Welcome to our Kitchen

I am not a good cook. In fact, I’m a really bad cook. If you think my family is starving (or worse, eating the terrible things I cook), worry not. I married my husband specifically because he is a really good cook. Also, I love him.

Our first date consisted of conversation and a supreme pizza from Pizza Hut. Classy, right? In 8th grade, I earned the one and only ‘F’ of my academic career in home economics. It’s not as bad as you think; mom and dad thought it was funny and I was able to repeat the class (which I had skipped the first time around). When my husband learned this and noticed that I lacked the ability to prepare a meal that was not noodles, he made an effort to get me excited about cooking.

Despite the meals I prepared being considered ‘an insult to food,’ I have always enjoyed watching cooking shows. Cooking shows are great for inducing naps and an excuse for being unproductive around the house. Against his better judgment, my husband started including me in the kitchen and our meal preparations. For fun, we would suit up in aprons and he would provide commentary as though he had his own cooking show. Yes, we are very strict and serious when we cook.

Cooking was no longer a chore, it was a fun activity we did together. It was quality time with a delicious outcome. My role in the kitchen includes preparing noodles (boiling water), making rice (I have the patience to get it just-right), peeling potatoes (I’m more careful with a peeler than my husband), and chopping onions (punishment for my crimes against food). I made all of my own baby food purees and I am also in charge of baking and treat making which I do very well (it’s because I taste as I go).

Better, right?

Because we are so busy, we get into the habit of cooking things that are easy or that we can prepare quickly, thus limiting our menu options. When we acquired ground bison, we decided to try something very different. Very different in the kitchen means we have no idea what we are doing. My husband searched the internet for a recipe and was baffled by the results.

“How is this possible?” he asked. It seemed as though he was speaking to the lap-top, but his question was directed at me. “There are no recipes for ground bison. Doesn’t anyone eat this stuff?”

“Are you sure?” I asked absentmindedly as I peeled potatoes.

“There is absolutely nothing. I don’t get it,” he sighed.

I took a moment to look over his shoulder as my potato peeling production halted. As a nerd, I find it nearly impossible that Google does not find search results for EVERYTHING. There it was; 4 odd results and not one recipe.

“They sell this stuff at the store. What are you supposed to do with it?” I asked as my full attention was redirected from the potatoes to the recipe-search-fail. “You idiot!” I exclaimed in an affectionate manner. “You searched for ground bison receipts!”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s recipes not receipts!”

In all the glory of Star Wars, the student became the master.

Our little-chef has also shown an interest in participating in kitchen activities. He’s really good with an empty bowl and spoon and makes delicious invisible food. It’s only a matter of time before he becomes the new master.

Please VOTE for ME daily!

Blog Post by Her Bad Mother: Love Lifts Us Up, To Where We Probably Belong

Blog Post by Her Bad Mother: Love Lifts Us Up, To Where We Probably Belong

I wanted to share a blog post by Her Bad Mother. She talks about another controversial parenting subject; stay at home dads. She addresses the judgements others make and the complicated way some dads feel about being the parent at home. As I mentioned in the comment I left; We all eat the bacon. It doesn’t matter who brings it home. – Jennifer

This will seem like a statement of the obvious, but still, it bears stating: when we moved to New York City, everything changed.

Everything changed, of course, in the ways that you might expect: we went from living in Canada to living in the United States, we went from living in a very small town to living in a very big city, we went from living in a detached house with a basement and a yard to living in a loft, we went from socialized health care to totally not socialized health care. But it changed in this way, too: we went from being a household in which mom worked in the home and dad worked away from home to the reverse. And that, my friends, has made all the difference, and a difficult difference at that…

Continue reading at Her Bad Mother…

Also, the Co-Sleeping controversy.

How I Really Feel About Valentine’s Day in 11 Images or Less

The rumors are true; I do have a heart. Here is the story of How I Met Your Father and my special Love Affair with Mr. Darcy. Enjoy and tell someone you love them!

How I Met Your Father

My husband will hate that I’ve shared our story. I love him, but mostly I don’t care if this bothers him or not. It’s my story too. It’s the story of how we met.

