Twooooo!

Genevieve was born on the first business day of 2012. One of my blog readers warned me to be careful not to let the holidays eclipse Genevieve's birthday, mainly from her own experience of having her New Year's Day birthday eclipsed every. Single. Year.

"I won't do that," I promised myself. "What kind of mother lets the holidays overshadow her baby?"

Well.

In the whirlwind of the Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Year's madness (now with more madness! One less week!), I didn't realize that Genevieve's birthday was a mere TWO DAYS after New Year. As we say around these parts: Oops.

"Peeeem!" [Cream]

[For her "real" birthday, I whipped up some cream and put some candles in it. Fact: she liked this even more than the cake she got at her party.]

So, I let all of our family (and closest friends) know that we would be celebrating the following weekend.

"To give everyone a short break from all the holiday business," I said, flexing the truth, just the tiniest bit.

Then, I promptly went to Pinterest, my favorite source for finding other people's brilliant, creative, marvelous ideas. I searched "Two year old birthday party."

Pinterest is also where some of us go (myself included) to see the beautiful things parents do for their children. Clothes, creative ways of serving food, beautiful cakes, elaborate party games. I get vicarious joy from these things, and also, more than a little bit of that horrible Mommy Guilt_TM. And envy. Oooooh, the envy. (Pinterest Moms, I admire you. Really, really, really.)

Instead of wallowing in the "I barely remembered the day," guilt, and the "There is no way I have the time or energy to do ANY of this," I thought about what the most important part of Genevieve's birthday celebration should be: Genevieve.

When we were younger, my mom would say, "I can do things FOR you, or I can do things WITH you." Meaning, if she spent all of her time doing laundry, dishes, cooking, cleaning, etc, then she wouldn't have time to do fun things with us. [My mother is a GENIUS.]

The same applies to a child's party that takes twenty hours of prep time. Twenty hours of doing things *for* Genevieve, when really, she'd prefer to read with me, or play together on the floor, or do anything other than play by herself while I work myself mad.

I really feel like an important part of parenting is recognizing what your kids *really* want and need. I could do the elaborate stuff, but Genevieve would get maaaaaaybe ten minutes of fun out of it. Not a great return on the time invested.

So, I thought about what Genevieve loves to do. Play at the park. Read books. Play with balloons- BINGO! We would fill the living room with balloons, and she could play with them as much as her fuzzy little heart desired.

Having fun together

We took her to Affordable Treasures, where they have (what I affectionately call) a balloon bar, where you can pick from a kajillion kinds of balloons. We let Genevieve pick as many balloons as she wanted, got some Sesame Street party plates, cups, and whatnot, and brought it home. (The total for the balloons was in the neighborhood of about $15. Tops.)

(I would like to point out that Genevieve was *exquisitely* well-behaved in a store full of tiny, fun, grabbable things. She held my hand or the shopping basket the whole time, said "thank you" to the checker, and helped carry the reusable Sesame Street shopping bags out to the car. These bags have been a fantastic investment, since she always wants to help carry them. Full hands = helpful = well-behaved. Another of my mother's brilliant ideas.)

We served crudités for snacks (Genevieve's favorites, of course), and did a build-your-own sandwich bar for lunch. We got a couple of different cakes from Bijan's (our favorite bakery), and part of the entertainment was blowing up the balloons, of course.

Hours of fun for the whole family!

(By the way, if you have a bunch of balloons to blow up, I highly recommend this Balloon Pump.)

We scheduled the party from 10-1, so that naptime could be observed without interruption and that all parties involved would have a great day. And after playing in the balloons all morning, I can tell you that she went down for that nap HARD.

When she woke up the BALLOONS WERE STILL THERE. So, we played in them some more.

There was crazed laughter.

Crazy hair.

Enormous smiles.

And joyous arms!

Wiped out.

Balloons are fun. But exhausting.

Since we're all about returns on investment, and getting a good value? The balloons are still in the living room, and as they lose their oomph, they slowly disappear.

Which is why our Christmas tree is still up. We're maximizing the return on our investment.

(That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.)

Sympathy, Empathy, Elphie

When we adopted Elphie, all those years ago, she came to us with some serious baggage. She had been horribly abused, and was found wandering the streets with a pack of wild dogs.

When her time at the Humane Society in Tracy had run out, they called local a no-kill rescue. Amanda, who ran the rescue, took Elphie in and posted her on Petfinder for us to find and adopt. Elphie was five months old when we she joined our family.

That was in May of 2005, and we've worked hard to socialize her and make her feel comfortable, safe, and loved. For the most part, she's pretty chill, but specific things just set. Her. Off.

