Bean started taking ballet a few weeks ago. They call it ‘Princess Camp’ and she loves it. There’s a 45 minute dance lesson, followed by watching a part of a princess ballet (they’re doing Sleeping Beauty now), and arts and crafts time. It seemed like the perfect thing, since she’s into princesses and she’s been begging me (of all people) to teach her how to be a ballerina.

She loved the first lesson and couldn’t wait to go back. After the second though she wanted to quit. This morning we’re scheduled to have the third. I spent all week trying to get out of her what the problem is, and I’ve figured out that it’s the teacher. She’s a 17-year old and she does most of the toddler classes.

Apparently, the teacher yells. And she expects the 4-yr olds to do exactly what she says when she says it. Bean tries hard to follow directions, but she doesn’t always understand them. So now - even at home - she’s started responding with “I don’t know” when I ask her if she did something wrong. I can ask why her little brother is crying, did she take a toy away from him, why is she crying, did she understand me when I told her to get dressed… And her stock response now is “I don’t know.” And then she cries. And all of this just in the last week.

I peeked in the window at the class last week - just long enough to see her getting into trouble for not following directions that she didn’t understand. And being yelled at. It broke my mommy heart. And she was trying so hard! So now, I’m about to throw her back into the pack of wolves. Granted, I’ve tried to give her some coping skills, like what to say when she doesn’t understand. And we’ve had the talk about knowing who she is and who loves her - and not getting upset when a silly teenage ballet teacher says something mean.

But I’m conflicted. A part of me wants to march in there, tell them they’re treating children unreasonably. Another part of me wants to approach the teenage teacher and have a heart to heart with her. The bigger part of me wants to remove her from class. But what would that teach her? So off we go. Lunch packed, we’re headed to ballet class for Bean to be verbally pummeled into submission again.

I’m in bed with mastitis. Oh, the fun… the fever… the body aches… And this coincided exactly with Bean finding my Cooking for Kids cookbook, complete with all sorts of party cakes and fun cookies, with pictures of each one.

Fridays are dessert night in our house, and Bean has been approaching everyone in the house and asking them to pick out their favorite cake. Apparently she thinks Mama’s going to jump out of her feverish bed rest to whip up a pirate treasure chest cake, a clown cake, or a dreidle cake for dessert night tonight. (I was thinking something more along the lines of break and bake cookies.) When I told Bean that I’m too sick to make a cake like that tonight her response was “That’s okay. Tata can do it.” (She calls dad Tata - it’s Romanian. Lest there be any confusion, yes my children all speak Romanian and English. Yes, they are geniuses. And no, I’m not biased at all.)  So, she now has it in her mind that Tata is going to make some sort of fancy-schmancy homemade cake in the form of a dinosaur or an angel. I guess all girls think there’s nothing their daddies can’t do.

Bean has been potty trained for nearly a year now, but still asks for help with wiping sometimes. And we oblige her - there’s something to be said for personal hygiene. Well, this morning I heard Bean in the potty patiently asking for help while I was being sucked on nursing. Just as the words “I’ll be there in just a sec!” came out of my mouth, Little Man, who’s still in diapers, went running.

Sopi! Sopi! (that’s what Little Man calls her) Waddaya need hep wit? I hep you! I hep you!

…followed by the sound of hubbs tearing into the bathroom to keep 2-yr old Little Man from wiping 4-yr old Bean’s messy little tushie.

A friend once asked me for my recipe for beef stroganoff. I think that was about a year ago… Well, better late than never, right?

Beef Stroganoff, a la Mudlark

Ingredients

2 Tbs extra virgin olive oil

8 oz. sliced baby portabella mushrooms

1 medium onion, chopped coarsely

1 lb stew beef or steak cut into cubes

1 can Campbell’s Beefy Mushroom soup

1/4 c. Sherry or white wine

1 large dollop of sour cream

Cooked rice, mashed potatoes, or egg noodles

Heat olive oil in large skillet. Add mushrooms and saute while you cut the onion (a couple minutes?), then add the onion. Saute until mushrooms give off their fluid and onion starts to become translucent. Add beef and cook over high heat 1-2 minutes, or until beef is mostly browned, stirring frequently. Lower heat and add soup and sherry. Cover and simmer 10-15 minutes. Stir in sour cream just before serving for maximum flavor. Serve over your choice of yummy, high carb starches - rice, mashed potatoes, or egg noodles. If you want to get all fancy and stuff add a fresh sprig of dill or parsley.

