Lunchbox Love

This year, Genevieve has been in the 4-day class at her preschool. What that means is that, along with the fantastic play-based curriculum, the kids bring their own snack.

As part of teaching Genevieve the power of independence, she's responsible for packing her own snack in her Frozen lunchbox the night before.

[NOTE: doing things for themselves gives kids better self-esteem. It's all an investment in her future! Not to mention the fact that she's packing food that she'll eat cheerfully and - best of all- I'm not doing it!]

We have some guidelines (fruit, protein, carbs), and we make sure there's nothing on the school allergy list**

The deal is: if she packs her snack, then I have time to do a note. If I have to pack it, then there's no note. (I haven't packed her snack - ever - this year.)

This has given me the opportunity to continue my own excellent mom's tradition of lunchbox love notes, and - along with making Genevieve feel loved- it has taught me that I can draw.

The notes started very simple, a short statement on a heart-shaped post-it note, but then, one day I did a doodle of me saying "I love you THIIIIIS MUCH!". And Genevieve really liked it.

She's what I like to call a "tangible media" kid, meaning, she likes stuff she can hold on to. Printed pictures, letters. And love notes. She carried the heart all over. She didn't want to throw it away, even after it's unfortunate rendezvous with the sink.

[Helpful hint: pink post-it notes will stain a white sink if they get wet. You're welcome.]

Like it often happens with me, the whole thing grew into, well, a whole thing. Mouse, cookie, apples, trees, and whatnot.

I try to tie in things that we're talking about, and it's always something that's relevant to her, and she'll drop subtle-for-a-five-year-old hints, "This was a good note, but I'd really like a Frozen note."

Some of my favorites, you can click the picture to see the whole album

I have a problem addiction passion for stationary. Good pens, nice paper; I just love it. So when I decided to really start doing these, I pulled out the new set of metallic markers from Office Depot, and a black notepad, and we were in business. (I've upgraded to black index cards since then, because Genevieve was worried about her notes getting wrinkly.)

I've been asked how I do the notes, and, while I'm sure it will take some of the magic away, here it is:

First, the materials list. Obviously, you don't have to use exactly the same stuff that I do, but here it is:

- Black index cards

- Metallic Markers, Metallic Gel Pens, or this set of brush tips/round tipped metallic markers (there are a million options for these). [Yes, I have all of these, but you don't need all of these. Unless you do, and in that case, party on.]

- Treasure box (Genevieve likes to save her notes in one of these)

I decide on what I want to draw. Let's say it's a monarch butterfly, because last week, it was. I google "monarch butterfly line drawing".

I don't own the art above the black note. That's the screen cap, for the purpose of explanation.

From there, thanks to the Ed Emberly's Make a World book , I've learned that you just have to break drawing down into basic shapes, and proportion.

(A butterfly is a circle, an oval, and two sort- of kidney beans. Easy!)

If you don't find a line drawing that you like, google some fan art. (Though, when I searched for Shrek fan art, the results were... unexpected. Consider yourself warned.)

I start with a good, central beginning point- like the eyes- and sort of work my way out from there. I'm really working at it because it gives me a lot of satisfaction to be able to do something I thought I could never be good at.

But here's the thing I've learned: the pictures don't have to be amazing, or even good. Just the effort of the doodle seems to be what matters most.

I did an Ariel earlier in the year, and then did another. Here they are:

Before

After

You can see how I've upped my lunch note game.

When I picked Genevieve up from school, she asked me why I had done another Ariel note.

"Your first one was really good!" She said.

"You don't like this one better?" I asked.

"No, I just like the first one. You did a great job!"

She's so enthusiastic about her notes, that thinking up ideas and surprising her is a real pleasure.

There have been some unintended and unexpected benefits to doing a daily lunch note; Genevieve's pre-reading skills have advanced to some site words, which I learned when she was reading text messages over my shoulder. (Oops.)

She feels loved, and it's a special thing I can do to connect with her when I'm not with her.

... And it's a great excuse to buy pens.

[In case you want to follow this particular madness, I post them on my personal instagram @cuteknitter with the hashtag #lunchboxlovenotes, and I've got a Flickr album of all of them here.]

