Bon Appetite!

If there is one thing that I have learned while surfing through friends' and strangers' blogs alike, it is this:

You are not a true blogger until you have posted a recipe.

I do not care what the recipe is for, and if you were to argue that many blogs have nothing to do with anything that would necessitate a corresponding recipe, well, you'd be wrong. Blogs about die-hard dachsund-lovers, you argue? Organic milk bone recipe. Star Wars enthusiast? Skywalker Sliders (light saber garnish optional, but highly recommended). Here's the rub: I don't cook, and on the rare occasion that I do, I'm not excited about it. But it seems as though every blog I read contains at least one culinary tutorial, leaving me feeling a little inadequate in my own postings so far (unless "Add 1 cup skim milk to 1 cup cornflakes, stir and serve" constitutes?)
Didn't think so.

So it is with great pride, thrillage, and made-up words that I present to you my very own recipe. Since this will most likely be the only recipe I ever write about, I'm going to savor the experience for all its worth and provide you with the backstory...

Since starting my post-baby exercise regime, I have become more consious about the foods I consume, getting my jimmies off of knowing that what I am eating is either fuel of some type, or a decadent occasional treat. When considering how constrained my time is in the mornings, I brainstormed up a quick, pop-in-your-mouth snack that would contain the right type of nutrition to support the impending exercise. So far, my "Peanut Balls" (I won't laugh, nope) have been a flourishing success, so says me.

So here is it, friends, family: My Very Own Peanut Ball (tee hee!) Recipe. I'm so excited! Omg omg ok here we go:

Ingredients:

1/2 of a 16 oz jar of Trader Joe's organic, unsalted peanut butter

1/2 of an 8oz bag of Trader Joe's raw almond slices (any type of raw, unseasoned almond will do, but I prefer the sliced variety for their texture)

1/4 cup of organic honey

1 cup of  Trader Joe's WonderCocoa powder

3/4 cup of water

Mix water and cocoa powder to form a paste.

Mix all ingredients in a bowl. Roll into 1" balls.

Freeze.

Store them in the freezer; even frozen, they remain soft enough to bite into.

Warning: these puppies are DENSE. Keep in mind that they are meant to be eaten one at a time as a
form of sustainance, not popped like Rolos. It also seems silly to clarify, but you will not enjoy these bite-sized snacks if you don't like peanut butter. But I feel that the protein content with honey and cocoa powder for added taste is the perfect combination. If you're feeling particularly motivated, other things you can try adding to the mix are flax seeds and vitamin B12 drops (you can find them at Sprouts).

Happy "cooking"!

                                  

I'm, like, a mom, for realsy.

Lots of exciting things going on lately for our little munchkin, who is not so little any more - 20 lbs, to be exact. First, he has been crawling up a storm for the past month, typically straight past his toys and onto the much more alluring calls of our rustic Mexican pine coffee table (complete with pointed, "rusted" handles). While our baby proofing could probably use a little bit more fire under its ass, Max has done quite well exploring much of the house without so much as a bump here and a scrape there. He has also picked up some adorable little habits. He has started to pucker is mouth into an "O" and breathe through it creating a whistle noise due to the seperation of his front teeth. Totally adorbs! Also, my husband and I were mesmerized when he started to snap while eating his solids in the high chair. Yes, snap. All throughout dinner. Totally serious expression on his face, as if to say, "yes, I am snapping. Care to provide a little bass line?" If you didn't know, Max's parents are kind of scary fanatics of Michael Buble so this was a real treat. Then we started talking about all the shows he'll sell out and what his set list should be and how he should go by just "MAX" 'cause that really pops written in lights.

Anywhoo, Max continues to go to physical therapy every other week. We are hoping make them monthy visits soon, as he is making all the right strides developmentally, and so far, his torticollis has shown very little in the way of affecting his milestones. Max also started swim lessons this week! Our little fishie will enjoy 8 lessons in hopes of getting him comfortable and familiarized with the pool. We go to classes through Kidtastics, which a friend of mine co-owns and for which she teaches. Max and I attend with my friend and her sweet little daughter, so the four of us are sharing this awesome experience together.

