How Things Change

Last year around this time I was heading to BlogHer 2010. I was excited and fired up about my blog. I was looking forward to a few days of interacting with smart and interesting women, and looking forward to giving Azita her first taste of New York City. I was also thinking about having another baby.

This week as I read the tweets and blog posts of other women heading off to BlogHer 2011 I can’t help but reflect on how my life has changed in the past year.

This year I won’t be flying off to San Diego and learning more about how to improve my blog. Then again the biggest improvement my blog could get this year would be for me to actually write something in it. I actually have a lot to write about. Or should I say I have more people to write about. Namely, this little person….

Atoosa

Introducing... Atoosa

My little Atoosa was born a little over two months ago. In my last blog post, she was a little shrimp floating around inside me. Now she’s a little person who coos and stares at everyone and everything. And laughs and smiles.

She smiles

My life has changed so much and also remained so much the same. And, this year even though I won’t be going to BlogHer11, I resolve to get back on here and write about it a little more often.

The Precious

When Azita was a newborn I used to stare at her and murmur “the precioussssssss….maman loves the preciousssss” in my best Gollum voice. I’m sure that had no ill effects on her whatsoever. Roger, on the other hand, was completely freaked out, but this isn’t about him. This is about my baby girl, who is now 2 years old as of, well 3 months ago (yes, this is a very-belated birthday post for my daughter).

Two years ago I had no idea just how much more precious she could be. I stared at her in amazement, mostly because when a person gives birth to a child it is so hard to believe that this little human was once the thing that kicked your insides just days before. It is so hard to fathom that you made this person — a living thing that breathes and moves and thinks and does so much more than anything else you will ever make in your life.

Over time things change. While I was one of those lucky mothers who had an instantaneous, deep love for my daughter when she was born, it was a very different love. Now I love Azita not just for what she is but also for who she is and who she is becoming.

My little girl is one of the most strong-willed people I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot coming from me because not only am I annoyingly stubborn, Roger is ten times more so. While this character trait frustrates me to no end it also makes me inordinately proud of her, because I know nobody will ever push her around. And, this is just the tip of the iceberg.

Azita is so smart and brimming with personality. At only 2 years of age, she has a sense of humor that surpasses that of many adults I know. She amazes me daily with her observations of the world and the connections she makes between the theoretical and the tangible. She loves letters and numbers and almost always has a book on hand. She loves music and is always singing, not just songs she has heard, but also songs she makes up.

And she doesn’t just have brains. She is nimble and fearless and already shows some athletic abilities of which surely neither Roger nor I can claim to be the source. She can kick a soccer ball the way it should be kicked and throw a ball to someone with actual aim.

In my eyes, my little girl is a marvel and the most beautiful person in the world to me. I stare at her sometimes and wonder how she could possibly be as amazing as she is. The best thing is that when I stare at Azita, she looks back. And when my precious looks at me I can tell that she loves me as much as I love her.

Ladybug Birthday Cake

Azita turned two yesterday. I have a lot to say about that, and I will in a later post. Today, however, my focus has been on birthday cake. Last year I bought a birthday cake from the famed, thanks to Oprah, Cake Love. It was a great birthday cake. Beautiful and delicious. But it missed the thing all birthday cakes, at least those for a loved one, should have — love. This is especially true when the birthday girl is the daughter of someone who fancies herself an above-average baker.

Alas, I don’t have much time to bake anymore, but this year I vowed to plan ahead and make amends. My plan was to make a ladybug cake. Azita loves ladybugs. Who doesn’t, actually? They are cute and pretty and a universally likable member of the Insecta class.

Now if I was going to make something super cute and fancy, I would have used fondant. The problem with fondant, however, is that  I’ve never worked with it. And motherhood has imparted on me the wisdom to know my limits. I didn’t have time to practice with fondant, so I stuck with things I have worked with quite a bit — ganache and sanding sugar.

The cake was chocolate. I used this recipe from Bon Appetit. For a filling, I stuck with raspberry. I love raspberry and chocolate together, and I wanted to brighten up the cake a little. To make the filling, I simply used a half pint of raspberries, a little bit of confectioners sugar, a few tablespoons of lemon juice, and a few tablespoons of raspberry jam. I cooked until bubbling and thickened, then mashed through a strainer to get out all the seeds. The result is an intense red, raspberry sauce that I spread on both layers of the cake.

