more drama

  I am writing a post to all the mommies of school age children to see if I can get some help.  My first grader, who is, by all accounts intelligent, has the focus of an overcaffeinated squirrel.  I am wondering what tricks if any I can use to get her to kill off her homework instead of dragging out the agony like painful peanut butter.  My grown up brain can't understand why she hasn't figured out the advantage to getting it over with.  I refuse to turn on the TV or let her have her ipad until it's done, you would think that would be some shred of an incentive.  I'm open to suggestions on this.  The funny part is first graders don't get much homework.  Meryl Streep also hasn't figured out that it only gets worse from here. I would have said that it's cabin fever by this point of the year but we've been going through this since September.   A therapist has pointed out that maybe she needs exercise right after school to blow off some energy in the hopes she'll be able to settle down.  I wouldn't have thought of this because she's thin.  I am planning to try it though in the hopes I'll save money on alcohol (not for her).  I hope your spring is going well.

More fun on the bunny trail

I understand that our daughter is in fact female but I had to stop and wonder after several hours of drama overload about first grade homework. This episode cost her soccer practice but she remained allegedly unfazed.   Once our mission was finally accomplished, our little cherub had the unmitigated gaul to tell me "I haven't had any treats, mommy."  A plus for hutzpah from our little baptized catholic.

Once again, we were listening to the weather and the recent reports about Boston getting pounded with ridiculous amounts of snow.  My six year old says, "I wish I was in Boston, mommy."  I was on the phone with my husband and I said, "Sometimes, we wish you were, too!"  It appears I gave birth to an amazing straight man.

evil parents

My six year old daughter looked into my open car trunk and said "I wish I could ride in there. " daddy and I looked at each other and said "sometimes we wish you could, too!" I love it when these things just write themselves.

Happy New year!

My opportunities to improve frequently taste like Brussels sprouts. The older I get the tougher it is to do things that are good for me.

Bedtime,  just the latest in a long string of unpopular management decisions.

2 Person Conversations

I'm considering reworking this piece for a future submission for an anthology involving recipes.  I could use some input.   

 I miss two person conversations.  It seems that whenever I’m on the phone our baby girl tries to eat something she shouldn’t, bellow at the top of her lungs, or try to call guam on someone’s cell phone.  I’m convinced all kids are like this.  They can’t help themselves for some reason.  Since our daughter can’t speak, there are monologues too.  ‘Claire, don’t eat that!’ ‘How did you get over there?!!’ ‘What’s wrong now??!!’

   We live about forty minutes north of my mother in New Jersey.  Visiting mom-mom is therefore a car trip.  With a small child, it’s the accessories that kill you.  Every trip requires a mental worst case scenario list. ‘Do I have an outfit if she ralphs?’ ‘Did we pack the teething rings?’ ‘Do I have extra wipes for a hazmat diaper?’ etc.  Claire was just starting some baby food and I was not used to carrying it with me when we traveled.

   A word or three about baby food, as a rookie mom, I find myself reading a lot of labels.    So far it’s been interesting to say the least.  100% natural and organic. No sugar added and no preservatives.  Whole grain and vitamin fortified.  Includes DHA to promote brain development, superhuman strength, and a shiny coat.   Then there’s the combinations.  Country turkey dinner, beef and corn casserole and chicken tomato pasta.  Dinner in a jar.  Contains ground turkey, spinach, sweet potatoes, peas, and carrots - in the same jar!  

   We’ve been sticking with mostly one thing at a time for the jarred food.  If I wouldn’t eat it myself, I haven’t had the heart to give it to my daughter.  What if it came back to haunt me when I approach my second childhood?  I don’t mean the fun part, I mean when I can’t chew and may need diapers.  

    One particular week we were eating pureed bananas.  Usually mom-mom comes to see us but this day we wanted to give her a break.  So we loaded up the car and went through the mental checklist.  Running late as usual, we set off for mom-mom’s house.  What’s the one thing I forgot? The bananas!  I am still suffering the effects of what friends call “mommy brain”.  Translation:  If you live with an infant, chances are you’re idiot tired and lucky to leave the house remembering your pants.  I hear this condition improves in roughly eighteen years to twenty two years although your child will certainly disagree.  I think mine will resolve itself right in time for early senility to set in but I always was an optimist.

    Forgetting the food was not the worst thing in the world, just a pain in the rump. I did have formula.  My mother said, ‘Hey, I’ve got some apples, why don’t I make applesauce?‘  Claire had eaten applesauce before with no allergic reaction so I thought, why not? I got Claire settled in for lunch while my mom happily got to work.  Applesauce was produced and we tried it.  The stuff was fabulous, smooth as silk and better than any jar.  This was not the cook I grew up with. She was not a bad cook when we were kids, but let’s just say that for some grandchildren, the bar has been raised.      

    We put some in a small dish and gave her a spoonful.  Claire would rather have had the Alpo! ‘Gag!, What are you people trying to feed me??!!’ Lips pursed and chubby cheeks got red.  Spit out applesauce was followed by drool and a yuk face that would have been clear to Ray Charles - and me without my camera.  Frequently, since she can’t speak yet, we have to guess what she’s trying to tell us - except for this time.

    After she started crying, we abandoned the applesauce amid stifled giggles and went back to formula.  I would have felt bad for my mother but she was laughing too much.  ‘What did you put in there?’, I asked.  ‘Nothing but apples.‘, she said.  ‘OK, What kind?‘  ‘Granny Smith.‘ ‘I love those.’ I said.  Claire not liking them was a bit of a bummer.  Oh well, maybe her tastes will change.  Still, for someone who can’t talk, she can communicate, loud and Claire!