The Heart of the Matter

Cross my heart. From the bottom of my heart. I'm heartbroken. My heart aches. My heart is filled with joy. My heart is overflowing with love. Wearing my heart on my sleeve. My heart goes out to you. My heart belongs to you. I love you with all my heart. Let's get down to the heart of the matter.

Phrases that so easily slip into everyday conversation.

I've been thinking about this post for a while. Thinking about what I might say. Thinking that I don't really want to write it, because putting it in words, putting it out into the universe, makes it real. And it has taken me two months to finally post it.

But it is real, no matter what. Whether I write about it or not.

So I will, to honor a brave little boy, his fight, and his amazing family.

In March, I received an email from a good friend from college with news that made my heart ache.  She is one of my "UMD Gang," a group of women who, with one exception, worked together as apartment RAs at UMD and have stayed close over the years. She was my rock when I lived in Mankato for two years for graduate school -- she and her husband were always there for me, whether it was for dinner at their house, a movie, a walk around the neighborhood, a space in their garage to store my furniture in-between apartments, or extra patrols through my drug-infested neighborhood.

One icy winter day, their first son was born at the hospital in Mankato, the third baby of this group of friends, but the first one I'd been able to visit just after his birth. He was just a few hours old. And his parents were blissful.

Fast forward nine years. There have been a lot of other babies born to this strong group of friends, including two of my own. Every one of them is special. Some of those babies are growing up as close friends; some see one another once or twice a year to splash around at the water park. Every single one of them holds a space of honor on my cluttered refrigerator photo gallery and a special place in my heart.

The parents of these babies have had their share of challenges, and the babies have had their share of mishaps -- broken bones, illnesses, fevers just before getting on airplanes for the vacation of a lifetime. But nothing so serious, so heart-wrenching, as the fact that Ethan needs a new heart.

Weeks have passed since that first email from Ethan's mom.  Many tears have fallen from so many people, many prayers have been offered up for that little boy.  He endured days of testing at Children's and Mayo.  He's been tired and ill and his little heart is doing an awful lot of work while they wait for the call to come.  Ethan's family normally spends the summer touring the midwest in their RV, camping and exploring the wilderness.  Not this year.  This year they're staying close to home.  Ethan and his little brother Sam are enjoying the new backyard clubhouse that was built for them from the Make-A-Wish Foundation.  Ethan's uncle and friends of the family are putting together fundraisers and events.  I've contacted the Minnesota Vikings to see if they'll do something special for him.  We're wearing green ribbons for transplant awareness.

Ethan is a strong little guy.  His is a strong, faithful family.  The support and encouragement they've received from their community, their family, and their friends near and far is heartwarming.  Toad and I talk about Ethan a lot, and always, always, my sensitive, compassionate little boy ends the conversation with, "I'm so sorry this is happening to him."

Imagine the sorrow, the helplessness, the pure sadness Ethan's parents must feel when they think about all they've been through and all that lies ahead.  I look at my own children and think -- what if?  What if something like this were to happen to Toad and Birdy?  And again, my heart aches for my dear friends.

And it offers perspective.  A reminder that the little things aren't such a big deal.  Writing this today, weeks after hearing the news, I'm reminded that I shouldn't make such a big deal out of the fact that Toad quit soccer or that he won't dunk his head at swimming lessons and will have to take that level over again.  Does it really matter that he's watched five hours of TV over the course of this day?  I shouldn't have gotten so upset this morning when Birdy spilled her milk -- no, not just spilled -- propelled the glass off the counter and milk splashed all over the floor, the stools, the dog, me.  She's been potty-trained for more than a year -- was it worth getting upset this weekend when she had two accidents in one day?  My children are healthy.  Their hearts and lungs and legs and minds are strong. 

Love your children.  Hug them.  Take a deep breath.

Take heart and tell yourself it's not so bad.

Ethan's Website 

Ethan and Toad

Jellystone Park, August 2009

Meal Makeover Moms Test Kitchen

This weekend the kids and I tested a recipe for a new cookbook from Meal Makover Moms.  I like their website -- it's attractive and easy to navigate, for one.  The two moms are registered dietitians so they're aiming for more healthful recipes -- but they seem to be pretty realistic, too.  Liz and Janice provide tools to help busy moms, including a shopping list and the 7-Day Meal Planner.

