Addiction

For the past two years Leah's had a dirty little secret.  At first we thought it was just something that she liked to do and didn't really treat it as a big deal.  Until she started sneaking it all of the time and asking for it when it wasn't appropriate, and soon enough, we had a full blown obsession on our hands.

You see, our daughter Leah was addicted to her pacifier.

We started to get anxious about it.  People were telling us that it could affect her teeth.  Others were saying that her habit could go on for years...well into kindergarten.  We were told that getting rid of the pacifier was a days-long endeavor--the first night being a non-sleeping night for anyone in the house neighborhood.

I discussed the matter with our pediatrician who suggested collecting all of the pacifiers in the house and trading them in at Toys R Us for a neat-o toy.  I received offers to borrow children's books on the subject.  Our friend Renee offered up the idea of cutting the tips off of the passies, thereby making them "not work" as well.

So, last Saturday, I finally spoke with my friend Vanessa, who has a son Leah's age, and who successfully removed pacifiers from their life several months ago. She gave me the hard truth:  cold turkey was the way to go. 

And so it began.

Nap time started with an hour long scream fest, sans pacifier, before she settled and eventually went to sleep.  Same with bedtime.

And for pretty much the rest of the week and still going strong today, at designated sleeping times, it's been like we now are the proud owners of one of those gremlins that's eaten after midnight.  There is screaming, jumping, yelling, ripping of things off the wall, snakes wildly protruding from her head.  And it goes on for about an hour before she finally shuts her trap, lies down, and goes to sleep.

I'm not sure who's reading this, but for those who have never lived through a full-blown, hour-long tantrum, let me just say that ripping ones toe nails out with pliers might be a more enjoyable experience.

And, although the pacifiers still reside in the drain board next to the kitchen sink, where little eyes are sure to not see them, I can honestly tell you that Leah will never be sucking on one again.  I'm over those things, and I'm a happier person knowing that I'll never have to get on my hands and knees in the car, ass up to god, and do an under-the-seat swipe with my arm to try to find that little sucker, which is SURE to be 1) just out of reach, 2) covered in something sticky and hairy, and 3) cleaned by using a combination of my spit, my fingers, and my shirt.  

Pacifiers, you're not welcome here anymore. 

Totally still wants the pacifiers. 

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A Crappy Morning and an Elton John Song

Yesterday was a rough morning.  We had a time, that's for sure.

Our normal morning routine begins with me taking a shower before Leah wakes up.  Then when I'm getting dressed I usually hear her wake.  She helps me make my bed and then we get her dressed before heading to the family room, where she sits and eats her breakfast (pancakes) and watches Barney.  In the 23 minutes that Barney is on, I make coffee, make my breakfast, do my hair, put on my makeup, pack my briefcase and feed the pets.  Oh, and I do all of this while checking on Leah every 3 minutes or so, because hello? She could be choking.

Here is where you  might want to criticize my decision to allow Leah to watch Barney while eating breakfast.

Here is where I'm ignoring you.  Because all of the above stuff happens before 7:30 a.m., and if you know of a better way to get all of the stuff I need to get done while a child is following me at that time of day, then you're a better parent than me.  Also, write a book.

After all of that is done, Leah brushes her teeth, grabs her lunch box and we walk over to Gabrielle's, who watches her for the day. 

Leah is a creature of habit, so as long as you don't mess with her schedule, all is well.

Except yesterday, she slept late, so, by the time we made it to the family room for breakfast, it was already 7:15, and we only had 15 minutes to eat, watch Barney, and brush her teeth.  This change didn't bode well for her.  (You can imagine what my hair and make up looked like, as well.)

By the time I wrestled her, in tears, to Gabrielle's, I was an emotional mess.  She had thrown a major tantrum when I turned off Barney mid-show; I had to literally hold her arms down in order to brush her teeth; her uneaten breakfast was in a baggie for her to have at Gab's house, and she was not happy about that.  There had been a syrup incident.  I don't remember if I even fed Ruby.  I can't recall if I was wearing shoes.  Suffice to say, it was all really overwhelming. 

