The Week Without a Country?

When I was a kid, I watched an ancient movie (50's?) entitled 'The Man Without a Country.'  This guy had done some spying against his homeland and was condemned to spend the rest of his days without a country, basically he got to live on a ship but was never allowed to go on land.  It was really sad.  That's sort of what the week between Christmas and New Year has always felt like: an awkward span of days that is bereft of the Christmas jollity yet prior to the purpose and excitement of a dawning year. The hangover after Christmas?  At least that's what it has always felt like.  This year, it feels more like a time of rest and reflection, a time to recover from the busyness of the holiday marathon, to reflect on what has been and what will soon be.  As a kid, it was pretty much torture, but as an adult who just bid farewell to the last of our in-home celebrants, I am rather relishing the quiet.  I guess I must be all grown up at last; scary thought indeed!

Exploding Egg Salad

So we had to get a new stove and I'm still learning this one's quirks, one of which is that it doesn't heat as quickly as my last stove, meaning I need to adjust my mental timing when planning meals/cooking things to make sure they are done on time.  Or that my food is fully cooked before serving…

Eggs were on sale this week so I thought I'd whip up a batch of egg salad:

4 eggs
Mayo, mustard, vinegar, salt, pepper, simple!

Except my eggs were only partially cooked (think soft, squishy tomato consistency).  I peeled one but threw away half of it as it stuck to the shell.  Instead of reboiling the other three, I thought I'd speed things up and use the microwave, and yes I know things like eggs and potatoes tend to explode therein if not treated carefully.  So I cracked the shell on Egg 1, threw it in and took it out the second it split in half and scooped out the cooked innards with a spoon, much easier than peeling!

Enter Egg 2, same treatment, except this one blew up quite spectacularly.  It was a mess but I haven't had this much fun in the kitchen in ages!

Clean microwave and crack Egg 3 completely in half, perfect.

So there you have it, a new holiday tradition!

How to eat, or not?

It is a challenging world we live in, at least dietarily, especially when feeding company.  I had a friend who had one side of the family that was vegan (no eggs, milk, or meat) and the other side was gluten free (no flour type products) and they were all at her house at the same time!  Some people have a medical necessity to avoid certain foods (allergies, sensitivities, celiac disease, etc.) while others have basically jumped on the idea as a fad or alternative religion.  Is gluten free still all the rage or have we moved on to paleo or something else?  Remember the atkins diet?  Even the scientific opinion on the subject seems to shift sporadically.  Eggs are either bane or blessing depending on the year.  Salt and cholesterol and red meat were going to kill us back in the '90's but now it is okay; coffee and red wine are also either miracle or poison, depending on the most recent study.  So how do you cook for people at all in this day and age when everyone has a medical necessity or a strong preference?  Especially when many who have elected to eat a certain way get highly offended when you don't bow to their wishes?  Why is it people who have a medical reason for their diet are so much more accommodating than those who choose to eat a certain way?  I've never been preached at by a celiac patient that gluten is evil, but I've heard plenty of sermons on why I need to eat organic or go vegan or avoid red number 5.

Even the food labels have gone bananas.  They no longer say what's in the product (well they do, in teenie tiny letters) but the big bold lettering goes to such proclamations as fat free (jelly beans, 100% sugar), gluten free (salt), no antibiotics (poultry, but you get in big trouble if you sell tainted meat so I'm not sure what the point is), natural flavoring (soda, definitely a healthy alternative), no preservatives (this really irked me, granola bars are supposed to have a long shelf life!)…you get the idea.  No wonder people are confused by what to eat and how to cook.  But a little common sense will go a long way in this as in all else.  Eat what you like, a wide variety and all things in moderation.  There is no magic diet that will let you live to 100 regardless nor will eating bacon (or whatever) once in a while kill you.  On the other hand, worrying about it too much may just give you an ulcer.  Also, if you are enthusiastic about your new diet, that's fabulous but please don't beat us nonbelievers over the head as dolts and evil doers, we're living as we think is best, just as you are.

An answer at last

It happens more often than I'd like: I'm somewhere minding my own business and either a former acquaintance or a complete stranger who has discovered my professional proclivities asks how business is going.  I stand there rather embarrassed and wonder how to answer when I work in my professional trade hardly at all right now and spend most of my waking hours saying things like 'don't ride your trike down the stairs' and 'no, you can't put peas up your nose.'  Why am I the embarrassed one?  Why is it a cultural faux pas to ask how motherhood is going rather than assuming my career is the only thing of import in my life?  Since when is being a stay at home mother something categorized in the 'don't' ask, don't tell department?'  There seems to be a cultural assumption that if you don't have to stay at home, you don't.

The last time this happened, I heard myself saying in answer to their perplexed look at the idea that I only work part time, says I, "I'd rather be a mom."  And it was true and rather freeing!  Society may look down on parenthood, see children as a nuisance, and wonder that anyone would spend any more time than necessary with their kids, especially with the ubiquity of public school and day care, but as a former kid who really didn't have parents (with my raising left to said ubiquitous institutions), let me tell you that society has it all backwards.  Family is the most important thing to a developing person and to the future of society as a whole.  We're raising a whole generation of screwed up citizens who think work or football or social media is the most important thing in life, which does not bode well for the future of our society.  I think raising two or three happy, healthy, well adjusted people is a whole lot more important than whether I'm fulfilling the cultural norm, and it's okay, I'm just weird like that.

Honey Mustard Pasta Salad

I was asked to bring a salad to a Thanksgiving gathering and queried whether she meant green, pasta, jello, or other, to which she responded that it was my choice.  I've never made a pasta salad before and as I was in possession of neither greens nor jello, it seemed an opportune moment to experiment.  Now if you know anything about pasta salads or have ever googled a recipe pertaining thereto, you know the choices are infinite.  I wanted something a little more exciting than a basic mayo/ham/pea concoction but since that is what I had in my pantry and I didn't want to buy a lot of ingredients it would have to suffice.  I found a recipe for a honey mustard/mayo type and thought it sounded good but modified it using my honey mustard dressing recipe and the results were excellent.  Just tangy enough, just sweet enough, and just a little different.

Honey Mustard Pasta Salad:

Dressing:

Combine 1 1/2 cups salad dressing (miracle whip) with 1/3 cup each honey, vinegar, and yellow mustard, salt and pepper to taste.  For best results, let the dressing (or the entire salad) sit for at least 6 hours to allow flavors to blend.

For the salad:

Boil 16 oz of your favorite pasta (I like rotini) in salted water and cook until 'al dente' (firm to the bite), cool under running water.  Mix in whatever else you have/like.  I added 1/3 cup diced onion, 6 boiled eggs, 2/3 cup frozen peas, 2/3 cup diced ham, 2/3 cup shredded cheese.  Add dressing and mix well, you can add some milk if the salad is too dry, check every so often as it sits; mine needed about 2/3 cup but it made a nice creamy salad.  Chill and enjoy!

Twice Baked Potatoes

This is a tasty, handy, and filling side dish, meal, or appetizer for special occasions or group gatherings. The best part is you can pretty much modify it to your own tastes and with ingredients you have on hand.  I prepare it ahead of time, keep it in the fridge until needed, top it as desired, and then just throw it in the oven to heat through.

However many baked potatoes you would like (size, type, etc. to taste), cooled.

Cut each cooled potato in half lengthwise, scoop out the innards and place in a bowl, and set intact skin aside.  Mash potato innards with milk, butter, salt, pepper and seasoning to taste (onion, garlic, parmesan cheese…) and refill each skin.  Refrigerate until needed or top with preferred toppings (cheese, ham, onions, peppers, bacon…) and replace in oven, heat through and serve.

The Zombie Apocalypse

I don't get it, I really don't.  What's with the zombie craze?  Last year they showed up on my doorstep the day after Halloween asking for canned goods for the local food shelf.  This year, they were running all over main street (with a few teenage mutant ninja turtles) during our town's trick-or-treating event for little kids at the local businesses.  There's even a movie coming out somehow combining zombies and Jane Austen.   I think I'm the only one not onboard with the idea that a zombie apocalypse is a nice change from all the end of the world talk centering around climate change or the latest respiratory virus out of Asia.  Hey, if teenage mutant ninja turtles can make a comeback, why can't Y2K?

What is so fascinating about animated corpses that thirst after brain tissue?  Why would you want to dress up as one?  I really don't get it, in fact, I much prefer Y2K, at least with Y2K I don't have to try explaining to my three year old why that guy over there has an eyeball hanging out of its socket.  On the bright side, they aren't teletubbies (are those things still around?), which are probably the most frightening thing ever conceived by the mind of man (furbies are a close second).  Now there's an idea, forget Jane Austen and zombies, let's do zombies versus teletubbies!  Can I patent that?  I'm probably too late...

