Corn

I love corn on the cob - particularly in the summer paired with Andy's grilling.  This year we've already consumed dozens of ears, steamed and grilled.  Buttered.  Salted.  Grilled with onion, lime and cilantro.  Left overs mixed with quinoa and salad.  Corn corn corn!
The first time we served it Brenna turned up her nose, as usual.  The second time she tentatively took a bite.  By the third time she was loving it and now she will go from person to person begging for bites from their cobs.  I think now we can say with some certainty that she has embraced the wonderfulness of summer corn.

Backlogged - Food!

When we went in for Brenna's four month check up we were told we could start her on solid foods.  We hemmed and hawed and waited...and then the kitchen remodel began and the idea of more things to wash was a tad overwhelming.  So the baby didn't get solid food.

Then the guilt took over - she's so small; she needs more to eat; we're depriving her.  So May hit and we decided to go over to Grandma Patty's (she has a functional dishwasher and sink after all) and give rice cereal a whirl.  It seemed like a wild success so we continued to give her some each day.

 And then the cereal really kicked in...and blocked my poor baby up.  Switching to barley didn't work.  Karo syrup didn't work.  A trip to the doctor moderately worked and two ounces of pear juice completely worked. 
By the time we got to the beach Brenna was slowly figuring out the magic of solid food and fresh South Carolina peaches made learning to eat that much easier.  Now she's a champ.  I can say with confidence that she loves pears and peaches, likes sweet potatoes and prunes, is a bit a wary of peas and is not a fan of bananas.

And while she is finally grasping how to shove food into her tiny body I am reminded of what a lesson in patience feeding a six month old is.  I had forgotten that every other spoonful ends up on bibs, hands, noses or in ears.  I had forgotten what it felt like to have a prune laced raspberry blown in my face and the lovely aroma of a pea scented burp.  Solid foods change everything - from the amount of laundry that needs to be done to the variety of diapers that are changed.  For now Brenna is noshing on the lovely varieties of fruits and vegetables that Gerber supplies, but once our kitchen is back to being functional (three more LONG days) the food processor will be broken in with papaya, mango, green beans, spinach, apples, avocados and so much more.  It may bother me a bit, the canned stuff doesn't seem to phase our gourmand at all.

**Ignore that offensive bib, this kiddo is NOT a future gator!

A is for Apple

When I was growing up almost every fall would be marked by a trip to the apple orchard. In my memory, Mom would cram us (us being anyone in arms' reach) into the orange Oldsmobile or stack us into the minivan and we would drive to Kinderhook, NY.

The orchard we would go to allowed us not only to pick our own apples, but the trees were big enough that we could climb. And believe me, I was quite the tree climber as a kid. Height did not phase me. Bird nest, whatevs. Power lines, no biggie. My brother and I would scramble as high as we could, pick apples off the branches and toss them down to my mom. We would have picnics, gorge ourselves on fresh apple cider, and have rotten apple wars. The orchard we went to allowed dogs, and inevitably our silly mutt, Chemo the wonder pup, would run off and smash deer poop into her ears. Between that and the amount of cider we drank, it was often a bit of a stinky ride home.

However, once we got home it was apple recipes galore. Apple crisp, apple pie, apple sauce, and my fav, apple squares. I love everything about apple picking - the arrival of Autumn, cool air, blue skies, fallen leaves, laughter, family tradition. I love Autumn - I love jeans and long sleeve tees. I love the need for a sweatshirt in the morning. I love the smell of baking apples. And I am trying to impart this love to my little lady.

So, needless to say, I was thrilled to finally take my little Bean apple picking. The orchard we went to had gorgeous views of mountains, fresh apple cider donuts and pumpkins. The trees at the orchard were too small to climb, but that didn't deter us from having a blast. Addie plucked apples off the trees and chucked them into our bag - resulting in tons of bruised apples. The few apples that weren't bruised? Those were licked or bitten into courtesy of our little harvester.

She ran the rows of trees. She scarfed down a cider donut. She picked out a 'mama' and a 'baby' pumpkin. She watched cider ferment. And she, like me, loved it all.

Sean + Ali = Vomit

Let's start at the very beginning....it's a very good place to start....

Almost two weeks ago I checked off the travel list:
Portable DVD player. Check.
Bag full of toys. Check.
Healthy snacks. Check.
Packed suitcases. Boarding passes. Check, check.

Off Addie and I flew to New England for nine autumn days with Gramma. Four planes later, we're back at home, readjusting to sleeping schedules and wishing Gramma was still around to change diapers and pour wine.

