound of mozzarella cheese.
Arrange eggplant in a single layer in a large baking dish. Stack one slice mozzarella cheese on each piece of eggplant and cover with tomato sauce.
Repeat with the second layer.
Bake at 375 degrees until the cheese is melted and the sauce is hot and bubbly, approximately 20 minutes.
Serve over angel hair pasta.
Swoon.
Enjoy watching your children eat aforementioned pasta. (Especially the 11 month old!)
Have seconds, or pack up the rest for a Tuesday bag lunch that all your colleagues will envy.
Tonight my dear husband made eggplant parmigiana and boy was it good. He has perfected this recipe, as he has with most things that involve cheese and/or frying. Eggplant parmigiana is that perfect combination of decadent and down-home that elevates an ordinary weeknight into something special. It almost makes you break out a tablecloth and some candlesticks. (I say almost, because we didn't quite get that far. But Miss Bee did set the table quite nicely.)
So here's how you make it:
Eggplant Parmigiana
by Dear Husband
Slice 1-1.5 lbs eggplant and put in a large bowl filled with cold salted water. Let them soak for ten minutes or so.
Prepare the eggplant for frying: dip the slices in flour, then into a beaten egg, and then panko bread crumbs.
Fry eggplant in a large skillet with as little oil as you can get away with.
Stack on paper towels to drain.
To make the sauce-mix one can tomato sauce and one can chopped tomatoes. Season liberally with salt, pepper, basil, oregano, and red pepper.
Slice one pound of mozzarella cheese.
Arrange eggplant in a single layer in a large baking dish. Stack one slice mozzarella cheese on each piece of eggplant and cover with tomato sauce.
Repeat with the second layer.
Bake at 375 degrees until the cheese is melted and the sauce is hot and bubbly, approximately 20 minutes.
Serve over angel hair pasta.
Swoon.
Enjoy watching your children eat aforementioned pasta. (Especially the 11 month old!)
Have seconds, or pack up the rest for a Tuesday bag lunch that all your colleagues will envy.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Her eyes
All the colors of the sea. Blue and brown and gold and green.
I am hopelessly smitten with this baby girl of mine.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
I heart Maileg design
Both my Mom and I have an obsession with Maileg home design, particularly their Danish Christmas elves, or pixes. I have been browsing through a Danish design website that has one of the largest selections online-- and have been alternating between drooling over the Christmas decorations and laughing hysterically at Danish-English Google translations.
Take this one, for instance:
********
I am prepared!
But what I really want to know is where I can find this advent calendar!
Take this one, for instance:
********
Drug pixies
Maileg funky and stylish fabrics elves, in sizes XL to the micro.
Elves have long, long, striped legs and arms, a long red hat and all are in separate nissetøj, depending on the collection and vintage.
Among such limbed sizes can occur pixie-teasing ... so be prepared - big and small.
I am prepared!
But what I really want to know is where I can find this advent calendar!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Child labor
Last week, my husband took Bee to the pediatrician for her four year old checkup. During the visit, the doctor asked Bee a lot of different questions, partly to distract her from the fact that she was about to receive five immunizations, but also to check her language ability.
After Bee successfully answered a few basic things the doctor asked, "What is your favorite thing to do with your Mommy and Daddy?" Her favorite thing, as in the thing she loves to do with her parents more than anything else. . .
Now, if you had asked me to speculate on this question, I might have had a couple ideas--bringing a stack of picture books over to Starbucks for special reading time with Mommy; riding her brand new scooter to school with Daddy; being pulled in her red wagon to the farmer's market on Saturday mornings; carving pumpkins for Halloween and her owl-themed birthday party that included an owl pinata and very adorable owl cake. . .cue the happy family music right there folks. But when the question was put to our saintly daughter, only one thing came to her mind:
"Vacuuming."
This should be an interesting year.
After Bee successfully answered a few basic things the doctor asked, "What is your favorite thing to do with your Mommy and Daddy?" Her favorite thing, as in the thing she loves to do with her parents more than anything else. . .
Now, if you had asked me to speculate on this question, I might have had a couple ideas--bringing a stack of picture books over to Starbucks for special reading time with Mommy; riding her brand new scooter to school with Daddy; being pulled in her red wagon to the farmer's market on Saturday mornings; carving pumpkins for Halloween and her owl-themed birthday party that included an owl pinata and very adorable owl cake. . .cue the happy family music right there folks. But when the question was put to our saintly daughter, only one thing came to her mind:
"Vacuuming."
This should be an interesting year.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
The good part of my day--
The Indian woman who prevented Cheeks McGoo have a meltdown on an overcrowded metro train. She was a one woman baby hypnotist, quieting her royal Cheeks-ness's shrieks of protest at the fact that the metro doors had malfunctioned and zee train was stuck on the platform. (Ever had to listen to "Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Doors clo-sing!" for more than five minute straight? And the conductor was yelling at the passengers over the intercom. But I digress.) The kind woman entertained my daughter until the train got underway again and then for 6 stops after that. We chatted a little and it turned out that she had a 22 month year old son. I am thankful for the fellowship of mothers everywhere.
The other good part of my day was eating salmon chowder at my mother's house. It was the perfect meal for a cold rainy night, hot soup paired with steaming cornbread, with apple turnovers for dessert. It was a good day to be a little bit spoiled.
The other good part of my day was eating salmon chowder at my mother's house. It was the perfect meal for a cold rainy night, hot soup paired with steaming cornbread, with apple turnovers for dessert. It was a good day to be a little bit spoiled.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
In Romania
this time of year the sheep are coming down from their summer pastures high in the mountainsr with the shepherds, the "ciobani."
The cliffs are so steep in parts you wonder how they do it without falling, scrambling down the rockfalls, urged on by the shepherds, herded into line by the sheepdogs.
Have you ever seen a shepherd drive a flock of sheep across a road? They never seem to hurry. There is no sense in rushing the sheep as they will only startle and scatter. Instead, it's a balletic, almost slow motion event. A woolly parade.
I always loved when we were driving in the Romanian countryside and had to stop the car to allow a flock of sheep to surge by. It was like stepping back in time.
The cliffs are so steep in parts you wonder how they do it without falling, scrambling down the rockfalls, urged on by the shepherds, herded into line by the sheepdogs.
Have you ever seen a shepherd drive a flock of sheep across a road? They never seem to hurry. There is no sense in rushing the sheep as they will only startle and scatter. Instead, it's a balletic, almost slow motion event. A woolly parade.
I always loved when we were driving in the Romanian countryside and had to stop the car to allow a flock of sheep to surge by. It was like stepping back in time.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
No whining
I cannot even venture a guess as to how many times a day I remind Miss Bee of the above. Whhyyyy is three going on four such a tough age? One minute, my darling firstborn is little miss helpful, baking cookies and helping me walk the dog. Two minutes later, it's meltdown central. I can understand whining on the weeknights--the poor child has to behave at daycare all day, and that's a lot to ask. But whining on the weekends? Come on! There's too much to do, no time for drama.
On Friday afternoon I finally got around to sorting through the nice pile of mail that had accumulated in my entryway. I found a small envelope addressed to me that surprisingly didn't look like junk mail. I opened it up and found a cork inside. Puzzled, I took a closer look. The cork had a web address and it took me here. My little cousin, who is not so little anymore, in fact he is quite grown up, is starting out in the wine business. And his wine, unlike whining, is fantastic.
On Friday afternoon I finally got around to sorting through the nice pile of mail that had accumulated in my entryway. I found a small envelope addressed to me that surprisingly didn't look like junk mail. I opened it up and found a cork inside. Puzzled, I took a closer look. The cork had a web address and it took me here. My little cousin, who is not so little anymore, in fact he is quite grown up, is starting out in the wine business. And his wine, unlike whining, is fantastic.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Three Quarters One Year
Dear Cheeks McGoo,
You are nine months old today. You celebrated by staying up way past your bedtime and practiced your latest baby milestone--sticking out your tongue. You shrieked with joy every time I mimicked you. We must have looked like a couple of fools.
Cheeks, you are such a funny, sensitive baby, and the ultimate Mama's girl. You ride the metro and make friends with complete strangers, yet you cry when I leave you at daycare. Every. Single. Time. You can crawl, but only backwards. You go wild for paper, any kind. You wake me up at 3:30 every morning, but I don't mind--much.
I love you Peanut.
You have utterly stolen my heart,
Mama
You are nine months old today. You celebrated by staying up way past your bedtime and practiced your latest baby milestone--sticking out your tongue. You shrieked with joy every time I mimicked you. We must have looked like a couple of fools.
Cheeks, you are such a funny, sensitive baby, and the ultimate Mama's girl. You ride the metro and make friends with complete strangers, yet you cry when I leave you at daycare. Every. Single. Time. You can crawl, but only backwards. You go wild for paper, any kind. You wake me up at 3:30 every morning, but I don't mind--much.
I love you Peanut.
You have utterly stolen my heart,
Mama
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Definitions
I was out walking the dog tonight with Cheeks McGoo and Miss Bee in tow.
Bee is very proud that she can read the words "stop" and "no." As we walked, I pointed out various other signs and words.
We came across a sign that had the word "emergency." Out of curiosity, I asked Bee, "Do you know what emergency means?"
"Yes," she replied, "An emergency is like if you pee your pants."
Indeed!
Bee is very proud that she can read the words "stop" and "no." As we walked, I pointed out various other signs and words.
