toddler

Just, wow.

Posted on by amberhj

Stella keeps busy at the ER. Thankfully, none of the many available tubes were used during the ER visit. (Sorry, inside joke.)

We were back at the ER at Children’s Hospital last night, our old stomping grounds. It’s a long story that I will tell soon. But all I can right now is “wow.” All the things I thought were so hard lately, all the things I’d been tired and complaining about, my occasional shortage of patience with Stella during a terrible cold, my lingering fear about her eating, my lack of perspective despite Stella’s earlier health challenges… they’re all punching me in the face simultaneously. And I’ve made the mistake of using Vicks tissues on my eyes while crying. Bad move. It feels like my eyes are radioactive–Cody tells me they’re not glowing but I’m pretty sure I just saw some sparkly green stuff shoot out of my pupils. I was a fool. Now I’m just scared.

A head CT scan did rule out some horrifying stuff. Which is great. But serious questions about my sweet Stella’s eyes remain. A nebulous initial diagnosis hangs in the air. Simply put, this is a rare situation. As one doctor put it: “Odd.” As another doctor put it: “I don’t like it.”  My mission for now is to get Stella an appointment with the head ophthalmologist at Children’s Hospital. As soon as humanly possible. I find myself sinking back into old habits, from the days of Stella’s feeding aversion, spending any free moment researching, grasping for answers, even though we’ve yet to see the proper specialist.

I feel like such a jerk for not appreciating more how well Stella has been doing. IS doing! This is just one more challenge she’ll overcome. I can’t overstate how incredibly lucky I am to have her. And no matter what the outcome or prognosis or course of treatment: STELLA IS PERFECT JUST THE WAY SHE IS. Always has been.

There’s so much to this story. I look forward to sharing it when I have regained a bit of composure.

18 months

Posted on by amberhj

This is what an 18-month-old cutiepie with a 110th percentile head looks like.

On Saturday, Stella demanded “more pie.” Then on Sunday, after spying the gleaming white Trophy Cupcake bakery box, she shouted “CUH-CAKES!” Today, she’s been crying out for “BAGEL!”

I’d read in The Scientist in the Crib that “around 18 months” is a time of unbelievably fast development, including a “naming explosion” wherein the child can hear a word once (used as a label for an object) andsay it with ease forevermore. I knew it was coming. I just didn’t expect Stella’s language explosion to be so intensely focused on desserts and carbs. And I’m actually quite proud of it–her love of eating is beautiful to me.

Of course sweets aren’t the only emerging area of identification and communication. She knows at least several each from the shape, color, number and letter families.  Some more reliably than others, of course. She’s all, “Seven? What the HELL is that alien scribble?” but “Two and Five? Hell yeah, I can spot ’em from across the street!” “Diamond” was the first shape she could easily say and identify, which I find funny for some reason. She’s starting to string words together, and the phrase of the day is “Buckle up!” Feeling really proud and curious, I tried to count all the words she knows, and gave up when I got to 125. She’s adding more each day. This blows me away. Now that there is so much to report on, the first thing I tell Cody when he comes home is, “Here are literally all of the things Stella said, ate, did, thought about and looked at today!” And then I don’t shut up for about 90 minutes. Dinner is always done way too late.

The way Stella views the world and her place in it is clearly different now, and you can see it in the way she plays.  The playground, two blocks away, is her domain. But she’s oh-so-boldly venturing out into previously uncharted territory.  She’s no longer content to run over the toddler bouncy bridge, go down the big slide, climb the stairs, or even to scale and descend the steep rubber mounds lurking beneath the tallest playground structure. For many months now, from the safety and comfort of the bucket swing, she’s intently observed adventurous, dirty-kneed boys and girls hiking and climbing amid the boulders and tree-root-studded dirt path that make up the strip of elevated land along the edge of the playground. She now deftly explores this rocky frontier without fear, making me nervous and proud at the same time. By the time we left today, the knees and butt of her pants had dirt ground into them. There were wood chips on her sweater and hat, and sand in her shoes. She looked like a full-fledged KID.

Today we hit the pediatrician’s office for Stella’s 18-month check-up. The weigh-in that used to fill us with dread is now just a point of curiosity, a nice bit of reassurance about her continued growth. The doctor, GOD bless him (he’s seen me at my worst), always seems so happy to see Stella. He’s just so thrilled to see her thriving after those tough early months. He “gets” how hard it once was for us, and how momentous a seemingly routine and uneventful check-up is. He seems genuinely proud of all of us, happy to show us her “beautiful” growth curves, charted electronically on his fancy tablet. Stella’s now in the 40th percentile for weight and the 90th percentile for height. Her head is still off the charts, having drifted just a touch further away from the 100th percentile, which is probably why it’s such an effective counterweight for hoisting herself onto ottomans, coffee tables and assorted off-limits areas. She’s lean. She’s tall. She’s healthy. She’s fabulous. I could not ask for more in a daughter than Stella, just as she is.

