mommy blog

Hope Springs Eternal Mommy

It’s March and it’s snowing. That isn’t uncommon for New England, yet I find myself thrown by it’s sudden presence.  It was 60 degrees and sunny the other day.  Mother Nature is playing games I do not appreciate, just adding to the sense of Topsy Turvy the world is in.  I sit here watching the snowfall.  I am nursing a dreadful cold.  My feet are up and my head is buzzing from my latest dose of Sudafed.  The alternative is conjestion that rivals some of the worst I’ve known.  So Sudafed it is.  It’s Winter in Spring, the head of the EPA says carbon emissions don’t hurt the environment, and I feel like my country is shifting into reverse.  Ladies and gentlemen, the world is UPSIDE DOWN.

The truth is, I have no words for the spiral we are in at the moment.  My sense of self preservation says to focus on what is right in front of me.  My work. My family.  Doing the good I can do in the small everyday sense.  Practicing kindness, generosity, and acceptance.  Keeping an awareness of the bigger happenings, but not letting them deflate me.  But that is proving to be quite a feat.  Everyday it is some new crazy absurdity being revealed from our government or some completely unfounded insane tweet consuming my newsfeed.  It’s a level of insanity hard to dismiss.

And then, I breathe.  Simply my mind remembers the new cd I have of the Broadway Cast Recording of Dear Evan Hansen.  The music is uplifting, inspiring and all together gorgeous.  It is my new “go to” cd in the car. The lyrics are poingant, personal, yet universal, and filled with soul and human spirit.  Dare I say, the music makes me hopeful?  Yes.  I’ll say it.  Art is like that, hence why it is so important.

Then, I made a very last minute decision to attend a town hall meeting being held by our U.S. Representative to Congress, Joe Kennedy III.  Saturday afternoon and there were a million other things on my radar. I was feeling stuffy and horrible, but something inside me told me to go.  So I did. Seeing and listening to this young, smart, compassionate man talk about what he thinks our responsibilities are to each other, as citizens of this country and as human beings, was inspiring.  Uplifting.  Dare I say, it gave me hope in this “post truth” era?  Yes.  I’ll say it.  What I saw, was the future of our country before me.  In some strange way, he spoke and I felt better.  Less anxious.  Less afraid.  He answered questions with respect and empathy, but also knowledge and authority.  I honestly thought to myself, This man is going to be our President someday.  He gave me hope.

As a mother I find myself in a perpetual state of worry about the world we have brought our son into.  I worry about his education, his safety, the environment.  You name it, and I’m sure I’ve worried about it at some point.  To say I’ve been overwhelmed with the “goings on” in our country is an understatement.  But then I realized, that a moment of hope seems to beget the next moment of hope,  and the next, and so on and so on,  Suddenly, all around me, everyday, are moments of creativity, moments of profound inspiration, and moments where I am in control to be kind and generous.  Moments where even I can change someone’s life for the better.  And it fills me with hope.

True vision and hope are impervious to the bombardment of negativity and malice assaulting our society.  This malevolence has no defense against what is just and right.  Just like a lie has a way of making its way to the surface of truth while destroying its keeper in the process.   You may disagree with me, but I don’t know if I will ever live to see a woman president in the White House.  I think it is a hurdle too high to overcome at the moment.  Sexism, I fear, is ingrained in the fabric of our flag.  It is my hope, though, that my son will see it.  But what I am certain of, is that he and I will both see the honor of the office restored.  I’ll be awful proud to say I met him and that he gave me hope  when I sorely needed it, one cold Saturday in March, not so long ago.

I hope you are well, my friend.  And hopeful.  Life without hope or creativity or inspiration is a tough life.  Keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading! Xo

 

Being Alive

Ok.  I’ve crunched through my bowl of low salt popcorn.  I drank my second 12 oz glass of water for the day.  I’ve watched a bit of spirit crushing C-span.  I’ve gone through the news and political blurbs that, lately,  hurt my brain.  And yet, here is the ironic truth…..I remain happy.  I am happy because I am grateful to be here.  Not just to exist, but to be alive.  Truly alive.

The other day I was listening to the Broadway channel on Sirius XM, as any good musical theatre geek does.  Raul Esparza’s rendition of “Being Alive” from Stephen Sondheim ‘s musical Company came on.  As I drove,  the words he sang seemed to penetrate me in a way they never had before.

