Love, Love, Love

Having a child has reinvigorated my own excitement about holidays --- even Valentine's Day. Benjamin is my ultimate valentine, and it was fun celebrating with him.

Last Sunday, we all congregated at my parents' house to celebrate my dad's birthday and eat a heart-shaped, half-coconut cake my mom made for Valentine's Day. (My crazy siblings don't like coconut. Weirdos.) After the sugar kicked in, Benjamin and my niece Maia ran around pretending to be cheetahs, while the rest of us carried on and cheered and clapped when my younger niece, Vera, said the word "purple" for the first time.

Before the party, Benjamin painted his own valentines for his cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents. The one on the bottom right is my favorite. It looks like Mr. Peanut holding a giant spoon.

Although I didn't have the chance to decorate and be as crafty as I wanted, I did make these chocolate pretzel buttons with Hershey's Hugs and Valentine's Day–colored M&Ms. So easy, and totally addictive.

These were a Pinterest find, and they could not have been easier. I lined a baking sheet with parchment paper. On square pretzel bites, place one Hug (or Kiss --- I like the stripes on the Hugs). I think there were about 80 Hugs in one regular-sized bag, so prepared to make quite a few. Bake them in a 200-degree oven for 4 to 5 minutes, until the chocolate gets shiny and just starts to melt. Pull them out of the oven, and gently place one M&M in the middle, pushing down ever so slightly. I let them rest for about 15 minutes and then I wrapped the entire baking sheet with foil and stuck it in the fridge to cool.

One thing I wish I would've done and only thought to do after it was too late was to drag a toothpick through the melty stripes to make zigzags. I'll save that for next time.

Scott and I are having our grown-up date on Friday night. (We going here. Can. Not. Wait.) Last night, we took Benjamin to a Japanese place for dinner so he could try hibachi for the first time. The big flames scared him, and he burst into tears right away. Oops. It didn't bode well for the rest of dinner, but he got into after a while and loved all the chopping, flipping and squirting of sake into his parents' mouths. (We liked that part, too.) Normally, I would not be into all the theatrics of a hibachi place, but with a kid, it's pretty fun. Dinner and a show!

He scarfed down his dinner and then proclaimed on the way home: "I don't like fire and I also don't like fire hydrants, but I do like fire trucks and ambulances and police cars."

Alrighty. Glad we cleared that up.

Baby Got Bakasana

Last night in my yoga class, I finally was able to do what I've been calling my "nemesis pose": bakasana, or crow/crane pose.

[That's bakasana, but that's not me in the picture — not by a long shot. I borrowed it from here.]

Referring to one of the asanas as my "nemesis" is not yogic (new word!) in any way. What matters is that I saw bakasana, thought it looked super-cool and wanted to do it, too.

But, the thing was, I couldn't. Not for months. I'd try and try almost every day, even laying piles of pillows in front of me in the event I fell on my face (which I did, several times). I watched videos of people doing it on YouTube. They made it look so easy, which further annoyed me that I couldn't do it.

And then one day, I just stopped trying. I didn't give up, exactly, but I just stopped trying. I am not a proponent of anyone quitting anything, but I do think that we need to step back from things and reassess sometimes. I figured that someday I would be able to do it, just like I can do wheel and plow and side plank pose, which I definitely could not do when I first started practicing yoga last spring.

But last night, I did it. I could tell we were moving toward bakasana when the instructor, Lisa, had us squat down into garland pose and place our palms on the mat in front of us. "Here it comes," I thought to myself. She walked us through step by step until we got to the big moment: lifting both feet off the ground. I let my eyes flit around for a moment to see who could do it, and then I reminded myself that if everyone else in the class or no one else in the class could do it, that had no bearing on my bakasana.

I planted my palms again. I nestled the backs of my arms into my knees. I tucked my body and rounded my back. I lifted up onto my tiptoes and walked my feet slowly toward each other. I took a deep breath and leaned forward. I picked one foot up and then put it down. I picked the other foot up and then put it down. I exhaled and picked up both feet. For one glorious second, I was flying.

Yoga has taught me so much, and one difficult lesson is that I cannot, in fact, do it all — not always exactly when and how I want to, anyway. I was raised to believe that if I worked hard enough, I could do anything, but that I needed to do so with honor and kindness and dignity. There have been times in my life when I have not acted that way, that when I look back, I think, "My mother would not have been happy with me for doing/saying that." I believed that I could have a child and work full-time as a professor and write and cook and bake and decorate and host parties and volunteer and read and make crafts and garden — all while maintaining a spotless house, a perfectly behaved child, a flawless marriage, and my sanity, naturally — and do whatever else my silly little heart desired whenever it wanted simply because I was working hard enough.

One of the hardest pills I have ever had to swallow was this: I can't. Perhaps others can — it seems others do it much better than I do when I read their posts on Facebook [snicker, snicker] — but I can't. Not all of it, not at one time, not right now.

My quest since my son was born has been to find balance, but I have stacked the scales against myself. When your life is too full, when your time is too limited, when you are hustling all of the time, when there are no moments of quiet or peace, when you spend too little time having fun with your partner, your friends and yourself, balance can't happen.

I am trying to let the quiet in. I am trying to stop always looking for the next project. I'm trying to let life — the life I actually have, not the life I think I want — happen. Maybe by letting go, I will have a better shot.

My frequent intention in yoga is "gratitude." This is an important one for me: to remember to say thank you but to also be grateful for what I have in my life. When we are grateful, we peer inward and think of the good things we do have, rather than looking outward and focusing on what we don't have. When I am grateful for the body that has carried my son and been free from major illness or injury all my life and is strong enough to raise up into bakasana for even one second, I am not thinking about how I still have stretch marks and how — let's face it — the boobs and belly will never, ever look the same.