We came across a sign that had the word "emergency." Out of curiosity, I asked Bee, "Do you know what emergency means?"
"Yes," she replied, "An emergency is like if you pee your pants."
Indeed!
Monday, September 13, 2010
Good pizza
Fall fruits and vegetables have arrived at the farmers market: hearty kale, bumpy squash, and crisp apples. This week, I bought home a pair of acorn squash and immediately set about figuring out how to cook them. Roasted squash received the best reviews and so I decided to try a food network recipe for roasted squash pizza with gorgonzola and arugula: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/giada-de-laurentiis/roasted-acorn-squash-and-gorgonzola-pizza-recipe/index.html
Doesn't that sound like a strange combination? It looks even stranger on the pizza but believe you me. . . it tastes delicious.
(New recipe #I have no idea; I have missed writing down quite a few.)
Doesn't that sound like a strange combination? It looks even stranger on the pizza but believe you me. . . it tastes delicious.
(New recipe #I have no idea; I have missed writing down quite a few.)
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Evening song
We had dinner at my parents' house tonight. My father grilled filet mignon. It was an impromptu celebration. Cheeks McGoo loved the roasted potatoes. Bee mostly ate sour cream but declared her "chicken" very tasty. The poor meat-deprived child. Good food, good company, but the greatest gift for two full time working parents--no dirty dishes at our house.
I have been making a big effort to get Bee ready for bed at her bedtime and break the habit of rushing through teeth brushing and story time. I had gotten into the habit of hurrying Bee off to bed, mostly because during the summer she tended to stay up a little too late. Now that I am working and not usually arriving home until after 6 pm, I have a very small sliver of time with Miss Bee. We need to spend more time together snuggling on the couch, not less.
While her big sister is a champion sleeper, Cheeks McGoo is a decided underachiever. We have been working her bedtime routine this week. Infants can keep their own crazy hours but big babies, ones that are almost nine months, well I just feel that they should be sleeping a little bit more. You know, like through the night. And not in my bed. It's not going well, mostly because I know that Cheeks spends the day crying at daycare and I cannot bear to cause her anymore trauma. My Baby has the most delightful, sparkling personality. It should be impossible to love her as much as I do. But boy oh boy she is loud when things aren't going her way.
Right now, though, both of the little ones are sleeping and I had a chance to bake bread. (I will post soon on how it is possible to bake sourdough bread while working full time. It is possible) The whole house smells delicious. Tomorrow morning I will toast a huge piece for breakfast and thank my lucky stars that it's Friday, and a three day weekend.
I have been making a big effort to get Bee ready for bed at her bedtime and break the habit of rushing through teeth brushing and story time. I had gotten into the habit of hurrying Bee off to bed, mostly because during the summer she tended to stay up a little too late. Now that I am working and not usually arriving home until after 6 pm, I have a very small sliver of time with Miss Bee. We need to spend more time together snuggling on the couch, not less.
While her big sister is a champion sleeper, Cheeks McGoo is a decided underachiever. We have been working her bedtime routine this week. Infants can keep their own crazy hours but big babies, ones that are almost nine months, well I just feel that they should be sleeping a little bit more. You know, like through the night. And not in my bed. It's not going well, mostly because I know that Cheeks spends the day crying at daycare and I cannot bear to cause her anymore trauma. My Baby has the most delightful, sparkling personality. It should be impossible to love her as much as I do. But boy oh boy she is loud when things aren't going her way.
Right now, though, both of the little ones are sleeping and I had a chance to bake bread. (I will post soon on how it is possible to bake sourdough bread while working full time. It is possible) The whole house smells delicious. Tomorrow morning I will toast a huge piece for breakfast and thank my lucky stars that it's Friday, and a three day weekend.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Yes you can
pop popcorn in a half a stick of butter. The butter browns and the popcorn kernels pop and turn a lovely caramel color. Put some really fancy sea salt on top and oh. my. goodness. It is the epitome of popcorn. A popcorn sonata. Popcorn perfection.
2,000 calorie popcorn is really what you need when you have a serious case of the Tuesdays. It's pretty sad that a bowl of popcorn is the highlight of my day. I have a summer cold, which is always worse than a winter cold because warm sweaters and hot tea just don't have the same effect when it is 90 degrees outside.
Being sick is a good excuse for oversleeping, and this morning Dear Husband and I managed to do just that this morning. We overslept despite the fact that we went to bed at nine p.m. Cheeks McGoo woke up around 4 am and snuggled back to sleep in the bed with us. Max the dog must have come into the room around 6:30 because my Dear Husband and I woke up simultaneously gasping with horror as we saw that I was supposed to be leaving for work in 20 minutes.
I made it to work, mostly washed and dressed, but spent the morning in a complete fog. I poured dish soap into my tea instead of honey! (Not so good for a sore throat.) I wandered over to the wrong office for a meeting.
So, It was a generally disastrous day, but I am optimistic that tomorrow can only get better. And if it isn't, we'll make more popcorn.
2,000 calorie popcorn is really what you need when you have a serious case of the Tuesdays. It's pretty sad that a bowl of popcorn is the highlight of my day. I have a summer cold, which is always worse than a winter cold because warm sweaters and hot tea just don't have the same effect when it is 90 degrees outside.
Being sick is a good excuse for oversleeping, and this morning Dear Husband and I managed to do just that this morning. We overslept despite the fact that we went to bed at nine p.m. Cheeks McGoo woke up around 4 am and snuggled back to sleep in the bed with us. Max the dog must have come into the room around 6:30 because my Dear Husband and I woke up simultaneously gasping with horror as we saw that I was supposed to be leaving for work in 20 minutes.
I made it to work, mostly washed and dressed, but spent the morning in a complete fog. I poured dish soap into my tea instead of honey! (Not so good for a sore throat.) I wandered over to the wrong office for a meeting.
So, It was a generally disastrous day, but I am optimistic that tomorrow can only get better. And if it isn't, we'll make more popcorn.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Community
So it is rather embarrassing that it's Saturday night and I am in my pajamas and ready for bed before nine o clock. I have heaps of excuses though:
Miss Cheeks has given me her cold and the massive amounts of antibiotics I am taking for strep have wiped me out. Plus, my two little ones keep me busy; my Dear Husband and I played parent to daughter defense all day.
Did you know that we suspended our Netflix account because we couldn't even manage to watch one movie a month? At home.
Despite my ongoing battle with exhaustion, today was a wonderful Saturday and reminded me of how much I love my little community and my extended family.
This morning, I was walking to the farmer's market with Cheeks when my father-in-law drove by with my niece. We met up among the vegetables and I convinced him to stop by our house for a little while. So the girls had an impromptu cousin party.
Dear Husband was outside mowing the lawn when our neighbor down the street came over in a panic. A chipmunk had gotten loose in the house and could we please help. Hubby tried, but the chipmunk took refuge behind their dishwasher. I believe it had been gravely injured by the family cat.
Later on, my Mom came by to go to Michaels--because there are some stores that my Dear Husband flat out refuses to set foot in and Michaels is one of them. It's no fun to look at craft supplies alone, so I brought Cheeks and Bee and my mother.
Later in the afternoon, I took Bee to the grocery store. While we were there, we ran into my sister-in-law and the aforementioned cousin and had a nice chat in the milk aisle.
Then this evening evening we went over to my in laws for dinner and saw everyone again. I love having a little community to call my own.
Miss Cheeks has given me her cold and the massive amounts of antibiotics I am taking for strep have wiped me out. Plus, my two little ones keep me busy; my Dear Husband and I played parent to daughter defense all day.
Did you know that we suspended our Netflix account because we couldn't even manage to watch one movie a month? At home.
Despite my ongoing battle with exhaustion, today was a wonderful Saturday and reminded me of how much I love my little community and my extended family.
This morning, I was walking to the farmer's market with Cheeks when my father-in-law drove by with my niece. We met up among the vegetables and I convinced him to stop by our house for a little while. So the girls had an impromptu cousin party.
Dear Husband was outside mowing the lawn when our neighbor down the street came over in a panic. A chipmunk had gotten loose in the house and could we please help. Hubby tried, but the chipmunk took refuge behind their dishwasher. I believe it had been gravely injured by the family cat.
Later on, my Mom came by to go to Michaels--because there are some stores that my Dear Husband flat out refuses to set foot in and Michaels is one of them. It's no fun to look at craft supplies alone, so I brought Cheeks and Bee and my mother.
Later in the afternoon, I took Bee to the grocery store. While we were there, we ran into my sister-in-law and the aforementioned cousin and had a nice chat in the milk aisle.
Then this evening evening we went over to my in laws for dinner and saw everyone again. I love having a little community to call my own.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Sidelined
So this week has not turned out exactly as I planned, but then, no week ever really does.
I had a sore throat last weekend, which has mostly disappeared, but starting on Tuesday night it suddenly reappeared. By Wednesday evening it felt as though I was swallowing knives. I lay on the floor of Miss Bee's rooms, trying to make her puppets talk, but could only manage a few whispered croaks.
"You're going to Urgent Care," my husband declared. Both he and my mother strong armed me into going to the doctor, and I hate the doctor, but it proved to be a good decision--diagnosis strep throat.
I went to bed Wednesday night with the intention of staying home the following day and focusing on getting well. Then Miss Bee woke up in the night with a fever. I assumed that she had strep too and so the next day my husband took both girls to the pediatrician to be checked out. No strep. Mystery fever. But not a particularly restful day for anyone.