In addition to PT, swimming lessons, and our old standby, Musicology, Max and I continue to go to Stroller Strides a few times a week. It's incredible how after only 8.5 short months, we have so much to do, a pretty solid routine, and as I said in earlier posts, I am feeling pretty on top of my game with him most days. So it shouldn't have come as a surprise to me when, after our workout as a mommy friend and I were feeding the babes in Starbucks, another mother came up to us and asked us for some advice. She was hauling a double stroller with two beautiful, sleeping twin baby boys and juggling a diaper bag with her fresh cup of something uber caffeinated, I can promise you that. As she approached my friend and I, holding our respective kids, I thought she may be wanting to know what exercise program we are a part of, or, as I had wondered myself before discovering Strides, "why are you all hoarded in front of Starbucks every day at 10:30 like a swarm of bees?" Instead, she asked us if we wouldn't mind giving her a few tips on feeding, how many ounces, have they started solids? How did you know when to stop burping them? etc. She appeared as though she had it all together, but the woman had questions, and she was refreshingly candid about her feelings of being overwhelmed at times. Now keep in mind, I have only been a mother for under 9 months, and as she looked at us for a little guidance, her eyes wide with acceptance of anything we were willing to give her, I had a flashback. That was ME. Not long ago. AT ALL. I had asked so many questions, just like her. I had dark circles under my eyes, no offense lady but just like her. I had a cup of something dangerously caffeinated in my grip at almost all times, probably just like her. And here I am now, sitting on the other side of the table, being asked. All of a sudden I felt like I should be perched on a tree somewhere, all feathery sporting a gradution cap and monacle, gesturing to a chair saying,"sit, sit, let me tell you all about it." I had the answers. At least, I had the answers that worked for me, and this woman wanted to know my experience. I have an experience.

As my friend and I answered her questions, her head bobbled in appreciation and mental note-taking. I had to laugh - that was SO me. Still is, at times.

It's amazing how quickly new mothers bond with one another. Do we bond out of our shared anxieties and fears? Or is it moreseo the common denomiators that now bind us, like the sleeplessness and selflessness that comes with the territory? My appreciation level went through the roof when a more experienced mommy could give me a tip, or hell, just nod and tell me that what I was feeling/doing was normal. I never felt so extrordinary to be told that my experience was ordinary. The gratefulness was palpable. I would want to hug and kiss that woman, buy her a frozen yogurt, and possibly, down the line, get her name tattood on my ankle.

Whatever the common denominator is among new mothers, it is strong, it is visceral, it is everlasting.

Tale As Old As Wine

So if you are a mommy, you no question understand the importance (and efficacy) of singing to your baby as he drifts off to sleep. Lullabyes are a staple of our napping and night-night routines. That being said, I knew from the beginning that I would sing plenty of songs (slowed down and sung softly, lullabye-ing them up, if you will) from the Disney movie collection. Namely, from the movies I grew up adoring, like Beauty and the Beast.

If you have yet to enter into motherhood, here's a tip: starting a lullabye is much like starting up a steam locamotive. It's a lullabye, people - its intent is to lull. Once it begins chugging along, there is no stopping, no "um, um, what was that line?", lest you want your little one waking up from the botched attempt of maintaining song flow and staring up at you like an unimpressed preteen.

No. Once you're out of the gate, you must keep the tempo, and if you forget the lyrics, well, you'd better scrape together some suffiecient replacements and keep on a-going. Such was the case yesterday afternoon during Max's nap routine in the glider. It being from one of my favorite Disney movies from my childhood, I was shocked that I couldn't remember the words, and had to scramble up whatever I could to make do. I apologize to all Disney fans, and namely, Alan Menken and Howard Ashman, the lyricists for "Belle", from Beauty and the Beast. Enjoy:

Actual lyrics                                                                   Mommy lyrics

Little town It's a quiet village                                          Little town, such a quiet village
Ev'ry day like the one before                                           Every day like the one before
Little town Full of little people                                          Little town, full of little people
Waking up to say:                                                          Waking up to say:

Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!                   Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!

There goes the baker with his tray, like always                 There goes the baker with his bread and something
The same old bread and rolls to sell                                 To sell some bread and stuff to selllllll
Ev'ry morning just the same                                            Every morning just like me
Since the morning that we came                                      One plus two can equal three 
To this poor provincial town                                             It’s so crazy in this town
Good morning Belle!                                                       Good morning, Bellllllle!

