Author: portiabutler

As I sit down to write this post, having finished brushing my teeth, washing dishes, contemplating dinner, doing laundry, stewing prunes, remembering to refill my water glass, remembering to actually drink my water, remembering to pee, roasting cauliflower, and taking the trash out, I know Lucy will wake from her nap at any moment. It’s just how it goes–there is never enough time.*

When Lucy is awake, I want to play with her. Sometimes she amuses herself on the floor while I work or cook or clean, but mostly we read or dance or practice crawling or go on outings. And so I pick and choose how to spend her napping hours and try not to worry about what doesn’t get done. I know I need a certain level of cleanliness (it’s not high) before I can focus on writing or school, so I always do the dishes and try to keep the laundry moving. And preparing finger food for her is fun for me, so I usually do that, too. By the time I am done it’s time for her to be up again.

As much as I had hoped to have this blog be a weekly activity, it’s not turning out to be. There’s so much to do! I hope I remember the feel of these days–the soothing routine, the fullness–when I reread these entries at some hazy point in the future, when Lucy is grown and independent and I am starving for memories of her baby days. I hope I don’t wish I’d written more. I hope I can remind myself that the reason I didn’t is that we were too busy getting to know each other and learning to navigate the curves and the corners of our new life. These things take time, and we’ve already noted how little of that there is.

Lucy is 10 months old now. She is a riot. She points to what she wants. She loves animals, especially dogs. She waves. She dances anytime she hears music. She makes ridiculous faces (gets that from me). She carries on conversations of grunts, snorts, whispers, and giggles. She scoots on her bottom and gets herself up on all fours. Sometimes she lunges forward from hands and knees and face-plants on the carpet. She walks so confidently when we hold her hands.

She squeezes and pats when she hugs, and she draws up her legs to curl against me as hard as she can. I find her sitting in her crib when she wakes at night, calling for, “Nah nah, nah nah.” It’s not quite mama, but it’s close enough and that’s what I hear.

She is so full of joy and light and love. I want so badly to nurture those qualities, to keep my worrying nature out of the way of her growth and happiness. Out of the way of my happiness, too, and Mike’s. Worry is my devil. If I’m not worried about something, my overactive mind will find a reason to be. I go around all clenched up and intense, wanting to control what I can’t. It’s always been like that for me, and now, with a baby…yikes. It’s a whole new level. And it makes me mad, actually, because I know how lucky I am to live the life I do. I don’t suffer real worries, so I make them up because I feel I don’t deserve all the goodness I have. UGH. I am rolling my eyes at myself as I type.

Slowly, though, I think, I am starting to let go and believe that things will be okay. I mean, I still spend far too much time googling things like “solid food baby poop consistency” (and clicking on images, ew). But I also have many moments of calm assuredness that all is well. It’s okay that the house is a mess most of the time. It’s okay that I spend hours doing nothing more productive then staring at my kid in awe. It’s okay that Lucy doesn’t always get as much sleep as she should. It’s okay that she loves to watch TV. It’s okay for her to eat real food.

Maybe it’s because there’s no time to waste on worry (what with the dishes and the playing and all), or maybe it’s a lack of sleep dulling my imagination. Maybe it’s Lucy and her joy and new tricks. Maybe it’s Mike and his patience and love. Whatever it is, I’ll try to let it carry me for awhile. She is okay. We are okay. Better than okay, truthfully…just as we should be.

*For the record, this post was written over three nap times and two days.

Lucy’s Lasagne

This lasagne was the first unadulterated grown-up food that we offered to Lucy. She has had plenty of plain bits of whatever we are eating (and maybe the occasional french fry or bite of wedding cake slipped to her by her father), but this was the first real meal that I simply mushed up and plopped down in front of her–cheese, salt, and all. She loved it. And I didn’t worry.