Fortunately, I am feeling much improved after taking a few large doses of amoxicillin. I was back to work today and allowed in the office after assuring my colleagues that I am no longer contagious. Bee's fever vanished as mysteriously as it arrived.
And now Nora has caught her first real cold. She recoils from a proffered Kleenex but loves wiping her nose on my shirt. Repeatedly.
Poor babies.
(All of us!)
I had a sore throat last weekend, which has mostly disappeared, but starting on Tuesday night it suddenly reappeared. By Wednesday evening it felt as though I was swallowing knives. I lay on the floor of Miss Bee's rooms, trying to make her puppets talk, but could only manage a few whispered croaks.
"You're going to Urgent Care," my husband declared. Both he and my mother strong armed me into going to the doctor, and I hate the doctor, but it proved to be a good decision--diagnosis strep throat.
I went to bed Wednesday night with the intention of staying home the following day and focusing on getting well. Then Miss Bee woke up in the night with a fever. I assumed that she had strep too and so the next day my husband took both girls to the pediatrician to be checked out. No strep. Mystery fever. But not a particularly restful day for anyone.
Fortunately, I am feeling much improved after taking a few large doses of amoxicillin. I was back to work today and allowed in the office after assuring my colleagues that I am no longer contagious. Bee's fever vanished as mysteriously as it arrived.
And now Nora has caught her first real cold. She recoils from a proffered Kleenex but loves wiping her nose on my shirt. Repeatedly.
Poor babies.
(All of us!)
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Luminous
I am reveling in the feeling you can only get at the end of a very long, but very good day. It's the best kind of tired--the kind where you curl your toes, crinkle your eyes shut and sink into a pile of pillows.
Today was a family reunion of sorts. My mother has four siblings. I have ten cousins. The entire family, with the exception of my sister and one cousin, gathered to surprise my grandfather for his 86th birthday.
There used to be a time, when I was a child, that most of the family lived nearby and we were able to get together regularly--for pizza nights, football games on TV, holidays and birthdays. As the years went by, our family grew more and more spread out. (We certainly did our part by moving to Romania.) The last time that I saw so many of my relatives all at the same time was at my wedding.
We are an interesting mix of people--equal parts boisterous and reserved. A little bit quirky. Very loving. It's a good mix.
It's amazing how we have all grown older, yet still remain so unchanged. My dear husband and I are making our own family traditions--with his sisters and their children and with my parents and my sister. Those are the the gatherings that Bee and Cheeks will remember when they are grown.
But tonight, bringing my two little daughters to my very big family was the best sort of reunion. Old and young, past and future--a night to remember.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
How I spent my summer
I am typing this post with very guilty fingers as a dormant blog is a sad sad thing indeed. I have been wanting to carve out some time to go back to writing. I have been wanting this every day for the past three months. But it has been a spectacularly difficult summer for me.
First, I had to go back to work and leave my baby. I was missing her all day and she was frantic by the time I came home at night, nursing for hours and hours.
Then, all of our household effects were delivered and dear husband and I spent weeks and weeks sorting through piles and coming to terms with the fact that we have neither an attic nor a basement. Although we do have some nice shelves in our garage. Thank heaven for that.
Next, we received the somewhat good news that Baby McGoo was accepted to the daycare at my work. She now commutes downtown with me, riding the metro in her Ergo carrier (it would be impossible without the Ergo, really). But for me to bring her along and make it to work on time means I must leave the house not one second later than 6:50 am. And that means waking up at 5:15. Which is an ungodly hour.
Finally, I realized that none of the above was really going to be getting any better any time soon. I could no longer labor under the illusion that going back to work was only temporary. It's not. Work is the big hairy elephant in the middle of my family life and he's not going anywhere anytime soon.
So, I have decided to fight back. I am savoring my evenings. Reading books! Making complicated recipes for dinner from Cuisine at Home. Baking sourdough bread. Spending time with my parents. Being present for my daughters. And writing in my blog.
Speaking of blogs--this one manages to make me feel humble, grateful and fashion inspired every time I read it: http://www.reagansblob.com/
First, I had to go back to work and leave my baby. I was missing her all day and she was frantic by the time I came home at night, nursing for hours and hours.
Then, all of our household effects were delivered and dear husband and I spent weeks and weeks sorting through piles and coming to terms with the fact that we have neither an attic nor a basement. Although we do have some nice shelves in our garage. Thank heaven for that.
Next, we received the somewhat good news that Baby McGoo was accepted to the daycare at my work. She now commutes downtown with me, riding the metro in her Ergo carrier (it would be impossible without the Ergo, really). But for me to bring her along and make it to work on time means I must leave the house not one second later than 6:50 am. And that means waking up at 5:15. Which is an ungodly hour.
Finally, I realized that none of the above was really going to be getting any better any time soon. I could no longer labor under the illusion that going back to work was only temporary. It's not. Work is the big hairy elephant in the middle of my family life and he's not going anywhere anytime soon.
So, I have decided to fight back. I am savoring my evenings. Reading books! Making complicated recipes for dinner from Cuisine at Home. Baking sourdough bread. Spending time with my parents. Being present for my daughters. And writing in my blog.
Speaking of blogs--this one manages to make me feel humble, grateful and fashion inspired every time I read it: http://www.reagansblob.com/
Monday, August 2, 2010
Transported
Yes, this is where we'd all rather be. . .transported back in time by a few weeks to the beach . . . my sister still here, watching the World Cup, eating the best donuts for breakfast (two days in a row!), making sand turtles under the beach umbrella, and teaching Bee how to fly her first kite.
I can't believe it's August already. I need more melty ice cream with extra sprinkles. A an early morning jog in the sand. More time to just be a family--not a three ring daycare metro commuting circus of a family. . .
We're going to have make it back to the beach sometime this summer, before the leaves turn and autumn creeps in.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Oh weekend
So it has been a perfectly wonderful Saturday--farmer's market, Bee's dance class, a clean house, a quick run, grocery shopping and a visit to Penzey's, finished off with a fantastic bbq (beer can chicken on the grill, my mom's special potato salad, romaine with ranch dressing, and grilled corn).
For dessert, I finally got to try out my new maryann cake pan, and filled it with vanilla pudding and fresh berries.
Unfortunately my Saturday is lasting a little bit longer than I would prefer, because Cheeks McGoo is wide awake and declining to go back to bed. She has been sent downstairs to read the newspaper with her father until she is good and bored--and tired.
For dessert, I finally got to try out my new maryann cake pan, and filled it with vanilla pudding and fresh berries.
Unfortunately my Saturday is lasting a little bit longer than I would prefer, because Cheeks McGoo is wide awake and declining to go back to bed. She has been sent downstairs to read the newspaper with her father until she is good and bored--and tired.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
The beautiful
I had the privilege of celebrating the 4th of July this year at the National Archives: a fancy breakfast, special viewing of the Constitution before the Archives opened to the public, and VIP seating for a public reading of the Declaration of Independence. We, the crowd, booed King James as Thomas Jefferson read the Declaration's lists of grievances.
Afterward, we trekked down to Capitol hill to meet friends of ours from Latvia for Mexican food. Which, now, looking back, seems vaguely unpatriotic. We should have gone for burgers and apple pie. Regardless, it was great to catch up. As we metroed home, I felt very virtuous watching the hoards of tourists head toward the mall. No fireworks for us this year, just a laid back barbecue at my sister in law's house.
Having spent almost every Independence Day overseas these past six years, being at home for this one was a real treat. Although my schedule seems impossible right now--juggling work, working frantically, and coming home to equally frantic children, there is just so much to love about being home.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Priorities
My husband and two wonderful daughters went to our local pancake house for breakfast this morning. I went to work.
While I was making my solitary morning commute, Bee was savoring silver dollar pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs. My husband enjoyed blueberry pancakes and hash browns. Cheeks McGoo had pears. I had a sticky hot metro car. Yuck.
At the office, I boiled water in my electric kettle and mourned my formerly lazy mornings at home. Oh, my babies need me and I am not there!
It's not all bad. Just mostly. And I know I'll get the hang of this new routine eventually. In the meantime, I keep thinking about this:
Saturday morning farmer's market.
I am working for the weekend.
While I was making my solitary morning commute, Bee was savoring silver dollar pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs. My husband enjoyed blueberry pancakes and hash browns. Cheeks McGoo had pears. I had a sticky hot metro car. Yuck.
At the office, I boiled water in my electric kettle and mourned my formerly lazy mornings at home. Oh, my babies need me and I am not there!
It's not all bad. Just mostly. And I know I'll get the hang of this new routine eventually. In the meantime, I keep thinking about this:
Saturday morning farmer's market.
I am working for the weekend.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
The longest day
Now that I have been home for over a month, I think I can write about our trip home without having any harmful flashbacks.
It was an adventure, full of stories that will become party of family lore, and repeated for years to come. Above all however, traveling solo from Romania to the United States with my two little girls was a reaffirmation of the kindness of strangers. If it weren't for all the help I received on my trip, I would still be on the first floor of Bucharest's airport:
We arrived at the airport very early, and after saying goodbye to my husband, and doing my best to put on a brave face for Miss Bee, we proceeded through security and headed for our gate. I pushed Cheeks in her car seat, which fortunately attaches to the stroller, had Bee in one hand and a suitcase and duffel bag in the other. The diaper bag was stowed under the stroller. We must have looked much like a peddler with his cart, baby toys jangling, suitcase wheels squeaking, and Bee singing to herself. "I can do this," was my silent mantra as we made our way to the gate.