When you are in high school, everyone wants to know when you will get your driver’s license.  When you are in college, everyone wants to know what you are majoring in. When you finish college, everyone wants to know where you are working. When you are working, everyone wants to know if you are dating anyone. When you are dating someone, everyone wants to know when you will get married. When you get married, everyone wants to know when you will start making babies. After you make babies, nobody cares about you anymore and their attention rightfully focuses on said babies.

After I finished college I started graduate school and was working full time. So what that means is, I got stuck on the ‘are you dating anyone’ question for a long time.

Eventually, I had heard it enough.

Most 20-something acquaintances were meeting their significant others in bars. I had hoped to meet my significant other in a library. Yes, nerdy but I assumed a library is the type of place where I might increase my odds of meeting a sober and intelligent person. Yeah, no.

Eventually, I looked on-line. Take a moment to gasp as you ponder explaining on-line dating to your grandmother. But after 2 days of searching profiles, I saw a picture that I liked. Yes I know, you don’t judge a book by its cover, but that’s how I picked my husband.

In a day we were chatting on-line for hours, in a week we were talking on the phone until the early morning, and in two weeks we were making plans to meet. But the scary thought of meeting him was almost enough to make me say no.

He called me on a Saturday night and told me he really wanted to see if our connection was what we thought it was. Despite the distance between Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, we knew it was something special. Don’t get any ideas of a dramatic meet-up on top of the Empire State Building. That stuff is for Tom Hanks (le sigh)!

My husband and I met the following day, September 12, 2004, at the airport. He splurged on a ticket, endured questioning from airport security as to why he was flying on such short notice, and our first date consisted of five hours together (and a supreme pizza from Pizza Hut) before he returned home.

This is where my story does sound like a Tom Hanks movie. The romantic-comedy kind, not the Academy Award winning kind. After my husband left that day, I immediately told my mother that I had met the man I was going to marry. As your roll your eyes at my absolute lovey nonsense, now ponder explaining that to your grandmother. Did I mention she’s feisty?

Finally on July 26, 2008, my husband and I were married. I don’t know what it will be like someday explaining to my children how I met their father. Will on-line dating be a norm or a thing of the past? But most importantly, we did meet.

Life Labeled as a ‘Working Mom’

Hi, it’s me standing on my soap box. Yes… again.

Moms make difficult decisions every day: Should I buy the generic diapers on sale or should I splurge on name brand? Breast or bottle? Is my child crying because he really needs something or is he crying because he’s a little fussy? Despite the unsolicited advice and lectures I have endured regarding my family’s ‘controversial’ decision to co-sleep, the toughest parenting decision I have made is little more complicated and selfish; my decision to be a ‘working mom.’

Being a mom is a super-duper important job! It is both challenging and rewarding. Moms don’t earn a paycheck for their hard-work, but they raise curious babies who become intrigued children who become responsible adults. Moms are responsible for nourishing their children, keeping them safe, and totally loving them! If it sounds difficult and complicated, that’s because it is.

You have my deepest apology for using the clichéd term, ‘working mom’ as you read on (if you kindly choose to do so). Labels should be for jars of baby food, not moms!

Being a working mom has been a difficult experience for me that I underestimated and was not prepared for. Sure I’m always struggling to find time, but what mom isn’t? The issue has been an emotional one that I can no longer blame on hormones.

After 6 weeks of maternity leave, I was back to work in March of 2011. Was I ready? Not at all! Although six weeks sounded like a vacation before maternity leave began, when you actually have a newborn, six weeks is no time at all. I have since encouraged other working moms to take extended leave if possible, unpaid or not. Yes, where maternity leave is concerned I offer my unsolicited opinion to other moms.

So why be a working mom? For some, it’s not a choice. As a first time mom, this was one of the first decisions I had to make in which I had to put my own feelings second to doing what was best for my family. I’ll be honest, it was a tough lesson to learn. I was, and still am, very selfish about my child. I want to spend every possible moment with him (and what mom doesn’t).

But there were other reasons for returning to work as well and I only have myself to blame. I have worked very hard to get where I am today (shout out to the working girls!). Opportunities in my field are limited and highly competitive; leaving meant the likelihood that I would never be able to return to the position I am in today. I had to ask myself if I was ok with that, and my honest answer was no.