And as I was struggling to get out of the house by 7:30, I KNEW what was necessary.  I KNEW what would make this right.  I KNEW that I should have called work and told them I had to take a day, called Gab and told her Leah wasn't coming, and I should have just spent the day with my daughter.  I knew she needed that.  We needed that.

But yesterday was Tuesday.  And I have an important meeting every Tuesday morning.  And I couldn't call in.  And I just felt terrible.

Once I got in the car and started driving I began to calm down.  Until Howard Stern began discussing the song "Levon" by Elton John.  In the song Levon has a son named Jesus who works for the family business but wants to leave and do his own thing.  And Levon's really sad.

It got me thinking.  Right now Leah wants to spend time with me.  And soon, like Jesus (Levon's son, I'm not getting religious here or anything) she's going to want nothing to do with me.  Soon, I'll be that thorn in her side, making her come on vacations with us, making her come to visit her grandfather every week, enforcing her curfew.  And I can't help but notice the irony in the situation.

Right now, when she wants to spend time with me, I can't do it.  I have to work.  I don't have a choice in the matter so I'm not even going to get into the stay-at-home-mom verses the working mom debate.  I'm over that. (For now.)  I have to leave Leah at times and go to work.  And she wants me to be with her.  And it kills me that at some point the tables will turn and she will no longer need me.  No longer want me to stay home with her.  With my luck, the day I retire is the day she will decide that parents are lame.

So, it sucked, and then I cried, and then I was ok.  But, it's still worth mentioning that when people say that parenting is an emotional rollercoaster, they are most definately not kidding.
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G's Spot: Bananas Foster French Toast

YAY!  Greg's first recipe!  And, as the official taste taster of this recipe, I can attest that this creation is phenomenal!  Greg wanted me to tell you that he created this recipe completely from within his head, which, is very large, but also very creative.  Let's begin!

                      Bananas Foster French Toast
     1 tsp. cinnamon
     1/4 tsp. nutmeg
     1/2 cup dark rum
     6 Tbsp. unsalted butter
     2 Bananas quartered and cut into 1 inch pieces
     1/4 cups packed brown sugar
     2 eggs
     2 Tbsp. of milk
     1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
     Several slices of bread

Mise en place:

Q:  Hey, why is that one banana really brown? 

A:  Because I froze it when it was on its way out so that I could use it in a recipe like this one day.



Combine the milk, eggs, and vanilla in a shallow casserole dish.

And whisk 'em up!

Dunk the slices of bread in the egg dip, making sure you flip them and both sides of the bread get coated evenly with the egg.  In this recipe, honey wheat bread was used. Melt 2 Tbsp of butter on griddle and cook the slices on medium/high heat.  (You can also cook the bread in a pan if you don't have a griddle.) 

editor's note: my friend Gabrielle bakes her french toast on a baking sheet in the oven, so you can do that too! Gab-if you're reading, what temperature do you bake your french toast on? Leave answer in the comments.

And the other slices...

Once the bread is brown on both sides, it's done.  And, it's now officially french toast.  Set your slices to the side.

Now get out a medium sized pan.

And heat the rest of the butter in the pan until it bubbles.  Then add the bananas and sugar and heat it until the sugar melts and is bubbling.

Add the nutmeg and cinnamon. Then add the rum.  If you have a gas stove, take the pan off of the stove before adding the rum to avoid a fire.

editor's note: FIRE?! Greg, what are you doing to my readers?!  I gave them a bread machine recipe; you have them preparing something that requires protective eye wear!  This recipe may be for more experienced cooks.  Fire!  Moving along...

Keep cooking on medium/high heat for approximately 2-3 minutes, which will allow the alcohol to cook out.  When the juices thicken, pour over the french toast slices. 

Enjoy!