Autumn eats

The first couple of weeks in the new house felt kind of like being on vacation--the kind of vacation where you still have to work and clean and change diapers, but still, the novelty of the place put us in that woo! adventure! let's have pizza for dinner always! mindset.  Either that or we just used the move as an excuse to eat terribly.  But I prefer the vacation-brain theory.

Regardless, it was time to get mealtimes back to normal, partially so we don't all develop diabeetus and partially because I don't want for us to fall out of the routine of sitting down to a reasonably healthy, real-food dinner most nights.  Which is extra important when you have impressionable tiny people around who at any given time are one lollipop away from going completely feral.

So I made a trip to the almost-too-adorable-to-be-real Matthews Community Farmers Market on Saturday, and found all kinds of non-lollipop things.  Including these little squash, which are called Leprechaun Squash! 

Daddy squash, Mama squash, Remy squash.

 The farmer I bought them from said they were very similar to acorn squash, so I decided to stuff them and bake them.  This resulted in something too delicious not to share, so I'm writing the recipe down for once in hopes that when autumn rolls around again next year, I won't be standing in the kitchen going, "remember that really good stuffed squash I made last year? how the hell did I make that?"

If you don't have the extreme good fortune of finding Leprechaun Squash, acorn squash will do just fine for this.  The below recipe serves two since I made Remy a "deconstructed" version that he could eat more easily.

Bacon Quinoa Stuffed Squash

 2 medium leprechaun or acorn squash
1 tablespoon cold butter, divided  
6 strips uncured bacon
1 cup cooked quinoa (I used red because it's prettier)
1/4 cup crumbled plain soft goat cheese
1 1/2 tablespoons chopped chives
1 teaspoon Trader Joe's Everyday Seasoning (you need this in your life if it isn't already)
Dash cayenne pepper, or to taste
1/3 cup shredded sharp white cheddar cheese, divided

Preheat your oven to 400.  Cut the tops off the squash, scoop out the seeds,and place a piece of the cold butter inside each.  Cook bacon over medium-high heat until crispy (and then reserve a bit of the bacon fat to saute kale in to get your husband to eat it, if you're crafty).  Crumble bacon and combine with cooked quinoa, goat cheese, chives, and seasonings.  Fill squash equally with the quinoa mixture, then top each with shredded cheddar.  Bake in a small casserole loosely covered with foil for 1 hour.

Prep time for this was about 15 minutes, so hands-on time is quick and simple. 


And now here is a completely unrelated gratuitous Remy shot!

All the fall you can handle!

Dave heads to Chicago for a few days for work tomorrow, so we decided to cram every possible ounce of festive fall fun into a single weekend.

First up was the kids' Halloween Carnival in downtown Matthews, which we finally found after stopping in to ask at Town Hall (the town event website was maddeningly vague Re: actual location).

Remy is a froggy this year, by specific request.

 

River of course has no say in the matter and was thus forced to be peas in a pod.

 

The best thing about Remy's costume, as far as he was concerned, was the fact that the cheap polyester material turned him into greased lightning on the bounce house slide.  In fact, he loved it so much that he refused to come out, and I had to fling myself sideways through a gap in the bounce house walls--while wearing River in a sling--to snag him by the foot and haul him out.  Not pictured: sweaty angry don't-wanna-stop-sliding tantrum on the way out of the park.

Today the storm of the century hadn't sent us anything more serious than a gentle breeze, so we drove up to Hall Family Farm to visit the pumpkin patch.  If you're in the Charlotte area and have little kids, Hall is most definitely the way to go--you will actually leave with your wallet mostly intact.  All of the kids' activities are free and there is no admission charge.  Remy spent a solid hour charging from the hay fort to the ball pit to the duck race to the giant sand box--although whoever was in charge of stocking the sand box evidently had zero experience with toddlers, and equipped it with several POINTY METAL SHOVELS.  Things momentarily began to resemble The Hunger Games.

River was filled with Halloween spirit this morning...

 ...and was completely Over It by the time we got there, naturally.