I love that their recipes are "mom tested, kid approved" -- and this weekend, the kids and I had the opportunity to test a recipe for their next cookbook!

Fruity Chicken Kebabs - A Lunchbox Recipe

Ingredients
8 ounces roasted deli chicken or turkey, sliced 3/4-inch thick
Eight 8-inch wooden skewers
16 green grapes
12 strawberries, cut in half lengthwise

Directions

1. Cut the chicken into 3/4-inch cubes. To make the kebabs, thread 3 pieces of cubed chicken, 2 grapes, and 3 strawberry halves on to each skewer in any order that you and your children choose. Be sure to leave enough space at the bottom so the kids can hold the skewers comfortably.
2. To wrap, lay 2 skewers on a sheet of aluminum foil and fold the foil loosely over the kebabs.

Tip: Pack with an all-natural fruit smoothie and a mini whole wheat bagel with light cream cheese to round out the lunch.

I purchased deli turkey, although I would prefer to cube chicken and saute in a light, sweet sauce to use instead -- deli meat is loaded with sodium and preservatives.  When I make this again, I might also use cubed cheese in the mix.  I've purchased some thin cocktail straws that will be more lunchbox friendly and will call my creations Lunch on a Lightsaber.  Eat it, you will.

Both kids loved making these -- I would have to agree, threading food onto sharp sticks is pretty fun!  Birdy ate more grapes than she skewered.  Here are some photos of our test:

Birdy ate the turkey and grapes, but chose not to eat strawberries for some reason.  Toad, of course, was hesitant about the whole process.  Eventually he ate a few pieces of meat and both grapes and strawberries and proclaimed that he liked it!  His favorite part was the whole-wheat mini-bagel on the side.  He agreed to taking two kebabs to school for lunch on Monday, and promised he would eat them.  Success?  I saved my celebration, knowing that Monday would be the true test.

Monday morning Toad protested.  He did not want to take the kebabs for lunch, but I stood my ground, snipped off the sharp tips of the skewers, and packed them in his lunchbox.  I told him that he needed to bring home what he didn't eat.

I was not surprised to learn that he had only eaten two pieces of turkey and one grape.  And the entire bagel, of course.

I wonder if the dude from Green Eggs and Ham lied to Sam-I-Am to get him off his back and, in the future, refused to eat them with a mouse, in a house, here or there, everywhere, et cetera.

Blueberry Bumplings!

Food is a big deal around our house right now as we try to give the kids the tools they need to make good choices.  Yesterday we looked through a few of our cookbooks and Toad requested Blueberry Bumplings from the Green Eggs and Ham Cookbook, which we've made in the past.  I made a few modifications and the kids and I whipped them up this morning.  Here's the recipe, with modifications:

Blueberry Bumplings
The Cat's bumplings are plump things surprisingly like blueberry scones, just right for breakfast or snacking.

Ingredients
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour (I substituted half whole wheat flour)
1/3 cup sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
4 oz. butter, softened and cut into small pieces (I used Earth's Balance Buttery Sticks)
1/2 fresh blueberries
1 large egg
3/4 cup half-and-half (I used skim milk)

Directions
1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.  In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt.
2. Add the butter and mix well with your fingertips until crumbly, then add the fresh blueberries.
3. In a small bowl, mix together the egg and the half-and-half, then quickly beat into the flour mixture.  Do not overwork.
4. Pat the dough out between sheets of wax paper until about 1/2 inch thick.  Cut into 2-inch squares, circles, or triangles.  *I just used the large Pampered Chef scoop and put them in drops onto the baking sheet, then flattened them slightly.
5.Place the cutouts on a baking sheet, non-stick or lined with parchment paper, and bake until golden on top, about 10 minutes.  Serve hot.
Makes about 12 bumplings.

I'm not crazy about the whole stick of butter, but they're a big hit with the whole family.  Super tasty!

Three

Three used to be one of my favorite numbers.  Three -- it's the magic number.  Good things come in threes.   Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.  Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!  Hat tricks.  I even dated a hockey player in high school whose jersey number was three.

Three is an adorable age.  Three is monumental.  Birdy, at age three, is smart and expressive and makes up songs and wants to discover everything about the world around her.  Everything is a miracle, a surprise.  She knows the months of the year, the days of the week, and she's working on learning the fifty states in order alphabetically.  She mispronounces words: forget becomes fromget.  She hugs me tightly around the neck and holds on.