Somebody hold me too close.
Somebody hurt me too deep.
Somebody sit in my chair,
And ruin my sleep,
And make me aware,
Of being alive.
Being alive.

Somebody need me too much.
Somebody know me too well.
Somebody pull me up short,
And put me through hell,
And give me support,
For being alive.
Make me alive.
Make me alive.

Somebody crowd me with love.
Somebody force me to care.
Somebody let me come through,
I’ll always be there,
As frightened as you,
To help us survive,
Being alive.
Being alive.
Being alive!

Its a song about the fundamental need we have to be needed and loved by another being.  I think when we accept that we, indeed,  have just that, life gets a whole lot brighter, even in the midst of hardships, depression and crumbling governments.  I talk a lot about gratitude and perspective. If ever there was a time for people to take control of their perspective, it is now.  My top priorities are my son and husband.  My husband is my person, like in the song.  He is my someone and my O is the natural extension of that love and connection.  They are my everything. I choose to make them my main focus. Of course there is room for other things in my orb, but I am making sure to balance my intake of the negative world and alternative facts, with that which inspires, empowers, and enriches me.  I’m reading this and I am sounding a lot like some tripping ethereal hippie.  I assure you, my walls aren’t melting and my feet are planted on the ground.

You may think I’m coo coo for Cocoa Puffs, but I truly feel I owe my wonderful life to my husband.  Had he not risked revealing his true self to me all those years ago…  Had he not been so fearless in his love for me when I was still the coward…I would not be this unabashedly happy today.   And, he made one hell of a baby with me!  I tell you, I owe everything that matters to him.  Obviously, I could go further and thank my lucky stars, or the Universe or, duh, God.  Absolutely.  And that is the whole point.  What is going on right now in our world is abominable, I’m my opinion.  It is a sad and deplorable time in our country.   But it is only a tiny piece of time in the puzzle of our existence.   It cannot take over my mind.  I am in this fight for the long haul.  What kind of warrior would I be if I just crawled under my covers binge watching Netflix in comatose denial?  I will not give up any part of my wonderful life to the threatening darkness.  I can be involved, informed, even irate and still be happy.   I will remain happy because I am choosing to be.  Because my husband and son deserve me to be.  And my vigilance and resolve to make this world a better place will only strengthen.   For me, that is what it means to be alive today.  Thank you, my love, for making me ALIVE.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up! Thanks for reading! Peace! Xo

Nothing But The Truth

It’s that time of year again.  Award season for the film industry.  I’ve been feverishly watching the SAG nominated films, so I can send in my ballot on time.  Yesterday, I watched a film I had actually never heard of before.  (Now, I do live under a rock, so that’s probably not too surprising.) The film is called Captain Fantastic.  Have you heard of it?  I thought it was wonderful.  It has got me thinking about how we choose to raise our children,  and, if and when, we should shield them from life’s truths.  When your child asks you a question, do you tell them the truth? Do you sugar coat things? Do you completely avoid certain things?  Or do you tell them the honest truth regardless of their age and how tough the answer might be?  The father in this film, played by Vigo Mortinsen, tells his children the unfiltered truth.  He also raises them in the woods, teaches them survival skills, and “home” schools them without the use (or need) of today’s technology.  You might be starting to get the picture.  Hippie parents raising their tribe of 6 children, living off the land, yada yada.  All of that is inconsequential.  The thing that interested me the most was the way he handled the truth with his kids.

I often think back to times of tragedy as being instances that must have been tough for parents to offer explanations their children .  The death of a family member.  The terrorist attacks on 9/11. The Sandy Hook school shootings.    I didn’t have my son then, but I remember my brother’s kids being old enough to know about Sandy Hook.  I remember my brother and sister in law talking to them about it, though I don’t recall the specifics of how they did it.  I also know of other parents who completely shielded their kids from the whole event.  I suppose everyone knows their children well enough to know what they can or cannot handle and what it is, as a parent, they want them to be exposed to.  I have often thought about it during these crazy times in America.  O is still too young to understand any of this yet, but it won’t be that long before he starts asking questions about our world…..and well, about everything.

