Crazy

I have a strong suspicion that I cannot possibly be the only mother of a small child (or children) who is regularly on the verge off plunging of the precipice of sanity. Is it just me? Can't be.

Now, I know that mothers who get paychecks and go off to work have their own sets of stressors, dilemmas, and what have you, but I'm not personally familiar with those experiences. Nor do I know what stay at home moms do while their children are at school and how those days play out. What I am familiar is staying at home with a wild and zany (sparkly, magnificent, energetic, mostly-enchanting) 6 year old whom I try ever so hard to homeschool (more or less).

It's tough. Granted, I probably have more time to work on my Words With Friends moves than most, I also guarantee that I vacuum my table top (who else has a special attachment used just for the table?) , scrape up glue, and wash paint from fabrics more than almost anyone out there. I still have purple tempera paint on my navy suede moccasins. Morning to night and through the night and back again in the morning...

"Yes I'm watching. Hold the pencil like this. It's too cold for the slip and slide! Yes, we can make fake cakes. You need to sleep in your own bed. Go back to bed. Go back to bed. Go back to bed. Brush your teeth. PLEASE try the carrots. The cat doesn't want to be held. Stay in the yard. That's poisonous. Do you want to go to time out? I love you! Be careful! Stay out of the mud. Yes, we can play in the mud. It's time to wake up. Yes, you can wear your princess dress to the restaurant. Pick up your toys! Pick out a book. Why do you hate my singing?!"

It's the constant nature of it all that brings out that ever so attractive eye twitch I've mastered.

I'm secure and happy with the decisions we've made as a family. I'm glad and fortunate to have the opportunity to stay at home with my daughter and be her primary teacher. Few things have been as fulfilling as watching her learn to read (math on the other hand...). I don't want to change a thing.

That said, I'm going out with my friends (downtown hotel, out of season white jeans, shiny shoes, trendy new restaurants, cocktails, art show... The whole shebang. It's a grownup ladies' slumber party, y'all!). Everybody needs a break and mine is coming up soon.

Yay! Back in the olden days, like, say, three or four years ago, I would have had a panic attack if I'd left my husband and daughter home without me for an overnighter such as this. I'm sure you normal people out there aren't as neurotic as me, but I don't think I could have done it then. Fast forward to 2013. This is no longer the case.

I'll tidy up the house, stock the freezer with popsicles and pizza, paint my nails, and be on my way. I'm sure I'll text and call the husband and daughter. I'll try to avoid the impulse to skype or facetime or whatever it's called, and just be present in the moment with my friends. Rejuvenation! And when I come back home that Saturday morning, I'll be ever so happy to vacuum the dining room table with my batteries fully recharged.

Remedial Landscaping

I have zero desire to cook. ZERO. Something in the longer days has tripped a trigger switching from cooking to messing around outside as the only thing I'm interested in. Unfortunately, I'm a much better cook than I am a gardener as my yard is given to show.

I have bizarre plant experiments all around my yard. I like to set a pumpkin aside in the fall and let it rot where it sits because often, the seeds will plant themselves, and the pumpkin will come back. Of course, mine never survive past anything more than vines and a few blossoms because of several things I do to sabotage their success. Never once have I gone to the trouble of planting them properly which, I imagine, explains my success rate. Still though, it's fun for a month or so!

I have had some successes. There's a lovely couple of square feet or so that I've managed to put together. I'm forcing a knockout rose to become a topiary. We're still battling wills but I think I'll win this one. I managed to mulch a tree by myself last year-- definitely a point for the win column.

One of the things I lack is a plan. Organization comes so naturally to some people. I envy them. Only when the weather is right, I've had the perfect number of cups of coffee, and Mercury is not in retrograde, can I grab the perfect moment to eek out something of a bigger picture. Even then it's fleeting.

Trust the professionals, right? I've killed so many undeserving plants. Maybe it's time I consult someone who actually knows what they are doing. I should be able to manage that, I would think: take a picture, note where East and West are, maybe even some measurements for the pros. I know I've heard of places where you can pay a fee for a plan and get a gift card for plants in return. Maybe even a full fledged visit from a landscape architect? Baby steps.