** the school allergy list includes peanuts, tree nuts, sunflower seeds, Sesame seeds, avocado, and oats. We had a full-on "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" situation when my dad was helping her pack her snack, and he suggested almonds. Genevieve, to her credit, reminded him about the kids with nut allergies, and my dad said, "But what about almonds?" I repeated, "Peanuts and TREE NUTS." Allergies are very serious, and definitely not funny, but this was, because I had to remind my father, the erstwhile almond farmer (true story), that almonds grow on trees.

Genevieve the Octopus

Readers, meet Genevieve the Octopus.

Distinctive, isn't she?

The last time we went to the aquarium, Genevieve (the human child) pointed at a stuffed octopus the size of a body pillow and declared that she wanted to buy it.

Since we bed-share (or "co-sleep"), a stuffed octopus the size of a sofa was completely out of the question. It's a snuggly arrangement.

We went to the gift shop downstairs, and I showed Genevieve three or four appropriately sized octopuses she could choose from.

Predictably, she chose the purple, sparkly octopus. (I had lobbied for the more realistic looking one.) That is how Genevieve the Octopus joined our family.

A few weeks later, SuperAndrew, Genevieve, and I went to get our flu shots together, with Genevieve the Octopus in tow.

(At Kaiser, parents/guardians can get their vaccinations at the same time and place as their kids. It's fantastic. As fantastic as getting a shot can be, I suppose.)

After a shot, we always get French fries and milkshakes on our way home. It's something to look forward to after, and is often the incentive for getting the shot done and over with. [Mom used to take us for ice cream after shots, but Genevieve turns into a Gremlin when she has sugar. Sharing a milkshake is really as far as we can go right now.]

We went to a different Kaiser than normal because it was on our way that particular day, and the injection nurse was phenomenal- but that didn't stop Genevieve from screaming down the walls and terrifying the kids in the waiting room before anything had actually even happened.

While Maria the Nurse was extremely skilled (I didn't feel anything when I got my shot), Genevieve made use of her excellent lungs and loud voice screaming encouraging things like, "TAKE ME AWAY FROM HERE!" and "MOMMY, SAVE ME!" I can only imagine what the poor kid in the waiting room thought was happening in there.

Once it was finally done, we did the walk of shame from the injection room, through the pediatrics lobby, and out to our van, carrying a screaming, howling, crying Genevieve.

It took us nearly an hour to calm her down enough to get in the car seat and go home. All of our nerves were frayed, and - if it hadn't been noon - it would have been wine o'clock when we got home.

When we (finally) got home, Mom suggested taking Genevieve along the next time she needed to get bloodwork done. [Mom is on cardiac meds, and has to get coumadin levels checked fairly regularly. She is a human pincushion.] That way, Genevieve could watch Gramzie get a shot and be okay without having to get a shot herself.

[With the dogs, this is called a "happy vet visit"- where they go in, get weighed, get a cookie and belly rubs, and go home. We did these with our dogs, once a week for a few months, and it made a HUGE difference with vet anxiety. I highly recommend it.]

In the meantime, Genevieve the Octopus had mysteriously gone missing.

"Clean up your toys and she'll turn up," I told Genevieve, repeating what my mother told me at least seven million times. (It bears mentioning that she was always right.)

About a month passed, and it was time for Gramzie to get her bloodwork. We went to the Kaiser that was on our way (the one we rarely go to), and told Genevieve the deal that day: no shot, no milkshake. (She was due for a vaccine; we weren't just getting her jabbed for the fun of it.)

Genevieve decided that she wanted a milkshake, and she was ready to get her shot. Just our luck, Nurse Maria was there again, and unfortunately, Genevieve started howling like a siren as soon as her sleeve was pushed up. As I held her there, feeling like Mother of the Year, I looked to my left, and-

"GENEVIEVE THE OCTOPUS!" I exclaimed, as if I had come across a lost loved one by accident. (I had, I suppose.)

Genevieve stopped screaming (just long enough for Nurse Maria to get the shot in) to look and see what I was talking about.

"Genevieve, LOOK!" I said, "We found her! You must have dropped her the last time we were here, and she's been waiting for us to come and get her!"

After a series of questions confirming our ownership of Genevieve the Octopus (because, after all, we couldn't run off all willy-nilly with someone else's purple, sparkly octopus), Genevieve and Genevieve the Octopus were reunited at last.