Look there she goes that girl is strange, no question          Look there she goes she’s such a spaz no question
Dazed and distracted, can't you tell?                                 I can’t remember what to telllll

Never part of any crowd                                                  But the morning such as she

'Cause her head's up on some cloud                                  Is he good enough for me?

No denying she's a funny girl that Belle                             It's a snap and crackle pop that little Belle

Bonjour! Good day! How is your fam'ly?                            Bonjour! Good day! How is your fam'ly?

Bonjour! Good day! How is your wife?                               Bonjour! Good day! How is your wife?

I need six eggs! That's too expensive!                               I need! A book! What's going on here?

There must be more than this provincial life!                     There must be more than this provincial liiiiiife!



Don't judge - I got a two hour nap outta that one.
                                                        

Wish upon a star

While Max did dangle the carrot in front of me for awhile by napping effortlessly in his crib, alas, it was just a phase, and he is now back to dozing on my person. If I am going to be completely honest, however, I must say that I enjoy this time, as I know it will be gone sooner than I could ever imagine. Furthermore, and something I have come to find quite significant about "our" nap schedule, I too am able to have the time to rest my body and my mind from all the chaos and 'to-do's' that motherhood brings.

What now seems like years ago, back when I was registering for baby stuff, I researched and added (read: copy-pasted from another mom's registry) a simple night light in the shape of a star. It looked sweet online - providing a pale yellow glow, the shape of it soft, like a star you might see in the pages of a Pooh storybook. Fitting enough, I didn't give it too much more thought and gleefully clicked "add to wishlist".

Some ten months later, I now rock with baby in my arms in his nursery, kept cool amidst the encroaching heat by the overhead fan and some gentle assistance by the muted blues on the walls. I pan the room: there's the tree painted on his wall, branches reaching out to hover over and protect the quote displayed over his crib ("Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We will get there some day." -Winnie the Pooh). Then there's his little book shelf filled with pages of stories, letters, numbers, and imagery that he will absorb on a different level each time he revisits them. And there, glowing near the carpet and providing a soft illumination of this baby haven, is the star night light. As I rock my sleeping son, I can hear only the whirr of the fan and the rhythmic creaking of the glider. My eyes rest on the night light, and I am transported. Not in the sense that I am looking to leave the bliss that is holding my baby boy as he dreams, but just as his mind is able to drift away to wherever it may, so is mine for that 75 minutes. For a few of those minutes, I am back in my own childhood room in Northbrook, Illinois, laying on my bed playing with my stuffed animals and listening out for the "call" that our neighborhood game of Capture the Flag is about to begin. More minutes might be spent strolling in the sand on the shore of Lake Michigan.  Other minutes, I am playing cards with my dad at the kitchen table while he teaches me words in foregin languages. Or I am once again meeting my husband for the first time. My mind gets to dance from memory to memory, and I am there. Amidst a schedule that is jam-packed with bottle washing, diaper changing, and stroller pushing from this thing to that, these 75 minutes are filled with places and spaces I will always hold right up against my heart.

In the span of eight short months, Max's nursery has become my refuge of sorts, and my spot in that glider gives me a vantage point I will never forget for as long as I live. His painted tree, his quote, his book shelf. I know that when that small block of sun dances its way across the shadowy wall and is illuminating the "W" in 'Winnie', it is 5:30pm and my little boy should begin to stir any minute now. Our minds will converge to the present, from wherever they were, and the nursery will come into focus once again. I will stand up with him in my arms, kiss the top of his head, and out the door we will go.

That's it - I'm Leaving the Band!

Yesterday, after nine very quick weeks, Max graduated from his DOC Band! It was our final visit to Cranial Technologies to take off Max's band for the very last time and get his last round of imaging for some before-and-after pictures. The photos below illustrate how his head has rounded out with the help of the band. Furthermore, it is clear from the photos that Max's torticollis (neck tilt due to muscle tightening on one side) is all but gone.

