toddler

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.

Three cheers for Zander! Oh yeah, AND HIS MOM.

Posted on by amberhj

Today isn’t just another Tuesday. It’s a very important day. Today, February 9, 2010, is the day Alexander (Zander or Zandy to those who love him) left his G tube behind. For good! I can’t tell you how huge this is.

Due to one of the most severe cases of frank aspiration ever seen at Seattle Children’s Hospital, Zander required a feeding tube for a year and a half (very close to his entire life). Early on, it was discovered that most of the milk he swallowed ended up in his lungs. He started off with an ND tube (like an NG tube that goes further down, indicated only for short-term tube feeding), but it soon became clear that a longer-term J-G tube was needed. At that point, he couldn’t handle a G tube, inserted into the stomach, because food that high up in his system could be regurgitated and cause aspiration. The food had to go directly into his intestines, via G-J tube, to avoid the threat to his lungs. (Much later, though, he transitioned to a G tube.)

Any type of swallowing put sweet Zander in danger. When he got a mere cold, respiratory distress was pretty much inevitable. It was a terrifying journey for the whole family, with a most uncertain destination. They didn’t know where it would lead. They were stuck, in so many ways. Tube feeding has a way of cramping one’s mobility and social life and sanity.

Then it happened. Late last summer, Zander passed a swallow test. Finally. It was his fifth one. He’d failed the four prior, because he was still aspirating. Amazingly, he at last demonstrated the ability to swallow. But could he really EAT? Did he have the willingness? Not at first. He needed to build oral motor skills. He needed to learn to not be afraid of food. He needed to feel hunger, which tube feeding obscures or annihilates. He still had a road ahead of him. So they forged ahead. Unbelievably, there were just two occupational therapy sessions. The work was done at home. They made food “sexy,” conscious of being happy when they ate and letting Zander see them happily eating. They allowed him to touch, and — until he got teeth — gum at flavorful food. They dipped his pacifier into gravy, sauces and juice. Still uncertain, they were hopeful and proactive, even after all they’d been through.

Slowly but surely, Zander began to eat. At first, just a sip from a straw or a bite of a cracker. Breakthroughs seemed to happen when they were behind schedule, when hours had passed since his last tube-fed meal and he was overdue for his next one. On such an occasion, he grabbed his mother’s Jamba Juice and guzzled three ounces in what seemed like mere seconds. Confidence and ability grew in tandem. The percentage of his diet enjoyed orally grew ever so slightly over time, until it hovered at 50%. (That’s as far as Stella ever got, by the way.) That’s when Alexander’s mother, based on research and gut feelings and a few supportive voices, took an incredibly brave but wise leap of faith. She just stopped. She stopped using the tube, and let Zander take flight.

Thirty days later, that would be today, Zander had a check-up with his wonderfully thoughtful, appropriately cautious, yet totally reasonable pediatrician. She saw that since commencement of weaning, he’d gained a bit of weight, and grown taller. She looked at him and saw a happy, healthy, NORMAL boy. And she said that the tube could go. Zander’s mom removed it this afternoon. She still feels a bit dizzy. Makes sense, though. Her world is  spinning, in the best possible way.

Yes, I’ve met Zander’s mom and I liked her instantly. She’s got wisdom and laughter in her eyes. Yep. A killer sense of humor, and a shrewdness that could put any seasoned lawyer to shame. So, as big a day as this is for Zander, I find myself just as happy, if not more so, for her. She got him here. Her strength. Her determination. Her unwillingness to settle. Her ability to take a hit and get back up, in the face of anxiety. Oh, the anxiety. She didn’t let it stop her, and that’s something a lot of parents could learn from these days.

She’s been to hell and back, probably saved her kid’s life more times than she can count, yet she’s got enough energy left to fight for other little ones like Zander. She’s become their much-needed advocate. She’s already inspiring others, and pushing for change. Better care is needed for kids on tubes, a technology that is outpacing our understanding of its impact on children and their development. And, as she and I both learned, there is no end in sight. Kids and babies whose core issues are resolved remain tube-fed for years, because no one knows how to wean them. So few in the medical community are brave enough to at least give them a chance to eat on their own. Well, she’s stepping up to the plate.  But that’s just business as usual for her. I’m going to support her however I can.

