Merry, Happy Everything

The last shreds of wrapping paper have been swept away, the crispy tree was chucked away and the drooping stockings have been folded up until next year. Horrifyingly, most of the chocolate has been eaten. Christmas is definitely over. Heck, it’s a new year (happy new year!). The post-holiday hangover is here in full force.  

Ohai

Usually we celebrate Christmas with my parents, but this year we were on our own.  This is a bummer. On the plus side, the Noodle, who is now two and a half years old, provided enough Christmas spirit for everyone, even my light-one-Hanukah-candle-on-day-three-Baruch-Hashem-Adonai-Elohim-and-fuggedaboutit husband. Because who doesn’t love Christmas?

Indeed it was jingle bells all day, every day from the instant we opened the first window of her little advent calendar. As she said (a lot): “Happy birthday Jesus! Merry Christmas! Santa is coming with PRESENTS.”

Noodling around

The young Banana, who is not yet three months old, was surprisingly disinterested in proceedings. Nonetheless we filled her stocking for the look of the thing, and her big sister ransacked it after her own was empty, so I’m pretty sure we’ve established what will be a tradition for the next few years. And Christmas is all about traditions, right?

 I’m afraid we failed to properly transmit the Real Meaning of Christmas to our children (Giving, right? Or was it redemption. I can never remember), but in our defense it’s difficult to explain to a two year old. 

Skyping with the grandparents on Christmas Day

I thought that for now it would be enough to convey that Christmas is the birthday of Jesus, but even this was kind of a sticking point, because there is zero overlap between that story and the story of Santa, which she of course also learned about. It's a mess. 

You see, Noodle, we are celebrating the birth of Jesus whom we say is the son of God, plus Santa brings us presents, plus also in Austria Baby Jesus is the one who brings the presents. 

Sisters

Noodle and I were reading and singing this picture book of traditional Christmas carols that my mom gave her, and she kept trying to find Santa. She points to Joseph – is this Santa? Nope. The angel – is THIS Santa? Nope. Shepherd? Nope. Other shepherd? King Wencelas? Three kings? Nope, nope and nope, and the camels aren’t reindeer either. 

In addition to the Santa story and the Jesus story, there are a decorative indoor tree and oversized socks. Also diverse numbers: Advent is the 24 days on your calendar, and the five candles in this wreath, but we sing a song about the twelve days of Christmas (side note: why so many birds?) , and also Daddy is into the eight days of Hanukah. 

So yes. All in all, thank goodness for presents. They really tied the season together. 

More soon! xx

After the first snowfall of the season. Happy New Year!

Baby Life Begins

Nearly three weeks have gone by in a sweet, molasses-like moment. Already my dear mother has left us again 8come baaaack!!) and we have settled into something resembling a routine. Or rather, we are better able to predict which bits of the day are going to be total chaos, and brace ourselves. 

I feel great though I look like I've been beaten over the head with a jumbo pack of diapers and probably will for the rest of my life. 

Alex is a rock star. I love him.

Most importantly, our beloved second born is thriving--by which I mean she is steadily gaining weight and has so far been (knock on wood) just a laid back, groovy baby. 


When she's awake her dark eyes are bright and alert. She keeps very still and looks steadily at one thing after another. This is the case for about 20 minutes a day. The rest of our sweet caterpillar's day is evenly divided between sleep and breastfeeding, with breaks for elaborate newborn poops, the noisy exuberance of which I had forgotten. 

Being a round-the-clock milk cow is a minor drag, but I must say that the entire newborn-having experience is much more pleasant the second time around. 

Turns out that when you are not sidetracked by existential angst or the terror of accidentally breaking your offspring, hanging out with a cream-and-crystal infant all day is pretty enjoyable. You just have to resign yourself to not accomplishing anything on a schedule. 

The best part, of course, is watching Noodle love her little sister. Even at moments that are obviously hard, like when I can't put the baby down for three hours straight in the evening because it's the witching hour and I am in full dairy mode, Noodle takes deep breaths and pats her sister's hand and tells her not to worry and gives her little kisses. 

Okay, sometimes she also goes into gremlin mode and screams until I think her head might actually explode into angry toddler confetti, but hey. We're working on it.  And I just spent several months in gremlin mode myself, so I can relate. 