I was actually feeling pretty good; the girls were behaving, I was managing all the luggage without a problem. We were going home!
Oh, how quickly things unraveled from there. Our flight was leaving from gate 10. As we walked through Bucharest's smoky terminal, it became apparent that Gate 10 was not on the first floor. Oh no, it was located downstairs. "No problem, there has to be an elevator around here somewhere . . ."
I looked all around but there was no elevator. I looked around for someone to ask, but of course there was no one to help me. Finally, out of desperation, I stopped the one person in uniform that came walking by-- a pilot for KLM. He confirmed that there was no elevator, thought it over for a minute, and then offered to help carry the stroller and my luggage down the four flights of stairs to the gate. Another man pitched in as well. (I really would like to know how someone in a wheelchair accesses the lower terminal.)
That problem solved, it was time to solve the problem of Cheeks McGoo's diaper. I had plenty of time before our flight left, and figured I would probably change Cheeks and then feed her and she would be ready for a nice nap on the flight to Munich. We find the bathroom, wheel in all our luggage, I start to change Cheeks and she pees all over herself and her clothes. Wheeeeeeeee! Faaaaannnntastic. Fortunately I had packed a few extra outfits.
Our trip proceeded in the above fashion. . .the plane was not at the gate, but instead a bus ride and a very tall set of stairs away. (More help was necessary, including a wonderful gentleman who waited on board once we had arrived in Munich to help us deplane.)
During the flight to Munich, Cheeks napped and Bee ate three packages of gummy bears. I cannot say enough good things about the professionalism of Lufthansa's flight crew. They were unflappable (need to feed the baby? can I get you an extra pillow to support your arm?)--helpful (giving Bee every coloring book, sticker set, and puzzle on board)--and above all, kind. U.S. air companies could learn a thing or two from the German concept of service.
The good thing about flying into Munich is that it is a small airport, with the bonus of flying in and out of the same terminal when en route to the U.S. After a relatively peaceful four hour layover, we were ready for our 8 hour and 49 minute flight to the United States. (Why don't we call it like it is, and just say NINE HOURS!) Ahem. Many thanks to the man in seat 1A who ferried my bags from the door of the aircraft to my seat. Evidently he was not only a millionaire, but also a gentleman.
I would say that eight out of the nine hours went very well indeed. I abandoned all my usual parenting guidelines and let Bee feast on ice cream and chocolate candy. She watched Sesame Street on my laptop until the battery died. Basically I did my very best to keep both of my children quiet and well behaved, even if that meant indulging them like crazy.
Cheeks had me quite worried when I realized about halfway through the flight that we only had three diapers left. In her excitement at traveling halfway around the world, Cheeks was averaging one dirty diaper every 45 minutes. Thank you to the very kind woman with a very red headed baby who lent me enough extra ones to make it home.
The biggest drama of our trip was saved for the last hour of the flight. Bee, having refused to nap throughout the entire flight, finally passed out from sheer exhaustion. This also happened when we flew to the U.S. in November 2009. I couldn't rouse her. The plane was landing and she was curled into the seat like a hibernating turtle in its shell. I spent 30 minutes trying to gently wake her to no avail. Once the plane began its final descent, and all passengers had to put their seats in the upright position, Bee was maneuvered upright and awake and screaming. The emphasis was on screaming here.
We landed, and Bee's screams eventually reduced to sniffles. The plane reached the gate. It was time to get off. Exhausted, Bee refused to walk. She had to walk. I had to carry Nora and all of our bags. She refused to walk. Stalemate . . .We were evidently going to be stuck on the plane for the rest of our lives.
Sensing my distress, several passengers came over to help. I found myself handing over my suitcases and backpacks to total strangers. Bee was still not walking. Finally, and thank the Lord because I was running out of ideas, a big fat bearded man scooped her up. She started to scream in protest. I took a good look at the man, judged him to be neither a murderer or kidnapper, grabbed Nora's car seat and fled the aircraft. The man followed in hot pursuit with my wailing daughter.
The whole family was reunited on the jet way and while Bee was very displeased at having been abandoned by her own mother, the plus side was that she was now wide awake.
We had almost made it. All that was left was the shuttle bus, immigration, baggage, customs, and staggering through the double doors into the waiting arms of my parents. And while accomplishing the above things, while exhausted, with exhausted children, seemed to take almost as long as the actual trip itself, we made it. We really did.
Becoming a parent has made me fearless.
It was an adventure, full of stories that will become party of family lore, and repeated for years to come. Above all however, traveling solo from Romania to the United States with my two little girls was a reaffirmation of the kindness of strangers. If it weren't for all the help I received on my trip, I would still be on the first floor of Bucharest's airport:
We arrived at the airport very early, and after saying goodbye to my husband, and doing my best to put on a brave face for Miss Bee, we proceeded through security and headed for our gate. I pushed Cheeks in her car seat, which fortunately attaches to the stroller, had Bee in one hand and a suitcase and duffel bag in the other. The diaper bag was stowed under the stroller. We must have looked much like a peddler with his cart, baby toys jangling, suitcase wheels squeaking, and Bee singing to herself. "I can do this," was my silent mantra as we made our way to the gate.
I was actually feeling pretty good; the girls were behaving, I was managing all the luggage without a problem. We were going home!
Oh, how quickly things unraveled from there. Our flight was leaving from gate 10. As we walked through Bucharest's smoky terminal, it became apparent that Gate 10 was not on the first floor. Oh no, it was located downstairs. "No problem, there has to be an elevator around here somewhere . . ."
I looked all around but there was no elevator. I looked around for someone to ask, but of course there was no one to help me. Finally, out of desperation, I stopped the one person in uniform that came walking by-- a pilot for KLM. He confirmed that there was no elevator, thought it over for a minute, and then offered to help carry the stroller and my luggage down the four flights of stairs to the gate. Another man pitched in as well. (I really would like to know how someone in a wheelchair accesses the lower terminal.)
That problem solved, it was time to solve the problem of Cheeks McGoo's diaper. I had plenty of time before our flight left, and figured I would probably change Cheeks and then feed her and she would be ready for a nice nap on the flight to Munich. We find the bathroom, wheel in all our luggage, I start to change Cheeks and she pees all over herself and her clothes. Wheeeeeeeee! Faaaaannnntastic. Fortunately I had packed a few extra outfits.
Our trip proceeded in the above fashion. . .the plane was not at the gate, but instead a bus ride and a very tall set of stairs away. (More help was necessary, including a wonderful gentleman who waited on board once we had arrived in Munich to help us deplane.)
During the flight to Munich, Cheeks napped and Bee ate three packages of gummy bears. I cannot say enough good things about the professionalism of Lufthansa's flight crew. They were unflappable (need to feed the baby? can I get you an extra pillow to support your arm?)--helpful (giving Bee every coloring book, sticker set, and puzzle on board)--and above all, kind. U.S. air companies could learn a thing or two from the German concept of service.
The good thing about flying into Munich is that it is a small airport, with the bonus of flying in and out of the same terminal when en route to the U.S. After a relatively peaceful four hour layover, we were ready for our 8 hour and 49 minute flight to the United States. (Why don't we call it like it is, and just say NINE HOURS!) Ahem. Many thanks to the man in seat 1A who ferried my bags from the door of the aircraft to my seat. Evidently he was not only a millionaire, but also a gentleman.
I would say that eight out of the nine hours went very well indeed. I abandoned all my usual parenting guidelines and let Bee feast on ice cream and chocolate candy. She watched Sesame Street on my laptop until the battery died. Basically I did my very best to keep both of my children quiet and well behaved, even if that meant indulging them like crazy.
Cheeks had me quite worried when I realized about halfway through the flight that we only had three diapers left. In her excitement at traveling halfway around the world, Cheeks was averaging one dirty diaper every 45 minutes. Thank you to the very kind woman with a very red headed baby who lent me enough extra ones to make it home.
The biggest drama of our trip was saved for the last hour of the flight. Bee, having refused to nap throughout the entire flight, finally passed out from sheer exhaustion. This also happened when we flew to the U.S. in November 2009. I couldn't rouse her. The plane was landing and she was curled into the seat like a hibernating turtle in its shell. I spent 30 minutes trying to gently wake her to no avail. Once the plane began its final descent, and all passengers had to put their seats in the upright position, Bee was maneuvered upright and awake and screaming. The emphasis was on screaming here.
We landed, and Bee's screams eventually reduced to sniffles. The plane reached the gate. It was time to get off. Exhausted, Bee refused to walk. She had to walk. I had to carry Nora and all of our bags. She refused to walk. Stalemate . . .We were evidently going to be stuck on the plane for the rest of our lives.
Sensing my distress, several passengers came over to help. I found myself handing over my suitcases and backpacks to total strangers. Bee was still not walking. Finally, and thank the Lord because I was running out of ideas, a big fat bearded man scooped her up. She started to scream in protest. I took a good look at the man, judged him to be neither a murderer or kidnapper, grabbed Nora's car seat and fled the aircraft. The man followed in hot pursuit with my wailing daughter.
The whole family was reunited on the jet way and while Bee was very displeased at having been abandoned by her own mother, the plus side was that she was now wide awake.
