Grape Stuff
If fruit is the main ingredient, then it’s good for you, right?
I received this recipe from my college roommate, Meredith, years ago. The only copy of the recipe I have is a scrap of paper she found in her kitchen that she scribbled on. It’s faded and rumpled and stained and I keep meaning to rewrite it and throw out the original, but somehow, seeing her handwriting reminds me of her and of us and of the good old days. It’s bittersweet, now, since we haven’t spoken in over a year, and have only exchanged letters, Christmas cards and emails in the past several months, time slowly undoing the bond that we held so tight and for so long. So I keep it and every time I am asked to make it, I search high and low, certain that this is the time that I will regret not rewriting it or, at the very least, making a copy of it.
Last weekend, I felt that familiar anxiety that I had finally lost that scrap of paper, but I found it in the corner of an old dusty recipe box. I pulled up two chairs for the girls and invited them to help me. When J discovered what I was making, he reminded me to make extra and set it aside for him. Grape Stuff is quite delicious - I challenge anyone to tell me they don’t like it. I didn’t get a photo of the finished product (again) but suffice it to say, if you have two almost four year-olds helping on this one, expect a mess and a lot of fingers in the bowl.
GRAPE STUFF
Ingredients:
6 lbs. seedless grapes (black, purple or green)
8 oz. cream cheese, softened
8 oz. whipped topping, thawed
8 oz. sour cream
1 1/2 cup powdered sugar
Directions:
1. Line three cookie trays with paper towels and begin washing picked grapes and placing on trays to dry. Dry the grapes well and let sit.
2. Mix cream cheese, sour cream and powdered sugar until well blended. Fold in whipped topping.
3. Carefully mix dry grapes into mixture and blend until grapes are covered. Chill in refrigerator for two hours.
Strawberry Shortcake Trifle
Daddy Bean’s family always asks me to make dessert for events and holidays, so it’s become sort of a challenge to me to make something new every time. For Father’s Day though, my mother-in-law asked me to make a dessert that I had made before, which she loved. I was in the throes of the flu, turned upper respitory infection and pink eye (and later - now - strep throat) so I ended up making a different recipe than the original. I’ve listed both here because both of them are delicious, it’s just a matter of preference (and what’s in your pantry).
I’m going to try to remember to start taking pictures of the dishes I’ve posted here, to give you an idea of what my finished product is.
Strawberry Shortcake Trifle
Version #1
1 Angle Food Cake
1 8 oz. Cream cheese
1/2 tsp. vanilla
1 c. powdered sugar
1 c. sour cream
8 oz. Frozen Whipped Topping (thawed)
2 large container of fresh strawberries
2 tbsp. granulated sugar
1. Wash strawberries and remove berry tops. Slice strawberries and reserve three or four for garnish. Sprinkle granulated sugar over the rest of the strawberries and refrigerate.
2. Cut Angel Food cake into 1-inch squares. Set aside.
3. Blend together cream, cheese, vanilla, powdered sugar, and sour cream until smooth.
4. Fold in Whipped topping.
5. In a trifle bowl layer ingredients, starting with half the cake cubes, then half of the sugared sliced berries, and then half of the cream cheese mixture. Repeat layers and garnish with remaining strawberries.
6. Cover and chill for 4 hours in refrigerator.
Version #2
2 large containers of fresh strawberries
2 tbsp. sugar
2 pkgs. instant vanilla pudding, plus milk as directed
1 pkg. cream cheese, softened
2 c. 1/2 inch square shortcake or pound cake cut in cubes
8 oz. Frozen Whipped Topping (thawed)
1. Wash strawberries and remove berry tops. Slice strawberries and reserve three or four for garnish. Add sugar over the rest of the strawberries, mix and refrigerate.
2. Mix pudding as directed.
3. Add cream cheese to pudding mixture and blend with mixer.
4. Place half of cake squares in bottom of large glass bowl. Pour half of strawberries over cake. Cover with pudding mixture. Repeat layers.
5. Top with frozen whipped topping and garnish with remaining strawberries.
5. Cover and chill for 4 hours.
Audrey loved it, but she’s got a mean sweet tooth as it is. Maggie is not a fan of pudding, and prefers salty to sweet, so she could take it or leave it. Daddy Bean…well it’s not chocolate and anything not chocolate is sub-par in his book. He actually ate the store bought chocolate cream pie instead. Traitor!