On our drive to the office, I thought about this being Max's final appointment with Cranial Technologies. We had taken him for weekly band adjustments for the past 9 weeks, but had been in contact with them since November. For a kid who is just about to turn 8 months old, that's a pretty good chunk of existence for us as a family of three. I looked back to the start of our journey, his journey.... noticing his flat spot for the first time at 6 weeks old ("Hey..that's weird...honey come look at this"), to finding out it had an actual name, to discovering the DOC Band intervention and beginning the process of "shaping up" his noggin. At the very beginning, I was upset. I was upset that he had this condition, albeit purely cosmetic; I felt badly for Max, having no idea at the time that he wouldn't even notice the band's existence; I was nervous of the reaction of others, seeing my little one sporting this oddly-shaped piece of plastic on his head. I remember being in the grocery store for our first outing after he started wearing the band... a very lovely woman approached us and started shmoozing with Max. "What big, beautiful blue eyes you have! Look at that smile. You sure are a happy little guy, aren't you!"

My translation: You are wearing a strange thing on your head, I am going to assume you have a mental and/or self-control problem and I'm going to avoid acknowledging this potentially awkward situation by commenting on everything below your forehead. Poor kid. Poor mom. Tsk tsk tsk.

It also didn't help that right about the time this interaction took place, Max proceeded to lick the grocery cart.

But it wasn't long before I got so used to Max in his band, he looked naked without it. Especially when he was really naked. Whoa, where'd he go?  I also found him to look adorable in it, like Toad from Super Mario Bros. When people would smile at Max and I as we strolled down the aisles at Costco, I no longer interpreted it as pity, and I looked forward to the conversation that would typically eventualize about him: his age, his weight, why yes, he is our first born, oh yeah it's just to correct some flattening in the back of his head. And the more people I talked to, the more it seemed like I was smack in  the middle of a game of Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon, if Kevin had plagiocephaly. Everyone I talked to either had a child or grandchild who wore a band, or knows someone who has. Right on!

If the me today could have sat down with the me three months ago, I would have taken myself by the shoulders, looked straight into my eyes, and told myself, "Do not worry. This is simple, this will fly by. Enjoy the process." And then we would split a piece of pie because I'd know we'd both love that.



My Little Toad

               

 

I did it, Ma!

Mom. You said "one photo".

 

 

Head shape, before and after DOC Band therapy

 



                           





Isn't lifting my baby enough?

The decision to start working out again post-delivery is a crossroads many mothers face. There are those who get right to it, so that within two weeks it appears as though pregnancy was never even on the menu (witches, I tell you), and then there's me:

(Max is one month old)
"...I can't start working out yet, I just had a C-section mere WEEKS ago! Shame on you! I will take a Fig Newton, though. Third shelf in the pantry."

(Max is three months old)
"...I can't start working out yet, I'm in over my head just trying to brush my teeth!!!"

(Max is five months old)
"...I can't start working out yet.......it's.....too cold outside, and.......he's.......teething.....? Ok and, and, Aquarius is in the fifth lunar house this month and that's bad luck. You don't want me to break my back, do you??? I didn't think so." (Eats a chip)


(Max is six months old)
"....I can't start working out yet....The gym is such a schlep. Hey maybe if we had a treadmill HERE IN THE HOUSE! Yes!....... Let's look into that. Sometime."

(Max is seven months old)
"Jesuswhathappenedtomybody?"

A little over a month ago, a mommy friend of mine told me about Stroller Strides, an exercise program for moms and their little ones that involves working out while pushing your kid in his stroller. I loved the idea of having Max by my side while I got my sweat on. Admittedly though, I envisioned a bunch of us new moms, trotting around with our ponytails swinging in unison, our grande iced skinny vanilla lattes resting perfectly in our stroller cup holders while analyzing the latest Bachelor Pad. It sounded a little cliche, a little sugary, but also another excuse to get the deuce out of my house with my kid. So I decided to join this 'Stroller Strides'.

Let me assure you: there is no strolling involved.

The hour-long class typically consists of 70% cardio and 20% conditioning/strength training. Yes, I passed MAT110 - the remaining 10% is always reserved for wheezing and whining. But I never feel better than when Max and I are walking back to the car after having given it my all. We've been going three days a week, and I am very excited to report that I'm starting to notice the very beginning of what some might refer to as - in some cultures - perhaps in a mis-printed anatomy book - calf muscles. Also, I have more energy, which comes in mighty handy when our 3-4pm "witching hour" ensues and I'm skull-deep into the empty jar of instant coffee, licking the glass bottom for any remaining grounds.

