family

Tis the Season for Family Traditions

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 5 Comments

Every family that celebrates Christmas has its own traditions. So far, Chris and I haven’t had much of a chance to create our own – he’s had to work during Christmas Day the last several years. Unfortunately, this isn’t going to be the year to set our own either.

One of the most beloved traditions of Chris’s family – or at least his dad – is “executing the tree” at a tree farm that shares his name. My father-in-law adores tromping out to the middle of nowhere (otherwise known as “west of Saratoga Springs, New York”), picking out, and cutting down his very own Christmas tree. Invariably, it is always brutally cold. And yet, they still have the annual pilgrimage. Of course, this year, Granddad wanted to bring his beloved grandson along over Thanksgiving break. What’s a family tradition if it doesn’t include the newest member of the family? Because I wanted to spend as much time as possible with both sides of the family, I also invited my parents along.

So we all piled on layer over layer of clothing and drove out to the boonies. We dressed Sprout in his brand-new snowsuit, which makes him look like a cross between the Michelin Man and the little brother in A Christmas Story. He gazed at us in puzzlement, wondering what this bizarre swaddle was. Between the suit, the fact that we stuffed him in the baby carrier (not his favorite), and the fact that it was the coldest weather he’s ever experienced, he was utterly befuddled. He wasn’t the only one – much of the time, my mom was wondering why she was there too. She enjoys spending time with my in-laws, but there’s a reason my parents stopped cutting down their own tree a decade ago. Fortunately, we caught the tractor-drawn wagon on the way back to the parking lot after cutting down the tree. After inching along to avoid falling on ice with my baby strapped to me, my back was quite relieved.

The best thing about the cold is getting out of it. Fortunately, the tree farm has a little lodge, where we drunk hot chocolate, ate grilled cheese, and listened to a guitarist sing James Taylor. It almost made stomping back and forth across the frozen earth worth it. Seeing the farm’s adorable snow-white reindeer was also a little magical.

If “executing the tree” is all about North Country-style stubbornness against the weather, my family’s big tradition was all about child-focused coziness. It was actually a whole bunch of traditions combined into one big one – the advent calendar. My mom – who is absurdly crafty – sewed me a frilly, red-and-green fabric advent calendar when I was a little girl. Starting on December 1, I would run downstairs every morning and pull a little piece of paper out of that day’s pocket. Each card had a little clue on it, teasing a different surprise each day, either an activity like seeing the Christmas lights in the park or a little present like a Christmas pencil. Pulling out that card was the highlight of my December days. On Christmas morning, I shuttled back and forth between the calendar and the kitchen, waiting for my dad to finish making coffee so I could pull out the final card and open my presents. When Chris and I started talking about Christmas traditions a few years ago, I was very insistent on doing an advent calendar for our child.

Now, I’m rethinking my principled stand. I have no idea how on earth my mom managed to come up with 25 different clues and surprises. Thinking about it, I have trouble coming up for seven things for one week! I may resort to a modified version of the calendar, where we have clues with activities for the weekends and something simpler for the weekdays. At least I’m reassured knowing that even my mom improvised a little. Since then, she’s confessed that she regularly switched the cards around when she didn’t have something ready for the next day.

Considering all of the effort our families put in for Christmas, I feel rather ashamed of our accomplishments this year – not many at all. I’ve finished most of my shopping and we have a wreath on our front door, which we bought from one of my favorite charities, H.O.M.E. But inside? Nothing. When we realized that we would only be home for two weekends in all of December, we even decide to not get a tree. Dragging Sprout out in the cold, pulling out all of the ornaments, and putting them all away just seemed like way too much time spent for not enough enjoyment. Even when I had a snow day off from work, we spent it playing with Sprout and building a snowman.

Fortunately, Sprout doesn’t care about our lack of decorations except perhaps that he won’t have all of these lovely, delicate things to stick in his mouth. We’ll definitely need to raise our standards in the future, but for now, the most important thing is not to stress out about more than we need to. With a new baby, we have plenty of other things to worry about.

Giving Thanks for New Foods

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 3 Comments

Thanksgiving week was a week of milestones – besides the holiday, Sprout ate “real” food for the first time.

The pediatrician recommended that we start him on solid foods at the fifth month, beginning with rice cereal to get him used to eating from a spoon. We’d been doing that for the past week, but it was providing more entertainment value for us than nutrition for him.

But the day before Thanksgiving was Sprout’s introduction to the wide world of vegetables. While I was never super-keen on a wide array of veggies as a kid, I’ve grown to love them as an adult. I eat very little meat and am an avid gardener, with an almost exclusive focus on edible plants. So I was particularly excited that the first real food we fed him was one that we grew ourselves.

Of our crop of root vegetables, we chose sweet potatoes. They are sweet for veggies, so he would have a relatively pleasant experience. In addition, they’re packed full of nutrients, so even though he wouldn’t be getting many calories, they’d provide a lot more value than the rice cereal. The night before, Chris chopped them up, steamed them, and blended in ice cubes to create a puree. (In his “past life,” he was a professional cook, so his experience making purees for fine dining translated well to baby food – just leave out all of the ingredients like salt and oil that make it tasty for adults.)

The momentous time arrived – just as we were trying to get out the door to drive home for Thanksgiving. So much for taking time to savor the wonders of childhood. Nonetheless, we tried to make it meaningful, including the requisite videotaping.

Despite our enthusiasm, Sprout was more confused than anything else. He’d open his mouth, take the spoon in, close his lips, and then roll the food around until it either ended up on his face or down his throat. He was making a face like he wasn’t enjoying it, but kept opening his mouth back up. Chris thinks that every mouthful, he thought, “Maybe it’s milk this time?” and then, “Oh, I guess not. How disappointing.” Fortunately, babies don’t have strong deduction skills.

It’s probably the best reception we could expect. While the rice cereal was half-milk, the sweet potatoes were far different from anything Sprout had ever eaten. While I know there are zero guarantees, I’m hoping that by starting him on fresh vegetables from the beginning and progressing to tastier ways of cooking them that he’ll grow to love them. I’m a big believer in having kids trying foods multiple times, especially when combined with a “no thank you” taste policy. My mom always had me take at least one taste and I’m a pretty adventurous eater now.

The best part of introducing Sprout to sweet potatoes was that he could actually eat with us at Thanksgiving dinner. Before he was able to sit with minimal support, we either had to put him in his pack-and-play or trade him off between us as the other person ate. Meals were inevitably rushed. Now that he’s able to sit in his high chair at dinner, he feels much more like a member of the family. The fact that he was actually eating something similar to what we were – albeit without seasoning – just reinforced that feeling.

Having Sprout with us was even more significant because it was the first time that Chris and I were able to make it home for Thanksgiving in years. Chris always had to work on Thanksgiving, so he couldn’t even have a “real” Thanksgiving dinner, much less be able to go home. Being able to all eat together – my parents, his parents, and us with Sprout – filled me with so much thankfulness for our family. Sprout’s constant smile and joy at being with his grandparents was just the whipped cream on the Thanksgiving pie.