Finally, I made a dark chocolate ganache. Ganache is one of those things that sounds really fancy and complicated, but it’s super easy to make. And let me tell you that if you are not a fan of frosting, it’s probably because you’ve never tried a ganache frosting. I, myself, am not a fan of buttercream, but this frosting is rich and sweet, but also slightly bitter. The bitterness is the necessary ingredient here as it downplays the cloying sweetness I so dislike in a frosted cake. If you’ve never made ganache before, try Martha Stewart’s recipe. You will be a convert.

Once the ganache was made, I put a few dollops on the bottom layer of the cake and spread it out over the raspberry puree. Then I put the top layer on and frosted the cake. Finally, I cut two pieces of parchment paper — one a long thin strip and the other a big rectangle. I placed them on the ganache to leave only two, partial semi-circles of frosting uncovered, and I went to town with some red sanding sugar. Two well-placed yellow M&Ms and 4 chocolate discs later, and I had myself a ladybug.

Ladybug Birthday Cake

Ladybug Birthday Cake

So, what do you think? I’m counting this one as a success. Happy Birthday my sweet, little Azita.

Christmas Traditions

Merry Christmas

I was the last kid in my class to believe in Santa Claus. I believed against my classmates claims, against all evidence to the contrary. It wasn’t until my mother broke the news to me, the last year we would celebrate Christmas, that I realized there was no Santa Claus. I was 8.

Secretly, I still believed, not necessarily in Santa Claus, the person, but in the idea that there was something magical about the season and the day. I still believe this. There is something magical, and it is the kindness and gratitude and love for our fellow humans that seems to permeate the air. Even when people exhibit behavior that makes me cringe, I think the good of the season outweighs the bad. For me, this is what the Christmas season is all about.

In adulthood I pull together every year the Christmas I always wanted as a child. I attempt to create traditions of our own, that one day Azita will remember fondly. Traditions that can make us feel warm and safe and happy when we reflect upon them in future dark times. Hands down, my favorite tradition is charity and kindness. We always make sure to give as much as we can to those less fortunate than us. And I hope all of you will find it in your hearts to do the same.

Merry Christmas, friends. I hope your season is chock full of love and happiness.

What a Difference a Year Makes

I hate to admit it, but I think this year’s picture is so much cuter. There’s something about the forlorn look on her face and the way she is wringing her hands that melts my heart and makes me want to giggle all at once. I just love her to pieces.

Back in the Saddle

It’s been a few weeks since my last blog post. Life has been eventful and non-eventful all at once. I’ve been busy. I was out of town for a while. The dog ate my homework. And, that’s it for my excuses. I once read in another blog that the blogger’s life was going really well, and it made it hard for her blog. I can completely empathize with her. Because my life is going pretty well right now. I mean I’m still not in love with my job and I’m so busy and tired all the time. And I haven’t suddenly reconciled with my parents or found out I’m a princess or anything.

But life is good, and it’s sometimes hard to write about my life when it’s all good. With that said, since I feel like I wasn’t thankful enough last month let me count the ways life is good to me:

  • The baby is moving a lot. I can feel her bouncing around like a ping pong ball from one side to another, and her kicks are pretty strong at this stage. I don’t know if she’s a her, by the way, but I will find out next week. And I’m really excited about that. I remember Azita being so active when she was in utero, and I keep thinking that means this baby will be as sweet and wonderful as my darling little girl.
  • Azita wants a pony. She walks around sing a little song she made up that goes like this. “A pony, A pony, A pony, A ponyyyy. A pony, A pony…” You get the idea. We’ll probably get her a My Little Pony for her birthday, but I’m really excited about this development. Mostly because I’ve always wanted a real, live pony, and I think this ups the chances that we’ll one day buy a pony. And maybe if I start now with the lessons on sharing, Azita will share the pony with me.
  • I met my newest nephew over Thanksgiving, and he’s the sweetest little boy ever. I’m so in love. I couldn’t stop holding him, which is good because he really likes to be held. The best part? I remembered what baby heads smell like, and now I’m really excited to have another baby whose head I can sniff all day long. What? Other people don’t sniff baby heads?
  • I’ve finished my Christmas shopping, and I didn’t spend a lot of money. There’s nothing I hate worse that the thought of going into debt to buy stuff for a holiday. I’m not a religious person, but Christmas does have a non-material meaning for me. I think it’s a time of year to refocus on family and the things that matter in life, and I take that really seriously. So, I’m thoughtful but cheap, and our Christmases are all the more wonderful for it.

