chicklegirl

Four months

2012-01-25T13:25:00.001-08:00

Cranberry muffins

2012-01-21T11:15:00.000-08:00

I woke up in the mood to bake. Maybe because we got more than six inches of snow in the last 24 hours, and making (and eating) something warm feels so cozy. Maybe because it was time to do something with the bag of fresh cranberries languishing in our crisper drawer since November (not quite so fresh or crisp, but still usable).

My go-to recipe website had some great-looking recipes, but I ultimately chose this one to tweak because I thought the orange juice would counter the tart berries nicely, as well as providing some extra sweetness when I cut out the sugar. Using some of the comments, I substituted canola oil for shortening and added sour cream for moisture. I also made giant muffins, and increased the baking time by 10 minutes. The results exceeded all expectations!

No Sugar Added Cranberry Muffins

Ingredients:

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup Splenda
1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 teaspoons orange zest
1-1/2 teaspoons ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 cup vegetable or canola oil
1/2 cup agave nectar
3/4 cup sour cream
2/3 cup orange juice concentrate + 1/3 cup water
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 eggs, beaten
1-1/2 cups chopped dried cranberries (or 2 cups fresh cranberries, chopped)
1-1/2 cups chopped walnuts

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Spray or grease a 12 cup and 6 cup muffin tin.
2. Mix together dry ingredients.
3. Stir in wet ingredients, mix thoroughly, then stir in cranberries and nuts. Pour into muffin cups and bake for 25 minutes or until brown (increase baking time to 40 minutes for large muffins).

Makes 18 regular muffins or six large muffins.

Done

2012-01-19T09:23:00.000-08:00

Never mind that I started this last July--it's finished!

What say you?

2012-01-06T19:31:00.001-08:00

So... I took a chance with my new banner for 2012. I realize this is rather vivid--especially with the red around the letters--but I'm feeling like it's a bold new year. Let me know what you think.

And of course, a coordinating profile pic...

Us, 2011

2011-12-29T18:46:00.000-08:00

For the past year, Jim has been on this kick of wanting to take family pictures every month so we can see how much the kids are growing and changing. I'm not as camera-shy as Jimmy, but I confess I don't particularly enjoy having my picture taken because I'm seldom satisfied with how I look in snapshots--so it hasn't broken my heart that most months Jim has forgotten.

I should have known it it was coming, though, that he'd want to send out Christmas cards with a family picture. I decided this would be a great exercise for me in applying the whole "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change" mantra... so I agreed to do it, with a few conditions: please, no snapshot of us taken inside our dark, poorly lit house; and give me enough warning for me to slap on some makeup and fix my hair.

Of course, no one shot caught all of us looking our best, but in this particular one we all looked presentable, well-groomed and well-lit in the late December afternoon sunlight. Success!

Three months

2011-12-26T19:43:00.001-08:00

This post comes ten days late, but I've been busy--finishing up the last few days of school for 2011, sewing flannel pajamas for the kids to wear Christmas Eve, snuggling with Joe, and letting go of the things I wanted to do, but just didn't have time for... like blogging.

One month

2011-10-17T19:20:00.001-07:00

Two weeks

2011-10-01T15:52:00.000-07:00

Hello, joe

2011-09-19T17:00:00.000-07:00

September 16, 2011
8:24 a.m.
7 pounds, 1 ounce
18¾ inches

Tightwad tuesday: pretty, cheap

2011-09-13T13:22:00.000-07:00

Health and beauty is one of those areas where it's hard to give tightwad tips because everyone's personal care routine is just that: personal. We all have our preferences, proclivities and products that we stick with because they are what we have come to know and love.

Rather than trying to give advice about specific products or techniques, let me just offer a few general tips:

Be willing to experiment. About a year ago I realized I had been fighting a losing battle with my hair for about 30 years, trying to beat unruly frizz into smooth, silky submission. The result was that my hair was dry, damaged and definitely lackluster--in spite of my arsenal of curling and straightening irons, rollers, balms, serums, sprays, and deep treatments. I wondered for the first time whether working with the wave, rather than trying to straighten it, would improve the overall appearance of my hair and make it lower maintenance. So I did some online research, found a great website devoted to caring for wavy and curly hair, learned what worked on my hair and why, and started to try some new products, including a few homemade (and extremely thrifty) ones. The result? I now embrace my lovely, loose waves. My hair is much healthier, and I spend a lot less on fancy shampoos and other haircare products I no longer need.

Shop around. This may sound obvious, but I know I have a tendency to pick up my health and beauty products at the same place I buy groceries just because it's convenient. Is convenience really worth extra expense? Maybe, if you have a full-blown sibling scuffle going on in aisle three, but otherwise... being willing to go to another store to get what you need can be much more cost effective (even including the price of gasoline) if you buy enough to get you through several months to a year (depending on when those items expire). If you have go-to name brand products you just can't live without, compare the prices for those products at different retailers, including online. Keep track in a notebook. Be sure to evaluate cost per ounce in different sizes. Then, when your holy grail goes on sale, you know if you're getting a really good deal and can stock up accordingly.

Evaluate effectiveness of product vs. technique. This applies in particular to items like make-up and razors. If mastering a great technique for applying foundation and coverup means that inexpensive products give you a desirable result, then by all means ditch the designer brands and get your cosmetics at the drugstore. If, on the other hand, using cheap razors leaves you with painful bumps, it may be worthwhile to cut back in some other area and pay a bit extra for the 5-blade shaver and the anti-bump shave gel.

Simplify. Are you still using items that no longer work for you, or serve a function that could be filled by a multi-tasking product? I've been using lipstick for years but recently looked at how I wear it and realized I was always mixing it with lip gloss or lip balm to tone it down. I'd invariably wind up with several tubes that weren't completely used up by the time I forgot how long I'd had them in my makeup box. So, I switched to tinted lip balm, which is cheaper than lipstick, and much cheaper than lipstick and gloss together. Multi-taskers are great because you can buy fewer items (which means less packaging) and in bulk (which means lower cost per ounce)--and you use them up fast enough they don't have a chance to go bad. Some of my favorites include using olive or avocado oil as a moisturizer or deep conditioning treatment for hair, or an organic soap (such as Castile soap) that works well as a shampoo bar.

Ask around. Talk to people you know about what works for them. You might be surprised at the great cost-saving ideas you can get from the medicine cabinets of your family and friends.

Tightwad tuesday: read up

2011-08-30T22:16:00.001-07:00

A while ago, one of the children's librarians at our library (who happens to be a friend we got to know last year at the community garden) gifted me with a couple books the library was letting go: The Tightwad Gazette, volumes one and two. Since then, they've languished on a windowsill under a stack of library books (what can I say? I've been a bit preoccupied), but the other day I was looking for something to read while I camped with my swollen ankles propped up in front of the A/C, and they caught my eye.

Amy Dacyczyn, a self-proclaimed "Frugal Zealot", first published The Tightwad Gazette in newsletter form in 1990; later she compiled the newsletters into three volumes, organized seasonally. One of the things I really enjoyed about the books right away was Dacyczyn's notion that thrift gets an undeservedly bad rap, and we should promote "tightwaddery" by seeking out and sharing with other like-minded penny-pinchers.

As with all tightwad tips, her newsletters have some suggestions that won't work for every household, and some are even a bit dated. What I've found useful is that her ideas (and those of her readers) get me thinking about how I do things, where I could cut back, what I can tweak in how I'm doing things now. One of the best ideas that I'm itching to try--but it's going to take more work than I can do right now--is creating a price notebook of all the items our family purchases most frequently so I can compare how much different stores charge for that item, and know when I'm really getting a good deal. I plan on trying this later in the fall, and will report back on how it goes.

Meanwhile, if you're looking for some interesting reading, I highly recommend checking out The Tightwad Gazette--from your local library, of course.

Tightwad tuesday: 72-hour kits

2011-08-23T08:25:00.000-07:00

"An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure."

It's an old saw that never gets outdated--and it's true: sometimes you have to spend a bit now in order to save later. Look no further than Virginia earlier today to see that there is no instance in which this is more true than preparing for an emergency. Spending now could save you money later on--and more importantly, maybe even save your life or that of a loved one.

Before Jimmy was born, I worked for the City of Bellevue. All City employees were expected to be available to help assess damage to local infrastructure in the event of an emergency or natural disaster, and because I lived within 2 miles of city hall, I was in the first tier expected to report. The big risks in that area were earthquake, volcanic eruption and terrorist attacks. That's when I got in the habit of having a portable 72-hour kit stashed under my desk at work that included a change of clothes, food, water and first aid, as well as one at home and a smaller kit in my car.

Now we live in a more rural area, but we're still at risk for earthquakes and volcanic eruption, and flooding is a problem in our county every year, although this past winter is the first time we ever found any water leaking into our basement.

Currently, I keep a kit in my home near the front door, as well as the mini-kit in my trunk. The big one's in a large wheeled plastic storage chest that includes a backpack for each person with clothes and food, along with first aid and sanitary supplies for the whole family. It's true, I go through various stages of vigilance in rotating and updating the contents of my kit, but my recent bout of nesting got me thinking I needed to check it.

Last week I gutted and reorganized Jimmy's and Audrey's closets, and it seemed like the perfect time to swap out the change of clothes in their kit backpacks with the sizes they're currently wearing. I also went through and replaced all the food that was outdated, and added a new feature to my kit: a "refresh list". I got the idea from a recent issue of Parents magazine, which suggested keeping a card with a list of the expiration dates of all perishables in your kit, so you could see at a glance what needed to be updated.

If you want to put together a 72-hour kit on your own (since pre-assembled kits tend to be pricey) and are looking for a good place to start, try 72hours.org. I also like this checklist put together by the Washington State Emergency Management division.

Just remember: you don't have to put it all together at once. Start with a container large enough to hold all the supplies for however many people are in your household. If you don't already have something suitable on hand, try an inexpensive container such as a large food-grade bucket or a suitcase or backpack you pick up for a couple bucks at a thrift store.

Buy a few items for your kit each week when you purchase your regular groceries, or go in with someone else if there are items you need to purchase in bulk. By working at it gradually, you can assemble your emergency kit without breaking the bank.

Dinner paradigm shift debrief

2011-08-19T22:58:00.000-07:00

The short ribs were a big hit. I had to bite my tongue and reel myself in (old habits die oh, so hard) as I coached Jimmy through different tasks to prepare dinner, but it was definitely worth every ounce of self-control I exerted. He glowed with a sense of accomplishment after, was willing to try two new dishes, and loved everything he cooked.