You may have noticed I seem to be contradicting myself. Yes I am. But I did say this was difficult. Honestly, after nearly a year of being a working mom, it hasn’t really gotten any easier and I still struggle with the same emotions. I can’t possibly describe how much it hurts when another mom says something like, “Oh, I can’t imagine being away from my children all day.’ Yeah, pretty much sucks as much as the guilt you just dumped on me.

So why do it?

It’s a combination of doing it for the good of the family and doing it for myself professionally. So far, being a working mom has been the right thing to do, despite the challenges.

When my son is not with me, he has been exclusively in the care of family members who devote 115% of their time, attention, and love to him.  Not only do I save a small fortune in child care (we’re talking more than $1000 a month per child in the DC area) but my son is with the same people who raised me. Mostly, I think I turned out ok and my son will too.

His reaction each evening when I get home from work also dispels my irrational fear that my baby will forget who I am and love me less because I am not with him 24/7. Babies understand families and love a lot better than we give them credit for. Added bonus that perhaps me being a working mom can someday be a teachable moment for him.

Emotionally, it is fortunate for me that my husband and I commute together and meet for lunch each day. Most people don’t think of traffic as quality time together, but we make the most of it. It’s also nice to talk about the stressful parts of our day before we take our stress home with us. We leave our stress stuck somewhere in traffic and give our son the better parts of our days.

I have no immediate plans for leaving work. Things are good and we like ‘good.’ Although my family intends to remain on its present course for the time being, we are open to re-evaluating things when the situation warrants other consideration. If I have learned anything about how quickly children grow and develop, it has prepared me for the very real reality that I will begin homeschooling soon enough and the label of ‘working mom’ will someday have a different meaning for me.

Top 10 Baby Myths

I was the first of my family and friends to have a baby last year during the baby boom. Cousins were pregnant, co-workers were pregnant, friends were pregnant, even famous people who are significantly older than me were pregnant. I began to suspect babies aren’t really made the way my mother told me. I think sometimes you can get pregnant from drinking water.

Mother & Baby

Facebook status updates were dominated by pregnancy announcements, OB-GYN appointment updates (3cm, holla!), it’s a girl/boy, and eventually something like OMG GET THIS BABY OUT! But there was nothing better than the ‘Our baby arrived yesterday weighing in at so many pounds so many ounces. Mother and baby are doing well.’

In my first post, I described the importance of talking to other moms as I prepared for baby. But as the first to deliver last year, I had other pregnancy newcomers asking me for advice, guidance, and honesty about what really happens.

One mom shared a motherhood secret that I always share with other moms: People will always tell you how to parent, but just parent the way YOU want to!

Is your mind blown?

But along with the good advice, there were a lot of myths.

Top 10 Baby Myths

(In no particular order)

1. Drink raspberry herbal tea to induce labor: Didn’t work for me and my frequent urination became more frequent (and urgent) urination. On a happy note, this was a delicious myth.

2. Breastfeeding is natural and your body will know what to do: Sort of true. I was misled with this one. My body and baby knew what to do but I certainly didn’t. I expected to wake up one morning and be a breastfeeding expert but it just doesn’t happen that way.

3. When you’re pregnant, you’re eating for two: Technically yes, but that doesn’t mean you need to eat double the portions. It’s nothing more than increasing your calorie intake. Have to admit, I still used it as an excuse when I wanted second helpings.

4. Weather and lunar phases cause women to go into labor: Every time someone mentioned a full moon or snowstorm approaching last winter, I had my hospital bag ready. But no amount of gravitational pull or barometric pressure started my labor.

5. Don’t cut the baby’s hair until they are 1 year old: I’m calling my mom out on this one. She mentioned it casually last year and I have been afraid to cut his hair ever since. (Note: Baby is now 1 year old and I have myself to blame for not cutting his hair yet)

6. Pregnant women are clumsier: No, I’m mostly just clumsy all the time.

7. Treat for stretch marks BEFORE you get them: I always intended to prevent stretch marks, but never really did anything about it. But no stretch marks on me! Only thing on my belly is a pretty little scar where I had my c-section.

