Becoming a good mom, one hour at a time
The other day I was looking for a particular photo when I stumbled upon one that made me gasp—no exaggeration. The family resemblance was striking.
I found an image of my older sister as a toddler, and Peeper’s resemblance is uncanny. See for yourself:
I may be terrible at meal planning, but Mama’s gotta eat. So I have to learn to feed myself (and my family!) so no one, especially me, gets hangry.
I’ve always been terrible at meal planning.
Case in point: One late night when I was in college, my roommate Cedar walked into the kitchen and found me eating cold refried beans out of the can.
He was mortified. I was mortified.
“At least heat them up,” he said. Oh, the shame.
I had a few semi-legit explanations for my sorry excuse for a meal. I was operating on an average of five hours of sleep a night, was the editor-in-chief of the journalism school’s magazine, tutored other college students 20 hours a week and maintained a 4.0 GPA. Cooking was not exactly at the top of my priorities.
The truth is, though, when things get tough on the home front, I’m terrible at meal planning in particular and, more generally, the basic skill of feeding myself. Worse, I have a very fast metabolism and burn through food like a hummingbird. I’m also the world’s most indecisive person if I haven’t eaten in a while.
But even though I’m terrible at meal planning doesn’t mean I can’t learn.
Being terrible at meal planning has its consequences. Take, for example, one time (or, ah, multiple times) when I was pregnant with Peeper. I came home from work, sat down in the middle of the kitchen and bawled because I was so hungry but didn’t know what to eat.
Thank goodness for cereal, amirite?
Anyway, the notorious night of the refried beans popped into my head this week when I was ravenous and had stuck my head in the fridge for the fourth time only to see that, disappointingly, no fully prepared meals had mysteriously appeared. I ended up microwaving some refrieds and eating them with cheese on a tortilla. Not quite as pitiful as that college snack, but still.
Anyhow. This is all to say that especially because I’m growing another tiny life inside me, I need to be a little more conscientious about feeding myself (and the rest of my family).
You and I already know the reasons to meal plan. It reduces food waste—a huge problem in the US, where we throw out 133 billion pounds of food every year. It saves money. And it saves the stress of having zero clues or inspiration on what to put on your plate each night.
I’ve been utterly crap at my previous attempts to plan our meals ahead of time. But we should never let the past define our futures! (Ok, I’m getting a little ridiculous, but you know what I mean!)
So help me, Internet world: What is your best advice for planning meals? Or are you like me and find yourself settling for canned refrieds for lunch?
A few weeks ago, Spring Break released most of Oregon’s students—and, importantly, their teachers. After a rough stretch of classroom management right before the vacation, Eric was in desperate need of some time away from school.
Although we spent much of Spring Break doing things around the house and taking care of business-y tasks, we made a point of leaving town for a night. And boy, am I glad we did!
We hit the coast on a gorgeous day. We drove straight to Fort Stevens State Park at the tippy top of Oregon, west of Astoria. We’d never been there, and we adored the wide, enormous beach. I was disappointed at the number of cars on the beach (who does that in Oregon?) and the place was packed, but a short walk away from the parking area got us a clear stretch of ocean and sand.
Luckily the weather was warm because—predictably—Peeper just wanted to play in the waves. After a few frustrating and teary minutes of trying to keep her semi-dry, we gave up and let her play in the surf as much as she wanted. We were all happier for it. Read more
My parents provided me with so much as I grew up.
They gave me the love of travel. When I was 12, my dad taught in Singapore for six months, and my half-year stay in Southeast Asia inspired my curiosity about different cultures and places.
They gave me a love of words. To hear them tell it, I read book after book (kind of like a certain toddler I know). One of my earliest memories is “writing” letters—squiggly lines across a sheet of paper—that I’d “mail” to family members. I now make my living as a writer and am so fortunate to work in my dream career.
But one thing I value over every other gift: They gave me siblings.
Planning travel to Oregon with kids this spring? You don’t want to miss a visit to the Woodburn Tulip Festival near Portland. Check out the tips to visit the tulip festival with a toddler below—and have fun!
