A Woman in Her Thirties on the Eleventh Month

Dear Mister B,

In keeping with tradition, your 'holy moley my baby is another month older' post is going to be a list of eleven things I thought you might like to know about you. Don't worry-- I'm saving all my mushy sentimentality for four weeks from now, when suddenly you will be an entire year old.  Sniff.  

1.  You are a flirt.

Like, in the worst way.  I cannot walk through Target, into school to pick up Anna, or even through a parking lot without you finding someone to give them this look:

Do you see what I'm talking about ?  The eyes.  The lips.  It's a real problem.

2.  You are a talker.

Anna was such an early talker (and late, late walker), that I thought for sure I'd have the opposite in you.  Nope.  Your first word was, of course, Da Da.  You've moved on to Ba Ba and Ma Ma... and it's loud, Mister.  Loud.

3. You still don't have any teeth.

Just like your sister.  Anna didn't cut her first tooth until she was 11.5 months old.  So, by my calculations, you've got another couple weeks of smiles that look like this:

4.  You are a scooter.

Yup.  Just like Anna, and just like your Mom.  Is it the genes or the hardwood floors?  Who's to say for sure.  All I know is that your preferred method of getting around is on your rear end, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't give me the tiniest bit of pleasure:

5. You don't love to eat.

It's the strangest thing.  I've got a slew of new foods for you to try all the time, and I always get this look when you take your first few bites:

I'm fairly sure that, if it were up to you, you'd have milk and oatmeal three meals a day, every day.  Buddy, we are a family of eaters.  This is unacceptable.

6. Your hair.

I realize this isn't really a fact about you, so maybe I'll illustrate with a photo.

Your Dad keeps saying that we need to cut it, but I'm afraid to.  Not just because of your giant cowlick (thanks, Uncle J!) but also because you are so squirmy I'm not sure you'd sit still long enough to make it look presentable.  Plus, it's a great conversation piece.  

7.  You still look like me.

I can't believe it.  Eleven months, and still have never been asked when I 'got back with you'.  

8.  You look like Anna.

Which is perplexing.  You look like me while also looking like your sister who looks mostly like her Dad.  But I do see it sometimes, and people comment on it, so it must be true:

9.  You are sleeping... better.

Which is to say that Momma is no longer anxiety-ridden around bedtime.  I can count on a few fingers how many times you've slept through the night, which is an improvement on last month. I'll take it.  But you know what I'd also take?  MORE SLEEP.  

10.  You are Mr. Buddy.

I'm afraid that this is a nickname that's going to be around for awhile.  We've all taken to calling you that, in one form or another.  (Mister B is also a popular one.)  It's better than Yoda, right?  Mister?  Mister Buddy? 

11. You are also Mr. Independent.

I don't think I would appreciate your independence as much if Anna hadn't been so... well, let's just say that I have never dropped you off at the gym or with your Grandparents or with anyone else for that matter and worried that you will scream the whole time.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  Part of me wonders if you even know I've gone.  But then I return and you look at me like this:

And I'm reminded that yes, you do love me.  A lot.  You have just already figured out that the world has a lot more excitement in it than just your plain old Mom.  

That excitement about life is what I love most of all in you, my eleven month old little man.  You bring it out in me, too.

Love, 

Mom

A Woman in her Thirties Gets a New Toy

A woman in her thirties likes her new toy very much.... and I'm guessing I'll like it more once I figure out all the cool stuff it can do!

A Woman in her Thirties Equinox

Yesterday I turned 35.  WOWZA.  Thirty-five is... well, it's a lot older than I was when I thought I was 'getting sooooooo old' in my twenties.  I'm not a big birthday person, and I'm not sad in the least about getting older.  But I do think birthdays are a time of reflection, and yesterday I found myself reflecting on the best advice I ever received.  Here goes:

I swam on a swim team for ten years.  Despite being a strong swimmer, I was never a fast one.  Actually, I was almost always the slowest in my age group.  For ten years.  That's a long time to be the slowest at anything.  I have memories of it bothering me when I was very young, but as I got older I accepted it for what it was.  I had lots of friends, lots of fun, and WAY too much sun for my years:

Take a moment and soak in this picture.  Just soak it all in.  