8. Have sex to induce labor: If you can mange with a large belly and aching back, give it a try. Once baby arrives, your sleep deprivation and hormones could make it difficult.

9. Walk to induce labor: I would call this one mostly true. My strongest contractions were always after or during my daily walks.

10. Heartburn during pregnancy means your baby will born with lots of hair: So not true. I have been treated for severe heartburn since my early 20’s and my baby was born with nothing more than a little fuzz.

I am no medical expert, just a first-time mom sharing what didn’t work for me personally. It is important to remember that no two pregnancies, babies, or moms are alike. Keep that in mind when cross your cousin of the Christmas card list because the herbal tea didn’t work for you.

What myths and superstitions did or didn’t work for you?

My Love Affair with Mr. Darcy

I remember that afternoon at the office water cooler. Two of my co-workers were discussing their summer reading lists. I jumped in to the conversation by admitting I couldn’t remember the last time I had read a book and I was curious if they had any recommendations.

When I was growing up, if I didn’t have a Barbie in my hand, I had a book. Yes, I was that kid. It started with an encyclopedia of dinosaurs followed by the Babysitters’ Club, Sweet Valley High, and Michael Crichton. As an adult, I never saw much appeal in self help, non-fiction, and the other trendy titles I usually saw my demographic reading. In fact, I question whether or not they were only pretending to read; intending for some other adult to notice and start a conversation that would make them feel like a better person for reading whatever it was that they were pretending to read.

My co-workers suggested a book I had heard of many times before, but had never actually read: Pride and Prejudice.

“How have you NEVER read that?” they questioned. They were giggling and talking about their favorite parts without giving away the story. I didn’t like being judged unfavorably by them and grabbed a copy before my rail commute home. I was a work-zombie and all zombies conform. I wanted to be able to participate in the water cooler conversations, not be the grumpy old woman shouting for quiet in the office.

I read the first paragraph three or four times. The language was a tough pill to swallow. It was obviously written at a time before we started using words like LOL to express what Jane Austen might have described with the word follies. After the second paragraph and then the third, I made progress and adjusted to the language.

Just as my rail commute was coming to an end, I met a man who changed my life. As though I was in that room when Mr. Bingley and his party arrived, my heart fluttered at the mention of Mr. Darcy. There wasn’t a lengthy description or an illustration, but he had an attitude I was inevitably attracted to. After all, we always want what we can’t have.

I was thinking about Mr. Darcy all evening, and wondered when I might have the opportunity to meet him again. I tucked myself into bed early and continued reading. It was getting late and time for a bookmark (like the kind of bookmark you put between pages) when I read one of the most incredible things ever written.

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

“I love you too!” I wanted to declare my own love for Mr. Darcy in return, or at least scream like I had for New Kids on the Block all those years ago (I think today girls are screaming for Beiber, but I’m not really sure what that is).

Within a day I had finished Pride and Prejudice. My love for Mr. Darcy motivated me to find and make time. I always hated that lonely feeling of closing the back cover of a book and returning to reality. I hated leaving my Darcy.

I did what everyone does these days with good books, and looked for film versions. But even Colin FIrth couldn’t replace my Mr. Darcy.  My Mr. Darcy is super human and for me alone. No mortal actor could portray him.

I can’t remember the last time a book had such a lasting impact on me. It might be silly of me, but I absolutely am in love with Mr. Darcy or at least the idea of him.

I thought I was loosing my mind when I started to notice similarities between my husband and Mr. Darcy as I attempted to make him real. I was always proud to announce to my husband when he reminded me of Mr. Darcy.

But then I realized I was wrong. I understood how and why I could fall in love with a character who wasn’t real.

My husband wasn’t like Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy was like my husband.

I hadn’t fallen in love with a name and a character in a book, I had fallen in love with a real man long before I ever met Fitzwilliam Darcy.

The Bee Gees Gene

Let me preface what follows with two key points:

1. If a child does something interesting once, it’s only interesting. If they do it consistently, then you’ve got something to worry about.