Ingredients

4 cups tomato or marinara sauce. (I used this lovely, simple recipe from the wonderful blog, Orangette. It made about 2 cups. Next time I will double it.)
1 tbsp olive oil
1 lb ground beef, pork, sausage, or a combination. (I used 1/2 pound ground beef and 1/2 pound mild Italian sausage)
15 oz ricotta cheese
1 lb spinach, cooked, chopped, and drained
16 oz ball of mozzarella cheese, shredded and divided
1/2 cup shredded parmesan cheese, plus extra for topping
1 lb package of oven-ready lasagne noodles (the dry kind that you don’t have to cook first)
Salt and pepper

Directions

Prepare tomato sauce if making from scratch. The recipe I used took about an hour.

Preheat oven to 375º. Heat oil in a skillet over medium heat. Brown the meat. Taste and season with salt and pepper if needed. Set aside.

In a large bowl, combine the ricotta cheese, half of the shredded mozzarella, 1/2 cup of parmesan cheese, and the chopped spinach. Mix well and adjust for seasoning. Set aside.

Butter or oil a large 9×13 baking pan. Reserve a cup of tomato sauce and set aside. Spread 3/4 cup tomato sauce over the bottom of the pan. Add a layer of lasagne noodles. Three noodles laid across the pan fit perfectly for me; they expand in the oven as they soak up moisture from the sauce. Layer 3/4 cup tomato sauce over the noodles. Spread 1/4 (not 1/4 cup, but 1/4 of the whole bowl) of the ricotta mixture over the sauce, followed by a sprinkle of mozzarella cheese and a 1/3 of the browned meat. Repeat noodle, sauce, ricotta, mozzarella, and meat layers two more times. For the final layer, arrange noodles across the top of the last meat addition. Top with reserved sauce, remaining ricotta mixture, any remaining mozzarella, and extra grated parmesan.

Cover with foil and bake at 375º for 30 minutes. Remove foil and bake for 5 more minutes to brown the top. You can also assemble the lasagne ahead of time and keep it refrigerated for up to a day before baking it. It will take about twice as long to cook.

I have come to that place in motherhood where it is all starting to go so fast. Lucy and I were at the grocery store (our second home), and the nice grandpa at the fish counter asked how old she was and then warned me, twinkling as he skinned our piece of ling cod, “Oho…things are going to start happening.” I know what he means. I feel like we are in the eye of a storm, waiting and holding our breath for the torrent of walking, talking, climbing, fit-throwing, head-bumping, hand-waving, and kiss-blowing that is coming. There are signs it has already begun. Lucy claps with open hands now, and laughs with joy when we follow suit. She spots funny-looking faces of characters, animals, and people wherever we go. She stares and giggles, waiting for us to notice what she sees and then wriggles her whole body with pride when we acknowledge whatever it is. That clever trick landed us with WAY too many toys for a 9-month-old’s Easter basket.

She has also learned to give voice to her opinions, and sometimes her vehemence shocks me. She locks up her knees when I try to sit her on the carpet because she’d rather stand. She writhes and twists on the changing table and would simply prefer to be naked all the time. She expresses dislike for Brussels sprouts by carefully pincering individual bits and dropping them onto the floor. She is a force.

A week ago today, we celebrated my beautiful sister Maddy’s bachelorette party. (She married dear Rick, her second-grade crush, this past Saturday in the sweetest and most genuine ceremony one could hope for.) We started the bachelorette day with brunch at my mom’s house. I had taken the day before off work to shop for ingredients, cut up fruit, and bake quiches, bread puddings, and muffins. I love a day like that, full of preparation, although I had never done it with a baby in tow. No matter, I figured. Lucy is so agreeable that it will be totally fine. And it was fine, with a few adjustments:

She let me know, in no uncertain fashion, that she was too interested in the goings-on to play or nap. So she helped instead.

Quiche for a Lady Party
adapted from allrecipes.com
I make this quiche for dinner often. The leftovers are good for lunch. The basic recipe works with whatever fillings you have on hand: cooked ham or bacon, leek, mushroom, asparagus, and chard are some of my favorites (though probably not all mixed together). For the bachelorette’s brunch, I did one with ham and cheddar and the other with gruyere and artichoke hearts.