On My Kindle: Volume 1

Roger got me a Kindle for my birthday last year, and I’m just as in love with it today as I was the day I got it. I read a lot before I got my Kindle, but now, well now I read a lot more than a lot. And what kind of good preschooler would I be if I didn’t share? A very, very bad one. So, here are some books that might tickle some of your fancies. I know they’ve entertained me mightily over the past couple of weeks.

Boneshaker and Clementine by Cherie Priest
I’m a sucker for some steampunk, and Cherie Priest fits the bill. I purchased Boneshaker exactly 6 days ago, and I completed it 2 days later. Then I spent a day thinking about how much I wished the book was longer, because I wanted to be reading more about Cherie Priest’s United States during the Civil War, complete with dirigibles, zombies, mad scientists and fantastical machines. One day. That’s how long it took me to go scavenging for some more Cherie Priest on Amazon, where I found Clementine, a follow-up to Boneshaker. And, it was only $2.99, by the way. One day. That’s how long it took me to read Clementine. I gobbled it up like a giant bowl of that marzipan Ben & Jerry’s ice cream I’ve been obsessing about lately. And for a couple days now I’ve been fighting the urge to buy another book. I am pretty sure I will fail this task tonight. Don’t tell Roger. He already thinks I buy too many books.

Emily Post: Daughter of the Gilded Age, Mistress of Manners by Laura Claridge
I’ve had a long-running obsession with etiquette. As a child I never missed a Miss Manners’ column, and I actually really cared to know which fork was the right one to use for salad or fish or whatever. One of my favorite presents ever was a stationary set, which I used to send thank you notes to everyone for just about anything. So of course I am intrigued by Emily Post, and this book covers her life in fascinating detail. One of my favorite things about this biography is that it also provides a great snapshot of the changing times from the Gilded Age all the way up through the Great Depression, World War II and the 40s and 50s. Even people who aren’t etiquette fiends would enjoy this one.

Spook Country by William Gibson
What more is there to say other than “William Gibson”? Really, I love everything he’s ever written, and this is no different.

Whose Fault is it Anyway?

Recently I read an article in which the CEO of McDonald’s, Jim Skinner, was quoted saying that McDonald’s was part of the solution to the obesity problem in the United States. The headline was infuriating. How could a company that sells the McRib and milkshakes that exceed 1000 calories per serving claim that they are helping solve the obesity problem in this country?

Then I read the article.

McDonald’s offers a variety of menu items, not just grease-laden meat products, Skinner said. “It’s not my job to get up in the morning and prescribe to people what they eat, but I should give them a choice that makes them feel good about their decision and, more importantly, fits into the appropriate nutritional guidelines for them.”

I hate to say it, but he has a point. While McDonald’s is still a nightmare for a vegetarian like myself, they do have healthier options on their menu. A person can go to McDonald’s now and get a salad or apple slices or yogurt or a smaller sandwich that, while not exactly healthy, won’t necessarily cause any immediate problems unless one overindulges. These things are available. But these things are not what people choose to buy.

I can’t really remember the last time I went to a McDonald’s and saw someone eating a salad with apple slices. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen this. But, why is it McDonald’s responsibility to make sure Americans don’t eat an excessive amount of calories and saturated fats? It may shock those of you who know me to hear me say this, but I don’t think it is their responsibility.

I’m a big believer in corporate responsibility. It is the duty of any company, just as it is of any person, to contribute something positive to this world. However, I am also a big believer in personal choice. We live in a country where choice is an option. Every morning when I wake up I make hundreds, even thousands, of choices, from what to wear or eat to how to behave toward my family, friends and coworkers or sometimes, who to elect for public office.