Going to pieces

I said I would never do it again, the last time it took me 20 years, this time it took me 48 hours.  My husband was gone for 2 days, so in the interim I succumbed to some sort of 'nesting' induced madness and cut out, sewed together, and hand stitched a binding on a Queen sized quilt.  My three year old and I binge watched Jane Austen movies and disney cartoons from the early 90's while I sewed like a maniac.  I am not a fervent sewer (I can sew a straight seam and that's about it) and I have no idea what got into me.  The great news is that I discovered a way to make a quilt without any actual quilting.  Last time I paid someone to do it, this time I just cheated.

Upon my marriage, I inherited a comforter of the same vintage as my beloved disney movies and it was the ugliest thing ever, never seeing the light of day unless a house full of guests invaded, requiring every blanket in my possession for their comfort; it was probably the worst dowry ever.  I ripped out the original seam and intended to use only the batting and the black fabric from the bottom, but the thing was so old and decrepit that one could literally see through the original fabric, instead, I just sewed a new quilt top over the entire thing then put on a new binding and voila, a quilt with no quilting.

I also had in my possession a set of queen size flannel sheets, and even though I love flannel sheets, I had never used these even though I had had them in my possession for 8 years.  Why?  I am not a cat loving spinster in my late 50's.  And while the giant, smiling snowmen on the flat sheet and the pillowcases were cute and no doubt impressed my mother (who meets the above description and bought said sheets on clearance and presented them to me as a christmas gift, little believing anyone could have taste differing so greatly from her own), I had never been forced by necessity to use them.  So I hacked them to shreds (or rather into blocks and binding strips), sewed them together and made a rather adorable (and soft) comforter.  What was unpalatable as a whole, was actually rather pleasing in six inch squares and will now find daily use in the colder months rather than moldering in my linen closet for another decade,

Immortal fish

Have you ever owned rent-a-fish?  That's what I used to dub the unhealthy, soon to die, fish you bought at the local giganto-box-store with their 90 day return policy.  I wouldn't recommend buying fish there if you want a happy tank, but as I lived 45 miles from anywhere and they were the only place open and selling fish at the time and day I was in town, and with their ludicrous return policy, why not?  So I'd buy a fish, it would die 2 weeks later, I'd stick it in the freezer (you had to take the dead fish back!), and go get a replacement (I also had a small tank, so I didn't have a whole community to infest with disease).

Now I live 80 miles from anywhere.  After the last fish died, I decided I wanted to try jellyfish.  Yes, jellyfish, in my five gallon freshwater tank.  Silicone jellyfish.  They won't die, they are immortal!  And at $2 a pop (including shipping) on Amazon, they are cheaper than most of my rent-a-fish and I don't have dead aquatic life in my freezer.  Who knows?  Maybe I am just talented enough to kill them too?

Queen of Socks

"Her home and her housekeeping, her parish and her poultry, 

and all their dependent concerns, had not yet lost their charms."  

~Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice~

I was rereading Pride and Prejudice the other day and ran across this little gem, referring to Charlotte's contentment in her situation as Mrs. Collins, even with such a husband.  Thankfully, I did not marry a man like Mr. Collins, but as a former apartment dwelling career woman turned mother, pastor's wife, and domestic diva, I certainly find this quote fascinating.  I was a tad nervous (nay terrified) to become a stay-at-home mother, imagining the drudgery of being trapped at home day and night with screaming, ill-behaved micro-ruffians with never a moment's peace, but as with many things in this life, I was gravely mistaken.  I have never had more fun, been more content, or felt more at peace with myself and my situation.

Modern society turns up its nose at the domestic arts, declaring vehemently that no self-respecting woman should be forced to mop floors and wipe noses nor would any sensible woman choose such a fate.  That is why they invented day care, take out, and cleaning services!  You work insane hours so you can afford to pay someone else to attend to all the tedious chores of simply staying alive.  That really makes very little sense if you think about it.  Why work yourself to death for the privilege of paying someone else to raise your kids and cook your meals and wash your socks?  Where is the living and life in that?  There may be very little glory in washing socks, but they're my socks and I washed them and only lost 3!  That's an accomplishment, isn't it?  Can you imagine my resume?  

It is amazing how attitudes have shifted, what once was a staple of any society: a woman running and managing the household, has become a thing to be wondered at.  Women have been the CEOs of their own homes since the dawn of time, and it is to their dedicated service that most societies owed their thriving and success.  They raised all the leaders and soldiers and craftsmen and philosophers, not to mention managed the affairs of their household so successfully that their husbands could attend to business and matters of state without worrying that their own personal interests would disintegrate without them.  These unsung heroes have been the cornerstone of society for generation upon generation, it is only in the modern world that we scoff at the very foundations of our life and prosperity, and the results are not hard to see.  Our families are falling apart, virtue is nonexistent, the stress and hecticness of our lives is unrivaled in history, and no one seems the happier for it, cynicism, discontent, and depression are rampant.

Like the prodigal son, our entire society has left home intent on pleasure and success, but as soon as our money runs out, so do our friends and fun, leaving us to wonder whyever we left home in the first place.  Kingdoms rise and fall, but home and family have always been the cornerstone of society and civilization and will ever be so while this world lasts.  And being a Queen of Socks is a vital role indeed!

Life Lessons from the Adoption Trenches

If you are an adoptive parent, or are thinking about taking the plunge, there are no doubt a few things this unique life experience will soon teach you that weren't mentioned in the instruction manual, if there is such a thing.  You've heard the horror stories (then they took the child away...) and the miracles (they were on the waiting list like three minutes!) and the complete nonsense (now that you're on the waiting list, you'll definitely get pregnant!), but still you have no idea what you are in for until you've lived through it, and everyone's experience is different, even if they've adopted more than once.  But here are a few strange truths most adoptive parents discover along the way:

• People really do mean well, even if they are nosy, ignorant, and have no concept of tact, at least most of them do.  I am not sure which is worse: people that think they know everything about adoption because they know someone who has adopted or they read an article once or the people that ask really awkward questions, loudly, in front of 57 strangers.  Your entire life story and that of your kids is now fair game to any and all comers, at least as far as they are concerned.  And just wait until you start getting advice about every aspect of the process and even parenting tips from people who have never adopted or even had kids.  Just think of it as another exercise in patience and a chance to develop your social skills on the topic, just try not to physically hurt anyone.

• No matter what you tell them, there are just some people that will never 'get it,' and insist that their ideas, opinions, or stories hold water, even if they have no basis in reality or applicability to your situation.  Don't waste your time or frustration on these people, just smile and nod then change the subject or find a convenient excuse to leave the situation.  Then go home and have a good laugh.

• You may feel like a criminal, a scoundrel, or have an overwhelming sense of guilt; for some weird reason, adoptive parents are sometimes viewed and occasionally treated, I hope unwittingly, by certain individuals, as if they lingered on the shady side of virtue.  How dare you 'take' a child away from its real parents!  You are not a kidnapper, no matter how that grumpy nurse or overly zealous social worker make you feel.  While the circumstances surrounding the adoption, whatever they be, that sunder a child from its biological parents are certainly grievous and sad, they are by no means your fault or illegal and no one should be making you feel that they are.

• You feel like you could work for the FBI or some other top secret agency after all the paper work, interviews, and background checks.  You really begin to wonder why everyone else can just go to the hospital, pop out a kid, and go home, no questions asked and why you still have to stand in line at the airport in your stocking feet after all that?  Shouldn't you at least get a card that says 'All Clear' or some such?

• Social workers are human too, and most of them are not out to destroy your chances of parenthood.  And yes, they will undoubtedly find something questionable in your life history that will make them question your fitness for parenthood, but after enough remedial classes, counseling sessions, and reading assignments, you just might make the cut, maybe, I hope…relax, you'll be fine.  Just try to relax and get through the home study, which is about like saying 'relax' to the person about to undergo a colonoscopy.  They tend to be a jumpy lot, and rightfully so as they are responsible for placing a child in a new family, but they do tend to flinch and gape at things that most other people hardly notice.  Let's just say I never mentioned that our son slept in his carseat the first four months of life as he absolutely refused to sleep in his crib.  Had he been our biological child, it would be an amusing anecdote, but as a recently placed adoptive child, our social worker might very well have had a heart attack and we'd be reading a stack of books on SIDS and flat-head syndrome and none of us would get any sleep for the next four months, which is obviously the far better alternative.

• You will occasionally be jealous, frustrated, and feel sorry for yourself as you go through life, especially if you have suffered through infertility along the way, and nobody will understand.  You are not a horrible person, you are human.  Becoming a parent is a desire wired into your very soul and when you watch others, especially those who abuse or neglect their kids, do so with ease, such a reaction is quite natural.  This does not mean you should wallow in the sensation or allow it to influence your behavior for the worse, but it will happen.  Baby showers/announcements, expectant friends, the maternity section at your favorite store, Mother's/Father's Day, any holiday except Groundhog's Day, stories about abused/neglected kids, unhelpful comments from friends/family/strangers, did I mention Gender Reveal Parties?, and a plethora of other triggers all seemingly designed to ruin your mood/day are lurking just around the corner.  And while you learn to deal with the grief, even after you adopt, it will never quite go away.