This morning, as my darling three-year-old daughter asserted herself by crying, kicking, screaming, pushing her brother, yelling "No!" and throwing herself on the floor, I realized I no longer favor that innocent little number three.  The intense bout of grumpiness lasted from the moment I got her out of bed to the first soothing notes of "Love Me Do" as we backed out of the driveway -- one solid hour.

Her brother was the same way.  The twos weren't so terrible, although we had our moments, and so when we hit three with Toad, we breathed a sigh of relief.  We had no idea what we were in for.

Birdy seems to be traveling down the very same path.  It started a few weeks before her birthday, when she discovered her ability to shriek.  Anytime she doesn't get her own way, anytime she hears the word "No" or a variation thereof (and I believe in telling my children no, although I'm not going to lie, sometimes it's easier to say yes), she lets out a long, high-pitched shriek, sometimes accompanied by hitting or grunting or the aforementioned throwing herself on the floor.  At our recent Easter celebration, after one of Birdy's now-famous (or infamous) shrieks, one of her cousins questioned if he'd really heard it or if it was something only a dog could hear.

Here's an example of a common exchange:

Mama: Would you like to pour your oatmeal into the bowl?
Birdy (shakes head): No, you do it.
Mama: OK, I'm going to pour it.  Are you sure you don't want to do it yourself?
Birdy: No, you do it.
(Mama pours the oatmeal into the bowl).
Birdy: WAHHHHHH! I WANTED TO DO IT!

I try to to remain calm.  Sometimes I yell, I'll admit that.  I tell her that I've had enough.  And that doesn't work -- she just yells back, "Why are you being so loud?"  Most times I tell her that she is welcome to pitch a fit and when she's finished, I will be available to help her.  I tell her over and over that I love her but I don't love the way she's acting right now.  I try to be empathetic to her situation.  Firm but kind. Yes, it's hard to be three, just like it was hard to be two.  She's learning and developing at a rapid rate.  She's expressing herself, she's asserting herself.

I just wish she wouldn't assert herself so loudly.

No: Why Kids -- Of All Ages -- Need to Hear It and Ways Parents Can Say It by David Walsh

Fancy Nancy Birthday Extravaganza!

A couple of weekends ago we hosted a fun and fancy third birthday party for Birdy.  It should be said that I love to entertain.  I love the whole process, from the initial planning of the menu to the whoosh of the dishwasher after the event, when I can finally put my feet up.  It should also be said that I am not much of a baker. I am not a cake decorator.  But sometime between the birth of my son, almost seven years ago, and his first birthday, I got it into my head that I needed to make my children's birthday cakes.  And so I have, with one exception.

So for Birdy's third birthday, I chose a Fancy Nancy theme.  She and I both love the Fancy Nancy books -- the drama and the big words and Nancy's antics.  There's a lot of material to work with -- most of the books feature some sort of fancy food ("Sandwiches do taste better with frilly toothpicks!") and, of course, accessories!

I started planning this event quite some time ago, although it wasn't until that last week leading up to her party that I really kicked it into gear.  I googled "Fancy Nancy Cakes" and while I was initially disappointed, I did eventually find a couple of cakes in which I found inspiration.  After a last-minute trip to Michael's for supplies, and some help with the globes and pillars from my spatially-gifted engineer husband, I decorated the cake in two-and-a-half hours.  I found a lot of my accessories in the birthday party aisle at Target (necklaces, plumed pens, sequined mask, wands, the glittery number 3 candle).  I'd purchased the tiara a year ago in the Target dollar section.  The purse and purple sunglasses are actual Fancy Nancy dress-up products (also from Target).  The butterflies were purchased at Michael's, and the feather boa came from Joann, etc.

 

Tres Fancy!

We served a light luncheon, which included pbjs and cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches, served on bread in the shape of butterflies and flowers (I used the Wilton spring cookie cutter collection); a ham, turkey, and cheese tray with dollar buns; fruit wands (grapes, strawberries, and blueberries on skewers, served in a foil-wrapped grapefruit) with fruit dip (from Tea Parties); cocktail weinies wrapped in croissants (from Bonjour Butterfly); and a veggie tray with dip.  Of course we served parfaits with sprinkles along with the cake.

My sister Julie made Birdy a cute hot pink tutu with a lime green tie, which she wore (with a purple feather boa) for about two minutes.  Most of the party, Birdy wore a grungy white t-shirt and jeans.  She obviously needs a few more lessons in fancy!

