This week has been tough already and it's hardly even begun. Cora ended up getting sick again. She woke up Friday morning with a congested nose and gradually developed horrible diarrhea that culminated in her throwing up at the end of the night. Her fever broke Sunday morning around 2 a.m., but she hasn't been very interested in eating anything for about five days. And she's still sick. I feel horrible for her, and incredibly vulnerable myself. I just had a long talk with my friend and basically broke down into a sniffling, crying mess about how difficult it is to not know if something is wrong with your child. I am totally ready to be convinced that this has just been the worst flu season imaginable, and that Cora has just had to get through it with an unusually high level of incidents, but worry is eating away at me that my baby might be too susceptible to stuff.
If there's one thing in the world I love more than life itself, it's my little Cora.
I don't want her to get sick so much. I want her to be healthy and strong and able to experience this beautiful day.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Blue sky and a sleepy baby
As I mentioned in my last post, Cora has been very wakeful these past few nights. Teething, growing, sleeping through increased daylight hours, and just generally being a baby is hard sometimes. So, not only is she tired, cranky, and just generally more fragile, this morning she gave herself a paper cut in her eye. If that sentence doesn't give you the shivers, well then, you're much more hardy than I. We were in the middle of a drawing project (one where she asks me to draw things like dogs, cats, or the images on her puzzles), and she was so excited about the whole thing that she wildly waved a few pieces of paper around. While I was reaching out to take the paper away and warn her about hurting her eye, I saw the corner slice through the air and she collapsed into my chest, screaming.
Oh, it is so much easier to get hurt than to see your kids get hurt. And eyes are a big deal. I sat there holding her and being super calm while thinking about the blinding pain I would be going through if that had happened to me.
So we went to the doctor again. I am like a rotating door, just in and out of that place with one thing or another this season. It turns out she scraped the white of her eye and her cornea, but the good news is that it should heal in 24-48 hours. We have some antibiotic salve to help it heal. Her nose is stained yellow from the super galactic dye they used, and her eye oozed a lovely neon green liquid the color of antifreeze for a few hours afterward.
The thing is, you'd think I'd be at my wit's end--no sleep, frayed at the edges, very little writing, nothing all that grand or spectacular about much of anything, really. Except I just keep looking at this little person we created and thinking how interesting she is. She is opinionated and adamant and funny, she likes to make people laugh and she loves to spin and get really dizzy and fall down, she wants so much to do everything we do, like brush her teeth and her hair and cook and draw and run and sweep and climb stairs and play music and read and write. She wants to be in the middle of everything and if someone starts laughing about something she'll throw her head back and crinkle up her nose, open her mouth up really wide and just laugh and laugh, looking over at them to see if everything is still supposed to be funny. She'll say "yeah" with a great deal of understanding during the pauses in my conversation when I'm saying things she can't possibly comprehend. She is deeply, desperately in love with dogs and mentions them about, oh, every 45 seconds (that, I must admit, is a bit wearing...we're in the middle of say, eating or nursing or talking about something important like why wheels go round and round and she interrupts me to say "Woof, woof. Da."). She knows a fair number of words but the pronunciation is still a challenge; I've become one of those moms of a toddler who hears a single syllabic sound like "da" and says, depending on context, "oh yes, you see a dog!" or, "you would like to draw?" or "ok, you can get down now." Her most clear words are yeah, no, elbow, pasta, turtle, fish, apple sauce or apple juice, and opposites (this can either mean she wants to read Opposites by Eric Carle, or it can mean she is being an octopus when she's writhing on the kitchen floor pretending she has 8 appendages).
She turned 16 months on Tuesday (4/14). Tomorrow will be my 5-month anniversary of being with her full-time. I still need to iron out the wrinkles in a difficult schedule that allows for very little writing. I need to either accept that I'm not much of a late-night writer, or else I need to embrace caffeine and sleeping pills. Since both of those substances would only make me crazy, I need to be diligent about writing even on days when I just don't feel like I have anything interesting to say. I still battle wanderlust every single day but it is not for the kind of life that perhaps one might imagine I am craving...I very rarely wish I were getting ready for a day in the office, although that certainly does hit me--especially when I see women driving in their cars alone, drinking coffee and having long moments of solitude like the ones I used to enjoy when I drove across the 520 bridge to Kirkland. More, what I am craving is space and sun, blue sky and blue water. Big trees and gardens and beaches, golden grain, boulders, open kitchens and exposed wood walls, old-fashioned cook stoves and home cooked hearty vegetable sauces, tangy pine air and springy ground, and garden parties with interesting adults and spirited kids.
In a word, I want summer.
Oh, it is so much easier to get hurt than to see your kids get hurt. And eyes are a big deal. I sat there holding her and being super calm while thinking about the blinding pain I would be going through if that had happened to me.
So we went to the doctor again. I am like a rotating door, just in and out of that place with one thing or another this season. It turns out she scraped the white of her eye and her cornea, but the good news is that it should heal in 24-48 hours. We have some antibiotic salve to help it heal. Her nose is stained yellow from the super galactic dye they used, and her eye oozed a lovely neon green liquid the color of antifreeze for a few hours afterward.
The thing is, you'd think I'd be at my wit's end--no sleep, frayed at the edges, very little writing, nothing all that grand or spectacular about much of anything, really. Except I just keep looking at this little person we created and thinking how interesting she is. She is opinionated and adamant and funny, she likes to make people laugh and she loves to spin and get really dizzy and fall down, she wants so much to do everything we do, like brush her teeth and her hair and cook and draw and run and sweep and climb stairs and play music and read and write. She wants to be in the middle of everything and if someone starts laughing about something she'll throw her head back and crinkle up her nose, open her mouth up really wide and just laugh and laugh, looking over at them to see if everything is still supposed to be funny. She'll say "yeah" with a great deal of understanding during the pauses in my conversation when I'm saying things she can't possibly comprehend. She is deeply, desperately in love with dogs and mentions them about, oh, every 45 seconds (that, I must admit, is a bit wearing...we're in the middle of say, eating or nursing or talking about something important like why wheels go round and round and she interrupts me to say "Woof, woof. Da."). She knows a fair number of words but the pronunciation is still a challenge; I've become one of those moms of a toddler who hears a single syllabic sound like "da" and says, depending on context, "oh yes, you see a dog!" or, "you would like to draw?" or "ok, you can get down now." Her most clear words are yeah, no, elbow, pasta, turtle, fish, apple sauce or apple juice, and opposites (this can either mean she wants to read Opposites by Eric Carle, or it can mean she is being an octopus when she's writhing on the kitchen floor pretending she has 8 appendages).
She turned 16 months on Tuesday (4/14). Tomorrow will be my 5-month anniversary of being with her full-time. I still need to iron out the wrinkles in a difficult schedule that allows for very little writing. I need to either accept that I'm not much of a late-night writer, or else I need to embrace caffeine and sleeping pills. Since both of those substances would only make me crazy, I need to be diligent about writing even on days when I just don't feel like I have anything interesting to say. I still battle wanderlust every single day but it is not for the kind of life that perhaps one might imagine I am craving...I very rarely wish I were getting ready for a day in the office, although that certainly does hit me--especially when I see women driving in their cars alone, drinking coffee and having long moments of solitude like the ones I used to enjoy when I drove across the 520 bridge to Kirkland. More, what I am craving is space and sun, blue sky and blue water. Big trees and gardens and beaches, golden grain, boulders, open kitchens and exposed wood walls, old-fashioned cook stoves and home cooked hearty vegetable sauces, tangy pine air and springy ground, and garden parties with interesting adults and spirited kids.
In a word, I want summer.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
More soon...
I've been working on some other things lately and have fallen behind on these posts. I feel like I've lost touch with a dear friend! I'm hoping to write a few more words tomorrow. But the main thing I wanted to tell you about briefly (in the tiny amount of time I have before Cora wakes up from her late afternoon nap) is this running monologue that's been going through my head of all the things I wish for Cora in her lifetime. There are so many. As we drive from one place to another, I find myself daydreaming about the bullet points, trying to narrow in on the big themes.
It's been an interesting exercise in thinking about the things that are most valuable to me, something that of course it would seem I should know by heart but the points of which are more apparent when I imagine what I most want for my daughter. If that makes any sense. I think there is often a concern about losing ourselves in our children, especially during these early years, but I have been finding many moments when I wouldn't otherwise have considered one point or another unless I was looking through the eyes of a parent. The other stuff gets stripped away and I'm able to be more forgiving, hopeful, dreamy, practical...motherly, I suppose, than I am when I consider the world and my place in it.
Also, I would like it if you could please send Cora any healthy sleeping vibes you might have under your hat. She woke at 12:30, 3:30, and 5:30 this morning and I spent several bleary-eyed but nevertheless cuddly visits with her in the rocking chair. We checked with her doctor to make sure things were a-okay (considering that this past weekend followed a similarly difficult path), and discovered that she is cutting yet one more molar. She has teeth coming in everywhere and runs around the house with her hand in her mouth saying Owwww or else being quite whiny. B and I are therefore very tired, and I'm just thankful my view from my chair shows a bit of blue sky and sun. Perhaps we'll have a short reprieve from this silly wintry spring.