This old dog is gonna learn new tricks, even if it kills her.

Dinner paradigm shift

2011-08-19T11:36:00.000-07:00

To say my relationship with food is complicated is an understatement, and of all the things that perplex me, cooking dinner tops the list. I love to eat, to cook for the holidays, and to cook for company or take dinner to friends when they're sick or have had a baby. When I know the people I'm cooking for will enjoy what I'm preparing, I find myself taking creative pleasure in trying new dishes and experimenting to improve old favorites. Making everyday dinners, though, is at best a perfunctory task, and most nights frustrating and exhausting.

I can't pinpoint the precise time I started to dread dinner, but I can trace it back to puberty, when my mom went back to college and work. I had to take on dinner duty several nights a week and like a typical teen, I chafed at the unwanted responsibility. That early resentment has informed my attitude about cooking dinner ever since.

When I first got married, it was challenging to cook for a husband who had strong prejudices against certain foods (many of them my favorites) but was reluctant to tell me for fear of offending his new bride. During the early years of our marriage, I struggled to find things we both liked while still injecting some variety into our menu; I could only eat spaghetti so many nights a week. I found a solution that seemed to work for a while: I created a monthly meal calendar of recipes we both could live with, so we only ate the same dish once a month.

When we had children, though, the monthly meal calendar no longer seemed to work. Not only were we on a tighter budget, but even more challenging, I had three disparate palates besides my own to satisfy. Some nights, out of desperation, I became a short order cook, making one meal for me and Jim and two additional, separate meals for Jimmy and Audrey. Even then, no one seemed pleased--especially not me.

Jim and I have come up with a few strategies to cope, but none of them is a complete fix. Each week I sit down with him, the kids and the ads from the local grocer, and ask for their input in deciding on what dinners we'll eat for the week. That way I can try to cater to their requests while taking advantage of what's on sale.

Each child also has one night a week that is "their" night: they get to choose what's for dinner--and originally the idea was for them to help cook dinner, too, though I've been less successful at implementing that part of the plan. Often, however, I still wind up preparing a separate meal for at least one person because Audrey will request chicken nuggets every time it's her night, and no one else likes them--or she refuses to eat what Jimmy has chosen for his night. Even with one night where they do get to choose, there are still six nights of "But Mo-om, I don't like this," and it wears me down. I look at blogs, food shows, and my go-to website, Allrecipes.com, and try to introduce new dishes, but it's a challenge to find ones that make everyone happy.

So, we buy a lot of Dino-nuggets at Costco for Audrey--and make a lot of peanut-butter-Nutella sandwiches for Jimmy.

Meanwhile, my resentment about cooking dinner has continued to grow. My blood pressure rises automatically at 5 p.m. As a matter of course, I tend to banish everyone from the kitchen while I prepare dinner just to have some peace and quiet so I can tend to a task I don't enjoy as quickly as possible. I am usually short with everyone while I cook and during the entire meal. If we're in a hurry to get somewhere after dinner (cub scouts, soccer practice, piano lessons), I get even more stressed out.

Add pregnancy to the mix... and yeah, the last several months have been rough. Jim has taken pity on me and we usually eat out about once a week, or he gives me a break by doing the cooking.

The upshot of all this is I'm suddenly finding myself in a place where I feel ready to change things up. Our dinner problem has been going on for years now, and I have had no idea how to fix it, but I want to--and I want a permanent fix.

If it's me that has to change for it to get fixed, so be it. While the timing isn't ideal because I'm pregnant and don't have a lot of energy, somehow being in a place in my life that is intrinsically creative (i.e., nurturing a new life) is helping me to think creatively in terms of solving this problem. I've been brainstorming, reading, bouncing ideas off Jim, and tweaking the things that are already working to see if I can take them further.

I just started reading a wonderful cookbook, Mad Hungry: Feeding Men and Boys, by Lucinda Scala Quinn. Most of the recipes are for delicious but uncomplicated meals with basic ingredients--but even if none of them appeal to our family, what I'm really going to take away from the book is the author's philosophy that well-made meals can be an extension of our love for our families only when they are prepared joyfully and used as a teaching and bonding time between parents and children. Tonight we're test-driving, at Jimmy's request, a recipe from the book for short ribs, and I'm going to do my best to budget my time and have him in the kitchen with me.

I want dinner to be fun again. For all of us.

Keeping busy

2011-07-26T14:16:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday I got the top of the baby quilt pieced and pinned to the other layers. Next, I had to figure out what design I wanted to use for quilting. Rather than just the diagonal lines suggested in the pattern, I wanted something more memorable. Jim talked me out of X's and O's (apparently a bit "too girly") but I riffed off that and came up with appropriately masculine X's and stars.

Last Friday I started hand-quilting and have been working at it slow but steady all weekend. I'm almost a third of the way done, and the design is really starting to take shape.

The callouses on my fingertips are coming along nicely, too.

Who says...

2011-07-22T18:11:00.001-07:00

...you can't teach an old dog new tricks? One of the things I love about Jim is that over the 16+ years we've been married, he continues to surprise me by trying new things. Case in point: tonight he is out with Jimmy, having back-to-back piano lessons. Jimmy's been taking piano for almost two years now, but this is Jim's first lesson ever.

Baby quilt

2011-07-21T16:00:00.000-07:00

Both Jimmy and Audrey have red, white and blue baby quilts. Jimmy's was made by my mom, and I finished Audrey's the week before she was born. So, of course, Joseph needs to have a red, white and blue baby quilt, too.

Did I mention we picked out a name? (with the caveat from Jim that he may still change his mind.)

A while back I found a couple of simple, free baby quilt patterns online. I based Audrey's birthday quilt loosely on the "Furrows" pattern, and have been excited to try out the "Sunshine and Shadows". I picked this pattern because it would go together so quickly and be easy to both sew and hand-quilt, but made a few alterations for the color scheme I chose.

I just finished cutting out all the squares this morning, laid them out, and am planning to get most of the top pieced tonight.

30 weeks...

2011-07-20T21:14:00.000-07:00

...means it's ultrasound time again. Sorry, no pix--but the baby's grown so much we could only look at one part of him at at time: a leg, a beating heart, his abdomen and so on. In fact, his head was so big it took up the whole screen in the top-down shot my doctor used to measure the circumference of his cranium. This ultrasound was all about taking measurements to make sure the baby's growing on track (which he is) and not getting too big from the gestational diabetes (which he's not).

Just two months to go... good thing I got started on the baby quilt today!

Tightwad tuesday: fire your cable/satellite provider

2011-07-19T07:16:00.000-07:00

Back in April, Jim and I decided it was finally time to call and cancel our satellite service. We just couldn't justify spending $80 a month for dozens of channels we didn't even watch. We also reasoned we'd waste less time sitting on the couch channel-surfing by simply not having the option available--which has turned out to be true; our evenings and weekends are much more productive now!

We'd been gearing up for the switch for several months. Techno-geek that he is, Jim wasn't satisfied with just streaming shows through his X-box--no, he took part of our tax return and bought a new computer that would be our dedicated home-entertainment unit with all the bells, whistles and yes, a Blu-Ray drive, to run our favorite shows and movies in HD on our 72" flat-screen TV (Jim's 40th birthday present last year).

You can, however, go cable/satellite-free for a lot less than we did. With a few inexpensive cables, you can connect your computer to your television and watch your favorite shows through Hulu or Netflix for a significantly lower cost, or sometimes even the network websites for free.

If you still want to be able to pick up your local channels, you can do so with a good-quality antenna. In fact, Jim built one himself using instructions he found at Makeprojects.com, for about $15. With the new antenna, we pick up almost a dozen local channels, most of them in HD quality.

So, if you find the thought of "killing your TV" too extreme, you can at least cut back on your costs (and consumption) by cancelling your cable and watching only those shows you really want.

Done

2011-07-18T08:21:00.000-07:00

What with canning both cherry and raspberry jam this weekend, I was delayed a bit longer finishing Jimmy's quilt--but finally, finally, yesterday afternoon I sewed the last few stitches of the binding.

While he was otherwise occupied, I spirited it up to Jimmy's room and made his bed. A few hours later he went up to get his shoes on before going on a bike ride, and--surprise.

"Mom! My quilt is done! I love it!"

Canning 2011

2011-07-15T19:15:00.000-07:00

I almost saved this for a Tightwad Tuesday post (always be ready to jump on a good deal), but couldn't wait that long to post about this year's cherry jam.

This is the third year we've done cherry jam, so we've found and perfected our basic recipes. A week ago Jim's mom had a line on cherries for a dollar a pound, but Jim said he wanted to wait and see if we could get a better deal. Then on Wednesday night we got a call from his dad. Apparently a friend of theirs had gone to a fruit stand and gotten several large boxes of cherries free (!!!) because the fruit was slightly damaged--and he wanted to know if we wanted a couple boxes. This was just what Jim had been waiting for, so he went and picked up the fruit.

Last night after dinner, Jim and I sat around the table with the kids and sorted through what turned out to be about 50 pounds of Bing cherries, with a few Rainiers mixed in for good measure. About a fifth of the cherries were too badly damaged to use, but most of them were in really beautiful condition, and absolutely delicious. The biggest--and best--surprise of the evening was how hard our kids worked. Audrey was the fastest of all of us at stemming the cherries; Jim and Jimmy could barely keep up with sorting good cherries into her bowl for her to pluck the stems off.

This morning Jimmy pitted four quarts of cherries for my first quadruple batch of sugar-free jam. We had so many cherries, I decided to do a second quadruple batch, for which I modified my basic recipe by combining it with Jim's Spiced Cherry Jam recipe:

Sugar-free Spiced Cherry Jam

3 pounds (about 3 cups) prepared cherries (pitted)
½ of a 1.75-oz. package no sugar needed fruit pectin
1 cup artificial sweetener (I used Splenda)
1-1/2 teaspoons butter
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon almond extract
1 teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon allspice
¼ teaspoon ground cloves

1. Prepare boiling water canner, jars, and lids.

2. Place prepared cherries in a 6- or 8-quart saucepan and use a hand blender to puree to desired consistency. (The recipe didn't call for it, but I actually simmered my cherries for 15 or 20 minutes while I was washing jars and getting the canning kettle boiling.) Gradually stir in spices, almond extract, pectin and lemon juice. Add butter to reduce foaming. Bring mixture to a rolling boil that cannot be stirred down, over high heat, stirring constantly.

3. Add artificial sweetener. Return mixture to a full rolling boil. Boil hard for 3 minutes, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Skim if necessary.