I'm glad I didn't insist on the more traditional octopus; anybody could have left behind a regular octopus on accident. Thank goodness for her sparkly tentacles.

These boots were made for splashin'

During the day, we have a rule: if you want a grown-up to read to you, you have to sit in their lap. This solves - what I affectionately refer to as - the Wiggly Toddler Conundrum. (The issue being, wiggly toddlers snuggle less, and that's sad.)

At night, Genevieve has the option of snuggling up next to her reader (usually, but not always, me), or sitting in the "Mommy Seat". The Mommy Seat is created by [me] sitting cross-legged, and Genevieve sitting in the space, leaning against me, her legs over my legs. I love the Mommy Seat.

We have a regular stack of books that Genevieve likes to read at bedtime. Among them is I Love You, Good Night. I mostly bought it because it was a bedtime book with mice in it, but it quickly became one of my favorite bedtime books.

It's short, sweet, and gives lots of opportunities for extra kisses and hugs at bedtime. (Pro-tip from Gramzie: If there are kisses and/or hugs in the book, there are kisses and/or hugs to illustrate the point in person.) The book employs simile, which I love, and it just gives me all the oxytocin-filled warm fuzzies to read it with Genevieve.

There's a page in the book, showing the little mouse wearing boots and a raincoat, and enthusiastically splashing in puddles. The text reads, "I love you like boots love splashing in puddles." Genevieve has been OBSESSED with this page.

As it happens, in preparation for rainy weather - which has yet to *really* make its debut - we bought her a yellow raincoat and matching rain boots.

In October.

Genevieve LOVED the boots- she could put them on and take them off easily, by herself, and stomp around in them. What's not to love?

She has been DYING to wear them out and splash in puddles. So when the weather teased us with the promise of a thunderstorm, I told Genevieve that we would go splashing in puddles after her nap.

Our "storm" lasted maybe fifteen minutes. But, a promise is a promise, so when she woke up, we suited up in our raincoats and rainboots, and went on the hunt for puddles to splash in.

It's not the size of the puddles that matters.

You can see in the photo that the street isn't even wet. We found four "puddles" in gutters- which were likely to be more mud, antifreeze, and motor oil (given the color). But, I didn't split hairs and I let Genevieve splash away. She was THRILLED.

Of course, I wore my boots, and raincoat, too.

These are Skacel Peek-a-Boots. I got mine at Purlescence.

(Obviously, a photo from a much wetter day.)

Genevieve also loves playing in *my* rain boots.

Rainboots and flannel. She pulls it off.

[The boots don't come with the green Superfeet insoles, though I'll likely replace them with the black ones at some point. (What can I say? I'm a woman who likes - nay -  requires good arch support.)]

"What do you MEAN these don't come in my size?!"

"I'll just borrow yours. We'll wear the same size soon enough."

We've been promised more rain, and I'm hoping the weather delivers. I'm not looking forward to another drought (soooooo cliché, California!). 

What *am* I looking forward to? Some epic puddle splashing with my favorite Mouse.

Bon apétit

I have had a lot of questions about how I do my meal planning. I put thought into it, yes, but trying to figure out exactly how to write it out has been driving me crazy. (Once you finish reading this, you will confirm that I actually am crazy, but my methods are solid.)

Step 1: Check the weather.

I don't like cooking hot food when it's hot outside, or cold food when it's cold. I don't run my oven when I run the air conditioning, partly because of how I was raised, but mostly because it's wasteful. So, first, I check the weather.

Some of my favorite "hot weather" foods include Kale Salad (I promise I'll post my variation soon), bruschetta,  pesto and pasta, and grilled chicken. (The grill and I have a tenuous relationship, but we're working through it.)

Step 2: Regular rotation check

I have a couple of dozen meals that are "repeaters"; stuff we like to eat on a regular basis. When I make something new, we always ask, "Is this a repeater?" This takes practice, and it can be a challenge to establish what is a repeater because you *first* need to cook on a (somewhat) regular basis. I promise, it gets easier.

Our regular rotation includes meatloaf, beef stroganoff, risotto, and kale salad, among other things.