I loved it! If you’re looking for something refreshing and summery and quite pretty, definitely think about making this easy dessert.
Beer Chicken and Potato Slabs
courtesy of Rachael Ray Magazine
INGREDIENTS:
One 12-ounce can or bottle beer, at room temperature
1/2 cup butter, melted and cooled
2 cloves garlic, smashed
1 tablespoon chili powder
1 tablespoon brown sugar
2 teaspoons salt, plus more for sprinkling
6 chicken drumsticks (about 1 1/2 pounds)
2 baking potatoes
Olive oil, for drizzling Lime wedges, for serving
DIRECTIONS:
In a resealable plastic bag, combine the beer, butter, garlic, chili powder, brown sugar and salt. Add the drumsticks, seal the bag and let marinate while you proceed.
Preheat a grill or grill pan to high. Microwave the potatoes on high until slightly softened, about 5 minutes. Slice the potatoes lengthwise about 1/4-inch thick. Drizzle both sides generously with olive oil.
Transfer the chicken and potatoes to the grill. Grill the drumsticks, brushing with the beer marinade and turning occasionally, until the skin is golden and crisp and the juices run clear, 20 to 25 minutes Meanwhile, grill the potatoes until grill marks appear, about 3 minutes on each side. Transfer to a plate and sprinkle with salt. Serve the chicken and potatoes with the lime wedges.
I used Budweiser Select for the beer. Note to self…make sure the beer isn’t cold. My butter quickly solidified as soon as I poured the beer in. I microwaved it for a little bit, then whisked it up to blend. I put the chicken in the marinade and let it sit in the fridge for three hours (which re-solidified the butter). Then I grilled them up while the Beans ran through the sprinkler.
The result was juicy, delicious drummies. I might like them with a bit of garlic powder to add to the cloves, and I think I’ll try this with other parts of the chicken, and in the winter months, with boneless skinless chicken breast. Definitely a keeper. The potato slabs, on the other hand, were boring. Find another side dish or a better use for your taters.
Daddy Bean: *** (He doesn’t like boned chicken.)
Audrey: **** (She enjoyed eating like Fred Flintstone.)
Maggie: ***** (She kept asking for more and told me that this dish has replaced my spaghetti and meat sauce as her favorite meal.)
What do daddies do?
This morning, amidst Corn Pops and milk, I asked the girls what they thought daddies do. Here is what they said:
M: They drive cars.
A: They go for walks.
M: They love surprises.
A: They work. On the computer.
M: They loves me so much.
A: They play Lion a lot.
M: They watch Madagascar 2 with us.
A: They brush my teeth and my hair.
M: They pick up the dog poop.
A: They play ball.
M: They play swords all the time.
A: They eat a lot of candy with me.
M: My favorite thing my daddy does is a hug. I love to give Daddy a hug.
A: My favorite thing my daddy does is go outside with me.
Momma Bean can cook.
I do, I really do. For those of you that know me, you are probably rubbing your eyes, certain that you just read wrong, but I feel confident in my advances over the past year to make the bold statement that I can cook.
For years, I was either bored with, intimidated by or too busy to cook. I’ve written before about what a wonderful cook my mother is and how every dish I make, I compare to her and constantly fall short. Very short. But, I’ve heard many times the stories of her cooking abilities when she was first married. She was a horrible cook and even worse, soon after she married my dad, they moved back to the United States, a country that was foreign to her with food and stores that must have been more intimidating to her than I feel trying to recreate her dishes.
That’s not to say I wasn’t a little curious about cooking and food in general. I love food. I love discovering new flavors and trying new dishes. My dear friend and I spend countless hours during the week emailing back and forth and more often than not, it is about food. We talk about new restaurants in the area, recipes we’ve found, kitchen gadgets we long for and our (her) beloved Gordon.
So, I was playing around with what to do with this site, to keep it fresh and new, to wipe away the cobwebs and neglect, and to infuse the spirit of Beans in my writing, which was my original intent. I have been losing the game with time organization and it’s been more apparent as the Beans became older. I can’t sit for long stretches of time in front of the computer, recounting their newest giggle or their latest word, before one peers over my shoulder, asking to go to “Disney Dot Com” (thank you, cross-promotion) or another knocks softly at the door wall with longing to run in the grass and water the flowers. I thought about the time I spend on the computer at home and, lately, it’s to find a recipe that would be suitable for the wide range of taste buds I have living under my roof. So, to ease back into this, I thought I’d share the recipes that I’ve tested on the Beans, and their reactions. Hopefully this will evolve into something important (to me and to them) and into me getting back to the business of writing the history of my children as they grow before my eyes.
