First Day of School

Today EMO started preschool. I had to wake her up, as today she decided she wanted to sleep in. She was a little befuddled when I dressed her shortly after waking her, but she went with it. While I got ready, she ate her blueberries and drank some of her milk. While we've been telling her she's going to school, today she seemed to understand that today was the day she'd get to go. She was super excited.

Upon arriving, my daughter said, "Go, Mama, go!" She made a shooing motion, so her dad and I left.

I had two and a half hours to myself. Pilot Boy told me I should take this time to clean the house. I glared at him as he whisked himself off to work. Instead, I downloaded the photos I took before we left, edited them, and sent one of the less blurry ones to my family. After this was done, I still had two hours left, so I was like, "Ugh. Fine. I'll clean."

So, I cleaned up the family room, reorganized things, and realized how many bikes/riding thing my daughter has (four). It was really enjoyable to sit in the quiet house and have it be clean. I could see the couches, the floor, and the carpets were vacuumed and there were no fur-tumbleweeds blowing around.

It was so enjoyable, I almost did in fact forget to go get her.

Pilot Boy send me a text at about ten reminding me to get her. I joked that I'd forgotten I had a daughter, thanks for reminding me.

Somehow, forty five minutes flew by and as I was like, "Oh, I should go get her." Then I looked at my watched and realized I was late.

I hurried over to the school, stood in line, and was greeted by my daughter saying, "Mama, you came back!"

This is how she always greets me when I've been gone for an extended period, be it I ran off to do errands or she was asleep. Sometimes, all I have to do is be in the other room and she greets me as if she wasn't really aware I'd come back from where ever I was, even though I tell her I'll be right back.

When I go to get her from her nap, she will say to me: You came back!

Just like she greeted me this morning when I woke her up. And when I came to get her at school. And when I came back from the bathroom.

Words are Flowing

EMO had words. Lots of words. Most of them are easy to understand, even. Sample of her favorites words:

• Mama
• Daddy! (there is always an exclamation mark after that one...)
• Bucky
• Mook (also known as milk)
• Melmo (AKA Elmo)
• Gapes (grapes)
• Luce (Lucy)
• Bye!
• Hi.
• Peas (please)
• Tanks (Thanks)
• Tigey (Tiger)
• Basue (Basil the Dog)
• Horsie!
• NEIGH!
• Bark!
• No
• Potty
• Poo poo
• Toot
• Hungee (Hungry) 
• Mac N Cheese
• Mee
• Smoothie
• Phone
• Moovie (TV)
• Mickey
• Goofy
• Funneee
• Silly
• Tickle
• Puckle (pickle)
• Berry
• Elsa (Anna)
• Elsa (Elsa)
• George (yeah, she can say it right)
• Daniel
• Cat
• Doc
• Lambie
• Jammie
• Dress
• Shoes
• Car seat
• Pretty
• Awesauce (Awesome. She loves "Everything is Awesome" and will sing it with you if you want)
• Bayme (Baymax)
• Purse
• Okay
• Muzic (Music)
• Frozen
• Let it go
• Sit
• Sleepy
• Leepsteak (Lipstick)
• Lotion
• Shoewer (Shower)
• Brush yur teeth (brush your teeth, which means she wants to brush her teeth as well as you better brush yours)
• Dinner
• Scared
• Safe ("Bucky safe" is what she usually tells me, as she happened to accidentally see the scene of Captain America where Bucky fell off the train. I'd thought I'd paused the movie when I went to get her after nap time, but hadn't. She was very concerned for Bucky, so I told her he was fine. She didn't let up till I assured her Bucky was safe, so now she always tells me Bucky is safe.)
• Tissyou (Tissue)
• Seeick (Sick)
• Choke
• Don't die 
• Diznee (Disney)

And those are the only ones I can think of while I'm sitting here while she's napping (after telling me she wasn't tired. She was out instantly.) 

We're Full of Beans

Two years ago today, around this time, I told my husband it was time to go. He was on the phone with his grandmother (it was her birthday), so he said, "Well, looks like we're having a baby, so I'll talk to you later."

