Lucky

My daughter is a wonderful, wonderful kid. But she sure ticks me off sometimes. And you know why she hasn't been put out with the recycling just yet? It's because of this conversation that happens almost every time I'm about to grab her and dump her in the blue box:

E: Mama? Talk, mama, talk! You sad or angry?

M: Yes. Mama is sad and/or angry.

E: Make mama happy! Mama, I love you! **hug** **kiss** Mama? You happy now?

How could I not be? I'm about the luckiest mom in the world.

Green is good...especially when it's not green

This is a public service announcement for anyone with picky eaters who won't eat their veggies.

My husband and I are lucky. Our daughter is not a picky eater. She eats everything, and lots of it. Sometimes she goes on a granola bar binge or on strike against tomatoes, but there's always something moderately healthy that she's happy to eat.

Still, I'm always trying to sneak an extra veggie or two into the repertoire. Enter the zucchini. Or perhaps you call it summer squash. Whatever you call it, I dare you to dislike it. Maybe you wouldn't want to eat it like an apple, and maybe you prefer not to see it sitting sliced and steamed on your plate in all its nude squashiness. But take a fine grater to that bad boy and I dare you to even notice it, let alone claim a distaste for this nutritional ninja. Grate it into eggs, into pancakes, into pasta sauce...endless possibilities, I tell you. Get creative. And, of course, if you're desperate, make chocolate chip zucchini bread and thank me later.

Today my daughter absolutely begged me to make pancakes. I made whole wheat zucchini pancakes, and she ate 8 of them. 8. Mini pancakes, yes, but come on. I made myself one giant pancake, doused it in maple syrup and tried, really hard, to taste the zucchini. Couldn't do it. Man, were they good.

Oh, and a little tip: If your anti-veggie loved one is a real fanatic, do yourself a favour and peel the zucchini first. No need to blow your cover with all those telltale green specks.

Enjoy!

Mama? Can I please have my face painted?

When your barely two-year old comes to you with a cock of her adorable little head and such a perfectly formed sentence, I double-dog dare you to turn her down. What I did try to do was delay the ordeal a little, like until tomorrow, when I wouldn't be dog-tired from a long day of laundry, yoga and grocery shopping with only half an hour until dinner. My first mistake was having my husband within earshot. I had just delivered a perfectly reasonable caveat to her expectation for immediate gratification ("Baby, that's a great idea. But you know, we don't have any face paint. How about we buy some tomorrow? Mama will have to figure out where we can get some! -- read -- buying time), when husband extraordinaire pipes up with "Hey, I bet the place where we got her haircut will have some! Let's stop on the way home!"

Thanks babe. Really.

Somehow, I then managed to change the topic and dart inconspicuously into the shop as Dada kept the girl distracted outside...or so I thought. As I emerge I attempt to sneak said face paint into the stroller without tipping her off, still clinging to the notion that I could keep her off the scent, at least for the evening, when the love of my life exclaims "Oh my gosh! Look what mama has! WOW! Facepaint!!!"

No, really. You're the best.

So, we had a late dinner tonight. With a dog named Spot. And his friend, Lady-with-paint-on-her -face. You tell me who has the brighter future in facial decoration.

P.S. The inspiration for this event was a story I had told E about a little girl and her very best friend, AB. They get up to all sorts of mischief in these tales that Dada and Mama weave regularly, and apparently the face painting adventure stuck with her. My next installment will involve a day of excessive napping and laying in bed watching movies. Fingers crossed.

Love is in the air

Ode to the Cowfam

To J and to E

My two Valentines

And also to R

Who only counts sometimes

You make my life better

You make my life fun

You give gloomy days

Just a little more sun

I didn't always have you

I didn't always know

How great it could be

How far we could go

Sure, some days we cry

Things just don't work out

But we always remember

What life is about

Life is about love

And chocolate and wine

Or milk from a sippy

And kibble's just fine

We make a great team

We are pretty cute too

And no poem can describe

Just how much I love you!

Let's go swimming!

This is what we did tonight:

After my mom and I lost all of our money at the Gananoque casino...stupid 2¢ slots...the family and I high-tailed it to Ottawa to squeeze in a little fun at the city's largest (only?) indoor water park before bedtime. Big interview for J tomorrow. For us girls, it's just another excuse to order room service.

Here's to driving through snowstorms and blowing off bedtime!

What happens while the parents are in Vegas...

Spending time with the grandparents this week has me thinking all sorts of things...like how being a grandparent makes you see extremely aggravating situations and toddlers in a very different, and amusing, light, and how they have a way of finding just about everything about grandchildren endearing. Did you ever notice that one person's grandparenting styles diverge wildly and recklessly from their parenting styles? How about the fact that, though they seem to be completely and utterly exhausted after your rambunctious toddler goes to bed, they maintain an almost manic level of energy and enthusiasm up until that moment?

But most of all it's got me thinking about Vegas.

Go ahead, call me selfish. In April, J and I are going to Las Vegas to celebrate his graduation from medical school. We did it when he turned 25, and again when he got his PhD, as well as a couple of times in between just for good measure, so we might as well continue the trend. Like all of the other times, we're going without the kid. The difference is, we didn't have the kid the other times. What I'm saying, as succinctly as always, is that THIS IS THE FIRST TIME WE'RE GOING AWAY AND LEAVING OUR DAUGHTER BEHIND. She's 2 years old and a week, and I have yet to spend a night away from her. J is always taking off to one place or another - interviews, overnight call, 4-day bachelor parties in New Orleans...the usual stuff - but I've been home-bound or, more accurately, baby-bound since sometime in mid-May 2008 when she became a sparkle in my eye. I've been getting by quite successfully on a large mountain of denial, but the mountain is crumbling. I'm starting to ask questions. And I don't have any answers. I don't know how she'll react. I don't know if my parents will be able to keep up with her. I don't know if the guilt and fear will overtake me somewhere over Nebraska...I don't even know if we'll be flying over Nebraska. But I think that's the best way to do it. Just go. She'll survive. Her grandparents will survive. Jeff and I will survive. And it won't likely be so traumatizing as to require years of therapy later in life. But maybe I'll put aside some of my winnings into a "therapy fund", just in case.