Like fireworks.

We had *six weeks* of fireworks every night before and after the fourth of July. Six weeks. Under the supervision of our vet, we had tranquilizers for her, and on the recommendation of a friend, Thundershirts for both dogs. We put white noise on loud in the bathroom in our bedroom (where she likes to curl up sometimes), and did our best to drown out the noise.

(We are also trying Through a dog's ear for fireworks, on the enthusiastic endorsement of our incredible dog trainer. Results tbd.)

Life has a way of throwing curveballs to keep things interesting, and while the Fireworks Bonanza of 2013 was a MASSIVE pain, that was five months ago. So many developmental milestones have come and gone, and Genevieve is still a cheerful, happy, great, well-behaved kid- but she's not always 100% cooperative.

I was anxious about the fireworks, and I was anxious about Elphie, and Genevieve noticed that Elphie was getting more attention than normal and started to act out. Yelling. Crying. Completely out of Genevieve's character.

Thanks to Positive Discipline: The First Three Years, I had the tools to calmly collect Genevieve into my lap, and really communicate with her. The book focuses on communication, understanding, and educating in a kind way. (They have a HUGE age range in their books. You want to read these books.)

I asked her if she was upset because Elphie was getting more attention than normal. [Yes.] I told her that the loud noises were scaring Elphie.

"When you're scared, do you like it when Mommy snuggles you close?"
"Yes."

"When you're scared, do you like it when Mommy gives you hugs and kisses?"
"Yes."

"Do the snuggles and hugs and kisses make you feel better?"
"Yes."

"Elphie is really scared right now, and I need you to be cooperative and helpful tonight. I need you to help me take care of Elphie."
"Ok."

Once both dogs were suited up in their Thundershirts (Niki isn't a huge fireworks fan, either), and Elphie had been medicated, we were waiting for the meds to kick in. At this point in the process, I give the dogs some peanut butter as a special treat because (a) they really like it and (b) Elphie forgets to freak out while she's eating peanut butter.

I started with a tablespoon of peanut butter for the dogs, and Genevieve on my hot on my heels. The dogs polished it off pretty quickly, and Genevieve spoke up.

She asked for more peanut butter for Elphie. Specifically, signing while she was speaking so that I would understand what she was saying right away, "More, PEEEEASE. HEPP Effie."

My heart nearly burst out of my chest. I was so proud of her. So, I told her. 

"Thank you for being so cooperative and helping take care of Elphie. Let's help her now," I said, and we did.

This kid totally gets it.

Other than being INSANELY proud of Genevieve,  it's important to tell this story for another reason. I was at a book signing for an *incredibly* popular children's author when Genevieve was less than a year old.

I forget the context of the discussion, but the author pointedly and factually told me that children under the age of three simply *aren't developmentally capable* of either sympathy OR empathy. I thanked her for signing Genevieve's books, and left knowing in my gut that she was wrong.

In the bigger picture, it's not about being right or wrong. I think it's recognizing that sympathy and empathy look different on a toddler than they do on an adult. Not to compare children to dogs, but there are also people who believe that dogs don't have souls, or personalities. If you've ever loved a dog (or two, in our case), you know they're just wrong.

I really feel like Genevieve has learned that we all take care of each other because we love each other. Sometimes we "hepp Effie", and sometimes Elphie helps us.

'ween

We have had a lot of change over the last few months around here. Andrew started a new job, and it is very different from his last, including the hours. What this boils down to is that he gets twice as many "awake hours" (as we call them) with Genevieve as he did with his last work schedule.

... and then he got LASIK surgery on his eyes. (You'll notice that he goes from Andrew to SuperAndrew in the pictures that come after this post.)

It's great, and I'm flexible, but it's taken me a while to find my comfortable rhythm. So here we are!

Genevieve helped us carve the pumpkins for Halloween this year, which mostly consisted of squishing pumpkin guts while SuperAndrew, Mom and I all kept the carving implements at a safe distance. (If you like our pumpkins, you can get the carving templates here. I found them via Pinterest.)

The whole family

She was delighted by the pumpkins, mostly because we had five that were all different sizes, which she would label with our titles. Toddlers LOVE order, especially my toddler.

Gopher grin!

For the two weeks we had the pumpkins, she couldn't pass them without adjusting their order. Since I know nothing about décor, I let her do her thing. Maybe I could learn something, you know?

Fung shui-ing the porch.

I spend a lot of time waxing poetic about how much (and how quickly) Genevieve changes, but seriously.