Risotto with peas and lemon

Step 3: Go to the source

I have quite a few cookbooks- some are specialty cookbooks, some I bought on impulse, but I have a select few that I use all of the time. I use these post-its, write the name of the dish, abbreviate the title of the cookbook it comes from, and include the page number that the recipe is on. Then, the post-its go on the large calendar on our fridge on the day I'm planning to cook the food.

The way I try to pick recipes is "three tried-and-true, one new." 

You can see some of my repeaters.

This works on a number of levels; I plan the meals around the weather, around activities, and because life is nothing if not unpredictable, it helps me go with the flow without causing any disruption come dinnertime.

Step 4: Know your pantry, stock your pantry, love your pantry.

While I'm making my post-it's, I'm also making my shopping list. We are all busy people, and good planning saves time. When I was growing up, my mother would go to the grocery store once a week, that's it.

We keep a running list on the side of the fridge so that we can restock regular pantry items as we run out (or just before). Things I tend to buy every week include: carrots, cabbage, onion, potatoes, cheese, bread, meat, bananas, milk, yogurt, and sour cream.

My pantry also includes spices from Penzeys (which is a fantastic value, even if you mail order), my herb garden of love, and tomatoes. (Oh. My. Tomatoes. Love is homegrown tomatoes.)

I try to check my fridge before we go to the store; mostly because I don't want to end up with three cabbages. (Again.) Three is too many for cabbages.

Step 5: Shop the seasons, shop the sales

Once you get in the swing of regular cooking and meal planning, you'll be able to do a little improvising at the store- alternatively, if you have your cookbooks on your kindle or smartphone, you have your recipes at your fingertips. Chicken thighs are on sale? STOCK UP. (I love chicken thighs.) Beef chuck roast is $3.99/lb? Sounds like pot roast (or Texas chili!) just hit the meal rotation.

The same goes for produce. I don't buy berries or melon in the winter. EVER. Why? Because it's expensive. (As I write this, I recognize that a lot of my rules are my mother's as well. Coincidence? Perhaps.)

Joining a CSA is a great way of getting accustomed to what grows locally and seasonally for you; alternatively, the farmer's market does exactly the same thing without the problem of getting three beets, a dozen bunches of chard, four leeks, and a small squash. (What I'm saying here is, we got a lot of weird stuff in strange quantities.)

Step 6: Prep your kitchen and do the cooking.

If you don't have a lot of time to cook, you need to have your ducks in a row. A 30-minute meal will take twice as long if you have to wash the pots, knives, measuring cups, and mixing spoons before you can even start your mise en place.

(Trick from Mom: if you clean up during the "let simmer for 10 mins" bits of the directions, you will end up with a hot meal and a clean kitchen.)

I also regularly double my recipes- this way we're guaranteed leftovers another night during the week. (I try to cook four meals during the week and use leftovers for lunches and dinner on the weekend.) Sometimes I freeze stuff, too. Depends on my mood.

Step 7: Enjoy

Plate your food, take off your apron, and enjoy a meal with your family.

Bon apétit!

Clearly

Toddlers are amazing. A week or two ago, Genevieve started making clear associations, and it was like a little switch flipped on for her.

It all started around naptime, which if you've been reading for a while, you know has been fraught with challenges. She took me by the hand, and led me to the bedroom.

"Up," she said, arms up.

For the first time since she started rolling over (about four months old?), I nursed her down for a nap in the Big Bed. Because we sleep in the Big Bed. We have been nursing to sleep in the Big Bed every nap time and bed time since. (This is a HUGE win.)

A few days ago, she dragged me to the bedroom (because she was tired), and I said something like, "Ok. We'll do naptime in just a minute," and then went to pick up one or two things.

Clearly, I hadn't gotten the message. Genevieve dragged me to the living room, picked up her sheepskin, and had me put it on the big bed. Tired = nap = sheepskin = big bed.

She knows what she needs, and when she needs it. I can't wait to see what the future hold for all of us.

Finding the joy

We have reached the point in Genevieve's development where things that were part of our established routine (getting in the car seat, the high chair, having a diaper changed) no longer go smoothly in our previously well-practiced routine.

We still have good days, where she's cooperative, cheerful and a complete joy to be around.

Snuggling and watching Sesame Street while I lean on an ice pack.

