What is Life Without Chaos and Pumpkin Pie?

Do you remember that awful feeling of having a teacher disappointed with you when you were in school? Think back to how you felt when you were being reprimanded about something, as you stared down at your Velcro-topped shoes with your corduroys tucked into the tongues, rolling your ankles in and out as you wished you were anywhere but being talked to sternly. But as soon as the dressing-down was over, the teacher would offer a hug and ask you to try better next time and then send you off to recess or free playtime with your friends and all was forgotten.

Now imagine that feeling as an adult and that's the dynamic between my daughter's teacher and myself. Except I don't get a hug and sent off to play. From day one, I've done nothing but stumble and mess up in front of this woman. Try as I might, I just can't get anything right. And then my girl was the first one in her class to have an incident with another child. As if the woman didn't think I was incompetent enough, now my tiny was causing problems.

And it's like I'm eight all over again, having just helped two of my friends bury another little boy's toque in the snow, resulting in the three of us getting detention. It was the first and only time I ever received a punishment such as that. That shame and mortification has never left me, which is why I think I feel my daughter's teacher's disapproval so keenly. And I noticed that I was the only parent consistently being talked to after school about this thing or that that had or hadn't occurred, contrary to what should have happened. My daughter wasn't in trouble, it was me she was after.

Give me a shovel, I need to dig a hole underneath me to be able to lower my self-esteem any further.

The first two weeks of kindergarten were rough. Like I was the child being chided again.

By the way, everything's fine with my tiny in class, things apparently happen when you trap twenty tired and overwhelmed four/five-year-olds in a room together.

I still get stopped on a near daily basis now in week three and four. And I cringe and hold my breathe and tap my shoes together and whisper "there's no place like home" as the teacher approaches. But now that the she has gotten to know my child and understand her quirks, she brings me stories almost every day about how fascinated she is by my wee one and how truly clever she finds my daughter. Things are okay now.

That held breath can finally be released. In for six, out for seven.

My poor daughter, having hung out with me every day (minus thirteen days in her whole life) uses pretty peculiar words for a four year old. Things are "brilliant" or "fantastic" or even "peculiar," for that matter. Her opinions are decided and always well articulated, even if they are a little different. It makes me proud even if she comes across as a bit strange at first.

Or, there was that time she got popcorn and exclaimed that "this is fucking awesome!" That one was all her daddy.

Her teacher told me of an exercise she had the children do after listening to a book about manners. They were to tell a partner one example of them using good manners at home that morning. My beanie happened to be beside the teacher and was overheard saying to her partner, "this morning was not a good morning at all. I did not like it one bit and I did not use any manners. Instead, I'm going to give you an example from yesterday morning, okay?" She had also told her teacher that she was "impressed by Chick Hicks winning the last race of the Cars movie. I thought that it was Lightning's trophy for certain but Chick Hicks won and I was really impressed. It was fantastic." And that's how my four-year-old talks. Maybe this is normal. I certainly thought it was until the teacher made a point of telling me about it. So, normal or not, that's my daughter.

Hold up though, she's not a Snooty McSnooterson. Farts and poop conversations constitute a huge part of her day. Do you all know the song "Boot Scootin' Boogie," by Brooks and Dunn? Of course you do, it was a staple in the 90s. My husband had sung that line, "boot scootin' boogie," one evening during dinner and the small creature lost it. Could not breathe she was laughing so hard. Once we could finally get her to talk, it turns out that she thought he had said "poop scootin' booty." She laughed until she cried.

But isn't it amazing to just take a step back and see things through a kid's rational? She and I were discussing her full name and the fact that she and I both have nicknames, shortened versions of our long names, to use everyday. Then we discussed her father's name, "John." Or, rather "Daniel," if you're a member of his family. His dad's name is John, as was his father's before that, and so on and so forth. So to avoid confusion at home, my John, or John Daniel, has always been called "Daniel" by his family. Upon hearing this, our daughter said, shaking her head, "That's silly, they're his family, they should know his real name," thinking they've gotten it wrong all this time.

By the way, you may have noticed that I call my husband "John" but his family knows him as "Daniel," so why the disparity? John chose to call himself "John" in elementary school outside of his home and it stuck. By the time I met him many, many years later, I, of course, only knew him as "John." Now, place yourself in my shoes and imagine my surprise/discomfort/suspicion upon meeting his family after dating for a short while and they start talking about this "Daniel" guy and asking me questions about him when I only know a "John." Talk about questioning everything you know about a person. But it turns out that he wasn't a lying sleazebag, just a wonderful man with a bad knack for oversights.

