Mama Mojo

It’s been said that Sunday is the day of rest.  Does this brilliant concept refer to those of us with kids?  It most certainly does if we redefine the word rest.

For me Sundays are a day to reflect and recharge, so that I’m ready to face the week ahead.  It’s by no means a “spa day” (although, man, I’d really love one of those!), but a day where I make it a priority to find a little peace.

Peace can come in many forms:
- a cup of tea and the newspaper (even reading one article counts)
- get your hands in the dirt and soak up a little sunshine
- a hot bath
- sing in the shower
- listen to jazz while you fold laundry
- call your best friend from college and DON’T talk about the kids

What if, just on Sunday, even if it’s 20 minutes, take a little time for you.

© Kellie Martin, 2010

I guess it’s a right of passage for a child to stick a foreign object up their nose.  When I was about 5 years old,  I recall thinking that a piece of styrofoam ought to spend some time in my left nostril.  When I couldn’t get it out using the end of a plastic comb, I told my mom, who promptly rushed me to the hospital.

Well, Maggie is proudly carrying on the family tradition.  Today during naptime I had a sixth-sense-mama urge to peek in on her.  Sure enough, she proudly told me that she had put “nose medicine” in her nose.  ”Nose medicine” for those of you who weren’t aware is (apparently) a chewed up puzzle piece placed so far up into the nose that it can scarcely be seen with the naked eye.

I immediately thought of my own experience with the styrofoam version of “nose medicine” and sprang into action.  I began talking very slowly and very loudly to Maggie.  I guess somehow I thought I was being calm.  I told her to stay while I ran to get the tweezers.  Once she saw the tweezers she wouldn’t let me within 10 feet of her (wise kid).  She told me to call Daddy, which is just what I did.

This is where the grace part that the title of this blog alerted you to comes in, and his name is my husband.  He strolled in, assessed the situation and calmly, quietly asked Maggie to blow her nose.  After a few tries, all was well.

My husband has always been good in a crisis, and today I was reminded of why:  his ability to stay calm so that rational decisions can be made.  This is especially important when you have kids.  Stay calm and try to avoid “nose medicine.”

© Kellie Martin, 2010

We like ritual around our house.  I use the word ritual because “predictability” sounds so, well… predictable.  But truthfully, after having Maggie, a big part of our life seems to revolve around food and sleep.  As long as things happen on time and in the right succession, Maggie stays pretty even-tempered, which means that I get to maintain my sanity.  Good things.

One of our rituals is watching “Sesame Street” at 7 a.m. every morning.  Now, if you’re one of those moms who is absolutely horrified that I let my 3 year old watch an hour of television each day, I get it and hear you.  Maggie only started watching TV about a year ago, and then it was in 20 minute increments (the length of “Elmo’s World,” thank you very much!).  Although television is my business, I still think that the less a kid is exposed to TV in the early part of their life, the better.

That being said, the day Maggie and I started watching “Sesame Street” together, in its entirety was a happy day for me.  It really took me back.  Even though it now seems to be “Sesame Street 2.0,” zippier and updated for a more sophisticated child, it maintains the simple magic it had back in the day—back in my day.  Along with learning letters and numbers, kids watch “Sesame Street” to see other kids who look, sound and act just like them.  A beautiful thing.

By 8 a.m. today, after we heard the last few bars of that familiar “Sunny days …,” I turned off the television, grabbed Maggie’s hand and we headed off to tune into something a little different, yet just as enriching:

© Kellie Martin, 2010

Would you believe me if I told you that my daughter loves kalamata olives?  I’m not lyin’! Maggie loves Greek olives so much that when we go out to eat she asks the waiter for a side of kalamatas with whatever she’s ordered for dinner.  Strange behavior for a three year old?  You betchya.  But wait, I can top that:  Maggie also loves… blue cheese—the stinkier the better.

For dinner tonight I’m catering to Maggie’s ecclectic taste for the fantastical kalamata olive.

Pesto Fusilli with Chicken, Olives, and Baby Broccoli
1 split chicken breast, skin-on, bone-in
olive oil
1 bunch baby broccoli
1/2 cup pitted kalamata olives
1/2 cup good pesto
1 lb. fusilli pasta
3-4 ounces freshly grated parmesan cheese
salt and pepper

-  Preheat oven to 375°F
-  lightly brush chicken breasts with olive oil, sprinkle salt and pepper; roast chicken 40 minutes or until done; remove from oven, loosely cover with foil, and rest for 10 minutes
-  when chicken is cool enough to handle, pull off the skin, cut out the rib bones, and pull or cut meat into bite-sized portions 
-  cut broccoli into florets; place on a sheet pan, drizzle with olive oil, 1 teaspoon salt and 1/2 teaspoon pepper; roast for 10 minutes
-  bring a large pot of salted (1 tablespoon) water to a boil; add pasta and cook per package directions until al dente
-  toss the cooked pasta with the pesto, chicken, broccoli, and olives; season with salt and pepper to taste and sprinkle with parmesan cheese

Feel free to serve with a side of stinky blue cheese.  Maggie would approve.

