Making Muffins

I enjoy baking. I have a tremendous sweet tooth. My "For My Sweet Tooth" board on Pinterest has more pins than any other board. The three are a lethal combination. Fortunately, I have some willpower, and not often enough ingredients to whip up a goodie to satisfy a sugar fix.

In this final stretch of time before I go back to work after nearly 12 weeks of glorious maternity leave, I've been trying to squeeze in little snippets of "mommy and me" time with the girls. Now that Averey's gone back to school, I've added a few extra activities for Kelsey: open gym time, a couple mornings at Millbrook Marsh, and this afternoon, some time in the kitchen making muffins for this week's breakfasts now that they gobbled down the banana bread.

For as much as I enjoy baking and would love to have the girls be more involved in the kitchen (would it help Averey overcome her pickiness?), our kitchen is just too small. You think you have a small kitchen? Trust me, you don't. I guess Jake's gram spent a lot of time in the kitchen when she lived here. I just have to wonder why she didn't say to his grandfather, "Ira! Build me a bigger kitchen!" I know we would've appreciated that.

Anyway, since the mix came from a box, I could easily transport the minimal ingredients to the dining room table and work there. I thought that something as simple as pouring water, oil, eggs and blueberries would be great to instill a little instruction for Kelsey, and some patience for me.

Not that it worked out that way. It went a little something like this...

(My back turned to her.) "Mommy! Look at me!" Kelsey had placed the glass bowl on her head like a hat.
"Nooo Kelsey! We don't put clean bowls on our heads!" (Or any bowls for that matter. But I didn't bother washing out the bowl. Her hair had just been washed. Don't judge.)

"Mmm! This tastes yummy!" (Back turned to her once again. You think I'd learn by now.) There was a nice fingerprint indent in the dry muffin mix. "We don't eat that!" (Although I would totally scoop out a spoonful of the stuff and eat it. But whatever.)

"I crack this egg, and you crack this egg!" she exclaimed, grabbing the eggs out of the carton.
"Kelsey, put the eggs back!"

"Can I eat the blueberries?"
"No Kelsey, we need them for the muffins."

And so on and so forth. I decided by that time I'd had enough and I would scoop the muffin mix into the baking cups, because I could see her three-year-old carefree demeanor spreading the goop all over the table.

Not exactly a success, but I shouldn't expect that right now. She enjoyed her time helping, even with me raising my voice, admonishing her for every little thing. But for her, I'm guessing it's the little things, like making muffins with mommy, that matter the most.

Kelsey's Mystery Diagnosis--One Year Later

Kelsey is our middle child for sure--a little too adventurous for her own good, a sassy attitude, and the cuteness to get away with most of it. (At least, that's what I've heard about middle children. With Jake and I both growing up in two kid families, we don't exactly have experience with a middle sibling.) So leave it to her to end up with a medical anomaly.

For those of you not aware of this situation, and because I have a sleeping baby on my chest, I'll just add a link to the note I wrote on facebook last year about discovering her Atypical Mycobacterium lesion...

http://www.facebook.com/notes/heather-polk-gummo/kelseys-mystery-diagnosis-solved/10150293374829473

Post-surgery, she recovered quickly and much to our dismay, the anesthesia didn't even keep her tired for the rest of the day! The spot was covered for a couple days, and then we had to treat it with antibiotic ointment and a Zithromax regimen.

She's had periodic visits with the doctor that confirmed the diagnosis and performed the surgery. I think she'll continue to see him (or another ENT) for a while. There's a chance they could have to go in and scrape again, but it seems unlikely as long as it continues to heal the way it does. That includes, um, oozing, shall we say? Not that we see it ooze--it's not gross by any means. Some days she wakes up and you can see the scar exactly how it was surgically cut, and other days, it looks like there's a skin scab on top of it.

Prior to removal, Kelsey never cared if we touched it. Now, she flinches and squeals, "Don't touch it!" I'm not sure if it causes her pain, or it's just the awareness that something happened in that area on her face. If you ask her how she got it, she replies, "I ate dirt." If that keeps her dirty hands out of her mouth, then so be it! But so many kids eat dirt or play in stagnant water, and as far as we know, no other cases were reported in State College. Why and how Kelsey ended up with the infection? We'll probably never really know the answer. All that matters to us is that a diagnosis was made in the nick of time before things got ugly.

