Now Where'd I Put My Cake?

Please Take Care of My House

our Latona house the year we bought it - 2005

Today, I handed over several sets of keys to our home on Latona Ave. in Seattle to our property manager Millie. We walked together throughout the house while I explained some of the quirky rules [only some of the windows open, and there are some pretty detailed instructions on how to turn on/off the water in the shower upstairs]. 

I gave her a packet full of all the appliance manuals and a two page instruction sheet outlining all the ins and outs of the house, the neighborhood, maintenance and such. The sheet was pretty straightforward: Clean the heater filter. Garbage comes on Friday. Washer and Dryer are new.

But what I wanted to write in that letter was this:

Dear New residents at 6523 Latona Ave:

Please take care of my house.

I realize that you’re just renting, and that you’re not really here to stay. But please don’t let your temporary timeline affect how you love this home. We bought this house just six months after we got married, and it was literally love at first sight. We debated this huge decision of home ownership over beers just down the block at the Latona Pub. We have entertained nearly every one of our friends in this home - a few times, all at once.

Please take care of my house.

See that little step going from the kitchen to the family room? When we brought our new puppy Oliver home to five years ago, he could barely make it up that step. And all those scratches by the back door? That’s him, too. We have literally spent days of our lives in the family room, cuddled on the couch reading stories, watching movies, working. Living.

Please take care of my house.

We used to use the small bedroom upstairs as a sort of den - until we found out that our son Finn was coming. For the past three years, it has been the only home he has ever known. That tiny bedroom held him from 2 weeks to over 3 years old. We have changed, cooed, rocked and read in there countless times, and if the walls could talk, they would probably sing you a lullaby. 

Please take care of my house.

The carpet is a little ugly, and the kitchen could be nicer. The stairs are slippery and the downstairs windows are a drafty single pane. There will be days that you’ll wish you had something more modern; something nicer. And you’ll be happy that you’re just renting. 

But on those days, be sure to take a moment to admire the beautiful one-of-a-kind kitchen floor, or the huge dining/living/sitting room. Open all the french doors and have dinner on the deck. Walk the two minutes to Green Lake park or to have some Krittika Thai food. Know that no matter where you are standing in this house, you’re standing in a place that has seen love, laughter, sorrow, joy, friends, family… This house has seen everything. It is a part of our lives that can never be replaced, and we hope that is how you will treat it.

Please take care of my house.

Slow Cooker Goodness Part 3: Crock Pot Steak and Bean Chili

Tonight’s cooking gem came from Food.com out of my desire to have sort of a mid-week football party around the evening game for the Seahawks tonight. Now, only Brian, Finn and I were in attendance at this party but hey! Doesn’t mean we can’t break out the china. Or, in this case - the slow cooker.

The original recipe can be found here. It says it feeds six, but I can’t imagine six of what. Tigers? Hippos? Especially if you decide to put it over a starch like noodles or rice [like we did], this one recipe could easily stretch to 10. Unless of course you eat one helping too many [like I did]. Then you’ll want to assume maybe 8 total.

I will say, it turned out delicious. I LOVE steak in chilis and stews vs. ground beef or turkey, but I’m sure you could easily swap that out [just pre-cook the ground meat first] if that’s what you have handy. The steak in this recipe was positively falling apart after 10 hours of low and slow.

After reading through the reviews and comments [all of which were glowing] I decided off the bat to double the spices from the original recipe. I’m really glad I did, too. I made a few other swaps/additions - and that is the recipe you see below. 

Would be an excellent centerpiece for a SuperBowl or Rose Bowl party. GO DUCKS!

What to Gather

• 2 lbs stew meat [I buy the pre-cubed because I’m lazy then cut them in half again to create 1 inch cubes]
• 1 large green pepper, chopped
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 4 teas chili powder
• 2 teas garlic powder
• 2 teas ground cumin
• 2 [15oz.] cans chili beans
• 2 [14.5oz] cans chili-style chopped tomatoes [I had never heard of these before, but I guessed that they were the tomatoes + mild green chilies. If I was wrong, you definitely can’t tell]
• 7 oz. sweet corn
• 1 teas sugar
• 1 [6oz.] can tomato paste
• salt and pepper, to taste

For Garnish:

• sour cream
• cheddar cheese
• finely chopped raw onion or chopped scallions
• avocado
• Hot Sauce

Pull it all Together:

OPTIONAL STEP: The recipe just has you put the beef in the slow cooker and add the seasonings & spices over the top. I’m a big believer in browning steak meat at a high heat before cooking it slowly, but if you are also as morally opposed to pre-cooking stuff you put in the slow cooker as I normally am, then you can absolutely skip the first step.

1. Brown the steak, onions and peppers over med-high heat and a small amount of canola oil until the steak is browned on all sides [season with S&P as you go]. Remove and place in slow cooker.
2. In a small bowl, combine the chili powder, garlic powder and ground cumin, then add to the meat mixture, stirring to distribute.
3. Add chili beans, tomatoes [both including liquids] and corn [drained]
4. Sprinkle with sugar, stir.
5. Cook on low for 8-10 hours
6. With about 20 minutes to go, add in the entire can of tomato paste
7. Season w/S&P as needed, garnish and serve!

A few notes on this:

I got all of this prepped the night before. To do so, cook the steak, onions & peppers, cool in a bowl and put in fridge. Then put beans, tomatoes, corn & sugar in another bowl and in fridge. Mix all the seasonings in a small bowl and keep by the slow cooker. In the AM, just drop in the meat, mix in the seasonings and top with the tomato/bean mixture. Easy peasy.

I added the corn because we like sweet corn in soups and stews. Totally optional. The original recipe calls for black beans which I’m sure would have been just fine, although the chili beans I bought came in a ‘zesty tomato sauce’ which i’m willing to bet added to the flavor. 

This chili isn’t terribly spicy, which makes it great for the whole family. I added ‘Hot Sauce’ to the garnish section for those of you who like fire-breather spice like my husband.

We served it over elbow noodles because Brian loves stews over noodles and I must admit that made it even yummier. He said it was the best chili I’ve ever made which is saying a lot. He’s a huge connoisseur of what he calls ‘peasant food’ - casseroles, pot roast, stews, etc. - and while that means he generally likes them all, it’s rare any particular dish really gets his attention. 

This chili/stew was absolutely delicious and really really easy. Break out the slow cooker!