I have these options, and in many countries people do not have this basic liberty. Yet, somehow in this country we have come to believe that it is the responsibility of companies to tell us what choices to make. Don’t give us options. Just don’t make any bad things available to us.

The thing is, at least when it comes to food and drink, nothing is strictly bad or good. Pomegranate is good. It tastes good, and it’s so healthy for you. But is it healthy to eat 10 pomegranates in one sitting? Probably not. Conversely, hamburgers hardly fall in the category of healthy eats, but will a person suffer irreparable harm if they eat a hamburger once every couple of months? No way!

I’m a generally healthy eater. I love fruits and vegetables and whole grains and even tofu and tempeh. I really do love the way these things taste, and I often crave them the way others crave a salty kettle chip. Does this mean I never touch any junk food? Absolutely not. I love junk food as much as the next person. There are times when I must have a plate of salty french fries or a cup of creamy, fatty ice cream, and I tend to indulge myself at these times. 95% of every week I live on foods that would make a nutritionist proud, but when only a slice of pie will do, I eat the slice of pie.

And the thing is, I want the option to eat that damn slice of pie. And I don’t want companies to stop serving these options simply because the powers that be think I can’t make the right decisions for myself. Over the centuries Americans, and particularly women, have fought hard to make our own choices. It would be a shame to lose this right because some people make bad choices at the expense of the health of our country. I would argue, for example, that Americans made a bad, bad choice in electing George W. Bush, but I don’t think we should lose our right to vote because of it.

I’m just saying.

So, whose fault is it that we’re fat? Well, it’s our fault. I blame no one but myself when I eat too much. I know who made the decision, and trust me when I say that I would have found a way to make that decision even if the corporate world tried their damnedest to make it impossible. Do I at least know that I made a bad decision and try harder to make a better one next time?

Well, yes, I do. And that, my friends, is the key. Education. Like GI Joe used to say when I was a kid, “knowing is half the battle.” I couldn’t agree more.

The Magic of Halloween

Halloween is magic for so many reasons. It’s not just the night that all the ghosts and goblins and other spooky residents of this or some other world are supposed to come out and play with us mere mortals, but it is a night that we can all be goofy and experience a little bit of the fun of childhood. I love it.

When I was a child I looked forward to Halloween so much, and not just because I loved candy so much I wanted to marry it when I grew up. As someone who frequently felt like an outsider, it was the one night of the year that I felt like part of a community.

I knew all of the neighborhood kids. It was the type of neighborhood we lived in. We all played all the time, and our mothers policed us from their kitchen windows. Once I snuck out of the house when I was recovering from the chicken pox so I could take a little gander around the neighborhood and see what was going on. I was exploding with stir craziness after a whole week of confinement to my bed, and I just needed 5 minutes of exploration of our community yard sale that was occurring that very day. It wasn’t more than 5 seconds before Mrs. SanMartin called my mother to inform me that her pock-faced daughter had escaped quarantine.

A kid couldn’t get away with anything there. I hated it. But a kid also felt safe and part of a greater whole. I loved it.

Somehow the world seemed a little less scary at Queens Gate. But, the world was still a scary place, and very lonely for a girl like me. Even when playing with my neighbors, whom I loved dearly, I felt different and just a little bit excluded. Halloween was different. Everyone was in costume. And even though you knew who everyone was under all the latex and plastic and face paint, that night we were all somebody totally different. And the same. We were all part of “the group.”

This year was Azita’s first official Halloween. Last year we dressed her up and walked her around a little, but she was just starting to walk and was definitely not talking. It was pleasant and nice, but this year was completely different.

For weeks before Halloween, I coached her to say “Trick or Treat.” Not once did she utter the words. I had little hope for any trick or treating, but just dressing her up and walking around would be fun enough.

Then the night arrived and we began our walk. Just as everything was covered with darkness and the candles were lit and the spooky soundtracks began playing, we made it to the the block at the end of the street, where we would focus the night’s fun. We walked up the street slowly, Azita marveling at the decorations. The kids began to come out of their houses, readying themselves for the night’s festivities, shouting to their neighborhood buddies down the street. The parents gathered on front stoops, beer or coffee in hand, catching up on life, preparing to hand out candy and escort the children.