I know my husband would appreciate it if I'd be so kind as to stop planting flowers in the middle of the yard. That's one thing a plan would remedy. And I'm certain that a plant professional would appreciate my desire for a spot for a tomato plant or two (and hot peppers and a bunch of herbs). With a plan, I bet both the mower of the lawn and the maker of the hot sauce can be happy with the yard. Okay, time to get started. I think I just need one more cup of coffee.

Why Not Me

There's a really neat group of people making a documentary regarding the culture of silence surrounding pregnancy loss, miscarriage, stillbirth, and that sort of thing. They have a quite active facebook page, and they posted a very interesting query today. And I quote, "Have your spiritual views changed in the face of your loss? Have you grown closer to God? Do you not believe in God at all? Has your experience strengthened or weakened your faith?"

Good questions. It's easy imagine various reactions to this sort of tragedy and other sorts of devastating losses as well. Some never believed and still don't. Others have had their faith rocked to the core leaving their beliefs either damaged or destroyed. Some feel closer to God while still others may have been delivered to God through their devastation. They all seem like pretty natural reactions, to me.

One thing is for certain. It changes you.

Losing my son was the most difficult thing that has ever-ever happened to me. It was almost 8 years ago and he's still part of my everyday life. Love, sadness, desperation, joy, terror, paranoia, glee... My baby boy still inspires these feelings in me.

His whole little life began and ended inside of me. His life had a beginning, a middle, and an end all without seeing his mommy and daddy's loving faces and it was all contained in those short 37 weeks. But it was a real life. He was a real baby boy. And he changed me forever.

I understand why people are angry with God when something like that happens. For me it was different, though. Believing in God (which was slow to come) helped me cope. Liam is being taken care of. He is warm, safe, and loved-- looked after.

Of course, some bereaved parents may wonder why a God of goodness and love would let something like this happen. And even if you don't believe, you can't help but to ask why.

When I went back for my 6 week checkup after my baby boy was born, my midwife said that my blood work came back fine and that sometimes these things just happen. Just happens? Your baby might just die and sometimes that just happens. So, we could all just fall over dead for no reason, and it gets chalked up to, "it just happens?"

No one knows why, she said. While she was a caring and loving person, this was one of the most terrifying statements I'd ever heard. It's also not true. Healthy people don't "just die." There has to be a medical reason and if you find yourself in this wretched predicament, don't accept that answer. Find a better doctor.

But that's the medical explanation. That doesn't address things like, "why do bad things happen?" Or "what did I do to deserve this?" That's when you get into the ethereal.

Clearly, no one has concrete answers for these laments of the soul. We guess, and hope, and swear, and believe, but it's impossible to "know." Of course, I don't know.

But there are somethings I do know. My son left me with many gifts. I have experienced a spectrum of emotions that not everyone is allowed to tap into. I feel like I've been let in on a secret. That life is precious and wondrous-- not just the words but the true understanding of what that means. We live in a world wrought with peril, beauty, blood, flesh, flowers, and stone. He (my son) gave me a privileged peek into the vast spectrum of the human experience. He's left me with a kindness and empathy that was previously absent.

Did it happen for a reason? Only a supreme deity could say. But it happened. And I changed.

Bend in the Road

It's bewildering how random the world can sometimes seem. I never saw that movie about the butterfly and the wings and all that, but I know and appreciate the sentiment. One insignificant action changes the course of your life in such a major way. You stumble at a curb. Bam! You're in traction for life. You miss one eensie-weensie birth control pill and you're suddenly the parent of twins.

Sometimes these moments are only recognizable through hindsight. What if I had filled out only two applications instead of three that fateful day in 1995? Maybe I never would have met my husband! I love my life so much it sickens me to think of having missed out on all of this by a seemingly random decision. But I guess that's just how things work.

Sometimes, you see the curve in the road. You find yourself at a precipice, a bend, a change. Left with no alternative but to play along with this "choose your own adventure" novel, you plow on, not knowing what's around the turn. Destruction? Glory? Redemption? Definitely change.