It's been an interesting exercise in thinking about the things that are most valuable to me, something that of course it would seem I should know by heart but the points of which are more apparent when I imagine what I most want for my daughter. If that makes any sense. I think there is often a concern about losing ourselves in our children, especially during these early years, but I have been finding many moments when I wouldn't otherwise have considered one point or another unless I was looking through the eyes of a parent. The other stuff gets stripped away and I'm able to be more forgiving, hopeful, dreamy, practical...motherly, I suppose, than I am when I consider the world and my place in it.
Also, I would like it if you could please send Cora any healthy sleeping vibes you might have under your hat. She woke at 12:30, 3:30, and 5:30 this morning and I spent several bleary-eyed but nevertheless cuddly visits with her in the rocking chair. We checked with her doctor to make sure things were a-okay (considering that this past weekend followed a similarly difficult path), and discovered that she is cutting yet one more molar. She has teeth coming in everywhere and runs around the house with her hand in her mouth saying Owwww or else being quite whiny. B and I are therefore very tired, and I'm just thankful my view from my chair shows a bit of blue sky and sun. Perhaps we'll have a short reprieve from this silly wintry spring.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Intermission
We interrupt our normally scheduled programming to bring you this message: It appears, afterall, that sun does indeed exist in the Northwest. Please enjoy it while you can. Popcorn with extra butter will be provided when it starts raining and you return to reality.
Seriously, people, it is beautiful outside. A blissful, gorgeous reminder of why we live here in the first place.
Things to do in the sun:
*Jump in leftover puddles and watch the spray form mini rainbows.
*Climb on every play structure in the city.
*Throw rocks in clear ocean water.
*Go hiking.
*Build sand castles.
*Wave at the birds.
*Have a picnic (or two).
*Run.
*Take a day trip (try the 4,000-acre waterfront park at Deception Pass).
*Breathe.
*Collect handfuls of miniature daisies and put them in your pockets.
*Wave at everyone.
*Stay outside all day.
*Plan a camping trip.
*Peel away each day looking for summer.
Seriously, people, it is beautiful outside. A blissful, gorgeous reminder of why we live here in the first place.
Things to do in the sun:
*Jump in leftover puddles and watch the spray form mini rainbows.
*Climb on every play structure in the city.
*Throw rocks in clear ocean water.
*Go hiking.
*Build sand castles.
*Wave at the birds.
*Have a picnic (or two).
*Run.
*Take a day trip (try the 4,000-acre waterfront park at Deception Pass).
*Breathe.
*Collect handfuls of miniature daisies and put them in your pockets.
*Wave at everyone.
*Stay outside all day.
*Plan a camping trip.
*Peel away each day looking for summer.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Mushy rain, mushy brain
The weather here, frankly, is rather dreadful. I can't find many redeeming qualities about it, except that it forced me to enjoy a mom-and-baby lunch with Cora this afternoon at the Sunlight Cafe.
First of all, in my past life (as in last month, that was so last year), I would have high-tailed us to the Zoomazium or the Children's Museum or the Aquarium or a fun bookstore or any number of fun and interesting indoor Seattle havens. But I have to admit to feeling a bit burned. B and I have been talking about germophobia, the definition of which, for me, has always been hey there, would you mind letting me know if your child is sick before we get together for a play date? (I am still a bit mystified by people who don't think they need to mention to me that their child has a cold and is running around with drippy green boogers the size of Godzilla.)
While I'm a big fan of hand washing, I've never owned Purell or those wipey sanitizing cloths some people drag around with them and pull out at germ-filled moments, brandishing them like a flag as they wipe down snot-encrusted grocery carts or freshen up a swing. In fact, I think I've been pretty good about letting Cora explore her world without telling her to stop because she might get sick.
But there have been some moments when I've quivered with distrust and frustration, when I've hated the process of watching her exploratory steps encounter germs in our urban environment, a few of them quite memorable. Here is just a sampling of some of the more salient moments that have compelled me to gag:
*While I hurriedly searched for a pile of entertaining picture books, Cora proudly approached me and handed up a pile of grass-encrusted dog poop from off the carpet of our local library, tracked in by an innocent young shoe.
*She picked up an immunization band-aid from the playground, and studied the stain on the white pad.
*We were walking around Green Lake and I took Cora out of the stroller so she could explore. She proceeded to do her usual daisy-picking/grass-plucking/rock-rolling thing until I turned away for ONE SECOND and she bent down and ran her hand through a loogie. This was by far the most horrifying moment, seeing my child test the consistency of a stranger's mucus. I have nearly erased this sentence 10 times because I am so embarrassed that I didn't catch it in time, and I still feel guilty.
So there. We got through these moments and lived to tell the tale. I'm not a germophobe (although by now you might be thinking I should be). Yet, all of those moments never resulted in Cora getting sick. Those events have all followed classes and play dates in indoor play areas. With our new found freedom after I quit my job, I took it upon myself to explore everything, enjoying my immense luck of having a newly-minted toddler. Until I began to experience one of the worst flu seasons I can remember. Now I am just annoyed that we couldn't have launched our new life during the summer months, lallygagging by the wading pool, skipping rocks at the beach, running through the zoo OUTSIDE instead of happily sucking down flu season at indoor locales.
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad Cora is developing a strong immune system. I firmly believe it's more important for her to make friends than to be sequestered in our house while we avoid germs. And I'm grateful beyond measure that she's relatively healthy and hasn't battled anything more complicated than the flu. I'm just ready for warm weather, a break from the snot, and some more freedom.
So, today's mushy rain-snow confusion has not been welcome. Cora is grumpy and trying to bring in five teeth, including molars, all at once, while I grit my teeth and look out the window trying to bring myself to go someplace where I know a flu virus is sucking happily on the surface of a toy, waiting to pounce on my daughter.
Which is why I am constantly battling wanderlust. I keep imagining a sunny climate would make things better. I'm not in love enough with this region, I guess, to make it through winter without some serious grumbling.
All this being said, I had a few moments this week when I felt like I could possibly renew our contract with the Northwest:
*Walking around Green Lake while crocus and daffodils fluttered in the breeze.
*Starting "studio night" with B on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. He draws, I write, and the house feels cozy and tight while Cora slumbers.
*Playing in the backyard after B mowed the lawn, and examining our apple tree for buds.
*Feeling a warm Saturday sun on our faces and making a tasty meal with the windows open.
The funny thing is, I sat down to tell you about a lovely mom-and-daughter lunch I just had with Cora at the Sunlight Cafe, the gist of which was--hey, rain can be cool, it makes you bond with the people you love--and I got seriously derailed. So, lunch was great. We go out of the house, we were fortified by healthy food, and we stopped whining. We sat across from each other and she waved at everyone and gave them these over the top smiles she's into these days where she scrunches her face as much as she can, crinkling her eyes and shrugging up her shoulders and smiling smiling smiling. She was on her best behavior, sitting up straight in her highchair and carefully eating her vegetables and buttered bread. She kept her hat on, a spot of pink in an otherwise subdued atmosphere. She threw nothing on the ground. She drank from her glass and didn't spill. She made eyes at our server and blew kisses to the neighboring tables. She chewed thoughtfully on her teething biscuit and ate the whole thing.
She was, in a word, delightful. She was everything I have ever wanted in a small companion, and she's mine.
First of all, in my past life (as in last month, that was so last year), I would have high-tailed us to the Zoomazium or the Children's Museum or the Aquarium or a fun bookstore or any number of fun and interesting indoor Seattle havens. But I have to admit to feeling a bit burned. B and I have been talking about germophobia, the definition of which, for me, has always been hey there, would you mind letting me know if your child is sick before we get together for a play date? (I am still a bit mystified by people who don't think they need to mention to me that their child has a cold and is running around with drippy green boogers the size of Godzilla.)
While I'm a big fan of hand washing, I've never owned Purell or those wipey sanitizing cloths some people drag around with them and pull out at germ-filled moments, brandishing them like a flag as they wipe down snot-encrusted grocery carts or freshen up a swing. In fact, I think I've been pretty good about letting Cora explore her world without telling her to stop because she might get sick.
But there have been some moments when I've quivered with distrust and frustration, when I've hated the process of watching her exploratory steps encounter germs in our urban environment, a few of them quite memorable. Here is just a sampling of some of the more salient moments that have compelled me to gag:
*While I hurriedly searched for a pile of entertaining picture books, Cora proudly approached me and handed up a pile of grass-encrusted dog poop from off the carpet of our local library, tracked in by an innocent young shoe.
*She picked up an immunization band-aid from the playground, and studied the stain on the white pad.
*We were walking around Green Lake and I took Cora out of the stroller so she could explore. She proceeded to do her usual daisy-picking/grass-plucking/rock-rolling thing until I turned away for ONE SECOND and she bent down and ran her hand through a loogie. This was by far the most horrifying moment, seeing my child test the consistency of a stranger's mucus. I have nearly erased this sentence 10 times because I am so embarrassed that I didn't catch it in time, and I still feel guilty.