• Wherever they came from, whatever their age, nationality, gender, or whatever, they are and will always be your kids and could be no dearer had you borne them yourself, even if it wasn't 'love at first sight,' which it never is.  Even when they 'hate' you and pine for their 'real' parents; every parent puts up with this, biological children just don't have the convenient option of flinging their birth parents in your face, but they'll find something else with which to batter your emotions.  Welcome to parenthood!

• No matter how awful, dreadful, tedious, and expensive, no matter how hard you swear it won't happen again, it just might.  This parent thing is kind of addictive.

Pigs and pearls

Do not give dogs what is sacred, neither cast your pearls before swine lest they trample them underfoot and then turn again and rend you.  Matthew 7:6.

I've never liked working with pigs, while they are intelligent and can be agreeable creatures when they choose to be, many of them have a nasty side and woe betide anyone caught in the pen with them at such a time.  They can become downright vicious, and some of the larger specimens can reach several hundred pounds or more in weight, most all of it muscle.  I was supposed to catch a little pig and treat some minor ailment, but he scooted away and dashed into a pen containing several large sows, which were barking at us in agitation, needless to say, the little pig made good on his escape as I was not about to go into the pen with those angry sows.  The verse above uses a very powerful metaphor, but it warns not of pigs, but of people.  Swine can only rend the flesh, people will break your heart.

This was a very hard lesson for me to learn, being by temperament very tender hearted and wanting to please everyone, which in my foolish idealistic head, I somehow thought possible!  But life has taught me otherwise.  Are we to be hard hearted and callous towards our fellow men?  Certainly not, but there comes a time when we need to quit doing everything we can to help or please someone who sees no reason to change their behavior and even throws your good intentions scornfully back in your face.  We must be wise with whom we entrust our hearts.

Reupholstering an office chair

This is the best office chair in the world, except for the flaking/cracked fake leather and a seat worn nearly to the padding.  Being the cheapskate er economical person that I am (and loving this chair), I really had no wish to buy a new one.  So the answer was simple: google.  You can even learn to do surgery online (not recommended, but possible), so why not recovering an office chair?  I found a couple examples online, borrowed a staple gun, bought some unassuming black outdoor fabric (I wanted something in an obnoxiously blue pattern but my husband has no flair for the exotic), and got to work.  Every chair is different, so a step by step tutorial is certainly not helpful, but I took the beast apart enough to recover the arms and seat, secured it with the staple gun, then reassembled (yes, it was a bit putzy and annoying) but the results speak for themselves.  Not bad for $10.

Second chances

It's different this time, but then, it's not.  The ache, the longing, the impatience, the hope, the despair, the excitement, and yes, the fear are all there: old friends, good and bad, that haven't changed a whit.  Will it happen?  What if it doesn't?  What if it does?  What if there are complications?  I suppose every adoptive parent struggles and communes with these same emotions, be it the first or the fifteenth time.  But I wonder what it is like for 'normal' people, if there is such a thing.  The last time I went through this wait, I was working more than full time, suffering from a medication reaction that left me feeling like I had the flu 24/7, and was still suffering under the assumption that I had had a 'normal' childhood when in truth I was so emotionally battered from constant abuse that I couldn't even admit it to myself.  Mix that in with the stress and emotional turmoil of a first time adoption and you can imagine the fun.

The adoption itself went fairly smoothly, though I thought it was a pretty rocky process at the time, but that was because of me, not so much the prevailing circumstances.  I had such a longing to be a mother, the wait drove me to distraction, but I had no idea why I was so desperate, it wasn't as if I had wanted kids or a family all my life.  As far as I knew, family life sucked, but thankfully there was something deeper, wiser, that knew better than my ignorant self at the time and left me open to the idea, even if I did not understand why.  Now, on the downward slope of dealing with my abusive past (I hope), having experienced the joys of an actually happy family, and dispensing both with my career and physical maladies, I find myself waiting again.  I am not nearly so desperate this time, having a child and family already, but the ache, the longing, and the impatience are still there.

But what I wonder is, how much of this longing is tangled up in my grisly past?  How much is hope for my family's future and how much is the desire to right past wrongs?  I never knew happy families existed until my own was established.  I did not know how wretched was my childhood.  Seeing my son's joy and wonder and excitement as he discovers each new day is enough to break my own heart (formerly rather cynical towards all such things) with sheer joy.  How much of this longing for a family of my own is based not in the hope of the future but in the heartbreak of the past?  What is it like to come from a 'normal' family and have relatives, particularly parents, that rejoice with you?  What is it like to wait when your heart has not been broken and trampled underfoot and then pieced carefully back together yet is so fragile you fear it might break at the slightest touch?  I guess I'll never know, but I am glad to have this chance to be a mother again, when my poor brain isn't fogged with the horrors of the past or the distractions of the present.  A second chance at life and love and joy, something I could not even begin to imagine as a little girl, unloved and unwanted and sorely reminded of that fact on a daily basis.

Cultural taboos

Have you ever noticed how all the evil villainesses in the fairy tales are always stepmothers and never the female biological parent?  It seems there is some sort of cultural taboo, even in our own crazy modern world where the very definition of family has gone topsy turvy, against speaking or thinking ill of your mother.  A father may be abusive or a jerk or abandon his family and no one thinks to doubt the tale, but what happens when mommy is the villain?  Those nearest and dearest to you make excuses or don't believe you or think you are exaggerating.  And you know what?  They are probably right, after all, a mother couldn't possibly do that to her child.  So I'll just go back to blaming myself, hating myself, and knowing that I deserve it; it's not her, it's me.

But mothers are as human as anyone, having a kid doesn't magically make them goddesses, above mortal failings.  After we brought our son home, he was crying and wouldn't be soothed and I remember sitting down with him and crying too, because there were such strange feelings swirling in my heart that I could put no name to.  It was at that moment I realized what a mother's love was and was nearly in a panic that I had never felt it from my own mother.  What was wrong with me?  But it wasn't me, it was her.  I've spent my entire life blaming myself, making excuses for her, and pretending everything is okay.  I've quit pretending, I've quit blaming myself, but how do I talk about this to anyone?  Even those closest to me did not believe it at first, of course, I hardly believe it myself.

It is both freeing and desperately sad, for I look back at my blighted childhood and every special day that wasn't and wonder what it might have been like to have a mother, a happy family, to surround me and celebrate with me.  I can't bring back the past, but I no longer need to let her cast her dour shadow over all my future celebrations.  It is strange to grieve for something that never was.  I will never cry at her funeral, but I will mourn now for the mother I never had.  It is easy enough to explain grief when a loved one has died or you've suffered some other obvious loss, but how do you explain this sort of pain, this sort of loss?  Because it isn't possible, I'm sure your mother loved you, it was only a misunderstanding, right?

No, it was not and I am only finally admitting it, even to myself.  And it won't take much to push me back into that fog-shrouded mire of self-doubt, self-loathing, and knowing that above all mortals, I deserve to be most miserable because I am so awful even my own mother can't love me.  Do your sisters, wives, daughters, and friends a favor, if ever they tell you that their mother was abusive: believe them, support them, listen without judgement or giving banal advice, just listen and believe it is possible.  It is time to stop pretending.  It isn't your fault.  No one deserves this, most especially a child at the hands of their mother.  But there is also hope, healing, and a future, whatever your past, but the first step is admitting it and to stop blaming yourself.

It's Tradition!

During our first adoption attempt, our social worker kept telling us the importance of creating family traditions; I heard what she said but filed it away under 'things not vital to sanity at the moment.'  Now that the object of that first attempt is approaching his third anniversary of being legally our son, that bit of advice seems far more important.  We grabbed lunch with my in-laws at a pizza place after the court hearing finalizing our adoption and have not really celebrated Finalization Day since, mostly because life was crazy and up until this point, our son really didn't care one way or the other whether a certain day was 'special' or not.  Now that he's old enough to appreciate that fact, it is time to party, or so me thinks.

My family didn't really celebrate anything growing up, not because it was proscribed religiously or for anything half so interesting, but tragically because family, and we kids in particular, really weren't all that important.  It was certainly weird when I married a man whose family celebrates everything, except maybe Groundhog's day.  Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Anniversaries, Mother/Father's day, you name it, it all mattered.  Comparing my childhood to that of my husband, there is no question that celebration and joy are far better than anything I experienced growing up and I definitely want that to be a part of our family tradition.

But how do you celebrate an adoption finalization?  Baby showers and weddings are all pretty straight forward, as are graduations, birthdays, and various holidays.  I'll just have to make it up as I go along.  First we are going to put on coordinating clothes and take a bunch of silly family pictures; green shirts anyone?  Then we'll spend the day exploring a scenic natural area (in said green shirts) and then stop for lunch at the same restaurant (same restaurant, different town) wherein we celebrated the original finalization.  Sounds like a dream come true for a three year old boy!  Viva la tradition!