What I took away from this experience is that it is really handy to have a nurse in the family! All joking aside, I learned that it really does not hurt to have a second opinion and to ask questions. While my dad's discovery in the classroom seemed to piece the puzzles together, I had to take that bold step of making a phone call to the dentist/oral surgeon's office and giving them the information that I believed to be true of Kelsey's lump. Even though they brushed it aside, I was thankful that her pediatrician listened and got the ball rolling. Sure, he didn't figure it out the first time, but then again, it was basically a non-colored lump that was in the jawline. Those type of lesions generally appear on the neck, which added another curve.

(Funny thing: the day we were at Geisinger and Kelsey was in the OR, Jake, my mom and I ate lunch in the cafe, and Jake pointed out that the dentist who saw her was in there. The prideful side of me just wanted to say, "Ha! I was right, you were wrong! Nyah Nyah!")

Now it's already been a year since, and we have much to be thankful for since it hasn't affected her health in the least. She's our spunky silly girl, a doting big sister, and will likely keep us on our toes for years to come (and her medical paperwork file the thickest in our filing cabinet)!

I'm a Cool Mom, For Now...

Mark this one for the record books: I have been dubbed "cool" by Averey.

I decided to take the girls to the pool last night for some last minute summer fun. Since giving birth to Jacey in June, I missed out on a few weeks of swimming, so I've been trying to squeeze in as much pool time as I can. The girls can tread water and doggie paddle, but my goal of them swimming has fallen short once again. This is a slight source of stress for me, because quite honestly, I don't remember NOT knowing how to swim. We've done swimming lessons before and I had planned to this summer, but since being busy with the new baby, it sort of fell through the cracks. I could always put them in lessons in the winter in the State College High School pool. I'll be longing for that chlorine smell then anyway since I am especially dreading winter this year...

But alas, I am way off the subject.

I can trust Averey enough to watch her sister for a few minutes while I take a leap off the diving board to get wet. It always seems I'm in the company of teenage boys when I take a dive, but I don't care. It's still a thrill for me.

I returned to the girls and we swam around to the areas where their feet couldn't touch. They followed me around, doggie paddling with their floaties on. We swam under the buoy rope (okay, I lifted the girls over), and I proved to them I couldn't touch the bottom. (Up until then, they thought I was at least seven feet tall.) I rolled around, doing underwater front and back flips.

"Wow, you are so cool mommy!" exclaimed Averey.

I told Averey I used to do front flips off the diving board, but haven't tried it in years. I told her I could go off the board again if she and Kelsey would sit on the edge of the pool.

I climbed out of the pool and got in the line for the board. I planned on just diving, but as I bounced into the air, I quickly changed my mind and rotated into a front flip. I felt the water smack my bottom, but I still did it! I felt like a teenager again. (And today, I'm not even hurting like a grown up!)

"That was so cool!" Averey said excitedly.

I know I won't being hearing that phrase during much of my parenting years. Give her a few more years and she'll be saying, "Mom, stop trying to be cool by doing flips off the diving board!" I'll treasure this moment while I can, because I forgot that I failed at teaching them to swim. And as they paddled back to the shallow end, I'm pretty sure they didn't even care.

And by the way, shortly after that, Averey jumped into the pool with no floaties on and even went under the water. She was ecstatic. And go figure I missed her moment of "cool."

Ohhh, Back to School!

Averey started first grade today. She was excited, but did comment that she'll be shy around her new teacher and new classmates. (For those who know her would probably find this to be a surprising statement. I know I did.) After all, she will be one of four kids in her class that were in the same Kindergarten class last year. I was quite surprised by that; there were only three Kindergarten classes with less than 20 kids per class. 