So there. We got through these moments and lived to tell the tale. I'm not a germophobe (although by now you might be thinking I should be). Yet, all of those moments never resulted in Cora getting sick. Those events have all followed classes and play dates in indoor play areas. With our new found freedom after I quit my job, I took it upon myself to explore everything, enjoying my immense luck of having a newly-minted toddler. Until I began to experience one of the worst flu seasons I can remember. Now I am just annoyed that we couldn't have launched our new life during the summer months, lallygagging by the wading pool, skipping rocks at the beach, running through the zoo OUTSIDE instead of happily sucking down flu season at indoor locales.
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad Cora is developing a strong immune system. I firmly believe it's more important for her to make friends than to be sequestered in our house while we avoid germs. And I'm grateful beyond measure that she's relatively healthy and hasn't battled anything more complicated than the flu. I'm just ready for warm weather, a break from the snot, and some more freedom.
So, today's mushy rain-snow confusion has not been welcome. Cora is grumpy and trying to bring in five teeth, including molars, all at once, while I grit my teeth and look out the window trying to bring myself to go someplace where I know a flu virus is sucking happily on the surface of a toy, waiting to pounce on my daughter.
Which is why I am constantly battling wanderlust. I keep imagining a sunny climate would make things better. I'm not in love enough with this region, I guess, to make it through winter without some serious grumbling.
All this being said, I had a few moments this week when I felt like I could possibly renew our contract with the Northwest:
*Walking around Green Lake while crocus and daffodils fluttered in the breeze.
*Starting "studio night" with B on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. He draws, I write, and the house feels cozy and tight while Cora slumbers.
*Playing in the backyard after B mowed the lawn, and examining our apple tree for buds.
*Feeling a warm Saturday sun on our faces and making a tasty meal with the windows open.
The funny thing is, I sat down to tell you about a lovely mom-and-daughter lunch I just had with Cora at the Sunlight Cafe, the gist of which was--hey, rain can be cool, it makes you bond with the people you love--and I got seriously derailed. So, lunch was great. We go out of the house, we were fortified by healthy food, and we stopped whining. We sat across from each other and she waved at everyone and gave them these over the top smiles she's into these days where she scrunches her face as much as she can, crinkling her eyes and shrugging up her shoulders and smiling smiling smiling. She was on her best behavior, sitting up straight in her highchair and carefully eating her vegetables and buttered bread. She kept her hat on, a spot of pink in an otherwise subdued atmosphere. She threw nothing on the ground. She drank from her glass and didn't spill. She made eyes at our server and blew kisses to the neighboring tables. She chewed thoughtfully on her teething biscuit and ate the whole thing.
She was, in a word, delightful. She was everything I have ever wanted in a small companion, and she's mine.
Friday, March 27, 2009
A Meal for Wanderlust
Without following up too much on the progress of our wanderlust, I'll just say that he's still here. He's hanging out in our living room with his feet up, sipping tea and reading the newspaper. The headlines are making him feel itchy. The black tea is causing him to consider farmhouses in the Italian countryside, small villas on the coast of Brazil, tiny cabins on the Olympic Peninsula, acreage on Vashon, eclectic dwellings tucked in the woods of Maine. From my desk I can see his arm bent and touching his forehead. I can tell he's considering when he will slouch off the couch and begin surreptitiously cajoling me with his stories of far-off places and sunny landscapes. He might chew a bit of tobacco before beginning with his stories; maybe I have a little more time before he manipulates my mind yet again.
Perhaps I can stave off Wanderlust's advances by offering him a tasty meal. Last night after a long day for both of us, B was putting Cora to bed early (yes, our little bug is sick AGAIN) and I had about 5 minutes to rustle something up for dinner or else we'd probably have found ourselves munching cereal or slapping together an unfortunate sandwich. While surveying our refrigerator and wanting to make something nutritious, but not having enough energy to stir something on the stove, I remembered visiting a friend last year in Boulder who made amazing roasted vegetables (along with gorgeous dinners every night - you know who you are), and all of us basked in the hospitality and deliciousness. Hers were filled with a variety of colorful summer squashes and other seasonal July vegetables, of which I had none, but I did have cauliflower, something that I remember gave the meal a hearty, satisfying quality.
ROASTED VEGETABLES
Preheat oven to 425
Serves 2-4 (B and I polished it off last night, but we served ourselves huge helpings)
1 small or medium cauliflower
1 large carrot
2 stalks celery
1 small handful parsley
1/2 bunch Lacinato kale (about 7 leaves; a whole bunch would be fine, too, this is just all we had)
Broccoli stems (I used about 5)
Olive oil
Generous pinch sea salt
Pepper (we use a mix of black and red peppers)
Chop vegetables into manageable, chunky pieces. Lightly chop parsley. Put everything but the kale in a glass roasting dish and sprinkle liberally with olive oil. Sprinkle with sea salt and ground pepper and stir to combine flavors. Place on a middle rack in the oven and stir occasionally to ensure vegetables are roasted evenly. When vegetables are soft and browned, add kale. Stir to incorporate and bake in the oven for about 5 more minutes, or until the greens are wilted but not overdone. Add more salt and pepper, to taste, if necessary.
We served this with a combination of white and long-grain brown rice cooked in chicken broth (1 cup brown rice, 1 cup white rice, 3 cups chicken broth). I swear, I felt like it was one of the most delicious meals we've had in awhile and I heartily recommend it for its simplicity and nutritional value. I'm not sure if it was the food or the setting or the rare opportunity to share a meal, just the two of us, but we launched into a wonderful conversation about creativity and harnessing its elusive qualities at work or in short periods as a FT mom.
Both Cora and Wanderlust are stirring. I'm signing off to see if I can help the first one slip back to sleep. Wanderlust, however, is looking a bit edgy. I'm not sure what to do with him.
Perhaps I can stave off Wanderlust's advances by offering him a tasty meal. Last night after a long day for both of us, B was putting Cora to bed early (yes, our little bug is sick AGAIN) and I had about 5 minutes to rustle something up for dinner or else we'd probably have found ourselves munching cereal or slapping together an unfortunate sandwich. While surveying our refrigerator and wanting to make something nutritious, but not having enough energy to stir something on the stove, I remembered visiting a friend last year in Boulder who made amazing roasted vegetables (along with gorgeous dinners every night - you know who you are), and all of us basked in the hospitality and deliciousness. Hers were filled with a variety of colorful summer squashes and other seasonal July vegetables, of which I had none, but I did have cauliflower, something that I remember gave the meal a hearty, satisfying quality.
ROASTED VEGETABLES
Preheat oven to 425
Serves 2-4 (B and I polished it off last night, but we served ourselves huge helpings)
1 small or medium cauliflower
1 large carrot
2 stalks celery
1 small handful parsley
1/2 bunch Lacinato kale (about 7 leaves; a whole bunch would be fine, too, this is just all we had)
Broccoli stems (I used about 5)
Olive oil
Generous pinch sea salt
Pepper (we use a mix of black and red peppers)
Chop vegetables into manageable, chunky pieces. Lightly chop parsley. Put everything but the kale in a glass roasting dish and sprinkle liberally with olive oil. Sprinkle with sea salt and ground pepper and stir to combine flavors. Place on a middle rack in the oven and stir occasionally to ensure vegetables are roasted evenly. When vegetables are soft and browned, add kale. Stir to incorporate and bake in the oven for about 5 more minutes, or until the greens are wilted but not overdone. Add more salt and pepper, to taste, if necessary.
We served this with a combination of white and long-grain brown rice cooked in chicken broth (1 cup brown rice, 1 cup white rice, 3 cups chicken broth). I swear, I felt like it was one of the most delicious meals we've had in awhile and I heartily recommend it for its simplicity and nutritional value. I'm not sure if it was the food or the setting or the rare opportunity to share a meal, just the two of us, but we launched into a wonderful conversation about creativity and harnessing its elusive qualities at work or in short periods as a FT mom.
Both Cora and Wanderlust are stirring. I'm signing off to see if I can help the first one slip back to sleep. Wanderlust, however, is looking a bit edgy. I'm not sure what to do with him.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Wanderlust
Lately I've been more enamored with the dreaming portion of life than the stuff of it. And all that dreaming is beginning to make me feel like we need a big change, that perhaps there is something on the horizon, something exciting and different and profound just waiting to be discovered. Maybe it's a state of mind, maybe I'm supposed to be looking inward instead of wanting to change external circumstances. That's possible. But I feel change singing in my bones, a Spring-soaked sense of discovery around the corner, a kind of transformation waiting for B and I and our sweet child. I don't know what that means, I just know that I feel like my thoughts of change are getting so strong I wouldn't be surprised if an onlooker might see them shooting out from my brow and spiraling into the ether and concocting a new existence for us, one that embraces everything and is constantly grateful and connected.