And in any case, our family of four is still brand new. Things are falling into a new groove. Everyone is figuring out how they can spend enough time with everyone else, and by themselves. That last one is pretty important. Finally, as of a couple days ago there's enough time between feedings for me to put on clothes -- and update this blog. Hallelujah. 

Baby life, here we go! 

Chitter Chatter

Hey hey hey! Remember how I was going to post all my vacation photos? HA! Joke is on you; I'm super pregnant and my back hurts and I can do anything I want. 

Instead of sharing those photos, let me tell you about my chatterbox daughter. The Noodle is now two years and one month old and she just will not stop talking. She mixes up her languages and her word order can be a little Yoda-esque, and she has cartoon lisp that only me and her dad fully understand, but still. She can talk.

It runs in the family. As those who know me know, I suffer from a terrible case of think-while-I-talk. The blah blah blahs. It's like a neurological deficiency. But obviously it's not MY fault; I inherited it from my father. Although unlike my verbacious dad (and his siblings), I talk without having anything interesting to say. 

We are also a terribly loud bunch. I'm not sure about my granddad, because he died long before I was born, but someone wrote a book about HIS dad and literally the third sentence is: "The father had a loud bass voice, and the little boy (my great grandfather) inherited those stentorian tones." 

Two pages later there's a story from when my great grandfather was three years old, and someone thought he was a girl because of his long curly hair. "The child proclaimed his gender in a voice half croak and half bellow: 'I am not a girl; I am a boy.' The visitor laughed and responded, 'If I had heard you speak first, I would have known you were a boy.' In an aside, he commented, 'There is a coming orator.'' 

So you see. Exuberant speech is in the blood. 

Back here in the Gumpen Village, our little piece o' pasta's latest milestone is that in addition to being super bossy, she now wants to negotiate everything. "Just one episode, mommy." "Please mommy. I want pizza mommy." "No vegetebegedebebbas...Let's buy stwawbewwies! Stwawbewwies ONLY." 

And of course the classic, "It's not bedtime." We made a video to record her speech development for posterity plus also my mother, and, lucky you, you get to see the edited version. Champagne, confetti, party blowers*. 

Behold, an incredibly long (it used to be longer?) video of Noodle procrastinating with her enablers, who clearly think she is adorabubble and are probably ruining her but don't quite mind yet. 

*Party blowers? Really? That's their actual name?... Huh...*Snort*harhar.

Weird News

The Internet is filled with stories about creepy things that little children have said or done. A lot of those stories have to do with kids pointing at dark corners and talking about people they see standing there. Or are about kids "remembering" a previous life. 

This photo has no relation to this post. #TBWhateverday

Today, this happened to us. 

Let me explain about the things that the Noodle thinks are endlessly awesome this week: 
1.) Anything she can "count" (Ooone! Twooo! Fouur!)
2.) Trams ("Choo-choo train")
3.) Busses ("BAAAHS")
4.) Airplanes ("Airpwane!")

Noodle does not care about cars, I guess because there are so many of them. They're background noise, like walls and sidewalks and grass. 

Except this evening. Noodle, Alex and I were walking home from the nearby dim sum place and decided to stop off at the gas station because we needed cat food. Noodle was in her stroller. As we were leaving the gas station she started whooping and hooting about the cars. 

"Anschauen!" she said, pointing wildly. "Anschauen!" (That means to look at something). 

We ignored her and kept walking, but she squirmed out of her stroller. She handed her father her blanket and her pacifier, which is unheard of. She grabbed my hand. "Car. Auto. Anschauen," she said, and led me back into the station. 

I thought we were heading for the modest gold Mercedes that was getting gas. Nope. The Volkswagen? No. The girl was focused. We walked past all the pumps and into the back, where a row of cars were being serviced. 

And walked directly up to the nicest car in the place, which was a family-friendly black Porsche. One like this: 

Noodle marched past the lady in a smock who had been waxing the car, and who had turned around because she thought we needed help. My one year old put her hands on her hips and spent a few moments staring at the car from the front, and then walked around to the side. She was nodding. 

The front doors were open. Noodle had a look at the seats. Finally she pointed. "This is nice," she said. "'Snice, Mommy." 

Her hands went back on her hips. And then she just stood there, nodding, with a little face that said she knows good work when she sees it. And then she cried when I made her leave. 