4. Fill and seal jars. Process in water bath for ten minutes.

(makes about four half-pints)

So. Delicious.

Tonight it's Jim's turn to crank out a few batches of fully-leaded (sugared) jam. He had the kids helping him pit cherries, and as I type, I can hear him mashing up the first batch with his KitchenAid hand blender.

It's going to be a long (but deliciously aromatic) night.

Did I mention we'll be up at 7 a.m. to pick raspberries in Yakima River Canyon? Yep, more jam.

Tightwad tuedsay: DIY takeout

2011-07-12T07:13:00.000-07:00

Way back in the day when Jim and I were still childless, in college, and both working full-time (read: rolling in cash but short on time to cook) we used to get takeout at least once a week from our favorite Chinese restaurant, Toy's Cafe in Bellevue. My favorite was their green beans sautéed with garlic--and every once in a while I'd spring for the extra couple bucks to get the beans with shrimp. Mmmm.

Don't worry; there is a tightwad tip at the end of this tale fraught with wanton outlay of cash!

Last Wednesday, we went out to lunch at the local Chinese buffet and I was heartbroken to find they no longer served green beans, which are still a favorite of mine, and which I've been craving lately in a big way. Fortunately, a while back, we asked the waiter how they make the beans, and he gave us a list of ingredients (fresh beans, chicken broth, soy sauce, garlic, sesame oil, vegetable oil and cornstarch). It was easy to look up the technique online (cook the beans for 7-8 minutes in hot oil, until the skins start to pucker, then add the ingredients for the sauce).

The very next day I hit the supermarket and picked up all the ingredients and yes, I splurged on a pound of EZ-peel prawns to make it special. Worth every penny, and still far less expensive than ordering takeout!

So, if you're pregnant (or not) and craving one of your favorite restaurant dishes, save yourself some cash by taking a few minutes to research how to make it yourself. You may get lucky, like we did, and get tips from a helpful waiter or waitress. Or, if you fancy something from a big fast food chain, there are websites specializing in clones of "secret" recipes, such as Todd Wilbur's aptly titled Top Secret Recipes.

Family portrait redux

2011-07-11T08:02:00.001-07:00

Audrey rendered this portrait of our family last week on Jim's whiteboard. It reminded me of a similar picture created by her brother, four years ago. From left to right, that's me, Audrey, Jimmy and Jim. In case you couldn't tell.

Getting there

2011-07-10T19:29:00.001-07:00

I finally finished piecing Jimmy's quilt top this afternoon! It took a bit longer than I planned (okay, a lot longer, when you consider I started the project back in mid-March), but I got sick shortly after my last post and it's taken me a while to get back into my groove.

I'm hoping (fingers crossed) to have the tying and binding finished by the middle of this week... because I've already got fabric for my next project in the queue ready to go: a baby quilt.

Tightwad tuesday: two-fer

2011-06-21T13:35:00.000-07:00

As in, two-fer-the-price-of-one. It's been such a long time since I've posted any tightwad tips, I'm throwing in an extra one free of charge.

Some of my favorite tightwad tips are the original ones that are hundreds of years old and sprang from the necessities of every day life. The two I'm trotting out today:

Re-purpose old clothing into something new
If you don't know a skill/have what you need, barter with someone who does

The inspiration behind these two tips is a project I've been sewing, off and on, for a couple months now: a birthday quilt for Jimmy. It's made from old pairs of jeans in shades of red, white and blue denim. I usually have a few pairs of ratty, worn-out jeans around just to cut up and make into patches for mending small holes and tears, since kids are so hard on their clothes--but for a couple years now I've been stockpiling old jeans with the plan of turning them into a nice, heavy quilt for Jimmy. It's great to have an abundant supply of sturdy fabric without having to go out and spend any extra cash for it. Though just to add some variety and texture, I bought a couple pairs of striped denim shorts at the local Goodwill and cut those up to mix in with the solid denim.

I got the idea for the pattern from a lovely vintage cotton summer quilt my step-mom Lo gave me, but I decided to double the scale (six-inch squares instead of three-inch squares), as well as making it in a heavier fabric. Instead of hand-quilting it, I'm going to tie it with red cotton yarn. The backing will be a wonderful piece of soft, blue-striped fabric that has a fleecy feel very similar to flannel, which I picked up at Goodwill for a couple dollars.

It's a relatively simple nine-patch design that alternates a solid block with a nine-patch block throughout the quilt. If you're a beginning quilter or (like me) just want something that will go together fast and simple, this is the perfect pattern. If you have a rotary cutter and board, it's very quick to cut out the fabric in strips, and then into squares. Even if you don't know how to sew, this would be a great place to start, as you only have to sew in a straight line: easy-peasy.

Which brings me to tip #2: if you don't know how to sew, barter with someone who does by offering to do something of value to them, such as cooking, baby-sitting or housework. Sewing is one of those homey skills long out of vogue, but now being re-embraced as people realize how liberating it is to be able to custom-make what you want or need, when you want it.

I started this back in mid-March, but was still experiencing a lot of pregnancy-related fatigue and wound up putting the project on the back burner just so I could conserve the small amount of energy I did have to get us through the end of the school year. Now we're done with school, Jimmy is at Cub Scout day camp this week, and I figured it was the perfect time to cross this quilt off my to-do list. I finished cutting out the last of the squares yesterday, so for the next couple days, I'll be busy sewing, tying and binding.

Yes, I'm nesting; can you tell?

g.d. again

2011-06-04T15:33:00.000-07:00

I'll be six months along tomorrow, and I went in this past Tuesday for my monthly check-up. Everything looks and sounds good (mom with low blood pressure? check! baby with strong heartbeat? check!)

While I was there, my doc told me it was that time again: time for a glucose screen. I went in the following morning, and then got a call the next day to come in again, this time for the super-duper extra-fun extended test complete with four blood draws in three hours. The verdict? No surprise; I have gestational diabetes.

I have to say, I was expecting it, having had it with Audrey--but I'm feeling a lot more relaxed about it than last time. The hassle of poking myself and using the glucometer is actually pretty minimal, and it's good to have an additional incentive to be careful about what I eat.

What matters most is making sure this baby is healthy, and the best way to do that is to make sure I am.

No news = good news

2011-05-23T12:36:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted lately, mostly because I've been keeping my head down and powering through the last few weeks of the school year. Jimmy (with a whole heaping helping of micromanagement) has cranked out three science biographies in the last three weeks: Anton Van Leeuwenhoek (the first page of three is above), Florence Nightingale and Elijah McCoy. We'll be starting a fourth (George Washington Carver) tomorrow. Only a week until our last day of school!

The other reason is the absence of anything noteworthy to comment on--which is a good thing. I'm at 22 weeks as of yesterday, the baby is kicking up a storm, and--nothing else.

Here's to no news!

20 weeks...

2011-05-11T10:05:00.000-07:00

...means it's ultrasound time. While you can't tell from the scan above, this one is definitely a boy. As soon as we found out, Jimmy let out a whoop--but Audrey cried all the way home in the car.

Good thing we've got another 20 weeks to go, so she has time to get over it.

Oh, and so Jim and I have time to come to some kind of agreement on what to name this kid.

Sixteen years

2011-05-06T08:49:00.001-07:00

Come what may

2011-05-01T13:16:00.000-07:00

Wait a minute--what?! It's May already?

One of the side-effects of pregnancy (for me, at least) is that I lose track of time. That can be both pleasant ("I'm already 19 weeks along?--almost halfway there!") and unpleasant ("Wait--I thought I still had another week to get caught up on all those poems I wanted to write!") Sorry, Ruth. I'll try to crank out a poem here or there in the coming months, but for this year's NaPoWriMo, 18 poems will have to suffice.

In the past month or so I've had more energy than I did my first trimester, but lately I've been facing the reality that I still have to take it easy or I get tired, cranky, and my ankles swell to the size of... cankles.

Unfortunately, NaPoWriMo (along with all my quilting projects) has been one of the casualties of me scaling back. I must say, however, me and my ankles are absolutely okay with that.

NaPoWriMo #18: fashion faux pas

2011-04-26T21:38:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when I write after a certain time of night (which varies, depending on how long my day has been) that my poems cross the line into ridiculousness--for instance, a tanka about the wrong outfit. Oh, well.

Fashion Faux Pas

Those purple patent
alligator shoes with a
red and green floral
velvet dress? It seemed like a
good idea at the time.

NaPoWriMo #17: ghazal

2011-04-26T07:50:00.000-07:00

I discovered last year that when I get in a rut, it's good to try something new. A few prompts ago, NaPoWriMo.net suggested the ghazal, so I gave it a try.

The Fall

Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden? (Genesis 3:1)

I will greatly multiply thy sorrow
said God unto the woman; in sorrow

thou shalt bring forth children, and thy desire
shall be to thy husband. Oh, what sorrow

for he shall rule over thee and I will
multiply thy conception and sorrow

greatly. The woman knew the tree was good
for food, to be desired not for sorrow

but to make one wise, and it was pleasant
to the eyes. She took the fruit of sorrow

did eat thereof, and gave unto the man
that he not be left alone to sorrow

in the garden, and he did eat. Then said
the woman to man, Passing through sorrow

is better for us, that we may know the
bitter from the sweet, the depths of sorrow

from the mountain’s height; therefore, it is right
to sweat, to bear children, to eat of sorrow

all the days of our lives. And so man took
her hand and they left the garden. Sorrow

awaited them, for out of dust they came
and to dust they would return—but sorrow

showed them sweetness in the work, sweat, children.
Light must have dark, and joy must have sorrow.

NaPoWriMo #16: family history

2011-04-21T09:53:00.000-07:00

So, I'm still behind--by even more, now. I've been tired this week and have had to cut back where I could (sorry, Ruth). But I'm still committed to this, and am not giving up (not yet!)

Today's poem started coming to me when I woke up at 6 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep. I've been working at it off and on all morning. It feels like there are still some pieces that may be missing, but I don't know what they are. Maybe a whole other poem? We'll see. But here's the piece that makes sense now.

Gold Rush

In August 1897
my great-great-grandfather
left Seattle aboard the steamer Rosalie
made his way north with the horde
in what he called
“the great race for gold”
by way of Skagway, the Dyea Trail
Sheep Camp, Chilkoot Pass
Lake LeBarge, Yukon River
finally reaching Dawson City
later that October.

