Category Archives: Lil’ A

My Daughter, the Ten Year Old

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“Once you have mastered time, you will understand how true it is that most people overestimate what they can accomplish in a year – and underestimate what they can achieve in a decade!”

Amen.

When you’re pregnant, they tell you all about babies – how you’ll be perpetually exhausted and your breasts drained from the constant whimpers of your child. Even commercials remind you, that yes, a baby changes everything.

They never remind you or allude to the fact that this tiny being not only needs your care and nurturing – but guidance to become a good human being. The little pamphlet they hand you post-partum in the recovery room of your birthing center doesn’t prepare you for this future person…just the tiny babe that precedes them.

Ten years. A decade. My little baby, born just the other day, turns 10 years old today. In my head, I never truly and wholly imagined what this day would be like. And if I had, I’m sure what life is now, looks nothing like what I ever could have predicted.

Alora is the definition of what parents aspire to raise. Thoughtful, introspective, hilarious, caring, and any other positive adjectives one could think of. Does she have her…..moments? The kind where you want to pull your hair out and either want to cry or declare you’re probably the worst mother ever? Absolutely.

Alora’s birthday list was a mash of books, art, technology, science, and music. The choice for her birthday dinner is a French restaurant because once she saw the menu, she was totally in love. She’s hoping to meet the chef to get some pointers and I admire that about her.

Ten years. A decade. All eyes pointed to the future. As I put her to bed the last time as a nine year old, she gently pressed her forehead to mine and gripped my hands. She didn’t say a word but I knew exactly what she was saying.

This girl is full steam ahead to becoming a young woman and I think we’re ready.

Maybe.

Happy Birthday, my beautiful girl! I love you. More than any words in the dictionary.

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Don’t Blink

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They say it all the time.

Don’t blink. Enjoy every moment because one day you’ll wake up and your baby won’t be a baby anymore.

And here she is, my daughter, just born yesterday…about to turn 10. Almost as tall as me, thin and lanky (unlike me) with royal blue streaks in her hair. We have to shop in the Juniors Department for her because she is mostly limbs and has no desire to wear shirts with cartoons or cheesy sayings.

Alora is very much her father, and if he were alive, I don’t know how he’d be handling all of these changes in the little girl she was. I don’t know how he’d handle seeing all the similarities between the two of them now, both physically and mentally, because I sure as hell don’t keep it together a lot of the time.

There is beautiful mirroring: the soft brown of her eyes set beneath familiar brows. The shape of her feet and toes identical to ones I’ve seen before.

And there is some ugliness. Deep-seeded frustration after disappointment. Quick sarcasm to deflect questions. Unexplained sadness that comes in like waves. Deja vu.

Like most young ladies she can be two people: in one breath arguing valid points of contentment with my parenting and in her exhale curling up beside me in silence, only wanting to be held.

I love her so very much. Sometimes I’m so angry that I happened to blink.

 




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Holiday Magic

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I’ve been a mother for nearly 10 years – almost a decade of making magic happen before my daughter’s very eyes. I remember when she was three, my father standing in the snow outside of her bedroom window shaking bells to let her know Santa was coming.

For some reason, my daughter’s belief in Santa Claus was very important to me. In this crazy world there was something about giving Alora magic in her life that soothed my soul.

This year Alora has officially become aware that Santa is not exactly who she always thought he was. Well, he certainly saw her when she was sleeping (and checked on her 27 times a night) and knew when she was awake (because she demanded a fried egg with her bagel), white beard or not.

While I was momentarily crushed, she wrapped her arms around me and reminded me that “the magic still happened, no matter who created it.”

Yeah, that’s right – I’m a Christmas bad-ass and I don’t care who knows it. So today I bequeath unto you my tips for being super awesome during the holiday season. One is a generic parenting tip while the others are my ideas for keeping Santa’s awesomeness around as long as possible. I promise you all of these have been done by me at some point. Whatever.

  1. Before wrapping children’s gifts, remove the items from as much packaging and twisty ties as possible while still retaining the integrity. Put batteries in it if necessary, then wrap. You know that screaming and frustrated child who wants to play NOW? Boom.
  2. If you have a Nintendo Wii, make a ‘mii’ that is as close to Santa as possible. Make sure he plays a few games and that you leave the Wii on to be discovered in the morning. Even Santa needs some down time during that long trip.
  3. Get in cahoots with someone and change your names to ‘Santa’ in your cell phone. Change the photo too if one is associated with that number. Oh, it’s after dinner and Santa sent you a text asking if your child has fed his hamster and finished their homework? This works particularly well with the reading age crowd. Elf on a Shelf? Pfffft. You’re welcome.
  4. Should your older child start to doubt Santa, laugh heartily and say “You think I’M getting out of bed in the middle of the night to give you presents? You’re funny.” This equals at least one more year of believing.
  5. If your child leaves carrots for the reindeer, gnaw that shit to death and scatter stubs around the room. Shove hay in the cracks of doors and complain about the mess they left in the morning.
  6. Have pets? Buy a white glove and leave it in their sleeping area. Santa took it off to give them a little pat and left it behind. Same goes with some cheap drugstore glasses left on a kitchen table. Evidence is King.