It was the most absurd thing I've ever seen. Where does she get this stuff from? 

The only explanation, of course, is that she is the reincarnation of a chubby banker who is having a half-hearted mid-life crisis but whose spouse won't let her (see what I did there? 10 points!) get the really cool car. 

I see luxury vehicles. 

Domestic Bliss: A Recipe for Minestrone Soup

There are blogs, terrible novels and a good number of cooking shows that would have you believe that the apex of domestic bliss is this: Mama is in her cozy kitchen, children at her feet, preparing a nutritious meal for her family. She is calm, her hair is good. Perhaps her sweet son or daughter helps her to stir the pot. A cat and a pot of basil share a spot on sunshine on the windowsill. It smells like peaches and vanilla. Outside, birds chirp a little song. Come with me. Peek into my Monday. Let us cook this delicious minestrone together.

(I forgot to take pictures.)

MINESTRONE

Ingredients

Gather these from the supermarket in a hurry on your way home from work. Your husband has committed to getting your daughter from kindergarten. This means you have about an hour before they get home. Run! 

• 1/2 pound (about 1 1/4 cups) dried white beans such as Great Northern, picked over and rinsed 
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 pound pancetta (Italian cured pork belly, available at Italian markets and specialty foods shops) or sliced lean bacon, chopped
• 1/3 cup olive oil
• 1 onion, chopped
• 1 large carrot, cut into 1/2-inch dice
• 1 rib of celery, cut into 1/2-inch dice
• 3 garlic cloves, chopped fine
• 2 zucchini, scrubbed and cut into 1/2-inch dice
• 1/4 pound green beans, trimmed and cut into 1/2-inch pieces
• 1/2 pound boiling potatoes
• 4 cups shredded green cabbage (preferably Savoy)
• 1/2 pound kale, rinsed, drained, stems discarded, and the leaves chopped (about 6 cups)
• a 28-ounce can tomatoes, chopped coarse and drained well
• 4 1/2 cups chicken broth (preferably low-salt)

• freshly grated Parmesan, garlic bruschetta , and dry-cured sausages as accompaniments

Pick me up!

Preparation

Get home. Good news: Noodle and Daddy aren't here yet! Bad news: there is cat pee in the hallway, AGAIN. Those filthy animals. Drape toilet paper across the mess. You have no time for this now. You have veggies to prep before all hell breaks loose. 

Despite having destroyed the hallway, the cats expect to be fed. Feed them. Try not to have a terrible attitude about it. Also try not to slice your finger open on the can again. Dammit, again!

Okay, okay. Focus on cooking. But first, you need to take off your suit jacket. Also the skirt. But no time to change anything else; stand in the kitchen in your pantyhose and blouse. Pretend this is empowering. Wash the vegetables while you read the recipe on your laptop; try not to drip water into the keyboard. This looks like a great recipe. Shame about all the steps. Why can't you ever cook anything simple, for Gof's sake? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Alright. No big deal. Multi-tasking. Women are awesome at multi-tasking, you read it on IFLscience or something. 

First step: Let the beans soak overnight. Ha! What kind of a**hole has time for that? You bought canned beans, like a boss. Go ahead and puree half of them now, because later there will be a toddler around, and putting toddlers and immersion mixers in the same space is basically like combining monkeys and guns. Ha. Yes. You feel very smug and organized for having thought of this. You'd totally say that if you were on your own cooking show. 

"Remember, everyone," you'd say, in your best Mary Berry voice. "Blend your beans before your child gets home! Would you leave monkeys in a room full of guns?" 

Next step: crisp the pancetta in a pot. Simultaneously peel carrots, chop celery, slice garlic. This is so totally under control. Add the veggies to the pot. You have four whole minutes to chop the next set of veggies. This is easy. 

The click of keys. "Hi babes, we're home!" says Alex. 

Uh-oh. 

"Mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy!" says Noodle, racing down the hallway. She may or may not have a little sheet of cat-urine soaked toilet paper attached to her rain boot. 

From down the hall, the husband calls: "Wow, you couldn't clean this up?" You ignore him as he mutters and cleans up cat pee. 

"Hello my love! How was kindergarten?" you ask the Noodle, smiling. Aww. It's so great to see this kid. What a cutie. 