After dropping the dog off at the neighbor's house, we drove the the hospital, where for four hours I labored without drugs because I was only a centimeter when I arrived and they won't admit you till you're three.

I almost punched the nurse who told me I was only a centimeter. I'd been in labor since three am.

The being who was causing me so much pain two years ago just said "Bye" to the TV show she's watching, standing roughly a foot in front of the TV. The being who was making me double over in pain two years ago is currently 35 inches tall, 27 pounds, and has a mouth full of teeth. The being I'd yet to meet two years ago will turn two tomorrow while she watches Sesame Street. Though, I might make her watch Kelly and Michael as that was what was on the TV when she was born. I remember it quite clearly because I kind of wanted to laugh when they later wondered what time she was born. Like her mother, no one was looking at the clock. But, unlike her mother, I was half paying attention to the TV, so I knew roughly when she was born due to where Kelly and Michael were in their opening.

I still haven't lost my baby weight. My boobs are still huge. My hair is finally recovering from the horrors of being pregnant (I was not one of those who had shiny, thick pregnancy hair. I had flat, dull, thin hair-- likely because EMO was stealing all my hair for herself.)

My house usually looks like it was hit by a tornado, the kitchen is always dirty, and there is always laundry that doesn't get done. The dog seems to shed more suddenly, my hair is more curly, and I always want to go to bed at nine pm, but make myself stay up till ten.

I dance around more, I sign stupid songs I make up and someone actually laughs now, there's someone else in the house making up words or mispronouncing them other than me, and I am never truly alone.

EMO knows lots of words: poo poo, pee, puty (computer), okay, oh no, fone (phone), clock, choo choo (train), neigh, sursily (seriously), Melmo (Elmo), Goofy, doggy, daddy, mama, ug (hug), Anna (who is actually Elsa), Scott!, MeMe (who is named MeMe), Toodles, car, toot, Me, Bye, Hi, Gumpy (Grandpa), cammy (camera), shower!, movie (means TV), ouch, shoes!, and likely others I can't think of at the moment.

She's my long limbed baby with lots of hair. She's determined, stubborn, and a dare devil.

Two years ago, I didn't know her. Now, I couldn't imagine not.

Let It Go

When I was in high school, I had a Sunday School teacher who was awesome. He was great for a wide array of reasons, but mostly because --and I don't remember why he said what he did-- he told us if we had any problem, any worry, anything we needed help with to just send it up to God. And he shrugged his shoulders, turned his hands over and lifted them up as if he was handing God whatever the problem was.

He claimed it worked.

I was doubtful.

I was doubtful about a lot of faith based things. I always was. No one (important) ever told me what to believe or that I was wrong for believing whatever I happened to think. When I questioned if everything was true in the Bible when I was twelve, my mom told me she viewed the book as a set of morals. To twelve year old me, that made total sense. Or more sense than what I'd read. Years later when I took a history class on the Middle Ages and found out how the Bible we currently use was put together, I was kind of glad I didn't think it was word for word true. Because it was put together by a bunch of power hungry men who got together to tell people what to believe to basically control what they believed. When I decided when I was seventeen there was no hell, my friend didn't tell me I was stupid or wrong, she listened to my theory and looked as if maybe I wasn't completely mental.

I was always encouraged to form my own believes and find my own way to faith and all that jazz.

So, I was seventeen, stressed, scared, in over my head, and becoming someone I hated.

I was in the bathroom when I tried it the first time. I closed my eyes, shrugged my shoulders, and threw my issues at the ceiling.

I let go.

I sent it up to God to deal with.

And the strangest thing, I felt lighter.

Nothing had changed, I was still in the mess I'd been in a moment before, but it suddenly didn't look so horrible and end of the worldish.

Over the years, I've done this several times: just let it go, sent it up.

And I always feel lighter.

It still utterly amazes me each time it happens and suddenly, whatever is the issue doesn't seem as horrid as I was thinking.

It's been YEARS since I've actually done this. To be honest, I kinda forgot about it. When I was having all my anxiety related issues, it never crossed my mind to do just...let it go.

Why?

Because when you're in the thrall of anxiety and panic, you cannot just let it go. That is the whole problem.