The pumpkin patch did not disappoint.  We very seriously considered just hitting up a grocery store pumpkin lot this year, what with the move and the work trips and everyone fighting colds, but I'm glad we went for the real thing. 

I mean, you can't ride a tractor in a grocery store parking lot, you know?

So obviously after all that, we drove off and accidentally left our carefully-selected pumpkin.  Halfway down 485, the temptation to pick a replacement up at Wal-Mart instead was very, very strong.  But dude, I did not get up, cook pumpkin spice waffles, and dress the baby in a ghost hat just so we could get a stupid mass-produced gourd, so back we went!

And then I went to Wal-Mart anyway.  Because pumpkin patches don't sell beer. 

Welcome to Stars Hollow

I'm so excited to have fall mums on my front stoop for the first time in my entire life, I might not even kill them.  They had about 17 different tags and stickers with the word "hardy" when I bought them, so they seem to have a decent chance at a full life despite belonging to the Grim Reaper of houseplants.  

Please enjoy my crappy photoshop camouflage of our street number.  You know, internet weirdos and whatnot.

Remy was a hot mess yesterday morning due to having a smidge of a cold and then falling down directly onto the top of his head.  I seriously don't even know how that kind of a fall was possible unless he leapt up into the air and dove headfirst into the asphalt, but the net result was that he went into Limp Screaming Noodle Mode for about an hour and not even the pretty, pretty park with the lake and the baby ducks held any appeal in his state of woe.  So I thought, oh hey we also live near a super cute library now! and proceeded to get him all excited about All The Books like an asshole only to pull up and realize that the library is closed on Thursdays.  Fail.
 

Why do we need to go visit All The Books?  Because we've read this Despereaux book 75 times in the past week.

After Remy re-enacted the final scene of Braveheart on the library steps and I just kind of stood there like yes, ok, I brought this on myself by not checking the damn library hours before talking about it like it was the chocolate-covered second coming of Jesus, we discovered one of the most awesome things about living in town as opposed to in the woods/land of spread-out strip malls.  If one thing is a bust?  You freaking walk to another thing.  It's amazing.  We checked out the train car at the Heritage Museum next to Town Hall ("woooow," said Remy) and then stopped for a snack break.  ALL WITHOUT GETTING INTO OR OUT OF A CAR.  Passers-by probably thought I had recently been released from prison.  I was THAT excited about a coffee shop being next to a library.

I'm also excited about the BIG smiles and coos we've been getting out of this one lately.

He's recently decided that sleeping at night is for losers, so I'm glad he's pulling out the charm to make up for it.

Those of you whose adolescence was narrated by The CW might remember the highly-caffeinated 8-season run that was Gilmore Girls, and how they lived in the fictional, adorable town of Stars Hollow which was just too twee and cozy and freshly-painted to even exist.  Except it does exist, and it's called Matthews, North Carolina.  There's a rose-trimmed white gazebo on the green outside Town Hall, for crying out loud.  They have a Facebook page that posts updates such as, "Mayor Taylor is betting a plate of our best barbecue on a Butler win at tonight's football game!"  I AM NOT KIDDING THAT IS A DIRECT QUOTE.

And you know what else?  If our kids aren't too much of a hot mess we are SO going to that game.   

We're home.

Saturday morning we sent the boys off for a day at Grammie's house, brewed strong cups of coffee before strapping the Keurig safely into my passenger seat (what? it's important.), and began the all-day process of getting everything we owned out of one house and into another.

I may or may not have filled a box with nothing but plastic pumpkins and pumpkin-spice candles and labeled it "OPEN THIS FIRST."  Cheesy seasonal decor is my therapy.

 I got choked up only once emptying out the old house, and it was when the movers were disassembling Remy's crib and emptying out his room.  We brought him home to that house as a newborn, and even though the same was true for River, Remy did so much growing up there--from squishy 5-day-old to a little boy quickly losing all vestiges of baby-ness--that it was harder to see all traces of him removed.  