Those moments come along with a regularity that is both hard to determine and comforting all at the same time. It's compelling to know that life continues to evolve and grow, regardless of age, with changes, both terrifying and exciting. There's nothing you can do but go through the process and see what awaits.

But it's thrilling. Who knows what tomorrow brings? Maybe your grand schemes will fail in a flaming ball of mess or maybe they will light up the skies for generations to come. Who knows? We make the best decisions we can. We strive, and work, and dream and plan. But what will happen next? I can't wait to see.

Someday, You'll Thank Me.

This is not a real post-- merely a tidbit of info I feel compelled to share. You know those days when you kinda need to wash your hair, but it's kind of borderline? One should not over-wash one's hair.

1.) It's bad for your hair.

2.) Then you'll just have to blow dry it.

3.) It's an unnecessary use of resources (water, soap, precious moments from your life).

So. Those dry shampoos are really cool. Once I bought a tiny bottle of it for $30. It was a different phase of my life, what can I say. I loved the product; it worked great. Then I looked at the ingredient list...

Cornstarch. That's it. It was the most expensive cornstarch I've ever-ever purchased. Never again.

Put a tiny bit of cornstarch in your hands, rub your hands together, massage into roots and scalp. Voila. That just cost you three cents. AND! Your hair will style superbly. You're welcome.

Operation "Pretzel Cheesecake"

Every time a starlet announces her pregnancy, I think, "Ah! Now's my chance!" While the miracle of procreation distorts and expands the body of a once lithe famous person, I start planning my big move towards my most prime physical self yet. After all, this gives me a head start if I'm using them as a model.

It never turns out the way I want. Nine months come and go and before I've even started "Couch to 5-k," Jessica Alba is bouncing around Hollywood-- looking so beautiful it's mildly offensive-- with a kid on her hip. I can just imagine her dashing by with a movie script in her hand, and a bikini under her clothes for an impromptu photo shoot at the beach to reveal her genetically-impossible flawless skin for her mom/baby photo shoot.

Whatever. Maybe I'm going about it the wrong way. Maybe I shouldn't be focused on improving myself but figuring out a way to sabotage the beautiful people instead. Is that wrong? Maybe. Probably. I'll think of it as sharing. So, when you read in the tabloids (you don't read those, do you?) about mysterious cheesecakes showing up on the stoops of supermodels around the world, it might be me. And my motives can be summed up in one word. Sabotage. Uh, I mean, "sharing."

Pretzel Cheesecake

Crust--

Ingredients:

18 squares (not rectangles) of plain graham crackers
6 pretzel rods
1/4 C of sugar
1 stick of melted butter

Directions:

Crush pretzels and graham crackers. Combine with sugar and mix in melted butter (thank you handy-dandy food processor).

Press mixture into the bottom of your spring-form pan.

Bake crust at 350° for 10 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool as you prepare the filling.

Filling--

Ingredients:

All at room temperature...

3 boxes (24 oz. total) of cream cheese
3 eggs
1 C of sugar
1 C of sour cream
2 tsp of vanilla

Directions:

Beat cream cheese and sour cream until smooth.  Gradually add sugar and continue to mix on medium to medium high, add vanilla, and then beat in a egg at a time.

Place hot water into a roasting pan and put on bottom rack of the preheated oven. Position a second rack on the center of the oven for your cheesecake.

Pour into crust and bake at 250° for one hour & 10 minutes. Turn off the oven, open the door all the way open, count to 30, close the oven door and leave the cheese cake to rest for another 50 minutes (not my original intention... I was going turn off the oven at the one hour mark and let it rest in the oven for one hour but I missed timer so I kinda goofed.  Oh well.)

Place cheesecake in the refrigerator for at least 6 hours before "sharing."

Final note. If I had a more extensive attention span, I would absolutely make caramel sauce for this (how awesome with the salty pretzels?!). Maybe for Vanessa Lachey's second child...

