Beginning The Day - Issue no. 1
TIGGER ON THE PRECIPICE OF WAR
After sleeping in the other morning, our daughter woke up devastated to find Tigger had an open-wound on his ankle. Paul had sewn the laceration on his “bouncy tail” the night before. There wasn’t enough time for the necessary operation before school and so there were screams and tears. This is how we began the day. The Wordle word was “mourn,” I got it in four tries, since that word is in the forefront of my mind right now. Not so much about Tigger, I feel confident he’ll make a full recovery and to be honest he was fairly inconsequential to our household until just the other day. It was more about feeling like we’re on the precipice of World War Three. I checked the New York Times, Ukraine is on fire, there was shelling at the Holocaust memorial, a maternity and children's hospital was bombed, a nuclear plant caught fire before being taken over, an unprecedented number of refugees have fled in such a short amount of time. So many homes are being destroyed, men and women who are not soldiers have become soldiers, there is indescribable loss and unintelligible anguish, there is heroism that feels timeless, valor that is unimaginably consequential. There are too many families tucked away underground hoping through the stillness for survival. This is a fight for a home, a way of life, for livelihood.
But, as soon as I rise from bed, my morning is spent checking Tigger into the infirmary for his upcoming operation and trying to dress our devastated daughter who is refusing to go to school while Tigger is in such a state. We compartmentalize and balance all of the weight of the world with the daily rollercoaster of little ones. Empathy starts young and honoring it is important, as is compartmentalizing. Balancing the needs of others, whether children or Tigger Tigers, with our own busy day’s agenda and all that is happening in the world is the very reason coffee exists. Somehow we can both acknowledge the devastation in Ukraine while convincing our son to stop chucking blueberries and oatmeal at the dog.
ATTEMPTING TO FORGO RESPONSIBILITY FOR FANTASY
I didn’t dream of war last night, nor did I dream of my loving husband or my children. Well, not exactly. My dream couldn’t have been less worldly. It was about Bradley Rose, a hot Peloton instructor whose British accent and goofy quips contribute to me getting really good workouts on my bike. He and I were on a date, I was dressed up and walking towards him as he charmingly smiled my way, when I realized that he hadn’t been watching my son like I had asked. After a great deal of panicked-searching, I finally found my son, he had drawn with Sharpie all over his face and in his mouth and I was so angry with Bradley for not watching him more closely. That’s how the dream ended. That was my current attempt at fantasy, I suppose. I think I need to keep working at it.
SKETCHING OUT THE GRUMPIES
Yesterday my daughter had what we’ve lovingly deemed “a bad case of the grumpies.” We’ve held out hope that these grumpies, which often transform into little unpredictable tantrums, would only happen within the comfort of our own home. Yesterday, I realized that perhaps they were only sequestered because of the frequency at which the Pandemic has caused us to be home and not because they will otherwise only remain at home. We went to the park with daughter’s friend, her little brother and her mom. It feels appropriate to mention, despite forgoing subtlety, that I am desperately trying to become friends with this mother. And, it feels necessary to then also mention how hard making friends in adulthood is and how helpful it is to have parent-friends for one’s own morale and sanity. We also happened to run into someone with whom I went to high school, which is only noteworthy because what happened next was her first impression of me in over 15-years. The hysterics began without much warning or context. First, it was about not wanting to share a hoola-hoop, then about dandelions, then about opening and closing gates, and then there was tumble from a bench. All of it involved tears. My daughter was hungry and hot and tired and who doesn’t feel a little irrational when the comfort-deck is stacked against them. I did the best parenting I could muster and tried to ignore the part of me that felt like this was all a reflection on my parenting-fails up until this point. I was encouraging deep breaths and holding her tight while also keeping an eye on my son who has a recent propensity to test gravity and eat sand and dirt. This didn’t happen first thing in the morning, but first thing this morning, she grabbed a paper and drew out her grumpies, something we had done together last week. There were spirals and scribbles and one full face, (eyes, nose, and mouth). For those of you who do not have three-year-olds, this probably doesn’t seem like a big deal, but most kids have the same progression in drawing people. First there are blobs, then the blobs sprout arms and legs, and then eventually they get faces. A child hitting a milestone, whether it’s sitting up or a first word or a first drawn face, feels unnervingly touching and exciting. My daughter’s first face was the face of one of her grumpies. That’s how real and consequential these big feelings feel to her at the moment. And, while she couldn’t articulate it yesterday, this morning, before the sun had a chance to rise, she was ready to show it to us.