I just don't feel all that connected to stuff here lately. I look out our back window while I write, and I think--oh yes, I shall plant a garden. I imagine constructing the pieces for raised beds and tending to the vegetables with Cora, and it makes me happy. And then we visit Vashon with our in-laws and we go to the beach. Suddenly I am watching Cora and her cousin playing in the sand, dancing around merrily with arms spinning against a blue sky, and then diving into the sand to gather handfuls of rocks before throwing them into the water. I take a deep breath. I look out at the waves. I feel salt air on my face. I imagine weekends like this. I feel life zip through my veins.
Last week when I was feeling the most conflicted with our lives and in love with the possibility of an island, I read a beautiful March 12th post by Shauna Ahern. It encapsulates many of the things I imagine about Vashon.
I also dream of a farmhouse in the woods in Mendocino. Therein lies an alternate existence, one that makes me feel excited and thrilled, where we breathe brightness into our soul all day long, where we hike all the time and explore sunny days.
B has had asthma lately, I think that's a part of why I am feeling this way. I am convinced it's because he is stressed and feels constrained. I think he needs more sun. I think he needs a soulful life, and I'm worried he doesn't get enough of that in our current one.
I think many of us spend far too many days of our lives feeling satisfied but faintly befuddled, like we're wondering why the shoes we're wearing don't fit because surely they should--they're well made, they were purchased with care and thought, they are what everyone else is wearing, so what's the problem?
Sometimes there's an alternate life--a journey and a thousand discoveries--waiting for us, but we never listen to it calling our name. It's so much easier to keep on doing what we're doing. I question this.
And so today, for the moment, I am going to put on my running shoes and take Cora on a long walk along the Burke-Gilman trail. I am going to jog just a little even though my knee doesn't want me to (a longtime injury). And I am going to do everything in my power to conjure the sun for just a few minutes. I am going to meet B at Green Lake after he gets off work and we're going to pump cool air into our lungs and walk like there's reason to. And I am going to take all these thoughts of change and transformation and consider what it all means. Why do I spend my days considering alternate realities? There's plenty to keep me in the moment, that's for sure. I will allow the possibility that maybe, yes, maybe we are on the precipice of something new. Maybe our wanderlust deserves a hearing. Maybe it's time for a change: either a change in location, or a change in mindset, or a lifestyle switch that is significant enough to be noticed.
And I am going to be infinitely grateful for the influence of our beautiful little lass: backpack on, shoes on, charging forward with zeal, a huge smile announcing herself to the world.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Wa-wa on a spring day
I have many childhood memories of making boats out of leaves and sticks and floating them down streams and ditches or setting them off to sea in the rocky waters of Puget Sound. Yesterday we celebrated the sun by walking down to the Ravenna trails and playing in the creek. Have you ever spent the afternoon watching water sparkle beneath a spring sun, the kind of northwest rays that are lemony and transparent and filter through leaves in the most gentle of ways? And then looked at the entire scene and wondered what it was like to look at it for the first time ever in your life? I don't think I'll ever stop getting all choked up and amazed when I see the curiosity and excitement on Cora's face when she sees something for the first time.
"Wa-wa!" she shrieked, pointing at the creek.
"Yes, it's water. It's a creek! Let's make boats and float them in the water!"
"Wa-wa!" she shrieked again, just to make sure I heard her. "Wa-wa!"
"Yes, water! Let's make boats!"
While I was desperately excited about reliving childhood memories, I think it's safe to say that Cora could have stood at the little wooden fence and peered over for upwards of an hour, staring at the water dance merrily through the canyon and rustle under trees and leaves. I ended up coaxing her toward the water's edge with a variety of items in my hands: branch bits, rocks, cedar boughs, and dried leaves. We stood on a tiny bridge and crouched low to the ground, sometimes lying on our bellies and looking over, while we dropped items into the water below, waving bye-bye to each one as it was pulled away. She was smitten. I was transported to carefree days alone and free, or with a friend or my dog or my sister, wandering through the day with my heart high in my chest and a thousand new discoveries around the bend. I remember great efforts going into the making of boats, searching for the perfect flat branch and broad leaf, then sending it off with a pine cone sailor and my blessings for safe travels.
The Ravenna trails have been so well renovated in the past few years that they are truly an outdoorsy paradise in the midst of a relatively urban circle of neighborhoods. We ended up climbing a new trail out of the canyon and managed to arrive in one piece. Remind me not to try to carry a small child in my arms while pulling a too-heavy stroller and climbing exceedingly steep, muddy paths. I had hilarious visions of being that sad little headline in the local news: Mom and Child In Critical Condition After Hiking Local Hill. We were rewarded with such a sweet little patch of neighborhood streets, though, that it was well worth the trip. I wandered through the quietest, most lovely little spot in Seattle and ended up at the end of a dead-end street where I found a rope swing jerry-rigged over the canyon. Oh, the memories! You must have them, too--there are few children who can't remember one or more blood-curdling journeys high in the sky, the world dropping away while friends cheer in the background. I had half a mind to park Cora on the curb and take a few flights myself.
At the end of the day, I told B that if we lived in a slightly more welcoming climate, I'm not sure Cora and I would ever be inside. I think we would just fill our backpacks with snacks and head out on long adventures, coming back for naps and necessary toddler rejuvenation. I truly can't think of a better way to live than to be outside all day, breathing fresh air and dipping fingers in cool, clear water. We spent all day yesterday singing our praises of spring, looking at crocuses and daffodils and green moss and willow tree buds. It made me wish for the farm house in the woods that I dream about nearly every day...on acreage, surrounded by creek beds and birds and gardens, with a playhouse and a giant garden, and a ton of kids circling the lawn and shrieking at the top of their lungs. I continue to have an escapist obsession with Vashon Island and northern California, both, and can get all woozy and weepy with my vision of our lives in either place.
As an aside, I wish I had a picture to post of the trails. I've decided my blog looks really naked. I'm going to make an effort to add pictures, which will be a fun addition to the process. Maybe I'll even come out of the closet a bit more and post a picture of myself, or even send my blog to more people. I've been relatively anonymous about the whole thing, but have been thinking it would be fun to share these silly days and anecdotes with more people.
"Wa-wa!" she shrieked, pointing at the creek.
"Yes, it's water. It's a creek! Let's make boats and float them in the water!"
"Wa-wa!" she shrieked again, just to make sure I heard her. "Wa-wa!"
"Yes, water! Let's make boats!"
While I was desperately excited about reliving childhood memories, I think it's safe to say that Cora could have stood at the little wooden fence and peered over for upwards of an hour, staring at the water dance merrily through the canyon and rustle under trees and leaves. I ended up coaxing her toward the water's edge with a variety of items in my hands: branch bits, rocks, cedar boughs, and dried leaves. We stood on a tiny bridge and crouched low to the ground, sometimes lying on our bellies and looking over, while we dropped items into the water below, waving bye-bye to each one as it was pulled away. She was smitten. I was transported to carefree days alone and free, or with a friend or my dog or my sister, wandering through the day with my heart high in my chest and a thousand new discoveries around the bend. I remember great efforts going into the making of boats, searching for the perfect flat branch and broad leaf, then sending it off with a pine cone sailor and my blessings for safe travels.
The Ravenna trails have been so well renovated in the past few years that they are truly an outdoorsy paradise in the midst of a relatively urban circle of neighborhoods. We ended up climbing a new trail out of the canyon and managed to arrive in one piece. Remind me not to try to carry a small child in my arms while pulling a too-heavy stroller and climbing exceedingly steep, muddy paths. I had hilarious visions of being that sad little headline in the local news: Mom and Child In Critical Condition After Hiking Local Hill. We were rewarded with such a sweet little patch of neighborhood streets, though, that it was well worth the trip. I wandered through the quietest, most lovely little spot in Seattle and ended up at the end of a dead-end street where I found a rope swing jerry-rigged over the canyon. Oh, the memories! You must have them, too--there are few children who can't remember one or more blood-curdling journeys high in the sky, the world dropping away while friends cheer in the background. I had half a mind to park Cora on the curb and take a few flights myself.
At the end of the day, I told B that if we lived in a slightly more welcoming climate, I'm not sure Cora and I would ever be inside. I think we would just fill our backpacks with snacks and head out on long adventures, coming back for naps and necessary toddler rejuvenation. I truly can't think of a better way to live than to be outside all day, breathing fresh air and dipping fingers in cool, clear water. We spent all day yesterday singing our praises of spring, looking at crocuses and daffodils and green moss and willow tree buds. It made me wish for the farm house in the woods that I dream about nearly every day...on acreage, surrounded by creek beds and birds and gardens, with a playhouse and a giant garden, and a ton of kids circling the lawn and shrieking at the top of their lungs. I continue to have an escapist obsession with Vashon Island and northern California, both, and can get all woozy and weepy with my vision of our lives in either place.
As an aside, I wish I had a picture to post of the trails. I've decided my blog looks really naked. I'm going to make an effort to add pictures, which will be a fun addition to the process. Maybe I'll even come out of the closet a bit more and post a picture of myself, or even send my blog to more people. I've been relatively anonymous about the whole thing, but have been thinking it would be fun to share these silly days and anecdotes with more people.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Food and sleep
We've had three glorious days of sunshine and enjoyed our first walk around the lake in over a week. While the sun certainly makes the world feel like a more welcoming place than the snow and blustery wind did, the things that have dominated our lives these days seem centered on two things: food and sleep. With our family recovering from yet another encounter with the stupid flu season, we've found ourselves in the throes of an incredibly fine balance that is easily disturbed by lack of sleep, and is made more comfortable by good food.