We had almost made it. All that was left was the shuttle bus, immigration, baggage, customs, and staggering through the double doors into the waiting arms of my parents. And while accomplishing the above things, while exhausted, with exhausted children, seemed to take almost as long as the actual trip itself, we made it. We really did.
Becoming a parent has made me fearless.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Relief
Miss Baby Cheeks is so relieved that today is Saturday; she can finally eat again.
I started back at work on Wednesday. While work is fine, the separation is not going so well.
My dear husband is doing a wonderful job taking care of the children, but Cheeks has decided that bottles are decidedly uncivilized and she will only deign to drink from one if it is absolutely necessary. So . . . . every few hours, she will drink an ounce of milk or so to stave off starvation, but that's about it.
This means that all week I arrived home to a hungry child who spent the entire evening nursing. It's breaking my heart. Cheeks McGoo, we cannot go on this way!
I started back at work on Wednesday. While work is fine, the separation is not going so well.
My dear husband is doing a wonderful job taking care of the children, but Cheeks has decided that bottles are decidedly uncivilized and she will only deign to drink from one if it is absolutely necessary. So . . . . every few hours, she will drink an ounce of milk or so to stave off starvation, but that's about it.
This means that all week I arrived home to a hungry child who spent the entire evening nursing. It's breaking my heart. Cheeks McGoo, we cannot go on this way!
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Little things about home
There are the main reasons being home that are wonderful: living close to family, having my own home (my dear dear husband is finally here, hooray!), and exposing the munchkins to everything I love about the U.S.
Some of the best things about being home, however, are small conveniences and courtesies. Here's what's been making me smile this month:
--Frrrrrrrozen waffles! Pop them in the toaster and breakfast is ready in two minutes. And don't even let me get started on how exciting it is to go grocery shopping in America. (To those who have never lived outside of the first world, I sound like a babbling idiot.)
--Friendly neighbors. The kind that inquire as to whether I can hear their TV because they're worried it's too loud. The kind that invite us to barbecues and welcomed us to the neighborhood with chocolate cake. The shared front yard mowing-trash can replacing kind. Good people.
--Community activities. Story hour at the library. Children's gym at the community center. Saturday morning farmer's market. Dance and pilates classes to look forward to this summer. All of this community involvement is also known as "making the most of my rather hefty property tax".
--Gardening. I have a tomato plant and an herb pot, and so far, both are still alive. We had a few tense hours last when the temperature shot up above 90 degrees and the tomato plant leaves started to shrivel and fry, but I doused it with water and it pulled through. We have also planted some flowers out front and the manual labor was totally worth it to hear Miss Bee shriek "Earthworms!" I'm still unsure whether her reaction was in joy or terror. Maybe a little of both.
It's good to be here.
Some of the best things about being home, however, are small conveniences and courtesies. Here's what's been making me smile this month:
--Frrrrrrrozen waffles! Pop them in the toaster and breakfast is ready in two minutes. And don't even let me get started on how exciting it is to go grocery shopping in America. (To those who have never lived outside of the first world, I sound like a babbling idiot.)
--Friendly neighbors. The kind that inquire as to whether I can hear their TV because they're worried it's too loud. The kind that invite us to barbecues and welcomed us to the neighborhood with chocolate cake. The shared front yard mowing-trash can replacing kind. Good people.
--Community activities. Story hour at the library. Children's gym at the community center. Saturday morning farmer's market. Dance and pilates classes to look forward to this summer. All of this community involvement is also known as "making the most of my rather hefty property tax".
--Gardening. I have a tomato plant and an herb pot, and so far, both are still alive. We had a few tense hours last when the temperature shot up above 90 degrees and the tomato plant leaves started to shrivel and fry, but I doused it with water and it pulled through. We have also planted some flowers out front and the manual labor was totally worth it to hear Miss Bee shriek "Earthworms!" I'm still unsure whether her reaction was in joy or terror. Maybe a little of both.
It's good to be here.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Final destination
I have two longish posts that are both halfway done, but I keep getting distracted.
Two quick things though:
1. Have you read this blog? Ohmygoodness, it's all I can do to not dive into my computer monitor every time I visit this site. Oh, Paris. Oh, the wondrous use of color.
2. I had to explain the concept of death to Miss Bee today, gulp. As it came up in a round about fashion, as opposed to a tangible loss, I did my best to put an upbeat spin on the whole concept. As in, "Oh, death? Usually a person is very old! And you get to go to heaven and be with Jesus!"
Bee was satisfied with my answer, but I almost had to pull the car over when she earnestly asked, "Mommy, do you bring a backpack when you go to heaven? And chewing gum?"
Death: the longest vacation, the furthest destination, indeed.
Two quick things though:
1. Have you read this blog? Ohmygoodness, it's all I can do to not dive into my computer monitor every time I visit this site. Oh, Paris. Oh, the wondrous use of color.
2. I had to explain the concept of death to Miss Bee today, gulp. As it came up in a round about fashion, as opposed to a tangible loss, I did my best to put an upbeat spin on the whole concept. As in, "Oh, death? Usually a person is very old! And you get to go to heaven and be with Jesus!"
Bee was satisfied with my answer, but I almost had to pull the car over when she earnestly asked, "Mommy, do you bring a backpack when you go to heaven? And chewing gum?"
Death: the longest vacation, the furthest destination, indeed.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Crazy tired
Ohhhh I had a magical 30 minutes to myself this afternoon. Both of my girls were sleeping. I could have baked brownies, watched the birds visit the feeder, or read up on how not to kill my tomato plant. But nooooo.
Instead, I squandered my time drooling over (ridiculously expensive) Danish bicycles and tricycles online. And I don't even usually ride a bicycle! But it was something about the bicycle basket and idea of riding (slowly) around town on some pithy errand that just sucked me in. It was a two wheeled fantasy of sorts. Then the children woke up.
I recounted this story to my mother at dinner tonight: ". . . And when I finally had time to myself, I didn't do anything," I despaired. She just laughed. I suspect she knows the feeling.
So I haven't had time to post much here because I have my hands full with the girls. God bless all single parents everywhere. I am really looking forward to my dear husband's arrival in the U.S., even though it means I will have to go back to work.
I really am lucky, to have had these seven months away from the whole 9 to 5 (except in my case it's liable to be 8 to 6). But my new office has been a callin' and telling me about my office phone number and my blackberry and how they are looking forward to seeing me bright and early June 2. My domestic fantasy is rapidly coming to an end.
I still have two more weeks at home, which I am sure will speed quickly by--and hopefully I will have the chance to recount a few little stories here--adventures from flying home--our slightly disastrous trip to the zoo--our wonderful little stay at home routine. We'll see . . . we'll see whether I can manage to tear myself away from the bicycles!
Instead, I squandered my time drooling over (ridiculously expensive) Danish bicycles and tricycles online. And I don't even usually ride a bicycle! But it was something about the bicycle basket and idea of riding (slowly) around town on some pithy errand that just sucked me in. It was a two wheeled fantasy of sorts. Then the children woke up.
I recounted this story to my mother at dinner tonight: ". . . And when I finally had time to myself, I didn't do anything," I despaired. She just laughed. I suspect she knows the feeling.
So I haven't had time to post much here because I have my hands full with the girls. God bless all single parents everywhere. I am really looking forward to my dear husband's arrival in the U.S., even though it means I will have to go back to work.
I really am lucky, to have had these seven months away from the whole 9 to 5 (except in my case it's liable to be 8 to 6). But my new office has been a callin' and telling me about my office phone number and my blackberry and how they are looking forward to seeing me bright and early June 2. My domestic fantasy is rapidly coming to an end.
I still have two more weeks at home, which I am sure will speed quickly by--and hopefully I will have the chance to recount a few little stories here--adventures from flying home--our slightly disastrous trip to the zoo--our wonderful little stay at home routine. We'll see . . . we'll see whether I can manage to tear myself away from the bicycles!
Friday, May 14, 2010
Yo Ho
The majority of all my worldly possessions are currently stacked on a medium sized container ship with the not so very inspiring name of "Jean Pierre". Ooh, la, la.
Jean Pierre is a Turkish ship with a French name, and I imagine the sailors on board must smoke a lot of cigarettes and drink a lot of espresso. Maybe while wearing berets. Or a fez (fezzes?).
No, I would much rather prefer that my 6,000 pounds of kitchenware, bridesmaid dresses, anguished teenage journals, and family photographs travel on board a ship that sounds a wee bit more intimidating. You know, like "Rambo" or "Wave Crusher." Something to scare the pirates away.
Jean Pierre is currently chugging through the Mediterranean and just passed by the coast of Sicily. Thanks to the glory of the internet, you can watch him travel in real time here.
The funny thing is, most of my stuff is just that--stuff. Clutter. Tsotchkes. There are very few things I would really miss. Maybe my collection of nativity sets from around the world. My husband would miss his Legos collectibles. Bee would miss her toys and stuffed animals. But really, other than those few things, I think we could start fresh.
Jean Pierre is a Turkish ship with a French name, and I imagine the sailors on board must smoke a lot of cigarettes and drink a lot of espresso. Maybe while wearing berets. Or a fez (fezzes?).
No, I would much rather prefer that my 6,000 pounds of kitchenware, bridesmaid dresses, anguished teenage journals, and family photographs travel on board a ship that sounds a wee bit more intimidating. You know, like "Rambo" or "Wave Crusher." Something to scare the pirates away.
