Like so many of you (holla if you hear me!), nothing warms the cockles of my heart quite like an old school recipe with a kitschy name and just a hint of crazy. While visiting family back home in the midwest over Labor Day weekend, I got to digging through some old recipe files of my gramma’s. Talk about warmed heart cockles–it was beyond fantastic to get a snapshot of the kinds of things that struck her fancy at any given moment in time. Some of the recipes were handwritten cards from friends and family, and that’s obviously great (Aunt Marge’s Yellow Cake!!), but I also loved finding her old clippings from newspapers and magazines, and thinking of her saying “Oh! Well, THAT sounds good!” before pulling out the scissors and then tucking the paper away in her accordion folder.
It’s become increasingly obvious to me that there are entire periods of my life where I couldn’t tell you exactly when certain things happened. I mean, the births of both my kids? Pretty solid on those. But the personal questions, like say, the kind that you have to answer at the doctor’s office? Lord, help me. The week of my last Lady Moment? Let me check my phone and two calendars and probably ask my husband for confirmation. When did I have that appendectomy? I remember recovering while watching a Barbara Walters interview with Angelina Jolie when she was still in her vocal bi-sexual phase, so let’s Google that. (Answer: July 2003. Thanks, internet!)
I like to blame all these brain-made-of-oatmeal lapses on two things: geography, and of course, the children. Having lived in relatively seasonless California for close to 12 years now (!), I often feel like these dozen years have been a smear of life moments with no defined edges.
As a native midwesterner, I grew up marking time by recalling the weather at the time when something occurred, or maybe even what I was wearing (Shorts and bug spray? Wool coat and hat?) to indicate a moment’s position on my life’s timeline. That obviously can’t happen when 45 degrees is considered frigid, 75 is sweltering, and I can often wear flip flops in November with no issues. Lack of metrological evidence, coupled with a mother’s brainspace (read: some of the synapses up in here will never fire again, and I accept that), it’s a miracle if I can even just pin down where I set my coffee ten minutes ago, let alone when I last had my teeth cleaned.
In case anyone’s counting, we’re ten days into the kindergarten year and I’m still holding strong to my That Mom intentions, all on the quest for healthy homemade lunchbox treats and what not. This is three days longer than I thought I would last. This could become a real, ongoing thing, people. I just signed up for a PTA committee this morning. It’s getting serious, is what I’m saying.
So! I’m just going to come out with it, before I start to weep. Little C, who was already clearly no longer Baby C, is well on her way to becoming Kinda Big C. Today marks my baby girl’s First! Day! Of! Kindergarten! She also turns FIVE at the end of the month. You guys, I can’t even. It’s all so crazy. But we are all very excited about the whole thing around here. School supplies, sturdy new shoes, and an arsenal of navy, white, and light blue clothing articles (I never thought I’d say this, but hallelujah for school uniforms. The less thinking I have to do before 7:00 a.m. the better). We are SET.
The next few weeks will be full of all kinds of exciting changes for my girl, but I can’t help but be a total jerk and think of all the ways my personal day-to-day life will change. For starters, adjusting from her three-days-per-week preschool schedule, which meant we were often all still in our pajamas at 10 a.m. on her off days (glorious!). And then there’s shifting the baby’s sleep and nap schedule, too, which might be the most painful part of the entire thing–he may still be up to party half the night, but will easily sleep until 9:30 in the morning, creating ample coffee/e-mail/plan the day time. No longer, son. So basically what I’m saying here is that I can no longer be a lazy morning person. Oof.
But! I am, at least for now, really looking forward to one thing, which is packing C’s school lunches. And to kick things off, I’m starting with her lunchbox treats. Tasty but wholesome, preferably low-sugar lunchbox treats. Because I have every intention of becoming That Mom. At least for the first week.
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