The point. Right. She’s not a baby anymore. I’ve teared up (okay, maybe even wept pitifully) about this fact numerous times, of course. Because it’s all too short. Unfairly short. As a parent, just when you get the hang of babyhood, it’s over. Just when you settle into the knowledge of  “16 months”, she turns 17 months old. Then, before you even realize that she’s outgrown all her pants, 18 months. All you can do is be glad you squeezed her all those extra times, just because you couldn’t resist, and that you read her those board books a billion times even though you really would’ve preferred to watch Ellen while eating a bar of chocolate the size of a small couch. All you can do is hold on–while letting go.

But I’m not sad. Babyhood is over, but full-fledged toddlerhood is just beginning, and if the past couple weeks are any indication, it’s going to be fun–challenging, but really funny and fun and crazy. I’m proud of  how far we’ve all come. Amazed and impressed by her new independence and communication. And in awe of her passion for dessert and dirt alike.

Confident mom interview #2: Jennifer of Sweet Futility

Posted on by amberhj

I’d like to introduce you to my cousin Jennifer. There are a few things you should know about her. First off, she’s really, really smart. Or as they say in Massachusetts, where she lives and where I’m from, “wicked smaht.” Like, she could’ve gone to Harvard. But didn’t choose to. Which brings me to my next point: She doesn’t care about fancy, superficial bullshit that doesn’t matter in the end. She wanted to stay home with her daughters, four-year-old Marley and 14-month-old Rudy, and made sacrifices to do it.

Jennifer, sharing a moment with Marley and Rudy

Jennifer, sharing a moment with Marley and Rudy

In addition, Jennifer faces challenges that many moms don’t. Her daughters have a health condition that, while not life-threatening, requires extra care and calm on her part every single day. Oh, Jennifer’s mom also has severe health issues requiring not only lots of extra care and calm, but (as you’ll learn below) life-saving measures from as far back as when Jennifer and her sisters were in elementary school. Maybe that help explains Jen’s toughness. In any case, Jen handles motherhood and life in general with grace and a sense of balance and realness that I truly admire.

She very rarely, if ever, complains about anything–okay, unless hard cider is involved. She can laugh just about anything off. To quote Tim Gunn (someone her daughter Marley can do a pretty darn good imitation of without even trying), she makes it work.

Life and Times of Stella: Your blog is a very honest and uplifting take on motherhood. How did you come up with the name “Sweet Futility“?

Sweet Futility:  First of all, it’s weird that anyone who wants to check out my blog won’t be able to since I made it private about a month ago.  Someone I didn’t know left a comment that may have been innocent, but I felt like protecting my kids just in case it wasn’t.  Maybe eventually I’ll open it up again.  In the meantime, anyone who’s curious can leave their email in your comments section and I’ll send along an invite?  I guess? (Life and Times of Stella notes: Or readers can just email me, and I’ll relay the info to Jen at Sweet Futility.)

A friend actually uttered the phrase “sweet, sweet futility,” during one of Marley’s tantrums.  He was witnessing her wrath for the first time, and foolishly trying to dismantle her craziness.  I told him it was futile, and then he called it sweet, and right away I thought that it was a fairly accurate description of parenting.  Because really, as parents we’re in charge of some things, but ultimately, our kids are going to be who they’re going to be.  And it would be wrong to take that individuality away from them.  Which is what I tell myself when my daughter Marley asks for things like POM-POMS and swoons over anything pink and sparkly.

Life and Times of Stella: On your newly exclusive blog, you revealed that Rudy and Marley have a condition called x-linked hypophosphatemic rickets. How does it impact everyday life for you and them?

Sweet Futility: This form of rickets affects their bone development, and my understanding is that without treatment, their little bones will bow as they grow and cause them a lot of stress and pain.  The condition can affect their stature, which may be why my girls are in the first or second percentile for height.  Daily, I have to make sure that they’re taking phosphorus and vitamin D supplements; frequently, I take them for blood work and check-ups with their pediatric endrocrinologist; annually, they have x-rays and ultrasounds to monitor their growth.

Because my husband has this condition, and because it’s x-linked, we knew that any girls we had would have rickets.  I think that helped me to take it in stride.  It wasn’t a surprise or anything. And while all the medical appointments are time-consuming and therefore, often irritating, I know that this isn’t anything life-threatening.  I mean, I worry that like their father, they’ll have terrible knees and have to deal with pain and maybe not even have the option of going for a run if they want, but I know that in the grand scheme of things, my kids are healthy, and I’m lucky.

Life and Times of Stella: Rudy and Marley share a room. What was behind that decision and how is it going?

Sweet Futility:  After Rudy was born and I asked the doctor and nurses to confirm that she was a girl, I was crying and murmuring, “I’m so happy that Marley has a sister.”  I have two sisters, so of course that’s all I know, but I just think they’ll have each other’s backs, growing up and as adults, in a way that a brother and a sister can’t.  (I know that’s a valuable relationship, too, of course.  I’m just saying.)

I want for Marley and Rudy to be silly little buddies, and I think that a shared room can nurture that, at least while they’re young.  I also think a shared room is a way to teach things like sharing and cooperation and appreciation in both subtle and dramatic ways.  Already, Todd and I hear them in the morning talking to each other, and it’s hilarious.  I mean, Rudy’s pretty much saying, “Be-beh” [baby], and “Nuh-Nuh” [pacifier], but Marley’s got this full-on monologue going, and they’re laughing, and it’s great.