Wisdom

We were at a wedding dinner with lots of little kids running around, and as we're trying to adopt again, I asked our son (currently 3) if he wanted a brother or a sister.  After a thoughtful pause, he glanced at the cake table and said solemnly, 'me want dessert.'  Can't argue with that!  I should have asked if he wanted white or chocolate cake.

Of legos and lawsuits

People can get money from restaurants for spilling hot coffee on themselves, so why can't aggrieved parents seek redress for injuries sustained whilst stepping on small building blocks with bare feet?

There are jobs and then there are jobs

"Do you have to work tomorrow?" It was an innocent enough question, small talk really, it was the answer that was complicated.  I was at a medical conference fulfilling my continuing education requirements for licensure and it was my first time 'back' in that world since losing my job.  All around me were professional career people chatting about on call and full caseloads, working long hours in all weather.  That used to be me, and I really don't miss it.  I was a slave to my phone, it would ring at all hours and I'd be expected to go out and fix something, no matter the weather, family obligations, or hour of the day, regardless of sleep.  I missed the entire first year of my son's life; I had pneumonia one winter and refused to take time off work to go to the doctor or even go to bed, my job was too important.  I was an idiot!

I do work very part time, but my professional career is no longer my main 'job,' and I didn't expect the young lady with whom I was conversing to understand that.  How do you explain to a room full of professional career people that you gave it all up to stay at home with your kids and that your husband's career actually involves the whole family?  The first day of the conference was Sunday and I had actually planned to skip church and go that morning, but our musically talented people would all be gone so I ended up going to church and leaving right after I finished singing.  Nothing like leading worship and then dashing off to a medical conference!  Just another day in the life of a pastor's wife.  No, she wouldn't understand.  I gave some vague answer as the last session finished up and went home to attend to my real job, even if I don't get paid for it.

Sourdough Waffles (Figgins Strikes Back)

The great and lengthy search ended at last: I found a waffle maker at a garage sale.  I'm not a huge waffle fan (having mostly eaten those horrid frozen ones) nor am I fond of appliances that just sit in the pantry and molder, but I now have the space and my husband likes them, so did I set forth upon my quest.  Once the appropriate device was procured, I had to find a recipe and that's when I noticed poor, forgotten Figgins perched disconsolately on the counter.  It has been a while since we had a good sourdough recipe, so why not?  The first batch turned out fabulous and made enough waffles to feed three waffle devouring maniacs with batter to spare (who knew I'd be a waffle fan?).  I refrigerated it overnight and the next batch was not near so good.  It would probably be best to make them all at once and freeze the leftovers.

1 3/4 cup flour
2 tbsp sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt

2 eggs
1 1/2 cup milk
1 cup sweet sourdough starter
1/2 cup oil or butter
1 tsp vanilla

Mix dry ingredients in one large bowl and moist ingredients in another.  Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and add mixed moist ingredients, stir just until combined and bake in a preheated waffle maker according to manufacturer's directions.

…all the law and the prophets.

I went to my five year high school class reunion ten years ago (yes, I am that old) and was really unimpressed and haven't managed to make it back since (that and I live 800 miles away).  I really don't have any friends I'd like to catch up with and have far too many painful memories I'd rather not rehash, yet curiosity drove my husband to check out the Facebook page for the recent fifteenth reunion and it makes me glad I didn't go.  We might have aged a little, but there, right in front, were the people who tormented, ostracized, and belittled me for thirteen long years simply for being myself.  Part of me would like to go back and show them that I am a success, however you define the word, but a wiser part of me knows they won't care, they'll never be impressed (most especially by my relatively modest achievements), and an even wiser part of me wonders why I care what they think at all.  Just looking at those photos gives me a sick feeling in my stomach, even fifteen years later; haven't I outgrown this?

Whoever coined the phrase, 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but words shall never hurt me,' never endured junior high.  I've had a broken bone, and though it hurt, at least it was only until it healed.  Wounds to the heart, especially chronic ones, take a very long time to heal, if they ever do.  If you teach your children anything, let it be to treat others gently and as they would be treated.

Here there be dragons

'Off the grid,' is a popular term describing people who want to live independently, surviving by their ingenuity rather than depending on the amenities of civilization at large.  We live 'off the map,' but are still on the grid.  It is said that in the old days, they used to adorn maps with dragons and such, warning that none knew what lurked beyond its borders (though this is very possibly an urban legend, it is still quite romantic).  I wish google maps had a 'here there be dragons' option, at least it would be more honest than the random guessing it seems to do out here in 'no man's land.'  Our state park website actually cautions people to follow the signs rather than their gps units, because who knows where you'll end up?

We've had people come to visit who couldn't find our house (which is right off a main road) because they depended on their gps rather than following the basic instructions I sent them.  I don't know why the things don't function out here or why they are convinced they have to basically make things up instead of just saying they haven't a clue where you are going.  I know technology doesn't intentionally lie, but this seems to be the next closest thing.  Instead of saying 'no data available' or some such, our unit has sent us miles out of the way and assured me that whatever we were looking for was located out in the middle of 80 square miles of rangeland.  Just pop up the dragon symbol and I'll try finding it the old fashioned way, rather than driving around in circles for hours trying to find something that isn't anywhere near where the device says it must be.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times?

I don't know what's gotten into me lately, when I was a kid, I was a little crafty, but lately I think I'm having some sort of mid-life craft crisis.  It started with refinishing a couple dressers, then mounting a map on some wood, then I found an old wind up clock at a thrift store, my latest venture is truly weird: car repair.  Well, not so much car repair per se but rather figuring out how to fix a broken seat belt.  Maybe it is some sort of weird variant of 'nesting behavior?'  Last time we were on an adoption wait list I redid the nursery (office/library/spare bedroom…) about four times before our son came home.  This time I'm fixing clocks and replacing seat belts?

Anywho, the latch part on one of our belts in the back seat of our ancient sedan was broken and as kids are not allowed into the front seat until they are legally of drinking age, I thought it might be a good idea to get it fixed before we have another car seat to deal with.  Ordering a new part was rather expensive, but after watching a video online, I had an idea.  We had a middle seat belt in the front and I don't think we've ever used it, why not just switch out the unused latch for the broken one?  I even tested it on the front side belts to make sure it matched, and we were in luck.  After a ton of messing around, dismantling my car, praying everything went back together in a safe and usable fashion, and futzing around with rusted bolts, etc, we finally got the belts switched around, only to discover the back side belts don't fit in that particular latch!  The front side belts do, the front middle belt does, and so does the back middle belt but the side ones don't.  No problem, I'll just buy a seat belt extender, that should fix the problem.  Not so much, apparently I own one of the 3% of cars that won't work with the extender, the front and middle belts do though.  At least now I have two latches for the middle belt!  I better stick with clocks...

Missing the point

For some reason 'adult only' weddings have been in the cultural focus of late, but as I think upon it (and read a bit of what others have to say), I think many are missing the point.  I am annoyed that one wedding advice site says to say 'budget constraints' are the reason (whether they are or not) when asked by upset relatives as to why their darling children aren't invited, but the etiquette of lying to your wedding guests to save face is another topic entirely.  The problem is at root, a clash of world views, our idea of what marriage is and why it is (or is not) important.

Modern American culture says life is about me, most especially my wedding day.  In this light, the person throwing the party should get to make the rules and if that means kids aren't invited, that's just how it is and we must respect that, no matter how much you disagree, because, in the end, it is their party.

The problem is, the traditional view of marriage (and weddings) is that they involve more than 'us' or 'me.'  Whereas you can have an adult only gala celebrating just about anything and no one will complain, marriage has traditionally involved children, families, and communities, so when you want to throw a wedding that's just about 'me,' and say kids/families aren't welcome, you are running head on into tradition and what some may consider a 'quaint' cultural norm.  But in a day where marriage is no longer the cornerstone of families or society, to many, it is just another party or reason to celebrate, 'me.'    You used to have to get married before having kids, now it isn't even a vital part of the equation (or so modern society tells us), so why invite kids to your wedding?

I find it a sad commentary on modern social trends, just another symptom of our dying family culture, and that saddens me far more than a kid-free wedding invitation.  It is just another party, just another relationship, what's the big deal?  That so many people can't answer that question is truly frightening.

Here there be dragons: How to save $177.36 on a wood mounted map.

I am not a crafting genius or even a person that goes out looking for 'projects,' but when my husband came home after seeing a wood mounted map somewhere and mentions he would like to own one, but google prices them around $197.36, part of me wonders if I can make one myself.  So was this project born.  We have a rather expensive map of historic Bavaria we brought home from Germany a few years ago that I have yet to do anything with, this might be a good option but not as the guinea pig.  I found a $5 map on ebay: a double globe reprint from a 1700's original on parchment looking paper to try this crazy experiment on.