Most importantly – if your child no longer lives to make Ol’ Saint Nick happy, make sure they know the number one rule of being trusted with that information is that no matter how old or how young, you can’t tell anyone else or confirm their suspicions.

At the end of the day, red suit and beard or not, Santa IS real. Just like Alora said, the magic happens regardless.

Do you have any tips?

 

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It is Only My Daughter Who…

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…can make her miserable experience with a second sinus infection, in two months, adorable.

…easily downs multiple hot wings, but finds a lot of marinara sauces too spicy.

…makes a Christmas wish list with things like a microscope, make-up, and a gun.

…can’t get out of bed for school but is the first one up on the weekends.

…thinks the idea of a good time is cuddling up and watching Gordon Ramsay cook or flipping through a cookbook.

…gets angry when I say she needs to rest instead of carving wood.

…can change the entire outcome of a day with a laugh or a hug.

…asks if the next time I make French Onion Soup I use less onions.

…loves openly with honesty and a twinge of humor.

…is funnier than most adults I know.

…is worth losing sleep for.

…makes it very tangible to me, that everything in this crazy world, really does happen for a reason.

 



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Cooking With My Kid: Parchment Fish Packets

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Cooking with my daughter is much more enjoyable than cooking alone. There are moments of love, conversation, and learning that wouldn’t happen otherwise. We talk about why we’re using a certain process or how many tablespoons make 1 cup. She gently lets me know if she thinks there’s not enough salt.

Her hands are much like mine; always itching to create something in the kitchen.

After the recent hurricane, schools were closed because of power outages and one of those days, with my mother, Alora announced, “I need to make tomato sauce.” With my mom only cutting the onions for her, Alora made the best tomato sauce I’ve ever tasted. I say that with no bias or exaggeration. I do say it with a little jealousy because it was better than any sauce I’ve ever made. She won’t even tell me what was in it. Whatever.

Children are more likely to try and eat things that they helped make so if possible, start them young. The smaller set can pull tails off of cooked shrimp, dump food and spices into a bowl, and squeeze a lemon. As they get older, let them use a butter knife to cut soft items, stir pots, and make their own sandwiches the way they want to (that is turkey, cheese, lettuce, cucumbers, pickles and a little bit of mayo for Alora).

This weekend we set out to make fish in parchment packages. Each of us getting our own little meal, made to order. Alora and I hit the market up for fish, knowing only that she got to pick what looked the best. I’m sure any fish will work in parchment packs – but she wanted the catfish. We also grabbed 6 gigantic shrimp because they were beautiful and asked me nicely to buy them.

When we got home, we preheated the oven to 450 degrees and started chopping vegetables.  Anything small or soft works great - I even used my mandolin slicer for paper thin potatoes and onion. You also want some aromatics (herbs, garlic) and acid (citrus, vinegar, wine) involved.

 

I told her about mise en place and how it makes making dinner so much easier because you don’t have to stop to do anything and clean up is easier. She retorted with some smart-ass remark about how I never do that and it’s why the kitchen is always messy. Ahem.

With her station set up, she artfully crafted her packet, thinking out loud as to what takes the longest to cook with each addition.   

 

Each layer was seasoned with her favorite flavors and paprika “for color.” After getting all three fillets ready, each one was topped with two of the shrimp. I was given the duties of wrapping the packets tightly and placing them in the oven. As much as I trust Alora, she has unfortunately inherited my clumsiness.

After 15 minutes in the hot oven, we all gathered around the table and enjoyed our personalized parcels. The master of the kitchen herself was so pleased with the result that she almost immediately started pondering more meals to make in pouches.

You can practically see the wheels spinning….

I sure do love this girl.

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Foto by Gino and Gratitude

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Back in May I won a free photo session from Foto by Gino. The wonderful Jill of Scary Mommy was doing a giveaway and I entered – which I never do, because luck is not a word I’m familiar with.

But win I did, in so many ways. To both Gino and Jill, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

This Gino – was not only funny, gracious and lovely – but he captured Alora’s personality perfectly. He let her be rather than directing her to do something.  He also didn’t strangle her when she got a little snarky, so really, he’s already a better mother than me.

Not that I strangle my child…….

Then he threw me for a loop and had me and Mike get in some of the photos. For the record, Mike does have two legs and I don’t always sit bow-legged. I’m just awkward.

We’re pretty much adorable otherwise.

Now I’ve got the task of picking prints. Which I want roughly….all of them printed in triplicate and then put upon canvas.

Damn you, Gino – why’d you have to be so good with a camera?

 




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Nine

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On the fourth of July of 2002, I waddled with purpose at my parent’s house. My due date was July 9th so I was coasting along in my pregnancy nonchalantly.  Joshua was at work and I passed the time stuffing my face with my father’s infamous burgers and barbecue chicken.

It was family myth that my mother went into labor with me after eating barbecue chicken – so I ate it in jest.