We used to do these drills in swim practice called 'hypoxics'.  Basically, it was controlled breathing.  Lap one you would take five breaths, then four, then three, etc., until you got to the final lap where you didn't take any breaths at all.  Like I said, I was never awesome at swimming.  But I ruled those hypoxics.  

Until it got to the final lap.  

For some reason, that last lap with no breaths was too daunting for me. I couldn't do it.  I'd get within a few strokes of the wall and take a breath, telling myself I just couldn't do it.  It was too hard.

One morning, my swim coach, JR, pulled me aside.  JR must have been about nineteen years old, but to me he seemed ancient.  He was also an incredibly fast swimmer, and we all admired him.  (I wonder whatever happened to him?)  He was not interested in hearing me complain about not being able to make my last hypoxic drill.  At all.

'Why did you breathe?!'  I remember him demanding.

'I... I just...couldn't do it...' I said as I adjusted my swim cap.

He rolled his eyes and knelt down next to the wall.  'Yes,' he said sternly. 'You can.'

'I can't,' I repeated.  Everyone else can, I could have continued.  But I can't.

'Of course you can,' he said.  'Just don't breathe!'

Something clicked within me in that moment.  I can't say what.  Something very primal.  I think about that moment all the time, considering I am a woman in her thirties who tends to oversimplify things.  I think this was the moment when I realized (most) things really are that simple.  

Do it.  Or in this case, don't do it.  Make a choice and make it happen.  

I have used this advice in thousands of ways throughout my thirty-five years.  Quit my job?  Write a book?  Move to China?  Move again?  And again?  Take a chance?  Take a risk?  Don't breathe.  

Now, more than ever, this advice sticks with me.  A woman in her thirties at the middle of her decade takes a moment to consider how far she's come and how far she's still going to go.  I might be thirty-five, but I'm still that swimmer in the pool, still questioning my next steps, still forming a picture of what I want the future to look like.

And choosing to make it happen.  Choosing not to breathe.  

A Woman in her Thirties Makes Dumplings

It's time to go to China.

Most people reading this blog know that I lived in China for three years.  The pictures above are from my very favorite adventure there-- hiking a treacherous three mile stretch of the Great Wall with a group of tenth graders, including a campout in one of the watchtowers.  

I did not look this perky on day two, let me assure you.  

Whenever anyone asks me about my time in China, they ask what the best part was about living there.  For me, it was two things.  Acupuncture and massage at ridiculously affordable prices, and the food.

I also miss the hilarious signs I saw around the country, but that is a post for another time.  

Back to the food.  One of my most favorite things to do in China was go out for dumplings. Potstickers.  Gyoza.  Whatever you call it.  In China, you can get these like fast food.  Pick your filling, wait a couple minutes, and for about $2 you have a plate full of fresh potstickers.  Or you could go to Din Tai Fung, which has the world's most amazing (and unhealthy) dumplings.  But that, too, is a post for another time.  

Anyway, dumplings.  One of the problems with coming back to the US after living overseas is trying to find food that compares to what you experienced abroad.  (Like, for example, I would have cut off my right arm for decent Mexican food in Beijing.  Not to be found.)  So has been the case for dumplings. I know you can buy them frozen, and Trader Joe's makes a somewhat acceptable version (the ones labeled "potstickers", NOT the ones labeled "gyoza"), but in truth, there is only one place one can find delicious dumplings in the US.

And that is at my mother-in-law's.

We've established the fact that my MIL makes the best Asian food this side of the Pacific Ocean. But these dumplings are so good that they are the #1 requested for item whenever my equally awesome sister-in-law comes to town.  So, for your eating pleasure, the experience is documented here.

You will need:

1 3/4 lb ground pork. (This must be freshly ground from a reliable source.  My MIL gets hers from Cub Foods in Eden Prairie.  I would not question this, if I were you.)

1 lb fresh Won Ton wrappers.  We used these:

(the package should be very bendable, to ensure freshness)

A bunch of green onions.  We used four, chopped.

2-4 tablespoons of soy sauce.  Depending on taste.  L's Mom doesn't measure, but I think that's about right.  It should be enough to coat the outside of the pork and make it turn brown-ish.

Black pepper, about a teaspoon.  Maybe more.  

Sesame oil.  A teeny tiny drizzle.  That stuff is powerful.