I've never 'mod podged' anything in my life but this seemed like a good time to start.  Now to find a base.  The map was 20x24" approximately, I wanted a wooden base but didn't want to spend a fortune, I own no wood working tools fancier than a hammer, and haven't a clue when it comes to such things.  Perusing a big box hardware store website for ideas, I ran across something called 'car siding' which seemed like it might work, as it was tongue and groove and comes in a variety of sizes.  I went to the local hardware store and they cut me 5 pieces that were two feet long and each was 4" wide after connecting the tongue and groove.  A little wood glue and I had my base, but it was raw, fresh pine, not exactly a great base for an old map.

A little more googling and I found a method to 'age' wood using vinegar and steel wool, but either I was too impatient or didn't do it right because I didn't have much luck with it; the vinegar mixture probably just needs to age a bit, something I was not patient enough to wait for.  Instead I found some old stain in the basement labeled 'dark walnut' and did a light coat of that, perfect!  My boards looked as old as my map.  The map was slightly too large so I trimmed off the excess but it looked a little tacky and uneven, what about singeing the edges?  I took a candle (the kind you use on birthday cakes) and held the flame to the poster edges, blowing out the flame if it got a little too frisky.  It gave me a very authentic and interesting looking edge.  I mod-podged the map onto the base and then applied another coat on top.  Once dry, I put two layers of polycrylic over that and attached a couple picture frame hangers on the back, voila!  There are a few wrinkles, but that adds to the character and interest of the piece (or so I tell myself, perhaps my mod-podging needs some work), but overall I'm very happy with it.  Now to find someone to pay me $200 for it!

Update: Most of the wrinkles actually work themselves out as the map dries, I am very happy with the finished product.  I even risked our 'expensive' map in a similar process.  I tried the steel wool/vinegar combination again (after it sat for a week or more) and it was much better, it gave the pine an almost reddish tinge, but I still like it in combination with the walnut stain (versus either alone).  Definitely an interesting project.

Social Renegade at last!

I was that kid you hated in high school, you know, the quiet intelligent one that NEVER did anything wrong, not even misspelled a word…okay, my spelling wasn't perfect, but I was never even remotely close to rebellious; I was too terrified to rebel.  My clothes didn't have holes in them, my hair wasn't purple, I never got a tattoo or piercing, everything I learned about drugs and alcohol was from a book, I didn't even go out with anyone or listen to loud music.  Growing up and moving on with my life, I still never found my way into 'trouble,' even as tattoos and piercings became mainstream; I did skip class once, in graduate school, to buy movie tickets…wow, now that is rebellion!  Sigh, I'm still that kid you hate.

Then I woke up one morning and discovered I was a rebel at last!  I had attained the status of social renegade through no effort of my own.  I'm still the same, ho hum, theoretically boring, drab person I have always been, but the world has suddenly turned on its head.  I grew up in the midst of the divorce craze that ravaged so many families at the end of the last century (boy I sound old) and have watched marriage rates plummet in the intervening years until it is no longer a cultural norm, but rather one lifestyle choice among many, and then the whole institution has suddenly been redefined, meaning it will soon have no definition at all, at least among the majority of Americans.  Get married if you like or don't, it doesn't matter, marry whomever you want, break it off when it gets cumbersome or dull; it's all the same, at least on the level of cultural perception and acceptance.

So the cultural rebels of yesteryear had long hair (it was green) and tattoos and listened to stuff that could not possibly be classified as music at headache-inducing decibels.  Today's rebels will marry someone of the opposite genetic sex and remain in that sordid relationship indefinitely; weird, that's like so retro, man.  Talk about countercultural!  Does this mean I'm finally cool?

Google the all knowing

We live in a wondrous age: we have vast amounts of information (and probably far more than is good for us) at our fingertips.  Need a new recipe?  Don't know what to do with that chipped and ruinous dresser?  Want a free copy of 'Romeo and Juliet?'  What does, 'que pasa' mean?  And on and on, ad infinitum.  But omniscience does have its limits, really.

I picked up an older wind-up clock at a thrift store for a great price because it did not run, I googled fixing the little buggers, and figured I'd have it running in no time.  I managed to unscrew the back and take off the pendulum, but dared go no deeper for fear of ruining the entire works.  It was certainly more complicated than my internet how-to guide made it sound.  I'll take it to an expert for a second opinion.  I've noticed google's limitations in the medical field as well, go type 'fever' or 'lethargy' into webMD or any other medical information/diagnosis site and see what happens: you should have narrowed your differential list to about 25000 diseases more or less, but this still does not prevent the occasional person from walking into my office certain sure of their diagnosis, all they need is the proper medication to treat it, and sadly that requires a prescription (and thus an office visit); why can't they just make every medication over the counter?  We have google, who needs a doctor?

New Forest Disease?  Never heard of it, you're sure?  The eyes are watery, some are red with a white center?  I'd recommend some oxytetracycline ($5) but you want a gallon of aloe vera juice ($75), you're sure?  Sounds like your calves have pink eye, but you're sure?  Okay then.  That's an actual conversation, google had spoken and I couldn't talk them out of it.  At least the tetracycline should work on the pinkeye, I don't know what they'll do with the aloe.  I also had a case of 'distemper' I managed to treat with doxycycline (antibiotics don't typically work on viruses, but as this was a classic case of lyme disease it actually worked quite well).  There is definitely a difference between wisdom and knowledge; we are adrift in a sea of knowledge (and even more opinions), but few are those that know how to sift through the flotsam and jetsam to find the bits of true worth and how to apply that information for the benefit of others.  We are all of us experts on everything, at least if we have a smartphone handy!

Strange Obsessions

I did not grow up in an urban environment, so have no idea what kids do for fun in the summer therein, but in rural America, way beyond the last exurb, we go to the fair.  And not just go, we enter stuff in it. Everything from three year old scribblings to bulls massing over a ton have a Class and a Lot wherein to be entered and judged.  It started innocently enough, grandma would have us bake cookies and pick flowers and make little craft projects.  Then came 4-H and FFA and the plethora of exhibit options available to their members.  After high school came Open Class, wherein anyone could enter anything, assuming they could find a Class and Lot for it.  As I've grown old, I've continued to enter photographs, which depending on the fair, have done quite well, or not.  There is still nothing quite like entering all your junk and then rushing back opening day to see if you got a ribbon; silly, quaint, juvenile, archaic, probably, but still exciting, and a tradition I hope to share with my kids as my grandmother did with me.

All the world in a seed

I tried to grow delphiniums from seed last year and started them in the house, it was an unmitigated disaster, the goofy things came up, put out their first pair of true leaves then just up and died.  I had a packet of columbine seeds as well, but figured it was hopeless as they must be as finicky as the delphiniums, but I had them so I had to do something with them.  I scattered the contents haphazardly in a couple large pots, but besides for watering them occasionally, I didn't pay them any particular attention.  The silly things sprouted and thrived!  With a shrug, I transplanted them, figuring they wouldn't survive the process, but they did and they even made it through the summer.  Then this spring, they all came up when many of my shrubs and other plants were killed or severely damaged by our bipolar freeze/thaw winter.  Then came the deer, they ate most of the flower stalks, but they missed a pair which is now blooming.

It is hard to imagine such a delicate, beautiful flower came from a tiny little seed, that it could somehow grow from nothing into a splendid plant all on its own, that the necessary programming was there from the first.  With all of our technology and scientific advancement, we humans still can't come up with anything so intricately wonderful, yet we continue to insist it came about by accident or cosmic chance, yet columbine is just one of thousands of species of flowers, and that says nothing of the other plants, bacteria, fungi, insects, mammals, fish…that fill our world.  I find nothing more intriguing than watching a seed become a plant and then producing more seeds, it fascinated me as a child and still does, perhaps that is why it is said only a child may possess the Kingdom of God; it seems a very sad thing to grow up and lose all ability to find any enchantment in the world.

As a vapor

I was babysitting a two year old a few days ago and he pointed at the clock and named all twelve numbers.  My three year old can't do that, he can probably do 1-9 but I really haven't worked with him on it all that much.  Perhaps my jealous mommy side should have kicked in and I should be drilling him on numbers 1-20 in English and Spanish on a daily basis, but rather I started to wonder if we push our kids too hard sometimes.  I never had preschool yet still managed to get a doctorate but there are families that think their kids will never succeed if they don't get into the 'right' preschool.  I almost ended up in a class for those with learning challenges, not because I had a learning disability, but because I thought the things we were doing in class were rather inane and decided I didn't want to participate (this was in first grade); my teacher thought my lack of cooperation was because I couldn't rather than I wouldn't, thankfully my mother intervened on my behalf.  We have a wrestling program in our tiny town open to four year olds!

I am okay with my kid learning about birds and flowers and sunshine before ever he memorizes the multiplication tables.  He's a bright little boy and picks up things quickly, and he has years to learn his letters, I'd rather he got to be a kid for a little while before I place the weight of the whole world on his tiny shoulders, and no, electronic devices have very little part in his life right now.  His imagination and a few sturdy, simple toys are more than enough to divert him for hours on end.  Childhood is short enough these days, and most of us spend our entire lives looking back longingly thereon, my dearest hope is that he is not one of them.

Ware the Falling Bison?