I know that some people tend to get emotional on the first day of their children going back to school, but that has not been me. Sure, I can remember Averey being a sweet baby and toddler, but my life was so different at that time, that to me, it does not seem like yesterday. It seems ages ago, unlike me being in first grade, which sometimes does feel like yesterday. I don't recall my first day, but I do remember Mrs. Sullivan's classroom, writing exercises, and my poodle-curly permed hair. (Gotta love 1985. Lucky for Averey she won't face that same fate of hideous hair.)

The anticipation and excitement of the new experience of first grade may be similar for us both, but a lot has changed in 27 years. Averey gets to use an iPad for some learning exercises; I don't think I saw a computer in my school until the end of 4th grade in 1989 (and I'm pretty sure it was wheeled around between the three 4th grade classes). There's a peanut-free table in the lunchroom to shield the allergic kids from kids like Averey, who lives on peanut butter and jelly; I never heard of a peanut allergy until much later in life. During reading time, our class was divided into three groups by how well you could read; now the lines are blurred, and there's ADD, ADHD, Autism and classroom assistants. And we now have to buy Averey school supplies including markers, Clorox wipes and tissues, while we received a box of (sometimes used) crayons on our first day of school and minty-smelling paste.

And yet, some things will never change. Averey carried her backpack on both shoulders as she hopped on the bus, dressed in a colorful new Gap dress and cardigan (okay, there was no Gap Kids at our mall, so I doubt I was as trendy), and she gushed about how awesome her first day was. The rules may have changed a bit, but the game is still the same. 

In the meantime, Kelsey's preschool teacher stopped by for an introductory visit today. She yammered away and was convinced that the teacher was taking her to school today. As she insisted, "Today is FALL!" This should be an interesting year for her too.

So here's to new adventures for our bubbly girls (and hopes that I can be a little more organized in the mornings as I soon head back to work)!

Five Years in Happy Valley

Saturday, August 18 marks the exact date and day that I relocated here to State College five years ago. To me, it is simply a God-story, because there is no other way that this would’ve worked out by my own plan.

Being here for five years marks the longest I’ve lived anywhere (other than growing up in Montoursville), and the longest I’ve stayed at any job. My life is (somewhat) normal now that I often forget the life I had prior to moving here.

Jake and I had our first “adult” date 364 days prior to that: August 19, 2006. Who knew what a whirlwind that year would be (and the next couple of years after that)? After our first date, I had a good feeling about us. Two weeks later, he came to visit me again in Harrisburg. I tripped over Averey’s baby gate, and since he still wanted to see me after that, I knew there was a future for us! It was in October that Averey and I made the venture to State College. I’d made several trips over the years to State College, some in pursuit of Jake, and others not. I always thought it was such a nice area, and when Jake and I dated briefly in 1998, I momentarily considered trying to find an internship in the area when I would finish college. (Just for a nanosecond, because that’s probably news to Jake!) As our adult relationship progressed and marriage seemed to be in our future, moving to State College seemed like a real possibility. I loved living in Harrisburg, had a decent job and great friends (and awesome shopping all around), but I was a divorced single mother renting an apartment. Jake was living under his parents’ roof, waiting to (hopefully) buy his grandparents’ house, and therefore had decided not to waste money on rent. Having worked at Penn State since age 18, he had more roots planted in State College than I had in Harrisburg. It only made sense for me to be the one to relocate.

I realized that while I could look for a job, a place to rent and a baby-sitter for Averey, it was going to take a lot for things to work out just right. Having a failed marriage under my belt brought me to the understanding that if my relationship with Jake was meant to work out, that I was ultimately going to have to trust God that the pieces would fall into place. I ignored red flags before; I made sure that I would be paying closer attention this time.

When Jake called me and told me his friends had been in the pharmacy at one of the local Geisinger clinics and saw a “help wanted” sign, I could scarcely believe it. I called the pharmacy, but the manager there directed me to call the other pharmacy across town since they would actually be the ones looking for help. There would even be an opportunity for me to mix chemotherapy. Mixing IVs is my absolute favorite aspect of being a pharmacy technician (if I could mix IVs and compound all day, I’d be a super happy camper). Knowing that I’d be back in retail, this was a bright light for me. It just so happened that I was the only person that applied for the job, so upon salary negotiation and taking an eensy-weensy manageable pay cut, I had landed a job. (And I was sure that would be the most difficult thing!)