The combination of Peeper’s interest in nature, our daily trips outside and her gift of gab have made for an ever-expanding botanical vocabulary.
While we were in Mexico, she talked about the three distinct varieties of cacti near our hotel. And now that spring is in full swing, she calls out dandelions, daisies and daffodils by their names. We’re still working on the Latin names, though. (Kidding!)
After two visits to the Wooden Shoe Tulip Farm’s Tulip Fest outside Woodburn, though, she definitely knows tulips. 
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We’re not churchgoing folks in our family, but we spent Easter celebrating in our own way.
Most weekends, Eric and I have to tag team care of Peeper: One of us will take her on an outing while the other gets work done at home. On Sunday, though, we both walked to the nearby park and Peeper played to her heart’s content. 
Later, I gifted them both their Easter baskets, and the Easter Bunny was practical this year: He filled them with things like socks and a belt—oh, and cheddar bunny-filled plastic eggs for the little one, which was a big hit.
The best part of the holiday was that family and friends visited. Peeper planted some lilies outside with Grandpa Shempy, and Peeper read countless books with her aunt and uncle who visited from Seattle. 
I guess the holiday made a big impression on our toddler. She was wound up from all the company and festivities so took a long time to settle down for bed. After I set her in the crib, we overheard her saying something through the monitor.
I turned up the receiver’s volume and we listened intently.
“Happppppy Easter! Happppppy Easter!” she was repeating to herself.
However you celebrated—if you celebrated—I hope you and yours had a wonderful Easter! 
A baby’s first months are filled with milestones—first bath, first outing, first smile, first everything. Once she grows into a toddler, those baby book moments become fewer and stretched farther apart.
Peeper’s 21st month turned that pattern on its head.
The last month was filled with new experiences, and this adventurous toddler soaked them up. Most notable was her first trip without Dada. We met my parents in Mexico, where Peeper enjoyed a slew of firsts—tasting her first mole (so huge a hit that she ate it plain and straight from the dish), her first swim in the Pacific Ocean, witnessing her first lightning storm. 
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“Baby in there!”
From about the time I began to show, Peeper started to talk about how a baby was growing in Mama’s belly. She would point to my bump and sometimes wave to the baby.
One night, when Peeper had eaten a particularly large portion of tuna mac, Eric remarked on how big her belly had gotten.
She looked down at the round drum of her middle. “Maybe baby in there,” she said.
We, of course, were floored.
After that, she got a little confused. “Baby in there!” she’d say of just about everything—Eric’s belly, Finn’s belly and, particularly, my breasts. (That last one was slightly awkward in public.)
Now she makes it a game, naming everywhere the baby isn’t. “Not a baby in there,” she’ll say about everything. “Not a baby teeth. Not a baby mama mole. Not a baby dishes. Not a baby rocking chair.”
So she may not know exactly what’s going on—the details of a growing fetus are a little beyond a 20-month-old’s comprehension—but she well knows where the baby is not growing.
That’s a start.
Lately, Peeper is fascinated by combining complementary things. “Together!” she cries, popping a bite of cheese and hot dog into her mouth, or “Pomegranate on top!” while balancing a seed on a forkful of peas and tofu.
Her enthusiasm makes me think of the scene in Ratatouille when Remy discovers how two tastes together can pop like fireworks or melt together for a transcendent out-of-body experience.
The other day, I followed her lead. Peeper loves art, and she loves the outdoors. So voila: nature painting!
There’s no denying it: This child is a water baby—or, in the Ryan family lexicon, a water weasel.
Peeper loved swimming lessons from her very first trip to the YMCA. If she had her way, she’d spend hours in the bath, pouring water from a toy watering can and holding onto the sides of the tub to kick as hard as she can. It’s a constant battle to keep her dry at the Oregon coast. And she makes any unsuspecting water source—a sidewalk puddle, the dog’s dish—into an instant source of fun.
But her love of water at home has nothing on the passion she uncovered on vacation.
During our vacation in Mexico, Peeper spent almost every waking minute in the water. After breakfast, we headed to the pool or beach. Then bath and nap. After waking up, we returned to the pool or beach. Then bath and bedtime.
Rinse, wash, repeat. Read more