Everybody Poops

In an effort to lighten up after yesterday’s post, I thought that today, we’d talk a little bit about poop.

From the very start, potty training has been my parental Achilles heel. If you were to ask me, even when I was just pregnant, what I was most worried about having to tackle as a parent I would have said ‘potty training.’ And although we’ve had to deal with plenty of challenging topics as parents, it is still the one that haunts me.

So naturally, I have a kid who just wouldn’t go easily.

For awhile, I wasn’t too worried about it. He goes to daycare, so I assumed they would just take this icky and daunting task off my hands altogether. I figured the combination of 10 other kids in his class doing it + the guidance of a teacher that has potty trained dozens of children + the fact that he can’t stand for even this hands to be dirty = no problem. 

What I didn’t take into account was my son’s intrinsic laziness accented by his stubborn-laced intelligence. 

We are now in week two of potty training, and - as with pretty much everything having to do with our kids - it is a situation that requires daily adjustments, unending patience and a couple of cocktails.

It all started about three weeks ago. I went to a parent-teacher conference with Finn’s teacher, Miss Julia. We love his teacher, and she loves him. She said all sorts of wonderful things about his participation in class, his fun and silly personality, and his excellent vocabulary and cognitive skills. All the things any parent would be proud to hear. We looked at some fun artwork and laughed at her story about how he always eats next to the twins in his class who never finish their lunch. Apparently, she alternately catches Finn either trying to feed them or with three plates in front of him by the end of the meal.

And then we get to the not so good news.

Now, it’s not like I didn’t see this coming. We had been talking about [and frankly, expecting some progress] in the potty department for at least 6 months and had seen Finn’s interest go all the way from complete avoidance to actually asking to go [ok once, months ago - but still]. We had set up a sticker system in the bathroom and he was generally fine with going in the morning and at night. For awhile he was up for sitting on the potty at school but about a month ago for whatever reason he started refusing to even do that. 

As I mentioned in my post about loving day care, one of the biggest pros of school in my book was that I was under the impression they would take care of this for me. And to give them credit, they certainly tried. But I finally had to accept that this kid needed training boot camp, administered by his parents and reinforced by lots and lots of bribery.

Handed a challenge with a very clear goal, Brian and I jumped into action. That very night [it was a Thursday] we told Finn that we were all out of diapers and that he had to wear Pull Ups instead. We had already decided that the week we were in Oregon for Thanksgiving would be the ideal time to really rip the band-aid off and get ‘er done, so we bridged those few days with Pull Ups and started gathering supplies.

Brian had found a blog that did an amazing job of walking you through what appeared to be a pretty sound approach to the whole messy situation. As with many mommy blog content, it was definitely partial to the stay-at-home variety, but with our week off and an extra pair of hands from GiGi it seemed entirely doable.

We bought underwear with Cars and other Pixar characters on them. We bought tiny stools to help him get up on the seat and to the sink to wash his hands. Amazon.com delivered a case of Kandoo Wipes. We were READY. Monday morning, we put on real boy underwear.

Self control wise, he was already at about Day 3 of the training program. He could hold it no problem for hours, and really didn’t have many major accidents. At least not of the #1 variety. We would ask him about every 30 minutes if he had to go potty, and most the time the answer was ‘no.’ If there was a moment’s hesitation, it was off to the bathroom.

Now, #2 was [and continues to be] a whole different story. Wall-E was our first casualty of what appears to be a pretty typical toddler fear of pooping in the toilet - and frankly one I just don’t understand. I mean, I get that maybe hovering over a bowl full of water while squeezing out a deuce might be a little traumatic… but is it really worse than pooping in your pants? REALLY?

Yesterday was his first day at daycare in big boy underwear, and he did flawlessly - loaded up his potty sticker chart and everything. But no #2. When we dropped him off this AM he still hadn’t pooped, so we just apologized to Miss Julia and made sure she had an extra pair of jeans & undies in his cubby. We’ve put some serious bribes in place for a #2 in the toilet, but still haven’t cracked that case. Our friend Charlie suggested ‘shame’ as maybe a tactic we hadn’t tried yet, but I think I’ll wait a few weeks before throwing that one in the ring.

All in all, potty training has gone better than I had expected. Having had a puppy before, I had this image in my mind of me just running around the house with the Hard Wood Floor cleaner and a rag for a week. But I think waiting until he was a little older meant he has slightly better self-awareness on when he has to go and a nice big bladder to help him last between play sessions. Of course, he still has little accidents where he waits too long to go or won’t tear himself away from whatever he’s playing with long enough to take care of business but largely I’d say we’ve been pretty successful.

Even though things have gone pretty well, I think it’s actually been pretty hard on him. As I sort of alluded in my post yesterday, this last week of training has seemed to really kick up a lot of teen-like angst and anger, and the more I watch him, the more I think maybe it’s a little stress manifesting itself the only way it can in a three-year old; as ear-piercing, nerve-grating, adoption-considering tantrum.

On top of that, it’s made me and Brian both absolute nags, asking him 3-4 times an hour “Do you have to go potty?” [sometimes both of us, right after the other if one of us wasn’t in the room when the other asked] and half the time not really believing him and following up with a “Are you sure? We could just go really quickly.” It’s no wonder he blows up like a volcano - I would too if my manager asked me “Did you send out that email yet?” and I respond “Not yet.” and she responds “Are you sure?”

So there you have it. Potty training still tops the charts of the all time ickiest thing I’ve had to do consistently as a parent, and yet is really such a non-issue in the grand scheme of all the truly traumatic things other parents have to go through on a daily basis to keep their kids safe and healthy. We’ll push through it, and will all be happier at the end of this little poop-trip. In the meantime, I’ve stocked up on anti-bacterial soap, Matchbox cars and Grey Goose - so we should be all set.

Maybe We Need to take a Little Break

a photo taken back when my son liked me.

Finn and I have been having a really rough time for the past week or so. We are in the midst of potty training [and can I just say “ICK”] and it seems to have really brought out the worst in both of us. 

Right now, I feel like I’m in the middle of a bad high school crush. I want so badly for this boy to like me that I find myself making compromises in my character [you want to watch a movie even though you just spent 20 minutes screaming at me? OK!], laboring over every move I make trying to figure out what I did wrong, and relishing any moment of affection he throws my way. 

In other words, he’s got all the power, and I have none. 

