The New Girl

Fun Fact Friday!

Ho, hey hey!! It's been a DOOZY of a couple weeks around here. More on that later. But for today: you thought I forgot about FFF, didn't you? Well, YOU'RE NOT THAT LUCKY.

So, HERE YOU GO, YOU'RE WELCOME.

* Tonight is my in-law dinner. The first one with both my MIL and my dad in a few weeks, since there were travels and storms and power outages. Our power just came back on Monday afternoon, there is a SHITLOAD of cleaning/laundering/straightening/caffeinating to be done. And YET, here I sit, thinking only of you.

* I'm making a super easy but very tasty dinner. Fettunccini with Walnuts and Basil. I've written it before I think and [I'll try to find you] here's the link, if you're interested. For dessert, I'm making brownies topped with ganache [because I'm too much of a food whore to eat them plain] for "Sundaes." Meaning, I ganache the brownies and then smother them in ice cream. I KNOW.

*There is an amaaaazing trick to get your brownies cut without crumbling and coming all apart and wrecking the whole pan. I haven't always known this trick and I will fully admit that I was skeptical about it when I heard, so I won't blame you if you don't believe me and have to go bake a pan of brownies to test it out.

Here it is:

 

Super high tech solution. For really true.

A plastic knife, when the brownies are warm. I am totally not shitting you.

Look:

 

See?

 

* I have been completely OFF THE WAGON when it comes to eating and have been paying the price in a number of ways. I feel...not that well, frankly. And my pants are a little snug. With the holidays coming, I have dread about being surrounded by sugary treats that I seem to be...unable to fully avoid. Even though they kind of make me feel like shit. (It makes me feel a little crazy to read it back in black and white, but there it is.)

* I can't wait to eat those fucking brownies, though, I'll tell you THAT.

* I took both my kids to the dentist after their appointments were canceled because the dentist lost power in the hurricane. It was the boy's first time there. Look at my boy, guys. LOOK.

The hand wrapped around the brush KILLS ME.

 * My girl did so well, too. Getting the Greatly Anticipated With Much Anxiety X-Ray like a BOSS. I have no idea, folks. None. But I'm not complaining. It was an amazing day, all around. (No cavities! Hooooray!)

*Lest you think she turned into someone else since you've heard about her: this morning she was freaking the hell out because...she can't write an 8 like, and I quote, "A GROWN UP." Sigh

 

In Three Words

When I am in the process of beginning treatment with a new patient, I do an in-depth interview with the parents first. I ask a bajillion questions to learn as much as I can about what's happening, the patient's early years and temperamental style, as well as the family's structure, culture and the dynamics that keep everything in (or out of) place.

In that first meeting, almost at the end--after I've asked a bunch of dry (sometimes difficult) questions--there is an exercise I do with the parents, in which I ask them to describe their child's personality to me using only three words.

"Can you give me three words to best describe your child's personality? Don't think too hard, just the first three things that come to mind," is basically what I say.

Having the parents try to compress their impressions of their children into so few words can kind of distill them, concentrating and clarifying them. After having heard the prose descriptions of their child, the Three Word Descriptions sometimes sound like poetry. Often, after getting all the sad or scary stuff out of the way, the parents can focus on the positive. Sometimes, it's hard for the parents to get in touch with the positive because of the sad or scared. Whatever the case may be, the results of this exercise are usually very interesting and enlightening.

So, you want to give it a try? It's really kind of fun.

Here are mine:

The Girl: Intense / Tender / Sparkly

The Boy: Funny / Easy / Loveable

Memoiries.

So, I have this kind of Mental Glitch (one of many, I know,) in which I consider what the content of my Memoir would be, if I was to write a memoir.

[Don't you do that, too?]

I've read lots of memoirs and I love them. But, then again, I find even the most mundane details about someone else's life very interesting. (If you've ever been stuck next to me at a cocktail party and I've [grilled you for an hour] asked you 2, 457 questions about becoming a CPA, you're not alone!) So, it's like Memoirs and I were destined to be BFFs. The thing about memoirs, though, is there is generally a topic that the author chooses to highlight, a wacky childhood, a crazy-time period of life, getting past the crazy-time period of life, experiencing a significant health crisis, recovering from a significant health crisis, being close to someone during a crazy-time period or a significant health crisis, traveling through the time/space continuum or WHATEVER.

I mean, here's the crux of my repetitive thought: which part of your story (or mine) is unique enough to be documented, printed and published for sale?

I suppose I could slant the post and the thought process toward the direction of racking up *meaningful experiences,* as to be more "qualified" to have a life fit to be documented and shared in the form of a memoir. But I'm not. If my long history of cocktail party [interrogations] conversations about others' lived experience has taught me anything, it's that everyone has interesting parts and their willingness to share them is directly proportional to how interesting they are overall (to me.)

