When a mother is born, a woman is mourned

I recently saw this inscription on Pinterest or Facebook or someplace: When a baby is born, so too is a mother.

Go ahead, place a hand on your heart and let a tear well in your eye.

And as you do so, think of this: what happens to the woman in all this? Where does she go? Who does she become?

No one thinks of her. Of the woman who spontaneously goes out for drinks with friends without having to orchestrate a mission akin to taking down a guerrilla offensive. Of the woman who could wile hours away shoe shopping without her boobs overfilling with milk and her babe hollering for her next feeding. Of the woman who would serve a satisfying bowl of cereal for dinner without the fear that she’s causing irreparable nutritional damage to her offspring. Or, of the woman who was always “leaning in” and willing to put in the hours needed to make it to the next rung up the proverbial ladder without contemplating the impact it would have on everyone else’s life.

That woman is forgotten.

Thinking of her, the sentiment above needs to be extended: When a mother is born, a woman is mourned.

I only recently realized the woman I once was is no longer. It started around the time of my second and last daughter’s first birthday. I realized my baby girl no longer needed me as much as she used to. I was no longer her main feeding source and her fierce independence was flourishing – she was sleeping through the night, eating on her own, taking steps with no hands and more new tricks every day. She was doing all the things I wished for to be able to do during those 3am feedings just months ago, but now that it was here, what was to become of me.

Yes, of course, I still have many years of mothering ahead of me, but the demands and concerns of toddlers and stages beyond differ from those required of infants. 

Over the months, as my baby has grown into a full-fledged toddler (how does the time pass so quickly?), I’ve begun to realize that I no longer have excuses to put off getting back to who I used to be. As we near her second birthday, what is the reason for not losing these last 10 lbs? With a solid night-time routine that gets both girls in bed before 8:30, why am I not spending my evening hours focused on me and the things I once loved – writing, baking and others? With the girls happily settled into daycare and loving it, why wasn’t I throwing my name in the hat for the next project at work?

For the last several months, I’ve dedicated fruitless hours trying to become the woman I used to be. And then, it dawned on me. I’ll never be that woman again. While there are some residual remains, she is gone, dead, a figment of my past.

I mourn her. I miss her. Dearly. 

Outdoor challenge

When we first moved back to Toronto, we lived in a rather small shoebox. Coming from the New York City area, we thought Toronto would offer more spacious condo units; but alas they didn’t.

Although we had lived in five different units beforehand, we were fooled into thinking we could easily and comfortably live in less than 700 sq. ft. apartment. We thought this even though we had never lived in anything smaller than 750 sq. ft. when we were childless, let alone trying to make do with a toddler and all of her stuff and a baby on the way and all that comes with a newborn.

We were all feeling the pinch of our tight quarters, but none more than Queen B. Usually mild mannered, Queen B would fall on the floor in full on tantrum if she was denied a walk outdoors. Needless to say, we were outside a lot.

Even today, while living in a more spacious house, Queen B and Miss E beg for the outdoors on a regular basis. There are days we spend countless hours roaming outdoors, but there many days when I find it just too darn hard to feed them their daily doses of Vitamin D and fresh air.

So, I’ve signed up the family for the 30x30 Nature Challenge. An idea sprouting from the David Suzuki Foundation, it challenges Canadians to commit to spending 30 minutes in nature each day for 30 days, starting on May 1, 2013.

I’m sure there’ll be days when getting in enough green time will be a challenge in itself, but that's the point right. The hope is that it'll do our minds and bodies will, plus, it's a good excuse to squeeze in some more family time.

I'll let you know how it goes, or you can join in on the fun, too. Need convincing, check out these facts:

Have Ziploc will survive

I have this Sunday ritual. It no longer involves a leisurely read of the paper, or a heart-pumping run through the park, or catch up with friends over brunch. Instead, it’s me in the kitchen paying homage to the culinary tradition of “mise en place” – my saving grace as a working mamma.