Last year:

Halloween 2012

You'll notice that the mouse costume is a bit roomy, and she has the footies on- because she's not walking yet. (She took her first steps on Thanksgiving, which was super memorable.) And LOOK AT THOSE BABY CHEEKS.

Brace yourselves. This year:

Halloween 2013

Walking. Talking. Carrying her Elmo bucket.

The whole night went remarkably well, with the exception of a few small ... hiccups. The first was both major *and* minor. I hadn't remembered to charge my cell phone, and I got the "20% battery life" warning RIGHT as I was about to take pictures of Genevieve in her full mouse-y glory. And then, the screen went black.

[Dear Apple, Inc.; 20% does not equal 0%. Love, Jasmin.]

Fortunately, we were in front of our house, and my camera was ready to go, so I got my pictures.

Family jack o'lanterns

What I may have been *most* pleased about was that she kept the mouse hood on nearly all night. The hood was more challenging than it should have been, but fortunately, I had Mom doing all the hard work helping me.

Mouse ears in progress

Fortunately, I brought fun to the party, which as we all know, makes up for any of my sewing shortcomings. Style eclipsing substance and all that.

Adjusting her ears. Like you do.

Mom stayed at the house with the dogs and handed out the candy (full-sized candy bars; that's how we roll), and SuperAndrew, KidBrotherSam and I took the Mouse from house to house.

It was really fun watching her learn how Halloween works. It took us a few houses, but she got it. She would knock, hold out her bucket and say "Beet!" ["treat" for the uninitiated], sign "thank you" after they put a treat in her bucket, and by the end of the night, would say "'ween!" ["Happy Halloween", again for the uninitiated.] With only the *tiniest* bit of prompting on our part.

The things that were supposed to be scary (rotating saw blades, dismembered body parts, giant spiders) didn't phase her in the slightest. I was feeling really great about how we had done nearly our *whole* street without a panic, and then, two doors down from our house, terror struck.

Our neighbor, dressed in the most *phenomenal* Chewbacca costume, opened the door. Genevieve let out a bloodcurdling scream and tried to -simultaneously- climb up and *through* SuperAndrew. Our incredibly nice neighbor (a father of two middle schoolers), pulled his mask off and tried to make Genevieve feel better.

"It's just me, Genevieve," he said, over and over, in his nicest voice.

Genevieve was having NONE of it. She pointed at the sidewalk, and we apologized profusely to our lovely neighbor (who may have been more traumatized than Genevieve) while we made our way to sidewalk safety.

It was all SuperAndrew and I could do not to laugh. And maybe we did. But there were also a lot of hugs, kisses, and "it's okay, you're okay"s.

[KidBrotherSam chided me about not teaching Genevieve about the classics. I maintain that she's too young for Star Wars. She is barely old enough for the Muppets.]

We took a quick break with some of our other neighbors, whose boys are extremely fond of Genevieve. Fortunately, Genevieve loves them right back, and after we let Genevieve have the packet of pretzels from her haul, we all hit the pavement for a little more trick-or-treating.

The older son, [whom I will call "Mario", since that was his costume] wanted to hold Genevieve's hand while they went door-to-door, and after a couple of houses after the Wookie Trauma of 2013, Genevieve was willing to go with him.

It was one of the sweetest things I've seen in ages; the kindness, the patience. (Halloween is my Christmas, and this was my Halloween miracle.)

I know next year will be 100% different than this year, and that's ok. I know she'll definitely need a new costume, and she'll have opinions about what that costume is.

I'm really looking forward to next 'ween.

Whoosh

It feels so cliché to say it, but it feels like it was just yesterday that we brought Genevieve home from the hospital. I blinked, and WHOOSH, she's a walking, talking toddler. It's awesome and completely unbelievable.

I knit a little sweater for her before she was born, out of yarn (from Froebe Fibers) that I bought at Camp KIP (just before we conceived). The colors made me happy down to my toes, and while I knitted it, I thought about the little girl I was growing.

[For those of you playing the home game, I bought the pattern in a kit from Churchmouse Yarns and Teas, when I went there in 2008.]

Once she was born, and I realized that she had an olive complexion, I thought that there was no way she'd be able to wear it; the colors would wash her out. To say the least, I was disappointed that this sweater would have to wait for DistantFutureBaby#2, or worse, the gift pile.

So, I decided to check the fit, to see if I could at *least* knit her a sweater that would match her skin tone, to be pleasantly surprised to find that she *could* rock the colors.

It's a perfect sweater for reading.

Truth be told, it's a little small on her, so I find myself debating whether I should knit her another one (and make it larger, of course), or knit a different sweater. (There are so many cute little sweaters.)