He kept a diary, wrote
how he learned the use of gum boots
was to keep his feet not dry, but warm
how he paid 75 cents at Sheep Camp
for a meal of bacon and beans
hot biscuits and coffee
how he missed his son and two daughters
those “dear ones” left behind
how he packed boat lumber on his back
up Chilkoot Pass
rather than pay five cents on the pound
for a packer to do it.

The diary stops after January 11, 1898.

What he didn’t write was
how his wife returned with the children
to her parents in Massachusetts
before the end of 1897
how he worked as a clerk in Dawson
even after staking his claim
how he went south after the gold rush
worked as an architect in California
married again twice
how he mailed the diary
to his youngest daughter
but never saw her again
how he counted the cost
of the load he chose
one he couldn’t pay someone else
to carry.

NaPoWriMo #15: oxymoron

2011-04-17T16:46:00.000-07:00

Earlier in the month, NaPoWriMo.net offered this prompt: use an oxymoron as the basis for your poem. They provided a convenient link to the Serendipitous Oxymoron Maker, which generated for me among others, "miserable miracle". I filed that away in my notes, waiting for it to settle and speak to me.

Then, last night, after our public library's first annual National Poetry Month open mic, I was chatting with my friend Elizabeth about what I'd been writing lately. For the open mic, I read two older poems, as well as the newly penned Lacuna, which generated some great feedback. Elizabeth has read most of the poetry I've written about my miscarriages, and she asked if I'd written anything recently about being pregnant. I had to say no.

I've reflected on it lately, knowing I want to write about my pregnancy, but just not sure where I want to go with it--which is what I told Elizabeth. Well, here's a start--today I looked at "miserable miracle" and it suddenly said something.

Miserable Miracle

In this
my fifth and final pregnancy
I am reminded
of the miserable miracle
it is to bear children

how
from the moment
I feel in my gut
conscious without knowing
the presence of this life
I sense, too
a combined weight
of joy and sorrow

how
I recognize my own lack
of power to prevent
what I dread most
frees me from the burden
of trying to stop it

how
each day of nausea
when my stomach rebels
at any given sight or smell
is a gift
because it means
my child continues
to grow

how
I have learned to hope
in the face of uncertainty
because anything less than nine months
may be too short of a time
to carry a child
but it is too long to carry fear

how
my body is possessed
changing in ways
I can’t control or fathom
opening its petals
in the radiance
of its own private sun

how
my soul enlarges
in the realization
that in spite
and because of
this transformation
my heart, like my body
is stretching beyond
what it has ever known.

NaPoWriMo #14: forecast

2011-04-17T16:06:00.001-07:00

A while back I was checking the weather report, probably on Wunderground.com (my meteorologist of choice), and noticed the phrase "90% chance of precipitation". Sometimes a word or phrase just hits me sideways, and this was the case. I jotted it down with the note, "a poem that needs to be written." It was long enough ago, I don't remember exactly the sense of what it was I felt I needed to write, but today, with spring sun filtering through the curtains, this is what came of it.

90% Chance of Precipitation

I always laugh
when I read or hear this phrase
and wonder
does it mean
rain 90 % of the time
rain in 90% of this area
or just
rain is 90% more likely
than something else
or even
we're saying precipitation
instead of rain
because we're not sure exactly what
will be falling from the sky
and need to cover our bets

I always laugh
when I read or hear this phrase
while feeling on my face
the radiant glow
of sun slicing through clouds
and sense somehow
I’ve beaten the odds.

NaPoWriMo #13: rant or rave

2011-04-15T20:49:00.000-07:00

Sooo...halfway through the month and I'm a couple poems behind. No biggie; the weekend is the best possible time to get caught up. Once again I turned to NaPoWriMo.net for a prompt. Today it was to write a hymn to something bad, or a complaint about something good. Being in a sort of glass-is-half-empty mood, I chose the former.

In Praise Those People (You Don’t Know Who You Are, and it’s Probably Better That Way)

Where would I be
without those people
the ones I see coming
and want to run
in the opposite direction
the ones who say
the least sensitive thing
at the time I least need to hear it
the ones who ask me as a favor
something they just don’t want to learn
to do for themselves
the ones who twist imitation
that sincerest form of flattery
into a profound insult
the ones who manage
to turn every “how are you?”
into a conversation about themselves
the ones who provide
the best possible excuse for staying home
from work, church, store, library, restaurant
gym, book club, post office, salon
where would I be
without those people
the ones who remind me
I, too have done
all those same things?

NaPoWriMo #12: take five

2011-04-14T20:48:00.000-07:00

As in, five minutes to write a poem. That was one of the prompts at NaPoWriMo.net, and once again I thank them for a good prompt, and the permission to just get something, anything, on paper. I'm not even sure what this is about--just a bunch of stream-of-unconsciousness images that were suddenly there.

Five Minute Poem

This is the place where my back
is up against clammy vinyl
wallpaper over cracked plaster
where I smell my own sweat
and wonder if anyone else can, too
where my mouth tastes like copper
as though I’m holding a penny
under my tongue
this is where my knuckles crack
as I brace them between me and the wall
the place where I wonder
if anything will ever change
if tomorrow the sun will still rise
if I will still be chained
to this monster who knows my name
sucks my blood through a straw
leaves me sinking slowly down the wall
until I lie weak on the cold boards
of the kitchen floor
in a puddle of sour milk
and sweat.

NaPoWriMo #11: good grief

2011-04-14T20:13:00.000-07:00

I know, I know--another poem about loss. What can I say? Working through grief is a good thing, and I'm still working.

Eight Faces of Loss

I wear the first
as I pull my eyes from an ultrasound screen
look my obstetrician in the eye
then tell my children
our baby has gone back to heaven
I tell them it is okay to cry
while I hold back my own tears.

I wear the second
as I buckle seatbelts
pull side door closed
stand outside our minivan
tears streaming, cell phone in hand
to break the news to my husband.

I wear the third
as I wait
wait for the drugs to work
wait for my cervix to ripen
wait for labor to begin
wait to see the child
I will only hold once.

I wear the fourth
as I come home to an empty house
my husband in Atlanta on business
my children with my in-laws
and finally
I fall apart.

I wear the fifth
as I drive my children home
from grandma’s house
tell them they had a brother
and his name was Daniel.

I wear the sixth
every time I see a friend
who is still pregnant
and walk away
without speaking.

I wear the seventh
as I turn inward with everything
that has already been said and felt
because saying it a thousand times
feeling it every moment of every day
will never be enough.

I wear the eighth
as I realize though I lost my child
I never lost faith
as I see grief and joy coexist
in the same second
as I learn I can navigate this place
for which I have no map.

Settling in

2011-04-14T14:17:00.000-07:00

Apologies to my sister Ruth, who I hear is chomping at the bit for more NaPoWriMo. Soon, I promise. But meanwhile...

Meet the newest member of the family.

Sid came into our lives over the weekend. On Saturday we noticed him meowing up on our roof, but didn't think much of it--we see a lot of neighborhood cats up there, and they always seem to find their way down without too much trouble.

Then on Sunday, as we were getting home from church, we saw him again---looking and sounding rather frantic. Our neighbor, who was in his driveway packing his truck, commented that this was the third day he had seen the cat on the roof. We had no idea it had been so long and felt terrible. Jim borrowed an extension ladder from his dad and climbed up to do a rescue. The cat came right to him and though he seemed scared of the height, he let Jim carry him down the ladder without a struggle.

We set out canned cat food and a water dish on the front porch, and watched him while he ate. No collar or tags, but he seemed quite friendly--when he had his fill, he waltzed right in through our open front door and made himself at home. Jimmy was sure it was the same cat that had belonged to some neighbors across the street who moved six months ago.

I had a sneaking suspicion Jim left the front door open on purpose, and was surprised he seemed so ready to adopt Sid, in spite of his winning personality. Back when Will died, Jim said he had no desire to get another cat anytime soon. So on Sunday afternoon, I grilled him about it. All Jim would say was, "I'm a sucker for a hard case, and it doesn't get much harder than being stuck on a roof for three days with nothing to eat."

Jimmy suggested we call him Obsidian, which Jim shortened to Sid. First thing on Monday we took Sid down to the pound, but no one had reported him lost, and he didn't have a microchip. On the plus side, he was already neutered. By that time, too, he had started hammering out all the little feline territorial snags with Fiona and getting acclimated.

The kids love him and it's mutual; he spends a lot of time hanging around and watching them while they play, and is very patient and gentle.

We snapped this last night when we went in to check on Audrey before calling it a night.

NaPoWriMo #10: solitude

2011-04-12T09:04:00.000-07:00

I've always loved being by myself--maybe because I grew up in a full house, where solitude was hard to find--and because now as a homeschooling mom, I have very little time to be alone.

I've found that as much as I consider myself an extrovert and am energized after spending time with friends, I need in equal measure time to myself: to reflect, to write, to just be. I was talking the other night with a friend who really struggles with the idea of spending time alone, even though she knows she would benefit from doing so. This poem was inspired by that conversation.

Butterfly

She fears being alone
mistaking it for being lonely
and so she suspends herself
on razor-thin stained glass wings
hovering from one contact to another
mistaking connection
for communion
while the weight
of those exquisite wings
keeps her from heights
she was born to reach.

NaPoWriMo #9: spring

2011-04-11T07:20:00.000-07:00

Gray Time

In that hour before dawn
when the world has no colors
and you cannot tell a starling from a grackle
or a sparrow from a chickadee
unless you hear their song
you still know they are back
from their southern sojourn.

In that hour before spring
when the maples, elms and sycamores
wear only their rumpled, hoary husks
by the first light of day
you can still see the outline of new buds
bursting from the tips of lilac branches
and know the trees will follow soon.

NaPoWriMo #8: why

2011-04-10T21:08:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had a kid ask you a question, only to follow up the answer with "But, why?"

Yeah, me too.

The Hard Questions

They are the ones
who ask me the hard questions.

Not
“Where is the pain
on a scale of one to ten?”
(Between 7 and 8.)

Or
“What are your plans
for the baby’s remains?”
(I need to give that some thought.)

Or
even those questions
disguised as statements,
“We’ve got a narrow window here
to test for genetic abnormalities.”
(Like I told you before,
I’m not interested in testing.)

No
they are the ones
who ask me
“Mom, why did our baby die?”
(I don’t know, honey.)

“Which parts weren’t growing right?”
(The doctors couldn’t tell.)

“Will we have another baby?”
(We’ll see, sweetheart. We’ll see.)

They are the ones
who ask me the hard questions
questions that school me
with answers I don’t know
outcomes I can’t control.
(We’ll see, sweetheart. We’ll see.)

