My Little Princess

Three years ago right ... about ... now ... I held a 5 pound, 7 ounce Mary in my arms for the first time. After laboring through the night (without any drugs), I was dazed and exhausted, but completely in awe of the little being nuzzling against my bloated body for added warmth.

She was here. I was a mommy. Peter was a daddy. Wow.

Besides the hints within the excerpts I had read of a couple bestsellers on parenting, I was clueless. I had heard it was as simple as diapers and milk; and as complicated as philosophical decisions about child rearing. Scared and overwhelmed I left the hospital with a hands on tutorial on nursing, some extra diapers (check, check) and at least a couple theories on how I would shape my little girl over the years. I was going to raise her to be ...
Breastfed. Not formula fed.
A crib sleeper. Not a co sleeper.
Smart. Not beautiful.
An engineer. Not a princess.
In the library. Not in front of the TV.
Eating fruits and vegetables. Not baked goods.
Healthy. Not skinny. Not fat.
Faithful.
Colorblind.
Kind.
Never mean.
Loved.
And beyond my current understanding of the word.

***

Three years later, I have caved on a majority of my convictions. In her 11th month, she was introduced to formula. I co-slept on several occasions. And while Mary is certainly intelligent, she loves when people comment on her looks.
'I love your dress,' they'll tell her.
'What a beautiful little girl,' they'll gush.
She lights up and responds almost on cue, 'oh why, thank you! This is my ball gown.'
Or as I cringe, 'Oh ... I know!'

Which means, she is enamored with princesses: their clothes, their songs, their dances, and their handsome princely matches. She hosts daily performances in our sun room inspired by her favorite Disney characters. And if a duet, Peter is brought in to play her prince. Instead of a Lego building party, which I might have envisioned three years ago, Mary's birthday celebration on Saturday was a Coronation Ball. There were crowns and pink plastic everywhere.

While she loves the library and can 'read' (almost word for word) many of the books that line her book shelf, she also loves her shows. I no longer fight (a limited amount of) TV time each time. After all, she has learned a heck of a lot from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Umizoomi, Dora Dora and Daniel Tiger.

To this day, she could care less about baked goods, unless they are iced, and then she will just lick the frosting off. But she also won't touch vegetables. When the pediatrician asked her what she eats at her yearly check up, she told her chicken nuggets, spaghetti and meatballs, honeydew and apples. Do you eat vegetables, she asked? On sandwiches, she responded. So no, she doesn't Dr. The 'sandwiches' she eats come out her play kitchen. With the void of vegetables in her life called out, the opportunity to have a Hershey Kiss is only extended after a serving of vegetables now.

For almost three years, I have proudly avoided using the word fat (or skinny) around Mary. Chubby cheeks, yes. Fat, no. That is, until the Very Hungry Caterpillar introduced it a couple weeks ago. 'He wasn't a little caterpillar anymore, he was BIG FAT(!) caterpillar,' Mary would read enthusiastically, and laugh and laugh. Words out I guess.

With all the variance on the parenting judgments I had placed on my newborn daughter three years ago, the latter ones have largely stayed the same. She understands prayer and reflection. She has never commented on the color or appearance of another person. Despite fighting with her brother over any number of favorite toys on a daily basis, she is a good girl. Kind and quickly embarrassed when she is reprimanded. Sweet, loving ...

And loved. Truly beyond my understanding. Not just by me and her daddy. But by all the people in her life.

At three years old, I love you for the funny, opinionated, verbose, dramatic, talented, fiercely smart, and beautiful little princess that you are. And you know what, in this day and age, we might just need more sweet, smart princesses to save the day. So play away.  

Happy birthday sweet Mary.

Mommy Lo. 

   

Hot and Cold

I used my words last night, so today, you mostly get snapshots. Wednesday brought a very fun fourth of July on the boat. And I owe a BIG special thanks to:
Peggy and Jan, for hosting ...
Jeff from Roger's Park, for coming aboard and showing us what's SUP ...
Kate, for just showing up and bringing her A game ...
And Lake Michigan, for cooling us down with your 64-degree temps on another very hot Chicago day.
   
TGIF.
Lo.

Fat Fourth of July

I should be 300 pounds. 5 foot 5 by 5 foot 5. Huge. But my inner fat girl has been silenced, tamed, trimmed by a conflicting deserve to look like the starlets on the covers of my favorite fashion magazines.

When I was single, even when I was dating Peter, I used to only think about food. Watch the shows, read the articles, drool over the plates I was presenting to customers at Eleven. But I hardly ate anything. Lettuce with a side of diet coke. Pam scented chicken breasts. A couple Cheerios. I was single, neurotic, freaked out about the inches I would gain from digesting. It was a bland, boring existence when it came to nourishing myself. 

Then I met Peter. My odd ball eating habits were no longer appropriate or attractive for that matter. So I started eating. And with it, running more. Today, I not only constantly think about food, I make it, taste every last step of the processes, and eat it with a cocktail or two on the side. But having invested way too much money in sizes 2 through 4, I run, and run, and run to counteract the calories.  Yesterday, I found a quote that was too perfect -  'I run, because I like desert way too much.' Yep, that's me.

As Fourth of July approached, I started counting down, plotting, planning, dreaming about the spread that we would unload and ingest on the boat. While everyone else was balking about the holiday falling on a Wednesday this year,  I was celebrating the chance to feast mid-week.