I shared a room with my younger sister my whole life.  The first time I had a bedroom to myself, I was a junior in college.  (That was a little too long to wait, for the record.)  But it helped me to fully appreciate my own space, and I certainly wasn’t spoiled in that way, and I don’t want my kids to be either.  Plus, now we use Rudy’s old nursery as a family office, where most of the kids’ books and art supplies are.  At least a couple of times a week, Todd’s up there working at an adult-sized desk, and Marley’s at her little table, doing her preschool homework or concocting imaginary dinner parties and making elaborate invitations for them.

Life and Times of Stella:  In addition to taking care of your daughters full time, you help take care of your mom. Ever get overwhelmed? How do you cope?

Sweet Futility: Hoo boy.  My mom has early on-set Alzheimer’s, and she’s a type one diabetic, which is a pretty terrible combination.  Because she and my father are separated and he’s in Florida literally doing things like basking by the pool or ocean and enjoying week-long cruises with his lady friend, my sisters and I have taken on the responsibility of caring for her.  My older sister especially, because my mom lives with her.

Because I’m a stay-at-home mom, I’m responsible for bringing my mom to daycare when my sister’s at work, and I handle all of the doctors’ appointments.  It’s tedious, and depressing, but it’s also nothing new to my sisters or me.  My mom didn’t do a great job of taking care of herself and managing her diabetes when we were growing up.  We’ve brought her out of hypoglycemic shock more times than we can count, since we were really young.  It’s the kind of thing that you think is normal when you’re young, and then, when you’re in therapy you learn that it’s not right to be constantly saving your mother’s life when you’re in elementary school.

My sisters and I are a great team, and sometimes we’re bitter and angry, but we support each other and we can laugh about the ridiculousness of our situation, too.  Mostly, we just get the job done and keep the focus on our kids.  And we take care of ourselves and each other because we know what can happen when moms don’t.  Ugh.  Next question.

Life and Times of Stella: How and when did you decide to be a “stay-at-home mom” and leave your teaching job?

Sweet Futility: My last full-year teaching, I was given three classes of eighth graders.  It was not hard to walk away.  Seriously.  The people who teach middle school kids because they “just love that age” are saints.

When I started teaching high school English, I had sweet classes like creative writing and AP English Language and Composition.  I loved teaching those kids.  They were mostly nerds and overachievers like me, and they loved reading and writing.  I got into the profession because of my love of grammar, not because I watched Dangerous Minds and wanted to teach inner city kids poetry.  This makes me sound like an elitist jerk, so I should mention that a part of me did absorb Dangerous Minds when I was becoming certified to teach, and I will always love Stand and Deliver.  Defy the odds!  Like in Rudy!

When I was pregnant with Marley, my husband and I were both full-time teachers.  And teaching is a full-time job.  Especially for English teachers.  The day is over at 2 p.m., sure.  But then you’re not really out of the building until almost four, and you’ve got this gigantic pile of mostly mediocre essays to read and grade, and that’s at least three hours of work, and so we knew that if we both worked, we wouldn’t get to hang out with our kids at all.  And I really, really wanted to be at home with them while they’re little and funny.  So we have been stretching our dollars ever since, and I still coach, teach a night course twice a year, and fit in private tutoring whenever I can to keep us afloat.

Life and Times of Stella: What is a typical dinnertime in your home like? What’s on the menu in terms of food, conversation, and antics?

Sweet Futility: Dinnertime is not where I want it to be right now.  Unless I’m really on my game, it’s suddenly five o’clock and I’m just getting something going for Todd and me (and Marley) while I’m microwaving small plates for Rudy (and Marley).  We try to overlap our eating so that we’re all sitting together for at least five or ten minutes, but that doesn’t happen as often as I’d like.

And I know there are all these people who say, “I’m not making six different meals,” and “If my kids are hungry, they’ll eat it, and if not, they can eat again at breakfast,” and I certainly agree with that in theory.  But Marley and Rudy are both wee kids, and every time we see their pediatrician, she’s on me to be sure that they’re eating healthy and gaining weight.  So right now I’m balancing filling their stomachs the best I can with what I know they like, and making sure they at least try whatever Todd and I are having, too.  I’m hoping that in about a year, we’ll really and truly be sitting together and eating the same things.

That doesn’t really answer your questions.  So I’ll tell you that the other night we had chicken thighs braised in white wine, stock, and some dijon mustard, toasted basmati rice with shallots, cumin, and coriander, and some green beans.  And tonight, we’re going to drown ourselves in french fries and bacon cheeseburgers at Five Guys, and I’ve been thinking about it ALL DAY!  We eat healthy food, especially fruits and vegetables, as often as possible, and I don’t really buy junk food for snacks. But I use lots of butter and salt when I cook.

One of my absolute favorite cooks is Nigella Lawson.  And I was once watching this documentary about her, and she said how it really affected her when her mother got cancer and said something like, “Well, now I guess I’ll finally eat what I want without worrying about my weight.”  And clearly it’s affected me, too.  Why deny yourself?  I still don’t think I’m answering your questions the right way.  I have a lot to say about food, I guess.

Life and Times of Stella: What do you find most challenging about motherhood?