Those same friends owned a house and rented out their basement as an apartment. Their current tenants would be leaving in July. I would be moving up in August. While it was a smaller space, it was enough for me and Averey. To sweeten the pot, I wouldn’t be surrounded by college kids, had no lease to sign and had super cheap rent (three things nearly impossible to find in State College).

I found Averey an in-home sitter through the local newspaper, and her rate was even less than what I paid in Harrisburg.

Huge answers to prayer, I say! (And no red flags.)

Leaving Harrisburg was bittersweet. One of my BFFs threw me a surprise going-away party with my co-workers. I felt very loved since so many of my co-workers showed up, they had done all of this behind my back (and I just thought I was being purposely ignored!), and the fact that my brother had come down to watch Averey was all part of the plan was just incredible to me. While some of that night is a… little foggy, shall we say, I at least have some fun photos! I remember bawling as Jake and I pulled out of the parking lot of the restaurant. (And he probably thought, she’s moving to State College for me?!)

The night before I left, I wanted to go out to Zembie’s, a little bar downtown, and sing karaoke one last time. A group of co-workers and Jake and I went to eat, and then we headed to Zembie’s. I sang my “signature” song, “Killing Me Softly” by the Fugees. (Jake heard me sing karaoke when we went on a cruise a couple months prior, but it was one of my worst karaoke appearances. I was a bit nervous to sing in front of him again. Not that it would've changed his mind about anything.) When I finished that song, I think he said that he would’ve thrown his underwear on the stage for me. Or some un-Jake-like comment like that. Two of my other karaoke-loving friends sang too, and it was a blast for my last night in the ‘burg. I kind of forgot about packing up the truck and moving to State College the next day.

Waking up the next morning with Jake and my parents in my apartment quickly reminded me that it was moving day. Some of my closest friends stopped by to help and say good-bye. I stared at my empty apartment. A little sad, but excited for new beginnings.

I got settled in my new apartment, started my new job, and life in State College was underway. When Jake proposed to me two months later, we were in the throes of wedding planning. Six months later, we were married, in our new home, and shortly thereafter, pregnant with Kelsey.

Life was so crazy that once Kelsey was born, I realized I didn’t really have any friends here. I missed my Harrisburg friends, and while people said that would come and visit, company was few and far between. Even with facebook connections, I still felt a bit lonely and somewhat forgotten. I knew my roots were being planted in this town, and with me being more extroverted than Jake (and I don’t think I’m much of an extrovert to begin with), I had to take steps to change that. We (finally) started attending church and we’d found somewhere to worship that felt at home. I attended some play groups before I went back to work after maternity leave and made some little connections and conversation. I joined a Bible study at church, I found MOPS, and we joined a small group Bible study in our church. All of these were answers to prayer, and friendships were (finally) formed.

Five years have passed. We’ve made his grandparents’ house our own (and that’s always a work in progress!), we’ve found new friendships and in the meantime had two more children. Life has actually turned out pretty much like I dreamed—the loving husband, the noisy kids, a home to call our own. We’ve planted our roots, which isn’t exactly commonplace in a transient town like State College. For awhile, I thought Selinsgrove would’ve been my home (even though it never truly felt like home to me), and then Harrisburg actually did feel like home. Although getting to this point was never the way I imagined, reaching this point has made me appreciate the journey that much more. 

A Losing Battle

I love my kids, but man, oh man, do I loathe the toys that come with them.

Back in the spring, I pinned a “Bored Jar” on Pinterest. Taking a Ball jar and filling it with tongue depressors with activities listed on them, I figured it would come in handy while I would be on maternity leave. I marked the sticks with many different activities, including chores that I think Averey can handle at age six. So today, Averey asked to pick a popsicle stick. I could hear her and Kelsey going through them (while the idea is to do the first one you pick, Averey reads through them all until one piques her interest), and finally they chose the golden one: “Go through old toys and books. Decide which ones you’d like to donate and bag them up.” Averey had great enthusiasm for the project, and so I felt it would go really well as I nursed Jacey.