And then there are days like today, where she's testing boundaries. It is incredibly challenging; balancing being firm with kindness and empathy. Most of all, trying to model good problem-solving and patience without losing my temper.

I take a lot of deep breaths, but I'm not perfect. I can tell you about the guilt I have, because I'm not what I think a perfect mom should be- far from it, but that's not helpful.

I realized that it's days like today, where you have to consciously, mindfully, stop, breathe, and find the joy in the moment.

Where you let go of the bad feelings, let the sun shine on your face, and take in your toddler twirling in the driveway. Listen to her delighted shrieks when you unload the groceries like a dinosaur. (This involves a lot of roaring.)

Grinning gopher faces

Make faces into the camera, because she thinks it's funny. Watch her do her crazy toddler run and make the Hamburglar noise.

You see our tongues when it's hot...

Tight hugs because she loves being squished a little. Attack kisses during a game of peek-a-boo.

It's all there. The good with the bad. It's just that - upon reflection - there are so many good moments that they deserve to outshine the bad. They've earned it.

Saving Private Bert

Some days are rough. Teeth are cutting, naps are interrupted, and Genevieve is growing at a rate that boggles the mind. Growing pains are a real thing. So, we rock the routine and roll with the punches.

And roll literally, in the stroller. The fresh air does us both good, and it gives her a chance to decompress while she has her snack. We take a toy along for the ride, and the toy gets to model good behavior.

We had One of Those Days last week- parenting fail, after parenting fail, after parenting fail. I decided to try a walk to reboot our afternoon, and that day, she picked Bert as her ride-along buddy.

Bert loves to go for walks.

To add to my challenging day, I had made the mistake of reading a thread on Facebook in which an acquaintance's friends were opining as to what is the *best* way to raise children. Then the opinions turned into an argument that has no winner, with both sides digging their heels in and shouting "I AM RIGHT, AND YOU ARE WRONG! YOU ARE A HORRIBLE, SOCIALLY IRRESPONSIBLE MOTHER!"

There is really nothing as incendiary as discussing parenting choices.

I stayed out of the discussion, but my stomach was churning over the whole mess, and taking a quiet walk helped soothe my troubles, too.

As we wrapped up the walk and came home, I went to pull Genevieve out of the stroller to find Genevieve... but not Bert. I had stopped partway during the walk to tuck my jacket into the basket underneath, gave Genevieve a kiss, and Bert had been there. And now he was noticeably absent.

In my mind, I saw Genevieve's heart break over the loss of a favorite toy. The tears. Not understanding WHY Bert was gone. Worst of all- how would we tell Ernie?

Obviously, at some point, Bert had gone overboard, unnoticed. I turned the stroller around, intending to retrace our steps, and I realized that (based on the timing of the last diaper) Genevieve - likely - needed to be changed. We went inside, I asked Mom to change her and keep an eye on her for five minutes while I took the car on a recon mission.

I knew, intellectually, that if I couldn't find him, it would be simple to replace Bert. But it wasn't about that. It had been a horrible day, and if I could save Bert, I could have gotten at least that part of the day right. No toy left behind.

Dramatic re-enactment.

As I drove the route, I found Bert on the sidewalk, undisturbed. He was 1/3 of a mile from home, and I could see him from the street. I (safely) pulled the van over, leapt out, scooped him up and returned home VICTORIOUS. I had SAVED Bert!

When I came home, I didn't quite get the hero's welcome I had expected. Genevieve didn't really seem to care much, or notice.  It didn't matter. I brought Bert home.

You can add "Special Ops Mom" to my resume. Officially.

Magic kisses

When Genevieve was but a wee mouse, when she would bump herself and cry, Mom told me to kiss the boo-boo, then say, "All better!" I'm sure this was to make both Genevieve and me feel better, but it didn't seem to work.

Then, like with so many things in parenting (and life), all of a sudden, it DID. She bumped her head, I kissed, and BAM! Tears stopped. All better!

"Behold!" I announced loudly, "I have arrived as a Real Mom_TM. My kisses have magical healing powers!"

A kissy montage

I basked in the glory of my newfound power. All of the groundwork I had laid had come to fruition. I was reaping what I had sown! I am MAMA, hear me give noisy, magic kisses!

