Serpentine

Yesterday, while we were on our way home Reuben started to run when we got to our block. His backpack bounced up and down forcing him to raise his arms out like wings so the backpack felt more secure. His hair flipped all around as he wabbled his head from shoulder to shoulder. He took up the whole sidewalk with is serpentine. His too-short pants would fall down from his hips, and his wingspan would quickly fly back to yank up his pants.

We have had a very pleasant few days. Like most parenting dilemmas I'm not sure what changed, or even if it was him or me that made the change. The "I hate you"'s have been replaced with "I love you"'s. The screaming and crying breakdowns have been few and far between, and equally directed at daddy and mommy.

Reuben says he "loves me first." When I say, "I love you first, too." he says, "NO YOU LOVE ME 40!" When I ask what that means he says "It MEANS we love each other."

Our new favorite game is the echo game but only saying "I love you" with different inflections and tonalities.

In other good news I found a doctors office that accepts medicaid that is clean, efficient, with good nurses and doctor. Simeon's 2 month appointment was scheduled at 10. I got there at 9:35 because we were new patients and had to fill out paper work. We did the vitals at 9:55, saw the doctor at 10:05, went back to wait for the shots (three shots-poor baby legs). I stayed after the shots to nurse him, walked over to the train, waited for the train, got on the train, checked the time after 4 stops at it was only 11. We will all be switching to doctors at that office.

Silly, I know.

So, I love to read Design Mom. Honestly, who of us mommy bloggers doesn't? If I had money I would be like Design Mom.

She posted a love song that is by one of Justin's friends. And not like Justin met him twice and remembered his name, they really know each other. So, now I'm two degrees away from Design Mom: Justin. Drew. Design Mom. Now I wish that I knew more of Justin's friends so I could be just one degree away.

Chili and Pie

Our Ward had a Chili and Pie cook-off on Saturday. Justin signed him up for chili, and me up for pie. I love to make pie, but because I love to eat pie, so I rarely share my pie.

It was time to leave, and Justin's chili was done, and my pie was still baking. I told him we could leave without the pie, but he insisted. "I want to show you off." I wasn't too confident in it because I wanted a few more minutes to bake it. But we packed up and jumped in a cab. We made it to the activity a half hour late, the judging had already begun. Justin quickly made sure the chili and pie were entered while I wrangled the boys.

We ate chili, we ate pie, we listened to live fiddle and guitar music, we talked, we watched Reuben run around with his friends. It was very enjoyable. My pie was going slowly, so I did get a piece and I was happy. It was barely cooked through, the crust just wasn't as crusty as I like. There was still some of my pie left in the pan, so I wasn't hopeful. Not that I thought I should win, but sometimes its nice to win so you always wish you could.

They announced the chili winners. Justin's authentic New Mexican Chili was just too different. And then it was time for the pie winners. Emily won third place with an apple pie. I've had her apple pie, and it is good. Then second place was my name, I am not the proud owner of a very simple but sturdy pie scooper. I lost to a banana caramel chocolate cream pie (which went really fast so I didn't get to try it.)

And what was my pie? They-should-have-never-canceled-Pushing-Daisies-Apple/Pear-Pie-with-Gruyere-baked-in-the-crust.

And the recipe won't help you much unless you are good at baking by sight, but here it is:

3 Cortland Apples
1 Bosc Pear
a splash of lemon juice
a small palm of flour
a bigger palm of cornstarch
almost 1/4 cup of sugar
a large palm of cinnamon
a small palm of all spice
three pinches of nutmeg

Flour, Crisco, Salt, Water crust

Gruyere cheese grated on the top crust after the first 20 minutes of baking.

375 20 minutes with piece of tin foil covering top crust, add cheese, 20 minutes more.

Sticks and Stones

As a seventh grader I was having a hard year. Now that I look back on it looks a lot like depression, but we were calling it puberty--puberty that gave me head aches, nausea, dizziness, an inability to feel happy, lack of motivation, etc. I spent most of that year staying home from school, I did the homework that my mother picked up for me, and returned for me. When I did go to school it, and I, was far from pleasant.

One day, on the way into my science class, I was complaining. "Ughh, I hate this class. If all we are going to do is read from the book why do I have to be here. Its not like Mrs. listens to our questions, or even tries to answer then." Well, she over heard me, wrote me up, and called my mother. I may have been unpleasant, but I was not a trouble maker. I thought she went overboard. Being written up was for people who hit the teacher, not the people who complained.

I admit, I was harsh, and I did feel guilty. I never complained about that class or teacher at school, keeping it all for my mom to hear. And, boy did my mom hear it because it seemed like this teacher couldn't forgive my complaining and had it in for me for the rest of the year. And, if you think this is just exaggerated memories of a seventh grader you can ask my mother who did most of the communicating with the teacher for the rest of the year.

Well, since seventh grade I have been critical of adults who take children's comments too seriously.

And now I'm the adult and taking the comments of a child too seriously. I know this child doesn't fully understand what he is saying when he tells me what he thinks of me. I know this child does love me when he has been screaming and crying non-stop for Daddy for the last three hours. It is driving me crazy. I just want my nice boy back, that one who cuddled back. That one who was helpful, and interested in what I was doing. That one who at least responded when I talked to him.

