Monday, February 16, 2015

Though She Be But Little...

My daughter has gotten a healthy dose of stubborn from each of her parents, she cleverly "doesn't hear" me when I ask her to do things she doesn't want to, and she refuses to take naps when there is anything even slightly interesting going on that she might miss.

But as aggravating as our little curly-headed monster can be, I find myself filled with pride even at her most infuriating moments.

Probably chucked the spoons seconds later to go
both hands in on the custard and blueberries
She tries pretty much anything if she sees us eating it.
She happily eats moderately spicy things (hot Italian sausage, salsa), loves rabbit and lamb, and eats sauteed spinach (though that's currently one of the few greens that is easy to get in her-it's a texture thing). "MmmUmm" she says as she awkwardly spoons food into her mouth. Then, when that's not quick enough or accurate enough, she abandons the spoon and uses her hands.  

Making silly faces during dinner
She loves to be silly.
Daddy taught her how to throw snowballs at mommy's butt, so now that's the first thing she does in snow, giggling uncontrollably when she squishes it on my rear. She loves to make us laugh, repeating anything that gets a laugh out of us over and over. She makes funny faces and dances and sings. Her laugh is possibly the best sound on earth. She's recently started giggling to herself over things, which is so entertaining even if I can't tell what in the world she thinks is so funny.

She's loving.
Hugs and kisses, pats and squeezes, this girl loves to snuggle. Her enjoyment of snuggle time is nearly always at war with her urge to run wild, but she is almost always willing, even in the middle of the most raucous game, to throw a quick kiss your way if you beg. Then you are treated to an adorable damp pucker that delivers a squishy kiss. 

Feeding her Lambie a bottle
She's emphathetic.
Whether she's concerned each and every time she hears a baby crying, or she's worried to tears every time Elmo loses his blanket in Elmo in Grouchland, my daughter wants to make it better. Her cousin, Owen, gave her a small polar bear for her first Christmas. It's not her favorite toy, like it is his, but she definitely recognizes it as one of her toys. When we were all together for Thanksgiving, she found Owen's PB in his bed and took it thinking it was hers. When we explained why he was looking so concerned, that it was his version of her Lambie, she immediately made sure to give it back and brought it to him throughout the visit.
All the kids listening quietly to Santa
read a story? Nope, I'm definitely out.

She's headstrong.
She says no even when I'm pretty sure she actually means yes. She does what she wants and pays me no attention at all. It's clear she hears me, but you can see those wheels turning as she decides if my wishes align with hers. The answer is usually no. More than any other characteristic, I think this one delights my own mom the most. It seems I may be raising a mini-me. And most days I would say she's coming out ahead. As much as I might admire their control, I'm not one of those calm, talk-it-out-with-the-child-until-they-make-the-right-decision types; I'm a yeller. My tone is decidedly loud. I've made my nephew cry just by saying, "Oh no, don't eat that!" in what I considered to be a normal level of exclamation (seriously, it wasn't loud!) Eleanor remains unfazed through all my varying tones and decibels. Obviously there are problems with this. How am I going to get her attention and make her stop immediately when she's doing something dangerous? I'm not sure a deadly whisper is going to cut it. 

This railing is only about 10 ft off the ground
Watching the ants march up the tree trunk
She's adventurous.
She walks up to anyone and says hi to perfect strangers, loving the attention they give. While visiting a friend on the heart ward at the hospital, she would dart into the other rooms (we managed to catch her most of the time), trying to visit the other patients (missed her once, and we ended up visiting an elderly gentleman while he was eating his dinner. I said something awkward about hoping he would recover quickly and apologized, me somewhat mortified after we ran into a nurse on our way out-you always feel like people see uncontrollable children as a parental failing. Found out later from the friend we visited that the elderly man had loved it. Thank goodness.)
Sharing a book with Longfellow Bear

She loves books.
It is so amazing to have her interact with her books now. Not only is she (finally) relatively gentle with her lift the flap books, but she participates in the stories I read to her. She repeats lines from Pete the Cat: I Love My White Shoes (a family favorite), and she has a whole routine throughout Where the Wild Things Are. The Kissing Hand is in our rotation this week. Eleanor has me kiss her hand and she kisses mine, just like the mommy and baby raccoons do in the book. Makes my heart melt every time.
Giggling riotously in her toy basket