NaPoWriMo #7: curriculum vitae

2011-04-07T08:53:00.000-07:00

My friend Steve from my poetry group recently finished an excellent CV poem and challenged the rest of us to try it. I did one for NaPoWriMo last year, but recently I've been ruminating on a different direction to take on the concept--my CV as a mother.

How appropriate that pregnancy was the catalyst to get me writing this; at 3:30 this morning I woke up after a particularly bizarre dream and found myself with insomnia (both things that happen often when I'm expecting).

Written when and how this was , it is a very, very rough first draft. In fact, as I read it, I'm almost not wanting to post it because I realize it's an uneven mix of imagery and narrative--but that's the beauty of NaPoWriMo. I write a lot of fresh, raw stuff, and figure out what works, what doesn't and what has the potential to be developed further.

Resume of a Reluctant Mother

I was born the first of five children
to a good man and good woman
who were each lonely before marriage
and lonelier after.

My early childhood was a happy haze
of beaches, blackberries and books.
My father had an unnamed rage
used the belt on us
like an artist uses paint on canvas
but sang us to sleep at bedtime.
My mother had an unnamed sorrow
her children couldn't know or fix
gave us no boundaries
but sewed our clothes
and baked bread in yeast cans.

The last half of my childhood
I spent as a third parent
while my mother and father took turns
trying to run away
from discontent at home.
I was babysitter, cook
laundry washer and ironer
tyrannical big sister
and unwilling partaker
in my parents' disaffection.
When I was sixteen
my father and mother gave up the fight
of staying together for their children
and for a year or two
we were all happier.

At the end of my senior year
my parents remarried
within a month of each other.
We stayed with my mother and stepfather
got four new brothers and sisters
grieving a mother lost to cancer
just a year before.
I was still the oldest
and at eighteen, took my own turn
running away from home.

At twenty-five I married
terrified but hopeful
I would not repeat my parents' mistakes.
Instead, I made my own.
I waited too long to have children
traded stamina and immaturity
for patience and rigidity.
In the end it was a fair trade
for motherhood came hard to me.
I thought it would be different
with my own children
if I chose to have them
loved them because they were mine.
Instead, I found myself
living out my own unnamed sorrow
one that brought back the agony
of responsibilities I hadn't chosen or wanted
except this time, I had.

This time, I could only blame myself.
I could, and did
but now I'm done blaming.

I've decided this story will have a happy ending.
I've decided sorrow and joy can and do coexist.
I've decided I can be a mother
without that being who I am.
I've decided I can love my children
my husband and myself
all at the same time
because I have enough love to go around.
I've decided to let go of resentment
again and again
as many times as it takes.
I've decided to be grateful to my parents.
I've decided to make peace
with my mistakes and flaws
for they have shaped me but do not define me.
I've decided that while I didn't always know
I wanted to be a mother
I do now.

NaPoWriMo #6: RIP

2011-04-06T20:38:00.000-07:00

Now for something completely different.

I went to NaPoWriMo.net for a little inspiration, and really liked their prompt from a few days back: write a poem predicting your own death. I decided to have a bit of fun with it. So, it's goofy and not very good in terms of actual poetry, but so what? It features bacon, and you ought to know by now how I feel about bacon.

BLT RIP

She lived a long and happy life.

It ended unexpectedly
in the middle of a BLT

to which she had added avocado
for she liked the contrast
of flavor and texture
crunchy against smooth
smoky against mellow
accented by crisp greens
tangy tomato
and of course, the extra zip
of sourdough bread

that smooth avocado betrayed her
in the end
sliding a large bite of bacon
too soon down her throat
where it lodged
and refused to be loosed

a pity she lived alone
her husband gone just a year
no one to hear
her choking
no one to see
her lips turn blue
though it’s true

eating a BLT
would be
a good way to go.

NaPoWriMo #5: scraps

2011-04-06T19:34:00.000-07:00

I liked the "scraps" prompt I used last year so much, I'm recycling it for this year. The scraps I used today are from a few lines I jotted down when I was in the hospital last June. My friend Erica, who had lost a little boy at 24 weeks just two years before I lost my baby boy, was with me.

She told me how after her own loss, she had felt like a field that had been plowed and planted, but with no harvest. Then, just a few days later, her milk came in. She was devastated, and in so much pain physically as well.

Erica's sharing her experience with me, and then being at my side through much of my own miscarriage, was a tremendous source of strength for me. So, this is a sad poem but hope comes after it.

Harvest

The field, planted
in fertile furrows
a rich corduroy of rows.

The seeds, sown
soak up rain
that smells of April.

We watch
we wait
for the first green shoots to appear.

And in the steady sun
of the growing season
they do.

Then, without warning
without reason
those fragile leaves
shrivel on their stalks
scatter in a gust of warm wind
and are gone.

They leave only empty arms
and one reminder
of the hoped-for harvest:

swollen, tender breasts
sagging under the weight
of unsuckled milk
that will
all too soon
dry up
and be gone.

NaPoWriMo #4: homesick

2011-04-04T20:58:00.000-07:00

On a completely unrelated note (that is, completely unrelated to much of anything else I've been writing about lately), I've been finding myself homesick for the ocean. We went to Seattle a couple weeks ago to buy new clothes for Jimmy, who is in the midst of a long-overdue growth spurt. The weather wasn't great, so we didn't make it to the beach, and we never got close enough to Puget Sound for me to smell it.

Really, though, I'm missing the ocean. As in, the coast. Sadly, I think it's a trip that will have to wait a while. At least I can dream about last time I was there...

Landlocked

The woman who lives next door
has never seen the sea
she surveys this green valley
two hundred miles inland
carved out of shrub steppe
by a deceptively narrow, strong river
and is satisfied.

And I am satisfied, too
for this farm town is a fine place
to raise a family, to lie grounded
for a time
in the loamy bosom of all earth.

But it is not the place I was born
not the place circled by gulls
where I smelled sea in every breath
where I roamed rocky beaches
where stony earth embraces fluid ocean
where I will live again before I die.

NaPoWriMo #3: awad

2011-04-04T20:31:00.000-07:00

For a few months now I've been subscribing to A Word A Day, which my friend Lizzie recommended to me. I've always been a word junkie, a voracious appropriator of new vocabulary, so I really enjoy AWAD because it features not only large words, but those that are unusual as well.

Back on February 24, the word for the day was "lacuna", which intrigued me--I really think it was the idea of an "empty space" that spoke to me--so I jotted the word down knowing I would come back to write about it.

Flash forward to this evening: here I am in need of a prompt, and voilà!

Lacuna

Here is a hole
a small space
as though I dropped a stitch
or two
in my neat row
of knit, purl, knit, purl
no one would ever know
unless I pointed it out.

Here is a hole
a narrow gap
as though I broke a teacup
or two
in my neat row
of plate, bowl, teacup, saucer
no one would ever know
unless I pointed it out.

Here is a hole
an empty place
as though I lost a child
or two
in my neat row
of boy, girl—
and that is all.

No one would ever know
unless I pointed it out.

Eight (a week late)

2011-04-04T15:43:00.000-07:00

A week ago today, Jimmy turned eight. Fortunately (since Audrey came down with stomach flu that very night) we planned his party for Saturday. Jimmy had asked for a volcano-themed party, so the kids erupted mini-volcanoes they made out of play-dough, yogurt cups, baking soda and vinegar.

Jim made the super-awesome volcano cake. Evil genius, I tell you.

NaPoWriMo #2: opposition in all things

2011-04-02T23:21:00.000-07:00

This started out as a tanka...

Don't fear pain; it is
the bones of joy--not only
a hard frame giving
shape, but marrow running soft
through the core of happiness.

...and then morphed to haiku as the details solidified.

Bittersweet

Pain is the pulse of
quiet marrow giving shape
to the bones of joy.

NaPoWriMo #1: stomach flu

2011-04-01T08:10:00.000-07:00

Audrey has been sick the better part of this week with stomach flu. Funny what inspires you when you're laying in bed trying to fall asleep after doing vomit patrol...

1:23 A.M.

Pulled back from the edge of sleep
by your moans in the next room
I fumble from bed
hurry to hold up a bucket
gently rub your back
while your small body rocks with heaves.
Daddy follows me, waits beside you
to dump the bucket when you’re done.

This is the second night of stomach flu.

The first night, you vomited six times
cried to your father and me
“Make it stop!”
We changed the bedding twice
finally left it with a few small stains
just so we could all get some sleep.
You waited until morning
when I tried to give you juice
to finish off the third set of sheets.

All the next day
our washing machine hummed.
Blankets and pillows kept unbalancing each load
so I would rearrange the sopping, soapy mess
close the top, cross my fingers
repeat the process two or three times
then lean against the cool steel
steadying myself against the spin cycle
gagging at the vomit smell
of a nearby basket of still-unwashed linens
that reawakened my dormant morning sickness.

This afternoon I folded basketfuls
of warm, clean laundry
felt in the patient grace of each fold
as I do now
even in gripping the cold plastic rim of this bucket
how I love you.

It's up!

2011-04-01T08:00:00.000-07:00

"Día de los Angelitos," which appeared in its earliest incarnation last November, is now up at Boston Literary Magazine. Most of my poems are quite personal, but for one so deeply as this, it's especially gratifying to see it published.

And so it begins... again

2011-03-31T08:00:00.000-07:00

Bring the poems, bring the pain!

(Lest you think I'm cheating on my media fast, I wrote this back in February and then scheduled it to post on the last day of March.)

Edited to add: Although I did cheat, but that's another post.

Here's where the rubber meets the road

2011-02-28T21:11:00.000-08:00

This is it: my last night of internet/TV freedom. It feels good. I'm going to spend the rest of the evening playing "Bejeweled" and call it a night. And then tomorrow, no computer. I've decided my emailing will be limited to Saturday evenings for an hour, so if you need to reach me...

The one thing that gives me a slight pause is I'll have a poem going up at Boston Literary Magazine on March 15, but of course I'll post a link on my sidebar April 1. I can wait two weeks, right?

Eight days to go

2011-02-20T13:58:00.000-08:00

This weekend I started pre-media-fast mode. I figured it would be easier to start scaling back now, so it wouldn't be such a shock to my system on March 1.

I pared back my blogroll by more than half. I stopped following blogs of anyone I've never met IRL (except Super Happy Girl at Mas Cowbell, because I just know she is somehow my separated-at-birth-by-the-border sister).

I started checking my email less, particularly during the earlier part of the day, when I need to focus on teaching Jimmy his lessons.

