Finding Moments

It’s been a long, crazy weekend here.  Grateful for sun after three days of rain and the coolest spring I can recall since moving here, we kicked off the weekend with strawberry picking at one of my favorite farms.  Saturday morning was a raucous game of soccer, or as close as can be had with a bunch of three-year-olds.  And still drunk on blue sky and warm breezes, we came to realize that nothing would make the weekend more perfect than a night spent under open skies.

Really, there was no “we” in that realization.  I have this idealist vision of camping, memories of my mom cooking a huge breakfast on a griddle while my dad helped me and my brother find worms and nightcrawlers for fishing.  When I was a kid we spent a lot of time in campgrounds and took first our truck camper, and later Winnebago, all over the country.  I’ve either blocked out the bad parts, or it was AWESOME.  I dream of a pop-up camper; so far the furthest I’ve gotten is convincing my husband that sitting around a campfire and sleeping in a tent a few times a year won’t kill him.

Anyway we packed up Big Blue, got the dogs and kid in the car (J, at sixteen, was just way too cool for camping),  and headed outside the city.  Of course by the time we got there, set up camp, scavenged enough wood to start a fire, made dinner and made our way back and forth to the communal bathroom several times, T was so exhausted he was crying to go to bed even before making “fo fo’s” (marshmallows).  As the fire started to burn out and the temperatures dipped, we noticed we didn’t have the tarp for the top of our tent.  We huddled together on the air mattress that managed to spring a leak since the last time we used it, staring up at the stars through our unimpeded view.  And finally, finally, the squirrels, deer, bears, mountain lions, and other guests stopped their partying long enough for me to fall asleep…only to wake and repeat the chaos of toddler-caring, fire-making, food-preparing and the rest of it.

Batshit crazyBy the time we packed up I was more than ready to go.  T had been whining non-stop for nearly two hours, I found myself repeating and REPEATING simple directions such as “stop throwing rocks!” and “stay away from the fire, it’s hot!” and I wanted nothing more than to be home and the sweet solace of T’s naptime.  And I’m sad to say that, while I strive to use kind words and toddler-level reasoning with him every day, by the time we got in the car my frustration and short temper were starting to spread like toxic mold.

We did make it home, an uneventful trip except for the ginormous spider I found crawling on my shirt (seriously, I almost died).  A too-quick nap and T was awake and still acting up, incapable of listening out of shear exhaustion.  But as I tried to get some of the laundry started and dishes washed and camping carnage put away, I kept passing him lying, quite peacefully, on the couch, watching a movie.  And I recalled that it can wait, all of it.  I have not doubt that pile of greasy pans will still be in the sink after he goes to bed, or even tomorrow morning.  But for this moment, of T being three-and-a-few-months and just the two of us lying together, watching Toy Story, still smelling like campfire and sunshine, I have no such guarantee.  So I took it, and he put his hand on my head and smiled, and life was good.



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Miss Mary

It’s with sad heart that I say my neighbor passed away yesterday.  Miss Mary was the curmudgeonly matriarch of our little strip of Baltimore, having lived in the same home for over sixty years.  She raised her family there and would often lament the changes to the neighborhood over the years – the fact that you could no longer look down the street and watch the oyster ships come due to new construction, or that all the mom and pop shops had closed down and you couldn’t get a decent loaf of fresh-baked bread.  Despite her grouchy countenance, she would often humor my requests to identify what certain buildings used to be in their former lives (the office across from us was an auto shop, the bar on the corner always run as such) and regale me with stories of “the old neighborhood” and its inhabitants.  Over the years we went from barely acknowledging each other (her standard treatment to newcomers on the block) to exchanging treats – my freshly canned tomatoes, her homemade rice and meat “peasant balls.”  I still have some of her jalapeno cornbread in my freezer.

I don’t have any pictures of Miss Mary.  Fitting, really, since when I told her I was on a quest to find photos of the area in celebration of the centennial of our home (built simultaneously with three consecutive blocks of rowhouses for the workers of the nearby canning factories) she replied “oh, we never did that, took pictures.”  I hope this one does her memories justice.

500 S Glover Street, Baltimore

Credit unknown

Rest in peace, Miss Mary.  You will be missed.

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Posted by on May 1, 2014 in Remember


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The Blue Beast hit 200,000 miles this morning!  Of course I pulled over to take that picture. 😉 Here’s to another 200,00 miles of errands, soccer games, vacations, and memories.