On the sleep front, both B and Cora developed bad coughs that kept all of us up for about a week. B's finally getting better and, along with a few night's on the couch (me), our family finally doesn't quite feel like a bunch of walking zombies. The main thing that happened with Cora is that she became very dependent on nursing, which makes perfect sense for a sick child who can't find much interest in food. But one of the problems I encountered was that she started getting back into the habit of nursing herself to sleep at nap time. That might not sound like a big deal lest you consider the past four months of efforts to get her to sleep with music, a bit of rocking, or in her bed while I pat her back. So, this week I decided to quit nursing her at nap time and encountered the total chaos of a crying, adamant baby all over again, which was so unnaceptably awful that I continued nursing her to sleep (and back to sleep when she wakes after 40 minutes) like she was a drunken sailor unfit for the world without her daily dose. I know it probably sounds ridiculously funny to anyone with more pressing things to worry about, but I have to admit that I had all kinds of anxiety about trying to go back to our old ways, so much so that I chatted about it with B and several friends, practically wringing my hands over the issue. It's just that Cora was so upset about it this week that she was a blubbery, crying, coughing, dramatically sad little mess wringing herself about in my arms like the world was coming to an end. I don't like either of us to feel that way, and yet I also don't like sitting in the rocking chair for upwards of an hour while she nurses and nurses and demands to nurse some more, then doesn't sleep very well because she wants to wake up and nurse.
Enter this afternoon, stage left. I fed her a big lunch and gave her a cookie. When the last crumb had been dusted off of her chin, I held out her sippy cup of rice milk.
"We need to have a little discussion," I said, sitting forward earnestly. She chugged back a few gulps of her rice milk and looked at me with twinkling eyes.
"Cora," I said, "We aren't going to have any more milk today when you go to sleep. No milk. We're going to read books and listen to music before you go to sleep, but we're not going to nurse. It doesn't help you sleep well, and I want you to have a good sleep. No milk. Do you understand?"
"No?" She looked at me. She made the milk sign and held her sippy cup up for my inspection.
"You can have the rice milk, no problem, but no milk. No mom's milk," I said, pointing to my chest for extra clarification.
"No milk," she said, taking another swig from her sippy cup.
"Do you understand?" I asked again. "I just wanted us to talk about this so you won't be upset later. We can't have any milk when it's nap time. We are going to go into your room and read stories, and change your diapers and put on comfy pants, and then listen to music. I will rock you and sing to you before you go to sleep, if you want, but no milk," I started imagining years ahead of family meetings and discussions, outlining rules and issues while we passed around a discussion totem like a Koosh ball or a shaman's stick, all of us very intentioned and focused while we discussed things like what's for dinner and where the kids can walk when they go outside alone, or what our stance is on watching TV. It felt totally comical and yet very important, communicating like this with my daughter.
"No milk," she repeated. And she put her head on her shoulder (the sign for sleep) and smiled, then handed me the sippy cup. We went into her room and went through all the steps I had described to her. I asked her if she wanted me to sing her a song and she said yes, and I held my breath when I picked her up, waiting for her to turn into a writhing serpent in my arms, all mouth, demanding MILK. But she looked at our rocking chair and then stared straight ahead, her little brain working away. When I was singing to her, she looked at me a couple of times and said "No milk?" and when I confirmed this, she put her head on my shoulder.
Lo and behold, the little lass slipped to sleep in her crib while I rubbed her back for a bit. She awoke like clockwork 40 minutes later and went back to sleep after a few minutes of gentle rocking. I love that she understands so much, I love that she listens and is such a careful little person. I love how loving she is when she kisses my cheek or my shoulder and looks at the wolf on her wall and howls, then snuggles into my chest and tries to go to sleep. I love my daughter, I just do. I am feeling very proud of her right now. And she's been asleep now for TWO HOURS. Ok, dude, wow. I suppose it makes perfect sense that having a conversation with your toddler can be quite a successful act, but I'm just not used to it. I feel like we live in such a culture of trickery when it comes to our kids, of parental power that supercedes our children's desires, and it is refreshing to be at a point when Cora's comprehension translates into logical outcomes. I am not anticipating that it will always be this easy (no), but I am learning more about parenting every day.
I had thought I would write more about food on this forum than I have, since it is a focus that dominates quite a bit of my time and thought these days. To summarize our general focus, it's to eat whole foods prepared at home, something which takes me back to my roots as a child raised in a macrobiotic, whole-foods focused family. I feel like apologizing here, in some ways, because I know how pompous it can sound to discuss food in these ways, especially because I do have the time to think about these things and to go grocery shopping to several places, and to put thought into a grocery list and into creating balanced meals. Also, I think these discussions can border on totally annoying because they can sound so particular, so political and health-focused to the point of seeming as if they exist on a higher plane ("here's an easy recipe--what, you don't have time to cook? it's important to support local farmers; just take your Thursday afternoon to visit local farmer's market because it's important--what, you work Thursday afternoon? Oh dear, no, that's not how I want these discussions to be perceived). Yet, there have been enough blockbuster books and media focus on the power of local living and the health benefits of not eating so many processed foods, which somehow have freed someone like me to feel a bit less as if I am preaching about anything you don't already know.
Last year we tried to get nearly all our fruits and vegetables through weekly deliveries from Full Circle Farm, a local farm that participates in community supported agriculture (CSA). The spring and summer turned out truly delicious fruit, including pears, strawberries, and rich purple plums (some of our favorites), and a plethora of vibrant organic vegetables--broccoli, mixed greens, freshly dug potatoes, green beans, radishes, cucumbers, and ripe, red tomatoes. In the winter we feasted on hearty squashes and winter greens. We discontinued the deliveries when I quit my job, mainly because I wanted to go out an forage for my own things once I had more time to do so, but I am considering starting up the deliveries again. But first I plan to visit our local farmers markets to see what we can find.
Thanks to the gift of one of my very dear friends, I am enjoying reading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and it is inspiring me once again to take these choices more seriously. Ever since we moved in, I have been wanting to build raised beds in our backyard for an organic garden, but am a bit daunted by the process. I need to do some research, but mainly I keep thinking I need B's help to go out and buy the wood and cut it down to size, then fill the boxes with organic soil. Somehow we never have time for that on the weekends, but I know that's just because we haven't made a priority of it. Of course, this is a project Cora and I could embark on together some morning or afternoon, so perhaps that will be one of our big projects together. I would love to have her help planting seeds and watering our garden.
So, while part of our plan is to begin eating almost strictly with the seasons and to do our best to buy locally-grown ingredients, right now I am enjoying feasting on everything I find. :) A few foods I've really enjoyed lately are sunflower seeds (raw and roasted), raisins, organic arugula, sweet juicing carrots (raw and in salad), and a variety of cooked vegetables, including one of Cora's favorite combos: cauliflower, carrots, and broccoli sauteed in olive oil and sea salt and steamed in a dash of chicken broth. I've been enjoying making rice in more creative ways, including pressure cooking short grain brown rice (it takes about 25 mins and turns out golden and chewy), and making a variety of pilafs. I just discovered baked rice, of which I've included a few recipes below in case you're interested.
Also, I made a tasty treat for Cora awhile back that B and I decided would also make a great hiking snack. Aside from the fact that it tastes good, I like it because it contains three ingredients. The simplicity of that appeals to me, especially if you've ever gotten lost reading the ingredient list of even the most natural cookie recipe. Here's how I made it, if you want to give it a try:
RAISIN SUNFLOWER SEED COOKIES
Prep time: 5-10 mins
About 1/2 cup organic sunflower seeds, equal parts raw and roasted and salted (you can just use raw; I like the added nutty quality of the roasted seeds, and the salt does a nice job of balancing out the sweetness of the raisins)
About 1/2 cup organic Thompson seedless raisins
1/4 - 1/2 cup of organic brown rice crisps (I used Barbara's)
Place sunflower seeds in a food processor and alternate between the chop and grind settings until the seeds become the consistency of a nut butter, with small chunks. Add raisins and alternate between chop and grind settings until the two ingredients are thoroughly incorporated. Remove from food processor and add rice crisps, a little at a time. Using your hands, mix the ingredients until you have an easily maneuverable "dough," which should be a bit oily from the seeds, and not overly sticky because of the addition of the rice crisps. Form the mixture into a log, wrap in saran wrap (I think waxed paper or foil would also work, but I haven't tried it), and put it in the refrigerator to set. About an hour later you can cut the mixture into small cookie-shaped discs.
Before I sign off, I thought I'd add a few of our recent meals to this post, in case, like me, you're looking for some easy inspiration. I bake a lot of our foods in the winter, and appreciate how hands-off this cooking style is. Most of 'em are straight from or adapted from Joy of Cooking. I made a dinner of the baked white rice and the mushroom chicken, and added a big romaine salad with fresh veggies and Goddess Dressing.