I-cord waist tie!

For now, I feel the *tiniest* bit guilty when she brings me this sweater to wear, given that the sleeves are 3/4 on her.

But it's so darn cute.

Toddler style

We've had a lot of big changes over the last couple of months. Genevieve is growing so fast, and learning so much.

Did you miss me?

Of course you did.

She's talking up a storm, and she has more words, and knowledge and stuff every day. We sing, we play, we read books, we make animal noises, and we do toddler stuff.

You know, toddler stuff. Like wearing ALL of the hair bows.

Less is more? No. MORE IS MORE.

And eating blackberries the messiest, and incidentally, most fun way.

"Did you want one of these?"

Genevieve also discovered that I can do *unbelievably* cool things, like playing "Twinkle, twinkle little star" on the piano. We play it together, and she is delighted because she can make music with her finger. Her finger.

We play it twice, and then do something else. Toddler style.

I wake up to this smiling face every day, and we're teaching her to wake us up with kisses. Because there is literally nothing like toddler kisses.

She is a wonderful kid, and (mostly) incredibly cooperative. I used to talk a lot about "old Jasmin", the busy person who used to get everything done every day. "Old Jasmin" is long gone, but "New Jasmin" gets a load or two of laundry done after bedtime, makes dinner (almost) every night, and sometimes an errand or some housework with Genevieve.

A place for everything and everything in... a place.

She does some things that are so distinctly grown up, like drinking out of a mug, or pretending to read something. Or sitting on a "big" chair, as opposed to her highchair.

"Ooooooh."

We are genetically incapable of taking a regular picture.

But just as soon as we see a glimpse of that older child, she does something to remind us that she's still little. Like snuggling up against my chest, or waking Andrew up to read her a book.

Barely keeping his eyes open.

And just like that, she's my sweet, snuggly little baby again.

Little girl, big bed.

... Right until she wakes up again.

A reason, a season, a lifetime

On Monday, I was hunting through the garage for Genevieve's mouse costume. When we made it last year (and by "we" I mean "mostly Mom"), we purposefully made it larger so that it could be a play costume and maybemaybemaaaaybeee fit her for another Halloween.

Halloween 2012

In a bin of miscellaneous stuff (from Mom's house), I came across this photo:

Halloween 2001 (Pardon the photo of a photo)

(The blonde is ChrissyG, my best friend through high school and college. Shortly after Andrew and I got married in 2005, ChrissyG and I stopped speaking. Why? That's not the point of this story. The point is that for eight years, there was a ChrissyG-shaped hole in my heart and life.)

I was getting my shownotes together for the podcast after getting Genevieve to sleep for the night, and with my laptop right there, I thought, "I wonder how ChrissyG is doing. I'll just google her."

In three clicks, I found her Twitter stream and her Instagram profile. For two hours, I fell down a rabbit hole of catching up with her life, 140 characters and a thumbnail photo at a time.

Over eight years, I had thought about her a lot. About her kids, about how she was doing. I missed her like crazy. I had even talked about mourning the loss of our friendship with Dr. Boyband, YEARS after the fact. The loss of a friendship like ours is one that is mourned for a long time; and like with any loss, you never really get over it.

I didn't want to intrude in her life if she didn't want me in it, because hellooooo, boundaries. But I couldn't stand at *least* letting her know I was there, just in case.

When I woke up the next morning, I saw a tweet from ChrissyG to me, saying she had looked for me under my old handles from high school, but, YAY that I had found her. (I paraphrase.)

I shot her a message with my phone number, and we texted throughout the morning, until Genevieve went down for her nap. Then we talked on the phone for an hour and a half, catching up on what eight years of separation had robbed us of.

We made plans to see each other, and she came over the next day. The superficial stuff had changed, her hair, her clothes, but there she was. My best friend.

ChrissyG was always the cool one, knowledgeable, doing her own thing and not caring what other people thought. She was smart, funny, and stylish. I am pleased to report that in these respects, the important ones, she hasn't changed a bit.

When she came in, Genevieve was immediately comfortable with her. (This is a big deal.) We spent the morning together, chatting about where our friends and acquaintances have been up to, talking about our kids, and the usual stuff.

It was great. We have both grown up, mellowed, and become more of ourselves than we were before, and the best thing is this: where some folks become different people over time apart, we're like a stream that got separated in the middle by a rock and met up again on the other side.

Treasured trinkets

My mom has always said that there are different types of friends; friends for a reason, friends for a season, friends for a lifetime.

Let's never be apart again, ok, ChrissyG? I'd hate to make a liar out of the dog tag.

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.