Each weeknight when I throw down the door at 6 pm with the girls in toe, begging for a snack, the iPad, their coloring book, their baby... anything and everything really, I don’t have time to conjure up a healthy meal, let alone prepare and cook it in less than 30 minutes. It seems their stomachs have a 6:30 pm limit before the house completely explodes in tears and screams – theirs, shortly followed by mine.

So to avoid such a gruesome start to my second shift, I prep as much as I can ahead of time. It starts off with creating a menu, which I usually do with the girls over Saturday breakfast. Sometimes, I consult my Epi app, or read through my fav cookbooks, or repeat the menu from the previous week – whatever works at that given moment. I usually ask the girls what they’d like to eat, although I do this knowing full well the request will be the same as last week – pasta – but who could blame them, really?!

With menu in hand, I’m ready for a quick shop at the market.

Then, when I rise on Sunday morning, I’m ready for my mise en place-ing. This is how it works:

• Review my menu and recipes and start pulling the ingredients onto the countertop.
• I usually start with sauces, soups and marinades as they take the most time to prepare.
• Then, I move on to veggies: wash, dry, chop (to size required for each dish), parboil and anything else that needs to be done with them.
• Once my veggies are ready, I organize them by dish. To do this, allot the needed portion for each dish and include your supporting flavors like onions, garlic, etc (tip: once you’ve prepped your onions wrap them tightly in plastic wrap so they don’t infiltrate the other veggies; and only include the number of garlic cloves you need for the dish, but keep them unpeeled, so they maintain their flavor for cooking time). 
• Next, I'll get my Ziploc bags and put all the veggie ingredients I need for the each dish into one bag. I usually wrap most of my veggies, especially the green leafy varieties, in paper towel before bagging them so any extra moisture can be absorbed.
• Lastly, revisit my menu (which is usually scribbled on a scratch pad), jotting down reminders of any last things I’ll need to prep for each dish. If I’m having turkey tacos on Thursday, I’ll make a note on Wednesday to marinade the meat overnight.  

It’s a lot of steps, but I can usually complete them within 3 hours. But, it’s worth the effort: I get more time with my girls during the week, we get to each healthy, satisfying meals, and perhaps the biggest plus for my stress levels, fewer tears!

Days like today

There are days like today, when I hear about the bombings in Boston, or like the day of the Newton massacre or like the so many other horrid things that happen every day around the world, that I’m left gutted, confused.

With each dreadful event, I first think of the people who are suffering – the victims, their families and friends, and those who had to experience first-hand the monstrous side of humanity – and send my thoughts out to the universe to watch over them.

My second thought is always a one-worded question: why. With that tiny word my thoughts veer to my children and the day they will ask me the same unanswerable question. I grieve and fear that day.

At three years and 19 months old, the worst thing in their world is being sent to bed without reading a book together. We have created a happy, safe world where we dance in the mornings and sing at night. A world where, according to their mamma’s hushed whispers upon awakening from a nightmare, monsters aren't real.

But monsters are real and they make their presence known all too often these days.

How can we as parents prepare for that day, that question, that conversation, and worse yet, the changed look in their eyes that signals to you that they now see the world differently?

I don’t have an answer today and it’s likely that when (sadly, not if) that day comes I won’t be ready then either. My only hope is that I can muster up the courage and sensitive wits to respond to their questions openly and honestly without completely shattering them.

Sideline moments

There are moments – those fragments of time that are so precious and amazing – that make me love being a mamma. Most times, those moments are fleeting and I try to do all that I can to pay them homage and etch them in my memory so I don’t forget them.

Last night was such a moment.

This weekend, after watching Queen B smack her knees time and time again as she struggled to peddle her tricycle, we promised to buy her a big girl bike. Of course, in the midst of grocery shopping, dry cleaning pick up, cleaning the bathtub and fixing this or that around the house, we didn't get to it.

If she was disappointed, she didn't say. But, as her parents, we were disappointed we didn't do what we promised. So, last night before heading home for dinner, we stopped by our local Canadian Tire.

Mr. Oh pointed out three bikes and told Queen B to pick one. She was deliriously happy. And, I knew, something special was going to happen.