I watched NCIS with Jim, knowing it would be the last time for while, and then he called to cancel our satellite service.

I also un-friended a lot of people on Facebook. This is the second time I've done a massive un-friending; the first time was about six months ago. I was surprised back then how one person immediately sent me a message asking what they had done to offend me--and then I didn't hear anything else until about a week ago, when another person sent me a message asking that I re-request them. If it takes you six months to notice someone's not on your friend list, it's probably best they're no longer on it.

We'll see what happens with this go-round. I'm still on the fence about the possibility of completely quitting Facebook, because I recognize it's a useful tool to stay connected to people who are a) far away or b) hard to reach in other ways. I love being able to keep up with my brothers and sisters, see pictures of their kids, and feel like I'm part of their lives. But I also like having my boundaries, and there are some people with whom I don't want to share the details of my life.

Ah--the eternal quest for balance!

Fuzzy valentines

2011-02-14T14:44:00.000-08:00

An acquaintance posted this today on Facebook:

"My thoughts may seem heartless but I'd like answers: I love animals as pets... but seriously, what good does it do to save homeless domestic animals? I'm talking about TV commercials that want donations to help them. Honestly, I'd much rather donate money to saving wild animals. What's the good in saving them as apposed [sic] to euthanizing? Don't we have enough of them already?"

But seriously? I don't understand her point of view. My response to her was, "Every December we go to the local animal shelter with our kids for our Christmas service project. It's been a real eye-opener to see how little money they get from adoption fees vs. their operating costs. We donate food, cleaning products, and lots of love to the animals. Maybe a more hands-on approach would make a donation more meaningful to you."

Then she posted, "Hmmm... I'm not convinced yet. I think they should be 'put out of their misery'. I know that may sound horrible, but I'd want to go to heaven if my life sucked. God can take much better care of a creature that's not contributing to the earth in a beneficial way."

The practical part of me immediately responded: "That's what happens to animals that aren't adopted, but euthanizing them still takes money, often more than shelters receive from their regular sources of funding."

In my heart, though, it goes so much deeper than that, so far beyond just matters of practicality--understanding that it takes money and time to help animal die humanely as well as to live humanely--and I've been stewing about it all afternoon. I want to reach out, grab her by the shoulders and shake her. I want to say:

"I have a few more thoughts. Have you ever had to put an animal down? I did, just last week: a cat we adopted from a shelter 11 years ago, and who has had a long, happy life with us but who recently had kidney failure. We put him down right after we found out because we knew there was no remedy and we didn't want him to suffer. Having done it, it's hard to think in a cavalier fashion about putting down animals who 'aren't contributing' to society or who might be better cared for by God. You say you are looking for answers to something that perplexes you, but it almost sounds like you want your answer tied up neatly with a bow on top, absolving us all of guilt or the responsibility for caring for animals that have been neglected--by 'putting them out of their misery'.

"The thing is, there are no easy answers to this issue. Life on this earth is messy. Wild animals are no more or less deserving than homeless domesticated animals, or any others, for that matter. So, we do what we can do, what we feel comfortable doing, what we have the means to do, we guide our actions as much as possible with compassion and integrity, and we make peace with the messy parts of life we can't control. But there are no neat bows, no easy answers, and for us, as stewards over the animals of this earth, no right to make the decision to put down an animal for our own convenience that does in fact have a chance for a healthy, meaningful life in which it feels joyful and loved."

I was all ready to cut and paste, to post my opinion on her wall--but then I stopped. I honestly think there's no point; I think she just wants someone to tell her what she wants to hear. If that's the case, I'm not going to convince her of all the holes in her argument, and I don't want to get all het up if it's not going to do any good. I can only feel sad for her, really sad. She just doesn't get it.

Fuzzy valentines need our love even more than we need theirs. It's a privilege to be loved by them, as well as to love them in return.

Station identification

2011-02-13T17:43:00.000-08:00

Over the past few days I've been reading this General Conference talk by Dieter F. Uchtdorf. I don't know which came first--my idea of a media fast, or what I read about concentrating on the "things that matter most"--but here it all is, in a nutshell:

My dear brothers and sisters, we would do well to slow down a little, proceed at the optimum speed for our circumstances, focus on the significant, lift up our eyes, and truly see the things that matter most. Let us be mindful of the foundational precepts our Heavenly Father has given to His children that will establish the basis of a rich and fruitful mortal life with promises of eternal happiness. They will teach us to do “all these things … in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that we should run faster than we have strength. But it is expedient that we should be diligent, and thereby … win the prize.”

Brothers and sisters, diligently doing the things that matter most will lead us to the Savior of the world. That is why “we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, … that we may know to what source we may look for a remission of our sins.”In the complexity, confusion, and rush of modern living, this is the “more excellent way.”

Media fast

2011-02-11T14:59:00.000-08:00

I've had this idea floating around in my head for a while now: take a break from the internet and TV to unplug from all the excess... everything... and reconnect with the most important parts of my life: family, writing, faith, creativity.

Suddenly, the opportunity has presented itself in the form of our imminent disconnection from our satellite service, which happens next week. I think March may well be the perfect month to take a break from technological distractions and focus on really being present with my kids, and maybe even making a dent in that stack of half-completed projects languishing in corners around my house. Then in April I can do NaPoWriMo without feeling like my life is careening out of control.

I'm not sure if I can go completely cold turkey; I use email in lieu of the phone for a lot of what I consider necessary communication with family, friends and acquaintances. Hmmm. Gotta spend some time figuring out how to make this happen, instead of finding reasons it won't work. Jim's suggestion is to set aside a certain time each day to do email and limit it to just then, which I think is a good option in keeping with the spirit of a fast.

I've just been feeling lately like my immersion in an alternate reality--especially the internet--is way out of proportion. It's time to hit the RESET button.

Got peanut?

2011-02-07T18:06:00.000-08:00

We do! I'm 7½ weeks along and lovin' (yes, I do mean lovin') every fatigued-broken-out-queasy-swollen-ankled minute of it.

Goodbye, sweet william

2011-02-03T17:20:00.001-08:00

Loved 1999-2011. Missed forever after.

Tightwad tuesday: cheap suds for your duds

2011-02-01T15:57:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time since I wrote a Tightwad Tuesday post, but I finally have a worthy topic!

Recently I was chatting with my friend Vicki, a fellow frugal mom, and she mentioned she makes her own laundry detergent. I was intrigued, so Vicki sent me a link to The Family Homestead, a homemaking blog, where she had found the recipe. She swears by it; her husband is a fishing boat captain, and she says it gets all his dirty, greasy work clothes sparkling and smelling fresh.

Last Thursday, on my usual grocery day, I purchased the necessary ingredients from the laundry aisle of my local grocery store for a whopping $8.04 (remember, though, that these quantities make multiple batches, so that works out to a lot less per load, as you'll see).

Right after lunch today I decided to whip up a test batch of the homemade detergent. I halved the original recipe and modified it as follows:

1/4 of a 5.5 oz. bar Fels Naptha laundry soap
1/4 cup Arm and Hammer laundry soda
1/4 cup Mule Team Borax
(I also added 1/2 teaspoon of lemon essential oil for fragrance, although the scent of the Fels Naptha overpowered it)

This makes 1 gallon of liquid laundry detergent, so I had a clean container that held at least one gallon--and that had an airtight lid--ready before I began. I grated the soap on the smaller holes of a cheese grater, then dissolved it in 3 cups of water on medium heat, stirring occasionally. When the soap was dissolved, I added the Borax and washing soda and stirred until it had dissolved. Then I turned off the heat and set the soap mixture aside. I poured two cups of hot water in a large bowl or pan (one that held more than a gallon), then stirred in the soap mixture. I added another 10 cups of water and stirred. The last step is to let the soap sit over night to set up into a sort of chunky gel consistency. (I skipped that so I could test it out right away.) Use 1/2 cup per load.

Lately I've been using Costco's Kirkland Signature Clear and Free detergent for the kids' laundry (they both have eczema), which rings up at about $16.50 a bottle, and washes approximately 110 loads (probably less for us because we have hard water and my kids get pretty grungy). That comes out to about 15 cents a load.

The homemade soap works out to about 53 cents for the half-batch I made, because here in the 'burg, a 5.5-oz. bar of Fels Naptha is $1.28, a 76-oz. box of Mule Team Borax is $4.38, and a 55-oz. box of Arm and Hammer washing soda is $2.38. Divide 53 cents by the thirty-two 1/2 cup uses yielded, and the cost per load is an amazing 1.6 cents per load (in case you missed it, that's one-tenth the cost of the Kirkland soap per load).

My first test load came out pretty darn clean--though I admit, it wasn't the kids' laundry, so the true test will come on Friday when I wash all their perma-stained pants, shirts, socks and underwear. I'll keep you posted!

Update (2/7/11): I used this all last week for every load of laundry, and I must say it gets the job done. Gotta love the winning combination of cheap and effective. Oh, and did I mention fast? This takes ten minutes to make. If you double or triple the recipe, you only have to make it every couple months. Wash your clothes on the cheap, and use the savings to buy yourself a new dress or pair of shoes.

Good news

2011-01-26T08:37:00.000-08:00

I got an email late last night from Robin at Boston Literary Magazine: "I loved 'Día de los Angelitos' and would love to have it for our spring issue - wonderful writing!"

I've rewritten "Día de los Angelitos" since I posted it back in November by revising it and combining it with another poem I wrote at the same time, on the same subject. I'll post the link to the new poem when the spring issue of BLM goes up on March 15.

One last thing to add: if you are in the market to publish your poetry or short works of prose, I highly suggest you check out BLM's submission guidelines. They're wonderful to work with, and very speedy at getting back to you about your submission; I emailed my poems yesterday morning and heard back in 12 hours. I think that's a new land speed record for the editor of a literary journal!

Baby got back

2011-01-25T11:19:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning when I was in the shower, Audrey knocked on the bathroom door. Since we are in the final stages of potty training her and I had no desire to interrupt her accident-free streak, I told her to come in and do her business--only please don't flush until I'm out of the shower!

I hurriedly rinsed off (better safe than sorry) and as I reached for my towel, I saw Audrey perched on the toilet, carefully gripping the seat. Her eyes widened ever so slightly and a slow grin spread across her face.

"Mom, you have a big bottom," she observed. Then, after a pause, "Girls have little bottoms, so they have to hold on. Ladies have big bottoms, so they don't fall in the toilet."

Just in case I had forgotten, I have no pride left.