Sweet Futility: I think it’s hard to be the kind of role model I want to be.  I want to show Marley how to maintain a sense of calm when she’s mid-tantrum, but sometimes I still blow my top.  I want to exhibit things like kindness and compassion, but that can be difficult depending on who I’m dealing with. (Ahem.)  And I want to be assertive and stand up for myself, but I also really hate confrontation.  So it’s probably the same stuff a lot of moms feel: I’m setting some impossible standards for myself and just doing the best I can to meet them as often as possible.

Life and Times of Stella: Tell us one thing about each of your daughters that you admire.

Sweet Futility: I love Marley’s spunk.  Even though it can drive me bananas, her feistiness is something that I really admire.  I don’t see her ever having trouble standing up for herself.  And at the same time, she’s such a little lady.  She will know more about how to properly apply eyeliner at age fifteen than I know now.  I don’t even wear it, for crying out loud.  She will be truly embarrassed by my ensembles in the next year or so unless I stay on top of things.

Rudy is a model of living in the moment.  She is slow and deliberate and sweet.  Sometimes I call my sisters with her, and they’ll answer, “Hello?”  And then Rudy will say, “Hiiiii.”  And then Heather or Danielle will realize who it is and take in this sort of pleased and contented breath and then say, “Hi!” and then Rudy replies, “Hi.  Hiiiii.  Hi!”  And these greetings can go on for about three or four minutes.  I feel like when I’m holding Rudy and she’s smiling and taking things in, my blood pressure goes down.

Life and Times of Stella: What is your biggest wish for Marley and Rudy?

Sweet Futility: I want most of all for Marley and Rudy to be truly, deep down, happy with who they are and what they’re achieving, throughout their lives.  I want them to laugh as often as possible.

Life and Times of Stella: In closing, can you recall a proud mothering moment, when it was clear that something you’d done as a mom was definitely not futile?

Sweet Futility:  That’s a tough one.  I think it’s still too early for me to answer this as far as Rudy goes, but I’ve got a few examples of Marley making my heart swell.  Or melt. Depending.

The first is something I didn’t get to witness.  When my sister Danielle was watching Marley last year while the Boston Marathon was on TV, Danielle pointed out how fast the female runners were going.  And Marley said, “Yeah.  Girls do sports.  My mommy does lots of sports.”

Last week, when Marley and Rudy and I were wheeling our red carriage toward the registers at Target, I was trying to get Rudy to say, “Buh-bye.”  So I was all, “Bye!  Bye, Target!”  And Marley, skipping alongside the carriage, said, “Bye, Target!  I love you!”

And every time I drop Marley off at preschool, she has to give me a hug and a kiss and squeeze my nose, and then she does the same thing to her little sister.  It’s adorable, I promise.

Meet fearless Frankie and her parents

Posted on by amberhj

Update: In March of 2010, her parents announced that Frankie discovered the joy of eating and left tube-feeding behind for good!

I’d like to introduce you to Francesca and her devoted parents.  Their extremely touching and wonderfully written blog, Frankly Frankie, documents Francesca’s struggles with eating. They need our morale support–right now.

Adorable two-year-old Francesca, or Frankie, has a story that begins very similarly to Stella’s: severe reflux (GERD) and cow’s milk protein intolerance, signaled by bloody diapers, led her to refuse to eat as a newborn. Frankie’s mom, Brett, eliminated dairy from her diet to no avail (sounds familiar). As with Stella, a reluctant switch to amino-acid-based formula and bottle feeding was made. But Frankie was unfamiliar with the bottle, the very expensive formula caused terrible constipation (not to mention its horrible taste), and she soon shut down orally, with near-total refusal to eat. Diagnosed with Failure To Thrive (FTT), she descended through the ranks of the growth chart until she fell off, despite valiant daily efforts to feed her “normally.” A g-tube (PEG) was surgically inserted into Francesca’s stomach in order to prevent severe malnutrition. Francesca remained off the growth charts until very recently, a truly hard-earned achievement for her parents, a milestone that prompted celebration.

She is now two years old and has been 100% tube-fed. (For the full story, click here.) But not for long. Frankie’s parents very recently embarked on an intensive and heroic weaning effort. What touches me so much about their story and current efforts isn’t, as you might expect, that Stella could easily have wound up in the same exact situation. What gets me is the absolute dedication and above-and-beyond efforts of Frankie’s parents. They are doing everything humanly possible to help Frankie discover the joy of eating. They have turned their home into a play picnic, a highly successful and messy therapeutic Graz method used during weaning that allows tube-fed kids to explore and play with food without pressure, on their own terms, and become comfortable enough with food to eat. The floors and walls in Frankie’s home are sticky.