You will need:
One unbaked 9″ pie crust (I use this recipe.)
5 eggs
1 cup milk
1 cup cream
Pinch salt
Several grinds of black pepper
Dash nutmeg
3/4 cup grated cheese
Additional fillings of your choice

Prepare pie crust. After it has had some time to chill in the refrigerator, preheat oven to 425º. Roll out pie crust and place in pie pan. Lightly beat together eggs, milk, cream, salt, pepper, and nutmeg. Sprinkle cheese and any other fillings on the bottom of your crust. Carefully pour the egg mixture over the filling.

Bake for 15 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 350º and bake for an additional 25 minutes or more until the crust and top of the quiche are golden and the filling is set. I usually let mine go for at least 30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. It will take a bit longer to cook if you have added lots of fillings. Allow to sit for 5-10 minutes before serving.

Sometime in the last few weeks, my baby turned into a kid. She’s a week shy of eight months old and is looking forward to getting her driver’s license, voting, and enjoying a cold beer. Last night I wrestled her into her jammies as she thrashed like a hooked salmon, and I was amazed at the change in her. Gone, it seems, is the serene little dove who laid about patiently, content to gaze at faces and light and shadows. She is ready to move, to go, to explore, to run and jump and dance and fly. Lucy is a raptor now, screeching and flapping and clawing. My god, the clawing! My poor chest is a connect-the-dots puzzle of red welts and scratches left where she has dug in her talons while she nurses. I think she’s trying to make the milk come faster so she can get on with more important things.

My sweet baby has changed, but I am not sad. This girl who’s here with us now is fabulously strong. She is curious and confident and cool. She likes to make us laugh. She gives fierce hugs and open-mouthed kisses. I loved who she was the day she was born, and I love who she is now. I will love who she is tomorrow and next year and in 20 years. I love that I must adapt and be agile to keep up with her. She makes me want to go, to explore, to run and jump and dance and fly.

She doesn’t want to miss a thing.

Along with her blossoming verve, she has developed a keen awareness of and interest in whatever Mike and I (and anyone else around) are up to. She sometimes cries when we leave, knowing now that we exist beyond her sight. She is probably irate at the thought that we are doing something fun without her. For the last several nights she has woken up just as dinner is ready and we are settling down to eat, no matter if she had been asleep for an hour or three. So I leave my plate on the table and go to her, receive those miracles of hugs and kisses, rock her and rub her back. I weather the weakening salmon flails and the rakish clawing that becomes soft pat-pats as she drifts back to sleep. Then I go eat my dinner with dear Mike, who has been waiting for me.

Last night I cooked risotto with mushrooms, to go with pork chops and salad. I was a symphony in the kitchen. I managed multiple meal components and timed everything just right so that it all finished at the same time. I am becoming a more efficient cook. I anticipated Lucy’s awakening as I took the pork chops out of the oven, wincing as I clanked the pan on the countertop. I mentally prepared for cold, gluey risotto. And you know what? She slept through dinner.

She keeps me on my toes, that one.

Risotto with mushrooms, thyme, and garlic

I have made this risotto with different types of mushrooms, depending on what’s in season. It’s a treat with chanterelles but also very good with sliced crimini or button mushrooms. This time I used some baby shiitakes that came in my produce box. They were small enough that I could sauté them whole and toss them into the risotto when it finished cooking.

For the basic risotto:

1 tbsp olive oil
1/2 of a large onion, diced
1 cup arborio rice
1/2 cup white wine
4-5 cups chicken stock, simmering in a pot on the stove
1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese
Salt to taste

For the mushrooms:

2 tbsp butter
1 lb mushrooms
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 sprigs fresh thyme
Salt to taste

Heat the oil in a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat. Sauté the onions until they are soft. Add the arborio rice and cook for a couple of minutes, until the rice is coated with oil and the individual grains are translucent at the ends. Add in the wine and cook, stirring, until all the liquid has been absorbed. Add 1 cup of stock and stir. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the liquid has been almost completely absorbed. Continue to add stock one cup at a time, stirring and cooking after each addition. This process of adding stock and cooking the rice takes about 30 minutes.