So, when my therapist suggested I just not worry about the things keeping me awake at night, I stared at him as if he'd gone around the bend. I'm pretty sure I'd have laughed at him if I hadn't been so sleep deprived and kind of on edge.

I came home, still in a panic about the thing I was worrying about, tried to research it and just solve the problem, but I got no where. So, I texted my dad and he came to the rescue and eased my mind, but I was still worried. It was still nagging at my brain, gnawing away.

And then I remembered the advice of that awesome Sunday School teacher.

I shrugged my shoulders, lifted my hands, and threw my problem at God.

And I felt lighter. My chest loosened and my stomach settled.

I let go.

Does the issue still exist?

Yeah.

Does it still kind of bother me?

Yes.

But, I do know it'll get solved. And it's not worth loosing sleep over, letting it keep me awake and tied in knots.

Faith is a marvelous, wondrous, personal thing. But, I figured I'd share this and maybe help someone else out.

Baby Fever

They say (not sure who 'they' are) that when you hold a newborn, you want one.

They are wrong.

I held a newborn for the first time since EMO was one and I did not want one. In fact, I could not hand back the tiny baby fast enough. Not because it was a terrible thing, holding this wobbly baby, but due to the fact I felt horribly awkward. The mom asked if I wanted to hold the baby, I said yes, she handed him to me, and then I was transported back to the days before I was a mom and I felt horribly weird holding babies.

Now, don't get me wrong, I like babies. I always liked babies. As a kid I always wanted to hold babies, watch them, play with them. I don't remember being awkward around newborns until I was older and was faced with one and was like, "You want me to hold that thing?"

I never babysat as a teenager, like so many believed I would when I was a kid. I babysat alone twice. Once with an actual toddler and once with a seven-year-old. Any other time I was left alone with children was with a seasoned babysitter, also known as my friend J who was throughout her teen years teenager going on forty.

Diapers freaked me out.

Not knowing what the kid wanted freaked me out.

Giving birth scared the living daylights out of me.

Then, I found out what being pregnant entailed and was like, "WHY!?"

There was a time I contemplated never having kids, but it never felt right to just say, "I do not want children."

I wanted one.

Badly.

I just didn't want to give birth or be pregnant.

I said one. I said I'd have one kid.

Then I had one kid.

No sooner did I have this one kid, everyone began to tell me I'd have another one now that I knew how great it was.

It was not great. I admitted to my therapist I felt like I was being a bad mother because I'd just lay my kid on the floor and watch TV. But, honestly, what the hell do you do with a newborn who doesn't want to be held? Who wants to lie on the ground and watch her toys rather than cuddle with you?

This is what they don't tell you about newborns: they are boring.

Honest.

They are boring. They do not move, they are supposed to sleep 17 hours and when they are awake, they are usually eating. Parents are exhausted due to the fact their newborns eat every two hours and half the time refuse to sleep when they should be sleeping (like during the night) and when they are sleeping they have to do other things, like eat themselves, clean their houses, or you know, go to work. Or take a shower.

I envy the parents who have newborns who actually sleep. Like at all.

My newborn fought sleep like it was going out of style and she would not be caught dead doing it.

She still tends to fight sleep, but at least now she will sit in her crib and do it without screaming bloody murder.

I couldn't wait for her to move. Everyone told me she was going to be an early crawler because she was so damn determined to move. She didn't really crawl as much as flop around till she figured out walking.

Then she was never still.

And so much happier.

It occurred to me early on my kid was bored. She wanted to discover the world, wanted to do things, but her body wasn't ready. And it frustrated her to no end. Once she was mobile, man, the world was at her finger tips and she was raring to go.

It is a pleasure to watch her now. I still spend an abnormal amount of time on the couch watching TV, but I don't feel guilty as I can see her or hear her and she's doing her own thing. And she's happy. She plays with her toys, she clomps around in Mommy's shoes, she unloads bins, and sings "Let It Go." She sometimes wants my attention, dances with me, plays with me, and sings with me. She laughs and talks.

She is happy and I love it.

I love her at this age.