I can’t say for sure (as how can you know until you are in that moment) but I think I’d like to be completely truthful with O.  I tell him so much already.  Things that I am sure people think he is far too young to absorb.  I constantly define words and concepts.  Does he “get” any of it? Probably not, but he does often surprise me with things that have sunk in, unbeknownst to me.  I think about the capacity his brain has to make connections right now.  I figure I should give him as much information as I can.  As he gets older, I’d rather topics not be taboo for us.  I don’t want him to feel embarrassed or ashamed to ever ask something.  I want him to know that if he asks us a question he will hear the truth from us.  If he is looking for an explanation, I’d rather we be in on the conclusion he draws from the facts presented to him.  I don’t want to teach him what to think.  I want to teach him how to think.  Does that make sense?

I also know some parents who don’t want their children to experience difficult things.  Like being around an elderly sick grandparent.  I’ve heard “it’s too upsetting for the children.”  Or failing at something.   Or losing.  But isn’t that all part of life?  The learning is not in the failing…it’s in the getting back up and trying again.  Do people still teach their kids that?  I don’t really remember learning that as a child, but as an actor, it’s a paramount point to understand.  You learn quickly as an actor that there is no shame in trying and failing…only in not trying at all.  I’m not sure that is a common theme in today’s youth twitter feed.

Let me say, I don’t believe a child should be treated as an equal to an adult.  They need guidance and structure.  But I do think a child should be respected as a thinking being.  I think it is important to respect their intellect and their emotional life enough to be straight with them.  I mean, life is wonderful.  But it’s also tough.  Why would we want to shield O from any part of the journey? Eventually, he will be on his own.  Won’t he be better prepared for the world if he has some knowledge of it and the truth on his side?

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.

 

The Safe Decision

It’s early. The house is quiet, except for the sounds of the pipes attempting to heat this big house on such a frigid day. The snow is falling so peacefully. So beautifully. My hair is wet from my post workout shower but my coffee is warm and comforting. This is my second favorite time of day. Any time I get to rock my O, either before or after he sleeps, takes the cake. But this time is also sacred to me. It is unshared. It is the time of day when I decide what kind of day I will have. When I let myself just “be.” When important things are decided in my mind.

When the eight o’ clock hour strikes, the peacefulness ends. It is filled with “to dos” and tears. Giggles, whines, Sesame Street and subtle stresses. Life with a toddler. I know, I know, if you have a toddler you are thinking to yourself, “Eight O’Clock?!” Ok, so I am lucky in that regard. Absolutely. I know this. I am getting off track. Digression is becoming quite a sport for me, lately.

In my moments of quiet and soul searching, I have come to a tough conclusion. After much back and forth with myself I am choosing to side with my intellect. I guess I should come out and tell you. I am officially deciding to not get pregnant again. I know I have talked about it seeming to not be in the cards for us, but now I am taking the possibility off the table. I am going back on the pill. It makes me a little sad. I’m not gonna lie. But the possibility of being pregnant now at 46, and delivering at 47, terrifies me. We have weighed the pros and cons. After some odd health issues, that I can now chalk up to peri-menopause, we are choosing to be grateful for the wonderful gift we have already been given. The hardest part is knowing that on some level (at least in my eyes) I am letting my husband down. He protests that I am not, but I can’t help but feel that if he married someone younger, he would have more children. He will be upset with me for writing this. It is something I need to come to terms with.

It is what it is. One of my favorite mantras. But, it is. Considering I tweaked my back just from standing at the sink doing dishes while talking on the phone, it seems like our decision is for the best. I know I am not in the shape now that I was when I got pregnant for O. A pregnancy, even if successful, would be much harder on my body this time around. And of course, my psychic friend, Frieda’s premonition enters my mind. She said I would have one child and he would be healthy. If I wanted more I should adopt. She’s been on point with everything. EVERYTHING. How could she not enter my mind?

With the stress factors in my life right now, as well, I know intellectually that it is the right decision. The smart decision. The safe decision.

I sat here stumped as how to end this pondering, and then my own words, reiterated by my loving husband as a matter of fact, hit my ears. “Everything works out the way it should.” Oh, yes, indeed it does. Marrying the right person certainly helps, too. I have a feeling we are going to be just fine.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up. Thanks for reading, friend. Xo

Wanted Rose Colored Glasses

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I have always loved the holidays.  I am the type of girl who starts listening to Christmas music right after Halloween.  I love decorating, baking cookies, wrapping gifts and making all sorts of homemade delights.  This year, though, I am slow to start.  I am finding it hard to get in the spirit.   Real life seems harsher this year for many reasons. The woman who taught me about Christmas, my Mother, is sick.  She is in a rehabilitation facility in need of 24/7 assistance.   Wrapping my head around this painfully slow loss would be enough.  But let’s add the notion of spouting “Peace on Earth” and “Love and Joy” feeling somewhat fake this year, knowing that racism and hate is very much alive and evidently empowered in our beloved country.   This post-truth era bullshit we are experiencing makes all the songs and tidings of goodwill seem phony.  So phony it’s sad.  Even the Carpenter’s Christmas Album feels weird this year.