So, as much as I wanted to be part of the scene, I took a step back and watched from the sidelines. I saw my 3 year old test out each bike with the help of her daddy. I watched her talk to herself and to him as she explained what she liked and disliked on each bike.

And, then, on her own, she picked her favorite.

After a few “are you sure’s” from the always re-thinking Mr. Oh, I watched Queen B and her daddy walk hand-in-hand to the check-out counter. In similar fashion, Miss E and I followed the procession (Miss E had her new helmet in hand and was also very excited).

Lagging behind, Miss E and I turned the corner just in time to watch my daughter, who was still holding Mr. Oh’s hand, look up at him admiringly and say, “Thank you, Daddy!”

It stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't simply that she remembered her manners (maybe all those reminders are starting to pay off?). It was the look on Mr. Oh’s face. He was so proud and happy that he was able to create such joy for his little girl.

After taking a pause, I saw him squeeze her hand, then continue onward.

I'm baaaaaack!!

Perhaps you haven't missed me, but I've missed writing. Desperately so.

Writing has always been a part of my life. Every day I get to write, but I write the words of others. And, so after several years in communications, I decided to start up this blog so I could finally give voice to my words. Through it, I came to love writing again. And, it seemed that some of you seemed to like what I had to say or how I said it.  

Since my last post – has it been more than three years ago, already? – a LOT has changed. Let’s see if I can bring you up to speed:

... there were all the joys of being a first time parent, surviving those torturous first six weeks and loving all that Queen B had to throw at us

... we bought an SUV (yes, it was THAT big of a deal!)

... got knocked up with baby #2 (discovered shortly after Queen B’s first birthday)

... decided to move countries so Mr. Oh could take on a new job
... did a stint as a single working mom to a toddler (the second hardest four months of my life)

... found a new job

... packed up moving boxes for the sixth time in six years
... moved back to the city of our childhood
... started said new job

... welcomed the amazing Miss E into our world

... three days later bought and began renovations on our very first single-family home – with stairs, a drive and a real backyard (filled with raccoons, but that is for another time!)

... played single mommy to a toddler and an infant while Mr. Oh finished up the house (the hardest, craziest three months of my life – I have mad props for all the single mammas)

... packed and unloaded moving boxes for a seventh (and final?) time

... settled into our new life at home… at last!

The last three years have brought some of the most joyous moments of my life and somehow it was also a time where I faced some of my saddest days. On such a wide pendulum of emotions, most days I felt I couldn't catch my breath let alone find the words to process everything that was happening.

It was just too much.

But something’s changed. The words that were once strangled deep inside me have started to uncoil and bubble up. I feel them tingling inside me, wanting to be released. It’s a beautiful thing.

So, to honor my words, I've revamped these pages and I’m ready – once again – to share my words with you. One word of caution: like the title of this blog, things will be different.

I’m different.

I remain dedicated to my passions for all things food – it wavered some, but a girl’s gotta eat and so do the perpetually hungry Queen B and Miss E!  My new expanded life isn’t solely focused on the dining table. Life, it seems, has a way of happening at the change table, the conference table, the crafting table and wherever else I may find myself. I will share my passions, reflections and perhaps a humorous anecdote or two of my life and loves as a woman, a mamma, and of course, a foodie.

I hope you enjoy!

Hiatus Explained

We welcomed our baby girl into the world in November.

When I first realized I was pregnant, the foodie in me was very much looking forward to the unbridled license to eat what I want, when I want. Sadly, I had no such luck. There were no food cravings to speak of - except the need to have juicy fruits (boring) - and no aversions to make life interesting. Instead, I was striped of my taste buds, which left even the most promising succulent meals bland upon my palate. It was a dark time in my food history.

But, I was able to persevere by altering an old wives' tale. They say, a mother carrying a baby girl is striped of her beauty. Using this "logic", I convinced myself that my taste buds were numbed because I was carrying a future all-star chef.

Only time will tell, but a foodie can dream, can't she!?