A few days into the weaning process, Frankie’s parents are trying hard to keep the faith, as Francesca still prefers ice cubes over the many treats offered, including (hold on to your hats):

“oatmeal with soy milk and brown sugar, dried cranberries, pita chips, cherrios, sharp cheddar cheese, bread with seeds, coconut rice, apple sauce, carrots shaped like coins, vegetable and goat cheese frittata, whole wheat spaghetti noodles, steamed broccoli, carrots shaped like flowers, potato chips, medium cheddar cheese, slices of banana, cinnamon rolls, acorn squash, swiss chard, butternut squash, sour cream, rice krispies, puffs, bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese in a tortilla, spinach, red bell pepper slices, coconut flakes, frosted animal cookies, miniature strawberry yogurt covered pretzels, dried mango-pineapple, dried banana, egg noodles with green onion, salt and pepper, salad greens, baked potato chips, polish sausage, red cabbage, mini marshmallows, dried apples, chocolate yogurt covered pretzels, dried apricots, corn chips, dried cherries, croissant, peaches, banana bread, colby jack cheese, graham cracker cookies shaped like bugs, french bread, fresh mango, cookie bars, pear slices, candy corn, gummy bears, lettuce, chocolate frosting, gingerbread cookies, white frosting, salt and pepper potato chips, chocolate, quinoa, garlic bread, french toast, popcorn with butter, pink pixie popcorn, yogurt, celery with cream cheese and raisins, wheat thin crackers, apple slices, turkey soup with dumplings, uncooked pasta wheels, yellow raisins, brown raisins, fruit loop cereal, orange cinnamon rolls, parmesan cheese, tortillas, dried mango, tortilla chips, grated cheese, beef chili, pancakes with butter and maple syrup, chocolate cookies shaped like bears, jelly beans, deviled eggs, toast with raspberry jam, carrots with ranch dressing…”

Francesca is undergoing huge psychological and biological changes, and needs time to adjust. As such, with this type of weaning, there is a lot of anxious waiting and hoping, and often, a good measure of sheer desperation. (Hek, I threw bottles.) The outcome rests squarely in the hands of the child. As a parent, you feel helpless. Your role? To make food available (really, without even “offering” it), to remain calm, and have faith in a child who has rarely if ever shown any interest in eating.

Tube weaning is extremely stressful, even when it is going well. It’s an incredible leap of faith, and a very lonely journey. Please take a moment to visit the blog, Frankly Frankie, and send your warm, supportive wishes in comment form.

I’ll sign off by simply stating that I have absolute faith in Frankie, and her parents.

Equilibrium

Posted on by amberhj

Today was one of those days: Stella’s cuteness just completely overwhelmed me. Even more so than usual. Gave me that tickling sensation in my heart, which I almost can’t stand.

I hugged and kissed her constantly. Touched my forehead and/or nose to hers whenever possible. Frequently and eagerly picked her up and spun her around and around (Stella, after tenth time: “More? More?” while signing “more”; Me: “SURE! I’m glad you asked!”). I sat and stared as she attempted to remove CDs from the stereo, ate delicious and helpfully thick Greek yogurt from an upside-down spoon, and repeatedly put a tennis ball through a cylindrical block.

Admittedly, I was especially enamored when she ate, with gusto, the healthy stir-fry I whipped up (i.e. awkwardly assembled) for dinner. She happily picked out big clusters of kale, onion and chicken. Chomping on leafy greens is so adorable when she does it.  (I hope you see the humor I’m injecting here, lest you gag.)

Then, after the meal, as usual, she started whining incessantly and clinging to me, which made cleaning up (and breathing) difficult. So I gave her some chocolate chips to get her off my case.

It’s all about balance.

Happy 2nd week of the new year

Posted on by amberhj

And we’re back.

Being the geniuses that we are, Cody and I decided to undertake a three-week, two-city holiday travel bonanza with a 16-month-old tornado. We’re not crazy, just overly enthusiastic. Last year, we canceled our Thanksgiving and Christmas travel plans due to the stress and complicated logistics of Stella’s feeding issues and tube. So we decided to “do it up” this year. We were optimistic and confident, but not cocky enough to honor our “no TV until two, mostly” rule and so we hit Best Buy for a DVD player. Smart move. Stella did not fall asleep on any of our four flights. Sesame Street was an oasis for all of us.

Stella enjoyed some adventures that surely broadened her horizons, including a train ride in Austin’s Zilker Park in 70-degree sunshine and sledding in snowy Boston, just to name a couple. She clearly adores her extended family, and got to know them all much better, which was really important to me. But she was whiny and clingy for the vast majority of the trip. Was it teething? Was it her cold that didn’t let up until the end of the trip? Was it the many changes in scenery? Was it just typical behavior for her age? We asked ourselves these questions constantly and inanely. I consider it a Christmas miracle that none of our family members, all forced to listen to this pointless and obsessive wondering aloud, never punched us in the face at any point during the trip.

Thank GOD for cousin James, who at six years old is amazing with little ones. He has magical powers. Seriously, he knew that when Stella started whining, it was his cue to start a game of tag with her. I didn’t say a word–he’d just sneak up behind Stella with a sly grin on his face and the clinging would end and the fun would begin. Stella could not get enough of him. They held hands in the car, touched foreheads and giggled, and ran, ran, ran. James, buddy, I owe you one.

So, after a fun* but tiring trip, we made it home. Stella could not have been happier to see her rocking moose, ball ramp, stuffed robot, toddler-sized piano, Tupperware drawer, and every single element of her nursery’s decor. She gasped upon seeing each and every item in our home (even lighting fixtures), her eyes and smile so wide they crowded out her dimples. And that was after arriving home at 1am, at which point she’d been awake for what felt like a life sentence but was actually 10 hours. She’s now back to her usual, even sweeter and more delightful self, except for random eardrum-shattering outburts, of course. (It’s been confirmed by family members: Stella is very loud, even by toddler standards.) Since our return she’s eating about twice as much as usual, and even asking for thirds on carrots. WHAT? You heard me.