Real final note.  Do not remove the shell of the pan before the cake has cooled all the way.  If you do not  heed this warning, you will crack your cheesecake.  You have to give the cake time to cool which results in it shrinking and pulling away from the pan by itself without causing any harm to the cake.

I Might Be Lame

I found myself thinking just now about how perfectly comfortable my Croc flip-flops are and how, by some accounting, they may be my favorite shoes. Then I felt sad. Then I laughed (read, "almost cried"). The many stages of becoming self-aware as a giant dork, and this is where I find myself.

You know, cantaloupe is sort of like Crocs. Sure, it seems overly comfortable and pedestrian, but beneath that boring shell is where the appeal is to be found. A properly ripened cantaloupe has a sophisticated fragrant quality that belies its humble appearance much as the frumpy Croc hides its genius in its well-engineered comfort.

Cantaloupe doesn't get enough credit. Not only is its sweet flesh sensibly delicious, but it is also a terrific source of vitamin A and a bunch of other good for you little ingredients, antioxidants, etc. Sure, it may get condescending glances from the likes of pomegranate and papaya, but so what! Stand tall and round, cantaloupe, and don't let those showy fruits push you around.

Maybe they're not perfect for every occasion. True. But they deserve credit as the workhorses that they are. Who protects your tootsies from communicable grossness (did you know ringworm and athlete's foot are pretty much the same thing?) from the locker room floor? That's right, Crocs. And who happily pairs with cottage cheese, strawberries, or bacon? Our trusty and good friend cantaloupe is here to serve as needed.

So, that's cool. I shall embrace my love of flat and sensible shoes but be certain that having shiny gold sandals in in the far reaches of the closet offers me some peace of mind. They may get brought out into the light of day but a few times a year but they offer a promise-- a promise of sunny parties to come and opportunities that stretch beyond the daily glamour that is the grocery.

But I will remember who's there to do the heavy lifting and who is there to pick up the slack. So, I happily choose the cantaloupe for many of my melon needs and remember to take notice of all that it offers. High-five, melon. Thanks for being you.

I love my daughter's bedroom. I'm sitting in it now as I write this while I listen to her sing in the bathtub. It's pure contentment, I tell you.

Looking around her room, I see marionettes her grammy and grandpa brought her back from India. There's a 3 1/2 foot Cinderella curtesy of her other grandparents-- a hula hoop, a Winnie the Pooh piggy bank covered in Japanese writing from a Jungle Jim's adventure, a bookshelf filled with much loved books from her Amah and others, and more dress-up clothes than I thought able to fit in a closet.

It's not the Ikea furniture or the college era futon that now serves as her bed that moves me to near tears. It is how the room evolves and continues to change filled with treasured artifacts and mementos and favorite jeans so loved they get worn two days in a row.

Hers is not the room it was when she was born nor is it the room I envisioned for my child. In fact, the first nursery that occupied my imagination belonged to my son-- my first born who died 3 weeks before his due date-- who never got to sleep in his bed, or have a favorite sweater, or chew on the board books mommy and daddy bought before his birth.

I look at her dolls and my chest tightens. I don't know if there's a word for that but it's some sort of intense appreciation for my daughter. I know her favorite color and what her voice sounds like. I know she loves to sing and hates lady bugs. I look around and see the physical evidence of her presence on the planet, and that is what brings me to tears.

Eat Your Greens

Simple truths can be so elusive-- like trying to catch a scoop of clouds with a  colander. Everywhere pithy sayings are bandied our way. Clever quotes, trite cliches, the overused adage get lobbed carelessly through the course of a typical conversation with the profound truths that they contain widely missing their target almost every single time.

Some times are special though. There are moments when you "get it." You know, like, really get it. That silly little phrase that's been a part of your parlance for decades suddenly becomes a shining beacon of insight.

Eat your greens is one of those sorts of things. For how many generations have we been chastising our kids and ourselves to eat fresh fruits and vegetables? I'm guessing many, many, many.

We all know you should eat a bunch of fresh fruits and vegetables every day. Grab an apple; seems easy enough. But it's not. Those small but mighty acts of will which lead you to the fruit bowl for a snack rather than microwaving a slice of leftover pizza are like mini miracles that we must conjure up time and time again.