There is an anger and sadness inside of me I don’t quite know what to do with.  I feel incredible loss.  I  feel this odd, out of body loss one experiences as an aging parent slowly slips away.   It is the strangest feeling to miss your mother while she is right in front of you.  It’s excruciating, really.  I also feel the loss of the sense of good I thought the world inherently possessed.  It’s as if I have woken up in an alternate universe.  And now it’s time to play Christmas carols and get on with things….and it just feels false.  I don’t want to sing the Hallelujah Chorus while white supremists are appointed to top White House positions.  I want to scream, “Stop!”

I’m sorry for my rant of negativity.  I’m sorry I’m political.  I’m sorry that I give a shit.   I have been trying so hard to find the positives.  I am desperate to find them.  I need to find them, if not for my own good, for the good of my family, who needs me to see the good.  It is my thing to see the good.  There is a pair of rose colored glasses in our home with my name all over them.  They are just broken in about five different places right now.  There is no doubt, my role in the play “Our Life,” is that of Pollyanna.  I’m failing miserably.

One of my biggest fears is that I will not be able to sweep this state of mind away with peppermint lattes and wishes for Santa.  My mother is wrapped in almost every memory I have of Christmas.  Her exquisite detail of preserving the magic of Santa for all of us…the way she made each of us feel special..the time she took enjoying the season herself.  I remember coming home from school close to Christmas Day, walking into the house filled with the aroma of holiday baking and the sounds of Johnny Mathis on the record player.   I remember waking up each Christmas morning and it was as if elves had sprinkled christmas magic all over the house.  She was gifted in magic.

I know I should celebrate those memories.  And I suppose I will.  It’s just right now there is a sadness attached to the sweetness.  Like the last bite of the most delicious cake that can never be baked again.  I guess I just need more time.  Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she screwing it up.  Thanks for reading.  Xo

 

Lonely Mommy Long Winter

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This Mommy business is a lonely one.  While I am basking in the joy of it all, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I feel lonely quite a bit of the time.  I have a hunch that I’m not the only mommy out there who feels this way, at times.  Let’s face it, my constant companion is a two year old who doesn’t speak in full sentences yet and who has mood swings that rival the best of schizophrenics . I keep hearing that motherhood is so rewarding.  But I am guessing the big reward is a type of delayed gratification.   Like after all this hard work, one day I’ll look up at my son while he accepts the Nobel Peace prize and know it was all worth it.  Right?  But for now, staying home raising a child, while full of great moments, can be exhausting, and most definitely, lonely.

I find myself alone in my thoughts for a great part of the day.  For me, that isn’t always good.  I tend to over think things.  It makes my husband crazy.  Sorry, lover.  But, it is hard to avoid.  I often find, if something is important to me, it is hard to just let it go.  I take far too much to heart and listen to far too much CNN radio.   The icing on that cake of disaster, is that I am incredibly sensitive with a two year old for company.

I find most other moms out and around where we live, pretty much keep to themselves.  At the play area in the mall the other day, I sat across from another mother.  I could tell her son was at least a year or more older than O.  She looked stylish, involved, (but not hovering), and a bit older (like me).  I thought to myself, I wonder if I could be friends with her?  The children played and we knowingly nodded to each other here and there.  At one point I commented on how I loved her son’s hair.  A head full of curls.  He was a gorgeous child.  She politely said “thanks.”  But that was the extent of our interaction.  We each moved onto our own day  each with our own child in tow.  It’s weird.  Yet, I suppose it would be weirder to approach someone you don’t  even know, in a mall,  and say, “let’s be friends!”  Yeah, that is most definitely weirder.