I did mention pie in the title of this, didn't I? Well, there will be "holding of the horses," as our daughter used to say. I also mentioned chaos and there has been much of that lately.

In a good way.

As I've been feeling better within myself, my relationships with everyone has been improving, but none so much as with my wee one. That sweet mini that had to watch her mom pull deeper into herself and change from who she had known-- I want her to know that I'm back. We used to always be busy, buzzing from various activities to visits with friends, to doing projects with lots of snuggles and dance parties in between. Then anxiety happened and the fights became more frequent, fun days rarely happened, and everything was just spiraling into an environment where no one was happy. So my focus over the past few weeks has been on her. She deserves every moment of happiness. And adventure.

Believe me, mom-guilt has nothing on the guilt I feel over how wretched this summer must have been for her. So we're doing all the fun things I can think of.

ALL of the things.

She did her first fun run. And I'm so proud of her.

It was a glow run in Peachland at night-- we all covered ourselves with glowsticks and lights and ran three to five kilometres along the waterfront with the stars shining overhead. The event didn't even start until after her bedtime. But I pushed that thought down and we went and had a super fun night with no fights, no tears, just smiles. I could have never done such a thing two months ago. And there were fire dancers! Have you ever seen them? It was mesmerizing. Although my tiny had just completed fire safety drills at school that day (that was super bad timing) and her look of horror and her cries of "they're going to burn themselves!" kind of took away from the total enjoyment of it as I had to soothe her fears of them needing to use her newly learnt "stop, drop, and roll." But it was still the greatest night.

Life really is getting good again. How could it not be when your daughter's face, lit up by the glowstick necklace around her neck, looks up and says, "this is the best night ever, mommy, I love you so much." I'm tearing up again. I'm glad you be back.

Last night we celebrated "Friendsgiving" with a few good friends. Which really, is just Thanksgiving with those we choose to be our family. It was raucous and crazy and a ton of fun. And there was pie.

Although, there were also pumpkin-faced sugar cookies, so guess which treat the kids picked?

Fine, more pie for me.

I had actually roasted the sugar baby pumpkin the other day with some cinnamon and we ate it as a snack until we could eat no more of it. Honestly though, I think it was a "sugar toddler" pumpkin given how big it was. My husband picked it out but then left to work before we could roast it, leaving the tiny and I to eat six pounds of pumpkin by ourselves.

The obvious solution was to make pie.

I may be tooting my own horn, but it rivaled any "unhealthy" pie I've ever eaten. I made mine using whole ingredients, of course (that's kind of what I do), and while it is by no means "healthy" like eating a pile of green leaves may be, it's healthi-er. And if it satisfies you and makes you happy, then it's healthy for your spirit, making it perfect. "Health" isn't just about the food you eat, but how you view your relationship with it. I have a whole lot to say on that in coming posts.

It's Thanksgiving, which means pumpkin pie for breakfast. That's totally a thing in our house. Give me one damn good reason why not? I can't think of single one.

I'll plug my ears petulantly if you actually try to give me a reason.

This pie was delicious. Silky and creamy and divine. Topped with some whipped coconut cream and it was happiness. Ready for this?

Oh yes.

Recipe

1 3-4 pound sugar baby pumpkin, deseeded (save and roast those bad boys!), deskinned, and roasted
1/4 cup maple syrup
2 eggs
2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp allspice
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/2 tsp clove
Crust
12 dates, preferably medjool, pitted
1/2 cup pecans
1 cup almond flour
1/2 tsp cinnamon
A pinch of salt

1. Preheat the oven to 325 F.
2. Process the crust ingredients in a food processor until its a fairly uniform sticky dough.
3. Press the crust evenly into either a glass pie pan or a spring form pan, like I used (I prefer ease of removal over esthetics).
4. Hand-mash or process the pumpkin in a food processor until smooth and silky. Mix in the remaining ingredients.
5. Pour the puree mixture into the crust, leveling it out.
6. Bake for an hour or until fully set. Be sure to check it often to make sure your oven isn't doing sneaky things like burning your crust.
7. Remove from the oven and let it FULLY cool before cutting. I know, it's agony.

Enjoy it with whipped cream or whipped coconut cream. Just don't put the can of coconut milk in the freezer in an effort to hurry the process of making it cold. I can tell you right now, that's a terrible idea that may lead to injury trying to extract it from the can. Learn from my mistakes, people.

I hope you all have the best Thanksgiving weekend with your friends and family. Make sure there's room for plenty of play time, reading a book to a friend,... and pie.