While you are working on the rice, start the mushrooms. Heat butter in a pan over medium heat. Add the mushrooms and sauté them until they are brown and soft. Add the garlic and thyme and cook about 30 seconds more. Taste and season with salt if need be. Set aside.

Taste the rice and see if the texture is to your liking. If it has too much bite, add a little more stock and continue to cook it. The risotto should be very loose and relaxed when it is done; it should sort of spread out languidly when you drag a spoon through the pan.

Take the risotto off the heat and stir in the parmesan cheese. Fold in the mushrooms, taste, season, and serve immediately.

 

It snowed here the night after Christmas. I gazed out the nursery window, watched flurries crossing the beam of a streetlight, as I rocked Lucy to sleep. The snow didn’t last, but it nicely punctuated the end of her first Christmas. As we rocked, I imagined what it would be like next year to bundle her up and take her out into the quiet white, to see her cheeks turn rosy and hear her laugh, screeching and delighted, at the newness of it. The thought made my eyes water and my heart ache. Oh, this love! It is heavy, heavy, heavy.

Since Lucy’s arrival, I have found myself looking forward to holiday traditions with an excitement I haven’t felt in years. Having a child has made me want to carve jack-o-lanterns, cut hand turkeys, and hang Christmas lights. All of these rituals are novel to my girl; when she encounters something new, she opens her bright eyes so wide and just stares, so intently, her mouth open and curled up at the corners, her hands reaching out–and then she smiles like the ocean, vast and beautiful. I can’t get enough of that smile.

And so we do things to make her light up. We gaze at decorations in the mall, we wrap presents in crinkly paper, we hang the tree with shiny things. We even made Christmas cookies this year. I can’t remember the last time I did that.

I envisioned a cozy afternoon of baking, with Lucy cooing underfoot, a cup of milky tea in my hand, Christmas carols on the record player, and dozens of perfect cookies coming out of the oven at regular intervals. It did not, of course, play out quite like that. Lucy was fussy and uninterested in a nap, toys, or being put down. My tea cooled quickly, shoved aside to make room for measuring, mixing, flouring, and rolling on my impossibly narrow block of usable counter space. I forgot about the music. But it didn’t matter. We made those cookies. They were delicious. And now we have the tools and foundation for another new tradition.

Life is much more disorderly and unpredictable now. As someone used to being in control, I am hit with that realization again and again. The feeling is new and confusing–and pretty great, too; it is a little like falling and a lot like flying. It feels good to become less rigid, to bend and reshape parts of myself to make space for someone else to grow alongside.

I can’t wait to see the mess we make next year.

Christmas Cookies

I didn’t own any cookie cutters and had to go buy some, along with sprinkles and a fresh bag of sugar. I also didn’t have a recipe and ended up using the one on the back of the cookie cutter package because it called for both vanilla and almond extracts, all butter, and ominously warned me: DO NOT CHILL DOUGH. The resulting cookies were crisp and lightly sweet. I think next year I will try adding lemon zest for a little tartness.

You will need:
2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp almond extract

Preheat oven to 350º. Mix dry ingredients together in a medium bowl and set aside. In a large bowl, beat together butter and sugar until fluffy. Add the egg and extracts to the butter mixture and beat until well incorporated. Add 1 cup of the flour mixture and mix to combine. Continue to add the flour mixture gradually, mixing after each addition. The dough will become quite thick, so you may find a wooden spoon or spatula to be a good tool if your hand mixer fails you.

Divide the dough into two balls so you have a manageable amount to work with. Do not chill. On a floured surface, roll one ball of dough at a time out to 1/4″ thickness (or a little thinner if you prefer a crisper cookie). Dip cookie cutters in flour to prevent sticking. Cut dough into desired shapes and place on an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake 8-12 minutes. Cookies should be very lightly golden-brown on the bottom and sides.