Jean Pierre is currently chugging through the Mediterranean and just passed by the coast of Sicily. Thanks to the glory of the internet, you can watch him travel in real time here.
The funny thing is, most of my stuff is just that--stuff. Clutter. Tsotchkes. There are very few things I would really miss. Maybe my collection of nativity sets from around the world. My husband would miss his Legos collectibles. Bee would miss her toys and stuffed animals. But really, other than those few things, I think we could start fresh.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Life is delicious
Dishes washed? Check.
Laundry folded? Mostly. So, check.
Dish of ice cream with a brownie on the side? Check.
Celebrating my last night as a 20-something year old? Check!
I am comforting myself with the fact that when I am about to turn 40, I'm sure that 30 will seem so young. But right now, 30 just seems, well, old. I am no longer carded at the grocery store when I buy alcohol. I have a mortgage. I can speak Latvian. It has been a strange and wonderful decade indeed.
On the occasion of my 30th birthday, I am going to be very narcissistic and tell you 30 things I have learned in the past ten years:
1. Bucharest's international airport is the second worst in the world--Miami International Airport takes the cake.
2. I cannot live without books.
3. Take lots of pictures of your kids while they are babies. Lots. They grow up in a millisecond.
4. A Labrador retriever puppy can eat anything. This includes Swiss army knives and marble Easter eggs.
5. Do everything you can to keep "work life" from intruding on "home life." If necessary, defend your home life with sticks and knives.
6. Never underestimate the power of quiet diplomacy.
7. Manuel Antonio national park in Costa Rica has the perfect beach.
8. My children are my greatest joy.
9. I am very good at remembering a compliment, and criticisms, even more so.
10. Living in four different countries in the past ten years has given me a zen-like approach to crisis.
11. My favorite restaurant is in Valmiera, Latvia and I'll probably never visit it again.
12. Cute jeans are an essential clothing item.
13. If you don't let your children watch television, they will find other creative ways to spend their time. This is a good thing.
14. I have the best husband. My apologies to everyone else.
15. Climbing an active volcano is awesome. Being stuck in Romania because of an active volcano is not.
16. It's a good idea to pretend you're someone else when giving a speech to a large audience.
17. People will tell you the most interesting things if you encourage them to keep talking.
18. Cliff jumping is very painful and no one should ever try it.
19. My parents are still my heroes.
20. Babies eventually do sleep through the night. (I keep repeating this one to myself.)
21. Walt Disney world isn't just for kids.
22. Saltenas are the best fast food.
23. Ice hotels are very, very cold. Consider this important fact before choosing to stay in one.
24. Quinny makes the best stroller.
25. Becoming a mother is a miracle.
26. The U.S. really is the greatest country on earth. Don't knock it 'till you've had to live elsewhere.
27. Chocolate is an essential food group.
28. Don't ever attempt to drive through a Spanish village festival.
29. Babies, although adorable, are like little terrorists--don't negotiate with either.
30. Nothing is more important than family.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Sweet Surprise
Waiting for me in my backyard (aka the secret garden):
I love azaleas.
Especially the pink ones.
I pretty much love everything about being home.
I love azaleas.
Especially the pink ones.
I pretty much love everything about being home.Friday, April 30, 2010
Points for creativity
I was changing Cheeks McGoo's diaper last night around 1 am. In my sleep addled state I could not figure out why, if I had just changed her diaper, she was still writhing on the changing table and screeching. I fumbled around in the dark for quite some time and finally realized that I had put the clean diaper on top of the dirty one!
God bless all the sleep deprived parents everywhere.
God bless all the sleep deprived parents everywhere.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
A Universal Truth:
Eating lots of food at a pot luck luncheon is certain to end badly.
I don't know whether it was just too much randomness (brownie and mini meatballs sharing the same plate!) or the fact that the food was sitting out in the hot, hot, sun (baby shrimp in that pasta salad!) or just general overindulgence (Cheeks slept the whole time freeing up my hands) but whatever it was, I feel gross.
My upset stomach might also have something to do with the fact that the packers are coming to our apartment tomorrow to put all my worldly possessions in boxes and put them on a boat to America.
It also might be the fact that my dear husband will be supervising these movers alone while I embark on a monumental hopefully never to be repeated day long journey with both my girls back home. Unassisted. This is high level parenting, people.
Home. With a capital H. I cannot wait. (Although it won't really be Home until my husband gets there too.)
I don't know whether it was just too much randomness (brownie and mini meatballs sharing the same plate!) or the fact that the food was sitting out in the hot, hot, sun (baby shrimp in that pasta salad!) or just general overindulgence (Cheeks slept the whole time freeing up my hands) but whatever it was, I feel gross.
My upset stomach might also have something to do with the fact that the packers are coming to our apartment tomorrow to put all my worldly possessions in boxes and put them on a boat to America.
It also might be the fact that my dear husband will be supervising these movers alone while I embark on a monumental hopefully never to be repeated day long journey with both my girls back home. Unassisted. This is high level parenting, people.
Home. With a capital H. I cannot wait. (Although it won't really be Home until my husband gets there too.)
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
You can't go home again
If you're me--you can't go home for another WEEK. (My flight tomorrow from Bucharest was canceled and that was the soonest date available..)
I will be flying steerage IN A WEEK with an awful layover in Frankfurt. Oh. What. Fun.
(I won't even go into detail about my husband's experience with United airline's telephone agents. It might better be called customer disservice.)
I am going to try not to complain, though. I am thankful I have a home to stay in; there are so many people stuck in hotels and sleeping on the floors of airports.
The sun here is shining, the weather is beautiful, and I think Bee and Cheeks and I will spend the afternoon enjoying the park.
Postscript -- Now we are going on Monday, through Munich My dear husband consulted with our local travel agent and bravely called United airlines again. Monday is better than Wednesday, at least!
I will be flying steerage IN A WEEK with an awful layover in Frankfurt. Oh. What. Fun.
(I won't even go into detail about my husband's experience with United airline's telephone agents. It might better be called customer disservice.)
I am going to try not to complain, though. I am thankful I have a home to stay in; there are so many people stuck in hotels and sleeping on the floors of airports.
The sun here is shining, the weather is beautiful, and I think Bee and Cheeks and I will spend the afternoon enjoying the park.
Postscript -- Now we are going on Monday, through Munich My dear husband consulted with our local travel agent and bravely called United airlines again. Monday is better than Wednesday, at least!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Backwards
So if anyone else needs an excuse, I have officially declared today backwards day:
It is raining and gray outside and I have been stuck in the house with the girls. In between diaper changes for Cheeks and playing "Romanian princess" with Bee I have been reading endless news articles about what the volcano in Iceland may or may not be doing, and which planes may or may not be flying.
I still have no idea if I should be packing to leave on Thursday. Should I prepare myself to say goodbye to my life for the past two years (and my husband for a month) or should I prepare for another evening watching Netflix on my computer? Who knows!
By 3 pm I had had enough. I shut off my computer and spent the afternoon making kitchen volcanoes with Bee. (Gotta love good old fashioned baking soda and vinegar.) Then we had an indoor picnic with imaginary tea and plenty of real tea biscuits.
Now my husband is home and is supervising while Bee goes swimming in the bathtub. We are wearing our pajamas and making pancakes and eggs for dinner tonight. Breakfast for dinner. And tonight I am going to read a favorite novel and drink a nice glass of port wine. No more thinking about airplanes.
It is raining and gray outside and I have been stuck in the house with the girls. In between diaper changes for Cheeks and playing "Romanian princess" with Bee I have been reading endless news articles about what the volcano in Iceland may or may not be doing, and which planes may or may not be flying.
I still have no idea if I should be packing to leave on Thursday. Should I prepare myself to say goodbye to my life for the past two years (and my husband for a month) or should I prepare for another evening watching Netflix on my computer? Who knows!
By 3 pm I had had enough. I shut off my computer and spent the afternoon making kitchen volcanoes with Bee. (Gotta love good old fashioned baking soda and vinegar.) Then we had an indoor picnic with imaginary tea and plenty of real tea biscuits.
Now my husband is home and is supervising while Bee goes swimming in the bathtub. We are wearing our pajamas and making pancakes and eggs for dinner tonight. Breakfast for dinner. And tonight I am going to read a favorite novel and drink a nice glass of port wine. No more thinking about airplanes.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Stuck stuck stuck like a duck in the muck
So my bags are packed, I have said my goodbyes, Bee is prepped for her airplane adventure, and, well, a volcano erupted in Iceland and there are literally no flights going anywhere in Europe because of a slow moving cloud of dangerous ash.
It's annoying: The governments of almost every country in Europe are closing their airports and airspace in 12 hour increments. Right before they are set to reopen, they call up the weather service for confirmation that "yep, the dangerous invisible ash cloud is still there" and then they close for another 12 hours. They don't know what to do. I guess there is nothing else they can do.
Airlines in the United States have canceled nearly all of their transatlantic flights. They are not coping well with this disaster either--but I wouldn't expect anything else from them. United Airlines finally officially canceled my flight Sunday afternoon. We called to rebook. Unknown to us, we were accidentally routed to domestic bookings. We spent about 20 minutes on hold before a surly representative transferred us to the international department where we spent two hours on hold before Skype disconnected our call. Whoops. We called every European reservations line for United Airlines with no success. We couldn't reach anyone, not even in Finland. We called back to the US and heard the following, "Your estimated wait time to speak with a customer service representative is 180 minutes."
