"She is too fond of books and it has turned her brain." –Louisa May Alcott
Four years ago, this little darling came into my life and made me a mother of two. She is the sweetest, most loving little girl I could ever ask for, with a creative soul and a feisty heart and a big, beautiful brain.
Happy birthday, Love.
It’s my daughter’s birthday today. I’m baking her a pink strawberry cake with polka dots and stripes, as per her request. Otherwise, taking the day off.
xoxo
When the girl was born, I had a lot of decisions to make. Which hospital to choose, whether to use medication, feeding plans. But do you want to know what the best decision I made was? Maybe ever, in my whole life?
Can’t wait till my kids discover Harry Potter so I can do this.
You’ve never seen the Golden Girls like this before. Continue reading “Eight Adorable Things”
When gushing about the magic of motherhood, you’ll hear a lot of clichés. For example, “These are the best years of your life!” and “Cherish every moment,” and “It goes by so quickly.” These usually come from people who are not mired in the quicksand that is early motherhood–their brains have already produced those chemicals necessary to wipe away the memory of days that lasted at least 36 hours or the way time seems to stretch nearly to snapping when a toddler is trying to put on a pair of pants. Our brains all produce these chemicals eventually, and they allow us to frame family stories under rose-colored glass, thus encouraging our children to reproduce, thus encouraging the continuation of the species. Thus another cliché, reconciling the two feelings: “The days are long but the years are short.” Continue reading “Magical Moments in Motherhood”
The girl’s birthday was this Sunday, and she was going to have a party. I’d themed it “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” knowing that stars would be an easy item to find (paper cups, garlands, twinkle lights, clothing) in December, but also because there’s something of the dark night to my little girl, and something luminous. She moves in and out of herself, scowling and shining by turns but always bright, like the stars that never really cease to glow but simply move out of our eye line.
I’d like to think she gets that quality from me, but I have to admit my glow has dimmed over the years, and needs a little more kindling. With that in mind, and given the impending social even for which we were preparing, I invented a drink–a little fuel for the old inner fire, so to speak.
Anyway, the party got canceled because the girl got a fever the night before (on top of being sick, she was apparently cutting two teeth) and so the fire required no fuel. Instead of celebrating our girl’s first year of life we spent the afternoon with a grumpy baby who just cried at the hunk of cake I put in front of her and a brother who was convinced that the birthday would be his if only he screamed a little louder. I could have used a fancy drink after the terrible children went to bed but I didn’t bother. I wasn’t in a very twinkly mood.
Anyhow, I call this the Ginger Twinkle. There’s apparently a cookie of the same name out there (I Googled it, as I always do when naming something, mostly out of a fear of accidental innuendo) but this has bubbles in it and sugar on the rim, so–double twinkle. Which means I win. Anyhow, it goes like this:
First, make a ginger syrup. (Or buy one. Slightly different results, both yummy.) Put about a teaspoon of syrup in the bottom of a champagne glass. Fill the glass a bout 3/4 full of prosecco. Top with ginger ale.
Of course, I tried multiple variations of this. You can increase or decrease the syrup and it’s good lots of ways–it’s even good without the syrup at all. Just prosecco and ginger ale. Or just prosecco. Or wine. A little Christmas magic. Right, Linda? Whatever helps you twinkle.
The Sensitive, Bookish Type 