2. My taste in music sucks… as in I have no taste in music.

Having a child in and of itself is full of surprises. Despite expecting unexpected moments, I have noticed an unusual behavior in child that isn’t mentioned in What to Expect When You’re Expecting: The First Year. During playtime, we listen to the radio. The station we listen to is lite-fm because the music is appropriate for the playroom, it isn’t music without words (that would put me to sleep), and I simply don’t know any better.

One afternoon, I noticed my son shaking his bum as if he was dancing. I started clapping and smiling and encouraging the behavior. I made a mental note to mention to my grandmother that the song he was dancing to was by the Bee Gees. Oddly enough, my grandmother loves (LOVES) the Bee Gees. And who hasn’t danced to Staying Alive? Weddings, school dances, morning showers.

A few days later my son started shaking his bum and dancing again. I started clapping and smiling and encouraging the behavior when I noticed something odd.

It was the Bee Gees again.

I stopped clapping and smiling and encouraging the behavior. Was it coincidence that on the two occasions when I observed my son dancing and responding directly to music that it was the Bee Gees? It was, after all, the same song.

A week or two later it happened again and this time it was a little different. My husband was cooking dinner in the kitchen while my son and I were playing in the living room. Instead of television in the living room, we listen to the radio for entertainment. I had just picked my son up off the floor when he started kicking his legs and wiggling playfully. Yet again, the Bee Gees were to blame. This time it was a different song and it was slow.

To spare you from listening to further example of this strange behavior, let me just say that each and every time we have heard the Bee Gees (now 6 or 7 times over the past few weeks) my son has reacted with dancing. To date, he has yet to respond to any other artists.

Because of my taste in music (or lack thereof), I wonder if my son gets his Bee Gees from my husband.

The Toy-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named

My son doesn’t have a Jack-in-the-box. Excuse me while I pause and breathe a sigh of relief.

But what does alarm me are the toys that play music, light up, or have some other battery operated function… especially at 3 am.

If you’re a mom it’s not hard to imagine that 3 am wake-up call from your child. You hear a small sound coming from the baby monitor and hope it doesn’t become a bigger more upset sound. But the moans and groans become a cry and you accept your fate (if you use the cry-it-out method, the rest needn’t apply to you). Without realizing you have already climbed out of bed and zombie-walked to your child’s room, you’re standing there.

You have enough brain power to make a small robotic-like assessment; scanning for pacifier, child is not wet, negative on the teething. Bad dream or else your child couldn’t get comfortable (and at this point, their head lying on your shoulder confirms it). A few minutes of snuggles and zombie-mom should be back in bed.

Sure enough, success!

Child is again sleeping. Next, you must carefully maneuver child back into their bed without disturbing them and alerting them. This is the time when the house makes an unexpected noise like the furnace kicking on or the floor inexplicably creaks.

Fortunately this time, child is unfazed.

You get them into bed and hold your breath as you back out of the room when ‘it’ happens.

You know that toy that lights up and plays those songs that you find yourself humming in the car or the grocery store? It was sitting behind you and now you’ve just knocked into it. But lights and music aren’t the only thing filling the room. You’re shouting a few words you don’t normally intend for your child to hear. But if that out of place toy didn’t wake them, your grumpy words have and now you can add crying to the many other noises you hear.

This story rarely ends well. If you’re like me, nothing wakes me up faster than anger, most especially when I have myself to blame. That stupid toy your child shows minimal interest in during the day now becomes the focus of all hatred you have ever felt. Besides, that toy plays songs that infect adult brains. It’s no good!

Is it acceptable to call off work the following day because a stupid toy startled you and you woke your child and your child wouldn’t go back to sleep and you were too angry to relax and your spouse was getting frustrated because the whole house became involved in senseless 3 am drama? <wipesbrow>

Even though that stupid toy doesn’t have eyes that follow you around the room, or a creepy voice, it does make sounds. Nothing is more evil than the Toy-Which-Must-Not-Be-Named playing music at 3 am.

Nothing… except maybe furnaces kicking on, creaky floors, or mommy cursing.

First Year in Pictures

This gallery contains 16 photos.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, this blog post has 14,000. My son’s first year told through pictures. Happy Birthday, son! ❤