She sings at the top of her lungs.
It's true that this occurs most often when she should be napping peacefully in her crib, but sometimes I'm treated to her lyrics in the car on the way to or home from daycare. So far the tunes and words are pretty unidentifiable, but I love to hear her belting them out. Her current favorite is the Itsy Bitsy Spider, which she would happily listen to on repeat for our entire 20 minute car ride to daycare. The best I could do in negotiation was that we would listen to it every other song. She also meets her daddy at the door when he arrives home from work, demanding that he share his "nunes" with her. He always happily crouches down and hands her one of his earbuds so she can hear his tunes.

Friday, December 5, 2014

The McArdle Family Chili Cookoff

We were thrilled to have one of Nathan's sisters, Jenny, and her husband, Brandon, visit us the weekend before Thanksgiving. We love any chance to have Eleanor spend time with her relatives. She's growing so fast, we want everyone who loves her to get to spend time with her at each stage, (especially those difficult stages.-Take all the time with her you want. I'll just be over here far away).

This visit was a particularly fun one because we tested out a game (Rapid Recall) during her nap and had a McArdle/Brooks chili cook-off.

The final four looked surprisingly different.

Photos by Jenny McArdle

Shown here in medaling order:

Nathan's Southwest Cowboy Chili courtesy of my birthday gift from Jenny, the Nom Nom Paleo Cookbook (top left)

Jenny's Pumpkin and Chicken Chili (no idea where she got the recipe from-I think this one is it, but she substituted some ingredients) (top right)

Brandon's modified Alton Brown Pressure Cooker Chili recipe (bottom left)

And my exotic Kangaroo Meat Chili [Original recipe from the Edgewater Cookbook (our neighborhood fundraiser cookbook) but with ground kangaroo meat instead of beef]. This is a somewhat similar recipe. (bottom right)

In order to pick the winner, everyone ranked all four dishes in order of their favorites and the ultimate winner was the one with the most points. Even though he didn't even rank his own first, Nathan's was a hands down winner. The broth was so velvety delicious that even when we ran out of beef by dinner, I still poured myself a bowl of broth.

I gave myself a last place vote because I was completely turned off by the kangaroo meat. Raw, ground kangaroo has a very fishy smell, which, though it was covered by the chili ingredients and didn't bother anyone else in the group, did me in. I just could not get behind it. I will say it completely mellowed by the next day.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Homemade Halloween

Not even on my life list, folks, but I still broke out the glue gun and the sewing machine for this year's Halloween costume. Before anyone feels too sorry for Nathan's series of low key, uncrafty costumes, I must add that though it is painful for me to send him out in public this way, these costumes are exactly his preference. I might have managed to get him in a fox costume this year if I had finagled, but he was very excited to get to wear his TSC hat.

Monday, November 3, 2014

O Frabjous Day

Motherhood Notes:

I just sincerely prayed to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost things, for his help in returning the bacon puzzle piece that has been missing from the playroom for the last week...This was a last resort after fruitlessly looking on eBay to purchase a "Melissa and Doug bacon puzzle piece." Spoiler: no matches.

Update: DUDES, it totally worked. It better than worked! Day of the prayer not only did the bacon puzzle piece show up in Eleanor's room (which was the only room in the house I would have bet money on for it NOT to be in), but something I had long declared gone forever appeared after almost 2 months! I hadn't even asked for that one because I had so thoroughly given up on it!!! I told Nathan that I believe. I BELIEVE. I am converting to Catholicism. Or at least naming my next child Saint Anthony. Sorry kid, Mommy owed him one.

I was entirely too optimistic when I went to bed at 11 last night...I've been up since 5 AM because Eleanor doesn't understand the time change. We read Little Blue Truck (currently, according to my toddler, every animal moos) and the Babylit Jabberwocky twice. I always read Jabberwocky with a Scottish accent. I discovered this morning that my Scottish accent is much more authentic when I'm half asleep.

I currently have 3 pairs of shoes that need repair in my car trunk that have been riding around with me since last fall...The shoe repair place is less than a mile from my office.

I just discovered dried egg on my silk shirt that is suspiciously in the shape of a toddler face print...I've already had two meetings this morning.