The truth is, I guess I am a bit of a loner.  It isn’t necessarily always by choice.  It reminds me of high school at times….when you walked into the cafeteria and didn’t see your friends.  You would feel awkward or uncomfortable until you spotted your group.  You might give off an I don’t care air,  just to self preserve.  Maybe I give off a stand-offish  vibe off to other moms?   Ironic, the self admitted loner saying she gets lonely.  Ha.  But it’s true.  It is absurd that I worry that O doesn’t like big groups.  Neither does Mommy (or Daddy for that matter!) I swear, does our child stand a chance?

I look up at the skylight in our family room.  It is covered with frost on this frigid November morning.  Winter is fast approaching.  It’s gonna be a long lonely one unless I jump out of my comfort zone.  I need to commit to putting aside my mild discomfort with new people.  I need to venture into the unknown of new friendships.  I suppose I find that most of the moms I encounter are much younger than me.  But, in truth,  age has little to do with commonalities shared among moms.  I’m looking for excuses to stay stuck.

No, it is time to put on my big girl layers of cuddle duds and flannel.  I have had wonderful friendships in my life, that still exist, though almost all are now at a long distance.  It’s time for some more day to day friends.  My life is here in New England now where the winters are cold and often long.  What I know of friendship is that it is necessary and most definitely warms your heart.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight, and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Yup.  Pretty much every day.  xo

 

Snip Snip Mommy

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Do people like to tell you what you should do with your child?  Not even just family, but total strangers? I’ve tried to keep my reactions leveled and polite.  It’s been over six months now, at least, and the unsolicited comments keep coming. What am I talking about? Cutting my two year old son’s hair. Or rather, not cutting it.   From many of the comments and “advice” concerning little O’s locks, one could assume I’m doing something horrible to my son by letting him exist with a sweet head of golden curls.  Well, the other day in Homegoods, a little old lady pushed me to the edge.  I would never be as rude to her as I would have liked to be.  Rather, this is my collective retort to her and anyone else who seems to have a problem with our decision not to cut O’s hair.  And if you think I’m being snarky, well so be it.  If you hadn’t been so rude by impolitely hurling your opinion at me I wouldn’t have to have an attitude.

Before I go on, I must add that O’s hair is not unsafe for him.  I keep his bangs trimmed and out of his eyes.  There is no danger posed by his “do.”  If comments were actual concerns for his safety, I could at least respect where they were coming from, as unnecessary as they would be.  But they aren’t.  The little old lady who put me over the edge, at first thought O was a girl.  Many many people do.  It doesn’t bother me or my husband in the least, and O is too young to understand the distinction.  “Oh what a beautiful girl! How old is she?” she said.  “Oh thank you.  Actually he’s a boy and he is two and a half.”  She obviously had issues with being incorrect, so she added, “Oh well, with that hair it is hard to tell. I suppose he is dressed like a boy.”  (You can insert the “know it all” tone).  I just smiled and started to move on.  She then leaned into me, as if to tell me something important.  “Don’t you think it’s time to cut that hair?  It really is” she said.  She rolled her cart right by me and left me gobsmacked.  Her absolute rudeness just verbally slapped me right across the face.  I just stood there dumbfounded at the gall of this, otherwise, harmless woman.

Pardon my French, but What the F?  I’ve been shrugging people off since before my son turned two regarding this.  I’ve smiled and just said “Oh…. well we like it.”  You know what?  It really isn’t anyone’s business, but ours.  I really don’t have to explain our choice to anyone.  And what does it even mean, “I suppose he is dressed like a boy?”  That kind of gender box mind set makes me crazy.  I have news for you, if my son wanted to wear a tutu it wouldn’t make him any less of a boy.  It makes him a two year old boy who hasn’t learned gender labeling yet.  And if, when he gets older, he wants to wear pink because he likes it, then awesome.   His hair doesn’t confuse him.  Too bad if it confuses others.  All he knows is he likes to shake it around sometimes for fun.  Honestly, why does anyone care if O’s hair gets cut or not?  When someone feels the need to give us their opinion, it just says more about them than it does about our choice. And that’s the important phrase here.  Our choice.  Not “well meaning” family’s choice.  Not a perfect stranger’s choice.  Our choice.  So step the hell back.