It has also proven to be anything but ponytail-swinging, latte-swigging gossip sessions. I have met some wonderful women who share the bond of parenthood. We can talk all about solid foods and reaching milestones, or not. Surprisingly (and yes, I'll say it- refreshingly), Stroller Strides is hardly about the strollers; it's all about the strides. The babies, entertained by their sippy cups, fresh air, toys, and change of scenery, are pretty much the footnote of our workouts (though I'll admit, while running up six flights of parking garage stairs, I have silently begged Max to pull out a screaming fit and "need" me for three minutes). Most of us moms greet each other, maybe pop our heads into the strollers for a quick, "aww, don't you look cute today! Looks like you LOVE those crackers!", then resume the focus and discipline of an olympic athlete before the gun shot.

Ok, maybe that last part's in my head. Whatever gets you through, right?

Some of my favorite workout quotes:

 

 

Some thoughts.

Let me start by making this perfectly clear: I don't journal.

This is not so much a proclamation than a simple fact about my life. Don't get me wrong - I've tried. The countless diaries I own, housing 3, maybe 4 pages of attempted memoir followed by glaringly empty lines is proof positive that I do attempt to document my thoughts, activities, and emotions. But there is just no staying power, for reasons perhaps I will uncover within myself some day.

I do have one means of archiving: a "One Line A Day" memory book my mother gifted me with last spring (she knows my shortcomings all too well, given the book's title). I am comitted to jotting down simply one line every day - the Cliff's Notes version of the past 24 hours, if you will. There are five sections from top to bottom on each page, each saved for that particular date for five consecutive years. It's a neat idea, and something I can apparently manage to maintain. But true JOURNALING? The keeping of a DIARY? Nope. Can't do it.

But if I were to journal . . . .

If I were to journal, I would write about my son.

I would write about the past seven and a half months, and how the cliche of "how fast they grow up" grips me to my core; how it takes my breath away as I turn around and each time I do, he is exhibiting a new strength; a new side of his personality. How he looks like a kid. That I stop dead in my tracks as I witness myself writing things on my Baby Shopping List that I never anticipated him being ready for. Real foods. Larger clothes. I would write that he is about 5 minutes away from crawling, and our lives as we know it will again take another turn as he becomes - gulp -  mobile.

If I were to journal, I would be sure to include that over the past few months, I have noticed myself feeling a sense of pride in my abilities; especially to multi-task while being mindful of the moment. That I am experiencing an ever-increasing sense of confidence in this 'mothering' thing. Even in those moments where I am unsure...it is still under a general umbrella of "but hey... I think I know what I'm doing, here." And that's pretty cool.

I would joyfully jot down some of my very favorite things about him: the way he flails his arms and legs with something that can only be described as pure GLEE as I change him on the changing table; how, after he does something that makes me laugh, I notice the connections being made in his brain and that twinkle in his eye as he repeats it over and over so that I laugh more and more; seeing those 7 nubby teeth in his mouth every time he giggles; the way he looks after a bath, wrapped up in his lionhead-hooded towel, wet belly protruding from the terrycloth; the smell of his formula breath, stinky as it is, that is like a shot of endorphins through my system.

But more than any of that, if I were to journal, I would find myself writing about letting go. That the minute I eased up on my attempt to reign in and control things - his daily schedule, getting a certain number of ounces of food, length of naps, where to nap - was the minute he showed me what he needed; the minute he simply progressed beautifully and effortlessly, illustrating nature actively taking its course. I would write about looking at him playing in his exersaucer, sporting his car, train, and plane footie pajamas, and fully experiencing the enormous lump that forms in my throat as the tears of happiness well up in my eyes. Capture the moment like a snapshot in my heart as I feel it swell with love for this little boy of mine. How I am constantly looking forward to who he his becoming, while at the same time bidding the bittersweet goodbyes that speckle each day as he grows out of his babyhood, one cell at a time.


If I were to journal.

I love you, my Max.