I loved her as a newborn, but I do not want her to be a newborn ever again. If I could freeze her in a stage, it'd be now. Or some point in the future. I am so excited for her to grow up, to discover the world, to make her first friend, to experience all that life has in store for her.

So, yesterday as I awkwardly held a newborn, I did not want another one. I had no desire to do it again. I went through it once and I do not want to go through it again.

I handed the baby back and hightailed it out of there. Mostly because I was starving, but also because I really wanted to hug my kid who has never felt awkward in my arms. Even when she was a floppy newborn, she wasn't awkward in my arms. She just fit.

Back In The Day I Ate Raspberry Muffins

When I was in college, the "fast food" joint (DKs) on campus carried muffins in the morning. Starting as a first year, I discovered a muffin with some sort of red berry that was simply heavenly. I couldn't figure out what the red berry was, but was always thrilled when I found the red berry muffins. DKs did not often carry the red berry muffins, I discovered when I began to get a daily muffin senior year. As a senior, I still didn't know what the berry was. 

Nor did anyone else I bothered to ask. 

I didn't figure it out till my last semester. I was sitting in the coffee joint (Java Joint), eating my muffin and drinking my tea between my morning classes when I realized what the berry was: raspberry. 

And boy did I feel stupid.

The reason I liked the muffins was that they were sweet and tart, reminding me of rhubarb. But there was a bite missing that rhubarb has, so I knew it wasn’t rhubarb. It wasn’t a strawberry, because it wasn’t sweet enough. It was in between. I don’t remember how I realized it was a raspberry, as it honestly looked like a muffin with some red goop. It had no discernible characteristics other than it was red, sweet and tart, and fruit-like. 

But, that day in the Java Joint, I realized it was a raspberry. Or it was in a former life before it’d come in contact with whoever baked the muffins for Beloit College. 

Fast forward ten years, and I’m scrolling through Pinterest looking for “healthy” breakfast muffins to bake next week to take to someone who just had a baby. I was getting frustrated because all the “breastfeeding” muffins have all sort of “healthy” things you cannot find in the middle of nowhere. (Or I don’t want to buy it because it costs 12 dollars for a tiny bag and I’ll use it this once and I don’t even know if she’s breastfeeding because I haven’t spoken or seen her since before she had the baby and also I still live in the middle of nowhere.) 

ANYWAY

So, I gave up on the whole breastfeeding muffins and looked at what foods breastfeeding mothers should be eating. (You’d think I’d remember as I was at one point a breastfeeding mother, but I didn’t actually pay any attention till my milk dried up and I was pumping an ounce a day and freaking out and that was when I learned about low flow and suddenly everything made sense and I gave up.)

ANYWAY

The point of this post: I found raspberry muffins. I know I’ve looked them up before, fondly thinking of those muffins I stuffed in my gob throughout college, but I’ve yet to actually try any of the recipes I’ve pinned. Since I had a lemon, when we went to the store, I bought some raspberries (and blueberries. Those were in the breastfeeding muffins someone brought me shortly after EMO was born) and greek yogurt, as I used most of ours last week making the fail at life greek yogurt brownies no one can stand. (Proof: it’s been four days and they are still in the tin and I’ve only had one, Pilot Boy two.) I’ve not had much success when baking with greek yogurt. (The Cake Cookies and the failure at life brownies.) I was a bit iffy to try these, but figured this time it’d go better as there was more liquid than the failure at life brownies.

They turned out pretty good, though they did remind me why I usually do not bake with berries: melting berries went everywhere. And folding the berries into the batter in a uniform manner was hopeless due to the fact it was so thick, but unlike the Cake Cookies, the thick better made a pretty good muffin. Also, while it seems strange to zest a whole lemon (to me), the lemon flavor isn’t really all that strong. Next time (when I make them for myself), I might zest another whole lemon in there. 

Without further ado: the recipe.

Adapted from here. 