Writing about your life, deciding to share your story in any capacity takes a certain amount of bravery, I think, and sharing it in print (with a hard or soft cover) takes bravery and discernment. How do you decide what to share? How do you come to the conclusion that others need to know about that part of your life? Also, as an aside, how do you remember your life in enough detail to make your story not only interesting but accurate?

I'm struck by two things with regard to memoirs: 1) The significant recall of the authors and their ability to reconstruct time-lines and 2) I can't remember the second thing. (Haaaaa.) (I wish I was kidding.) The thing that makes memoirs a thing, I suppose, is their dual nature. They are incredibly detailed individual stories, which resonate with countless others--it's the universality, the ability of mass numbers of strangers to relate to the story, that gives memoirs their power, their appeal.

Like everyone [who's been through therapy] who lives an examined life, I frequently sift through the memories from various times in my life. And then, for a second, I wonder which of those times (if any) would make an interesting memoir [just like you do.] 

My list waxes and wanes (and I really do have trouble remembering) but here's what I'm scraping up as I sit here typing:

-Growing up the daughter of a depressed mother.

-Growing up the daughter of an obese mother.

-Growing up the daughter of an immigrant father.

-The experience of being an older first time mother.

-The experience I had when TLNG was a baby and how if affected me, my mental health, my marriage, etc.

-The experience of those five weeks during which my mother died.

-The story of my long-term girl friendships.

-My experience working in a community in which I was a minority.

 So, tell me. What are yours?

LET'S DISCUSS.

 

 

In Case You Thought You Were Scarring Your Children The Most.

This morning, I caught my Pretty Much Totally Potty Trained son in my closet. Pooping in his new pajamas. Sans underwear. Yes, yes. Lets all observe a moment of silence for the brand new pj bottoms.

I, erm, handled the situation [like a reptile] in such a way that, how should I put it? My child might remember until [the therapy couch] next week or so.

Here's our [first of many, I'm sure] conversation on the topic:

The Boy: Hey, Mommy! Member when I pooped in my pants?

Me: Yes, I remember.

The Boy: That was not good, when I pooped in my pants.

Me: No, it wasn't really good.

TB: That was BAD, when I pooped in my pants.

Me: (omgINeverSaidBad) Welllll, it wasn't really *BAD,* it just wasn't...great.

TB: I'M VERY SORRY I POOPED IN MY PANTS, MOMMY!

Me: [Insert your own witty ending here because I'm all balled up in the corner, rocking back and forth, baaaaaaack and forth.]

That Shit About Your Heart Walking Around Outside Your Body After You Have A Kid Is True. Or, Why I Want To Cry About A Game Of Freeze Tag.

"Unfreeze me!!" cried her cousin.

She came barrel-assing around the car, running to get to him, both arms extended. She collided with him, hands to tender tummy, and unfroze him--he stepped backwards, scowled and scolded.

"NOT LIKE THAT! THAT HURT!" and then he turned and walked away from her.

While she stood, frozen for real, the look on her face--heartbreak.

I watched from the porch, where my BIL and I were waiting for the bus to come, watching our kids work shit out. But that look of heartbreak...

It broke my heart.

I put myself in her place. Running, exhilarated, playing big-kid games, rounding the corner, excited to team with her cousin, against her little brother. Thinking she was doing something good, something right. Only to be met with disapproval, reproach. The confusion, the shame, it froze her solid. Even though the freeze tag was over.

***

She is getting bigger. She takes a bus to school. She dresses herself. She does homework. She opens her snack box by herself. She puts her pencil case in her cubby. She picks up her room and makes her bed. She keeps her library book on her self, like the teacher told her. She practices writing and counting.

For her, though, the challenges are mostly emotional. Her struggle isn't writing the numbers, it's withstanding the immediate and overwhelming frustration she feels if she can't do it perfectly the first or second time. The frustration is fast and furious, sometimes leading to impulsive and destructive acting out. Her struggle is in taking correction, trying it another way, listening and following suggestions. Keeping calm enough to listen and reason when she's upset.

When she was little (you may recall,) it was impossible for her to hold in the pushes and the bopping other kids on the head in group activities. When she got a little older, I learned more about her.She started to say to other kids, "You're standing too close to me!"  So we learned that her comfortable zone for personal space is almost twice the size of what would be considered average.

But now, as she gets bigger still, she's been trying. Really hard. Our behavior charts are about kindness, responsibility, and persevering calmly while doing something frustrating. She's been collecting "smiles" on her chart and feeling pride when she completes things that are hard to do with calm perserverance.

Back on the driveway, I watched her eyes well up with tears and my heart hurt. I helped them through it, giving each their lines to say. The Nephew gave her a half-hearted hug and I watched her try to discreetly wipe her eyes.

And then, before I could talk it through with her, the bus came.