After getting that off my chest, and taking a long pause, I wouldn’t change a thing about what I just wrote.  And I certainly wouldn’t change a thing about O.  He hasn’t learned to judge people by their appearance yet.  I truly hope he never does.  He certainly won’t get that from us.  Until next time, I’ll be practicing deep breathing and forgiveness. Remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading! Xo

Mommy Falling Short

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I know I’m not the only parent who has moments where I feel like I am completely failing my child. Those moments where everything I give seems to be just not quite enough.  I often have this nagging suspicion that I should be doing more. That I should be teaching him more. That I should be exposing him to more. It feels as if every opportunity missed is a failure. Why is that?  I know it is completely silly. I’m not so far gone to believe that this is the absolute reality. The notion that his development is solely based on my interaction with him is completely foolish, I know. Nevertheless, it is very hard to shake the idea that, where it concerns our O, I should be doing more. More. More.

I understand the importance of taking care of myself. I understand the importance of having my own “thing” outside of caring for O. And I do. I pay attention to my husband. I give time to my aging parents.  I take care of our home.  Yes, I am spread thin. But not so thin that I feel like any one area loses out. Except where it concerns O. (Enter nagging feeling) Because the truth of the matter is, that I would do anything and everything for my child and even then it would not seem like it was enough, in my own estimation. I swear, I am not getting all crazy on you. But If I am being totally honest, I can’t escape the feeling of (maybe) coming up short. So a question is….is it my type A personality or do other Moms feel this way?

I am well versed in the phrase, “I am doing the best that I can.” And I am. Aren’t we all? But what happens when your best isn’t cutting it? What happens when you know you should bring your toddler to the park for some outside time, but you really have to take care of some pressing business? Or imagine….you just don’t feel like it? Or what about when you let him watch The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse because you really want to blow dry your hair and put on some makeup to look like some semblance of a lady rather than the gal who cleans the floors? Is that me really doing my best? Or is that just the crap I tell myself to make my selfishness seem more palatable?

There is no shortage of support in this web of deceit. Pretty much everyone is ready to tell you what a great Mom you are. How you are, in fact, “doing the best you can”. We all talk about how hard it is. And it is. We are all very human, as we are compelled to be. I don’t ruminate over this to find a way to be a better mom.  I, like every mom I know, is being the best mom she knows how to be. What I am acknowledging is the layer of guilt that wants to float to the surface every now and then. The guilt that permeates logic and reason. It lingers deep in our consciousness. And even though we are doing everything “right,” it pops up. Ready to take us down.

Now there very well may be some fathers who feel the same way. I’m not sure. I actually didn’t ask my husband. But something tells me that men think differently about parental guilt. I could absolutely be wrong. But for some reason, guilt tends to be a trait overwhelmingly known to females.  I have an amazing dad, but I have a hard time thinking of him laying awake at night wondering if he could have done more to further my development. I know, for a fact,  my Mother (where it concerns her four children) believes she fell short.

So where are we? Well, I’m not sure.  I suppose I will have to squelch the rising guilt when it decides to rear its ugly head.  It really has no place in my everyday life.  None of us have the time for that wasted energy.   I guess I will keep trying, as we all will.  Everyday… to do my best and to make my best better.  The truth is that everyday comes with new challenges. Some days I rise to meet the challenge in front of me and some days I can’t seem to navigate through the unknown without falling on my face a little.  Or a lot.

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading. Xo

 

Sneaky Mommy

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The following nugget I am about to share with you is not one I can claim as my own brainchild.  It is a Pinterest find, but an absolute gem in the picky toddler eating games I am currently eye ball deep in.  If you are in my current predicament, you also have a toddler who refuses to eat many things put in front of him or her.  I could take the path of eat it or go hungry.  He has gone hungry.  And then I thought, why don’t I get creative and,  dare I say, sneaky?  Yes, I decided to trick my son into eating healthy fare.  Thus far,  it seems to be working out deliciously!

Here is one of the super healthy and super sneaky picks! Spinach muffins! I have changed the recipe to suit our tastes, but it is essentially the same.  They are awesome. And they freeze beautifully!

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Serves: 12 muffins

Ingredients
2 cups whole-wheat flour
1/4 cup sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup canola oil
3/4 cup almond milk
1 (6 ounce) bag fresh baby spinach
3/4 cup mashed banana (from about 1 to 2 bananas)
2 tsp pure vanilla extract

Instructions
Preheat oven to 350°F and line one 12-cup muffin pans with paper liners.
Whisk together dry ingredients in a large bowl: flours, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. Set aside.
In a blender, place oil, milk, and spinach. Blend on high for about 30 seconds or until completely puréed. Add banana and vanilla; blend on low just to mix.
Pour puréed mixture into dry mixture and fold together with a rubber spatula until completely combined.
Fill muffin cups about 3/4 full and bake 18-20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

 

These days, I call most everything cake, apple sauce, yogurt or ice cream.  Yes. I do.  These muffins are now affectionately called “breakfast cake” in our house.  O gobbles them up.  Now you could certainly change out the sugar for apple sauce.  I already reduced the amount of sugar from 3/4 cup to 1/4 cup. The key is to have really over ripe bananas.  There is no denying it is a great way to trick your toddler into eating some very healthy spinach packed “cake.”  Right now, that is what is working for me.  Complete and utter trickery.

