So, a bit of a random mashup of things floating around my brain: I’m dedicating one post a month to the things in life that are share-worthy and actually working in motherhood right now.
Because when shit hits the fan — which, let’s be real, is often — it’s nice to know moms who don’t gatekeep the good stuff.
I’ll be sharing a recipe that I love (because thinking about meals, planning meals, shopping for meal ingredients, making them and then cleaning up those meals occupies an embarrassing amount of my mental space), a product review of something that is actually helpful and useful (unlike the 12 bottle brands you bought to test out before your firstborn that are still collecting dust in the back of your cabinet. GO THROW THEM OUT. NOW!), and a reality check that slapped me.
Recipe
OK, so I am fully aware that spooky season is upon us — and I am HERE for it. Always.
Is my house already decorated with seasonal fall garland and pumpkins? Did I happily cave when my kids begged me to tack on Dollar Tree Halloween window clings when the calendar flipped to September?
Mind your business.
But that being said, I am still always a fan of a good classic summer salad, even more so when that “salad” is mainly just pasta.
Admittedly, it’s hard writing this right now because I am on week one of attempting the Whole30 diet (details in a future post; keep my nonexistent willpower in your thoughts), so pasta isn’t on my plate… but always in my heart.
I’m Italian, after all. It’s practically its own food group and definitely a part of my DNA.
So here I’m sharing a traditional Caprese Pasta Salad that is perfect for the barbecues you’re still squeezing in before it starts snowing — because we all know winter is coming.
Whether you’re going to a tailgate, having friends over for a lazy Sunday, or meal prepping for the week, this is a perfect go-to. It would also make a great easy dish to gift a new mom or friend who is in a tough season.
To me, pasta is comfort. And a dish that is served cold, can be eaten straight out of the bowl from the fridge, and incorporates fresh, bright tomatoes and basil is always going to be a hit for busy moms.
Even with toddlers.
Ingredients
1 pound pasta, such as fusilli, orecchiette, or my go-to: bowtie
16 ounces mozzarella balls, ciliegine or pearls (I use Formaggio)
3 cups cherry tomatoes, halved
½ cup fresh basil (not dried!)
Dressing
⅓ cup extra-virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 garlic clove, pressed
Instructions
Bring a pot of water to a boil and season generously with kosher salt. Generously means more than you think you need, trust me. Add the pasta and cook just until al dente. No gluey, gooey noodles! Drain and rinse lightly with cold water, then let cool.
While the pasta is cooking, drain the mozzarella balls and cut them in half. But pro tip: if you use Formaggio marinated fresh mozzarella salad, you can forgo draining the mozz and actually coat the pasta in the oil and spice blend for a boost of flavor — AKA make your life even easier and make this salad even more delicious.
Thank me later.
Slice the cherry tomatoes in half and add to a bowl with the mozzarella. Add the cooled pasta and fresh slivered basil.
To make the dressing — or enhance the flavor you’ve already got — grab a mason jar with a lid. Add the olive oil, white balsamic vinegar, garlic, kosher salt and fresh black pepper.
Aggressively shake out some of your stress and drizzle over the pasta.
Toss to coat and taste for seasoning. The salad is best after it’s been chilling for about 30 minutes and can be refrigerated for up to 3 days.
Add a protein like cold fresh shrimp or grilled sliced chicken to transform this side dish into a main meal.
Review: The BEST Toddler-Friendly Snack Container I’ve Found
My son just started Pre-K this month, so we’ve been in full back-to-school mode. In the days leading up to his first day, he paraded around the house in his little Lightning McQueen backpack.
I know. It truly was as adorable as you might imagine.
We double- and triple-checked his supplies — mostly because I’m notoriously disorganized, but also because he really liked getting to use the zipper and pull things in and out of his very official big-boy backpack.
One of the must-have items was a snack container he could open unassisted.
For days, we practiced opening different snack and lunch containers. He’s very temperamental and, like most toddlers, gets very frustrated and quickly discouraged if he can’t successfully complete a task on his own.
In an effort to minimize meltdowns and save some sanity for the teachers blessed with caring for a swarm of tiny, hangry toddlers, I was on the search for something that was simply well designed.
The b.box snack box container has been the clear winner, especially when it comes to little hands.
He can open and close it independently and actually manage it himself at school, which is such a huge deal at this age.
We genuinely love it. There are two distinct sides, so my very picky and very indecisive star student can pick Goldfish AND blueberries in the morning to take with him.
A small thing? Maybe.
A very big deal when you’re trying to get a four-year-old out the door independently? Absolutely.
Five stars from this mom.
Reality Check: School Drop-Off
I surprised myself when I didn’t cry at school drop-off.
But it’s okay to be okay.
I know that sounds weird to write because, well, DUH. It’s okay, right? Isn’t that the goal of life? To be okay. To be strong. To build resilient kids and regulated parents.
And truthfully, I am far from regulated most of the time.
I often feel overstimulated and riddled with mom guilt. But on such a monumental milestone — the start of school, the beginning of the yearly ritual of sending my baby off into the world and his symbolic flight from my safe nest — I expected waterworks.
I mean, I know myself.
I have been known to cry during a particularly well-thought-out Breyers ice cream commercial. The bar is pretty low.
But the reality is, I gave him a big hug and squeeze, whispered that I loved him and I’d be back to pick him up soon, and sent him off.
His giant backpack bobbed through the door. A little line of ducklings disappeared toward their cubbies and tiny wipeable desks and chairs.
And I held my daughter’s tinier hand and walked back toward the car, mostly composed.
I felt happy.
Excited for the newness of a routine, a schedule and a new season. Excited for more dedicated one-on-one time with my second born, who I sometimes catch myself still getting to know.
I mean, I know her every little nuance.
Her favorite Disney princess: Elsa.
Her favorite color: purple, of course.
Her baby doll: Johnny, who she named after my best friend’s son.
I know the little, sweet, heart-swelling pieces of her personality, too. How she is quick to share with her brother. How she kisses precious objects of her affection, whether that means a special stuffy or a special rock.
How she will randomly stop me throughout the day, look at me thoughtfully and with purpose, and say, “Mommy, you’re boo-ti-full,” like she’s seeing inside me and wants me to know she notices.
But sometimes it feels as though she’s been playing supportive cast instead of the lead in the film.
Because she and I never got that sacred solo time I basked in when my firstborn was tiny.
All of a sudden, she’s two and she’s talking, and I feel like I missed it all. Like I need to make up for the blur of postpartum haze.
The survival of it all.
I’m excited to get to know her more when it’s just us two — a duo I’ve never really gotten a chance to know because it’s always been the four of us since she came on the scene.
She’s the sidekick. Her big brother’s shadow. Happily following along with his every whim and idea, naughty or nice.
And now, for the first time, I get a little more of her.
I’m excited for my big boy to make new friends, have a new space to explore and discover. For him to develop a relationship with a teacher and know what it means to be part of a group. To master the art of sharing and turn-taking. To navigate the pitfalls of social scenarios.
All the while, I’ll subtly probe him for tiny details.
What color paint did he choose for watercoloring?
What story did they read at circle time?
What friend did he sit next to during snack time?
I’ll fill in the gaps and wonder about the part of the day that’s simply his to keep.
Wondering if he’s feeling happy or discouraged. Left out or included.
That’s the part that makes my heart sink.
“Who will always be there to pick you up and give you a biiiiig hug when it’s time to come home?” I remind him each morning at drop-off.
“Mommy!” he beams up at me.
Still so, so small.
I squeeze his hand tight and send him off.
Hopeful, nervous, happy.
My big, little boy.