"Up! Mommy, up!" She says. You hoist her up. 

"Look! Mommy is making minestrone. That is a kind of soup," you explain, stirring the veggies. 

"Cheese?" she asks. 

Current favorite food EVER, which, frankly, who can blame her.

"No," you say. "No cheese. You had a snack at kindergarten. Let's wait until dinner."

"Wahhhh!" she cries. 

"Mommy has to chop some more veggies now, so I have to put you down," you say. You turn your face toward your husband, who appears to be dawdling. "MOMMY HAS TO CHOP SOME MORE VEGGIES NOW." 

"CHEESE!" screams the Noodle. 

Daddy appears. "No cheese," he says, to great wailing and gnashing of teeth. "You want grapes?" Grapes are okay. He has no comment on your attire, because standard.  

They disappear with a bunch of grapes, and you frantically chop: zucchini, green beans and...motherf***cker, potatoes too? Where is the peeler. Where is the peeler. There! OH MY GOD. Peel, chop. Chuck, stir. 

"Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy."

"Yes, darling," you say, as you pick apart a head of kale. 

"Cheese?"

"How about you go read a book on the couch with Daddy? Does that sound like fun?" you say.  What is that man doing? Is he...omg, is that Facebook? "ALEX!"

"Alex!" says the Noodle. "Alex! Cheese!"

"Daddy," you say. "Go play with your daddy." 

"Come read a book with me, Noodle," says Daddy. He holds up Good night, Gorilla enticingly. It is the current favorite. 

"Elmo?"

"No, a book." 

"Tubbies?"

"How about this book?" 

"Of course." Noodle toddles off. 

Chop the kale. You've decided to skip the green cabbage, because if there is one thing you've learned in life, it's that if you make a recipe that uses only "4 cups of shredded green cabbage" you will shortly thereafter have half a head of slowly rotting cabbage in the back of your fridge. "Don't forget," you tell the imaginary cameras in your imaginary giant, airy kitchen. "Kale and cabbage are basically the same thing anyway! Ahahaha!" 

Angelic giggles tinkle out of the living room, and Daddy is reading. You smile beatifically.

Add the kale to the pot, stir until wilted...Stir until wilted. Wilt. Come on. Wilt already. Oooh, you could go cut some basil why you wait, since you actually have some for a change! Oh. THAT'S wilted. And...did the cats eat some too? Oh. My. God. Daddy and Noodle have finished two whole books. Check on the kale, which is still kind of like the soles of combat boots. American kale wouldn't do this, you think. This is just some b.s. Austrian pseudo-kale. You should have bought the green cabbage. 

Little feet pad sweetly across the floor. 

"Mommy, book," says Noodle. She is standing by your feet with a book. Reading is really good for you and you should encourage it. Reading is probably even better for you than minestrone. Could this recipe take any longer? Seriously. 

"Why don't you read with Daddy, honey?" you say.

"Because I already read two books with him, idiot," says Noodle. She doesn't actually say that, but you can hear it in your head. 

"Look! Daddy is playing with blocks. Why don't you join him?" you say. Daddy clicks the blocks together, optimistically. (He's so great, you think, in a footnote).  

Noodle points her finger in your face. "I haven't seen you all day, because all you care about is going to work, and now you're ignoring me. You will not read me Hop on Pop even though when I say the word 'pop' your heart nearly does." 

What she actually says is: "UUUUUP! CHEESE!"

It is really very, very warm in the kitchen. And very cramped. And the floor is suddenly covered in something sticky. 

You breathe deeply and try to remain calm. You feel terrible. Toddlerhood is short and precious. The days are long but the years are short. Cherish this moment. Be in this moment. Do not think about cigarettes at all. Think about the precious, fleeting, beauty of childhood. You're going to miss this, right? Actually, you know you are. That's the f***ing tragedy of the thing. 

You pick her up. "Hi, lovely. No cheese. But do you want to watch me make the soup? You can help, okay?" 

Add the tomatoes--try not to cut your child while opening the cans! Now add the "broth", i.e. 4.5 cups of water and soup cube. Hey, remember when you used to make broth from scratch? Meditatively skimming chicken foam while This American Life ran in the background. You'd drink tea, and smoke cigarettes out the window. Oh my God I LOVE cigarettes. 