BAKED WHITE RICE
4 servings (according to the book, this foolproof recipe is easily doubled, which I can attest to).
Preheat the oven to 350. Heat in a 2-quart flameproof casserole over medium heat (or use a pan and transfer to a covered baking dish later):
1 tablespoon butter or olive oil
Add, and cook, stirring, until softened, 3-5 mins:
1/2 cup chopped onion
I also like to add 1-2 cloves garlic
Add and stir until well coated:
1 cup long-grain white rice (I used pearled rice and the results were delicious)
Add:
2 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1/4 teaspoon salt
(I also added a few healthy turns of the pepper grinder.)
Bring to a boil. Cover, put in the oven, and bake until rice is tender and the stock has been absorbed, 20-25 minutes. Let stand, covered, for 5 mins before serving.
BAKED BROWN RICE WITH MUSHROOMS
4-6 servings
Pearl barley can be substituted for the brown rice; increase the stock to 3 cups.
Preheat the oven to 350. Heat in a 2-quart flameproof casserole or saute pan over medium-high heat:
3 tablespoons butter or olive oil
Add and cook, stirring, until the mushrooms are lightly browned, about 8 mins:
1-1/2 cups coarsely chopped mushrooms
1/2 cup chopped onions
1-2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
Add and stir until coated:
1 cup long-grain brown rice
Add:
2-1/4 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
Bring to a boil. Cover, transfer to the oven, and bake until the liquid is absorbed and rice is tender, about 45 mins. Let stand, covered, for 10 mins before serving.
CHICKEN BREASTS BAKED ON A BED OF MUSHROOMS
4-6 servings
Position a rack in the center of the oven. Preheat the oven to 400. Trim any excess fat from:
6 bone-in or boneless chicken breast halves (with skin). I wanted dark meat so used free-range chicken thighs, enough to cover the mushrooms completely.
Season with:
1 teaspoon dried thyme
Salt and black pepper to taste
Lightly oil a baking pan or shallow baking dish just large enough to hold the chicken in a single layer. Remove the stems from:
6 portobello mushrooms or 12-18 large shiitake or button mushrooms
Or cut into 1/4" slices:
Enough smaller mushrooms to cover the bottom of the pan
Arrange the mushrooms in the pan and distribute over all:
2 cups dry white wine, or as needed
1 tablespoon minced garlic
Salt and black pepper to taste
Lay the chicken skin side up (if appropriate) on top of the mushrooms. Brush lightly with:
Olive oil
Bake, uncovered, until the chicken skin turns golden brown or the thigh meat is cooked, about 20 mins. Add more wine if necessary. Baste the chicken with the pan juices and turn it over. Bake until the chicken registers 165 on a thermometer, 10-20 mins more. (To be honest, I didn't do any of this with the chicken thigh meat; I just stuck it in there and checked it when it looked done.)
APPLE CRISP (this is an adaptation of a lot of recipes and open to experimentation. I also like adding berries to the filling.)
Serves 6-8
Preheat oven to 400.
Filling:
8 small apples or equivalent
Cinnamon to taste
1-2 teaspoons vanilla, depending on preference
1 tablespoon butter, cut into small cubes
Topping:
1 cup rolled oats
1/4 cup butter
1/4 - 1/3 cup brown sugar, depending on your taste
Wash apples and leave skin on. Cut coarsely, about 1/4" thick. Mix in a bowl with a liberal dose of cinnamon. Add vanilla. Place in a 8" baking dish or casserole pan, layering the apples with a few of the butter cubes. You'll want the apples to reach the top of the casserole dish, so add more if necessary.
Lightly melt butter and mix thoroughly with sugar and oats, making sure oats are thoroughly coated. Cover apples with topping and bake until apple mixture is soft and topping is a golden brown, about 40 minutes.
On the sleep front, both B and Cora developed bad coughs that kept all of us up for about a week. B's finally getting better and, along with a few night's on the couch (me), our family finally doesn't quite feel like a bunch of walking zombies. The main thing that happened with Cora is that she became very dependent on nursing, which makes perfect sense for a sick child who can't find much interest in food. But one of the problems I encountered was that she started getting back into the habit of nursing herself to sleep at nap time. That might not sound like a big deal lest you consider the past four months of efforts to get her to sleep with music, a bit of rocking, or in her bed while I pat her back. So, this week I decided to quit nursing her at nap time and encountered the total chaos of a crying, adamant baby all over again, which was so unnaceptably awful that I continued nursing her to sleep (and back to sleep when she wakes after 40 minutes) like she was a drunken sailor unfit for the world without her daily dose. I know it probably sounds ridiculously funny to anyone with more pressing things to worry about, but I have to admit that I had all kinds of anxiety about trying to go back to our old ways, so much so that I chatted about it with B and several friends, practically wringing my hands over the issue. It's just that Cora was so upset about it this week that she was a blubbery, crying, coughing, dramatically sad little mess wringing herself about in my arms like the world was coming to an end. I don't like either of us to feel that way, and yet I also don't like sitting in the rocking chair for upwards of an hour while she nurses and nurses and demands to nurse some more, then doesn't sleep very well because she wants to wake up and nurse.
Enter this afternoon, stage left. I fed her a big lunch and gave her a cookie. When the last crumb had been dusted off of her chin, I held out her sippy cup of rice milk.
"We need to have a little discussion," I said, sitting forward earnestly. She chugged back a few gulps of her rice milk and looked at me with twinkling eyes.
"Cora," I said, "We aren't going to have any more milk today when you go to sleep. No milk. We're going to read books and listen to music before you go to sleep, but we're not going to nurse. It doesn't help you sleep well, and I want you to have a good sleep. No milk. Do you understand?"
"No?" She looked at me. She made the milk sign and held her sippy cup up for my inspection.
"You can have the rice milk, no problem, but no milk. No mom's milk," I said, pointing to my chest for extra clarification.
"No milk," she said, taking another swig from her sippy cup.
"Do you understand?" I asked again. "I just wanted us to talk about this so you won't be upset later. We can't have any milk when it's nap time. We are going to go into your room and read stories, and change your diapers and put on comfy pants, and then listen to music. I will rock you and sing to you before you go to sleep, if you want, but no milk," I started imagining years ahead of family meetings and discussions, outlining rules and issues while we passed around a discussion totem like a Koosh ball or a shaman's stick, all of us very intentioned and focused while we discussed things like what's for dinner and where the kids can walk when they go outside alone, or what our stance is on watching TV. It felt totally comical and yet very important, communicating like this with my daughter.
"No milk," she repeated. And she put her head on her shoulder (the sign for sleep) and smiled, then handed me the sippy cup. We went into her room and went through all the steps I had described to her. I asked her if she wanted me to sing her a song and she said yes, and I held my breath when I picked her up, waiting for her to turn into a writhing serpent in my arms, all mouth, demanding MILK. But she looked at our rocking chair and then stared straight ahead, her little brain working away. When I was singing to her, she looked at me a couple of times and said "No milk?" and when I confirmed this, she put her head on my shoulder.
Lo and behold, the little lass slipped to sleep in her crib while I rubbed her back for a bit. She awoke like clockwork 40 minutes later and went back to sleep after a few minutes of gentle rocking. I love that she understands so much, I love that she listens and is such a careful little person. I love how loving she is when she kisses my cheek or my shoulder and looks at the wolf on her wall and howls, then snuggles into my chest and tries to go to sleep. I love my daughter, I just do. I am feeling very proud of her right now. And she's been asleep now for TWO HOURS. Ok, dude, wow. I suppose it makes perfect sense that having a conversation with your toddler can be quite a successful act, but I'm just not used to it. I feel like we live in such a culture of trickery when it comes to our kids, of parental power that supercedes our children's desires, and it is refreshing to be at a point when Cora's comprehension translates into logical outcomes. I am not anticipating that it will always be this easy (no), but I am learning more about parenting every day.
I had thought I would write more about food on this forum than I have, since it is a focus that dominates quite a bit of my time and thought these days. To summarize our general focus, it's to eat whole foods prepared at home, something which takes me back to my roots as a child raised in a macrobiotic, whole-foods focused family. I feel like apologizing here, in some ways, because I know how pompous it can sound to discuss food in these ways, especially because I do have the time to think about these things and to go grocery shopping to several places, and to put thought into a grocery list and into creating balanced meals. Also, I think these discussions can border on totally annoying because they can sound so particular, so political and health-focused to the point of seeming as if they exist on a higher plane ("here's an easy recipe--what, you don't have time to cook? it's important to support local farmers; just take your Thursday afternoon to visit local farmer's market because it's important--what, you work Thursday afternoon? Oh dear, no, that's not how I want these discussions to be perceived). Yet, there have been enough blockbuster books and media focus on the power of local living and the health benefits of not eating so many processed foods, which somehow have freed someone like me to feel a bit less as if I am preaching about anything you don't already know.