*&*#%!*&#!!!
Then we were disconnected again.
However, on our third try with US reservations, a small miracle occurred--we were immediately connected to an agent who was able to change our flight. And she was nice. But we were exhausted and overwrought from an afternoon spent on the phone. My flight home today was moved to Thursday.
I really hope that something will be figured out by Thursday. Most countries in the region are facing a near-revolt from their airlines. Lufthansa has been angrily repositioning its planes around Germany. KLM and Air France have sent up test flights. These have all returned safely. This would point to the Europeans perhaps being a bit overcautious, but, at the same time, safety is paramount.
It's annoying: The governments of almost every country in Europe are closing their airports and airspace in 12 hour increments. Right before they are set to reopen, they call up the weather service for confirmation that "yep, the dangerous invisible ash cloud is still there" and then they close for another 12 hours. They don't know what to do. I guess there is nothing else they can do.
Airlines in the United States have canceled nearly all of their transatlantic flights. They are not coping well with this disaster either--but I wouldn't expect anything else from them. United Airlines finally officially canceled my flight Sunday afternoon. We called to rebook. Unknown to us, we were accidentally routed to domestic bookings. We spent about 20 minutes on hold before a surly representative transferred us to the international department where we spent two hours on hold before Skype disconnected our call. Whoops. We called every European reservations line for United Airlines with no success. We couldn't reach anyone, not even in Finland. We called back to the US and heard the following, "Your estimated wait time to speak with a customer service representative is 180 minutes."
*&*#%!*&#!!!
Then we were disconnected again.
However, on our third try with US reservations, a small miracle occurred--we were immediately connected to an agent who was able to change our flight. And she was nice. But we were exhausted and overwrought from an afternoon spent on the phone. My flight home today was moved to Thursday.
I really hope that something will be figured out by Thursday. Most countries in the region are facing a near-revolt from their airlines. Lufthansa has been angrily repositioning its planes around Germany. KLM and Air France have sent up test flights. These have all returned safely. This would point to the Europeans perhaps being a bit overcautious, but, at the same time, safety is paramount.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The second time around
Babycakes, aka "Cheeks McGee", turns four months old today. I have been thinking about how much my life has changed (again) in these few short months. Take two in parenting an infant:
It'll be okay. Miss Bee is my daily confirmation that babies will eventually sleep, eat, and use the bathroom on my own. I spent far too much of Miss Bee's babyhood worrying about her milestones, whether she was eating too much or too little, and whether I shouldn't really be doing x or y. I consulted baby books and internet websites. I charted her growth. If she was asleep, I was concerned about when she would wake up. If she was awake, I was worrying about when she would go to sleep again so I could have some time to myself. All that worry was a massive waste of energy. I probably could have powered the international space station with the combined force of my fears.
Nowadays, I don't have time to worry about anything other than the prospect of major calamity. Taking care of multiple small children is a lot like running across a wobbly bridge suspended over a shark tank. You know you're going to fall in, no doubt about it, you just hope that when you do, the sharks don't eat you. In a way, embracing failure is a heck of a lot more relaxing than striving for perfection.
All babies are different. This seems very obvious, but it has come as a surprise to me just how different Cheeks is from her big sister. Unlike Bee, I can put her down for a nap when she is tired, yet still awake. I put her down in her crib, she makes a little face, and she goes to sleep. I don't need to wait for all out REMs. It has taken me the first three and a half months of her life to actually figure this out, but ever since I have, it has made nap time and bedtime so gloriously efficient. On the first go round, we spent the first year of Bee's life holding her until she fell asleep and then carrying her like a stick of dynamite to her crib. But that's just the way Bee was. It was the only way to get her to sleep. (And breaking her of this habit was not very fun.) It's amazing how at such a young age, my daughters can already be so different from each other.
My stomach will never be the same. Oh vanity! I am beginning to wonder when the "baby weight" can no longer be attributed to pregnancy and is just extra weight. (Not yet, please!) Before traveling back to Romania I saw my doctor and was bemoaning the fact that nothing fit because I still had ten plus pounds left to lose. She merrily informed me that losing weight after the second pregnancy takes forever and that it's just nearly impossible. Well thanks. So far my strategy has been to go running, come home, look at my marshmallow shaped stomach, and eat chocolate in despair. This is only marginally effective; I'll let you know if I come up with anything better.
Bedtime is sacrosanct. The one thing that we really got right with Bee and are continuing with Cheeks is the concept of bedtime. As in, little people must go to bed before 8 pm so that my husband and I can have some time to ourselves. This is impossible, of course, with a newborn but lately Cheeks has started going to bed around the same time as her sister, and we are hoping to continue that routine. Time alone. Two of my favorite words in the English language. It's not selfish to want to be away from your kids for a little while each day. In fact, I think it has made me a better parent as a result. (It is tragic that our routines will be thrown into complete disarray when we travel back to the US next week and all have jet lag. A three year old, a four month old, jet lag, and me--I have no words to describe how this fills me with dread!)
So here's to the first four months of parenting two daughters. I have been so lucky to have this time at home. In short, they have been the best four months of my life.
It'll be okay. Miss Bee is my daily confirmation that babies will eventually sleep, eat, and use the bathroom on my own. I spent far too much of Miss Bee's babyhood worrying about her milestones, whether she was eating too much or too little, and whether I shouldn't really be doing x or y. I consulted baby books and internet websites. I charted her growth. If she was asleep, I was concerned about when she would wake up. If she was awake, I was worrying about when she would go to sleep again so I could have some time to myself. All that worry was a massive waste of energy. I probably could have powered the international space station with the combined force of my fears.
Nowadays, I don't have time to worry about anything other than the prospect of major calamity. Taking care of multiple small children is a lot like running across a wobbly bridge suspended over a shark tank. You know you're going to fall in, no doubt about it, you just hope that when you do, the sharks don't eat you. In a way, embracing failure is a heck of a lot more relaxing than striving for perfection.
All babies are different. This seems very obvious, but it has come as a surprise to me just how different Cheeks is from her big sister. Unlike Bee, I can put her down for a nap when she is tired, yet still awake. I put her down in her crib, she makes a little face, and she goes to sleep. I don't need to wait for all out REMs. It has taken me the first three and a half months of her life to actually figure this out, but ever since I have, it has made nap time and bedtime so gloriously efficient. On the first go round, we spent the first year of Bee's life holding her until she fell asleep and then carrying her like a stick of dynamite to her crib. But that's just the way Bee was. It was the only way to get her to sleep. (And breaking her of this habit was not very fun.) It's amazing how at such a young age, my daughters can already be so different from each other.
My stomach will never be the same. Oh vanity! I am beginning to wonder when the "baby weight" can no longer be attributed to pregnancy and is just extra weight. (Not yet, please!) Before traveling back to Romania I saw my doctor and was bemoaning the fact that nothing fit because I still had ten plus pounds left to lose. She merrily informed me that losing weight after the second pregnancy takes forever and that it's just nearly impossible. Well thanks. So far my strategy has been to go running, come home, look at my marshmallow shaped stomach, and eat chocolate in despair. This is only marginally effective; I'll let you know if I come up with anything better.
Bedtime is sacrosanct. The one thing that we really got right with Bee and are continuing with Cheeks is the concept of bedtime. As in, little people must go to bed before 8 pm so that my husband and I can have some time to ourselves. This is impossible, of course, with a newborn but lately Cheeks has started going to bed around the same time as her sister, and we are hoping to continue that routine. Time alone. Two of my favorite words in the English language. It's not selfish to want to be away from your kids for a little while each day. In fact, I think it has made me a better parent as a result. (It is tragic that our routines will be thrown into complete disarray when we travel back to the US next week and all have jet lag. A three year old, a four month old, jet lag, and me--I have no words to describe how this fills me with dread!)
So here's to the first four months of parenting two daughters. I have been so lucky to have this time at home. In short, they have been the best four months of my life.
Leavin'
Oh what a difference a day makes. Yesterday at this time, I was tapping my fingers impatiently, waiting for my dear husband to call me back and tell me if he was able to rebook our flights back to the US. I am traveling alone with Babycakes and Miss Bee and had hoped to use my meager frequent flyer miles to upgrade our (full fare economy) tickets to business class.
Customer service call centers love my husband and they will go out of their way to help him, so charming is he. If I call, I inevitably get the most surly representative available, so he is the family's point man for ordering things, making reservations, and solving any other problems that require use of the telephone.
In the past few years, flying international economy on United Airlines has become little more than punishment. There is the horrible food, unfriendly service, and a long roster additional fees. As they have expanded their "Economy Plus" section, they have reduced legroom in steerage to mere inches. God forbid if the person if front of you reclines his seat! The last time I flew, I felt like an overcooked waffle inside of a smelly foam waffle iron.
With regard to business class-- I don't really care much for the free champagne, or the airline's attempt at gourmet meals, or marginally nicer flight attendants. It's not about the cachet. What I want out of business class is the space. The space to get up and take my two children to the lavatory, to nurse my daughter without her kicking a stranger in the stomach, to hold Miss Bee on my lap when she is feeling tired. . . glorious, glorious legroom.
Within minutes, my dear husband calls me back and says he talked to the nicest representative who was able to use my miles and confirm our upgrade. (Maybe I really should start listening in on these telephone calls.) The catch is we have to fly a week earlier than planned. "No problem," I chirp.