There's a national park an hour from our house and we finally got around to going up there.  Why is it you can never find time to go see things near home that others drive hundreds of miles to see?  Anywho, I was rather appalled at the lack of a certain type of warning sign.  There were the commonplace: 'don't feed the prairie dogs, watch for falling rocks, and don't get trampled by bison,' signs, but there was certainly a dearth of vitally needed signage.  The park was gorgeous and well worth the visit, all hills, cliffs, and deep gullies.  The problem was that the ubiquitous bison like to perch precariously on said cliffs, often over the road, while trying to reach a certain desired bit of greenery.  Forget the rocks, watch for falling bison!  In this world where every plastic bag must be labeled as deadly to children, I thought this oversight rather amusing, not that said buffalo have likely ever fallen on anyone, but it was rather impressive looking straight up and seeing a buffalo grazing twenty feet overhead.

How not to treat the stomach flu...

My toddler has had a rather remarkable childhood: he almost made his third birthday without acquiring worse than the common cold, but sadly on the eve of this all important birthday, he broke with a 101.5(F) fever.  Being the wise and thoughtful parent that I am, I immediately diagnosed it as appendicitis and began deciding what to pack for an ER visit, but thankfully I took a few deep breathes and calmed myself by reading a few dispassionate paragraphs in a medical text devoted to pediatric medicine, discovering that the third birthday is vital to the severity and treatment of fever-inducing maladies, thus I rounded up by a few hours, seeing as fevers in children 36 months and older are less fraught with interesting and scary diseases than in those less than 36 months of age.  This indifferent and unemotional text banished my bout of 'mommy panic' and brought me back to the stunning conclusion that we were in the throes of either a GI upset or an upper respiratory condition, rather than an acute abdominal crisis.

But that is where my wisdom gave out, for even in his overly warm state, said patient demanded footie pajamas and 3 large fuzzy blankets, here after to be referred to as mistake number one.  Then at 2am, he wanted some water, and after repeated draughts, we then decided maybe he should sleep with us (mistakes two and three respectively).  Thus our overly hot, questionable stomach full of water, small person moved into our bed, only to regurgitate said water (and some undigested cheese from supper) all over the people involved in this little drama.  This was also when I discovered he was red as a beet and pushing 103 on the heat index…hmmm.

We removed layers, filled up the washing machine, cleaned up all persons involved, and administered a child approved anti-inflammatory, allowing us to sleep the rest of the night and amazingly dropping his temperature about 4 degrees!  This is what happens when you let your sad/pathetic small sick person override your wiser self.  Bad mommy!  Today has been better, now that I remember who is actually in charge around here and no longer let my toddler make his own medical decisions.

On parenting and theology

I ran across this article and thought it was spot on as both a parent and a child of God, way to multitask!

Peach Puffed Oven Pancake

In the age of the internet and those 'every recipe you can ever imagine' sites, I wonder why I keep such a collection of eclectic cookbooks, everything from a 4-H cookbook from the mid-90's to which I was a hopeful contributor to an inherited cookbook from my great-grandmother's church in the early '80's, perhaps it is mere sentimentality but I find these recipe collections both interesting and sometimes inspiring, after all when you have 10,000 recipes at your fingertips, how do you decide what to make when you can simply page through one of these little books and discover something new every time.  This recipe is adapted from said 4-H cookbook.  You can use a different type of fruit and it doesn't seem to matter if it is fresh, frozen, or canned.

Preheat over to 400 (F) and place a round cake pan or cast iron skillet inside, when heated through, add 1/4 cup butter and allow to melt.

While over is preheating, mix together:

3/4 c flour
3/4 c milk
4 eggs
1/4 c sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp vanilla

(I did halve the batter recipe as I was making this for one person).

Once the butter melts, pour in 2-3 cups of peaches (I used a small can of sliced peaches), sprinkle generously with cinnamon, and then top with batter.  Bake until puffed, golden, and set in the middle.  It will have almost a custard consistency and be a little crunchy around the edges.  Enjoy!

Beware the sheep

It started with bottles, okay, whatever…then it was contact solution, that's annoying…now it's dishwasher detergent and I'm really annoyed.  In their bid to take over the world, nay the universe, Amazon has reached a new low (and yes, I am using hyperbole, I am not a conspiracy theorist).  Basically, they won't sell you certain products unless you are a Prime Member, they advertise them to everyone (at the same price you can find elsewhere) and then laugh in your face when you click on the item of interest.  I can understand a 'membership only' store like Sam's Club, which will still sell items to non-members by the way, you only have to pay a little extra, but to offer items to everyone with an internet connection and then say you can only buy certain items if you are in the 'in' crowd rubs me the wrong way, maybe it's because I have a toddler: he digs in my feet and I dig in mine.  A good sheep would just get a prime membership and shut up, or go shopping elsewhere.  I want to start an internet revolution, me and the two people who read this blog, one of them by accident…I can dream, can't I?

I've already tolerated this nonsense with Amazon as an independent author for a while, unless you agree to publish your books exclusively with them, you are subjected to numerous limitations and disadvantages, but I am not going to throw all my eggs in one basket, not to mention they are lousy to work with as an author, so I'll endure the limitations and focus my authorial efforts elsewhere, but still have my books available for those who can't live without Amazon, even if they now need to pay $2.99 for them when they are free elsewhere, but hey, that's capitalism, right?  Go figure.

So for now I'll take my business elsewhere and watch what will happen, probably nothing, but I'm hoping Amazon so frustrates its customers that it takes a hit to its bottom line and learns you can only bully people so much, but I have a feeling people will just get prime memberships and go with the flow.  I'm not even an ant trying to get a message across to something the size of a blue whale, but viva la resistance!  We'll leave the guillotines in the museum however.

Disasters in childrearing...

I am never having kids!  I guess it is a little too late for that in my case, but after reading a certain snarky mommy website I can only conclude the little vermin utterly destroy your life.  Yes, there were a few authors who waxed eloquent about the joys and wonder of motherhood, but mostly the writers focused on the mess, the noise, the chaos, the disruption to one's social life, and the expense.  It reminded me of my worst days babysitting, no wonder birth rates are declining in the civilized world!  But it also gave me pause: I have a toddler and my life isn't like that.  So is my kid/life weird or is something else amiss here?  Since an N of one is not scientifically viable, I expanded my study population to include the kids in our church, the kids I babysat growing up, and the kids in our Wednesday night program.  Looking at the majority of those kids (and their behavior in a public venue), I begin to see where these moms are finding their angst with motherhood.  So what is the problem?  Are kids in general crazed maniacs (and they all are at times) or is there something about modern parenting that has unhinged our youngsters?

I think it is the latter.  One article stated it quite well, though unintentionally, 'your kids are your boss.'  It was an article on stay at home moms, but I think it sums up the problem well.  The child should never be in charge, no wonder modern homes are a mess, and as one mother of my acquaintance recently remarked, "I can't imagine staying at home with my kids; I need day care!"  I am not trying to find fault with daycare, stay at home or working moms, etc. we all do what we must to get by in this crazed age, rather I am aghast at the way we, in general, are raising the next generation.  I know kids who are respectful, well mannered, listen, and are still happy and well adjusted.  I have a toddler that I have no qualms about taking out in public, going shopping with, or taking on a 12 hour car trip while some of these moms can't even get a shower on a daily basis.  This is not to say he does not have his moments, he is three after all, but he is not in charge, he knows it, and he is content and happy in such a circumstance.  And no, he is not a push over with no opinions of his own, he is certainly 'strong willed,' and stubborn to a fault, but he also knows what is expected of him and the consequences should he do otherwise.

But then, is it fair to expect our kids to be well behaved when their parents are not?  It is scary how much my son picks up by watching and listening to those around him, and yes, he finds all sorts of novel ways to be naughty after spending time with other kids, but he soon learns that that is not how life works around here and he is soon enough back to 'normal.'  If your home life is a disaster (and from some of what those moms wrote, it is obvious they are), then you can't expect your kids to turn out much differently.  If you are constantly yelling, swearing, being disrespectful to others, being mean, ignoring what is said, then that is exactly what your little one is going to do.  Maybe if we want happy, well-behaved kids, we first need to look in the mirror.  The old adage, 'monkey see, monkey do,' is quite appropriate here.

Zebras in the closet

Some people are obsessed with baseball or a certain celebrity or quilting or antiques or what have you, my tastes run more in the direction of kittiwakes and avocets, especially this time a year, perhaps it is a type of 'bird flu?'  Some people collect teaspoons or stamps, I get to put a little tiny check mark next to yet another name on a list composed of such entries as 'bristle thighed curlew' and 'chuck-will's-widow.'  I am an avid bird watcher, but not an obsessed one (I won't spend thousands of dollars to go on a guided tour of some exotic location in search of more unique species for my 'life list').  And with our recent move, I have discovered that I have outgrown my beloved and dogeared Peterson's 'Eastern Birds' (the original birder's bible, at least in eastern North America) but a whole world of new and interesting species has opened up to me.  What I did not expect was to find certain 'life birds' here that I've been trying to see for years further north and east.