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Posted by on March 25, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Man I hate winter.  The cold, the snow, the slippery roads, taking an extra thirty minutes to get out the door because of all the layers, not being able to open my windows or dry my sheets outside without losing an eye on their frozen corners.  Ugh.

T and I were looking at some pictures on my phone the other day and I realized that, the day we hauled the wagon full of stuff down to the Toys for Tots donation spot (in December!) we were wearing sweatshirts.  And shortly after that, the deep freeze set in.  Ugh again.

But today…Today was glorious.  Foggy at first, then sunny warmth that invited a long walk with the dogs and many trips down the slide.  T got a bike for Christmas and, except for the day he decided to ride it down the stairs, it has mostly collected dust over the past few months, waiting for just the right moment for him to make it FLY.

Just a few more winks...

Just a few more winks…

So I take this day, the first of Spring, to declare the end of my annual hibernation.  Sure, the next few weeks could bring more snow and sleet.  But I’ve had just enough sweet air to get me over the hump and my loving husband just brought me a Bud Lite Lime Mango-Rita (seriously – it’s a thing!).  So suck it, winter – there’s a new season in town.

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Posted by on March 20, 2014 in family, Remember


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My sweet son –

Happy birthday! You turned three today…it hurts my heart a tiny bit just to say it. You are tall enough now that I can rest my hand on the back of your head and kind enough to permit me to do so. You are changing so fast, every day brings something new – words I can’t fathom how you know, skills I can’t believe you mastered so quickly, and play I can’t figure how you imagined.

I’d like to tell you every day is perfect, but you are old enough now to realize that’s not true and tell us when you are hurt or scared or mad, and acknowledge when one of us feels the same way. There are moments of incredible frustration, like when Daddy and I took you to the National Air and Space Museum to see “rocketships” but you were having none of it, pitching a fit on the floor while school kids milled around. But those times are balanced by moments of such gentleness and love; one of my favorite times of the day is when you first wake and come in to snuggle with us, smelling like lavender and sleep. We yell and cry, and are by no means a quiet family. But there is love to spare and you are so quick with yours that it sometimes takes my breath.

You’ve accomplished so much in just one year. Within weeks of turning two you Houdini’d your way out of your crib, grinning at us as you monkey-climbed down the other side. You learned to ride bike, made friends at the park, spent hours reading to yourself and us, helped mommy cook, discovered a love of superheroes and baseball. And your language….one day during the summer I found myself staring at you, trying to decipher your baby tongue, only to realize you were speaking in entire sentences. You have such a way with words and I am so proud to see you try them out, it sometimes looks as if you can almost taste them on your lips. You take on each day with bright eyes and infectious spirit, and I find myself inspired.

As I tucked you in the night before your birthday you pulled my hand down and whispered “You make me happy.” You have no idea, my son. No longer a baby, my heart will not yet allow me to call you a big boy. But you are, without a doubt, my Sweet Boy, and I wish you the happiest of birthdays.

Happy birthday Sweet Boy!

Happy birthday Sweet Boy!

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Posted by on February 28, 2014 in family, Parenting, Remember


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Sneaky Eats

When DH and I first started dating, my stepson, J, was eight and a SUPER picky eater.  I’ll admit that, at the time, I (a) had little experience with kids in general, let alone one who saw me as the person who “stole his dad” and (b) was still determined not to have any kids of my own.  Regardless, it took about two weekend visits with J to realize he refused to eat – or drink – almost anything I would consider healthy for a growing boy.  And despite my hesitation about my role in his life, J’s eating habits and attitude toward nutrition bothered me – a lot.

The first rule at our dinner table has always been “try two bites” – some are tinier than others, but more often than not one bite leads to several rather than just one more.  The second rule, which I never made secret, is “you can know what you’re eating, or I can hide it.”  Meaning, you can tell me you hate the cauliflower we got at the farmers market and will never eat it, but I WILL find a way to incorporate it into a meal.  It took some time, but our battle over food ended up bringing J and I closer. Over the past several years J has discovered he likes all kinds of foods – including vegetables! – that his eight-year-old self would never have considered edible. I take every small taste as a tiny victory, acknowledging that he has totally different rules (i.e., apparently none) about what goes into his body once he’s home with his mom.  And I’m proud to report that, in recent months, he’s even starting choosing water over soda as his beverage of choice!