It’s good to be back, but I sure will miss seeing her play and interact with the aunties, cousins, uncles and grandparents that love her so much. I’m so glad we went.

*Fun with a giant exception: my mom broke her leg, badly. She had surgery on Wednesday and her pain is finally under control. Let the healing begin! She would not want me to make a big fuss about it, especially not on my blog, so that’s all I can say. Love you and thinking of you, Mom.

Holiday sweetness

Posted on by amberhj

A couple days ago, Stella and I made a gingerbread house. Actually, I put it together following step-by-step instructions, while she ate the chimney, tree, and most of the roof’s structurally necessary frosting. Later, the same frosting would come out of my nose, because I can’t resist it either, and Stella made me laugh while I bent over to pick her up.

Even slightly off-kilter peace is worth striving for.The gingerbread house experience leads me to wonder how babies “know” about candy upon seeing it for the very first time. I opened the gingerbread house kit from Williams-Sonoma, and Stella immediately began gnawing on the package of gumdrops and clawing at sealed cookie components, whining and panting because she could not wait to eat them. Mind you, she’d just eaten a man-sized dinner. I thought she was absolutely full. Besides, this kid had never before seen anything resembling a gumdrop. I asked Cody how she knew instantly what the sweet gems were all about, and he gave a pretty good explanation: “It’s instinctual!  Gum drop detection is part of our evolution.” Of course it is. They’re like berries, but with high fructose corn syrup. Totally necessary for survival–of the holidays.

It’s not just the season’s sweets that get Stella excited. She loves the Christmas tree. She dotes on it with gentle, arms-wide-open hugs. She does laps around it, and inspects all the eye-level ornaments every hour or so, touching them while saying a nasal-y “no.” Because without realizing it, that’s what I taught her to do.

Our new tree bling.For the first several days, the tree was star-less. So I ordered a wonderfully simple star tree topper from Red Envelope, and it arrived during Stella’s nap early this week. I put it up atop the tree right away, admired it proudly for a moment, then promptly forgot about it. Not long after, Stella awoke from her nap. The first thing she did? Gazed up at her new best friend the Christmas tree, smiled, and with her sparkly blue eyes growing ever wider, pointed at the star in dramatic, overly excited fashion. She did the same when I hung my “PEACE” banner on the mantle. She not only smiled and pointed, but actually applauded. The banner isn’t exactly what I’d hoped it would be, but I did put some real work (not to mention money) into it, and the fact that Stella appreciated it so much almost brought tears to my eyes. She’s just so incredibly sweet.

As you can see, Stella understands holiday magic. So do I, and so does my mom. This appreciation, and a general affinity for wonder, has been handed down along with the most unruly cowlicks imaginable. On Tuesday, my mother’s latest act of kindness arrived. It was carefully tucked in tissue paper in the bottom of a large box, in which we also found a package of adorable, unbreakable (genius) ornaments and a classic, wooden, German ornament of a little chef holding a large wooden spoon, which Stella immediately grabbed and pretended to eat with.

This delivery is probably the millionth treasure–holiday or otherwise–that my mom has created for me during my 32 years. For example, on game day throughout high school, I’d consistently find a bit of crafty motivation in my lunch or backpack, like a construction-paper basketball with multi-colored flames shooting off the sides and a markered message along the lines of “Light ’em up!” or “You’re on fire!” Sometimes I really did light ’em up, and I think she’s largely responsible for that. She saved every newspaper article, even the smallest mention of me, and attended just about all of my games. Christmas? Well, that was always magical, even when my parents were young and completely broke. I know, I’m lucky.

I will probably wear the tree skirt to Cody's office Christmas party.So, you’re probably wondering, “What on earth did she give you? A giant diamond she’d made by crushing carbon with her bare hands?” No, it was better. I opened the box to discover that she’d made me the most gorgeous tree skirt ever in the history of Christmas. If Jesus Christ himself had a Christmas tree and accompanying skirt, I’m sure it was nowhere near as holy and beautiful as this. Honestly, I’d searched Etsy for tree skirts last week and found nothing that even compared to my mom’s work of art. In fact, this tree skirt is probably the most wonderful thing I own. It embodies my ideal style, with a design that’s charmingly simple but not at all stark, and plenty of cheerful but balanced color and splashes of bold, joyful pattern. The luxurious fabric and perfect trim are so incredibly stylish yet timeless, and even incorporate the specific colors or our decor. As anyone who has given or received a truly thoughtful, handmade gift knows, it’s more than a tree skirt. It’s even more than an heirloom. It’s a symbol of something much greater. Love, of course! And Martha-Stewart-esque skills that I’ll probably never have.

My holiday banner is too busy and warped by over-gluing. Martha would not eat leftover gingerbread house frosting “glue” straight from the bag, and she probably wouldn’t allow her edible creation to be smudged on all sides with sugary toddler handprints. But who cares? What I lack in skill I make up for with holiday cheer. More importantly, I’ve got an amazing daughter and mother with whom to share it.