Yesterday I saw a red crossbill (a big red finchy thing with a cool beak) at a neighbor's bird feeder.  They are considered a 'northern finch' and should be easier to find, say near the Canadian border where we used to live, but never did I ever see one, despite all hope and effort on my part, and here a whole flock is busy in someone's backyard while I am on a totally unrelated errand.  It was a thrilling moment, in finding something I had sought for so long, but also a bit anticlimactic, finding something so long sought in so common a place when I was not even looking for it!  It was exactly like seeing my first showy lady's slipper in a road ditch (a big, colorful orchid native to northern swamps).  I suppose it is a good metaphor for life: we strive and hope and seek and long for something, yet all our effort comes to naught, and then when we least expect it, after we have despaired of ever finding it, we turn around and there it is, in a place and time we never thought to look.  Life should never lose its sense of adventure, its sparkle of the unknown, for truly, you never know what may be lurking just around the bend, over the next rise, or on the day after tomorrow.

I'm rather go to the dentist!

I hate baby showers, don't get me wrong, I love the idea of people getting together and celebrating the birth of a child and helping out the mom to be with fun and necessary gifts, rather I hate the shallowness, the insipidity, and the fakeness of it all, not to mention those horrid games.  They aren't fun, at least the ones I've had to go to, rather it feels more like a visit to the dentist: something you have to do, a societal burden as it were.  Mostly, they just seem awkward, you get all these people together who don't know each other and everything has to be baby themed and all the attention is always focused on the poor mom to be, which if she is of a shier disposition, is no fun at all.  I'd rather just get together with a bunch of people and have fun: eat snacks, play some fun games, have some social time for people to get to know each other.  Rather we all sit in a silent horde and watch someone open yet another blue gift bag containing the third green monkey onesie of the day and then play some vapid game, eat an appropriately tinted cupcake, and then go home.  Yawn!  Why not actually have fun?  Less structure, less stress, more socialization?  Why not do something to encourage the mom to be (besides giving her stuff of course)?  And no, this is not where you tell her how she MUST do something; no doubt she's overwhelmed enough as it is, everyone she meets has already told her how things ought to be done and no two people have given the same advice.

Rather than the game, why not have everyone share something humorous and something useful?  Say, the best and worst parenting advice they've ever been given or some incident in their own lives, a humorous or heartwarming incident along with something practical, even the non-parents in the group should have something they've read on the internet, experienced as children themselves, or have undoubtedly had babysitting adventures or friends or relatives with relevant experiences. It would liven things up a bit, lighten the mood, get everyone involved, and may even help the mom to be relax a bit about the looming monster that is parenthood.  You could even jot it all down in a little book and make a memory out of it, something to look back on for encouragement, or at least a good laugh.  It certainly beats taste testing baby food, microwaving candy bars to mimic infant excrement, and that tedious 'make a story containing these 47 baby-related words' game!

Just when you thought you could eat an apple...

Trans fats, gluten, genetically modified crops, pesticides, mercury, high fructose corn syrup, preservatives…the list goes on and on, it makes one want to throw up their hands and scream, what is safe to eat and what is not?  Just when you hope you can go to the grocery store and pick up a few things for dinner, think again.  There is now a substance called deoxyribonucleic acid that is gaining more and more scrutiny by the scientific community as well as the food consuming public.  This substance has been linked to every known form of cancer, it results in birth defects and miscarriages, the list of associated maladies is endless: heart disease, diabetes, liver and kidney disorders, mental health disorders, and every contagious disease from the common cold to ebola are dependent on this substance to wreak their havoc.  Traces of it can be found in nearly every cell in a given human body and the natural environment is irreversibly contaminated with the stuff.  Worse, it is strongly linked with the aging process.  If you want to know more about this substance and its impact on your health and our planet, click here.  To sign the petition to ban this dangerous molecule, click here.

Growth?

Last time, I was anxious, nervous, frenzied, sometimes hopeless, distracted, impatient, you get the idea; I let the worry and angst steal the hope and joy I should have felt as an expectant mother, though as a potential adoptive parent, you have no idea when (or if) you will ever truly realize that dream.  People look at you a little odd when you say you are expecting a baby, perhaps tomorrow or five years from next Tuesday, or never.  They don't understand, and I'm past the need to explain, because they still won't understand, until they've gone through it themselves.  I was in tears the night before we got 'the call' about our son, thinking it would never happen.  I was in tears again, at the hospital, right before we brought him home because obviously everything was going to fall through at the last minute.  It didn't and now I can only laugh at my former self and hope this time around I can approach the matter with a bit more sanity.  Of course, I have a huge advantage this time around, I do not have this unquenchable ache to become a mother (I am one) and I have survived this process once before and know it can be done.

More than that, I have learned a thing or two about faith and patience.  It is not whether all my hopes and dreams come true (exactly when I think they should) or that I am spared from grief and sorrow and great travail, rather it is being able to say, whatever happens, 'Thy will be done,' and being content therein.  Whatever happens, whether we are blessed with another child or not, I will wait in joy and hope, trusting that things will turn out as they should, rather than as I think they ought, for in the end, that is infinitely better than my flawed plans and aspirations.  So I will enjoy the days or the years of waiting that lie ahead, and try very hard not to physically hurt anyone for making insensitive, hurtful comments.  That is one of the trials of being an adoptive parent: people say the strangest things with the best of intentions.  But as I have grown so much since our last attempt, obviously this will no longer be an issue, I can just smile and nod and wonder what they were thinking…really!…?

Oven Fried Chicken

If you love fried chicken but hate deep frying, this may be the next best thing.  It works great on both chicken pieces or strips/nuggets.  It is certainly less of a mess the deep fat frying but I don't know if it saves all that many calories, but then if you are counting calories this is the last place you should come seeking recipes!

Mix together 3/4 cup buttermilk, 1 crushed bouillon cube, and desired seasonings (onion, garlic, celery salt, black pepper) and let sit 10 minutes.  Place chicken in a bowl (this recipe will coat 3-4 pounds of chicken pieces or 2-3 pounds of cut up chicken breast) and pour buttermilk mixture over chicken, mix to coat.  Let sit in the refrigerator for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.

In a gallon plastic bag, combine 1 cup flour and 1/2 cup bread crumbs (I add parmesan cheese) and mix thoroughly.  Place chicken in bag 2-3 pieces at a time and shake to coat, place in a cake pan to bake.  Drizzle with 1/4 cup butter before baking.  Turn chicken halfway through cooking.  Coating should be crisp and brown and juices should run clear.  Add extra flour/bread crumbs to bag as needed.

Academia and the real world?

I was once a bright eyed and bushy tailed co-ed (that's a college student for you bairns); I served an eight year sentence, so I think I have a little insight into this matter.  My first year out in the 'real world' was rather a surprise, as it seemed everything I had learned was of little practical use.  One professor told me I would never actually touch a cow, but rather everything would be done on the computer, let me tell you I have since touched a lot of cows but have actually used computers very little in day to day practice.  Having reverted to a real life person since my transition, I often forget the disconnect between academia and reality.  I was reminded of this just the other day.  The main problem is that people who go on to teach at the university often have very little experience in the real world.  They go from college student to grad student to professor without ever having worked a day in their field outside the ivory tower, thus their only experience with 'real life' is read about in textbooks, scientific papers, and heard in lectures.

We are slogging through the adoption process once more, and our social worker is a bright eyed chipper little thing with a good head on her shoulders, at least it seemed so during our home study, but she is young, just out of school, and has never been married or had a family, which is in no way a bad thing, we all start out that way, but when dealing with this particular issue, it does make quite a difference in your perspective of things.  The initial interview went well and was far less gruesome than our original home study for our first adoption which was with a middle aged grandmother who knew a thing or two about life.  She returned to the office and then asked to do a phone interview a week later as she had some follow-up questions.  I wonder if she didn't go back and find her copy of 'Vital Questions to Ask Adoptive Families' or whatever handbook is used in such matters and discover she missed a few things some Ph.D in social work thinks are of the utmost importance.  The questions we answered on the phone made absolutely no sense at all!

She seemed rather surprised we had never taken parenting classes or had marital counseling, as if everyone who is married or a parent should be involving themselves in such activities.  Personally, I am not sure I know anyone who has actually taken a parenting class (not a 'we're expecting a baby' class) and I thought marital counseling was for those with problems in their marriage, yes we've had our share of bumps but every marriage does!  Then she basically asked how my husband could possibly be a good father since he has a job?  Which I thought was a really odd question, since in most families someone has to work!  I think she was trying to discern how he interacted with his son when he was home, but it was very poorly worded and now I can tease my poor husband indefinitely about the evils of a working father!  Then there was the inevitable 'what will you do when he has his adoption induced paranoia attack?'  Which I find fascinating, of all the things that can mess up a kid, being adopted as an infant into a home with loving parents does not make the top of my list.  Yes, it is an issue he will have to live with and address, but he has two parents, does not live in poverty, has both love and discipline, and should have a pretty 'normal' childhood whereas I know far too many biological children who don't know who their father is, that are neglected physically or emotionally, are abused, have parents who are more interested in their 'fun' than in their families, etc.  Of all the evils incumbent in childrearing, this one is rather minor in the grand scheme of things.  We managed to satisfy the academically required frivolities and got a rough draft of our home study to peruse.