At least the source of my deficit of vanity also assures I will be free from the humiliation of falling in.

Mr. Popper's Penguins

2011-01-19T17:02:00.000-08:00

We just got back from the Bookworms Club, a chapter book reading club which meets every week at the public library. Last fall we, or rather Jimmy, attended the picture book club, which I thought was probably a bit below his reading level, but I wanted to start out easy getting him used to the norms of the group. When the schedule came out for the new session, I signed him up for the chapter book club, and his first meeting was this afternoon.

Sue, one of the children's librarians, reads to the kids and then leads an activity related to what they're reading. Today the kids came upstairs from the meeting doing a stiff, penguin-like march, and Sue told me she's reading "Mr. Popper's Penguins" to them.

According to Sue, this is her first time reading it, but I remember the book well from my childhood, when I received it as a Christmas gift one year from my grandparents. If you have or know kids, it's a great book to read and share with them--funny, imaginative, surprisingly tender--and apparently, soon to be a motion picture starring Jim Carrey in the titular role.

After what he did to the Grinch, I may not be able to watch it; some things are better left alone.

MLKFC

2011-01-18T14:37:00.001-08:00

I may be the wife of one of the most politically incorrect men on the planet. It's not that he goes out of his way to be offensive, or that he's confrontational about it, or that he's a bigot. Rather, he's no respecter of persons--in a quiet, gleefully obstinate refusal to give anyone special treatment, for any reason.

I don't know what's at the root of it (I do have a few theories), but while it embarrassed me a bit for the first few years we were married, I've gotten used to it. I don't even roll my eyes anymore or pretend I don't know him.

Here's an example: at our house, the third Monday in January isn't Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. It's MLKFC. That's right, the whole family piles into the car and observes the holiday by going out to fried chicken.

I know, terrible.

Apparently this tradition started a couple years before Jim and I got married, when he and his best friend Matt were having what I'm sure was a cringe-worthy discussion about the holiday. For the first couple years Jim and I were together, I boycotted MLKFC. Jim accused me (and probably rightly so) of being brainwashed by the Seattle School District's progressive liberal agenda (busing, anyone?) and regaled me with reasons why King shouldn't be idolized after a a life riddled with both professional and personal dishonesty. Which is true, but (I think) no reason to devalue the tremendous contribution he made to human rights; our nation's history is fully of deeply flawed individuals who still worked great good for people everywhere.

So Jim and I agreed to disagree. And now, at the risk of being a hypocrite, I go to MLKFC because 1) those buttermilk biscuits are SO good; 2) my kids need to hear another side of the story so they can make up their own minds about the Reverend Dr. King; and 3) let's face it: if I don't have to do the dishes after, I'm there.

Obscurity and competance

2011-01-16T21:41:00.000-08:00

A while ago, my friend Kim at pagooey made an observation that resonated deeply inside me:

"If you wake up in the morning, if you're still Here, then there must be something left in this world that you're supposed to do. Originally I attached some pretty noble/vain aspirations to myself, out of this...but at 40, I've allowed that perhaps My True Purpose On This Earth is not necessarily to cure cancer, or attain the Presidency, or even write that blockbuster bestseller that gets me on Oprah. Maybe my purpose is smaller in scope, or meant to be taken a day at a time."

It gelled for me today on some never-before-reached level, as I was I teaching my Primary class of 9, 10 and 11 year-olds at church. Our lesson was about how John the Baptist was foreordained to his calling, and how all of us have our own unique callings we can choose to accept. Or not. Even for those who aren't religious, I believe there's a compelling universal truth in the idea that we each have a purpose to accomplish in life, one we can tap into when we listen to the cosmos--or whatever higher power we recognize--and follow where it leads.

As I was teaching, I had an "aha" moment when I realized I'm actually content--not resigned--but at peace with more modest purposes than I used to dream of: learning the art of being patient with my children, nurturing their minds and bodies, reading books for pleasure as well as knowledge, getting laundry done, working at my marriage, taking care of my body, once or twice a month cleaning the toilet, and slowly (but surely) building up a body of cohesive poems for my first chapbook (probably not the Pulitzer Prize-winner I once fancied, but a start). Those are things I can do, and possibly even do well, one day at a time.

Mark Twain had it when he said, "Obscurity and competance--that is the life that is best worth living."

It's not you, it's me

2011-01-14T13:05:00.000-08:00

Have I been a bit quiet lately? Yeah, I know. Recently it has come to my attention I'm not doing so well at communicating. Looking at my blog and the recent dearth of posts, I see yet another arena where I've shut down the lines of communication.

One of the things I've realized as I've tried to sort this out and identify what went wrong, is that grieving pretty much continuously for the last year has altered me, particularly in the way I define my boundaries with the outside world.

I don't know if the change is permanent; only time will tell. Old me tended to talk too much to everyone, about everything: my life, kids, thoughts, feelings, music, movies, art, you name it--I was the queen of 411 overload.

New me may talk from time to time to certain people who ask and show signs of actually listening to the answers, but I keep it brief, and I would really rather just keep it to myself. From time to time emotions spill out when new me has a ready listener, but I try to avoid that scenario. In fact, new me will actually retreat and hide when I see people I know I don't want to talk to, especially those over-sharers who seem to think I should listen to their problems, which I must understand because of what I've recently been through.

In other words, I tend to avoid people like old me.

I don't necessarily think any of this is bad. Being cured of the tendency to talk too much is probably a good thing. And I definitely think it's okay to be aware of my boundaries and give myself the space I need to grieve. I don't feel like there's anything wrong with avoiding people who have babies or people who want to rehash their own miscarriages if I'm having a hard time that day. I'm just not ready for that yet. But what is bad is when I shut down communicating to the people who I love, and forget to share with them how I'm doing.

So this is me saying we're working on doing better with the whole talking about feelings thing. Both of us.

New design

2011-01-03T17:05:00.000-08:00

Time for a change-up in keeping with my philosophy for the coming year: keep it clean, simple and fun.

Happy New Year!

Halo repair

2010-12-20T08:52:00.000-08:00

I discovered a new (to me) artist this morning: Brian Kershisnik. His work is whimsical, symbolic, colorful and... it moves me. His painting "Halo Repair" (which you can see here) in particular spoke to me, as I was sitting at the computer in my pink sock monkey slippers and blue waffle-weave bathrobe, getting a lazy start to my first day off from teaching home school.

It said, "This is what you need to do with the next two weeks."

Let's face it: my halo is tarnished, it hangs off center, and some mornings I forget to even take it out of my sock drawer and put it on. I've been running so fast over the last few months with school (while trying to squeeze in everything else), I haven't really stopped to refuel and now I'm down to fumes--oh, and I've been doing all that while trying to emerge from a lingering haze of grief which has only recently begun to lift.

My full but unglamorous life will go on for the next two weeks. I will continue washing and folding laundry, cleaning, cooking, changing diapers, mending, interceding in sibling disputes. For two golden weeks, however, I will have a few extra hours each day for reading the best books, searching words of scripture, writing a few new poems, and dusting off some old ones.

I plan to make the most of those hours, even if it happens to be while wearing my bathrobe.

Grateful

2010-11-24T13:36:00.000-08:00

For the first time I can remember since this summer, I am finally feeling like all is right with my world. Not perfect, since my treadmill is still shutting down mid-workout after all my attempts to fix it, and just this morning our refrigerator threatened to go kaput (on the day before Thanksgiving, no less!), but still...

All is right.

I am myself again. I can write a poem--maybe a lousy poem, but I can write again. I can make my kids guffaw with terrible puns. I can pull out a screwdriver or vacuum cleaner to fix whatever breaks. I can be in the moment, whether it is sweet, stressful, or sad, and just be. I can breathe in and out. I can be happy, without fear that the other shoe will drop later this week, next month, or maybe even a year from now.

For this miracle, I give thanks.

Raking...

2010-11-19T09:13:00.000-08:00

...is sometimes productive in unexpected ways.

Leaves

I used to revel in fall
to taste sweet amber light
to inhale life
with the crisp, smoky scent
of leaves spiraling down
in a thousand shades
of gold, crimson and brown

now each leaf
is gilded with lead
hurtling down
toward its inevitable decay
falling straight and hard
like a stone strikes the ground
like the hollow sound
of a heavy clapper clanging
the knell of death’s bell.

Día de los angelitos

2010-11-02T14:44:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned in several previous posts that I have a thing for Día de los Muertos. Yesterday, the day after my baby would have been due, it was comforting to remember that November 1st is Día de los Angelitos, a day to honor children and infants who have died.

Día de los Angelitos

Yesterday
would have been the first day
for me to wrap you in a soft blanket
nuzzle you to my breast
stroke the down
in the warm hollow
at the nape of your neck.

Today
I pray if I cannot hold you
you are cradled instead
in the arms of heaven.

Preview of coming attractions

2010-10-29T13:25:00.000-07:00

This morning our local library hosted a special Halloween story time, so Jimmy and Audrey had a dress rehearsal with their costumes. Other than a bit of screaming and yelling from Audrey about having her snarly hair pulled back into a ponytail, and the need for her to wear tights in the brisk autumn air, the operation was a resounding success. It was great to see that the costumes I've been working on all week fit well while being roomy enough to accommodate all the requisite Halloween capering.

By tomorrow evening, I'll have finished sewing my costume and Jim's, and our whole ensemble will be ready to debut at the annual trunk-or-treat...

Guess what we did last night?

2010-10-27T09:27:00.000-07:00

K-K-K-Katy

2010-10-18T18:58:00.000-07:00

When I was twelve, I went to Detroit with my Nana. This trip was memorable for so many reasons, not the least of which was because it was my first time so far away from home without my parents. It was also my debut with pierced ears, pantyhose and high heels. We stayed at the RenCen with Auntie Joan (who was actually my mother's cousin) and Joan's daughter Virginia. And, most memorable of all, it was the first (and last) time I recall meeting my great-grandfather, Amos Earle Carle.

His health was poor, so our visit at his home wasn't long, but while we were there, he sang "K-K-K-Katy" to me. I had heard it before, over the phone, but hearing him sing it to me in person was so different. I can't remember why, but I happened to have a tape deck and recorded him. I still have the tape, tucked away in a box somewhere.

K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy,
You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore;
When the m-m-m-moon shines,
Over the cowshed,
I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door.

It's an old World War I tune, written and composed by Geoffrey O'Hara. I'd never actually heard the entire song until tonight, when I googled it. Buddy Clark recorded this version in the 1930s:

Unfortunately, I also have a rather squicky memory of my middle school gym teacher Mr. Watson singing this song to me just a few years later. The same one who would look down the girls's shirts when we did our push-ups. Ewwww.