And then, in a moment of incredible productivity and grace, I banged my forehead on a lamp. Sharply. I hissed (in lieu of saying some Very Bad Words), and put my hand on my forehead.

Genevieve looked at me with Great Big Eyes. I knelt down, pointed at the offending spot, and said, "Kiss it and make it better?" 
 
Without a moment of hesitation, Genevieve kissed *my* boo-boo. My heart swelled at her empathy, as I announced, "All better!"

What you do will come back to you as a parent. It might take a while, but the payoff is totally worth it.

Palate

DangerMouse loves my mom's cooking. Clearly, she already has excellent taste and a refined palate. We've been feeding her "table food" (versus baby food from jars, or separate food specially prepared for her), and witnessing her culinary development is nothing short of delightful.

My amazing, independent daughter LOVES to feed herself. She has manages to wear as much as she eats (from what I can tell), but it's important to let her grow and learn to do things for herself. None of us are instant experts, and watching her learn reminds me of how incredible all the things we take for granted are. (Parenting bonus: if she's feeding herself, guess who also gets to enjoy a hot meal?)

Okay, so her palate isn't *entirely* refined yet.

We have been responsible; no sugary foods, and we've introduced foods slowly. Even so, sometimes things happen.

Last Monday, Mom, Genevieve, and I were having lunch together. We had leftovers, and Mom had gently convinced me to let Genevieve feed herself for the first time. Genevieve reveled in the meal; a tomato and eggplant stew, and it looked fetching smeared across her face.

Mom noticed something red on Genevieve's face; so we got out a washcloth and started to clean Genevieve up.

"Is that a hive?" Mom asked.

"It can't be," I said, "She's had everything in this dish before."

A few minutes passed, and there were more hives on her face, and on her chin(s). While Mom held on to Genevieve, I packed the diaper bag quickly, and got on the phone with the advice nurse.

The advice nurse asked the usual questions, and Genevieve was cheerful and not having any sort of breathing issues (or hives or a rash anywhere else on her body). After consulting with the doctor, she told me to give Genevieve some children's Benadryl and bring her directly to the emergency room, just in case.

We didn't have any children's Benadryl in the house. Mom dashed out to the drugstore and was home in a flash, we medicated Genevieve and got in the car promptly. I called Andrew to let him know to meet us there, and with Mom in the backseat (making sure that Genevieve didn't stop breathing), we got to the emergency room in excellent time.

At that point, the hives were completely gone. Genevieve was positively *giddy* from the Benadryl, and had her charm dialed up to eleven. We were in and out of the emergency room in under two hours, with some guidelines as to what to look for and when to worry. (For the record, I am a professional worrier these days.)

Genevieve took a supervised, and yet, disturbingly long nap (courtesy of the Benadryl, of course), and all was well in the world.

O.G. and Lil G

After speaking with a friend (who is also a childcare professional), and Dr. FTW, it turns out that the acid in tomatoes can cause hives on delicate baby facial skin. We were instructed to clean her up promptly after meals, and Dr. FTW praised our prompt action and quick recognition of what could have been a serious allergic reaction.

I'm usually pretty good in stressful situations, and while I was a little shaky and terrified of the worst case, I held it together until the car ride home. If I have learned anything from my mother, it's that you hold it together during a crisis. Once the crisis is over, you can scream, cry, throw up, whatever you need to do. But when you're in the thick of it you Hold. It. Together.

"I'm ready to go and cry now," I told Andrew, "This parenting thing is harder than I ever thought it would be."

It's true. As a parent, you selfishly hope that emergency rooms are for strangers' children, that you can bubble wrap your kids, and keep them in a safe embrace foreverandever. But children have a pesky way of growing up and seeking their own experiences and answers, no matter how much you want to keep them safe.

It's a hard road, full of lots of small steps. Or in our case, small bites.

This little piggy

Genevieve's hair has gotten long. I'm far from an expert at doing hair, and hers is the opposite of mine; fine to my thick, straight to my curly, and slick to my ... velcro?

Amazing how a hairstyle can change your whole look

I'll admit, I'm also not a whiz at styling hair. When Suzy the Stylist gave me this fabulous hairdo, she had to hard-sell me on taking the TWO MINUTES to blow out my bangs. I'm a wash-product-wear kind of girl, but it was totally worth the extra effort.

