Cooking with the Toddler.

Yesterday I found a great recipe for Cajun Chicken with Fettucini Alfredo. Sounded awesome. Sounded easy. 30 minutes or less and I would whip up a (different) dinner for the 3 of us. Perfect.

Then 4:55pm hit.

For those of you with 2 year olds who don't always nap-- you know what this means. For those of you who do not, just know that you're missing out on one of the most tragically awful moments in the life of a toddler. Suddenly the realization that they did not nap; even though they were utterly exhausted, were calmly placed in their bed for almost a full hour and a half-- had been read to, sang to, rocked and ultimately set up for the most glorious nap time of their little lives, is just all too much to bear. A lifetime of regret befalls the toddler and the fact that Mama cannot and will not "PIIIICKKKK UPPPPPPP!!!!!" is the worst thing ever.

So between 4:55pm and 5:30pm when my husband walked through the door, I chopped, mixed, blackened and whisked. I tripped over 3 plastic animals from Old McDonald's godforsaken tractor. I willed the rapidly sprouting migraine away. I squatted down to my screaming and crying toddler and calmly explained that Mama is making dinner, which only made him more exasperated that I could not attend to his sudden outburst of complete frustration.

I did not drink an entire bottle of wine, cry or scream "SHUTTTTT UPPPPPP!" like I wanted to.

In the end, here's how dinner worked out--

I forgot to add the cheese to the sauce, so as I was plating what looked like a beautiful pile of fettucini, I yelled at Eric as though we were 12 tickets behind at a high end/high stress restaurant and we both tried to salvage the Alfredo.
I sliced the cajun chicken and realized when I shoved my burning finger into my mouth, that I had used entirely too much cajun seasoning, rendering my beautifully blackened chicken thighs so salty they were nearly inedible.
Eric plated the pasta, I coddled Harrison and the tears subsided.
As we sat down at the table, all of my preconceived notions of this beautifully home cooked meal vanished into the gloppy oily cheese covering the overcooked pasta.

I ate a pb&j after Harrison was in bed.

Changes in the air...

It's Tuesday morning at 9:41am.
I am sipping a cup of coffee, reading through a few blogs and listening to my clothes spin in the washing machine.
This may sound boring, or a million miles away from whatever you are doing this morning, but this is seriously music to my ears.

Harrison has started preschool. His second week began this morning at 9am.
Last week, in order to stave off the emotional wave of my baby being not such a baby anymore, I made appointments for preschool time. Haircut and eye check up kept me busily occupied through the two mornings and I only had a few minutes to act like a big baby.
This week, I figured I could handle it.

I am proud to say, that I can. Mostly.

Harrison is clearly loving preschool. They play on the playground, have a snack, sing songs, read books, and then he completely zonks out when I pick him up.  In the last week we have already noticed such a positive impact. He started speaking clearer (Sesame Street is no longer Shitity Stweet!) and in more sentences (Mama! Wub my back peeeeasss!) And sharing is no longer a completely foreign concept. Kind of.
Being around 9 other 2 year olds for a few hours a week is turning out to be so good for him.  My fears of him being a weird kid that only wants to cling to his Mom are fading fast.

So this week, I decided to relax. A little.

At almost 6 months pregnant, I am feeling about 10 months pregnant and my doctor is going to yell at me if I don't give myself a break soon, so it's time.
I have shirts to tie dye, laundry to fold, blogs to read and all of the other Stay At Home duties that I normally have. However, now, I have a little window of time while my son plays with friends at school.
And I can peacefully drink my coffee without doing the Hot Dog dance.
(If you don't know what that is, consider yourself lucky.)

Emotional Mama.

As we excitedly get ready for Harrison's 1st day of Preschool today, I'd like to offer up a thought.

Whether you are religious, spiritual, atheist, a parent, a teacher, bus driver, lunch room worker, TA, school worker of any kind...

I send up the biggest prayer/good vibes/desperate beg to keep our children safe.
Safe from the evils of the world, while they are in school and out.

Please please please.
Keep our children safe.

How To Name Your Child

Once you find out you're having a child, chances are one of the very first things you start to plan is your Name List. Some people have their bag of favorites or family names way before, some just know. If it's a girl, it's ___, if it's a boy, it's ___ .
And others have no clue.
I am not surprised that most of my friends seem to be in the decisive categories.
Names are important and a lot of the people I know pass on family names or have a small list of maybe 3-5 choices from the beginning and either choose to share or not.

We, however, are in the "have no clue" category, at least this time.

When we found out Harrison was a boy (quite early at 14 weeks), the Name Game began. The short version is this: Eric and I figured out what type of names sounded best with our last name and went from there. "Son" names worked, George Harrison is my favorite Beatle and Eric has Harrison's in his family tree. Done and done.

Telling people this decision was not as easy.

When you decide to tell people the name, you better be damn sure it is THE NAME. Your friends and family can smell weakness. If you are at all sway-able. they will know. And they WILL try to talk you out of it/share their not-so-approving view/give you constant alternatives.

I know this because I was once one of those friends.
(Sorry Skip.)

You absolutely cannot go in to the telling of the name with hesitation.
If you say anything resembling, "We are thinking ____." it is over.
You are basically shooting your name in the foot and you will watch it limp around until you put it out of it's misery with a new "better" name you choose later.

I remember being nervous to tell people that we had picked Harrison. While casually watching TV once when I was newly pregnant, I said out loud, "I think I like the name Harrison."
"Yuck! I don't."
Yep. Mistake.

So, when it was officially picked, I psyched myself up and made the call. We told our parents, best friends, then spread the news. We showed no sign of weakness or budging.
Everyone loved it.
Acceptable nicknames were discussed and the name was officially approved.

See the thing is, a name can mean a million things to a million people. You really can't love it or hate it for someone if it's not YOUR baby.
I know, I know, it's hard. I am guilty of it too. When a friend names a child something I would never think of, I try to have an open mind, but until you see that baby, it's hard.
Ultimately, I have never met a child or person I think has the wrong name.
Go ahead parents, pat yourselves on the backs.

So with Baby #2 on deck, we are at it again.
I did not take my own advice up until now and it's been fine. We've made lists, read thousands (Seriously. Thousands.) of names and bounced our choices off of friends, family, strangers on the street. All really because we don't know what we want. And that's a good way to weed out the extras if you need help.
One name I really thought I loved was proclaimed as the worst name ever this weekend (Thanks Lucy!) but it did make me really listen to Eric and decide to cut it loose.
I mean, if your own husband can't come around to it, you really can't force it, right?

The good news is, we now have 2 choices. Two wonderful names that we both love. Two amazing names for our future daughter that none of you people will know until it's picked, decided, written in stone and deemed the absolute perfect name for our perfect baby girl.

That way you can all have a little decency and just say "yuck" behind our backs.