Zander now has two “belly buttons”, the last evidence of his medical journey. It’s a new, tube-free world for this family. A time of joy and nervous transition to an alien concept called “normality.”

The next time your child savors mac and cheese, or any favorite food, take a minute to appreciate it. And raise your glass–hold it extra high–for Zander and his mom!

(Much respect.)

Canon bomb

Posted on by amberhj

We got a new camera. Stepped up to an SLR. I know it can do amazing things. I just don’t know how to make it do any of those amazing things, as you’ll see.

Below is a picture of Stella and her Animal Hospital. She loves it, and so do I. When she gets engrossed in her veterinary work, I get precious time to waste on my blog, twitter and Facebook page. She attempts to unlock the tiny cages that look like stacked tombs, says “ba-boom-ba-boom” while holding the stethoscope, and administers “Boo Boo Cream” to the toy’s accompanying kitty. Once in a while, she’ll even branch out and vaccinate me and Cody with her little syringe, giving an adorable but piercing little yell of faux empathy. The hospital is not on the up-and-up, though, because the cages aren’t much bigger than the animals. They certainly can’t turn around or even walk at all.  Please don’t report her to the Human Society, Ingrid Newkirk, or anyone like that. I bet I can convince Stella that a little investment in her facilities will eventually result in a huge boost to her bottom line. She loves animals, but this is a business, first and foremost.

Casual Friday at Stella's Animal Hospital.

Casual Friday at Stella's Animal Hospital.

And here’s a shot of Stella on her rocking moose.  I love the vibrant colors and light in this photo, and how the background is slightly blurred, but Moosey’s nose is in focus, rather than Stella’s. And before you say anything, Stella’s baby LIKES to sleep on the ground okay? It’s not a problem or anything. It’s what works for them so please don’t judge.

Moosey was successfully treated at Stella's Animal Hospital.

Moosey was successfully treated (for severe motion sickness) at Stella's Animal Hospital.

And finally, here’s a look at father and daughter. Other than the terrible framing (that’s a photography word, right?), harshness of the flash (their eyes aren’t actually white and illuminated in the middle, I promise), and general lack of photographic skill, you’ll probably notice a few things:

  1. Their eyes are identical. But Stella has my knees, so I don’t feel left out or anything.
  2. Stella’s hair style is an “interesting look.” She’s never had a hair cut. Those bangs are natural. Her hair is long and stick straight on top, wavy and short on the sides, and long and curly in the back. There is no decernable part, unless you count the adorable spiral of her hair from a central point in the back. As soon as I put any of them in her hair, Stella rips out the wide variety of cute clips I bought on Etsy. So this was my attempt at the most minimal and least intrusive style possible, a last ditch effort to tame her unruly mane and prevent everyone from assuming she is a boy, even while wearing pink (come to think of it, this once happened while she wore a pink hat, so maybe I can’t blame the hair). Not sure we’ll be going back to this look. Besides, it lasted 15 minutes before she tore out the band. Stella, 357. Me, 0.
  3. There is a lazily-left-behind pile of clean clothes right next to Cody, yet he chooses to wear dirty pants. You’re going to have to talk to him about that. I wear dirty clothes all the time, but only because ALL my clothes are ALWAYS dirty. There’s a big difference. Huge, actually. Not that I’m perfect or anything. Just superior. Even when it comes to wearing filthy pants.
  4. Cody’s smile, while attractive, is a bit “intense.” It’s because Stella was actually flailing maniacally and had finally stopped for a brief second to permit a photo (or because I yelled crazy gibberish loud enough to catch her attention), and he’s really smiling as hard as he can in an attempt to cover up any annoyance or stress involved in the struggle that preceded. Also, he always looks insane in photos. There are even legendary stories about this fact, which I’ll probably share in a future post. Because I know you’ve been waiting for that. Hang in there.
It's a blue-eyed party and mommy isn't invited. Ever.

It's a blue-eyed party and mommy isn't invited. Ever.

See?

