Imagine my horror if I found out my child wasn’t an adventurous eater! Just thinking about it makes me anxious and I imagine my dining days filled with chicken nuggets and tater tots. Not that there is anything wrong with that. Anyway… since Sophia is now sporting 7.10 teeth (that’s seven and 1/10th :-)), we are working on expanding her culinary palette. The current requirements are that it is flavorful, but not too spicy (some spice is okay), and that it isn’t too dry, too crispy or too dense. May I present to you Orzo in shallot and lemon cream sauce with smoked salmon — Sophia’s dinner yesterday.
Little you may know, but Sophia, is a monotheist. It just happens to be that her God is none other than Elmo. She adores Sesame Street and we have begun to use it as a bit of a crutch. Sophia has reached terrible two’s in her attitude but not in age. I don’t particularly want to wrestle or argue with her but things need to get done, dinners eaten, things put back in place, teeth brushed, etc., So here we are:
Me: Sophia, it’s dinner time.
Sophia: No!
Me: [after nap, trying to give her a snack] How about some apple sauce?
Sophia: No! RAISIIIIIIIIINS!
Me: Raisins after snack.
Sophia: RAAAAAIIIISSSSSIIIINNNNSSS!
Me: We don’t scream at home. Elmo won’t come and visit us if we scream.
Anyone else have a similar situation? What to do?!
Knowledge is power. Who said that? Francis Bacon. Who was he? A philosopher. At the very least … know yourself so that you can have the power over yourself, your life, your choices and your interactions with those who surround you. Me? I’m passionate, caring, hot, cold, a planner, committed, proud and honest. The last one: honesty — which means telling the truth. The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable. Who said that? Garfield. That’s very true. It will make you miserable… but I am okay with that because I know in my heart that I’m free.
Here’s the truth: you can’t force someone to love or accept you. That can only happen when they really get to know you — I’ve just realized this. I guess maybe I am a little wiser being 3-0 and all…
This Sunday morning happened to have also been Mother’s day; Left to our own devices – we let spontaneity rule and ended up having a glorious day. Sophia “wrote” me a Mother’s day card and so did my husband — her’s was a little more … abstract. While reading admiring her card, I couldn’t help but think about just how fortunate I am to have her in my life.
I have done quite a bit of thinking in the past few days on mothering, parenting, co-parenting, grand-parenting. On Mother’s Day in particular, I couldn’t help but think about the enormous responsibility it is to mother (not just be a mother). And then it happened — a small wish with an enormous meaning. My dad is not a man of many words. Though he is a colonel and appears stoic on the outside, he’s really a big teddy bear. He said to me yesterday that I was loved before, but am loved so much more, if that is even possible, because I gave him and my mom the ultimate gift (Sophia). Those words, so poignant, so touching helped me realize that Sophia is who she is, where she is and how she is BECAUSE of me and NOT DESPITE me. So take note, people. 🙂
How do you eat cake? First of all… it isn’t cake if doesn’t have more than 1 layer and frosting. Frosting is the absolute best part — well, almost always. Except in supermarket cakes; Those are sugary, tacky things that shouldn’t be called cakes and should come with insulin pills. The way I eat cake is by deconstructing it and saving the frosting (aka THE BEST PART) for last. So… in that same spirit, I saved this write-up for last.
We were sitting in my mother’s breakfast nook on Sunday enjoying our first cup of coffee while Sophia was enjoying some morning cartoons. For whatever reason, I looked down and saw my mother’s hands. I closed my eyes and pictured them, I saw hands that are young, lean, straight, untouched by arthritis. And then I opened my eyes and saw a heavier, wider hand showing the age of the person to whom it belongs. At first I felt sad. I want to forever see and remember my mom young, vibrant, and full of energy. But then, my sadness waned as I realized that those hands reflect the years of holding, comforting, hugging, feeding, rocking, cooking, soothing and playing that my mom has done. Those are the hands that did that for my sister and me and have done it for our own children.
I’ve been jonesing for an outdoor bench for quite a bit of time. With Mother’s Day being right around the corner, I have finally taken the plunge and treated myself to this. Spring, you see, only lasts like 2 days in our neck of the woods. We have to make the most of it and the glorious outdoors it affords before it goes away. Poof…. just like that!
{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.
The Dish on The Dish: Stewed Eggplant with Herbed Quinoa.
Disclaimer: that is not a puddle of oil/butter. That’s just the red pepper sauce that the eggplant is stewed in. Sophia loves quinoa which she calls “cous cous”. That sure is easier to pronounce than quinoa.
5/9, May 9th is Victory Day. I thought I’d take a break from honoring the mothers who hold a special place in my heart and remember those who perished in the last world war. There is no better way to remember, than to recount the impact and tell a story — a personal one.
My Deda was born in Poland. He was supposed to immigrate to America in 1939 and attend university. Poland was invaded mere weeks before his departure and so he (aged 18), along with his cousins ran east. He was captured and sent to concentration camps twice. He escaped once and once he was let go by a german soldier. He left behind his father, step-mother and sisters — never saw them again.
My grandmother (father’s mother) had three sisters. Two of her sisters and their children perished … executed point blank at Babi Yar.
My Dad’s father fought in the war. He never talked about his experiences much.
In my family, on this day especially, we remember those who gave their lives to defend others and those who perished in vain. Remembering means we will never forget and never let history repeat itself.
The story of how we met, is quite unlikely. We live in different countries and on different continents. We have a 30+ year age difference between us and yet we have an incredible connection. Her name is Alexandra, but I call her Shura. She’s a mom of a guy I dated very early in college. His and my relationship wasn’t meant to be for the long haul, but little did I know that Shura’s and my was.
She lives in Germany and I first met her in 2001. In fact, she was there when I was visiting her on 9/11. I remember the comfort she offered when I was separated from my family in such an uncertain time. What is so special about Shura is that she is an incredibly strong, smart, witty and honorable woman. She takes care of those who are near and dear. We share the same values, the same hunger for travel, reading, crafts. Most importantly, it isn’t a one-way road, our relationship; I celebrate and share in her joys and sorrows too. How lucky am I to have a mom like that around me?!