Lucky
Last night, after we returned from the in-law’s and my parents’ house, we spent a little chocolate induced energy with a pillow fight between the four of us. Max attempted to get involved too, but he just couldn’t keep up. Eventually it turned into a round of Jump On Daddy Time and I collapsed on the couch, laughing hysterically at the sight in front of me. Every groan emitted by J led to a squeal of delight by me and an intensification of effort by the Beans.
Peanut beamed at my encouragement and ran into my arms. When I swooped her up, I whispered into her neck, “We’re so lucky, aren’t we? We’re so, SO lucky!” I gasped at the thoughts that followed and banished them from my mind so that I wouldn’t lose this overwhelming feeling of joy and thankfulness.
Later in the evening, as J and I were closing the house up and waiting for the dogs to finish outside, I held him and told him about my conversation with Audrey a few hours earlier.
“I think about it all the time,” he told me, after I asked him if any one person is allowed to feel like this. Will we be allowed to continue on like this or will our luck run out one day? For a moment I allow myself to get caught up in the thought that this might be temporary. That one day the giggles will go unheard and the world will turn dark. In that instant, my heart shattered into a million little pieces and I couldn’t catch my breath at the thought.
Stay up a little later. Hug them a little longer. Smell their hair, tickle their toes. Close the laptop. Turn off the T.V. Hold their face in your hands and watch them smile. Revel in the noise of your life. And hold on as tight as you can.
*Shana, I don’t know you, but I’m praying.
Amanda
Today is the beginning.
It is the beginning of the rest of your life.
It is the day that you begin to realize how big this world really is and how little your place in it is.
When you begin to understand that there are two people in this world that love you as much as this – and you still can’t wrap your mind around it.
When you begin to understand how a woman can endure pain time and again.
It is the day that you learn what it means when they say that your heart will forever walk outside of your body.
When you begin to find yourself marveled by the simplest things and you see everything like it was the first time.
It is the day that you begin to take more pride in what being a woman is.
It is the day that you begin your unpaid career as a teacher, a doctor, a counselor, a housekeeper, a soldier.
It is the beginning of a time when you can’t watch the nightly news anymore and your heart begins to break so easily for perfect strangers.
It is the day that you realize that your life is not yours completely anymore. And that doesn’t bother you one bit.
It is the beginning of many sleepless nights, and of waking up at the slightest whimper and later at the sound of the front door opening after a night on the town.
When you begin to understand what sacrifice is.
It is the first day that you look in the mirror and begin see your mother’s eyes looking back at you.
The beginning of the time when you are shocked to hear her words coming out of your mouth – just like she always said they would.
Today is the beginning of life – of yours and hers – the beginning of a friendship, a bond, a sisterhood, a connection.
Today is the day of your daughter’s birth.
Today is the beginning.
Merry Christmas 2008
May the same joy and wonder that I find in my children’s eyes fill your heart and home during this Christmas season.
The Pie Takes a Tumble
Hopefully, my quota for trips to the emergency room has been filled and we will never have to set foot in one again. Audrey had her turn in 2006 and this past Saturday was Maggie’s turn.
I don’t remember how I got from Point A to Point B. I just know that I turned the corner of an aisle in Sam’s Club and I saw my mom holding Maggie awkwardly and bystanders looking on, concerned. Then, I saw the blood. Half her face covered, Maggie sobbed and my mom yelled. Get here now. Now.
I grabbed her and rushed to the car, not understanding that, with facial cuts, the bleeding is much worse than the actual wound is. All I knew was that she was looking at me through blood tinged lashes and that she was hurt. It turned out to be a minor cut, most likely caused by her glasses, which broke the fall to the concrete floor. Later, she told me that a Cinderella book caught her attention and she wanted to read it.
When the nurse wrapped her in a ‘papoose’, she was calm and garnered praise from the nurse and doctor for her wonderful behavior. But when the numbing shots came (the shots which she screamed about all the way to the car, “No shots Momma! No shots!”), she let out bloodcurdling screams that broke my heart to bits. I couldn’t look, but I held on to her ankles (we weren’t allowed closer to avoid contaminating the sterilized areas) in apology and in the hopes that I could tell her that it would be okay. I don’t ever want to hear those screams again.