So cold it hurts

I'm not used to this kind of thing anymore. I woke up today to the chilling reminder that, even though we've been having a record-breaking winter in New York this year, Canada is colder. I spend a lot of time convincing New Yorkers that where I come from the weather is exactly the same as in New York. It's murderously hot in the summer, and not all that cold in the winter. The last few years especially, I assure them, have been very mild. But it seems that distance and my mid-thirties memory have teamed up against me on this one. At midday it has now warmed considerably to a balmy -12C and I doubt very much it will climb much higher.

Undaunted by numbers, confident in the insualting powers of down and wool, I spent a good twenty minutes preparing myself and my ornery, generally uncooperative toddler with surprising leg strength for the elements. Leg warmers, sweaters, hats, snowsuits with built-in mittens, snaps, zippers, hoods...the works. Then three generations of Canadian-bred women waddled together down the hall and out to the mounds of snow that awaited us just outside. It took about six seconds for me to realize that, though my limbs and torso were sufficiently buffeted against the cold, my face was never going to make it. And it wasn't only me. I believe E's words were: "Ack! My face!" It has been years since I considered the benefits of a balaclava. Do they come in pink? Because if I'm ever going to leave the warm sanctuary that is a heated building before May, it won't be without a mask of some kind, and I had better be able to order it online.

A pat on the back

Have you ever undertaken anything knowing perfectly well that you were completely and woefully unqualified for the job, that there really was only one possible outcome, and that the magnitude of the impending disaster was the only uncertainty in the matter?


I try to avoid putting myself into these situations, out of what I assume to be a fairly common aversion to failure, coupled with a healthy dose of laziness. Why exert myself unless I feel that I have a reasonable chance of accomplishing what I set out to do? There are people out there who continually test themselves, who take on tasks of heroic proportions only to crumble in the face of adversity, and rest only long enough to think up another hare-brained idea and off they go again. I'm not sure that I know any of them personally, but a quick search on You Tube will provide you with plenty of fodder for your viewing pleasure.


To make a short story longer than it needs to be, I made a cake for E's 2nd 2nd birthday party. This, in itself, will be no surprise to anyone. But here's the thing. I made an Ernie cake. The easy part was baking a cake in the shape of Ernie. Decorative cake pans can make even you appear to be a master confectionary sculptor. But I didn't stop there, though every neuron in my cerebral cortex begged me to. No, instead I gave myself a couple of solid whacks to the amygdala and busted open the food colouring. And somehow, about two hours and no violent mishaps later, Ernie appeared:









Now, I know I'm not entering him into any competitions, and I might add that not one person suggested that it was too magnificent to eat...author mutters under her breath...but I am very proud of the way it turned out. I was stretching the envelope when I tinted the icing blue and pink for her 1st 2nd birthday party cupcakes, and I went into this with all sorts of back-up plans. I was confident that I would eventually have to face the reality that I just cannot produce a recognizable muppet out of sugar. But here he is - was - in all his glory, and I stand corrected. The confirmation came when the birthday girl, all by herself, was able to tell me that Ernie was on her cake, after a few terribly tense seconds of deliberation. Folks, I went into this with nothing, and surprised myself. Maybe the next time you walk blindly into something you have no business doing, you'll come out the other end proudly, too.


Yes, I'd have to say that this one really takes the cake.


I just couldn't resist.

Doctor in training

Our daughter knows how to use a stethoscope and can put one on all by herself. She knows that the heart says "Lub Dup!" She knows that sometimes you need to get blood taken to make sure you're healthy. She knows that medicine is for people when they're sick, and shouldn't be taken by healthy people. She knows that doctors treat patients and take x-rays. She knows that patients shouldn't jump on the bed. She can take off her own band-aids, needles don't make her cry, and she says "thank you" after getting a shot.

I'd say she's ready for her MD. Or at least early admission to med school. Move over, Doogie Howser - there's a new game in town. She may wear a diaper, but she can take that off by herself too.

It's hard to blog when you're having so much fun.

I haven't been around much. Well, around the computer. And to get me away from the computer would take some pretty impressive means of diversion.

A 2nd Birthday.
An 8-hr drive through a snowstorm.
A visit to one set of GrammaPapas.
A 3-hr drive in beautifully sunny, yet still wintery, conditions.
Another monumental doctor's appointment.
A visit to the other set of GrammaPapas.
A residency interview (well, my husband's interview, but the ladies spent the afternoon at the museum so we wouldn't be biting our fingernails at home).
A 2nd 2nd Birthday party.

I'll be back soon. I promise. I've got lots to tell you. The girl is really maxing out on cuteness this week. Also ranking pretty highly in bossiness. And she's changed her name three times in the last several days.

But right now I'm going downstairs to have a drink and relax before getting back in the car tomorrow morning to head back to the first GrammaPapas. Having a toddler is a bit like pulling back the hammer on a pinball machine, and you're the ball. Especially when you have grandparents like these who are always chomping at the bit for just one more moment with her. I kind of know how they feel.