© Kellie Martin, 2010

Maggie goes to ballet class on Wednesdays.  It’s my favorite time of the week. The intense concentration on her face as she brings her little feet into first position just makes me smile.  Maggie is usually the first one running into class and the last to leave.  Cute right?

I brought my camera with me today so I could capture a “poetic” (yep, that’s what I was going for) image of my tiny dancer to include with this blog.  But today’s class was anything but poetic.

It was chaos.

There was a kid who was completely out-of-control—not listening to a word the teacher said, getting the other little dancers in trouble.  She couldn’t focus long enough to do a single plié.

That kid was my kid.

As a parent, what do you do when you see your child being disruptive in class?  Maggie wasn’t trying to be disrespectful or unruly, in fact she wasn’t being “bad,” she was just distracted and a bit overexcited.  I gestured to the teacher to ask her if she needed me to step in and wrangle my kid, but she said no.  I watched as she patiently kept bringing Maggie back to the task at hand and eventually (forty minutes into the forty-five minute class!) Maggie settled in and danced her heart out.

Sometimes I need to remind myself to put aside my own expectations with respect to my child.  Her being a little wild in class is perfectly fine as long as she doesn’t hurt herself or anyone else in the process.  And it’s okay to let a capable teacher take the reigns for a bit.

Being a calm, compassionate observer is poetic.

© Kellie Martin, 2010

6:30 A.M. Today

Me:  What should I blog about today, Maggie?
Maggie:  Ummm … the moon and the stars.

How to relate the moon and the stars to being a mom … I’m riffing here:

Maggie has been obsessed with the moon since she was ten months old.  Her big afternoon outing when she was that age was a stroll around the yard.  This began her pointing phase.  She pointed at the dog, she pointed at the flowers, and she pointed at the moon.  In fact “moon” was one of her first words and I think one of her first favorite things.

That crescent in the sky holds endless fascination for my daughter (and probably tens of millions of kids around the world).  I think she’s amazed that although it looks different each night, it’s always there, up in the sky just waiting for us to look at it.  It’s as reliable as mom or dad coming to get her out of bed each morning.

A few months ago the space shuttle landed here in Southern California.  Maggie and I were in her room reading a book when the sonic boom shook our house.  She looked up a me terrified, but I quickly explained to her that it was the space shuttle breaking the sound barrier on its trip back into our atmosphere (please forgive me, reader, if that isn’t precisely correct—my three year old bought it).  For obvious reasons, this was a pretty abstract concept for me to explain and for her to digest.  So, we did the next logical thing which was to find footage of the space shuttle on YouTube.  This has reignited her fascination with the moon—a fascination that now extends to the stars and the space program in general.

As evidenced by today’s painting above, the moon and the stars have led my daughter to embrace her inner Van Gogh.  The moon and the stars have awed and inspired civilizations for thousands of years.  I love to watch how that tradition continues in my own child.

© Kellie Martin, 2010

I’m not a fan of kids on sugar.  Set aside for a moment the whole it’s bad for you thing. I just want to focus on what my child becomes after eating a cupcake:

a.) whirling-dirvish,
b.) Taz-manian Devil, 
c.) Tigger, or
d.) all of the above.

Yep … d.

I have no intention of keeping all sweets from my kid but I do have to make sure that I, as her caregiver and mama, can handle the sugar-high.  So, when Maggie’s preschool asked that we not bring sweets to class on the day of her birthday celebration, I totally got it.  One kid on a sugar-high = intense.  Twenty kids on a sugar-high = unbearable.

But seriously, no icing-laden, sprinkly birthday cupcakes?!  How could I make sure Maggie remained cool in the eyes of her birthday-sugar-fan friends?  The school suggested muffins.  A no-sugar muffin?  Hmmm …

Pear-Oatmeal Muffins

3 cups whole wheat pastry flour
4 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
2 tsp cinnamon
3/4 cup pear juice
1/2 cup applesauce
2/3 cup olive oil
1 tblsp vanilla extract
2 1/2 cups ripe pears, finely chopped (use soft skinned pears like Bartletts)
1 cup quick oats

- line muffin pan with baking cups
- in a large mixing bowl, sift flour, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon
- combine pear juice, applesauce, and olive oil in a separate bowl
- add vanilla and pears to wet mixture
- pour wet mixture into dry and mix until just combined
- stir in quick oats
- use ice cream scoop to fill muffin cups with batter
- bake at 350 F for 30 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean

If you’re making mini muffins, bake for 20 minutes.

These little beauties are guaranteed to not make your kid bounce off the wall.

© Kellie Martin, 2010

I hiked three miles the day I gave birth to my daughter.  I’m not bragging, merely using it as an illustration of just how essential hiking is to my sanity.  There is a good chance I hiked every day until my due date … and I know I hiked everyday after my due date because I was doing everything to try to convince the kid to be born.