She’s okay now. She’s learned to use the injury for extra Christmas cookies and more TV time, but I’ve wisened up to her ploys. Everyone tells me this is what it’s like - having a kid. Everyone shows me the scar from their childhood tumble. But oh, to keep her from such pain. I would take her place in a second.
Monday Meme
It’s the Monday after a long and sometimes traumatic weekend and I lost my BFF email buddy so I’m sitting here in my office wallowing in self-pity and looking for anything to do other than tackle the stack of files mysteriously left on my desk over the weekend. (Not mysterious in that I don’t know who did it but mysterious in that the person who did it shouldn’t expect them back and worked on any time soon as I have more important things to do like meme and run to Target to shorten the Christmas shopping list.) I stumbled upon Ree’s list and thought, “What the hell?” I usually talk about Beans here, so here’s a little dose of Momma Bean.
Things you’ve already done: bold
Things you want to do: italicize
Things you haven’t done and don’t want to - leave in plain font
1. Started your own blog - Two and a half of them! One gave birth to this one and the other is withering in the wind.
2. Slept under the stars. Only because of the whole bug thing.
3. Played in a band. Does the Beans’ band count?
4. Visited Hawaii.
5. Watched a meteor shower.
6. Given more than you can afford to charity.
7. Been to Disneyland/World - Been to both!
8. Climbed a mountain. In Puerto Rico. I thought I was going to die.
9. Held a praying mantis. We did this all the time when we lived in Virginia. Do they have any in Michigan??
10. Sang a solo. Um. No.
11. Bungee jumped. Hell to the No!
12. Visited Paris.
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea.
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch. Does cooking count? I’m getting better!
15. Adopted a child.
16. Had food poisoning. Reason #1,223 why I will never eat at Chili’s again.
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty. I know I’ve been there but I can’t remember what we did there. I’m giving myself the benefit of the doubt though…
18. Grown your own vegetables.
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France.
20. Slept on an overnight train. - Yes, to Chiang Mai, Thailand.
21. Had a pillow fight. Duh!
22. Hitch hiked. No way!
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill. - I repeat: DUH!
24. Built a snow fort.
25. Held a lamb.
26. Gone skinny dipping.
27. Run a Marathon - I’d like to start running but I think I have to actually start to walk first…
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice.
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset.
31. Hit a home run - Bonus points if it’s for the Tigers!
32. Been on a cruise - I’m not all about being stranded in the middle of the ocean.
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person.
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors - I’ve been to Thailand and Canada, now I’d like to visit Ireland and France.
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language.
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied. - Is anyone ever?
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person.
39. Gone rock climbing.
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David.
41. Sung karaoke. Yes. Several times. Especially in the mid to late 90s.
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt.
43. Bought a stranger a meal in a restaurant.
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight. I may have done this but just in case…
46. Been transported in an ambulance.
47. Had your portrait painted.
48. Gone deep sea fishing.
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person. I would LOVE to see this. Soon, please!
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling.
52. Kissed in the rain.
53. Played in the mud. -
54. Gone to a drive-in theater.
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business - for what, I’m not sure.
58. Taken a martial arts class.
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen.
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching.
63. Gotten flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving.
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp.
67. Bounced a check. Who hasn’t?
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy. Books and my blankie..and a few stuffies.
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar.
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job.
76. Seen the Changing of the Guard in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle.
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person.
80. Published a book.
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car.
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper.
85. Read the entire Bible.
86. Visited the White House. I’m pretty sure I did when we lived there - will have to ask my parents this one.
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating. Fishing….
88. Had chickenpox.
89. Saved someone’s life.
90. Sat on a jury.
91. Met someone famous. I didn’t actually meet him, but I did give up my seat at the movies for him - and got free movie tickets in return! Eminem. We watched that Jodie Foster movie where she is trapped in her house with her daughter…
92. Joined a book club. Though…given my schedule, I either read them way too fast (like in one day) or can’t pick the book up for days at a time. I wouldn’t be a good club member…
93. Lost a loved one.
94. Had a baby.
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit.
98. Owned a cell phone.
99. Been stung by a bee.
***
Everyone is free game here, so if you do this, let me know so I can go check it out!