Exhibit B

Exhibit A

Exhibit C

Exhibit B

I’m looking into beginners’ digital photography classes. I know. I’ll definitely focus on how to get good action shots.

Let them eat sugar

Posted on by amberhj

I took newly 17-month-old Stella out for ice cream last week. Just me and her. There was no special occasion other than “mama needs ice cream NOW.”  We headed out on foot at around 7pm to sneak in our treat before her 7:30 bath (which, of course, didn’t happen until 7:45). On the “walk” home, she stopped between wind sprints to request “more more more.” I happily served her bites of my mouthwatering masterpiece: perfectly salted caramel and rich chocolate Molly Moon’s ice cream in a waffle cone made two minutes before we ate it. I didn’t even mind sharing, until I realized she’d finished the salted caramel, leaving only chocolate and destroying the dessert’s mindblowing salty-sweet synergy. Really, the outing itself was a treat that instantly turned into a sweet memory.

So imagine my reaction to an increasingly popular declaration being made on mommy blogs lately: “My toddler eats no sugar or white flour whatsoever.”

First thought? Sheer defensiveness. Then, “WHAT DID YOUR POOR TODDLER DO TO DESERVE THIS???” Lemme tell ya, I gave up dairy for two and half months in a last-ditch effort to make breastfeeding work, and it eroded my soul. I’m 27% more evil now. Had I been forced to give up sugar and white flour too, which to me means insanely sexy chocolate and crusty loaves of French or Italian baked goodness, I would not be here today. With no caloric or emotional reserves to draw from, no boost from my extra special favorite foods, the breast pump would’ve eventually worn me down to a pathetic pulp. The way our dryer would wear down my jeans if I put them through an unrelenting tumble cycle every three hours for two and a half months straight.

Maybe it’s because I just finished reading “In Defense of Food” by Michael Pollan, which I highly recommend as an enlightening antidote to our need to control and monitor everything we eat. Maybe it’s because for a few hellacious months, my baby refused to eat and required a feeding tube. In the process of helping her learn to embrace and enjoy eating, I had to let go of my own lingering fear and anxiety around food. (Fear is likely behind parental sugar bans, by the way.) Whatever the reason may be, I find sugar-free righteousness to be ridiculous, unrealistic, unhelpful and practically inhuman. Mark my words: An all-out sugar ban will backfire.

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Thwarting an emerging toddler dictatorship

Posted on by amberhj

Stella screamed, at the top of her incredibly powerful 16-month-old lungs, several times at Gymboree today. Because she wanted the almighty red-headed puppet Gymbo, but he was a crowd of toddlers away and busy hanging out with someone else. Because a smiley classmate found a stray bubble next to her on the slide, and she seemed to feel boxed in or threatened by his positioning across the bottom of the slide just below her (she kicked her feet at him, but didn’t actually make contact before I swooped in and took her away). Because I tried to pick her up and bring her to the singing circle. And just because. (There seemed to be absolutely no reason for a couple of the angry shrieks.)

For a while now, we’ve had a strong, rock-solid philosophy, though hard-earned, when it comes to eating. Good. And while Stella’s sleep isn’t perfect, it’s pretty darn good, due to a consistent approach to napping and bedtime that really works for all of us. So, with shut-eye and food, we have a “way of doing things.” We know what’s effective, what we believe and makes sense to us, and how to respond when things go haywire. The next frontier, it seems, is figuring out how to help Stella manage her emotions (and volume!).

I’m overwhelmed and often quite nervous, though I strive to prevent that from showing. I’m in charge. I’m in charge. I’m in charge.

One evening not too long ago, Stella and I cut a rug like you read about, to the tunes of our current favorite album: Here Comes Science. We had so much fun, and it was totally organic and breathless and joyful. Well, she now wants to repeat this magic on the hour. Here’s what I mean: She’s playing with her whimsical number flash cards and I’m sitting on the floor nearby, watching, calling out numbers, and relaxing, when a fast-paced danceable number pipes up on the stereo. She perks up and bounces twice because, well, she just can’t resist, then with brow-furrowing purpose marches over to me, and grips the shoulders of my sweater, attempting to forcefully yank me to my feet while shouting something unintelligible. (When Daddy’s around, his attendance is also 100% mandatory–she hunts him down in the kitchen with a forceful pointing gesture.) Mini-dictator wants to dance! What fun! But heaven forbid you slow down or take a break. That is strictly forbidden! I must keep my feet moving and my face cheerful lest I incur Stella’s wrath, which is swift and punishing to eardrums and souls. (Of course, this is all incredibly amusing and, in a way, truly wonderful, to me until I’ve danced a few songs and truly need a break.)