Nothing worthwhile comes easily, as the platitude goes, and this is true! Why go through the hassle of washing lettuce everyday for a salad? Why not just opt for the pizza? Ice cream clearly tastes better than bananas unless you're a crazy person.   It is because it really does make you feel better. Different. Younger. Who knew? Oh, yeah. We all knew.

And those little Cutie clementines? Those things are tasty. Roasted brussels sprouts are really easy to make, taste good, and look really cool sitting there on the roasting pan all slicked up with olive oil and sparkly salt crystals. Now, if I can just turn these acts of will into habit, I'll be good as gold.

Ant and the Grasshopper

I was never much of a saver as a kid. My sister was, though. She would set financial goals for herself, knew exactly what she wanted to purchase with her savings, and made it happen. Can you imagine setting, following through, and reaping the rewards of a well thought out financial plan? Amazing.  She also charged very reasonable interest rates when her 11 year-old sister (that would be me) came to her for the occasional loan.

Are you all familiar with the story of The Ant and the Grasshopper? The grasshopper fiddles and plays all summer long instead of preparing for the grueling winter to come. The ant, not to be caught unawares by the brutal elements, spends his summer collecting food and supplies to weather him through the snowy storms ahead. Predictably, the grasshopper regrets his reckless decisions when winter arrives and must beg for help from the ant to survive. The old school version has the ant standing by and allowing the grasshopper to perish. Our kinder, gentler, modern version has the ant lecturing the grasshopper as he invites him in to stay for the remainder of the season.

Can you guess which one I am? Which one are you? My grasshopper tendencies have me cooking an entire package of bacon during a singular cooking event because I just can't stop myself-- no thought of breakfast for tomorrow!

But, learning from both experience and fables, I squirreled away the bacon fat from the latest bacon cook-fest for another time. That time is today.

Biscuits and Gravy


Biscuits (adapted from King Arthur Flour)

Ingredients:

3 C of flour (I used King Arthur Whole Wheat White)
1 tsp of salt
1 tbs of baking powder
1 tbs of sugar
6 tbs of cold butter cut into chunks
1 C + 2 tbs of half and half

Bacon grease for greasing the pan.

Directions:

Preheat 10 inch oven-safe skillet at 425° for 20 minutes.

Whisk flour, salt, baking powder, and sugar in large mixing bowl.

Using a pastry cutter, or whatever tools or expertise your experience suggests to you, cut the butter chunks into the flour-mix until the mixture resembles a coarse meal sort of thing-- crumby.

Then add all the half and half at once, stir firmly and with purpose so that you can fully combine the mixture in under 10 turns of a large wooden spoon.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured work surface (counter or large cutting board, etc...) and knead about ten times.

Pat into a squoval shape disk that is a bit less than an inch thick. Using a pizza cutter, knife, pastry scraper (what have you) to cut the dough into roughly 2 inch diamonds or squarish shapes (no leftover scraps!).

Carefully remove heated skillet from oven and grease hot pan (using a paper towel)) with bacon fat.

Place biscuits in skillet, return to oven and bake at 425° for about 16 or 17 minutes.

Gravy

Ingredients:

Cooked and crumbled breakfast sausage (one pound) set aside in bowl
2 tbs of bacon grease
2 tbs of flour
2 1/4 C of milk (true story-- I used a mixture of nonfat milk and 1/2 & 1/2)

Directions:

In the skillet used to cook the sausage (a 10 inch skillet), add 2 tbs of bacon grease and heat until melted over medium/medium-high heat.

Add flour and cook for 1-2 minutes (should be bubbly and a light amber color). Add milk in a steady stream while CONTINUOUSLY whisking the gravy.

Bring to just a boil and let bubble softly for about a minute. Season with 1/2 tsp of salt and a few grinds from the pepper mill.

Add sausage and stir.

Will there be enough for leftovers? I guess that depends if you're a grasshopper or an ant. Or maybe you're just hungry.