Cruel Reality
Scene: Driving to Gramma & Papa’s house, listening to Christmas music (which has been playing on our local radio station since November 1st…I’m just saying…)
Daddy Bean: “Ho Ho Ho”
Maggie: “You’re not Santa”
Daddy Bean: “What?”
Maggie: “You work on a computer. Santa works on toys. You’re not Santa.”
The Morning Snub
From: Bean, Daddy [mailto: daddybean@lastofthemortgagecompanies.com]
Sent: Wednesday, November 12, 2008 12:38 PM
To: Mommabean
Subject: RE: morning commute
Forgot to tell you another Bean story
So, this morning we’re driving down Main Street by the construction
We saw a big snort yesterday
Maggie asked where the snort was today
I said he wasn’t there, but there was a baby snort
So, Audrey says: “Awwww, cute little baby snort”
I say: “He is cute”
Audrey says: “I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to Melman”*
*For those of you who didn’t know, or didn’t read the previous post, Audrey is Alex, Maggie is Gloria, Daddy Bean is Melman and I am Marty. Responding to any other name is strictly forbidden by Audrey.
In Eight Years…
Shawn, over at Letters to My Daughters, recently wrote about the historical election of Barack Obama to the presidency of the United States of America. While I don’t agree that W. was wholly responsible for the current plight of our nation, I do agree that my world changed under his reign and I look forward to seeing what the next four (or eight?) years behold for me.
In the past eight years, I…
Graduated from college.
Got my first "real" job.
Married my best friend in the wedding of my dreams.
Had my wedding day be overshadowed by the devastation of 9/11, which still brings me to tears.
Road-tripped to Walt Disney World. Twice.
Learned to cook.
Learned to enjoy cooking.
Watched my two sisters move away from me to follow the men they would marry.
Adopted a dog of my own.
Adopted another dog.
Bought a condo.
Bought a house.
Lost two family members, taken too soon.
Suffered through infertility.
Got pregnant. With twins!
Gave birth. To twins!
Became a mother.
Became a part-time working mother.
Questioned my religion.
Questioned my career choice.
Welcomed a nephew.
Grew distant from a best friend.
Made a new best friend.
Read brilliant books.
Made mistakes.
Made many mistakes.
Loved.
Despaired.
Hoped.
Maybe I have sugar coated this for your viewing pleasure but as I look back on the eight years, the good and the bad and the sometimes very ugly, I can only be thankful and recognize that these past eight years were the best of my life. The very best, indeed.
ETA I actually graduated eleven years ago! Wow! See what happens when you get as old as me?!?! Seriously, sometimes I wonder if I should be allowed to have a mortgage and a couple of kids!
The Great Debaters
"But, Mom. I really don’t think that’s a good idea."
"I don’t care if you think it’s a good idea, you’re going to do it."
"But. Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooom."
"No buts."
"Fine."
"Whatever."
Reminiscing about adolescent angst? Try again. This is a conversation I had with a certain three year old legume the other day when I told her to do something that was just a tad bit more exciting than watching me clip my under-groomed toenails. My pediatrician calls it advanced language skills. I call it a pain in the butt I had hoped to stave for at least another eight years.
Both girls are exceptional at communicating exactly what they think, feel, dream of and hope for. It’s both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it is so easy to tell them exactly what I need from them and likewise, for them to let me know what is is they need from me. On the other hand…whoa. Apparently I know how to make opinionated women. They are certainly not shy, though Maggie has her moments of uncertainty. Maggie tries to reason with me while Audrey sets on a path of telling me why what I am saying does not benefit her.
I tell everyone that this is the age that is the most enjoyable. I believe I have said that during every stage, but I really mean it now. Now they are at the age where they can tell me what they are thinking, and inject their thoughts with bits of humor and mischievousness perfectly tailored to their personality. We can have secrets and inside jokes and we talk about dreams and wishes and what ifs. Now is the age that their imagination is in full force and has yet to be tampered with by the oftentimes cynical and cruel world that they live in.