Yesterday, I got to cooking. Pulled pork, a summer pasta salad, and chocolate chips. We're packed and ready to go the party. And after running 7 miles this morning, my stomach is just hollow enough to dig in. I will be having a fat Fourth of July.

Happy Fourth the almost done with the paint job, new and improved White House!

(Enjoy the recipes ...)


Carolina Pulled Pork

Brown the Pork
6 pound pork shoulder
Salt, pepper
Bacon drippings
In a seasoned cast iron skillet, brown the pork shoulder on all side in bacon drippings. (I had made BLTs the night before so I had some reserved. If this is not the case, make about six slices of bacon for an afternoon snack, and use the drippings from that.) This process should take about 20 minutes in total. You want a nice crisp edge to all the sides. Remove from pan, and set in a large dutch oven. 

Rub the Pork
One onion, sliced thinly
7 cloves of garlic smashed
1/4 cup ground mustard
1 teaspoon cayenne Pepper
2 (or 3) teaspoons course salt
1 tablespoon dry smoke
1 tablespoon brown sugar
Three chipotle peppers with adobe sauce
Put all of these ingredients in the dutch oven with the pork and with your hands, rub the pork all over, making sure the dry rub covers everything. Try to make the onions into a bed for the pork at the bottom. Pour 3 cups chicken stock and 1 cup apple cider vinegar into the dutch oven. This is enough liquid for the entire roasting time, and actually allows the dry rub to flavor the meat more. 

Roast the Pork
Roast the pork for 3 1/2 or 4 hours at 375 degrees, or until the meat easily falls away from the bone.

Pull the Pork
Remove the pork shoulder and place it on a cutting board. Using two forks, loosely pull the pork into hunks of meat, putting the pieces into a clean bowl. Reserve the chipotle peppers, onions and garlic in the pan.

Make the Carolina Mustard Sauce
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup prepared mustard
1/4 cup dry mustard
1 can tomato paste
2 tablespoons molasses or brown sugar
1dried chili pepper, crushed
Onions, garlic and peppers that you reserved from the pork pan
Salt
Mix ingredients together, pour over pulled pork. Serve on kaiser rolls.

***

Salted Ghiradelli Chocolate Chips

2 1/4 cup flour
2 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 cup unsalted butter softened (2 sticks)
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
12 ounces ghiradelli baking chocolate (I prefer 60% cacao) chopped into pieces

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In a small bowl, mix together flour, salt and baking soda. Set aside. In a large bowl, cream butter and sugars. Add eggs and vanilla mix until well blended. Add the flour mixture in three or four phases, mix till incorporated. Add the chocolate, stir well. Drop teaspoon fulls of dough onto cookie sheets. Bake for 7-8 minutes.

***

Spinach Feta Orzo Salad

3 cups chicken stock
1 1/2 cups orzo pasta
1 bag of spinach chopped
1 shallot minced
15 kalamata olives chopped
1 package feta cheese crumbled
Juice of 1 lemon
1 avocado
Salt, pepper

In a saucepan, bring chicken stock to a boil. Add orzo pasta. Stir for 1 minute. Reduce heat to low and let sit for 20 minutes. Remove from heat. Let cool slightly.

Meanwhile, in a large bowl, mix together spinach, shallot, olives, feta, avocado, lemon, salt and pepper, making sure to break up the avocado as you stir. Add the pasta when it is still slightly warm, enabling it to soften the cheese and spinach slightly. Serve cold or at room temperature.

Surprise

When you get married, gain another family, move away from your hometown and the loved ones that live there, buy a new house, and finally, responsibly learn how to create and manage a budget, life seems to present more difficult, unexpected decisions.

It's small choices: sacrificing the Manolos, Millys, and $20 martinis for a furnished living room. And it's bigger choices, like the one I had to make this past weekend.

About a month ago, I received three invitations. One for a big 4-0, another for a big 6-0 and a third for a big 1 (no 0.) Of course, I thought we could do it all, as we've done with varying success in the past. I scoured travel sites, tried to rationalize $500 flights, figured if I flew to Pittsburgh Friday evening and back home Sunday morning, I could be at Lyla's birthday party on Saturday and a double header of surprise parties in Chicago on Sunday. However, in the end, I had to make an adult decision and tell my little niece that I couldn't be there to help her blow out the candles on her first, quite special birthday cake. 

While it looked like there were enough Barry 'yeahs!' to drown out my absence, I felt bad that I couldn't be there - that I had missed her milestone and missed my chance to yell, 'surprise, I made it!'

On the other side of my decision though were two unforgettable celebrations: two parties, plus another on Saturday night. And I'm really glad I was there: first, to toast 40 amazing years of marriage and 60 memorable years of life, and second, to witness how the best kind of friends last a lifetime. How the ones that were there to wear bonnets at your wedding, put diapers on your kids, keep your secrets safe, and always treat you like a queen, will be there for a lifetime.

Sunday took Peter and I first to the Ava Room at the Public Hotel to celebrate Pam and Dan's 40th anniversary. A tres chic surprise.   

Then to Peggy's 60th birthday party at Sharon and Tom's house. A very regal surprise. 

 

Continuing on the theme of saying 'no' when you have to - perhaps it's not about doing it all, but doing all that you do, well. And I think I did up this weekend as best as I could, while making sure that Lyla's surprise ending is still to come.

Lo.