I was quite astonished to discover my son is hard to parent and we are struggling with his 'strong will.'  He is very strong willed, but he is not hard to parent, if you know how to go about it.  What he needs is a choice, so he gets to decide whether he eats his dinner and gets dessert or he can refuse to eat dinner and forgo dessert entirely.  He might be hungry, but he got to make his choice which is what is important to him.  I think you hear the word 'strong willed' and immediately assume disobedient, stubborn, and intractable, whereas it is actually just a character trait that you must learn to deal with like any other.  He's a very attentive, intelligent, and obedient little boy but when he wants to argue about something, he won't give in so you give him the options and let him decide.  But some of this stuff you just need to figure out on your own, I had no clue until we actually became parents!  So we just smile and nod and try not to laugh until we are alone, and know that time and experience are the best teachers, not some guy with lots of letters after his name.

As ye sow and just desserts?

I am something of a tease and have a rather interesting sense of humor (often baffling to those who are not familiar with it) and it seems this propensity has been passed to the next generation though not genetically.  This would be a great case study for one of those nature vs. nurture debates.  I think I have the only coming three year old on the planet that will not tell you his name.  He knows his name, even knows the 'real' names of his parents (not just mommy and daddy), and will tell you all sorts of names, but never his own.  He won't tell you his name because he thinks it a great joke, so jokingly I asked if his name is 'Figgins' and he has since adopted the moniker as his own with great delight.  Which I suppose is a small triumph in that he no longer refers to himself as 'papa' which is his version of Grandpa but otherwise he is still simply 'me.'  I can't say I do not deserve it either!

If only...

I have often heard grandparents say they wish they had skipped parenthood and gone straight to the grandkids, and I must agree with them save on the adoption front.  We should have adopted a second time before we adopted a first time; having done all the gruesome interviews, background checks, biographies, psychological tests... already and only needing to update things since our last attempt has made this time around much much easier.  And now we wait...

Italian Enchiladas?

Yes, this is a weird recipe, but very tasty.  I was in the mood for spaghetti but wanted tortillas instead of noodles.  Two worlds collide for one great taste?  Or maybe I'm just desperate!

Brown 1/2 pound ground beef with onions and sweet peppers, seasoned to taste (garlic, seasoned salt, Worcestershire sauce, black pepper, basil).  Add 8oz frozen corn and a 14oz can of petite diced tomatoes (drained) to the mix and heat through.  Fill 10 6-8 inch flour tortillas with the mixture and place seam side down in a cake pan.  Cover tortillas with a 24oz can of spaghetti sauce and top with shredded and parmesan cheese.  Bake at 375 until hot and bubbly.  Let sit 5-10 minutes before serving.

Modern Chivalry?

My son took me out to lunch for my birthday (yes, he's 2 and we went to McDonald's, no, that is not what this post is about).  Strangely, when you live in the hinterlands, eating fast food is actually kind of exciting (we live 80 miles from the nearest 'city' with a population of more than 2000).  Anywho, my birthday is coming up and we both like chicken nuggets and french fries and were in town running errands, so why not?  Lunch passed nicely enough, but then it was time to go home (the plot thickens). I was balancing a 40 pound toddler on one hip and juggling purse, keys, french fries (something to keep him busy on the road home!), and sippy cup with my free hand while somehow pushing the door open (and obviously not exactly speedy in exiting) when a young guy in his twenties comes up behind me, walks out the precariously open door, and says, 'thank you,' as apparently my sole purpose in this phenomenal act of door opening was to hold the door for this carefree individual!

It is a rather interesting commentary on modern social customs when the lady with her hands full holds the door for the guy with his hands free.  Didn't it used to be the other way around?  I don't expect anyone to hold the door for me in this day and age (feminism sadly killed that gallant custom) and gladly do it for others (the elderly, the infirm, those with their hands full, moms with infant car seats…) but this seemed downright odd, not to mention vastly amusing!

"For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn?" 

 Mr. Bennett, Pride and Prejudice.

In Jane Austen's day, men actually had to stand every time a lady left the table, let alone hold doors, etc.  I am not sure we have evolved socially as much as we think we have, in many instances we are probably worse off than we were a hundred years ago.  I wonder what sort of a novel Miss Austen would write today?

An inane question but a great book idea

"So what do you do with all your time?" came the mystified question.

I wanted to either throw something at him or reply in a satisfyingly snarky tone, "between my soap operas and my trashy novels, I barely have time to get to the kitchen for more bonbons!"  But the more sensible side of me just said something benign like, "I keep busy," before moving off and doing whatever this senseless question had interrupted.

If he had been asking what I do with the mysterious extra 3 hours per day with which I have been gifted and the rest of the world does not have, it might have been a good question, but as I only have 24 hours in day, like any other mortal under the sun, it was nothing near so interesting (though that sounds like a great book idea).  He was assuming that since I have a professional degree and only work part time, I must have lots of 'free' time, which means he has never had children, run a household, or spent any time volunteering or in a ministry position.  If he has a wife, I pity the poor woman, and I certainly wonder what his mother would think!  Much of the work that gets done in this world is of the unpaid sort, and it is probably some of the most important, for the world, and our individual lives, would be a far worse place without it.

World Famous Hot Ham and Cheese Bake

Okay, so the world famous part is made up, but you see it at nearly every non-franchise restaurant, 'world famous something!'  How can there be so many world famous hamburgers?  Did someone from Canada once compliment the chef on his burger and now it is 'world famous?'  So why not this random casserole I just sort of threw together?  If someone, somewhere likes it, it must be 'world famous,' right?  Anywho, enough on semantics, let's eat:

16 oz box Pasta (rotini, elbows, shells, etc) cooked per package directions

1 jar cheese sauce (I used something out of the pasta sauce section, you could make your own or use a can of cheese soup or whatever)

1/4 cup chopped onion

1-2 tsp yellow mustard

8 oz frozen corn (I threw mine in with the boiling pasta the last few minutes to heat it through)

6-8 oz ham (leftovers or shredded lunch meat work great)

Mix everything together and place in a 9x13 cake pan, top with:

2 cups shredded colby jack cheese
1/4 cup parmesan cheese

Bake until hot and bubbly and the cheese is melted.

A twist on a Twist

Tired of spherical confections, I went in search of a recipe for cinnamon twists.  You can use any sweet roll dough or even a white bread recipe, I used my sourdough sweet roll recipe, and it worked great.  You can also modify the recipe and make garlic Parmesan twists instead, I actually split it in half, using 1/2 with our spaghetti last night and the other half for breakfast this morning.

1 recipe sweet roll dough (about 4 cups of flour)

Roll out the dough into a 16x12 inch square and spread with 1/4 cup melted butter.  Mix 1/2 cup brown sugar and one tbsp cinnamon (or 1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, 1 tsp garlic powder, and a 1/8 tsp salt) and spread over buttered dough; let sit for 15 minutes.

Cut dough into 3: 4 inch by 16 inch strips with a pizza cutter and then cut each strip into 16: 1x4 inch strips.  Twist each strip and place on a cookie sheet, let rise until double, bake at 425 degrees just until done, do not over bake, it will only be a few minutes.  Keep warm by wrapping in a towel and serve immediately.  They reheat well in the microwave.

Sympathizing with the Grinch and a new business model!

I am starting to sympathize with the Grinch about Christmas, between the sheer volume of new playthings and the noise they make, I begin to understand why he might take it their advent amiss.  I even threatened to leave someone behind on our return from visiting family as the car was overcrowded with junk.  What happens when we have 2 kids?  I'll need to rent a moving van!  I know grandparents, aunts, etc. love spoiling their juvenile relations but it must be remembered that a little goes a very long way, especially when visiting both sides of the family.  Worse, are the three days of grandma withdrawal that must be endured by both parents and kids alike as the latter learn that this is only a break from reality not the new status quo.  The only rule at grandma's house is that there are no rules and it takes some time to readjust to the world of rules, discipline, and schedule that is the norm; some long and painful time for all involved.

This being said, I propose a new business idea: Grandparent Re-education Retreats.  Instead of spending huge amounts on unnecessary toys at Christmas, desperate parents will send their own parents (or other relatives) on a weekend retreat to a trendy spa where the topic of choice will be remedial lessons in parenting, discipline, and how not to totally upset your grandkid's sense of normal.  Of course this will only work if grandparents are erring out of ignorance, having forgotten how to parent in the long interval between kids and grandkids, but if it is some form of revenge, they'll just have a good time while laughing at out naiveté.  I fear it is the latter and there is no hope.