Sometimes Audrey uses made up, silly words and carries on a conversation with me in this pretend language, punctuating her meaning with an earnest look or a raised voice. Other times, she demands that you only speak to her as if she was Alex, the lion from Madagascar. And when she is in this mode, inevitably her trusty sidekick Maggie must play along as the hippopotamus. If she responds to me in any way other than that of an animal, Audrey is quick to correct both of us. When Maggie is not playing Audrey’s game, she’s playing the role of teenager in a toddler’s body. She calls my bluff and questions my logic. You see, she was the one that I was quoting above. And yes, she says "Fine!" in that way. "Whatever" too. Only she doesn’t say it with the nastiness that teenagers can sometimes drum up. She says it with a smirk, as if she already knows my reaction will be the incredulous look on my face and the slow shake of my head.
I love that I can tell them what I’m (mostly) thinking now and they can respond with their own ideas and opinions. They give me suggestions and they remind me of promises made. They keep me in check almost as much as I keep them in line and they force me to be honest with myself and with others. That they disagree with me sometimes is only a sign that I’ve helped to create independent, smart little women. But mostly, I revel in the fact that, not only are they growing into wonderful women, they are becoming great friends that I cherish on a level different from their places as my children.
An American duty
Daddy Bean: Mommy and Daddy have to go vote for the president today.
Maggie: What’s that?
Daddy Bean: well, we live in the United States so we need to vote for the president. The president is like the king of the United States. Kind of like Julian is the King of Madagascar.
Maggie: Oh. I’m going to vote for Magglio!
My little wallflower…
I had to sweep the cobwebs away to even get here! I have so much to talk about yet I can’t get the words through my fingers and onto the keyboard. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t, but I am still here and alive and kicking. For those of you who are having Bean withdrawal, I give you this…You tell me if her father and I have anything to worry about in the future!!
Three Years
I told J last night that I don’t remember much about their birth day except for the hours leading up to the birth. It was a final appointment before the c-section scheduled for the 13th, but my blood pressure had again risen to dangerous levels. Waiting for J to come home, the check-in, the nurse’s pep talks and even the moment that the needle passed through my spine were all memories that are still crystal clear to me. The haze after the births was just that - an incoherent bunch of fragmented scenes, stolen because of the morphine/magnesium sulfate cocktail. The clearest memories that I have of their birth day is of me waking up in the dark and impersonal L&D room, J by my side and an ornery nurse saying, “Well, do you want them or not?” It wasn’t until a couple of days later, when it was just the four of us and the bright September sun was warming my Audrey, yellow with jaundice, that I grasped the magnitude of the moment. She was getting her first tan and J was basking in the pride of fatherhood, exclaiming that he was the best swaddler in the Midwest and holding up a perfectly packaged Maggie for me to admire. I am a mother; we are parents.
Three years later, I still try to rock them, only now it’s an ongoing joke and Maggie babbles like a baby while Audrey coos and playfully pats her head. We hold conversations and have arguments. I am their best friend and the thorn in their side. We have grand adventures and discuss silly daydreams. They learn and they teach me. Every day. Sometimes, when I look at them, I try so hard to see the full cheeks of infancy. When I breathe deeply into their hair, I try to smell the scent of newborn life. But instead, I’m met with the realization that they grow closer to adulthood than I am comfortable with. Their emerging independence and growing limbs reveal the little girls that they are now and the young women they will become. They are running full speed ahead and I am forever chasing them and praying that they don’t leave me behind.
Happy birthday, my sweet Beans.
Because he begged me not to post it.
Audrey, stifling a laugh at J’s expense.
Okay, so really it was that Audrey couldn’t stomach the smell of cow and pig at Wolcott Farm. The girl does not know how to feign interest nor can she mask disgust for politeness’ sake. Don’t ask her for an opinion if you aren’t ready to hear the answer. But, oh, if she loves you. She loves with the same ferocity that she despises, and the strength of it is so shocking, coming from such a tiny bean.
Hey Part-Timer!
When I worked in The Firm From Hell, the guys would call one of the women that worked there "Part-Timer". She did work part-time, after all. She had two school aged children and she worked Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and she sometimes left early for certain events or if one of the kids was sick. I laughed along with the rest when she would stand at the time clock at two minutes to five, card in hand, and be out the door precisely at five o’clock on the dot.
When I started working for my current boss (hereinafter, "B"), I didn’t have children. I wasn’t even certain that I was ready to have children on the day that I accepted employment. I worked full time and I stayed late when necessary, to work on a particularly complicated case or to prepare for an upcoming trial. I was still contemplating going back to school and, though I was no longer passionate about the idea, I was a hard worker, ambitious and anxious for more.