Last year we tried to get nearly all our fruits and vegetables through weekly deliveries from Full Circle Farm, a local farm that participates in community supported agriculture (CSA). The spring and summer turned out truly delicious fruit, including pears, strawberries, and rich purple plums (some of our favorites), and a plethora of vibrant organic vegetables--broccoli, mixed greens, freshly dug potatoes, green beans, radishes, cucumbers, and ripe, red tomatoes. In the winter we feasted on hearty squashes and winter greens. We discontinued the deliveries when I quit my job, mainly because I wanted to go out an forage for my own things once I had more time to do so, but I am considering starting up the deliveries again. But first I plan to visit our local farmers markets to see what we can find.
Thanks to the gift of one of my very dear friends, I am enjoying reading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and it is inspiring me once again to take these choices more seriously. Ever since we moved in, I have been wanting to build raised beds in our backyard for an organic garden, but am a bit daunted by the process. I need to do some research, but mainly I keep thinking I need B's help to go out and buy the wood and cut it down to size, then fill the boxes with organic soil. Somehow we never have time for that on the weekends, but I know that's just because we haven't made a priority of it. Of course, this is a project Cora and I could embark on together some morning or afternoon, so perhaps that will be one of our big projects together. I would love to have her help planting seeds and watering our garden.
So, while part of our plan is to begin eating almost strictly with the seasons and to do our best to buy locally-grown ingredients, right now I am enjoying feasting on everything I find. :) A few foods I've really enjoyed lately are sunflower seeds (raw and roasted), raisins, organic arugula, sweet juicing carrots (raw and in salad), and a variety of cooked vegetables, including one of Cora's favorite combos: cauliflower, carrots, and broccoli sauteed in olive oil and sea salt and steamed in a dash of chicken broth. I've been enjoying making rice in more creative ways, including pressure cooking short grain brown rice (it takes about 25 mins and turns out golden and chewy), and making a variety of pilafs. I just discovered baked rice, of which I've included a few recipes below in case you're interested.
Also, I made a tasty treat for Cora awhile back that B and I decided would also make a great hiking snack. Aside from the fact that it tastes good, I like it because it contains three ingredients. The simplicity of that appeals to me, especially if you've ever gotten lost reading the ingredient list of even the most natural cookie recipe. Here's how I made it, if you want to give it a try:
RAISIN SUNFLOWER SEED COOKIES
Prep time: 5-10 mins
About 1/2 cup organic sunflower seeds, equal parts raw and roasted and salted (you can just use raw; I like the added nutty quality of the roasted seeds, and the salt does a nice job of balancing out the sweetness of the raisins)
About 1/2 cup organic Thompson seedless raisins
1/4 - 1/2 cup of organic brown rice crisps (I used Barbara's)
Place sunflower seeds in a food processor and alternate between the chop and grind settings until the seeds become the consistency of a nut butter, with small chunks. Add raisins and alternate between chop and grind settings until the two ingredients are thoroughly incorporated. Remove from food processor and add rice crisps, a little at a time. Using your hands, mix the ingredients until you have an easily maneuverable "dough," which should be a bit oily from the seeds, and not overly sticky because of the addition of the rice crisps. Form the mixture into a log, wrap in saran wrap (I think waxed paper or foil would also work, but I haven't tried it), and put it in the refrigerator to set. About an hour later you can cut the mixture into small cookie-shaped discs.
Before I sign off, I thought I'd add a few of our recent meals to this post, in case, like me, you're looking for some easy inspiration. I bake a lot of our foods in the winter, and appreciate how hands-off this cooking style is. Most of 'em are straight from or adapted from Joy of Cooking. I made a dinner of the baked white rice and the mushroom chicken, and added a big romaine salad with fresh veggies and Goddess Dressing.
BAKED WHITE RICE
4 servings (according to the book, this foolproof recipe is easily doubled, which I can attest to).
Preheat the oven to 350. Heat in a 2-quart flameproof casserole over medium heat (or use a pan and transfer to a covered baking dish later):
1 tablespoon butter or olive oil
Add, and cook, stirring, until softened, 3-5 mins:
1/2 cup chopped onion
I also like to add 1-2 cloves garlic
Add and stir until well coated:
1 cup long-grain white rice (I used pearled rice and the results were delicious)
Add:
2 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1/4 teaspoon salt
(I also added a few healthy turns of the pepper grinder.)
Bring to a boil. Cover, put in the oven, and bake until rice is tender and the stock has been absorbed, 20-25 minutes. Let stand, covered, for 5 mins before serving.
BAKED BROWN RICE WITH MUSHROOMS
4-6 servings
Pearl barley can be substituted for the brown rice; increase the stock to 3 cups.
Preheat the oven to 350. Heat in a 2-quart flameproof casserole or saute pan over medium-high heat:
3 tablespoons butter or olive oil
Add and cook, stirring, until the mushrooms are lightly browned, about 8 mins:
1-1/2 cups coarsely chopped mushrooms
1/2 cup chopped onions
1-2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
Add and stir until coated:
1 cup long-grain brown rice
Add:
2-1/4 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
Bring to a boil. Cover, transfer to the oven, and bake until the liquid is absorbed and rice is tender, about 45 mins. Let stand, covered, for 10 mins before serving.
CHICKEN BREASTS BAKED ON A BED OF MUSHROOMS
4-6 servings
Position a rack in the center of the oven. Preheat the oven to 400. Trim any excess fat from:
6 bone-in or boneless chicken breast halves (with skin). I wanted dark meat so used free-range chicken thighs, enough to cover the mushrooms completely.
Season with:
1 teaspoon dried thyme
Salt and black pepper to taste
Lightly oil a baking pan or shallow baking dish just large enough to hold the chicken in a single layer. Remove the stems from:
6 portobello mushrooms or 12-18 large shiitake or button mushrooms
Or cut into 1/4" slices:
Enough smaller mushrooms to cover the bottom of the pan
Arrange the mushrooms in the pan and distribute over all:
2 cups dry white wine, or as needed
1 tablespoon minced garlic
Salt and black pepper to taste
Lay the chicken skin side up (if appropriate) on top of the mushrooms. Brush lightly with:
Olive oil
Bake, uncovered, until the chicken skin turns golden brown or the thigh meat is cooked, about 20 mins. Add more wine if necessary. Baste the chicken with the pan juices and turn it over. Bake until the chicken registers 165 on a thermometer, 10-20 mins more. (To be honest, I didn't do any of this with the chicken thigh meat; I just stuck it in there and checked it when it looked done.)
APPLE CRISP (this is an adaptation of a lot of recipes and open to experimentation. I also like adding berries to the filling.)
Serves 6-8
Preheat oven to 400.
Filling:
8 small apples or equivalent
Cinnamon to taste
1-2 teaspoons vanilla, depending on preference
1 tablespoon butter, cut into small cubes
Topping:
1 cup rolled oats
1/4 cup butter
1/4 - 1/3 cup brown sugar, depending on your taste
Wash apples and leave skin on. Cut coarsely, about 1/4" thick. Mix in a bowl with a liberal dose of cinnamon. Add vanilla. Place in a 8" baking dish or casserole pan, layering the apples with a few of the butter cubes. You'll want the apples to reach the top of the casserole dish, so add more if necessary.
Lightly melt butter and mix thoroughly with sugar and oats, making sure oats are thoroughly coated. Cover apples with topping and bake until apple mixture is soft and topping is a golden brown, about 40 minutes.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Germs and thoughts
We are really in the throes of it over here in our little corner of the world. Cora is totally sick with an extremely congested nose, red (infected) eyes, and a fever. She's so sick that she can't really nurse; after she tried tonight, she coughed so hard she threw up. I think it was because of her congestion, not because she has the flu. And then B came home early today because he is coming down with either a) whatever Cora has, or b) another bout with strep throat. I am currently drinking another glass of water and trying to get ready for another long, interrupted night. May I please, please, please just stay healthy? Please?
I am worried about B. His job is stressful, he's so tired all the time, and he comes home and throws himself into being a dedicated dad and partner. Plus, it's winter, and his San Diego-bred disposition needs more sun. I wish I could make him better. Tomorrow is his birthday and I have the feeling he'll be spending it sick in bed. My poor little family! From what I hear, this season has been particularly tough on everyone. My neighbor was saying that they've been spending week after week cycling through one virus after another.
This has been a relatively tough week and it's only Tuesday. Yesterday was a long struggle through the haze of sleepy me and sick Cora. I honestly have no idea how people deal with this when they have a huge family. My demanding little toddler is enough for me. After spending 45 minutes trying to help Cora get comfortable, and feeling tired and wrangled myself, I was talking to my friend about how sometimes I feel like everything is just being pulled out of me, all my energy drained entirely into loving and cooking and cuddling and nursing...especially nursing. Good grief, that's all Cora wanted to do yesterday afternoon and so I just sat in the rocking chair and gave up any sense of my body being mine. It is, for the time being, Cora's.