Enjoy a quick holiday “hi” from Stella, on one of her rounds…

Today’s menu: Waffling

Posted on by amberhj

Stella loves fruits and vegetables. The catch? She prefers the plastic kind.Am I the only mom who waffles more than IHOP? I have a feeling the answer is no, but I had to ask.

Because there are days when Stella and I are in a groove, the house is cluttered but not too messy, we have an deeeeelightful outing to Gymboree or the library, Stella sets a new smiling record, and I sink a flag triumphantly into the top of Good Mom Mountain. Then there are the days in which Stella wakes up at 4:30 a.m., eats nothing but cheese and carbs, we don’t leave the house, Stella’s whining reaches epic heights, and I feel like I’m putting FEMA’s Brownie to shame. “Hek of a job, Mommy. Hek of a job.” I get depressed, usually only very briefly but it doesn’t help the rally effort. (That’s when I turn to my sidekick, Coffee.)

Of course, Stella’s eating is an easy trigger for me. When I think back about what she ate today, I don’t feel great. (Why am I thinking back on it then? Great question! Also, ever notice how “not great” is always used as a huge understatement and rarely in a literal way?) My posture reveals that I feel “less than” today. I want to confront it right now to see if my guilt is even justified. I want to look this sinking feeling in the food-covered face. So, LET’S DO THIS…

She had cottage cheese for breakfast with maybe 4 ounces of OJ and a couple bites of wheat toast with the best apricot jam ever made on this planet. Then she had half a banana and water as a rather minimal snack considering the size of breakfast, the kind of snack you might enjoy if incarcerated. Followed by a large helping of my own mac n’ cheese (at least I use whole wheat pasta) and some canned-but-organic baked beans (“lots of iron” I tell myself every other second while she’s eating the sugary legumes) and whole milk. I diced some granny smith to go alongside, knowing full well it was pointless. (I think she had one piece the size of a pea.) She reluctantly had a small serving of oatmeal cooked in cider (with apple sauce and canned pumpkin or squash and milk mixed in after cooking) for the second snack. Then, as seems to be the trend, she didn’t really have a proper dinner because it wasn’t ready by the time she got hungry, so I just fed her many bits of leftover turkey, and a couple grapes as she ran around. (Stella will only eat grapes standing up, she will only spit them out while sitting in her highchair.) As always, we sat down as a family for supper, and I think she had half of a baked sweet potato fry, a few bites of toast (not even close to whole wheat) and more turkey, and milk.

Oh, just reading that, I feel like an idiot. I can see that it’s not a big deal. I can do better, sure. A consistent serving of vegetable would be ace. She’ll do zucchini and cauliflower if I sautee them in olive oil and throw some grated Parmesan on them. Sometimes, peas. If I roast them in just the right way with tomatoes while the planets are aligned with the sun, she’ll have a few pieces of soft carrot. She’ll eat broccoli if we pretend it’s only for us and not for her (I wish I were joking). I’ll work on it. Or maybe I won’t “work on it.” I’ll just try to cook up a batch at the beginning of the week, freeze/refrigerate servings, put them out with her meals and do very little working or worrying on or about it.

So the only other thing hanging over my head at the end of this somewhat “off” day is our activity–or lack thereof. I’m still so unsure about what Stella needs in terms of activities and outings and socialization at this age. I wish I could be more confident in regards to what we do or don’t do. I’m still a bit overly concerned about making sure she snacks and eats well at meals, and this prevents me from being more adventurous at times. I wind up feeling like a lazy ass, or that I’m dooming Stella to my legacy of social awkwardness. But again, I waffle. Sometimes I’m utterly convinced that a 15-month-old does not need expensive “lessons” or other structured programs and that we all need to chill the hell out. Then the next minute, I’m terrified that Stella is missing out or not getting what she needs.

I guess I have some questions: Is mothering confidence even achievable, realistically? How do you know that your toddler is really getting what they need, as they’re moody regardless of what we do? Stella is 15 months old and not in preschool yet–is she going to fail out of kindergarten?

To complete this waffling cycle, I’ll end on a high note. Cody, Stella and I had a fabulous day on Friday at Seattle Center. We hit the Children’s Museum, then walked around the International Fountain, which Stella and I both love and could watch and listen to for hours. (The sky-high and dramatic waterworks are set to sync up with music in mesmerizing fashion.) While at The Children’s Museum, we watched Stella have a ball. Then it happened. In the kid-sized mock grocery store, she played in an amazingly collaborative way with a slightly older boy. OH MY GOD. They were an awesome team. Totally in tune. She unloaded plastic produce (totally eschewing cans and packaged goods, by the way) and handed it to this kid one by one so he could scan it. They were a MACHINE. The timing was amazing. Just as he was done scanning the last item, she was there with the next. He said, “Thank you!” (Stella’s favorite thing to say) every time. She smiled. This was more than mere parallel play and it went on for a very long time. We were ridiculously proud and impressed.

So, what am I worried about? Clearly, Stella is already more socially adept than me. And she’s obviously ready for part-time employment. She’s wonderful. I’m doing something right. Or maybe we parents think we’re more important than we really are. What a relief that would be. At the end of the caffeine-laced, near-veggie-less day, I just want her to be healthy and happy, without my going insane.

A rare moment of peace. Followed by an overwhelming desire to pee.