Best. Haircut. Ever.

That being said, Genevieve's hair had gotten really long, and I didn't want her to end up with any lasting effects from her emo/Bieber bangs.

Emo baby

Parenting, and all parenting-adjacent activities, always seem very different in my imagination. In my imagination, food that goes into a child's mouth *stays* in her mouth, kids STAY STILL while you change their diapers, and little girls coo adoringly while you pigtail their hair.

She is wily and hard to catch.

Not. So. Much.

I've written about our DangerMouse catch and release program. This is more like catching a greased piglet. And trying to do her hair while she resists. Vociferously.

Antennae!

So, sometimes her pigtails end up a little... off kilter. It's a look.

But I think this little piggy can pull it off.

Flu-vugh!

We had another first; Genevieve's first "sick". It's kept me pretty busy, attending to her normal needs and the "mommymommymommy" stuff when she doesn't feel well. You know, the extra snuggles and things like that. (I'll take snuggles whenever she wants to give them.)

At first, we thought it was normal teething shenanigans, since she is now the proud owner of SIX(!) teeth. We called the advice nurse, and she advised, with the proviso that if the symptoms didn't improve in a week, to call back and schedule time with a doctor.

This KID, with the EYELASHES. Seriously.

DangerMouse was cheerful, not presenting a fever, and was only presenting *one* slightly troubling symptom. The weekend passed, and the ... symptom did not. (Consider yourself spared of the details.)

Five symptomatic days passed with no improvement. On day six, we saw the pediatrician. I was prepared to hear that all-too familiar chorus of, "You're a first time parent; of course you worry about every little thing. It's good that you brought her in." I heard that, along with something completely unexpected.

... Stomach flu.

Have you ever had that feeling where you're simultaneously thinking "Ah HA! I KNEW IT!" and "OHMYGOD! Something is really wrong!"? It takes the wind right out of the sails of the S.S. Smug.

Then it hit: that moment where you feel guilty for not taking your baby into the doctor sooner. Andrew and I talked through it, and we were doing all the right things, and we took her in sooner than recommended, but still. That pesky Mommy Guilt rears its ugly head.

The cure? My mom's homemade yogurt. (The pediatrician didn't get *that* specific, but he said "Yogurt with active cultures". And we all know that my mother makes some seriously cultured yogurt.) Yogurt has been Mom's panacea as long as I can remember, as well as a delicious part of our regular diets.

There was the matter of getting the yogurt *into* Genevieve. The spoon was too slow, the yogurt was too runny to finger-feed it to her effectively. I decided to use the encephalized brain that came with the opposable thumbs, and this monkey elected to use a tool specialized for just such an occasion.

Yogurt also makes for a great facial.

After a few attempts, we had a lot of success using a double handled plastic cup (which is great), which has resulted in increased yogurt consumption and decreased yogurt facials. I am torn on how I feel about this, since wearing yogurt is a family tradition.

Three days of Mom's yogurt fixed her right up. Snuggles from *my* mom helped make me feel better. There are days when I just need to know I'm doing okay; and the days where I'm not sure, hugs, hair-stroking, and a "there, there" seem to realign my universe.

The yogurt didn't hurt, either.

Me and my shadow

I love it when Genevieve and I match. I think it's partly because she looks so much like Andrew and my mom, it's nice to have our outfits say, "Hey, we're together!" (It also cuts down on people asking if she is mine.)

It's one thing to spend all of our time together; it's entirely another thing to do it in style.

Wearing our matching Mondo Cable Cardigans at the wool auction

We may have bought an outfit for Genevieve *because* I have a dress just like it. (Also, my mom has a serious Thing for polka dots.)

Polka dots are the new black, you know.

Genevieve is getting older, and Andrew and I were talking about Stitches, and the possibility of my taking classes this year. She'll be more than a year old by then, and Andrew is nothing if not supportive.

"We need to practice having you away from her," he pointed out, logically. "Now that she's not exclusively breastfeeding, we can do that."

To that end, on Saturday, once she had been nursed and put down for her afternoon nap, Mom and I made plans to go to our knitting group. I took the extra ten minutes to put on makeup, high heels, and my good pearls. I carried a tiny, cute purse. Despite the superficial things that normally make me feel fab-U-lous, I felt sick to my stomach.