So the first thing I did when the truck pulled up to the new house was to unpack the boys' bedroom.  The entire rest of the house was a crazy labyrinth of upended furniture and sealed boxes, and I was fluffing stuffed animals and hanging curtains with friendly vegetables on them.  Dave gave me a slightly concerned side-eye and steered clear.  But once that room was ready for our babies?  I felt better.  We were home.  Sometimes all it takes is a plush carrot from Ikea.

 

I do not like the in-between, are-we-there-yet stage of anything.  People told me that with two little kids, I should expect to be unpacking for a few weeks before it was all done and to not put too much pressure on myself.  My brain, naturally, translated this as "UNPACK ALL THE THINGS!  UNPACK ALL THE THINGS IN TWO DAYS!"  Thus, a 48-hour period in which I acted like a possessed psychotic unpacking demon from hell, but after which the house was all settled.  I like settled.  Settled significantly decreases my demonic tendencies.  

My little DIY leaf-stamp canvasses have hung over our bed since we first moved in together.  They're starting to look a little ragged but I like the continuity.

 (Not pictured here: the playroom.  But just imagine a bomb going off in a Toys R Us and you'll have a pretty good idea of what it looks like most of the day.  Also not pictured, the deck and patio, because until recently they were still full of empty boxes, aka The Greatest Gift We Have Ever Given Remy, He's Pretty Sure.)

 We have settled into such an easy rhythm here already.  The usual daily stresses are still there, but life flows a little more smoothly.  Dave is home every night before 6.  We eat together and pile up on the couch together for 57 consecutive readings of Madeline and just generally wallow in what feels like a downright luxurious amount of family time.  And in the mornings, Dave's gym and office are both so close that he can jog to his workout, walk home, shower, and say good morning to Remy before heading in to work.  Earlier this week he even got Remy up, dressed, and fed while the baby and I were still in bed, and I thought I was hallucinating. 

See if you can spot all 3 nappers.

I can't wait to see what kinds of memories we fill up these rooms with.  And I don't want to see another cardboard box for a long, long time.  Unless it's full of wine.

The Final Countdown

Today is Day 5 of David's Longest Work Trip Ever.  Our current situation can be summed up thusly:

1.  River is colicky and currently does not nap during the day.  Like, ever, at all.  So my primary time to pack boxes has been between 10pm when he finally falls asleep and 2am when he wakes up hungry and angry again.  This is...not relaxing.

2.  Due to said colic, the only things that calm River down temporarily are Death Cab albums and my boobs.  So at least he's consistently sticking to the theme of Things That Were Perkier in 2005.

3.  Despite the above, both boys have clean hair and trimmed fingernails.  These are my personal benchmarks for Keeping Shit Reasonably Together.  Housework has been temporarily excluded as an indicator of shit-togetherness, obviously.   

4.  I've reached the Eff It stage of packing wherein any stray object/article of clothing/etc. I see either gets shoved in a box or tossed in the trash.  This is working out great in terms of culling our accumulation of random stuff, but between sleep deprivation and general over-it-ness I'm slightly afraid I might throw away something important in a fit of moving rage.  Like passports, or car keys, or the dog.

5.  My Happy Place amidst the disorder and chaos has been the Home Decor category on Pinterest, but if I see one more thing covered in a gray chevron print or made out of a reclaimed wood pallet I might slip slowly into madness.  If anyone wants to see me institutionalized, just line a reclaimed pallet bookshelf with chevron scrapbook paper.  Fill it with Mod-Podged photo canvases and I might never rejoin society.

STOP IT.

6.  The bottle opener and corkscrew were really stupid things to pack first.

Also, I've done a fairly half-assed job of labeling boxes, so unpacking is going to be like Wheel of Fortune!

The main things left to pack are the toys, which will have to be a Stealth Mission during Remy's naptime because YOU try explaining to a two-year-old why you're sealing his Elmo guitar inside a cardboard box and not letting him play with either.  And then all we have to do is load everything unload everything unpack everything have internet and phones installed coordinate deliveries and put together Ikea furniture!  And then in two years I can sleep again!  Wheeee! 

more city, less harbor.