New reservations taken care of, I am confronted by the fact that I am leaving in less than a week. With Babycakes under my arm, I run several wild laps through my apartment. Ohmygoodness. There is so much to do. . .
Customer service call centers love my husband and they will go out of their way to help him, so charming is he. If I call, I inevitably get the most surly representative available, so he is the family's point man for ordering things, making reservations, and solving any other problems that require use of the telephone.
In the past few years, flying international economy on United Airlines has become little more than punishment. There is the horrible food, unfriendly service, and a long roster additional fees. As they have expanded their "Economy Plus" section, they have reduced legroom in steerage to mere inches. God forbid if the person if front of you reclines his seat! The last time I flew, I felt like an overcooked waffle inside of a smelly foam waffle iron.
With regard to business class-- I don't really care much for the free champagne, or the airline's attempt at gourmet meals, or marginally nicer flight attendants. It's not about the cachet. What I want out of business class is the space. The space to get up and take my two children to the lavatory, to nurse my daughter without her kicking a stranger in the stomach, to hold Miss Bee on my lap when she is feeling tired. . . glorious, glorious legroom.
Within minutes, my dear husband calls me back and says he talked to the nicest representative who was able to use my miles and confirm our upgrade. (Maybe I really should start listening in on these telephone calls.) The catch is we have to fly a week earlier than planned. "No problem," I chirp.
New reservations taken care of, I am confronted by the fact that I am leaving in less than a week. With Babycakes under my arm, I run several wild laps through my apartment. Ohmygoodness. There is so much to do. . .
Monday, April 12, 2010
Whole Foods
On Sunday morning, I found myself in tears in the grocery store parking lot. I was not crying because I am going to miss the overly bright tenuously stocked aisles of the Mega Image, but rather because I had been yelled at a group of total strangers, again, while trying to obtain a fiscal receipt.
A fiscal receipt is a complicated form that shows how much tax was paid on a purchase. Merchants hate to fill them out, and I would too, quite frankly, as they are written in longhand, filled out in triplicate, and require the use of a calculator. As a result, most establishments only have maybe one person who can fill out this form. And that person is usually in a bad mood.
After politely waiting in line with my groceries for nearly twenty minutes and paying for my purchases, the cashier handed off my receipt to a cashier in another line to fill out my fiscal receipt. However, everyone else in his line started yelling, at the cashier, at me, at the state of the Romanian tax system in general.
I think that it was just the sheer amount of yelling this time that made my eyes tear up. If it were America, well I wouldn't have to be going through this ridiculous procedure, but if it were I would stand my ground. Unfortunately, my Romanian is really not up to a fighting level. It was a rather ignominious ending to two years of shopping in Bucharest. Any other groceries that my family needs in the next two weeks are going to be the sole responsibility of my husband. I quit.
Saying goodbye to my friends in the market was another story. I will genuinely miss our weekly pilgrimages to Argentina and Catalina's fantastic fruit and vegetable stall. They are the epitome of small entrepreneurs, selling hard to find luxuries like pineapples, sweet potatoes, and seedless grapes. Their produce is always fresh. They love Miss Bee and have watched her grow up. And they are really, really kind.
We were all sad to say goodbye to each other; I am certain they will miss our business! We brought chocolates, they stuffed a huge bag full of an assortment of fresh fruit, and they joked they would come visit us in America. You know, I wouldn't mind it at all if they did.
A fiscal receipt is a complicated form that shows how much tax was paid on a purchase. Merchants hate to fill them out, and I would too, quite frankly, as they are written in longhand, filled out in triplicate, and require the use of a calculator. As a result, most establishments only have maybe one person who can fill out this form. And that person is usually in a bad mood.
After politely waiting in line with my groceries for nearly twenty minutes and paying for my purchases, the cashier handed off my receipt to a cashier in another line to fill out my fiscal receipt. However, everyone else in his line started yelling, at the cashier, at me, at the state of the Romanian tax system in general.
I think that it was just the sheer amount of yelling this time that made my eyes tear up. If it were America, well I wouldn't have to be going through this ridiculous procedure, but if it were I would stand my ground. Unfortunately, my Romanian is really not up to a fighting level. It was a rather ignominious ending to two years of shopping in Bucharest. Any other groceries that my family needs in the next two weeks are going to be the sole responsibility of my husband. I quit.
Saying goodbye to my friends in the market was another story. I will genuinely miss our weekly pilgrimages to Argentina and Catalina's fantastic fruit and vegetable stall. They are the epitome of small entrepreneurs, selling hard to find luxuries like pineapples, sweet potatoes, and seedless grapes. Their produce is always fresh. They love Miss Bee and have watched her grow up. And they are really, really kind.
We were all sad to say goodbye to each other; I am certain they will miss our business! We brought chocolates, they stuffed a huge bag full of an assortment of fresh fruit, and they joked they would come visit us in America. You know, I wouldn't mind it at all if they did.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Comfort food
We have been trying a lot of new recipes lately. So many, in fact, that they are piling up faster than I can blog about them.
Here are our most recent recipe ventures:
Jeanne Lemlin's Roasted Red Pepper Soup with Dill Dumplings: The title tells you all you need to know. Roasting the red peppers adds a bit of extra cooking time, but the result is a rich, velvety soup that we absolutely devoured.
Sesame Whole Wheat Bread: This was a recipe from King Arthur Flour's baking magazine. I was unimpressed with the result, the bread was much too dry, but am looking forward to trying additional recipes in future issues of the magazine.
Hamburger buns two ways: One way turns out lovely soft rolls, the other turns out bread similar to a doorstop. Your choice!
And now, may I present to you, my new favorite breakfast:
The photo does not do this dish justice. It is a puffed apple pancake, a heavenly concoction of butter, baked apples, topped with a light pancake batter. I think that I could eat this every Saturday morning for the rest of my life, perfectly content.
I have 20 days left in Romania, which is starting to feel like a frighteningly short period of time. Fortunately, I have a welcome distraction this week in the form of my sparkling little sister. Bee worships her. Babycakes coos in her general direction. And I am just so happy to have some sisterly company. We have been cooking all our family favorites, including fajitas for Easter Sunday. (None of us are particular fans of ham.)
We did stick with tradition on Good Friday and made these most perfect hot cross buns. They were so easy to enjoy because you make the rolls the night before. They rise overnight in the refrigerator and are ready to bake first thing the next morning. As a result of this one recipe, I am now a devoted fan of Alexandra's Kitchen.
(Recipes #21-27)
Here are our most recent recipe ventures:
Jeanne Lemlin's Roasted Red Pepper Soup with Dill Dumplings: The title tells you all you need to know. Roasting the red peppers adds a bit of extra cooking time, but the result is a rich, velvety soup that we absolutely devoured.
Sesame Whole Wheat Bread: This was a recipe from King Arthur Flour's baking magazine. I was unimpressed with the result, the bread was much too dry, but am looking forward to trying additional recipes in future issues of the magazine.
Hamburger buns two ways: One way turns out lovely soft rolls, the other turns out bread similar to a doorstop. Your choice!
And now, may I present to you, my new favorite breakfast:
The photo does not do this dish justice. It is a puffed apple pancake, a heavenly concoction of butter, baked apples, topped with a light pancake batter. I think that I could eat this every Saturday morning for the rest of my life, perfectly content.
I have 20 days left in Romania, which is starting to feel like a frighteningly short period of time. Fortunately, I have a welcome distraction this week in the form of my sparkling little sister. Bee worships her. Babycakes coos in her general direction. And I am just so happy to have some sisterly company. We have been cooking all our family favorites, including fajitas for Easter Sunday. (None of us are particular fans of ham.)
We did stick with tradition on Good Friday and made these most perfect hot cross buns. They were so easy to enjoy because you make the rolls the night before. They rise overnight in the refrigerator and are ready to bake first thing the next morning. As a result of this one recipe, I am now a devoted fan of Alexandra's Kitchen.
(Recipes #21-27)
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Lazy
Miss Bee is still in her pajamas, reading books in bed. I have felt her forehead, inquired as to whether her stomach or throat hurts--all seems to be well. I think the child is just tired. She seems irritated that I am checking her her every five minutes, but after the "exploring the medicine cabinet" incident, I cannot help but worry whenever she does something out of the ordinary.
Babycakes, on the other hand, is turning into a child of routine. She naps from 8 am to 9 am--precisely--not a minute longer. This morning, when I left her on her play mat a moment too close to 8 am, she didn't cry, but instead closed her eyes with a resigned expression, as if to say, "Fine, I'll just sleep here then."
Miss Bee has thankfully roused herself and has gotten dressed for the day. She is now back to normal morning activities--playing Mommy to her stuffed animal menagerie and is busily "ironing" her dolly clothes. I have a nice big laundry pile of my own to tackle.
I think I am becoming a slave to my routine; thank goodness my sister is coming to visit tomorrow!
Babycakes, on the other hand, is turning into a child of routine. She naps from 8 am to 9 am--precisely--not a minute longer. This morning, when I left her on her play mat a moment too close to 8 am, she didn't cry, but instead closed her eyes with a resigned expression, as if to say, "Fine, I'll just sleep here then."
Miss Bee has thankfully roused herself and has gotten dressed for the day. She is now back to normal morning activities--playing Mommy to her stuffed animal menagerie and is busily "ironing" her dolly clothes. I have a nice big laundry pile of my own to tackle.
I think I am becoming a slave to my routine; thank goodness my sister is coming to visit tomorrow!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
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