Stella’s been an increasingly take-charge baby from day one. She nearly wailed her head off during her first full night of life here on earth. The sound echoed through the silent hospital ward, and I imagined it drifting over the heads of the more content and sleepy newborns. The nurse was genuinely baffled. At five weeks old, she started to tell me more and more clearly that she’d really rather not eat. “No really, you’re quite kind and thank you very much, but I’m not at all hungry. Tummy’s a bit sour to be honest. Just reeling from all the excitement of my new life, I suppose.” I’d be all, “That’s bull crap! Really, you should eat! It’s been five freakin’ hours and the books say you must be starving, darn-it!” She’d indulge me by having a tiny one-minute snack and say, “Oh thank you that was divine but I really must be going now. Can you please be a dear and fetch my bumbershoot?” And I’d insist, “Oh but you hardly ate anything! Don’t be rude! I can’t let you leave hungry! Let me boil you another hot dog. (pause) What’s a bumbershoot? (angry pause) You know I don’t like fancy talk!” That’s when she’d put her foot down, “NO THANK YOU MOTHER! I’VE HAD QUITE ENOUGH NOW GOOD DAY!” Me: “Are you sure?” Stella: “F OFF!”

She has also consistently let me know that she does not like being in car seats or strollers. Frankly, I think it’s because in those scenarios, she isn’t involved enough. Not able to see all the action. Not in control, where she clearly belongs. After all is said and done, I respect her more than just about anyone I know. She’s weathered a good storm in her day. She knows what she wants and declares it. Most of the time, I do neither. But I’m working on it.

My current project is to continue to build confidence in myself as a mother, and to decide with Cody how to handle Stella’s outbursts. To be consistent in setting proper limits without limiting her rightful expression. I want her to keep speaking up. I just want her to know when it’s necessary, and when a simple “please” or “help” or, oh, two seconds’ patience will do. She’s already taught me about that particular virtue, but I suppose we both need a bit more. And possibly, ear plugs.

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.

 

 

Tree’s up!

Posted on by amberhj

 

Stella lights up the room, as per usual.

 

And we only broke one ornament so far. Stella tried to put ornaments on the tree, even getting the right grip on the hook, but then would just turn and hand the ornament to me, as if to say, “Oh you know what you’re doing, why don’t you take care of this for me?”

So, as I come down from a mulled-wine-induced sugar high, I just wanted to post a quick update. We are over-the-top “in the spirit” of the holidays this year. Christmas was always such a magical time for me, and I am very excited about creating some good ol’ wonder for Stella Bella. Our halls are almost completely decked–and I even put a small pink decorative tree in the bathroom. Because I want to make sure we are jolly at absolutely all times. I’m making a holiday banner that looks like it’s on crack–it’s insanely busy with like ten different patterned papers and barely legible because there’s so much going on but, damn it, that thing is going to hang on our mantle as a testament to our enthusiasm for the season.

Lately, I keep thinking how different this holiday season is from last year’s. For starters:

  • No tube! This year’s holiday food issue seems to be how to cut Stella off from the cookies without prompting a melt-down.
  • No waking up every 2.5 hours to tube-feed. However, Stella did wake up at 4:30 a.m. and would not go back to sleep. When this happens, Cody and I take it almost a little too well. Because it’s an incredible night’s sleep when you compare it to last year.
  • No more being trapped at home. We’ll be traveling a bit this year, and for the most part, we are really, really looking forward to it.
  • No more easy holiday photo card shoots. A better camera and some toddler cement boots would help.

Oh and that banner? It will simply read, “PEACE.” Sums it up nicely, I think.