Hi, poor neglected little blog.  I haven't updated you since...March?  So let's get the depressing what-happened-since-then rundown out of the way:

- My dad died suddenly of a massive stroke.
- I had to bust ass to keep the business we ran together afloat.
- While massively pregnant.
- I re-homed my horses, due to the whole uncertain-business-and-new-baby situation, which means I am a non-horse-person for the first time in 21 years.  
- It was really, really hot, which is significantly lower on the Things That Suck spectrum but not when you're massively pregnant.
- Dave got a new job, taking pressure off the family business and generally being our hero.  
- We had another baby!  That part didn't suck.

- He spent some time in the NICU and was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect.  That did suck.

- The pediatric cardiologist determined that he will not need surgery, hooray!
- I replaced sleep with Dunkin Donuts coffee, if that wasn't immediately apparent. 

And now for a variety of factors, chief among them being the fact that Dave's new job is an hour away from our current home and his commute seriously decreases the hours in which I am not solely responsible for two tiny destructive people, we're adding a grand finale to The Summer Everything Changed: we're moving. 

When we settled into this cabin on the lake four years ago, a part of me thought we'd live here forever, that the house was a big creaky inanimate member of our family and we were somehow responsible for being stewards of this little patch of land.  I thought that if we ever left, I'd lose part of my identity.  It took the whole sweaty awful stress-bomb of a summer for me to realize that it's just a house, and it's not the right house for us anymore.  I can wax poetic about ducks and herons and changing leaves all day, but all I really want--and all that really matters--is the four of us around a dinner table every night.  Evenings and weekends not spent on a 45-minute stretch of highway between home and everywhere else.  Neighbors with kids.  Streetlights.  And for the love of God, affordable garbage pickup.

Home is where your family is.  And when you realize that you're holding on to a home at the expense of your family, it's time to move on.

So in two weeks we'll be taking two babies, a shaggy dog, and a bunch of Ikea furniture to a new townhouse an hour away.  I've poked around in my head and my heart, trying to find the wound that this might leave, and honestly?  It's not there.  I spent the past six months being sad, missing so many parts of our old life, beginning every sentence in my mind with 'This would be so much easier if..."  And six months is enough.  We've done our time in life-transitions purgatory and we're getting the hell out one way or another.

I'm excited for all the usual new-house stuff--starting fresh with blank walls and purged clutter, planning out rooms, etc.--but most of all I'm excited for what this will mean for the boys.  Deciding at the spur of the minute to go to the park or the library, or heading to a parade or festival without planning the entire day around it for travel time, is not something we've been able to do.  I want those experiences for them.  I also want to get out of the freaking house regularly without someone starting to scream 20 minutes into a 45-minute car ride.  It's the little things.

I should probably start packing.  

two, part two!

Our immediate family came over today to celebrate Remy turning two--a fact that he will now proudly inform anyone of, holding up two fingers, saying "two!" and clapping. He's fighting off a cold and an ear infection so he was definitely less cheerful than usual, but balloons helped.


Balloons also created some extra-crazy hair.


At one point Dave decided to clip the balloons to the back of Remy's shirt. Seems like a good tactic for taking a speedy toddler to a crowded place, if you ask me. Kid get away from you? Just follow the balloons!

How'd those get back there?

Being sung to and applauded by a room full of people continues to be one of Remy's favorite things.


The birthday boy got a little tantrum-y after lunch and cake--you can only expect so much out of a two-year-old on amoxicillin--so we all went up to the playroom for presents. And Remy found something he likes even better than hearing "Happy Birthday" for the fourth time--guests who juggle.

After three days of celebrating, our house is quiet now, albeit glitter-bombed by the preschool birthday banner we took home and hung for today's party. I'd list the things that glitter is currently stuck to, but it includes pretty much everything in the house, including the dogs and the bathtub. Moral of the story: when a preschool teacher tells you that "glitter is the herpes of arts and crafts"? Believe her.

two!

Two years ago today, we were in a hospital room finally snuggling this little sweetie after 30 long hours of labor.