This isn’t the first time we’ve gone through a rough patch. But it is the first time it’s lasted this long, and has felt so hurtful. While I am eternally grateful for the wonderful husband I have in Brian and his deftness at parenting, if I have to hear my kid yell “NO!!!! Want Daddy!” one more time I think I’m going to lose it. 

Absolutely nothing I do is right. And the emphasis here is on the word “I,” not “nothing” because it is me that’s the issue, not whatever we are talking about. Case in point, here is a paraphrase of this morning:

Me: Finn, let’s go potty and put your clothes on so we can get ready for school.

Finn: No! No potty.

Me: Yeah, we always go potty when we wake up. Let’s go.

Finn: Want to go potty downstairs

Me: Why? Let’s just go upstairs, it’s only a few steps away then we can put on your clothes and go downstairs for breakfast.

Finn: NO!!!! WANT TO GO POTTY DOWNSTAIRS!!

Me: Finn, we are not walking all the way downstairs just to come right back up again to get dressed. Get in the bathroom and GO POTTY.’

Finn: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At this point, I silently leave the room, trying out that whole “walk away and take a breath” tactic.

5 minutes later, Brian gets up and goes into Finn’s room.

Brian: C’mon, Finn. Let’s go potty so we can put your clothes on.

Finn: Want to go potty downstairs.

Brian: Nah, let’s go upstairs. 

Finn: OK.

Now, maybe the second conversation was a little longer than I have transcribed, but there was no screaming, no endless protesting, no tantrum. Same exact request with completely different results, and the only variable in the two scenarios was ME.

As I’ve discussed before, I know I’ve made lots of mistakes as a parent, and continue to do so every single day. I know I’m probably too tough on him sometimes and not tough enough other times. And if I’m taking a really good look at myself in the mirror, I would have to admit that Brian is really just a more dedicated and fun parent than I am. He is so good at just being with Finn. Playing with him, reading to him, just messing around with him. I am constantly in a state of distraction, thinking about the dinner that isn’t making itself or the endless list of to-dos that never seems to get any smaller. 

Add to that the fact that I am a little bit of a control freak, and we are probably getting down to why Finn and I have these spats - while he gets his goofy, curious and silly side from his father, he gets his controlling, stubborn and quick tempered side from me. I know that he figures if something is coming from Brian’s mouth it’s got a MUCH better chance of being fun than if it comes out of mine, so he’s on guard from the moment I start to say anything. And, let’s face it: he’s probably right. 

What’s really hardest right now is I feel like I am failing to teach him how to respect grown-ups. I mean, the kid SCREAMS AT ME. Really let’s me have it. In our home, it’s just upsetting. But in public? It’s downright humiliating. And I have zero idea how to quelch it. And him screaming at me makes me want to scream at him, which I know won’t really help anything.

This morning, after the whole potty discussion [which ended with Finn going potty then insisting that Daddy dress him, even though that has ALWAYS been my part of the morning routine with him] I headed downstairs to make Finn his breakfast. Shortly after, I heard Finn crying, but couldn’t decipher what about.

Eggs made, I headed upstairs to find Finn dressed at the top of the staircase. He had stopped crying, but looked at me and said:

I need a hug.

I asked “from who?” and he said ‘from Mommy.”

So I sat down and he gave me a hug and said that he was sorry for being mean. Apparently, the reason he had been crying is because Brian had told him after I went downstairs that his behavior was mean and had hurt my feelings. And for whatever reason, this upset him enough for him to burst into tears.

Which gives me hope. Now, he still insisted that Daddy put him in his carseat and even suggested that only Daddy go inside daycare to drop him off. But if knowing that his actions have consequences somehow gets through to him, hopefully we’ve found an entry point to helping him behave a little gentler not just toward me, but toward others too.

In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to do exactly what I did with that high school crush: try not to think about him, get all my friends to brag about how great I am to him, pretend it doesn’t bother me, and go make out with some other guy. Oh, wait… 

Savoring the Bitter Pill of Failure

So, for those of you keeping score, I missed my blog post yesterday. It’s annoying, because I have no shortage of subject matter, and I’d already set up my back up plan, which was throwing up a recipe on days I just couldn’t get my posts pulled together in time.

What’s really weird is that I don’t really care. 

Normally, failure is an all-consuming state of being for me. When I disappoint others, or even just myself, it really doesn’t sit well with me. The fact that I’ve been sick for nearly two weeks and have therefore not been to Crossfit in just as long is really frustrating, and I literally feel guilty [and a little fat] about it every day.

Thursday night wasn’t anything special. In fact, Brian had a big lunch so we didn’t even fix a ‘real’ dinner - Finn got eggs and BW and I just foraged for snacks most the night. We played some game with Finn, had bath I did a couple loads of laundry, etc. Really nothing out of the ordinary.

But something I realized earlier in the day? The last time I had really pushed on this blog was last November as well. Probably because it was the first time in that year that I wasn’t slammed with work. And this year, I did the same thing… I went straight from working until midnight to still typing until midnight trying to keep up with the ‘post a day’ goal that was not only completely fabricated, it wasn’t really that vital. As much as I like to hear myself blather on day after day about whatever I like, and as complimentary as my mom is about the entire exercise [thanks Mom! :)], no one is crying in their morning coffee when my RSS folder isn’t darkened every day.

What the heck is wrong with me? Yes, I’m a goal-oriented person. And yes, I get a sick little thrill from setting tough challenges ahead of me and then nailing them. But you know what makes me happier? Spending a few uninterrupted hours playing with my son. Watching Modern Family and Covert Affairs with my husband without having a computer open on my lap. Focusing on ONE THING for one moment of my day. Going to bed before 10pm. 

Just like how they tell you to approach a new diet - do your best and when [not if, but when] you fall off the wagon, just get back on and get back to it. No reason to wallow or quit altogether. 

So that’s what I’m doing. No wallowing in the fact that I missed my goal. And I’m definitely not going to quit altogether either. Although I am going to set things up by saying that I’m taking this weekend off. We are on our way to Great Wolf Lodge for a birthday and 24 hours of pool fun that will no doubt blow Finn’s mind, then headed to my parent’s place for Thanksgiving. Hopefully while I’m there I’ll be able to hop back on the daily train… although we don’t call it the Lazy House for nothing.