Raspberry-Blueberry-Lemon Breakfast (or Anytime Really) Muffins

Ingredients

1 lemon (seriously, you’ll need the whole lemon or another if you really want a lemony flavor)

1/2 cup sugar (white, unless you really want to use something else, but I used white)

1 cup plain nonfat greek yogurt 

1/3 cup oil (I used veggie, but I’d think any cooking oil would do)

1 egg

1/2 tablespoon vanilla extract

2 cups flour (I would have loved to use white whole-wheat, but tragically, had none so I used all purpose plain flour)

1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup fresh raspberries

1 cup fresh blueberries

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. 

2. Peel the skin off the lemon. You want to peel, so it doesn’t have to be pretty.  As once you’re done getting the rind off, you’re going to put it in the food processor (or blender) and chop it up into tiny bits. Do not zest, as you want more flavor, so peel that lemon rind off the lemon. (With a veggie peeler, not your fingers.)

3. Put the peel and sugar into a food processor (or blender) and pulse (seriously, pulse, do not blend) until lemon peel is tiny and combined with the sugar. (This will smell awesome. Take a moment and sniff.) 

4. Add the yogurt, oil, egg, and vanilla. Once again, pulse, do not blend, until combined. (This will also smell really good. A different kind of good, but still worth a good whiff.)

5. In a big mixing bowl, combine dry ingredients. Add the wet to this and fold together with a wooden spoon, plastic spatula, or something that is not a motorized mixer. 

6. Once batter is almost combined, add berries and continue folding until there’s no more loose flour. Batter will be super thick.

7. Get out your muffin tins.

8. Spray muffin tins with cooking spray, grease with butter then sprinkle with flour, or line with muffin cups.  Just do something so the batter does not stick to the tin. 

9. Using a spoon, divide the batter among the cups. Fill the cups as full as you can get them, as the batter will rise only a little. (I got a total of 18 muffins out of my batter, filling the cups full.)

10. Bake until edges are golden brown, which will occur around the 18 minute mark. Do not bake for longer than 25 minutes. (Mine finished before the 18 minute mark, but since my oven is usually slow, I set the timer for 20 minutes. Luckily, I checked them shortly after the 18 minute mark, as if I'd left them in there for 20, they'd've burned.) 

11. Remove muffins from oven and cool for five minutes before transferring to wire racks. 

12. Enjoy warm. (Not hot, as the berries will burn your tongue.) 

Milestone Upon Milestone

When you've got a child, you hit miles stones constantly. When they first lift their heads up whilst on their tummies, when they manage to sit up unaided, when they stand up unaided, then they start walking around and never stop. They get teeth, they begin to eat food, stop drinking breast milk and/or formula. They grow out of newborn clothing, then three months clothing, six month clothing, nine month, twelve months, and just when you think they have slowed they no longer fit into 18 months. Just when you think you've got this whole having a child thing under control, they begin talking.

Miles stones. So many mile stones.

EMO (who still munches time, but I think I'm gonna call her EMO from now on here, as she can be kinda emo sometimes) just hit another milestone: preschool registration. Granted, I didn't fill out the mountains of paper work, got copies of her shot records, or whatever else is needed to really "register," but I did fork over money to reserve her spot at a preschool at a local Methodist Church.

I know nothing of preschool. Especially when the kids are only two. I began preschool when I was turning three. And other than screaming when my mother left me, wearing my shoes on the wrong feet, and being hit in the head with a metal truck, I don't remember much.

I was not a social child. I was perfectly content at home, alone, and entertaining myself by pretending my clothes were people. By the time I was three, we'd moved to a neighborhood where there were children who were my age, several in fact. They became my childhood friends and several of them attended the Frog School as I have always called it. (I've no idea what it's actually called some 30 years later.) I cannot tell you if I had a good experience there. I don't remember a lot of those year other than I wasn't allowed to be Rainbow Bright and had to be a bear, I cried a lot at the start of each day when my mother left me, and a little boy threw a truck at my head for reasons I could never figure out.