"Soup!" says Noodle. 

"Do you love soup?" you ask. Foolishly, self-indulgently. "Does this look yummy?"

"No!" she says. "No! CHEESE!"

Breathe more.The Om Shanti part of your brain wins out against the part that desires to put your face through the wall. But it's a close call. 

Your arm is breaking with 11 kg of toddler, but hey, you're almost finished. Check the recipe. Scroll down. Hm hm hm. Ah yes. 

Cover the pot and simmer...for an hour? AN HOUR? This kid will be asleep in an hour! 

The Om Shanti part of your brain is no longer winning. You mysteriously want to actually...cry? Is THAT this feeling you are feeling? Ew. Unacceptable. You are a professional. Also a domestic goddess. There are no problems. There are challenges. And challenges have solutions. 

"Would you like some cheese and bread?" you ask. "And, um, this nutritious carrot?"

"Cheese!" she says happily. And cheese for dinner it is. 

Look into the camera with a knowing smile and a wink. "And remember, if you wish to avoid any fuss you can make this soup a day ahead. Just refrigerate and re-heat! No one will ever know the difference."

***

P.S. This recipe from epicurious.com was actually totally delicious, and even the Noodle liked it...the next day. Highly recommend. 

P.P.S I seriously have no idea how other people dis-attach their small children (plural! I have only one and can't manage!) from their legs while they are, for example, wielding large knives or manipulating hot fat. Please tell me your secrets. 







  

Laconic Love

These two just love each other endlessly. Which is pretty much how I feel about them. Behold! Father and daughter. And messy kitchen.  

And if I ever have time ever again in my life that is not consumed with either going to work, maintaining our household or blowing raspberries on this gorgeous toddler's belly, I promise I'll do a blog post with, like, words in it. 

The Superior Parent

My fellow parent has many excellent qualities. Yet it has always been clear to me that I am the superior. Evidence? Please. It is evident. I mean, just look at me. I'm GREAT. 

Heading south. I think we were over Egypt.

So imagine my dismay when I returned on Wednesday from a week-long work trip to Nairobi and the homestead was in perfect order and our child SEEMED both happy and throughly kempt. The kid barely noticed I was gone. At first I was perplexed, but looking back over the evidence of the week, I have an explanation. Gross corruption. 

My daughter has been bribed. 

Exhibit 1: Vegetables (lack thereof). One evening I Skyped in to my wee, dear family to find that my one year-old was merrily dining on take-out from the local cheap Chinese place. The child clutched a gyoza and was smeared in pork fat, soy sauce and jollity. A transparent effort to buy her chubby little heart. 

Exhibit 2: Bedtime. Last night at dinner, Alex's sister asked when the Noodle usually goes to bed. "At eight," I answered promptly. "Between seven and eight...well, nine," said Alex, just as promptly. He said, "I mean, it would be seven fifteen every night if I had my way. Ha! Hahaha! HA!" We looked at each other. I raised an eyebrow.  

Corrupted.

Exhibit 3: Television. Also last night, while dining at Alex's sister's home, our daughter kept picking up the remote control for the TV and pointing it at the screen and pushing random buttons in what can only be described as a well-practiced motion. When the TV finally came on she was utterly transfixed. "Wow, look how fascinated she is," I said. "We almost never watch TV when she is around at home." I looked at Alex. He looked away. 

Exhibit 4: Cookies. Again last night at dinner, Noodle was given a piece of cookie for dessert. Then she wanted another one, which I was inclined to let her have. "She never eats this stuff, so it's fine," I said. At the same moment, Alex said, "No more! Noodle, I think you have had more than enough cookies lately." 

Daddy and daughter.

"Wait, when was that?" I asked. 

"Psh," he said, holding up his thumb to start counting. "Just this afternoon she had one, two...plenty," he said. 

I looked at him, and had a sudden vision of the dozens of cookies that had disappeared down that delicate toddler gullet over the last seven days. My husband shrugged.  

I rest my case. 

But also, I would like to reiterate my thanks to my darling husband for making it possible for me to go gallivanting halfway across the world to do my job, indeed to enjoy my job, without worrying for a minute whether my baby is being taken care of. 

Of course she is. She has the loveliest Daddy in the world, and we both love him very, very much. 

Three big loves.