Everyone seemed so close-knit, so friendly, so much a part of a community. I was filled with the same warm and fuzzy feeling, the same sense of belonging, that I felt as a child. And now I was sharing it with a child of my own. My face was plastered with a smile for the entire night.

When we finally made it to the end of the street and crossed to walk up the other side, Azita suddenly stopped in front a driveway. After an hour of watching other kids run up to doors she finally tugged at my arm, pulling me towards the front door of the house, where a friendly fellow with glasses and white hair manned his post. We walked slowly, cautiously, finally making it up to the bottom step. The kindly old man bent over to eye level. “What do we have here? Aren’t you a cute little pumpkin,” he said.

Azita stared at him not saying a word. Then he held out the bowl of candy. And, softly, just slightly louder than a whisper, Azita said, “Trick or treat.” The thing I tried, unsuccessfully, to get her to say for so many weeks. Halloween really is magic.

The Food Issue

Like many other children of my generation,  I was forced to eat everything on my plate as a child. But, times have changed since the 70s, so I thought this practice was a thing of the past, a remnant of those who grew up in really lean times  as my parents did in the 30s, 40s and 50s. Since becoming a parent myself, however, I’ve noticed many mother’s taking the same approach my parents did. I’ve read blog posts and discussion forum posts and heard conversations from other mothers, about getting their kids to clean their plates and punishing them when they don’t do so. It gives me flashbacks to when I was a child.

Parenting my daughter when it comes to food is an important issue to me. Partly because obesity and eating disorders are more and more common these days, and I do believe that weight-related illnesses will be the health crisis of our childrens’ generation. And partly because I think a lot of my eating habits stem from my parents’ stance on finishing the food that was put in front of me, and I know just how hard this can be to overcome .

While I tend to be an uber-healthy eater, there’s no doubt that I have a propensity to overeat. At times I am compelled to eat everything on my plate, even when I’m not hungry, and I know my sister deals with this very same compulsion. It’s hard to maintain a healthy weight and, more importantly, to set a good example for my daughter when I struggle with this daily.

Azita has always been a light eater. I’ve shared before my feelings as I, at one point, found her weight had dropped by 15 percentile points to the very lowest end of the growth chart spectrum. I admit that my first instinct was to force feed her. Today, I’m glad I fought that instinct and kept my worries to myself. Because it really was a phase. I was patient and presented Azita with healthy options. If she didn’t want to eat, I asked one more time then removed the food, saving it for a later time when she was hungry. I never forced the issue. And this is still my policy today.

Recently, Azita went through a particularly long hunger strike. For over a month she did not eat dinner or breakfast. I’m pretty sure she ate very little at daycare also since she had nary a stain on her clothing when she came home every day. Her daycare providers are fastidiously clean, but this was odd even for them. It was hard to be patient and have faith that this would blow over, that she would return to her usual light, but healthy, eating regimen.

After a month of this I did begin to worry, however, and I purchased a book on Amazon that came highly recommended — How to Get Your Child to Eat…But Not Too Much by Ellyn Satter. It seemed like the very act of purchasing a book to help me navigate this situation did the trick, because that very night Azita ate a a hearty dinner of broccoli  and black beans. The very next morning, she ate an entire mini bagel with almond butter and honey and a whole orange. This has continued for over a week now.

This weekend, the book finally arrived in the mail. I opened it and eagerly read the first chapter. Imagine my surprise to find out that my approach has been the right one all along. My job as a mother is to present my daughter with healthy choices and to leave up to her whether she will eat and how much. I am not to outwardly express concern or anger or fear, because these expressions are what build in our children a contentious relationship with food.

As any other parent, I want the best for my daughter, but I know many things, including this very issue, are an uphill battle for me. My nature is to second-guess myself when parenting. This week, however, I realized I should have a little more faith in myself every once a while. Because in spite of my background and the difficulties I’ve faced in life, my parenting instincts are not so bad after all.

Eating Healthy, When She's Hungry