Liar Liar, Pants on Fire

As Finn’s imagination really starts to ramp up, he occasionally tells us stories about real people or places that are simply not true. Stories like ‘Charlie hit me at school today’ or ‘I had soup for lunch.’ But I can read on his little daily recap that we get that there were no incidents and that he had a turkey sandwich for lunch. The other day Miss Julia [his adorable teacher] told me that he had tripped out of nowhere and fallen down and when she went to help him up he cried ‘Mommy did it!’ I’m a pretty tricky mama, able to trip her son from 5 miles away, right?

I’d say 95% of his little white lies are actually just his imagination working overtime. If he can’t think of anything interesting to say, he just makes something up he knows will get some attention and elicit a response. I just look at it as practice for being in middle management someday.

We try and explain how it is important to tell the truth and not make up stories about real people that can get them in trouble. That while it’s OK to tell stories about things or places that are completely pretend, sometimes stories about real life can get confusing.

And in the next breath, we ask him what he wants Santa Claus to bring him.

This will be Finn’s fourth Christmas technically, but really the first one where he’s semi-aware of some of the traditions and stories and [of course] presents. Even last year I don’t really think he got it. Add to the situation the fact that we don’t really celebrate in a terribly traditional way every year and I would imagine he’s not really sure what to think.

So I’ve been able to avoid doing something that I really don’t want to do: Look my kid right in the eyes and outright LIE.

His first Christmas, obviously thrilled to be dressed like a candy cane and able to fit in his stocking

They are already building Santa’s little photo spot in the mall, so when we were there last weekend Finn excitedly told me how he was going to sit on Santa’s lap. How he knows that this is what you do is beyond me; last year’s attempt ended with him yelling ‘no!! no Santa!’ and us walking away with apologetic smiles. 

Although he enjoyed the little kitchen ‘Santa’ gave him last year, he didn’t really understand the concept of Mr. Kris Kringle, especially since we didn’t wake up Christmas morning at home with the kitchen wrapped in a big bow. Instead, we set it up while he napped during our early faux Christmas with Brian’s parents before heading to my parents’ in Portland for Christmas Day.

Making his first dish last year - ‘eggs, with beans and cheese’ - one of his favorite delicacies.

This year, he’s going to want to know about Santa and his reindeer and how all that works. And while I have fond memories of the days that I believed in Santa Claus, I am really struggling with how much of a story I want to weave. I realize this is a lie that most American parents tell their kids [along with its cousins, the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny] to make the holidays more enchanting and a little fun and - let’s face it - to give them some leverage heading into Spoil Season. 

You’d better be good or Santa won’t bring you that Lightning McQueen Play Doh Racing Set you’ve been wanting!

And because everyone else tells this lie, we all have to sort of play along. You definitely don’t want to be the parent whose kid ruins it for everyone else, or that misses out on the magical time of imagination and wonder when they are young. But just how deep do we go? 

Now that we’ve entered this generation of split households, non-traditional holiday plans and what feels like a movement to treat kids a bit more like mini-adults vs. the sheltered children of my generation, is it still practical to go full boat on Santa and Christmas? Does he still come down the chimney when plenty of families live in condos without fireplaces? Does he still fly all over the world to deliver gifts, and is his passport updated so he can drop off our stockings in Puerto Vallarta? Does Santa still like cookies and milk, or is he gluten free these days?

All of these musings bring me back to my central question:

Is it healthy to lie to our kids, even when it’s about fun stuff, while simultaneously trying to teach them not to be honest? 

When I think about it personally, it’s not like I harbor any ill will towards my parents for telling me tales about Santa, or the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny. Heck, it’s not like they told me the Boogeyman was hiding in my closet - all these fantastic, made-up characters dropped off gifts and money, what’s not to love? But Finn is smarter than I was, and much more savvy that I might even be now.

Things were simpler when he was this size…

He already calls me out on double-standards to lessons we’ve taught him. A few weeks ago I saw him reaching for the stove burner [which was lit] and, in a panic, instead of using my words I smacked his hand, pretty hard. I explained that the burner was hot, and apologized for hitting him, but all he could do was look at me, bawling, and remind me of the rule we’d reviewed after so many time-outs:

 No hitting, mommy! no hitting!

My reasons meant nothing. The conditions around the hit were irrelevant in his eyes. We had told him not to hit under any circumstances, then went ahead and broke our own rules.

Will he forgive me for lying about Santa and friends knowing that it was all for his enjoyment, or will he eventually just see this as yet another rule we made for his behavior that we don’t obey as adults? Just how far will we take the Santa story this year and in years to come? How far do you take it?

Make This: Turtle Graham Bars

I think I saw this one on an episode of 5 Ingredient Fix with Claire Robinson and knew it had to be mine. Either that, or I had graham crackers I knew were going stale and went searching for something that would make them delicious again. Either way, you’re all going to be a little mad at me when you find out I’ve been making these for a year without sharing the recipe with you.

I actually ended up melding an Epicurious recipe with Claire’s recipe and here’s whereI netted out:

Turtle Graham Bars

What to Gather:

• 14 Honeymaid-sized graham crackers [or really, just enough to cover the inside of a regular sized rimmed baking sheet]
• 1 and 1/2 sticks of unsalted butter, cut into pieces
• 1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar
• 1/8 teas of fine salt
• 12 oz. semi-sweet chocolate chips
• 1 cup toasted chopped pecans [or walnuts, hazelnuts, whatever you like]
• Flaky Sea Salt

Bring it Together:

• Pre-heat oven to 375 degrees
• Line the rimmed baking sheet with foil 
• Line bottom of the pan with the graham crackers - don’t worry if they are broken, you’re going to meld them together w/the toffee and then break them all up again later - just get as much of the surface covered with cracker as possible]
• Melt butter in a saucepan over moderately low heat
• Add brown sugar and fine salt and cook, whisking, until mixture is smooth & well combined [about 1 minute]
• Pour over crackers, spread evenly and bake in the middle of the oven for about 10 minutes [will be golden brown and bubbling]
• Scatter chocolate chips over crackers and throw back in oven for about a minute to soften
• Use offset spatula to spread chocolate gently over crackers
• Sprinkle nuts over chocolate and cool in the pan on a rack for ~30 minutes
• Sprinkle with flaky sea salt, then put entire pan in the freezer for at least 15 minutes, I like to let it go for more like 30.
• Carefully lift crackers from the pan, peel away foil and break into rustic bars/serving pieces
• Try not to eat the entire pan before your guests arrive.