Birdy hugs Cinderella while brother Toad looks on.

Shamrock Shenanigans

Happy St. Patrick's Day! 

One of my biggest struggles as a parent is a common one -- making sure my children are eating well.  My firstborn, Toad, is very picky, and while Birdy eats the veggies on her plate first, she can also get in a rut.  Last night, in honor of St. Patrick's Day, I thought I would add a tiny bit of Irish flare to Taco Tuesday -- green peppers shaped liked shamrocks.

A little history here: for the first three years of his life, Toad had a mild allergy to milk protein (casein), which is in just about everything in one form or another.  He ate a lot of vegan items and we developed the unfortunate habit of the parents and child eating different meals.  He has outgrown this allergy for the most part, although he still drinks soy milk (only chocolate). 

We did things a bit differently with Birdy.  For one, I was able to breastfeed her for a longer period of time, and I put off feeding her solid foods.  I made 75% of her baby food.  She was in a child care setting with home-cooked meals and got used to trying new things every week.  She's definitely the better eater, although now that she is (almost) three she is giving us a lot of attitude about anything new.

They have their "kid-food" favorites -- convenience foods that busy parents often fall back on: chicken nuggets, "tiny" pizzas (Red Baron singles), pbj's, hot dogs (every now and then) and of course, McDonald's Happy Meals. 

And they like tacos, although I should clarify with a definition.  Tacos, to Toad and Birdy, are shells (or chips), ground turkey taco meat, and ketchup.  No cheese.  No beans.  No salsa, veggies, sour cream, guacamole.  Just ketchup, and for Birdy, a side of black olives.

I used a little cookie cutter to cut Shamrocks from the green pepper and placed one on each plate.  Drama ensued.

Toad: "Do I have to eat the whole thing?"
Birdy: "I don't like it!" (without even trying it.)
Toad: "Can I take just a nibble?"
Hammer Guy: "How did this end up on my plate?" (my husband, who was sitting next to Birdy.)
Toad: "The meat always falls out of the shell!" (with much whining.)

Finally, I bargained.  I know you're not supposed to bargain at the dinner table.  I've read all the books.  I know that I am partly to blame for our dinnertime battles.

Sometimes, though, it works.  I told them that if they didn't eat their green pepper shamrocks, they couldn't have a treat.

Toad put his shamrock on a tortilla chip and took two minuscule bites, sobbing and nearly gagging on the thing.  Birdy insisted that she would not eat it until she saw Toad with his half of the ice cream sandwich.  She then crawled on my lap and said, "Feed me."  She took a bite, said, "Oh, I like it!" and proceeded to devour it.

Toad later told me that he tasted that green pepper all night long.  "I tasted it at 6 o'clock.  I tasted it at 7 o'clock.  I tasted it at 8 o'clock."

I'm hoping for a little less drama tonight.

Stay Tuned for Further Exciting Adventures of.... Butt Boy?!?

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I am fortunate to be able to work remotely, which means I wear old jeans, flip-flops (even in winter), and sweatshirts (today's choice: Hall & Oates).  I am also able to pick Toad up after school.

Last Thursday, I waited for him in the vestibule as usual.  His teacher, Mrs. Bee, waved to me as he pushed the door open and asked if I could wait for a few minutes while she walked the other kids down to the bus.  Toad's face paled and fell, and I knew something was up. I asked him if he had gotten into trouble and he nodded.   And then started to cry.

He was crying and speaking so quietly and with gasping breaths and trying to tell me what had happened, it took several attempts for me to understand:  he was playing Scrabble, Jr. with a classmate and another classmate (one of his BFFs, incidentally) had reported him for spelling buttboy.

I couldn't help myself.  I started to laugh, but quickly recovered in order to comfort and mildly scold him at the same time. 

The opportunity had presented itself.  The letters were all there, waiting for him to put them together in such a way.  And he ran with it. 

I asked him my standard question:  "Do you feel bad for what you did or do you feel bad because you got in trouble?"

He's six.  His usual answer is that he's sorry that he got in trouble, but this time, something had changed.  He told me that he was sorry for what he'd done. 

It was one of those moments where, as a parent, you're exasperated and proud all at once, brought about by a silly word in Scrabble, Jr.

The B word.  Buttboy.  Could have been a lot worse.