When the task was complete and Averey came to me with four grocery bags full of stuff, I was hopeful that all the little toys that annoy me would be gone. I asked her to show me what was in the bags. A coloring book… already colored in. Used lip gloss. Random markers and crayons. Itty-bitty stamps, probably near dry. Three Sandra Boynton books that are oh-so-adorable (which Averey blamed on Kelsey and immediately removed them). A couple McDonald’s toys (just one of the many reasons I despise dining at McD’s). Some puzzles. Learning cards with a ripped box. Every single pair of sunglasses they own. I tried not to show my annoyance, as it was my fault for not laying down guidelines on what should or should not be donated. I explained to Averey and Kelsey (who really wasn’t listening anyway) that they can’t donate things like used lip gloss and coloring books, incomplete puzzles, stuff with ripped packages, or items that they actually use, like sunglasses. The sorting of junk ended up on the floor, and in the end, four bags turned into one. An item Averey chose to donate was a cute Melissa & Doug dress-up bear set with laces to attach different outfits to it. It was something that “Santa” brought her for Christmas a couple years ago. And so I mentally swore that we are never buying toys AGAIN. And Averey made it known that she never wanted to choose that stick AGAIN.

Here’s the thing: I love my parents and my in-laws. I totally appreciate that they are very involved in our girls’ lives and help us out tremendously. Most of my friends’ families live out of town, out of state, halfway across the country. I know of some people whose parents don’t enjoy their grandchildren and would perhaps only see them once a year, or whose parents are elderly and can’t keep up with their grandchildren. The fact that Jake’s parents live 10 minutes away and my parents live less than 80 miles away is a huge blessing, and they’ve come to the rescue on more than one occasion. I understand they want to spoil their grandchildren and have the means to do it. But OH. MY. GOSH. Most of these toys do not come from us. I do not enjoy the toys, especially in our size house. While we have several rooms to host a basket or two of toys, not to mention the finished basement, but their bedroom is not big by today’s standards. Averey’s American Girl doll, the horse, clothes, bed and wheelchair are crammed in a corner by the closet. On more than one occasion I haven’t been able to open their closet because of the stuff on either side. And their closet is rapidly running out of space for their clothes and shoes, let alone toys and boxes for school and other assorted memoirs. I’ve explained this to my mother on several occasions, and I know she understands. I’m not sure my mother-in-law completely gets it. Nothing personal, of course. Like I said, I do love my in-laws too. But it doesn’t help that she grew up in this same house with two siblings, so she seems to think we should have plenty of room. However, I’m certain that in the 1950s and ‘60s that they did not own even one-fourth of the toys and clothes that the girls have today. Both mothers remind us that we have the basement. But now the basement is so cluttered with toys and doesn’t help the cause one little bit.

Did I mention that I hate toys?

When we’re invited to fellow kid birthday parties, I refuse to ever buy anyone toys. (Just as I will never buy anyone blankets for a baby shower. I can’t even begin to count how many baby blankets we have!) I would much prefer to give clothes or money, or a gift I wouldn’t mind being in my house. Not as exciting to the kid, of course, but I believe in practicality, especially since I am a parent. I will welcome books (both coloring and reading), clothes (even though I am guilty for buying them probably more than they need), puzzles and “quiet” activity goodies in our house until I’m blue in the face. But bring in toys that (a)make noise, (b)have more than two pieces and (c)have anything to do with Barbies or American Girl dolls, and I think I might lose my mind. While I recite, “please clean up” like I’m a broken record, a Barbie shoe or magnet or some miniscule piece of who knows what and where it belongs will inevitably end up in the garbage if I see fit. It may be a small victory, but I will continually lose the war against these playthings.

We sometimes get frustrated with the size of our house and small closets and cluttered basement (not quite as extreme as an episode of “Hoarders”, but sometimes it feels that way). We’re not sure what we’ll do with the extra space if we ever move into a bigger house. We hope it will happen sooner rather than later, but at the end of the day, we are thankful to have this roof over our heads. But I highly doubt a bigger roof will constitute a greater tolerance for toys.  

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