Preschool is important. I know that much. I also know EMO is a social being and unlike myself really likes other people and going out. Since she was born, I've been dragging myself out mostly for her benefit (mine is just a side benefit). We go shopping. We go to art class. In the summer months I take her to the gym and let her socialize with those whose parents would also like to work out and not have a child climbing all over them when they are trying to do Russian twists or downward dog. It was last summer I realize I needed to do something with EMO to expose her to more kids, as she LOVED it when other kids showed up, no matter their age. Shortly after I began to panic on what do to with the poor kid (didn't need day care, couldn't see paying for it if I didn't need it), one of the girls who I had been friends with as a small child and gone to the Frog School with (and put our shoes on the wrong feet together) posted on Facebook her two-year-old daughter had started Frog School.

I was like, "Wait? Two-year-olds can go to preschool?!"

And I instantly began to see if there were places other than the fancy place in town to send EMO. (Well, it might not be fancy, but they won't even post their tuition prices online. You must call.) After an afternoon of searching, I found a preschool taking place in a Methodist church. Due to this, I decided this was it. This was where EMO was going.

I grew up going to a Methodist Church and some of my best memories are in that musty, dusty smelling building. I am not overly religious. I was allowed to form my own believes and will allow my daughter to do the same. But, I am partial to Methodist Churches. I knew the moment I entered, I'd picked the right joint. It felt like home, familiar, and even smelled the same as the church I'd gone to as a kid. Since I had no idea where I was supposed to meet the woman who was going to give us a tour, I wandered a little till I heard the sound of children and headed down the stairs.

It was like walking back in time. While not everything was the same (no half finished Noah Ark murals on the walls and not totally made out of cinder blocks, there was something comforting about the building. The church was huge, so it took us a while to find the offices. We then sat and waited a little while, EMO pointing out all the fruits that were taped to the walls and failing to find the banana when asked.

As the tour took place, I was struck more and more how the building, thousands of miles away from the church of my childhood, was startling like my own. We walked through their "fellowship hall" and man, I was taken back. While the church itself is a lot more beautiful than the one I attended for years, it still felt right.

So, I filled out the form to reserve her spot, forked over $48 for the art fee, EMO waved goodbye to the tour lady (who had put her shoes back on and her coat, my girl is not shy in the least), while the other girl who was on the tour who was about a year older screamed.

While I wouldn't say the girl was horrible, she was really testing boundaries. The mother was mildly embarrassed, but handled it well. I tried not to feel smug while EMO held my hand, put away toys when asked, and was all around the perfect toddler that make others think, "Hey, this wouldn't be so bad if my kid was as well behaved as EMO." A friend of mine who gave birth this passed weekend said the same thing after sitting with EMO when I got my haircut last week.

While EMO does throw fits, they almost always happen at home, and if they are in public she fails to get the reaction she wants, usually doesn't get what she wants, and gets Angry Mom face. This seems to work. She might pout, but soon someone will say something to her and she'll smile again.

EMO still refuses to eat anything green (except pickles), won't eat meat (except hot dogs), and won't eat anything healthy other than fruit. She has a skin allergy to peanut butter, but sometimes to get protein into her (she recently decided she was above eggs), I feed it to her in limited qualities (mostly if I barely put any on the bread, she doesn't get it all over her face). She is still the most horrible napper known to man, but she will take them. Sometimes. She always goes to bed at eight, usually is asleep by nine and doesn't wake till seven the next morning. She won't eat breakfast if I make it, but if it's in smoothie form she will eat it.

My little girl is growing up. She is testing her boundaries to see what she can get away with. She will start school next fall.

Do I miss the newborn stages? The cuddles, the baby smell, nursing, the quiet, the being immobile?

No.

About the only thing I miss is...nothing. I was anxious for her to get to this stage, where she was discovering things, playing, and talking (or trying). I wake up each morning exhausted (because I have that cold that won't go away and cannot stop coughing), but I smile as it's another fun filled day with EMO. That kid has been independent and stubborn since she came out. Being a newborn frustrated her to no end. She wanted to sit up. She wanted to roll away. When she was finally able to do these things...she was so proud. And once she started walking, god, I've never seen a happier child.

Today, as we toured the school, she held her hand out to me, she dragged me to the bins of toys, then abandoned me instantly when there were other children were around.

I smiled, didn't feel sad. I felt elated.

EMO is going to love preschool, just as she's loved every, single milestone she's reached so far on her way to being an independent person.