My obsession with hiking began after I learned that I was pregnant.  Once I found out that I had just become responsible for another human being, I had a lot on my mind. Hiking became my meditation—the only way I could really clear my mind.  I never took my IPod but would simply listen to the sounds on the trail.  Not only is it nice to “unplug” from media for an hour, but it’s safer to be aware of what’s going on around you.

My hikes changed considerably once Maggie came along.  Desperate to get out after a few weeks in the house with a newborn, I busted out the Baby Bjorn (the GREATEST invention since the light bulb!) and suddenly I was free.  I hiked with Maggie in that Baby Bijorn until she was at the weight limit and my back was achin’.

Now that she’s three our hikes are more like nature excursions with some light walking and intermittent running (when she tries to lose me).  This morning’s hike featured ducks and mud—lots of mud after a week of storms.

So maybe my hikes have lost some of their meditative qualities, but with Maggie along, I get more exercise than ever.

© Kellie Martin, 2010

Every month or so my friend, Elena, comes over to cook with me.  Of course  we can’t leave the three year old out of the preparations.  So, Maggie puts on her apron grabs a bowl and spoon and gets to work in her little wooden kitchen while we work in the “big” kitchen.  These are the nights when Maggie gets to eat her beloved mac and cheese (at least it’s organic!), 3-minute steamed broccoli and chicken from last night’s dinner.  She’ll be long asleep before we sit down to our dinner party with friends.

Dinner parties don’t have to become a distant memory once you have a child.  The key is to share the work with a good friend.

Elena is a much better baker than I, so while she’s making a fantastic sweet confection, I take notes.  When it comes to the meal, together we generally attempt a dish that is more complicated or labor intensive than we’d attempt on our own.  And as an added bonus, we drink a little wine and listen to some jazz while we work.

Tonight it’s risotto—butternut squash risotto to be precise.  Risotto is one of those dishes that intimidates even the most accomplished home cooks.  Have all the ingredients prepped and ready to add because risotto is a train that doesn’t stop until it’s ready to eat.  And, make sure the table is set and that all of your other dishes are under control before beginning the risotto.

Feel like you’ve had a night out even though you’ve stayed in.

© Kellie Martin, 2010

My daughter, Maggie, and I have just returned from the market with some gorgeous beets, baby broccoli and … cupcake in hand.

Try as I might I can’t seem to get Maggie to embrace the beet, no matter how well I dress it up.  Lately I’ve been making beets once a week because I’m so committed to convincing my three year old that she loves them.  I’m not a huge fan of “hiding the veggies”.  I want her to know what she’s eating and why she’s eating it—why vegetables are good for your body.  And beets, I mean, come on, that deep red color just screams “GOOD FOR YOU”!

No, as a child I didn’t eat beets.  Not because I didn’t like them but because they weren’t on the menu.  I think if given a chance I could have learned to love them long before I was in my thirties.  And this recipe is why:

Roasted Beets with Goat Cheese

-  Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Remove leaves then cut 6-8 fresh beets into quarters. Drizzle beets with 1 tablespoon olive oil, 1 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Place in a foil “packet.”  Loosely seal foil (allow a 1 inch gap to vent steam) and place on sheet pan.  Roast for 40-50 minutes until beets are tender when pierced with a fork. Once beets are cool enough to handle, peel skin from quartered beets.

-  Crumble 4 ounces goat cheese over roasted beets.  Top with a sprinkle of sea salt and fresh pepper.  Yum!

Generally Maggie gobbles up the goat cheese and takes two bites of the beets.  But this is progress, I assure you.  And tonight my guess is she’ll take three bites and tell me:  ”Mama, there’s room in my tummy for dessert,” because she’s been thinking about that cupcake all day.

So, I guess, if you can get your kid to eat the beet, then let them eat (a little) cake.

© Kellie Martin, 2010

So I’ll start here:

It’s a gray, rainy day in Los Angeles.  You just want to hunker down, wear slippers and eat a big bowl of chicken soup.  I’m making Ina Garten’s (aka The Barefoot Contessa) version of chicken soup—simple and delicious.  The aromas make the house feel cozy and warm, which I guess is why chicken soup is good for the soul.

Rainy days are so few and far between in LA that I have distinct memories of them from my childhood.  As kids my sister and I had our “rainy day activities,” which generally consisted of making oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, building forts out of blankets and doing countless art projects using old-fashioned clothes hangers.  And if we had any sign of a sniffle, my mom would break out the chicken soup … from a can.  I love my mom, but chicken soup from a can just doesn’t compare to homemade.  And since I just made it, I can tell you that it took me under an hour from prep to table.  My three year-old can’t get enough of it.

As I’m writing this the sun comes out … so, I guess it’s fresh-squeezed orange juice popsicles for dessert!

© Kellie Martin, 2010