When I am grateful for my home and all of the laughter and great meals and parties that have been had here, I mind its Brady Bunch–era "charm" a little less. I pay less attention to the Pottery Barn catalogs and the blogs that showcase styled corners of beautifully photographed homes that are inevitably cleaner and cooler than mine. When I am grateful for my job, I find myself more excited to take on the challenges of educating future journalists and less affected by the bureaucracy and politics and endless meetings that come with it.

These are important lessons for me — ones that I have to remind myself of over and over again. I am not a religious person (that's another post for another time), but these intentions, whether they be "gratitude" or "peace" or "patience" or "kindness" or "joy," get pretty close for me.

Family Style: Sweet Ideas for a Kid-Friendly Valentine's Day

In case you're thinking about Valentine's Day already (or at all), might I direct you to my latest blog post for Susquehanna Style magazine's website about cool crafts and food ideas for the wee ones?

Come on. Target's had its V-Day stuff out since 12:01 a.m. on December 26. Don't lollygag.

A Little Bit of Winter

As a professor, I do have the luxury of a four-week winter break. But I like to think of it more like preventive medicine, as this break prevents me from totally losing my mind.

And so, during my break, I tend to do not much. Last year, we went to Vermont for a few days, which was unbelievably wonderful. Vermont reminds me of Montana, where I lived for a bit after college. There are places in this world that root into your soul once you've been there. They're impossible to shake, and even if you've been there for just a few days, you find yourself feeling homesick for them. Montana is like that for me, and all winter long I've been longing for Vermont, too.

I had planned to go to New York for a couple days to visit a dear friend of mine from college, but it didn't happen. My father-in-law's health has been precarious for the last few months, and I just didn't feel right about making an overnight trip.

So I did very little. But I baked.

And I decorated.

And I basked in the glow of the Christmas tree.

And I made butternut-squash risotto and lots of other things.

And I snuggled with my sweet boy when he was sick the whole week between Christmas Day and New Year's Eve.

And I acted like a fool with my little brother and sister. (We're good at that.)

And I decorated some more, with pinecones from the front yard.

And I hung out with my husband.

I also did a lot of yoga, which I have not photographed. Yoga continues to save my sanity and my soul, and it was by far the greatest gift I gave myself in 2011.

School starts again for me on January 18th, so I'm trying to savor what's left. Happy New Year!

Bird by Bird (and Pumpkins)

Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he'd had three months to write. [I]t was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said, "Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird."

— from Bird by Bird: Instructions for Writing and Life, by Anne Lamott

It has been a long time since I have posted. I blame this on the start of the fall semester, which occupies nearly every last minute of my time that is not already occupied by parenting and chores.

It is hard not to feel overwhelmed sometimes by the lessons to be prepared, the stacks and stacks of homework to be graded that never quite seem to go away, the meetings to attend, the e-mails to answer. And then there is the laundry, which I'm doing much more frequently since our foray into potty-training began in June (and we are definitely still training, as evidenced by my sweet boy's insistence on pooping in his Thomas the Tank Engine underpants). And grocery-shopping. And cooking. And cleaning. And maybe even some sleep once in a while.

I don't mean to whine. I read on Facebook this morning that a friend just got laid off from her job. I am thankful for my good job, my safe home, my healthy family. I am not unlike any other mom, because let's face it: Once we have a baby, we all work, all of time. It's just that some of us have to/get to leave and work elsewhere, depending on one's perspective.

Most days, I do instead of think. Thinking is what leads to me feeling overwhelmed. And when I begin to feel like the piles of paper and dirty clothes and unwashed dishes are getting a little too large, too tall, too precarious, I find myself returning to Anne Lamott's words. I hear myself thinking the words "Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird" in my head. And it works (mostly).

A little more than a year ago, when I turned 34, I made a list of 34 things I wanted to start doing in order to keep organized and keep sane. I still like to do as much as I can the night before—my ultimate lifesaver for busy mornings. I've been inconsistent with planning a weekly menu, and I'm sorry to report that my Crock-Pot hasn't gotten much use in the past year.

But what have I done? Yoga — finally! I started doing it in May, and I don't think it's an overstatement when I say that it's changed my life. For starters, the jiggly bits are a bit less jiggly. (Be gone, granny arms!) I'm definitely more flexible. My pregnancy back pain that hung around after the pregnancy was over is gone. I sleep better. And I'm a lot more calm. A. Lot.

There are lots of good life lessons to learn from yoga. Focus on the moment. Be compassionate with yourself. You are stronger than you think. Let your practice or pose meet you instead of the other way around. Stay balanced. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe again.

When I started taking classes, I felt guilty about flying out the door just minutes after Scott got home from work. I didn't like missing Benjamin's bedtime (and I still don't). It's a little selfish and indulgent of me to take yoga classes two or three times a week, but it's making me a better mother, a better wife, a better teacher, and an overall better me.

Bird by bird. One e-mail at a time. One paper at a time. One lesson at a time. One pose at a time. One breath in, one breath out. I can only do what I can do, as much or as little as that means for that moment.

I'm starting to feel OK with that.

And now, as promised, pumpkins. I took these shots during a rainy trip to our local pumpkin patch. Fall is my favorite season, and part of my ritual is bedecking the front porch and the insides of the house with pumpkins galore. This farm grows all different kinds of pumpkins, from itty-bitty baby pumpkins to gnarly Red Warty pumpkins. (Seriously, that's what they're called.) My favorites are the Fairy-Tale pumpkins, which are a strange pale orange mixed with some green and gray.

Between the rain and my son, who would not stay next to me as instructed (shocker!), I didn't get as many as I wanted (pumpkins or photographs). Until next time ...