Nathan has a surprise coming when he drops off this week's dry cleaning. I wonder how much they'll charge for the coat part of Eleanor's chicken costume?

Monday, July 7, 2014

A Place More Kind Than Home

My friend Aileen and I have been trading writing exercises as a way to sharpen our dulled writing skills. This week's, chosen by moi, was for us to write a Dear John letter from our favorite piece of furniture.

Please keep in mind that I took poetic license with elements here, so this is merely based on some facts (Sorry, Mom, I'm sure the Barrister wasn't really disappointed to be in your room. And there really haven't been any actual close calls, just many imagined ones that have made me a bit sick to my stomach...).

Dear Hanna,

I loved your grandmother very much even though I was not the center of her life. She brought me in to her home many years ago. I thought I was on my way to displaying valuables or even holding her husband’s important ledgers; however, to my disappointment she put me in your mother’s room where I housed your mother’s and aunt’s doll furniture like some sort of giant dollhouse. I came to accept this as my lot in life; at least I was out of the way of your rowdy uncle’s ever bouncing soccer ball. 

Things began to look up as the children left the nest and your grandparents made the long move to Vermont. They kept me even as they got rid of some of the lesser furniture (I was relieved that some of the coarser elements in the household were sold off. That bookshelf had always leered lasciviously at me from down the hall.)

I had hoped that I would have a more prominent placement in the new home and was thrilled to hear that I would be placed downstairs in the dining room for all to see. I looked forward to holding your grandmother’s beautiful wedding place settings or some of the lovely blue glassware she collected on lamp buying expeditions with your grandfather.

It was sadly not to be, however, as I was placed in the front entry hallway between the dining room and the living room. It took me years to realize the full disappointment of this placement. The family always gathered in the kitchen, and visitors did not come to the front door but to the side door down the hall. The hallway was merely a passageway between two destinations. Only children seemed to linger by my side with all others walking purposefully past without a glance in my direction.

I tried to find the bright side to my situation. I now held exotic, one-of-a-kind dishes and goblets. I had the company of a whole menagerie of animal serving dishes and pitchers-chickens, ducks, moose, a kitten, and even a bunny or two. I was safe from the clumsiest of newly walking grandchildren as they did not usually venture to the uneven slate floor on which I rested. But I could never quite see what was going on in the household-it was always maddeningly just out of reach, around the smallest of corners to my left or right.

I was devastated for your grandmother the day that your grandfather died, and devastated for myself when I discovered that your grandmother had died (I contend that it was of a broken heart), but I held out hope that I would go to one of the grandchildren who would care for me as your grandmother did. I had high hopes when I discovered you had claimed me (though immense trepidation to find how far I would have to travel to get to you). It was a terrifying and very bouncy ride though thankfully your father is a very thorough packer, meticulously wrapping each of my glass doors.

It was a happy few years at the center of your home, as I was able to continue displaying much of your grandmother’s dishes and even continued to have one of my chicken friends keeping me company. Yes, I had to get used to the hustle and bustle again (your house is much louder than your grandparents’ had been for many years), but I have not survived the past 100 years by being entirely inflexible. These old wood slats can still bend a bit.

However, I come to the point of this letter. This past year has required too much from me. There have been too many close calls as you have been distracted with broom and mop handles. There have been too many moments of frozen panic as a chair pushed quickly back from the table has nearly toppled into me, and there have been too many instances of last second snatches of that damnable wooden xylophone mallet from your feral toddler as she headed directly toward my delicate glass doors. (Pardon my language; I must take a moment to collect myself.)

Do you know how many years these curved glass panels have survived? I have not made it this far to see them smashed in a moment of mayhem! And let me point out that nearly every moment in your once quiet household is now filled with mayhem. I cannot live like this. My blood pressure is as elevated as my once exalted status as the best piece of furniture you own. Now, however, instead of being a source of pride, I am merely a liability.

Don’t think that I don’t know you now gaze at my pristine glass with dread. You and I both know that you would have a nearly impossible time trying to replace one of these panels should when your little hellion darling finally destroys me. I can no longer just sit and accept my fate. I am leaving for safer accommodations. I’m sure there’s a racetrack or bowling alley somewhere that requires a trophy case. Lord knows they’ll be quieter than your dining room.

Barrister Bookcase