I felt so lost yesterday, wanting to do something more productive with myself--work for money, have a long stretch of productive writing time, even just clean and organize our house from top to bottom all the while enjoying uninterrupted thoughts. Holding my sick child felt exhausting and hollow. And then for some reason when Cora woke up in the middle of the night for the third time and we ended up on the couch from 1:30-2:30 while she guzzled water and stretched out next to me with her head on my shoulder, I felt strangely rejuvenated. Exhausted, but aware of this gift of my daughter, aware of a sense of permanence, of time slowing down. It's hard to describe. There's nothing like caring for a sick child to remind you of the present moment. I felt myself letting go, giving in and feeling to my bones the role I have in her life. She doesn't usually lie still for that long, and is slowly transitioning away from always needing to be nursed or walked/swayed in order to fall asleep. Her body is getting longer and stronger, and her little self next to mine last night felt like a whole new phase, like a little girl phase, and I can imagine her growing up far faster than I can really fathom.
B made me sleep in this morning before he headed to work and I think sometimes that's all I need, just sleep, sweet sleep. The day was beautiful with unexpected sun and Cora ate a good amount of breakfast and lunch and then fell asleep in her stroller while we enjoyed some fresh air. I wrote a couple of pages before she woke up, and then we nursed and had a snack and were headed out the door when B came home. Everything sort of went downhill after that with Cora's general health and my awareness of the stretch of household sickness still ahead.
But what I keep realizing as I cycle through these phases of unrest and clarity, wanderlust and domesticity, motherhood and writerly goals, is that these dichotomies will be present in my life forever, and in constantly shifting ways.
Right now I am a new mother with a small child, and I am loving her in all the ways I can. In her sick state, she doesn't generally like to go more than five minutes before asking to be picked up again. This is where we are at, and sometimes the fragility of these moments is palpable. I continue to feel a sense of certainty that what I want to do is to fill her up with as much of me as possible now because I want her to be a self-possessed, free spirit later. I am not assuming that my influence is necessary for that to occur, I just recognize that I deeply want to give it.
And I am slowly, daily working to make my writing grow. I'm not writing a ton, but I am writing regularly, and I am no longer sitting in a coffee shop looking out the window and fidgeting over an imperfect sentence. I am writing as fast as I can, and enjoying the story instead of thinking about what other people will think of it. I am hoping to carve out a few more hours a week for that effort, but there are also still many moments I don't take advantage of and that's where I need to be more disciplined. Once I sit down, I'm thrilled to be here. I am lucky when I remember that this is more than I've written in the past three years. It helps me get perspective. Yesterday I felt weighed down by the statistical probability of ever getting anything published, let alone becoming a prolific author. Those thoughts are not productive, not in the slightest. So I remind myself: It's a journey. I'm walking along the path.
Sometimes I start wanting to rush things--make it go faster! be an author, now! hurry, Cora, grow up and go on independent play dates and to school so I have more time to write!--or I start to question my gut instincts. Like yesterday, when I read nauseating, sad, worrisome headlines all day long about global economic turmoil. Should I have kept my job? Is what I'm doing "worth it"? There are certainly days when I question whether my decision to be the one staring at Cora while wondering what the heck to do next is something I need to be doing, or if it's something I should be paying someone to do so that I can make more money and contribute to the general economic health of our household and the GDP. And wanting to be a writer takes a certain amount of hutzpah, considering statistics and probability and general paycheck issues.
Parenting and career choices are very personal topics, as of course they should be. I sometimes feel the discussion electrifying the atmosphere, particularly between women, depending on their experience and interpretation. Some question how I can fit any writing in when there are so many other things that need to be done. Some remind me of the weight of feminist arguments against pulling so much domestic weight during this phase of our lives. Some are envious of the ability to be at home, while others adamantly explain that it's not something they could ever do. I feel myself swept along the current of it, feeling pulled in various directions. But I keep coming back to this thought: it's what we do in our own lives that matters. It's how we live, day to day, that creates a life. We need to go on our own journey, and comparing ourselves to each other is useful and helpful so far as it helps us hone in on what our own philosophy is.
Also, I find peace when I take a deep breath and remember that I am just trying to write my life a word at a time.
I see it is already 9:45, well past the bedtime of a person in a germ-filled household. Good night.
I am worried about B. His job is stressful, he's so tired all the time, and he comes home and throws himself into being a dedicated dad and partner. Plus, it's winter, and his San Diego-bred disposition needs more sun. I wish I could make him better. Tomorrow is his birthday and I have the feeling he'll be spending it sick in bed. My poor little family! From what I hear, this season has been particularly tough on everyone. My neighbor was saying that they've been spending week after week cycling through one virus after another.
This has been a relatively tough week and it's only Tuesday. Yesterday was a long struggle through the haze of sleepy me and sick Cora. I honestly have no idea how people deal with this when they have a huge family. My demanding little toddler is enough for me. After spending 45 minutes trying to help Cora get comfortable, and feeling tired and wrangled myself, I was talking to my friend about how sometimes I feel like everything is just being pulled out of me, all my energy drained entirely into loving and cooking and cuddling and nursing...especially nursing. Good grief, that's all Cora wanted to do yesterday afternoon and so I just sat in the rocking chair and gave up any sense of my body being mine. It is, for the time being, Cora's.
I felt so lost yesterday, wanting to do something more productive with myself--work for money, have a long stretch of productive writing time, even just clean and organize our house from top to bottom all the while enjoying uninterrupted thoughts. Holding my sick child felt exhausting and hollow. And then for some reason when Cora woke up in the middle of the night for the third time and we ended up on the couch from 1:30-2:30 while she guzzled water and stretched out next to me with her head on my shoulder, I felt strangely rejuvenated. Exhausted, but aware of this gift of my daughter, aware of a sense of permanence, of time slowing down. It's hard to describe. There's nothing like caring for a sick child to remind you of the present moment. I felt myself letting go, giving in and feeling to my bones the role I have in her life. She doesn't usually lie still for that long, and is slowly transitioning away from always needing to be nursed or walked/swayed in order to fall asleep. Her body is getting longer and stronger, and her little self next to mine last night felt like a whole new phase, like a little girl phase, and I can imagine her growing up far faster than I can really fathom.
B made me sleep in this morning before he headed to work and I think sometimes that's all I need, just sleep, sweet sleep. The day was beautiful with unexpected sun and Cora ate a good amount of breakfast and lunch and then fell asleep in her stroller while we enjoyed some fresh air. I wrote a couple of pages before she woke up, and then we nursed and had a snack and were headed out the door when B came home. Everything sort of went downhill after that with Cora's general health and my awareness of the stretch of household sickness still ahead.
But what I keep realizing as I cycle through these phases of unrest and clarity, wanderlust and domesticity, motherhood and writerly goals, is that these dichotomies will be present in my life forever, and in constantly shifting ways.
Right now I am a new mother with a small child, and I am loving her in all the ways I can. In her sick state, she doesn't generally like to go more than five minutes before asking to be picked up again. This is where we are at, and sometimes the fragility of these moments is palpable. I continue to feel a sense of certainty that what I want to do is to fill her up with as much of me as possible now because I want her to be a self-possessed, free spirit later. I am not assuming that my influence is necessary for that to occur, I just recognize that I deeply want to give it.
And I am slowly, daily working to make my writing grow. I'm not writing a ton, but I am writing regularly, and I am no longer sitting in a coffee shop looking out the window and fidgeting over an imperfect sentence. I am writing as fast as I can, and enjoying the story instead of thinking about what other people will think of it. I am hoping to carve out a few more hours a week for that effort, but there are also still many moments I don't take advantage of and that's where I need to be more disciplined. Once I sit down, I'm thrilled to be here. I am lucky when I remember that this is more than I've written in the past three years. It helps me get perspective. Yesterday I felt weighed down by the statistical probability of ever getting anything published, let alone becoming a prolific author. Those thoughts are not productive, not in the slightest. So I remind myself: It's a journey. I'm walking along the path.
Sometimes I start wanting to rush things--make it go faster! be an author, now! hurry, Cora, grow up and go on independent play dates and to school so I have more time to write!--or I start to question my gut instincts. Like yesterday, when I read nauseating, sad, worrisome headlines all day long about global economic turmoil. Should I have kept my job? Is what I'm doing "worth it"? There are certainly days when I question whether my decision to be the one staring at Cora while wondering what the heck to do next is something I need to be doing, or if it's something I should be paying someone to do so that I can make more money and contribute to the general economic health of our household and the GDP. And wanting to be a writer takes a certain amount of hutzpah, considering statistics and probability and general paycheck issues.
Parenting and career choices are very personal topics, as of course they should be. I sometimes feel the discussion electrifying the atmosphere, particularly between women, depending on their experience and interpretation. Some question how I can fit any writing in when there are so many other things that need to be done. Some remind me of the weight of feminist arguments against pulling so much domestic weight during this phase of our lives. Some are envious of the ability to be at home, while others adamantly explain that it's not something they could ever do. I feel myself swept along the current of it, feeling pulled in various directions. But I keep coming back to this thought: it's what we do in our own lives that matters. It's how we live, day to day, that creates a life. We need to go on our own journey, and comparing ourselves to each other is useful and helpful so far as it helps us hone in on what our own philosophy is.
Also, I find peace when I take a deep breath and remember that I am just trying to write my life a word at a time.
I see it is already 9:45, well past the bedtime of a person in a germ-filled household. Good night.
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