The only thing that’s a little bit of a bummer about these bars is that the chocolate starts to melt sort of easily at room temperature. To store, put the bars between sheets of wax paper and store in an airtight container in the fridge. 

These bars are sweet, rich, crunchy and a little salty. SO. DAMN. GOOD. And they are pulled together in literally 15 minutes. Perfect little goodies to take to Christmas parties or just for decadent snacking.

Enjoy!!

Getting ready for the Hunger Games

I’ll admit it: I’m a big fan of Young Adult Lit.

It started with the Twilight series, which I picked up right after Finn was born. That world consumed me for months as I tore through the first three books then waited impatiently for Breaking Dawn to release.

When I had finally come down of my strange high [a process helped along by the movies and their simply awful production quality in the early days], I had to find a substitute. My next addiction was Harry Potter, a series I was familiar with from the movies but had never read the books. I think the seven books took me about four months [I was held up a little with having to return to work and all].

Now what? Lucky for me, Miss Zoot had been devouring the young adult fantasy lit for awhile, and, thanks to her teenage son was something of an expert. She pointed me toward several new series including The Hunger Games, I Am Number Four, Matched and Divergent. I definitely found myself fascinated by the idea of a post-apocalyptic dystopian Earth as told through the eyes of a coming-of age teen, and frankly few stories were as intensely compelling and engaging as Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games Trilogy.

Like any hot teen book, the movie wasn’t far behind. But unlike poor Twilight, The Hunger Games had some serious cash behind it, and, from the looks of the full length trailer that just released today, all that cash went toward making sure this movie delivered the same immersive world the books did. 

The cast includes some of the hottest young names and talent out there [Jennifer Lawrence from last year’s Winter’s Bone and Josh Hutcherson from The Kids are Alright], balanced out with incredible experience from the likes of Donald Sutherland and Woody Harrelson and including the surprising addition of Lenny Kravitz in a truly pivotal role as Katinss’ stylist, Cinna.

If you haven’t already, please head out and grab The Hunger Games. If the bookstore is running a special on the whole trilogy you might as well just buy all three because I promise you won’t quit after the first one. Don’t let the fact that it’s from the perspective of a girl sway you either. Katniss Everdeen, the main character, is hardly a girly-girl, and although there is the proverbial love triangle as part of the plot, this is just one part of a complex, emotional and exciting world where children are truly made to pay for the sins of their fathers. 

I will now just leave you with this trailer, which does as good a job as I’ve seen of setting up both the movie AND the first book. Get ye to the bookstore or the amazon.com Kindle page and download now. You’ve got four months to devour the first book as I did, and I’ll save you a seat in the theater.

Brussels Sprouts - the Misunderstood Vegetable

My last post was all about the things that we want for our kids that are maybe upgraded versions of what we had. 

This one is about the things that we may have missed ourselves that we didn’t even know was out there. And this one, I’m blaming on OUR parents.

Until about two years ago, I had never eaten a Brussels sprout. I could put them as one of a list of about a dozen things that I had never eaten because my mom had never cooked them for us growing up. Since that list also included things like liver and tuna casserole, and my mom is a creative and fantastic cook, I never thought to question this.

Here’s a fact: by and large, our grandmothers were not great cooks. OK, fine. MY grandmothers were not great cooks. They weren’t bad cooks, but the techniques way back when were a little less inventive and rules were maybe less lenient.

My father has often told the story of how he hated pork chops for years and had to feign enthusiasm the first time my mom told him she was making them. This was the moment he realized that not everyone cooked pork chops until they could double as house siding. It’s still hard for him to believe that not every piece of beef requires ketchup for ingestion.

Lots of cooking past the point of death. Lots of boiling. Lots of unhappy children in the 50s silently making a list of things they would NEVER make their kids eat as they tried to figure out where to hide their soggy vegetables and dry meat. 

Hence why I had never had a Brussels sprout until recently, and neither had Brian. Both of our grandparents had forever destroyed the vegetable for our parents by boiling them into dilapidated submission before serving. 

I avoided them like the plague until a couple of years ago when my brother, ever the progressive foodie, made them for us and they were delicious. He essentially sauteed them until they were brown and caramelized then served them with rigatoni, sausage, and crispy bacon. Because everything is better with bacon. YUM.

And so, a few months ago, I decided to try making them myself. To help ensure success, I made sure the recipe I tried included the cornerstone elements of deliciousness: some form of bacon, potatoes and butter. 

The truth is, roasting as a cooking technique has completely revolutionized my interest in vegetables. All you need is olive oil, a healthy amount of kosher salt and a really hot oven and pretty much any vegetable becomes crispy, nutty and delicious. Even Finn is up for broccoli as long as it’s ‘blasted.’

I knew this particular recipe was a keeper when I made it for my mom a couple of weeks ago and, despite some initial trepidation, she went back for seconds and then asked to make a copy of the recipe. If you’ve been waiting to try Brussels sprouts, I highly encourage you to make this dish, pair it with a grilled ribeye from Costco and a lovely red wine. And if you already like Brussels sprouts but have never thought about rolling them in bacon fat then roasting them with potatoes and finishing them off with lemon and butter, you’re going to want to write this one down too.

Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Pancetta: Thank you, Bobby Flay!

What to gather:

• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 1/2 pound sliced pancetta, diced
• 4 shallots, thinly sliced
• 1 pound Brussels sprouts, trimmed and halved
• 8 baby Yukon gold potatoes, quartered
• Salt and freshly ground pepper
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1 lemon, juiced

Pull it together:

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.

Heat oil over medium heat in a roasting pan or large skillet. Add the pancetta and cook until golden brown and crisp. Remove the pancetta to a plate lined with paper towels. Add the shallots to the pan and cook until soft. Add the Brussels sprouts and potatoes and toss to combine. Season with salt and pepper and roast in the oven until the vegetables are cooked through and golden brown. Remove the vegetables from the oven and stir in the butter and lemon juice. Transfer to a platter and top with the reserved pancetta.

Next on my list to try, despite years of avoidance: Cauliflower.

Stay tuned!

Life Lessons

When we were pregnant with Finn, we filled out one of those pregnancy journals that asks you all sort of questions about how you are feeling, what you’re craving, potential names, etc. Like most pregnancy/baby projects, we didn’t finish it, but we did get to a question that was actually quite thought provoking:

What do you want your child to have that you didn’t?