That's it. 

You mix all the ingredients together (except for the won ton wrappers, obviously), in a bowl.  L's Mom prefers a pie tin. She also mixes everything with a knife which she will later use to fill the won ton wrappers.

'My mission in life is to dirty as few utensils as possible.'  -my mother-in-law

So your ingredients are all mixed.  Super easy. Then you lay out the rest for filling:

This was our filling station, including a tiny plate of water.  When you open the won ton package, you'll notice one side is floury, and one side isn't.  You want to stuff the non-foury side:

Then you dip your finger in the water and lightly dab half of the edges of the won ton.  Then you wrap:

 (Once you make a rectangle add another drop of water on the lower right corner.)

It took me a couple of tries to get the hang of it, which is pretty good if you know me and my lack of dexterity.  When you finish, lay them on a cookie sheet like this:

This next step is important.  Crucial.  You MUST FREEZE THEM THIS WAY.  Do not-- REPEAT-- do NOT just throw them in a bag and freeze them.  They will stick together if you do that.  This is a lesson many dumpling-novices have learned the hard way.

When they've frozen (about a couple hours), THEN you can take them out and put them in a ziploc to freeze until you're ready to cook them.

Fast forward to cooking day.  

You'll need enough (vegetable or canola) oil to coat the bottom of the pan:

Then you artfully arrange them, like so. Pack them in nice and tight.  Trust me.

Once they're a little brown on the bottom (a couple minutes), add a cupful of water.  This is different than the directions on the back of the ones you buy at the store, that say you only need a tablespoon or so.  You want the pan to look like this:

Then you cover the pan, and go play with the kids for about twenty minutes:

When you come back to the pan, the water will be pretty much absorbed.  You have a choice.  You can either flip them one-by-one, or your can be all strong and powerful and flip them all at once.  Guess which one L chooses?

Then you fry up the other side for a couple of minutes until it's brown on the bottom, during which time you assemble your dipping sauces:

L's Mom's La You (hot sauce-- recipe later), LA CHOY LITE SOY SAUCE (no exceptions), HEINZ RED WINE VINEGAR (no exceptions), and sesame oil, combined as you like it.  

Oh, and Kim Chi, if you're really nutty, like most of  L's family is.  I'm not.  

And then you eat until you are silly and sick.  

Afterward, you give your significant other a big-ol' happy 40th birthday smooch:

And say thank you for all the adventures before, and all the adventures to come.  

A Woman in her Thirties on Ten

Dear Mister Bee,

This week, you are ten months old.

There is no way for you to wrap your head around this number, so let me do it for you in a visual way. Ten months ago you were this:

Now you are this:

Go ahead, make sense of it.  I'll wait.

This month has been all about movement for you.  Crawling(ish), scooting(ish), and reaching, reaching reeeeeeaching for things to put in your mouth.

I call you Mister Squirmy-Wormy often, because that's what you are.

The squirmiest of worms.

You're starting to vocalize more.  Some 'Ma-ma', some 'Ba-ba', but mostly 'Da-da' (of course).  And lots, I mean LOTS of laughing.  Particularly with your sister:

I'm sure, before I know it, I'm going to have to remind you often just how much you love Anna.  But for now, you have no problem letting the world know.  And the best news is that the feeling is mutual:

We do need to talk about sleep.  I can tell you that there are several people reading this blog who are sick me complaining about sleep, so I won't go into too much detail.  Let's just say that, to date, you have not slept through the night. (That is not including the particular sleep issues we are dealing with with your sister.).  Momma is tired.  Momma is cranky.  Momma will buy you a car when you're sixteen if you would please start sleeping through the night.*

(*Statement may or may not be true, depending on grades, funds, and your willingness to promise me that I will be the only woman in your life until after you've finished grad school.)

Still, I maintain that I hit the baby jackpot with you.  This week you had a virus that may or may not have been Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease.  (Remember that lovely post??)  Did you complain?  Did you stop laughing even for one day?

No.  And if I could wish one thing for you in life, it's the ability to do just that.  To look at all the craziness surrounding you and see the good things.  Smile, despite anything.  A good reminder this week, for all of us.

I love you so much, my ten-month-old Mister Mister.  You keep me smiling, too.

Love,
Mom