She was quiet as we walked across the street. She climbed onto the bus, into the seat, and looked out the window. She raised a hand and gave a sad, little, wave. The bus pulled away and took my heart with it.

The incident has been forgotten, I'm sure. She will have shaken it off, distracted by the business of kindergarten. She gets to go to the Treasure Chest today to pick a prize. Tonight, the whole family is coming to sing Happy Birthday to her brother. There will be a couple small gifts for her, too, I'm sure.

The rejection that she felt this morning is probably already long gone for her. Yet, I am at home, with that persistent, vague, uneasy feeling of something nagging at the back of my mind.

Then I remember. That face. The quick swipe of the back of her hand across her eyes. Her sad little wave.

The breeze rattles through the hole in the middle of my chest.

I can't wait until my heart gets back.

 

Just Say Yes.

Once, when I was in a clinical supervision meeting with a bunch of other mental health professionals with whom I worked, I rolled them in the aisles with a joke I made about a theoretical support group for adults with social skills deficits. The joke wasn't about having a support group, because, there's no joke there. Living as an adult with issues that affect your ability to make or sustain relationships is trying and difficult and there are lots of things for these folks to overcome. In case you don't have a lot of first-hand experience, here's a little, tiny bit of background (so you can understand my joke, yo.)

Children and adults who have difficulty with social skills are often "their own worst enemies," when it comes to the finer points of dealing with others. They are frequently ridgid thinkers, often inflexible and have difficulty changing their minds enough to make (sometimes even basic) compromise possible. So, it can be challenging for them to establish and maintain intimate relationships as they get older. Successful, fully functioning adults often enter therapy for something unrelated, and find themselves diagnosed with these deficts, which then explains lots of things about their pasts.

So, (yep. That was all background for one joke. I'm baaaAAAAaaaaack.) SOOO one of the psychologists said, only half in jest, "You know, we should start a dating service."

And my joke was that I thought we should also get them t-shirts made, emblazoned with the big, bold, logo:

.

JUST SAY YES.