 

 

Stella hits the gym

Posted on by amberhj

Stella enjoyed her first Gymboree class ever today. By letting her go until 15 months without being enrolled in a “structured program”, I let her become a delinquent, apparently. Well I’m making amends! Not really. Stella’s just incredibly active and we were getting bored. I thought it would be perfect for her.

She just turned 15 months old yesterday. But mainly because she’s been walking for so long and is so good at balancing and climbing and other physical feats, I took her to a class for 16- to 22-month-olds, rather than the one for 10- to 16-month-olds. The woman at the front desk told me they were pretty flexible with the age ranges of the classes, which made me feel more confident about it. We arrived a couple minutes late and I was flustered and wondering if we should even be there, but the staff really put me at ease.

Stella watched solemnly from my lap for much of the time. Two teachers went above and beyond to assure me that it’s totally normal for kids that age who are new to the program to simply watch the others at first. Stella definitely stood back. She seemed awed, fascinated and, while not at all upset, a little nervous. She did explore a bit. She walked up some plank that you are supposed to crawl up. She jumped off a platform, went to town on a giant rocking horse contraption, slid down the slide, kept throwing two balls overhand at the same time with one in each hand (with impressive form, a small thing but I so appreciated it), and approached a couple of kids in a friendly manner.

I was reminded again today, in looking at the slightly older toddlers, how lean Stella is. She’s just as tall as they are, but appears small because she’s so thin. Perhaps that’s why she already seems like such an athlete. After all, her triceps are more defined than mine! (Okay, that’s not saying much.) While her eating has received way too much attention, I’m starting to believe that her build has less to do with intake and more to do with her insane activity level. I was reminded today that her leanness serves her well. Stella climbed up on a teeter-totter, with seats on both ends and bars across the middle. She climbed up onto it, unfazed by its rocking motion, and sat right the middle with her skinny legs stuck through the slats, arms outstretched and holding the side of the teeter-totter behind her, moving side to side. The teacher said she’d never seen anyone use it that way before. What a trailblazer!

At the very end of the class, as Jimbo the puppet said his goodbyes to everyone, Stella got up from my lap, ran away on her tippy toes and pointed at Jimbo. She was finally comfortable, and it was time to go. Of course. I had to peel her off of the rocking horse.

This could be the beginning of a lot of gym time for Stella, and I am prepared to be alternately dazzled and supportive.

Boots for standing up in

Posted on by amberhj

Babies and toddlers are social magnets. Compliments zing through the air to make their way to you. Strangers swoon in your direction. Silly commentary slides along the sidewalk and lands at your feet. It warms my heart to see people react in an open and friendly way to Stella and all children for that matter.  That’s the way it should be.  Children, especially little ones, are still deciding just what this world is all about and gauging their place in it. A warm reception to this planet is what they need and deserve.

But that magnet sure is powerful. I’ve noticed that once in a long while, a baby’s magnetic magic can draw out the ugliness in some not-so-well-adjusted folks, the ones who perhaps were not warmly received here on earth themselves. So, not all of our run-ins with people on the street have been positive. Maybe it’s because we live in an urban area, where there are many people living very close together yet somehow with much distance separating them.

I’m still processing what happened, but while strolling Ballard this morning, we had a disturbing run-in with two men. I really don’t want to ever repeat what they said, which apparently seemed to them to be a harmless, hilarious joke.  It was too disturbing. Beyond inappropriate. Pretty much unfathomable to me or any parent.

Here’s what I’ll say about the interaction. They said something friendly to Stella. They seemed happy to see her. I said hello on behalf of Stella and myself, Stella stumbled, they reacted in a jovial manner, and I smiled and moved Stella along. They laughed a little too hard as we walked away.

Then, a block or two later, I processed their jovial response. And I got the joke. And it was not okay, not remotely okay. And I’d smiled at them as we parted. Did they think I was in on the joke? Oh god, no. No, no, no. I turned around. They were nowhere in sight. I made a quick, admittedly unfair judgement based on the way they were dressed that (at that non-commuting hour) they may have been headed for the bus stop. Two or three blocks later, I found them there. I confronted them. I confronted them because it was not right in any way. Because that kind of bullshit toward children can not be tolerated, and because I desperately, desperately needed to defend Stella (and me).

I don’t know that I’ve ever felt as confident heading into any other confrontation in my life. I was so calm, so lucid, so certain of what I needed to do. With Stella in my arms, I approached them and said, “Excuse me. Did you make an inappropriate joke about my daughter?” There was a brief but possibly telling pause. Or maybe they were in shock. They denied everything, and explained what they’d said. They made very sad expressions. I looked them both dead in the eye, I told them I’d heard the joke and heard their laughter. Again they tried to explain it. I took in their solemn faces and their responses. I so, so wanted to believe them, but upon reflection, my gut did not. There was nothing more I could do, and it didn’t really matter. I’d done what I had to do. I told them, “Okay, I hope not. I’m a protective mom and I needed to stand up for my daughter.” The more vocal of the two said, “That’s good.” We turned and left them there, waiting for their bus.

This had not been on my agenda, but I proceeded to walk into the boutique behind the bus stop, where I bought a pair of ass-kicking Frye boots for me, and some rain boots for Stella. Somehow, it seemed entirely appropriate.

Moving on.