But soon after, the switch flipped. I’ve mentioned before that one day I was a child-germ-a-phobe. I didn’t know how to speak kid, I hadn’t been introduced to muffin-top yet and I enjoyed life as one half of a childless couple. And then, the next day my body teemed with child fever. Just like that.
In the beginning, it was an A and B conversation. Only the two of us knew what the plan was and that’s how we liked it. But, as the months went by, we were forced to introduce C and D and L and Q into the conversation and it became a veritable collaboration of people involved in our baby-making process. And, as such, I was required to skip more and more days at work. When it became obvious that we were jumping from one plan to The Plan, I knew that I couldn’t cover up my absences with excuses like veterinarian appointments and the ever growing litany of auto ailments. I had to tell B why I would need so much time off over the next month. I admit that I was apprehensive about it because this is a woman who had stellar universities and extensive tours of duty with the Army and other government agencies under her belt. She was a no-nonsense kind of woman who worked eleventy million hours a week and saw her children only when they would visit her at the office. But she couldn’t have been more kind and understanding. She had been there, she knew what I was was going through and she empathized with me.
Months later, when I was six months heavy and went into pre-term labor, she urged me not to worry about the office or my duties. And, when I called her, with a baby in each arm, I stumbled over words and made absolutely no sense at all when I attempted to ask her if she would agree to me working part-time when I returned to work. I say attempted because the minute I sensed hesitation in her voice, I faltered and told her I might be able to work something out with regard to child care. Days later, I cowardly left a voicemail that it looked like I would not be able to come back full time. Oh, and by the way, I’m taking another month of maternity leave. Thanks. Bye.
It goes without saying that everything changed when I had the girls. My life was always full and had purpose and meaning Before The Beans, but now, it was different. It was more. It was indescribable and I discovered that I was born to be a mother. Or, more specifically, to be their mother.
Last weekend my dad was, to quote my mother, "the sickest [I’ve] ever seen him in thirty-five years,". We were at the Shelby Township Art Fair when my sister called me to tell me that my mom was trying to get a hold of me and they were headed for the emergency room. I yanked the girls away from the face-painting table and called my mom. She sounded confused, nervous. She said that she would call me from the hospital and asked that I come as soon as she called. It’s a call that, as the years go by and I begin to see the age in my eyes and theirs, I had been preparing for. Or, at least, preparing to prepare for. They are only fifty-seven years young and they look and act even younger, but neither are completely healthy. My mother, tiny and frail, suffers from diabetes. My father, just opposite, smokes and loves his food and drink as much as the next person. So, when the call came, I went. There wasn’t a doubt. J stayed back with the girls and only had to call me once to lay down the law via speaker phone.
I was gone for four days. He was in the hospital for four days. Of those four days, I had previously scheduled two off work in order to take the girls to see The Wiggles and to go to a couple of doctor’s appointments. It doesn’t matter really, those were my days. They were scheduled. The other two days were not. I emailed B from the emergency room at around 8:00 p.m. Sunday night, to give her a head’s up and to let her know that I wouldn’t be in on Monday. I left the hospital at around midnight. I didn’t return to work until Friday. Without anyone to watch the girls while my mom was by my dad’s bedside, I really had no choice, aside from dragging the girls to the office, plopping them in chairs and shutting my office door to contain them and their squeals. Oh wait. I could have had my mom park them in the hospital lounge.
Or, as B told someone (who told me), I could have found a back up. Spite and disappointment might have me misquoting her. Or it might not. Nevertheless, you get the picture.
When I flew into a rage after hearing what was said, that someone told me I needed to just let it go. But I can’t. Two days later, I’m still fuming. As a mother, a working mother, I expected more from B. I hoped that I’d be on the fringes of the SAHM/WOHM debate by (barely) juggling my part-time career with my full-time family. I can’t imagine how I could survive as a SAHM, and at the same time, I know I could never keep it together at the pace of a full-time working woman. I am lucky that I have two mothers that so willingly sacrifice their free time to care for their grandchildren. And even luckier to have an employer that is amenable to my ala carte schedule. But, I think I only have this luxury because I started out as that ambitious, career-minded full-timer. Had I interviewed as the mother of twin toddlers, slightly frazzled, almost put-together, requesting early hours and warning that it would be me and not J that would stay home with the children and take them to appointments, B would have graciously passed. I would have been punished for putting my family before my career.