SOMETHING THAT
DIDN’T WORK
I’ve been listening to a parenting podcast recently that I’ve found invaluable and applicable to my current challenges as a parent. I will probably mention the strategies I’ve found to be helpful several more times here. However, this week I tried a recommended technique that was an epic fail. When your child is frustrated, try to tell the story of the frustration, so your child can feel like you’re on their team. Get back on the same team by telling the story instead of adding to or discrediting the frustration. Easy enough. So, back to Tigger. At some point between the 6am alarmist who announced Tigger’s injury and the 8:30am drop-off at school, I tried this strategy of articulating the frustration back to my daughter. And, for a moment, perhaps, it caused her to pause, perhaps even sit in a moment of reflection, but then, as if fueling a fire, the result was more explosive than the original. Maybe it was how I described it, not adequately acknowledging the dire straits of the condition, but whatever no matter what, it was one of many parenting fails this week.
SOMETHING THAT
DID WORK
Ignoring “media-lite living” in exchange for Trash Truck. This week I promised to make Thai Chicken Soup for a family whose daughter is in my daughter’s class. In retrospect, this seems like a ridiculous offering as I have a hard enough time getting my own family fed in the evening. My daughter’s school pontificates screen-free life through a movement which they’ve deemed “media-lite living.” I’ve tried to get onboard, restricting television to weekends-only despite desperately missing the weekday quiet, stillness and snuggles that TV provides us. Enter a parenting challenge: enforcing a rule you don’t actually believe in because it’s extreme and unrealistic to comply with your daughter’s school’s unrealistic (to me) request. This brings me to Trash Truck, a charming story about a little boy named Hank, his forest companions, and his trash-truck-best-friend. This sorcery is the only way I can get my son to sit still for more than one minute. So, this week, I defied the arbitrary rules, went easy on myself, made some killer soup for a family that needed some extra help, and let my kid’s become zombie-fied in the whimsy of Trash Truck’s world.
SUSTENANCE SUGGESTIONS
Thai Chicken Soup
(Not popular with the kiddos, but man does it the spot for the grown-ups)
Ingredients
2 tablespoons coconut oil
8 ounces of sliced baby Bella mushrooms
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 onion, sliced in half moons
2 cloves of garlic, peeled and sliced
2 inches of ginger root peeled and chopped
3 heaping tablespoons of lemongrass paste
1 red pepper cored and seeded, julienned
2 teaspoons of Thai red curry paste
1/2 jalapeño or 1 Anaheim pepper cored and thinly sliced (additional jalapeño sliced in rounds for garnish)
(Optional: 1 to 2 tablespoons of sugar or coconut sugar)
2 cups of low sodium chicken broth
2 tablespoons low sodium soy sauce
1-1 1/2 lbs boneless skinless chicken
30 ounces full fat unsweetened coconut milk, in a large bowl, whisk till smooth
2 tablespoons fish sauce
One lime, juiced
Cilantro for garnish
Sliced green onions for garnish
Directions
Warm coconut oil in a pot till it melts
Add sliced mushrooms and salt, stirring until the mushrooms start to give up their juice
Add onions, garlic, ginger, and lemongrass paste, stir until the aromatics release their lovely fragrance
Add in red bell pepper, stirring until they soften.
Add red curry paste, soy sauce, sliced jalapeño (or anaheim), (Optional sugar), chicken and broth. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and let simmer till chicken is cooked through.
While this is cooking, shake well and open your containers of coconut milk, pour them into a good sized bowl and whisk them until creamy.
Remove the chicken to a separate bowl and slice thinly, or shred if you prefer
To temper the coconut milk, ladle several scoops of hot broth into the bowl of coconut milk. Then pour it all back into the pot
Add the chicken back in the pot.
Add fish sauce & lime juice
Stir and serve