What a fascinating question. The instant answer is ‘everything’, right? But we really gave this question some thought to come up with the one thing we both wish we’d had either as kids or earlier in our lives that for whatever reason, we didn’t.

Brian’s answer was actually quick and [of course] adorable. He wanted Finn to have a dog. Since we already had Ollie, that was an easy box to check. And while Ollie wasn’t always so sure about Finn, they are coming to a really fun point in their relationship.

UMMM, who is this, and when is he going home?

And then this is the scene I walked in on the other day. Ollie might not be thrilled, but the fact that he’s allowing it to happen at all is incredible. Finn has learned just over the last six months or so to be really caring and gentle with Ollie, and Ollie has really started giving Finn some serious latitude.

My answer was ‘a passport.’ Not counting Canada or Mexico [which you didn’t need a passport to enter/exit at the time], my first trip out of the country that required a passport was when I was 28 years old. Because we didn’t travel much when I was a kid outside of road trips, I can be a nervous traveler. Customs terrifies me. And despite logging hundreds of thousands of miles as a business traveler, leisure travel still manages to stress me out.

Although both answers were pretty different, I’d say their ultimate goals were actually similar. I didn’t just want Finn to have a passport because I wanted him to travel abroad; I wanted him to have one young, which meant that he’d get used to [and hopefully fall in love with] travel at an early age. Brian wanted Finn to have a dog, but it wasn’t just about owning an animal; it was about having that buddy, that kinship with another creature, one that Brian had as a kid with cats, but had never experienced with an animal that would really return that loyalty and love the way a dog would.

While Finn doesn’t have a passport yet, he has already logged plenty of airmiles, having traveled Hawaii, New York, and California a couple of times by the time he was just over a year old. And although we haven’t flown with him a lot the past couple of years, he is fascinated with going on ‘a little trip,’ all sorts of transportation and the idea of being somewhere new. I’d say we’ve done OK.

Today marked another movement forward in our quest to give Finn things that we maybe would have changed from our youth. This one pertains entirely to me vs. Brian, and it has to do with swimming.

My parents will remember better, but all I can remember about swimming lessons was being terrified. We went to the YWCA in Salem, and I think I must have been seven or eight years old. We didn’t swim a lot as a family, not really having regular access to a pool, and for whatever reason, swimming did not come naturally to me, and to this day I wouldn’t say I’m super comfortable in the water despite the fact I am perfectly capable.

Brian on the other had spent his first seven years in Irvine, CA and had a pool in his backyard. He not only learned how to swim young, but by the time he was in high school he was playing water polo on a club team. He is very very comfortable in the water, which has been a wonderful lesson for our son.

We put Finn in ‘swim lessons’ when he was about 7 months old. This was basically a strange cult of parents and their kids marching in a circle in the water while chanting oddly disturbing songs about alligators eating monkeys.

Finn liked swim lessons. Daddy LOVED them.

Finn had other exposure to pools over the past couple of years while on vacations, and every time it became harder and harder to get him OUT of the pool. I was thrilled to see how much he loved it, and even happier to have a husband who was so into it. It doesn’t hurt that Brian is tall enough to have Finn in water deeper than 4ft, either.

By the time this summer rolled around, he was very very comfortable in the water.

We decided it was time to get him back in lessons, and his first formal lesson since he was 7 months old was today. 

He did absolutely wonderful. Another example of why I love daycare, in addition to him being 100% comfortable in the water, he was also totally on board with the concept of a group lesson; waiting your turn, listening to directions, doing things as a group and then doing them solo with the teacher. 

He was so excited on the way there he literally didn’t stop talking about his lesson and his new teacher for the entire 20 minute ride. And his performance once he was there didn’t disappoint.

I was so proud of him. So happy that it looks like we have a kid who loves to swim on our hands, and so happy that he hopefully won’t have to repeat what I remember being a traumatic experience as a kid.

As parents, I guess all we can do is try and take the ‘best of’ reel from our own parents and friends who have kids then sprinkle in a few items that we can live vicariously through: Owning a Dog. Having a Passport. Learning and loving to Swim. These aren’t massive or outrageous things to want for our kids, and I just feel really lucky that we’re in a position to make them a reality.

Eleven-Eleven

Conventionally, Veterans Day has come to commemorate those who have served our country during war times. But did you know that Veteran’s Day actually started out as ‘Armistice Day’ focused primarily on the commemoration of the end of World War I?

‘Armistice Day’ was legally made an American Holiday in 1938, 20 years after the WWI cease-fire on November 11, 1918. It wasn’t until 1954 [and two more major world conflicts] that the term “Armistice” would be replaced by the word ‘Veteran’ and the day expanded to honor all Americans who had served the military in times of war or peace.

I think it’s easy to put up our flag and thank our veterans on days like this. It’s pretty much guaranteed you’ve got either an immediate relative, friend or old schoolmate who has served in the American military to put a face to today’s lesson of thanks. 

Personally, I have a huge soft spot for the military. Like any large organization, it has bright spots and dark spots, but overall I love the concept of this regimented, hierarchical, highly trained and disciplined organization filled with Americans who want to keep our country safe. Plus, I love uniforms. I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that my dad, my uncle and my grandfather all served in the military, and my cousin and his wife are currently serving, but when I think about the military as an organization and the people in it, I feel an intense amount of pride and gratitude.

Now, I know my description above sounds pretty Pollyanna. Especially lately, where many of those fighting in the wars over the last 10 years have not been voluntary and so much of our directives as world power have felt forced and possibly even completely off base. But while some of the events over the last decade may have made me question our military strategy as a country, it has never once made me anything less than thankful and grateful for those who put their lives on the line every day so we can live in a safer world.

As I was doing a little research on Veteran’s Day, I came across this quote from the Act that made Armistice Day a legal holiday, describing it as:

…a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace… 

This feels like a part of the meaning of Armistice Day that got lost on it’s way to becoming Veterans Day. That this day shouldn’t just be about commemorating the people who serve our country, but it should also focus on the cause that these fine folks work toward every day.

When we thank our vets, we are thanking them for their time, for their sacrifice, for putting their lives on the line for us. But often, they are putting their lives on the line for others in countries outside of America, and they do it because they believe in a better world and want to do something about it.

Now listen - we can spend all day debating whether we as a country have any right forcing other countries to live by our standards, to conform to the ways we feel are right. As I said, our military strategy may be flawed.