I'm at a loss of how to get him to understand he can't continue doing this. When I try to stop it I feel like I am caring too much about my feelings, and then the other end--too validating of his feelings and thus perpetuating the problem. I usually end up ignoring it and him, which doesn't seem to bother him because no amount of my attention or cuddling has changed the situation.

The truth is, the reason it bothers me so much is because I feel guilty. I was good at nursing and working at the same time. The days I worked from home I typed around his little body, and worked while he slept. It was heart-wrenching to leave my infant and go to the office, but when I got home I sacrificed myself to make up for it letting him stay latched-on as long as he wanted. I'm not good at nursing and keeping a three-year old engaged in something other than TV and pbskids.org. I'm not good at nursing and doing the "thing" (like cleaning up toys, etc.) myself with a little help--like we used to before the baby came along.

I don't need, or want to be the favorite parent. I just want to be a favorite parent.

Quoteboard

Reuben: "Mom, Whatsa cyborg?"

Autumn in New York

Leaves the color of Taxi Cabs
Cold breezes off the Hudson
Nothing competing with the smell of roasting nuts
and hot apple cider
Pink cheeks and noses
Scarfs and hats and open jackets
More leaves than litter

Lots of Yelling

There is lots of yelling going on in our house. Reuben has an ear infection in both ears, and can't hear me unless I am yelling at the top of my lungs. He can't hear himself unless he is yelling at the top of his lungs. Justin just has to project a bit to be heard (but he is already a loud talker).

All this yelling would just be annoying, but there is one more person in the house who hasn't heard a lot of yelling in his short life. (Yes, he lives in New York, but we've been keeping him home to avoid getting him sick). It seems that my yell is the worst for him to understand, he starts each time I have to yell, and I can see the transition from "startled" to "scared" cross across his face before he starts to yell--well, cry loudly.

I've heard "what?" too many times over the last few days to try my normal voice first. I've spent my whole life clamming up once it was clear I wouldn't be heard, you can't do that when you are a mom.

Halloween at Home

The scarecrow shut himself in a closet so the Tin Man could trick-or-treat. Tin Man knocked, Scarecrow answered, "Why, hello." Tin Man asked "Can I have a Halloween Treat?" The Scarecrow said, "What do you say?" The Tin Man said, "May I have a Halloween Treat?"

My Grandpa Papa and my mother would be so proud of Reuben. Justin kept coaxing to finally get Reuben to say "Trick-or-Treat" but R didn't enjoy it.

Justin brought me some candy, and I explained how we were urged not to say trick-or-treat by my mother. It was one of those things where mom didn't tell us out right, but told us the story every year and hoped we would get the lesson. So, when he said, "what do you say" to me, I said, "Halloween is coming the goose is getting fat if you please to put a penny..."



Our special menu was Fondue but because we didn't have the rubbing alcohol to keep the pot hot, and because we really should be trying to contain germs, we had individual dishes of "Magic Potion" (We used Gayle's Recipe.) We had Skeleton Fingers (asparagus), Witch's Broom (broccoli), Eye of Newt (olives), Bat Wings (Doritos), Brain Chunks (sourdough bread), Monster Toes (little sausages). Reuben who usually LOVES olives refused to eat them because "eyes are gross." Justin's family used to make fancy names for the menu, and while I don't know that Reuben fully enjoyed it, Justin and I sure did.

We then watched "Hoodwinked" which was better than we expected. I'm pretty sure that there has been a Little Red Riding-hood in my Halloween Past, but I have a horrible memory so I could be making that up.

Reuben is now asleep, with his dose of Motrin.

While Justin, I'm sure would have loved knocking on doors like last year, I really do enjoy the evening at home. Maybe we won't do every-other year, but so far that's the pattern. And because I can't believe Reuben was ever this new at speaking, go watch this. And here is a photo of the first time we used the Lion costume.

Flu is worse than snow

I've had halloweens ruined by snow. Those years where costumes were hidden under snowpants and huge puffy jackets were pretty bad... but not as bad the flu sprinkles down right before Halloween.

We had great plans. But Reuben was hit pretty bad, high fever, coughing, sneezing. He was throwing up on thursday morning. Friday he was asking me if I liked "his new voice" you know, that voice you get when you're sick? And, now he is complaining of an ear ache. "Why can't I hear you?"

So, we will have our own halloween party. I sent daddy out to get stuff for fondue (get it a bubble, bubble toil and trouble). And, we will all be dressing up because I want to take full advantage of the fancy costumes.

I'm secretly pleased. I think we will have plenty of fun and look great.

Mash

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First day in a walk-up

I got to the third floor, and thought, "I'm half way there! I might be able to do this!"
I got to the forth floor, and thought, "I'm going to die."

I need a place for the stroller in the lobby, and some chairs and water bottles on the forth floor.

Maybe by January I won't think I'm going to die until I get to the 5th floor. My baby load will weigh more, here's hoping.