I mentioned last week that there are tales to be told...and the first one has very little to do with Addie. Nope this one is all about me, my poor decision making ability and my questionable choices in friends.

After arriving at Gramma's, late in the night, Addie wrapped herself around giraffe and snuggled up in the port-a-crib, snoozing blissfully until morning. On Friday we putzed around and lamented a rainy day, but I knew that rain was not going to ruin my plans. See, luckily for moi, two very good friends of mine live about 45 minutes from Mom, in Albany, New York. She is there finishing her ER residency and he is there desperately trying to figure out a way to get fired from his job. They're both counting the seconds until they can return to sweet home Chicago.

Ali drove over the mountains and met me at the outlets for some shopping before we headed back to their place for some drinks, dinner and fun. Addie kissed me goodbye and mom practically shoved me out the door in anticipation of one-on-one time with her littlest lady. Freedom.

Ali and I shopped and chatted and shopped some more. We drove to Albany, with my overnight bag, and uncorked some wine. We ate cheese, laughed, had a martini, laughed. We watched Sean make us dinner and we plotted our night ahead.

Dinner was lovely - rosemary roasted potatoes, smoked beer butt chicken and salad. Our martinis gone, we delved into two bottles of red from their impressive arsenal of wine. We laughed at each other and with each other and at our shared friends. It was lovely. By 11:45 I was in bed...In my pjs under the covers. Honk shoo honk shoo.

When I woke up I was groggy and had a bit of head ache, but okay. I showered, took up residence on their couch and waited for our day to start. Big plans for burgers and bloody marys were awaiting....but first....I hurled.

Yep. I christened their toilet in their newly refinished bathroom. Embarrassing? Yes. Par for the course if I have a tad too much to drink these days? Yes.

Hurling done, I was ready for lunch and feeling great.

Then the waitress but my burger down in front of me. I got a little hot feeling. I could hardly bare to smell or look at it. I excused myself to the oddest bar bathroom ever (all covered in chrome, mirrors and yellow) and I hurled some more.

Yep. I hurled in a public place. A lot. Did I want to hide my face? Yes. Was I a little more than embarrassed? Yes.

It was time to trek back to the Berkshires - I was feeling good enough and thinking about the mimosas Ali and I would sip. We got in their new car. It was shiny. It smelt like new car. It had all sorts of fancy buttons and screens - and I hurled again. In a bag, in their car, as we were heading to I-90.

Mortified. Check.

And then again, 5 miles from my Mom's house. And then two more times in the house I grew up in. I was feeling a little icky but overall decent, talking and laughing, and then bam - hurling. My stomach rejected Friday night's fun, three bites of a burger, a Pepcid and bottles of water.

I was BROKEN. While curled in a fetal position, demanding Ali use her doctor skills to fix me, I surrendered my rock star card.

Once and forever.

The days of mixing alcohol - gone. The days of drinking multiple martinis - gone. The days of bouncing back - gone. The days of being awesome - gone.

I say it loud and I say it proud - I am a Mommy NOT a rock star.

Ali and Sean broke me. Maybe permanently. But that isn't really the big story about those 36 hours - the big story is that Addison made a decision on Friday night that has pretty much changed my entire world.

But more on that later.

Big Mistake.

Big. Huge.

When we got in the car to go to Grandma's for dinner on Sunday I said to Andy: "It smells nast in here. Like something is dead."
And then I pulled out of the garage, drove to Grandma's and enjoyed a lovely dinner of Beef Burgundy. As we drove home I was too distracted by a miserable toddler to notice the miserable smell of my car.

Yesterday, on the way to StrollerFit, I thought to myself: "It is rank and old smelling in here. I really need to clean this car."
And then I got to class, sweated a lot, drove home, put my sleeping baby down for a nap and immersed myself in the mountain of laundry that threatened to overtake my basement.

Today, I bravely decided to take the kiddos to Meijer for a quick outing. As I got the car ready for them (installing a carseat, putting snacks and juice in the front seat) I noticed a miserable, rank, old smell.
This time I decided to investigate. I found an empty straw cup. And then I found the dreaded, horrible straw cup that was not empty. It was full.

Full of fully curdled milk.

I have found many of these before.

According to another mommy, they are one of the Top Ten Things to Avoid. I should have heeded her wisdom or at least learned from my prior experience.

I have opened and attempted to salvage the utility of some of them. One even went through the dishwasher twice, but the smell never fully disappated.

I opened today's treasure. I then vomitted in my mouth, squeezed my eyes shut and threw it into the trash can. Ick. Ick. Double ick.

At least the Easter Bunny brought me a car jar. Tonight my car smells like putrid milk, by tomorrow it will smell like an Island Spa.