Now, if you think this is ‘authentic’ Russian stroganoff because once upon a time I lived in “Russia” and am therefore an expert in Russian cuisine, read this post. And note that neither Russians nor Moldovans would consider this authentic cuisine from their part of the world. True Russian stroganoff doesn’t have mushrooms, but it does have about a pound of butter and a few other things you won’t find in my version.

And chronic low milk supply.

So I haven’t been a major screwup in breastfeeding my kids. It’s just that my dairy-cow-like-hooters aren’t very dairy-like. I always took comfort in the fact that those things are supposed to be functional - so the burden of carrying them around and finding the elusive comfortable bra was at least a worthy cause. But no more! I might as well be flat as a board, since for all their massive weight, these ta-tas are and always be virtually empty of anything substantive. Can’t say I didn’t try.

Conversation at dinner last night:

I. don’t. want. that. (Little Man)

But, don’t you want to grow big and strong? (Bean)

NO. (Little Man)

But it has protein, and that gives you strong muscles! You should eat it. (Bean)

He still didn’t eat, but I was so proud of my little girl! Now, if only I knew where she learned all that… Of course, she didn’t eat hers either, but it’s the thought that counts. Maybe. (Are there any other children out there who refuse to eat spaghetti, of all things?)

We stayed in Florida for a week, loved the time with the grandparents, afternoons spent in the pool, and our awesome day at the beach. But hubbs and I both have jobs. (*sigh*) So we’re back home now, and it is good to be back.

We spent both Monday and Tuesday at doctors’ offices - the pediatrician, neurologist, audiologist, and ENT. We’re going back to the pediatrician today because apparently Bruiser (the newest addition) is underfed and malnourished. They couldn’t give him his shots at his regular checkup 2 days ago because he was so darn skinny. All my kids have had issues with weight gain in infancy, but this is beyond normal. So we’re headed back this afternoon to see if massive amounts of supplementing and virtually non-stop breastfeeding have solved the problem.

In the meantime, I’m trying not to focus on the fact that I feel like a dairy cow (albeit a dairy cow failing at milk production - which might turn me into plain old beef…). And between shuttling the kids to various doctor appointments (and entertaining them there with such ingenious things as “Who can find something round in the room?” and “Can you count all the lines in the wallpaper?”), I’ve also reorganized my family room. The playroom is next, followed by the kitchen and living room.

It’s nice to be home.

Shelling with gramma

Sandcastles with Papa

Watching the waves roll in

Considering the meaning of life…

We’re getting ready for a beach outing tomorrow and Bean asked today - very politely, I might add - which swimsuit I’ll wear. We launched into a discussion about swimsuits… The brown one, the black one, which is more comfortable, which one she likes better, which one is more suitable for a fairy very godmother, etc. At which point she said, “Mama, you won’t be able to wear a swimsuit. Your tummy is too big.” Hm. thanks. (Watch my self esteem shoot through the roof after that one.)

I’ve been consoling myself with positive self-talk that she just thinks of me as perpetually pregnant. (And when you see me walking through Target with 3 kids 4 and under, it would seem that I probably am perpetually pregnant.) But really, I don’t know what’s worse. That my child thinks (and says) that my current post-pregnancy belly is big, or that she may not have even noticed that when baby #3 was born I took on a new, non-pregnant shape. You’d think that shedding 30 pounds in a few weeks’ time and regaining a lap for the kids to sit on would have at least registered with my 4-year-old who even notices that I didn’t wear earrings today.

Well, I didn’t churn my own butter or papier mache a lifesize replica of Michaelangelo’s David, but I did load a preschooler, a toddler, and a newborn into the suburban taxi minivan and drive (9.5 hours!) to Florida.

Here we are at my parents’ house (sans my wonderful hubby, who’s unfortunately on a business trip). We’re off to the beach tomorrow, so today’s activities involve shopping for pails and shovels, watermelon, and other beach items to keep the troops happy in the 95+ degree heat.

Hubbs will join us on Thursday, so we’re hoping to do another beach outing over the weekend before we undertake the long drive home. What a mighty good man! He drove down with me, only to fly up north for his trip. And he’ll fly back down here so I don’t have to make the drive alone. What a mighty good man.

As for my in-laws? They’re home alone for the very first time since they immigrated here. I left them well-stocked with all the food they could possibly need (including homemade bread and jam, a slew of pears, and a fresh artichoke that they will no doubt ponder if it’s really edible), but I’m looking forward to seeing how they managed with their imposed self-reliance. Maybe it was just the push they needed to feel comfortable taking bigger steps toward independence…