But the goal, and the people fighting for that goal, are not. And they deserve our love, our charity, our support and our gratitude. Because they don’t just fight for our country. They fight for our freedom. And the fight for world peace. 

I don’t know about you, but that thought puts my daily goals into pretty harsh perspective.

How to Survive Flying Alone with a Baby

Today’s post was inspired by a question posed by my friend Stephanie who is planning on flying with her will-then-be 5 month old to Texas after the holidays. She was looking for tips on traveling alone with a baby.

The easy advice is to SKIP IT. ‘Always bring backup’ is a cardinal rule of parenting, whether that’s your S/O, your mom or dad, a friend, whatever. Wrangling the airport and airplane solo with a little one is about as much fun as a root canal.

BUT, it absolutely can be done. So if skipping the solo trip isn’t a possibility, here are a few of the lessons I learned flying with Finn alone when he as about 6 months old combined with a few I’ve learned since then:

*please note, most of these guidelines work well for folks traveling with a companion as well.

First, let’s talk about your flight booking strategy.

TIMING: I have tried every tactic here - from booking trips during naptime with the hope he’d sleep on the flight to booking at the crack of dawn so he would nap once we arrived at our destination. The fact is that traveling of any sort - especially if it involves the switching of time zones - is going to be pretty disruptive for you and the kiddo, so try not to worry too much if the normal schedule goes to hell in a handbasket.

If you’ve got the kind of baby or kid that never misses his/her naptime and is good about sleeping in the car, then booking your trip during naptime is probably a safe bet. If you have a kid like mine who would rather skip sleeping for a week than miss a new experience, then you may just need to accept that naptime isn’t happening and just book whatever time is most convenient for you.

Next little nugget on booking is around the length of the trip itself. I know the economy is tight, and most of us are not in a position to be spending money unnecessarily. HOWEVER, flying alone with a baby is not the time to use miles or points for a cheap trip if it means three connections and doubling your total travel time. Figure out the shortest way to get where you’re going, then book it. Trust me when I tell you that there will come a time when you’re on the plane with your child and you’ll find yourself making a deal in your head that goes something like ‘I would pay one million dollars for this to be over,’ at which point you’ll just feel silly for not spending the extra $100 on the direct flight.

AT THE AIRPORT:

CHECK YOUR BAGS. You’re probably going to have to check a car seat anyway, so don’t try and be a hero when it comes to dragging your baby, his/her diaper bag [which is now your purse, by the way] AND your rollerbag on the plane. Just getting the bag up into the overhead compartment will not go well, and it’s just not worth it. Save up $25 and check that sucker.

BRING A STROLLER for navigating the airport itself - this is a ‘free’ gate checked item on every airline I’ve ever flown on, which means you can stroll it throughout the airport, down the jetway and right to the door of the plane, where they will put it in an easy access storage area right near the front of the plane and it will be waiting for you in that same spot when you get off. Awesome sauce.

CHECK IN AT THE DESK and tell the flight attendant you are traveling alone with a baby. Most folks are parents and take pity on people traveling with kids, especially those traveling alone. They’ll put you in a seat that has an empty middle seat if it’s available, move you to an aisle, etc. You’re checking your bags anyway, so it doesn’t hurt to ask.

DRESS CODE - LESS IS MORE. If you think security is a pain in the @ss when it’s just you traveling, wait until you try it with a baby. It might be better now that they’ve changed the rules about having to remove the shoes of kids under 12, but this part is still not so fun. Make sure Jr. doesn’t have a sweatshirt or blanket covering him/her and wear your slip on shoes. Also, don’t panic when they want to take and open your pre-mixed formula or baby food. They have to test any liquids that pass through that don’t follow the sub-3oz rule. This sucks on the baby food side since once they pop the air-tight seal you pretty much have to use the food in the next few hours, but there’s not much to do about it. If your baby is formula fed like mine, I would recommend buying those handy little premixed formula packets and a bottle of water on the other side of security to avoid the issue altogether. 

Now, about security. We haven’t traveled with Finn since the new full-body scanners have been installed so I’m not sure how they handle kids, this new machinery and opting out. My very unhelpful advice here is just to do whatever you are most comfortable with, but know that something even more uncomfortable is probably waiting for you and your child in the form of a handsy TSA agent. Typically, not ALL security lines go through the new full-body scanners, so I usually find the lines that just use the old scanners and wait as long as it takes in those lines. Might not be a possibility with a kiddo.

EARLY BOARDING is one of those ‘perks’ they give to parents traveling with small kids. This is another one that’s totally up to you. IMO, if you’ve got an aisle seat and an active baby, probably worth it to stay off the plane until you absolutely have to get on. If you’re way in the back or at the window, and you’re anything like me, it’s just uncomfortable enough to have to make everyone move out of your way that it might be worthwhile to get on with early boarding.

ON THE PLANE there are a few key items and rules that I promise will make your life easier. This is not an exhaustive list, but hopefully it’ll get you started. Keep in mind most of these are aimed at infants under the age of 1 vs. toddlers. This is because I refused to fly with my child in between the time after he starting to crawl but before movies kept his interest for more than 20 minutes at a time, so I have no experience on how to travel with a 1-2 year old because I just don’t think it’s worth it.

NOW, back to the solo mom/dad & baby on the flight…

STRAP THEM IN to your favorite Baby Bjorn or one of those crazy complicated slingy-thingys that attach your baby to either your front or your back nearly permanently. You are going to need both of your hands free if you’re going to be walking up and down the aisle for the next few hours with a bloody mary in your hand. 

In all seriousness, I found myself in a very tricky situation on the ONE solo flight I took with Finn where I had to go to the bathroom and there was no one to hand him off to. I did not have the Bjorn solution handy, so instead I got to figure out how to navigate a bathroom closet on the plane while trying to hold a squirmy, round, heavy 6 month old. The Bjorn even helps when you’re seated, as little cuddle monkey might just snuggle in and fall asleep right there and boom! You’ve still got two fairly free arms with which to read your US weekly AND finish your bloody mary.

FEED THEM whenever they want. This traveling business is about to rock your routine, so don’t worry if the baby is eating every two hours instead of every four, or if you stick the bottle [or boob] in his mouth every time he gets fussy. This is a few hours in the course of your and his/her life, a little extra food will go a long way in keeping them happy and keeping you sane.