 

~~~~~~~~~

A while back, Liz from Mom-101, wrote a post about an unironic argument about lollipops. (LONG LIVE THE INTERNET!!) The post itself was fun and funny. But, as is the way of Liz's posts, it also percolated in me and made me think. This time, it was a kind of passing comment she made in the post which, in part, shaped the direction of the conversation in the comments. As I read through the comments, I found a community of parents who said that they often default to "No." I do it, too. And as parents, there are lots of reasons for it. Some nos are necessary, having to do with safety, security or punctuality. If I'm being completely honest, though, a lot of the nos I have for my children could be yeses, if only.

If only:

I could get the living room picked up first.

I hadn't just picked up the living room.

They weren't already dressed in regular clothes.

I wasn't in the middle of making breakfast/lunch/dinner.

It wasn't so cold/warm/wet/sunny outside.

I didn't want to look at my twitter feed/facebook/email on my phone.

It wasn't so messy.

It wasn't so early/late.

They could ask without whining.

I would just slow down and let them 'help' me.

These aren't earthshattering news flashes. It's not an alien concept, I know, you can most likely relate. I'm trying not to judge myself harshly. I don't find guilt ("mommy-type" or otherwise) to be very productive. But when I examine the whens and whys of my nos, the common theme generally boils down to one thing:

My own anxiety.

So, it's not a social skill deficit, but my own anxiety that makes me rigid, inflexible and unable to change my mind. Anxiety makes me say no without really considering. 

After all, I have a lot to do. All parents do. It doesn't matter if you are a mom or dad, or if you work from home, outside the home, stay at home, whatever. Taking care of other human beings is a lot of work. So, when I'm making breakfast and trying to unload the dishwasher and make my tea (FFS,) and get the snack for my daughter's backpack and get people's clothes on and their teeth brushed, all to the tune of the two kids whining and bickering in the other room, when my son rockets into the kitchen and head-butts me in the hip, while sucking his thumb and holding his wubby, and mumbles, "Hode me, Mommy," it's all I can do not to push him down and step over him to get to the refrigerator. So anxious am I to get us all out the door on time, to hit my caffeine quota, to put just onnnnne more load of laundry in the washer. As it is, I offer a sympathetic, "I can't, right now, baby, I'm _________," as I twist by, sidestepping him, continuing on to the next item on my to-do list.

Think about that for a couple seconds.

When I think about it, what I'm left with is this: I'm so busy and anxious about the job of taking care of them that I'm missing opportunities to actually care for them. To show them love and care and comfort. To stop my spinning and doing and fixing and making and picking up toys and clothes long enough to pick up an actual, real life child who is asking me to. To show them what is really true, they are more important than the laundry, than the dishes in the dishwasher, than even my tea.

These days of chocolate-smeared hands gripping clean pants are fleeting. Of course we all know this to our bones but it's so easily forgotten in the crush of chores to be done. There will come a day, too soon, where there will be no more requests to be held. Laundry, on the other hand? Not so fleeting. This is my kids' childhood. It's happening right this very second. They only get one and it's now and the clock is ticking.

And so, this is what I'm doing.

Every time I want to say no, I'm going to pause, take a deep breath, count to five and then answer. I'm going to try to say more yeses. Sometimes, of course, there will be nos. I'm not talking about letting my kids run naked outside. I'm not swapping out my brain for another brain. But, really. The laundry isn't going anywhere, while the child is slowly receding from my kids, a little bit each day. Soon there will be none left.

(So, I'm also going to, without fail, pick up a child who asks.)

In an instant, this time is going to live only in memories and, well, most of the great memories come from the times we say yes. The times when we're brave enough, flexible enough and compromising enough to say yes. Yes to the mess, yes to the ice cream before dinner, yes to the "help" offered with the baking, yes to the playing in the rain, yes to painting on the driveway and yes to after-lunch autumn leaf collecting.

What I don't want to have to remember is loads of moments like this:

Nimbly sidestepping an affection-seeking boy because I needed to get to the fridge to fill his water bottle.

 

Friday Night Dinner

As a lot of you know, I host my MIL for dinner every Friday night. The tradition started when TLNG would not allow her super-sweet grandmother to hold her without screaming and we decided to get together once a week to [systematically desensitize my kid] allow for some bonding time. Then, my dad moved here and scored an invite as well. So, it's our regular thing. I usually make some kind of pasta dish, a salad, maybe some bread and a nice dessert.

If you follow me on Twitter or Instagram, you see the oft-posted photos on Friday and a [couple] ton of people have asked me for recipes, etc. So, here is my first Friday Night Dinner post. I'm cracking myself up because, OMG, I couldn't be a WORSE food photographer, nor a more INCONSISTENT one. The photos I have are patchy, at absolute best. (Also, I plate in the kitchen and it would look a little *odd* to my MIL if I whipped out my phone for a quick photo of her plate before handing it to her, so.)

But, we shall continue on, undeterred. Well, I will continue on, undeterred. You may just click the hell on out. I wouldn't hold it against you.

ANYWAY.

Yesterday, I made Rigatoni with Artichokes ,Olives and Lemon, Green salad with Mustard Walnut Vinaigrette and Chocolate Nutella Icebox Cake.

For the Rigatoni, I don't use a recipe. It's pretty simple. But here, I took photos. Because I'm silly.

Rigatoni with Artichokes, Olives & Lemon

 

The pasta in this picture looks like it's going to slide out of the frame.

 

Ingredients:

1lb Short Pasta
3TBS-1/4c Olive Oil &/or butter (I use Earth Balance but we'll call it butter)
2 Cans Artichoke hearts
2 Cans black olives
Assload of garlic, chopped (I use 6-7 cloves but we all love garlic.)
Juice of 1 lemon
1/4 c shredded/grated parmesan (optional)
Salt & Pepper to taste

Instructions

1) Boil water for pasta. In the meantime, chop artichokes, olives & garlic. When water boils, cook pasta. (As if you'd forget that part.)

 

These artichokes are so emo with that lighting.

 

.

 

Olives. Chopped. OMG, Food Network, why haven't you called me yet?!

 

2) Heat oil and butter in the pan and saute garlic for 1-2 minutes, being careful not to burn it. Toss in the moody artichokes and the olives and stir well, just to warm through. Add 1/2 the lemon juice, salt & pepper and taste. Adjust seasonings and add the rest of lemon juice if desired (keep in mind, the lemon juice doesn't taste quite as strong when it's tossed with the pasta, but I tend to prefer stronger tastes, so you should try it first and add more if you like.) Cover pan to keep warm.

3) Reserve some pasta cooking water and drain pasta. Put sauce over pasta, using a rubber scraper to get all of the oil and garlic and lemon. Add cheese to taste & stir well. Add pasta water in 1TBS measures, if needed.

Here was the salad:

 

Nothing to it, really, but it's the only picture I actually LIKE, so.

 

The dessert was a Chocolate Nutella Icebox Cake. It came from the blog Apron Strings. I substituted mascarpone for the cream cheese because I like it better. I followed the instructions but I'll tell you that I may have overwhipped my cream (or maybe the mascarpone doesn't have as much moisture, although I doubt that) because despite adequate time in the freezer and the fridge, it still had a semi-crispy consistency.

But let's not front.

 

No one was complaining.

 

There was one [tiny] piece that was leftover that [I inhaled] sampled the following day and it had softened a little. I don't think I put enough cream in the layers and/or maybe whipped too long. Next time I make it, I'll do it the night before and just leave it in the fridge.

 

Not as pretty but pretty damn tasty.