That said, there are times when getting good food into J, and now T, is still a challenge.  Unlike J, T is less hesitant about trying new things, but also less likely to take more than the two required bites.  We never force him to eat – when he says “finished,” he’s finished.  That makes every bite he does take even more important.  Here is a list of five ways I’ve found to get a kid of any age to eat almost anything:

1.  Blend it.  My mom got me a Baby Bullet when T was nearly one.  At the time I thought I would only use it for a few more months before he outgrew its need.  Wrong.  I still pull out BB a couple of times a week.  When either of the boys won’t eat, or when we need a quick “meal” as we head out the door, I pull it out and blend up a smoothie.  Spinach, avocado, yogurt, fruit, wheat germ, the list is endless. Depending on the ingredients, sometimes I sweeten with honey, fruit juice, or agave nectar.  I also use it to blend up leftover veggies for the freezer for later.


2.  Freeze it.  I found these super cute Monster Pop things on clearance at TJ Maxx last year.  They freeze in no time, stand upright on their “feet” (helpful in the freezer since they didn’t come with a tray), are easy to clean and simple for a toddler to push up.  My favorite thing to do with these is to blend Greek yogurt with a bit of fruit and freeze.


3.  Pack it.  My mom is my biggest ally in my quest to feed my kids healthy, locally sourced food.  She found a sweet bento-type lunchbox somewhere and sent it to T.  Not sure why it works, but that kid will eat pretty much anything I can back into it’s tiny little squares. Small Potatoes also has some cute bento ideas.

4.  Hide it.  I have tons of cookbooks, but one of my favorites for kids is the Deceptively Delicious book written by Jessica Seinfeld.  She has all kinds of ideas for using fruit and vegetable purees in everyday dishes from scrambled eggs to pancakes to pasta.  As I noted above, I do use my BB to blend up leftovers, but trips to the farmers market usually mean one or two veggies purchased solely to blend/chop/freeze for later.

5.  Cook it.  In the past year J has started to show an interest in cooking, and I’ve showed him how to make some simple, healthy meals. T has been in the kitchen with me since before he was old enough to sit up on his own, and is often on the stool next me adding veggies or stirring the pot.  Both boys also join us on trips to the farmers market and are encouraged to ask the farmers/vendors questions about how to prepare something or how it’s grown or raised, and also to pick out something they want to eat that week.  There are tons of articles about how kids are more likely to eat something they helped cook, and we have definitely found this to be true in our home.

What do you do to get picky eaters (adult or child) to eat? 

Wishing you many healthy, peaceful meals!


































































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Becoming Mommy (Again)

Although the timing was not intentional, my husband and I spent much of this Mother’s Day weekend discussing whether we could/should/want to expand our family again.  My sweet peanut turned two a few months ago and, while our lives are still chaotic, we find ourselves in a rhythm that could accomodate change.

I’m logical by nature, someone who makes lists and considers pros and cons until a definitive answer is reached.  I’m not at all accustomed, as is the case here, to discussing for two days only to have more questions than answers.  We love our family, our lives, but that seems to be making the choice all the more difficult.

When I turned to my back-up plan (Magic 8 Ball), the murky response (“ask again later!”) was less than helpful.  Research turned up a litany of women and families in a similar state of quandary, although I did find some of their thoughts and reasoning to be useful, one way or another.  I found similarly calming statistics that, should we stop at T, it’s unlikely he would turn out to be a spoiled, anti-social sociopath merely for reason that he was raised as an “only.”

After all the talking, I can admit the following, if only to myself – what freaks me out the most is that, for the first time, I know this could be the “last time” or worse, that it already was.  I hate the dea of being old enough, far enough into my life, that I’m beginning to have lasts.  The past two years have been so full of firsts – steps, laughs, slides, kisses, foods, “mommys” and so much more, it’s nearly impossible for me to stop in the middle of that and switch gears, to say “no more firsts.”

It’s been an emotional weekend, and I’m tired.  DH and I have no words left, only the lists and whatever is left still hanging in the air.  While doing laundry this afternoon I caught myself staring at the totes (and totes, and more totes) of T’s outgrown clothes, shoes, toys…all the stuff we packed up “for the next one.”  Because we always assumed there would be a next one, for no reason other than we never thought the opposite.

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