GET TO KNOW YOUR NEIGHBORS so when you do have to go to the bathroom or get his favorite teething ring from under the seat three rows up you already have some folks in your corner who will hold your kid for two minutes. I actually once knew a mom who brought little bags of cookies and earplugs for all the seats around her and her son, on his first flight. I’ve never had my act together enough to pull something like that off, but I’ll be no one in her section rolled their eyes when her kid started to cry. They just put in their earplugs and ate their cookies.

IN GENERAL, try to sit on an aisle, and put all your necessities in the backseat pocket. And by necessities I mean a bottle, a PACIFIER [I don’t care what your rules are for binkys, they are a MUST HAVE on a plane to help baby deal with cabin pressure. If the baby doesn’t want to eat on take off/landing, you’ll need to give them something to suck on] a few toys, your wallet [to get your debit card out to pay the nice flight attendant for the Bloody Mary], your MP3 player and your phone [this is entertainment for both you and the baby, by the way]. On the off chance your darling angel actually sleeps on the plane, you don’t want to get stuck in your seat for three hours unable to move and bored to tears. 

The aisle thing is also pretty key. If your baby is inconsolable and needs to be walked around, or has a blow-out, etc. you do NOT want to have to climb over two other people [who are already annoyed at you] to get out of your seat.

Now you’ve gotten all your ducks in a row, secured that aisle seat with an empty middle one next to you, have your debit card handy and your baby strapped on. You feed him. You rock him. You wave his favorite blinky toy at him, sing his favorite songs like an idiot at the top of your lungs and even consider letting him chew on your cell phone. But he’s not hungry, he’s not wet and he’s NOT HAPPY. The pilot hasn’t turned off that stupid, stupid light so you can’t get up and walk around with him, and he’s literally screaming at the top of his lungs. Now what??

A little story about when this happened to me, and the lesson taught to me by the kindest flight attend of all time from Alaska Airlines.

We were traveling back from New York with Finn in October of 2009 [note that this was Finn’s last flight until November of 2010]. It was a long flight, and we took a late one hoping he’d sleep. As I noted above, the joke was on us on that one. He was exhausted and out of his element and generally pissed off, and he was crying, squawking, etc. so loud I was sure the control tower staff could hear us. I was horrified and wanted to die on the spot.

The minute the little seat belt light went off, I got up and walked with him up and down the aisle. On the second or third round, I walked all the way up to the front of First Class, then turned around to find that the food cart in coach had trapped me up there.

I apologized to the first class flight attendant, who smiled kindly and, nodding at Finn, asked very sweetly, ‘Is this the little one we heard earlier?’ I nodded as Finn, happy as a clam now and waving his arms excitedly trying to pull the big red lever that opened the cabin door, giggled loudly. ‘Yes. I’m so sorry.’ I said. 

The flight attendant, who later told me that she had four kids of her own, handed me a double vodka on the rocks and said:

Honey, don’t worry about it. You’ll never see any of these people ever again.

Bad Mommy

Tonight’s ride home was a tough one. I’m not sure where he learned it, because I swear I never ever say this to him [seriously], but my son has learned the term ‘bad.’

I try very hard to never say that he is ‘bad.’ I think we do a good job of talking about his behavior being unacceptable or hurtful, but I honestly don’t know that I’ve ever said that something he’s done is ‘bad.’ And yet tonight…

Finn has a fantastic vocabulary. He picks up new words every 10 seconds and typically uses them correctly. And his enunciation is good enough that we can usually figure out what he’s talking about. But every now and then he picks up a new word or mispronounces a word he knows and I spend five minutes guessing what he’s trying to say to me. These little spells almost never end with me guessing the right word, by the way. They usually end with him getting really mad and insisting that Daddy talk to him instead.

Tonight, there was no Daddy to talk to instead, and when I couldn’t figure out what he was trying to tell me, he resorted to saying:

You’re bad, Mommy! You’re bad! 

When I didn’t respond, he just kept at it. ‘You’re bad, Mommy! You’re bad!!’

It’s been a trying week, and apparently today was not a good day, because by the fourth or fifth rendition of ‘You’re bad!’ I started crying.

How is it that this little person, who is certainly smart but ultimately knows NOTHING can figure out exactly what to say to touch on on my most sensitive, my most intimate and most terrifying fear? How can he be so good at boiling down what I wonder nearly every day to one pointed, demoralizing conclusion? 

Am I a bad mom?

As I would tell any of my friends with kids who might ask me that same question on their behalf, of course the knee jerk reaction is to say ‘of course not!’

But would that be the truth?

The truth is I do not know what I am doing. I have no idea if I am helping to build a good child or a bad one, a decent man or a narcissist. Will he be the wonderful person my husband is, or will my inability to properly discipline or direct him leave him lost? If I let him eat dinner while watching a cooking show or skip family time altogether to get to the gym am I destroying his sense of structure, or are we creating a child who is adaptable? 

Most days, I feel like a bad mom. I wake up stressed, I get frustrated easily, lose my temper at all the wrong times and forget to just put down one of my 20 other projects to enjoy time with my son and husband. I work full time, so already other people spend more time raising my kid than I do, and the few hours I do spend with him I feel like I’m either spoiling him or being overly anal about his behavior.

The hardest pill to swallow is that even on his very worst day, I know I have no one to blame but myself. And even worse? I do not know what to do about it. There are 50 books and 1 million internet forums that I’m sure would have at least 200 different approaches, but who has time to read them, or decide what’s best? I don’t want to, and financially can’t, quit my job [and what good would that do? He’s 100 times better behaved at school than with me]. And there’s no parent-parent conference where someone can sit there an objectively grade you on the job you are doing and give you a few pointers or ways to improve. You have to just close your eyes and pray you aren’t raising a serial killer. Or a politician.

I know that he caught me at a weak point, which is why the waterworks hit with his accusation of ‘You bad, Mommy!’ And believe it or not, nothing shut him up quicker than seeing how upset it made me. ‘You bad, Mommy!’ quickly turned into ‘Mommy, you crying?’ But it took all my effort to not answer both of those questions with an unequivocal ”yes”.

Later in the night there were peals of giggles as he enjoyed his “ollie-pop” [his adorable nickname for lollipops] and an easy and cuddly bedtime routine. Deep down, I know he didn’t really mean to call me a Bad Mommy. But I feel like I’m seeing a glimpse into the future, maybe 10 years from now when he calls me a Bad Mommy and means it. And I may not have any ground to protest.