I can honestly say that leaving Genevieve at home with her incredibly capable, loving, and involved father was one of the most painful things I have done (to date) as her mother.

I stood on the stoop next to mom, holding my keys. I considered skipping going to knitting altogether and just sitting on the stoop- just in case she needed me. Instead, I pulled myself together, took a giant step for Momkind, and went to knitting at Laura's.

I took a lot of deep breaths, talked through my anxiety and guilt (oh, the guilt!) with Mom. I watched my cell phone like a hawk the whole time, so that I could be in the car and home in 10 minutes if I was needed.

I didn't cry, even if I did tear up a few times because OHMIGOD, I'm a terrible mother for leaving my baby to go have fun with my friends. (See?! THE GUILT.)

My phone didn't ring, chirp, or buzz the whole two-and-a-half hours I was there. When I got home, everyone was as cheerful as could be, and Genevieve was SO happy to see me. The feeling was mutual as I swept her up in my arms and gave her the kiss attack of her life.

Sharing the teething bling

They did *just* fine without me. It turns out, it was only tough for me. This "growing up" thing is hard to do. Especially when it's your baby doing it.

Beauty sleep

We're up to four official teeth, and while they are *completely* adorable, teething remains a miserable process for my sweet, cheerful kid. We can see more teeth cutting through, both on the top and the bottom, which means that the only thing Genevieve *can't* cut is a break from teething.

Talkative, smiley, pensive, and of course, Le Tigre.

 We're back to only napping if she's being held, or snuggled closely. Of course, it's taken me three days of unsuccessfully trying to set her down in the crib, only for her to wake up and REFUSE to nap, no matter what I do.

Without her sleep, DangerMouse loses some of her sparkle and is not usually her charming self. (This she gets from me.)

I am not one to keep trying something that doesn't work over and over and over and OVER again, so we are back to a do-whatever-needs-doing nap policy with her. We play hard, and we nap hard.

Play hard, nap hard

When I'm holding her, yes, I'm a little frustrated that we did a whole week of crib naps, and now we're right back where we were before. On the flip side, I look at her while she sleeps in my arms, all rosy cheeks and long eyelashes, and I remember that these days are few and dwindling.

As it is, the more active and mobile she is, the less she wants to be held and snuggled. She wants to crawl, climb, chew, touch, and give commentary. She wants to be independent, but - thankfully, for my ego - she wants to know that I'm still there.

In truth, I love the snuggles, because when she wakes up, she's all smiles and charm.

Kiss attack!

...and there's nothing better than that.

Of Mouse and Mess

I continually underestimate how messy children can be. I'm 99.9% okay with the mess, generally speaking, but what I find utterly shocking is how *thoroughly* messy Genevieve can get.

[Genevieve: Good for you. If you're going to do anything, it's good to be thorough.]

DangerMouse has FOUR - count 'em, FOUR - teeth coming in. She's cheerful and pleasant as she can be, but teething is a heartless beast. I picked up teething biscuits for her in hopes that they would (a) be fun to chew on and (b) offer some variety as far as chew-things are concerned.

(As a matter of form, they are teething "biscuits" instead of "cookies" or "chewies" because the "c" words bring the dogs running. While neither Niki nor Elphie care for these, they are extremely disappointed when they hear either word and they don't get one.)

In any case, I popped Genevieve into her Bumbo**, put down a mat under her (preparing for some mess), and handed her a biscuit.

This is what followed:

Teething biscuits: functional and a fashion statement.

Biscuit in her hair. All over her face. Coating her clothes. The Bumbo. Smeared onto the mat under her. EVERYWHERE.

"I just don't understand how she could get SO messy!" I kept repeating to Mom, as I tried to figure out how to deal with a messy baby.

Mom, ever the supportive and loving parent, laughed herself silly.

[In case you were curious, the solution was to take a damp washcloth to her face, and let her run around in a diaper and cover until bathtime. It was a warm day. Also, she smelled DELICIOUS.]

Strange as it may sound, I never thought I would be so utterly charmed to be cleaning crumbs out of anyone's bellybutton.



**There's a recall for the Bumbo, which you can read about here. We watch DangerMouse like hawks, so it hasn't been an issue for us. Your usage and mileage may vary.