Another act of misrepresentation is my veggies and fruit purees I put in re-usable pouches.  The pouches are sold by WeeSprout and are fantastic.  They come in different ounce sizes.  I ordered the medium size of 5 oz…they are perfect.  I steamed a bunch of carrots, spinach, pineapple…..puréed it and added some organic unsweetened Apple sauce.  I do the same with beets, greens, etc.  Any combo of veggies and fruits is spectacular.  My son is none the wiser.  We can add proteins, grains, you name it….and I get to decide the nutrition he gets.  He thinks he is having an apple sauce or yogurt pouch.  He is happy.  And I know he is getting the nutrition he needs.  For now it is a win….I’ll take it. So I can still serve him new things and not worry too much that he doesn’t touch it.  Eventually he will.  My doctor says it can take up to 15 times for a child to try a new food.  (Oye!) So while we navigate that bumpy terrain, I’m sneaking in the vitamins, fats and minerals he needs to develop.  Sneaky Mommy.  :))

Until next time, keep fighting the good fight and remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading! Xo

Back 2 School

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As the end of summer approaches and the days become shorter, my Facebook feed is overflowing with posts rejoicing in the fact that children are finally heading back to school.  There seems to be a collective sigh of relief among mothers of school age children, as if the school year couldn’t start soon enough.  As a first time mom of a two year old, I am not there yet.  The back to school fervor is obviously not on my radar.  But it makes me wonder what it’s all about.

I am sure there are mothers out there, who adore having their children home with them for the summer.  I just haven’t caught their posts about it.  Maybe they are too busy making homemade organic Popsicles to spend time on Facebook?   I mean, there are moms who enjoy their summers with their kids at home, right?  When I was growing up, my Mom always looked at Summer as magical.  Didn’t she?  At least she seemed to enjoy it.  Perhaps even loved it.  There is no denying that it was a different time then.  The world was a simpler place just some thirty years ago.  I’d like to hold onto my illusion that my mom actually enjoyed having us out of school for the summer.  When I think about it, most of the neighborhood kids would spend summer days at our house because we had a pool.  My mom would essentially be the den mother to all the kids on our street.  There was never a complaint from the other mothers.  Huh, that’s not surprising.  I think the back to school sigh of relief was around back then as well.  I also surmise that my mother was a rarity among her friends.

The thought of sending my O to school for full seven hour days at the age of five, sends my head into a spin.  And then I hear moms of older children talking about the failing education system and lack of emphasis on the children being active, and it makes me want to homeschool our guy.  I want to take him away to some Nordic country and have him schooled there where they play outside for hours each day.  When did the idea of learning through play become invalid?  Maybe this is why some parents seek out Montessori schools? Maybe regular public schools are mostly a type of glorified government daycare?  They shove them through, make sure they pass a specific state test, and mind them for nine months out of twelve each year. Could that be true?  And if it could be, don’t we want more for our children?  Oye! I’m digressing.

I guess what I want to say is that I can’t imagine a time when I will want to send O away from us for seven hours a day.  I understand the importance of doing so, but I can’t imagine liking it.  But then again, I am a newbie.  You seasoned moms are rolling your eyes at me about now, and that’s ok.  I admit I don’t know what it will be like down the road.  I just know that even now, when the days are tough, I don’t will them to pass any quicker.  Time is going by fast enough, thank you very much.

I say it again and again.  I feel that being an older mother gives me an advantage on contentment.  I am not wishing the time away so that I can get back to my life.  This is my life.  I am living it.  Perhaps it took me living so much of my life to know that this time is the best time.  Every choice and action of my life has led me to this place and time.  And I guess I am wise (and old) enough to be oh so grateful.

Until next time, remember, behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is screwing it up.  Thanks for reading! Xo