And now all of a sudden, that tiny guy is a rowdy toddler who is way more interested in climbing that couch like a mountain goat than napping on it in a duckie onesie. All the cliches are true. They grow up so fast, and it fills you with unimaginable joy and breaks your heart a little at the same time. Parenthood is soul-stretching. (And belly-stretching too--just ask my circa-2005 hip tattoo.)

We decided the perfect present for our climbing, jumping, bouncing-off-the-walls boy this year would be a toddler trampoline--the kind made with a safety bar and a minimal amount of spring, so they can't literally bounce off a wall. It was assembled (thanks Dave!) and waiting when the birthday boy woke up this morning.

He wasn't totally sure what to do with it at first.

Then the wonderful realization began to dawn on him...

...that it was a magical bouncing machine!

After bouncing the early morning away, it was time to head to school, where his class threw him a little party--complete with a banner decorated by his friends.


It looks like he's dancing with Daddy here...he's actually trying to bouncebouncebounce. The trampoline has apparently ruined regular floors for him.

He absolutely loved having everyone sing to him. He loved it so much he even tolerated wearing the birthday crown...although please note that I'm holding his hands to try to keep him from immediately ripping it off his head.

Back home after Remy took a nap and Dave got home, we had a little dinner celebration just the three of us--Remy's family party is this weekend. (Last year his party theme was "Mama Goes a Little Overboard With the Handmade Everything." This year the theme is going to be, "Oh My God Have You Ever Tried to Go to Michael's With a Toddler?!")

The parents celebrated two successful years of keeping a small human alive with toffalo wings and a simple spinach & avocado salad. And then Mr. I-won't-eat-a-vegetarian-meal-without-plunking-a-chicken-breast-on-top-of-it not only ate them but casually mentioned he'd be taking all the leftovers for lunch tomorrow. Um, no. Not unless you want to lose a finger.

After Remy serenaded us through the second half of dinner with the Band in a Box from his great aunt (thanks Aunt Jane!), it was time for more cupcakes and more singing.

And magical candles that little hands very much wanted to grab before they were blown out.

Last year Remy was completely unimpressed with cake and we could not for the life of us get him to try a single bite--in all of the photos he's poking at a cupcake with expressions ranging from mild disinterest to total disdain.

Clearly, the times have a-changed.

Happy birthday, wild one! Now please slow the hell down and quit growing so fast.

ahead of the rain

There are not many things that can get me out the door before 8am without an important appointment or a fire. Especially with a fully-dressed toddler and all of his essentials in tow. But this morning that's exactly what I did--spare clothes, diapers, snacks, and all. Because of this:

This is not a we'll-go-play-later sky. This is a get up, pack your car, stuff your belly into a protesting non-maternity t-shirt, and carpe-freaking-diem sky. This sky was not going to wait--wind and rainstorms were expected to roll in by mid-morning--so neither did we. To the Greenway we went, where we were the only ones up and at 'em besides the gatekeeper who collected our day-use fee of cupholder quarters before turning back to his paper.

Toddlers are kind of like chickens. You've got to let them free-range.

There were no horses around today (the Greenway is open to hikers, bikers, and equestrians), so it wasn't long before Remy sidled under the fence of the empty arena (there was an open gate, but that wouldn't have been as fun). "Arena" in little-boy language is "Giant Field of Glorious Dirt," so you can guess where we spent most of our time.

He was literally more excited about the barrels and jump standards than I have ever seen him in a toy aisle. Nice to know my genes are in there, alive and well.

This provided the opportunity to learn one of life's cardinal rules: always leave the jump standards the way you found them.


Obviously I'm not riding right now since I'm pregnant, but someday this kid is gonna make a kick-ass arena assistant.

We saw plenty of signs of spring, even as the clouds started to blow in, reminding us that 70-degree February mornings don't last long at all.

And before it started sprinkling, we squeezed in a stroll up the orchard fence line to watch a tractor chug up and down the neat rows of trees, picking dandelions along the way.


The first raindrops started falling as we pulled out of the parking lot, and the day quickly got soggy and grey, making me glad I'd resisted the temptation of "later." "Later" is not in a two-year-old's vocabulary. Which sometimes makes them difficult, but mostly just makes them smarter than us.