When I was back in my bathroom-stall-sized apartment alone, I noticed I was having some stomach cramps. They hurt  but they came and went with ease so I thought I’d be okay. As I laid across my bed I started to time the cramps and after a few minutes I knew they were contractions. They were manageable and I scoffed at all the books and movies I’d seen that said I would be rendered helpless.

It wasn’t long before I was in immense and horrible pain. I did what every  mature and independent woman does in her time of need….I called my mother.

After a check at the local county hospital confirming my labor, I was sent to my official hospital to birth my calve child.

For 27 hours, I paced hallways, passed plugs, endured poking, cervix checks and waited patiently for her arrival. At the end of those 27 hours Alora was born and life has never been the same.

My 9 lb. 7 0z. child that was the size of a three month old; perfect and pink with her eyes wide open. A perfect Apgar score – twice.

For nine years now I’ve been so lucky that I’ve always wondered if I might start to pee four leaf clovers. My daughter has single-handedly saved me from the woman I think I would have been without her.

She is nine years old today.


At 7:13 pm tonight I will do what I have done every year since she’s been born; I will hold her and weep with gratitude that this universe gave me the world’s most inquisitive, thoughtful, emotive, generous, and hilarious child.  I do not know what I’ve done to deserve her.

Happy Birthday, Alora!

Everything that you are, and everything that you will be….I am proud of.

I love you.


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Kids Say the Darndest Things…

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As an infant while Alora was squishly and wobbly and making all sorts of adorable nonsense sounds, I couldn’t wait for her to talk. I imagined her ability to make a thought come to fruition, even if only in two words, would be music to my ears.

I never factored in the obvious. Since she started talking she unfortunately acquired an illness so many of our children do: the inability to stop.

Most of the time it is harmless chatter about who did what at school, while other gems she spews keep liquor sales coasting right along, even during this struggling economy.

My top three current delicously horrifying quotes from my daughter, Ms. Alora, are as follows:

  1. “Mom, something is wrong with my G-String. It feels loose.” This moment was followed by me dropping my spatula, running into the living room while screaming and flailing my limbs.  My poor confused child stood at the bottom of the stairs holding her viola. Yeah, try explaining that mini-freak out.
  2. “Why in the world would you ever eat someone’s balls? Testicles are so weird and veiny.” While initially causing me to faint, turns out she’s just a big Bizzare Foods fan. Thanks, Netflix.
  3. “Mom, what is a whore-monger?” Well I guess what it means is that I better watch my mouth a little better while I drive. Exactly what is a whore-monger you might ask? I don’t know but please don’t act like one. (Oh, and while we’re at it, most kids also are curious as to what a slut-dragon is, so don’t call your neighbor that either.)

The ability to make you feel like a better parent today has been brought to you by Adryon’s Kitchen.

You’re welcome.


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WANTED: Babies. Just None For Me.

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My daughter was born yesterday. No really, it was just yesterday I waddled my pregnant-self into a hospital and labored like a farm animal until she graced us with her bacon-loving presence. Right?

Except that’s not true. Born in 2002, I was way ahead of the curve of when my friends would be having kids. In fact, I haven’t held a baby since Alora was one…just haven’t had the chance.

I went into labor at 4pm on July 4th and immediately looked down at my belly and said “Absolutely not. You will not be a fourth of July baby.” Jokes on me because 27 hours later, she made her grand arrival.

Now nearly nine years later I’m at a loss for what it was like to have a baby. It was so long ago that I don’t remember much except for breastfeeding marathons, poop explosions, and not ever sleeping.

I’m aware that I won’t be having anymore children, so in my desperation, please people – keep having them. Then let me watch them. I promise I won’t drop them on their head or I will at least try my very hardest not to. I just want to remember what it’s like to have a baby. The squishy, sticky-faced, barf on your pants babiness. Toddlers are chill too.

Because right now, my daughter discovered she has arm pit hair and ahem, “other” hairs and it’s all she can talk about. The grown up kind of hairs. She’s 8 and I need a drink.

I just gave birth yesterday. This is not happening.

S.O.S PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP ME.
Adryon


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Little Pieces

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I’ve had some thoughts about my own mortality recently. It sort of came along with the territory of leaving my family for a week – I’ve always been one for the over dramatics. Why don’t you look shocked?

My daughter has already lost one parent and the thought it could happen to me at any moment sometimes shakes me up. I am human after all, contrary to other things you may have heard.

Now that she’s getting older, she’ll retain more memories of who I am as years go by. Not just the good things; but the bad ones too.

What she remembers about her father is simple, beautiful and pure. She remembers walking with him to get ice cream. The details of his face are still very clear to her. She remembers that he was kind, funny, and gentle. She knows that every inch of her is identical to him.

See?

If something happened to me today, what would she remember about me? That I always nagged her to put her clothes away? That I could make the biggest kitchen mess in the smallest amount of time?

Would she remember the funny lunches I pack her, the songs I sing her in the morning, or the countless snuggle and giggle fests we have?  Or would I be the mom that had migranes, could never remember anything and lectured too much?

Would she know anything about me as Adryon and not just Mom? What memories would I truly leave behind for her that aren’t in photographs?

What would you?



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