Trippin'

2010-10-11T11:03:00.000-07:00

Jim and Jimmy flew down to Austin, TX, last Thursday to visit with Jim's brother Jared and take in Austin City Limits.

I decided Audrey and I needed to do something fun, too--especially since they were going to be gone during my birthday--so we dropped the boys off at Seatac Airport and drove up to Anacortes. From there we took the ferry to Orcas Island, where my sister Dorothy lives. I had a great birthday: walking in the rain (which, believe it or not, I miss after five years in sunny central Washington), watching Audrey play on the beach, roller skating at the local school gymnasium, and eating the most delicious lunch ever, dungeness quesadillas at Chimayo in Eastsound.

Audrey had two firsts during the trip: riding a ferry and roller skating. Don't ask me what I was thinking, going roller skating for the first time in 20+ years to celebrate my 41st birthday. All I can do is marvel at the miracle that I didn't wipe out once--oh, and that Audrey was ready to stick a fork in it after two trips around the rink.

Salsa

2010-10-11T10:28:00.000-07:00

Finally, finally I got to can something I grew myself!

The growing season here in Kittitas Valley was unusually short this year, but we still managed to get a few more tomatoes than we could eat from our plot in the community garden. I decided to put up some salsa so we could enjoy their sunny flavor during winter.

Tomatoes are one of those fruits (and yes, a tomato is a fruit) with a borderline acid content that makes it necessary to pressure can them for safe consumption unless you add acid, such as lemon juice or vinegar, to the fruit before putting it in the jars and processing. I found an excellent booklet about canning salsa on WSU's website that explains the necessary proportions of tomatoes to acid to prevent botulism.

I used their Tomato/Green Chile Salsa recipe on page 11--with a few substitutions for seasoning and herbs. Instead of six cups of green chilis, I used a single jalapeño pepper (seeds and membrane removed). I also used a combination of lime and lemon juice in place of the vinegar, and added 1/4 cup minced garlic and a half a bunch of cilantro, finely chopped.

Fourth time lucky

2010-09-15T14:44:00.000-07:00

I've heard it said, "Third time's the charm" or "Third time lucky"--which is, apparently, an old Scottish proverb. However, I also remember from high school English that William Shakespeare always wrote his plays with misfortunes in threes, and used the rule of three extensively throughout his works (remember "Friends, Romans, countrymen..."? the three witches in MacBeth? and multiple uses of threes in Love's Labor Lost?--which, incidentally, has a title of three words that all start with L!)

But I digress... this post actually has nothing to do with Shakespeare, although it does have everything to do with bad luck coming in threes.

Back at the end of March, we bought a new (to us) minivan. It's a '93 Plymouth Voyager, but in spite of the age, it had been impeccably maintained and had a lot of nice extras. We checked it out carefully and everything seemed to be in great shape. We drove our new ride on our road trip to Zion National Park in April, and more than 2,100 miles later, it seemed to be running strong.

Then, over the Memorial Day weekend, we went for a Costco run to Yakima. Just over the crest of Manastash Ridge, barely ten miles into the trip, the transmission dropped. Fortunately, this particular model of minivan has a "limp home" mode. So, while the van wouldn't go above second gear, we were able to drive back to the 'burg (albeit at 35 mph with the hazard lights on) and a few days later, roll into the shop.

Shortly after Jim got back from Atlanta in mid-June, the van finished in the shop. They had replaced the transmission (we opted for a slightly less expensive refurbed option, which came with a warranty). We drove it for a few weeks, just around town, and everything seemed fine.

Then, at the beginning of August, I decided to take the van down to Yakima for another trip to Costco. I had Audrey with me, but Jim and Jimmy had gone down to Sunnyside to meet Jim's brother and pick up his Mariner's tickets. I hadn't even gotten two miles out of town when I noticed the van was running rough, sounding wrong, and wasn't shifting gears smoothly when I accelerated. I got off at the nearest exit, then pulled over to the side of the road. I called Jim to tell him what was going on, and let him know I was turning around and going home. But when I tried to restart the van, it seemed to be dead, so I called my sister-in-law to come pick us up.

After loading Audrey's car seat into Anna's van, I realized I had left my purse in my van and went back to get it. I noticed that the rear windows, which have automatic controls, were open and so I turned the key in the ignition to close them. To my surprise, the engine turned over and started. I told Anna I was going to try and drive the van home, so she kept Audrey in her van and followed me. My van died six times on the way home--pretty much every time I came to a complete stop--once, it was as I braked coming into an intersection. But I did make it home, and the next day, we limped the van into the shop (it died only three times on that trip).

A couple weeks later, the mechanics said they had fixed the problem and Jim went to pick the van up on his lunch break. When it died on his way home, he turned around and took it back.

About three weeks ago, we got the van back from the shop again, and decided to go on another Costco run to test out the tranny. We got all the way to Yakima, made several stops for various errands, but before we actually got to Costco, we started to have the old, by this time familiar, problem with shifting gears and running rough, although it wasn't continually, and we were able to drive home at normal freeway speeds. The next day the van was back to the shop. Again.

Finally, yesterday at lunch, Jim picked it up. The mechanics had replaced the transmission control module (a computer that tells the transmission to shift gears, for those of us who are mechanically disinclined) and Jim was optimistic we were finally at the end of our transmission odyssey.

Of course, we had to drive it to Costco last night for a test run. Not just because that has become the litmus test for the drivability of this particular vehicle, but also because my last set of contacts popped out in the shower yesterday morning, and I needed to pick up replacements. I'm pleased to say the trip was completely without incident, and on the drive home we realized we had actually forgotten to keep listening for any variations in the gears shifting.

The morals of this story? The Bard will be vindicated. Beware of trips to Costco. If at first you don't succeed, you'll need to try at least three more times.

Oh, and always, always spring for the few extra bucks for a warranty when you get major car repairs; we haven't had to pay for those last three visits to the shop.

Consider yourself warned

2010-09-11T12:53:00.000-07:00

As Audrey was climbing up into her booster seat to eat lunch today, she announced, "Watch out! Here comes Audrey!"

Her father's remark was, "Now that's a life statement."

Considering the source, he couldn't be more right.

Yum

2010-09-08T08:13:00.001-07:00

Go ahead and laugh; I would. Oatmeal is not one of those things you'd expect to inspire rave reviews, much less instant oatmeal. A couple weeks ago I bought a box of Oat Fit to put in my 72-hour kit. I had a few packets left over, so they've been sitting in my pantry.

Usually my standard breakfast is a slice of my homemade bread with some organic peanut butter and a glass of low-fat milk. Quick, but plenty of energy. I've been too busy to bake lately so I've been eating cereal for breakfast for a while. Yesterday morning I finished off the last of my only box of Grape Nuts. So when I got home from a walk in the rain this morning, and glanced around for something to warm me up, the oatmeal caught my eye.

While it was still cooking in the microwave, my mouth started to water because it smelled so good. What's truly amazing, is it tastes even better than it smells.

Did I mention it's sugar free? And no, I'm not getting paid for this post. It really tastes that good.

Three

2010-08-31T16:55:00.001-07:00

More pictures here for those doting grandmas so far away...

Quilt top done

2010-08-16T10:01:00.000-07:00

Tonight after Audrey's in bed, I'll pin the top to the batting and backing. Since I'm tying the quilt instead of hand or machine quilting, and have cut the back slightly larger so I can fold it over to be self-binding, the assembly should go pretty quick!

Take me out to the ballgame

2010-08-09T12:51:00.000-07:00

Back when Jim and I were dating and our relationship turned serious, I watched carefully for signs of sports obsession. I had gone out with a few guys who were rabid football or basketball fans, and it was a trait I disliked. Intensely. I asked some very pointed questions but as far as I could tell, he had little interest in professional sports, so I married him (not just because of that; he also makes the best brownies I've ever tasted).

Fast forward to seven years later, when I caught Jim watching a Mariners game on TV. I didn't worry too much, until it happened multiple times in one week, and then in overhearing him talk on the phone with his brother John about a recent game, I realized he knew the names of all the players. When I confronted him, he confessed he had played baseball in junior high and even managed his high school team when he didn't make the cut.

Rather than feeling betrayed by this latent love of baseball (which he had so successfully hidden from me during not just the critical courtship period, but the ensuing years as well) I tried to be open-minded. I tested the waters to see if it was something we could do together. I watched the next game with him, and found I actually enjoyed it.

We started following the Mariners on TV and going to a couple games a year, back when we still lived in Bellevue. We even took Jimmy once when he was very little, but we hadn't been to another game since we moved over the mountains.

Until last Saturday. Jim's brother John had tickets to some sweet seats (27 rows back behind the Mariners' dugout), but couldn't make the game due to other commitments, so he gave them to us.

When Jim asked Jimmy what his favorite thing was about going to the game, he said, "Everything." Pressed for specifics, he named (in this order) kettle corn, cotton candy and red vines. Asked the same question, Audrey--to my surprise--said, "Baseball."

Think tink

2010-07-30T10:45:00.000-07:00

If Audrey had a kindred spirit, it would be Tinkerbell. She's got the same feisty, spunky, creative, slightly vindictive vibe going that I came to know and love watching Tink in "Peter Pan" when I was a kid. Given their similarities, it makes perfect sense to me that during the past six months, Audrey's affinity for all things Tink has reached full-blown infanity.

I've got a basket of Tink trinkets on the bathroom counter, which we use as potty training rewards for Audrey. She's got three different shirts with Tinkerbell, two pairs of Tink pajamas, not to mention books, movies and, well, you get the idea.

A couple weeks back I was cruising clearance racks at the local box store and came across a set of Tinkerbell bedsheets marked half off the clearance price of $24.99. They were for a full bed, but I knew I could cut them down to twin-size, re-sew them, and have some extra fabric left. I combed through the racks, found another set, and got them both, along with a king-size fitted sheet in a coordinating shade of pale lime green (also half-off the clearance price). I figured I could use as the lime green sheet as the backing for a quilt and the extra fabric from the twin sheets to piece a patchwork top.

When I got the sheets home and washed them, I discovered that the fabric of the Tink sheets was pretty flimsy and I wanted to make Audrey a sturdy quilt that could handle all the abuse she would undoubtedly put it through, as well as the requisite laundering. So I made a trip to JoAnn in Yakima and got several yards of calico fabric in shades of purple, magenta and green to match the sheets. I also picked up some lime-green cotton yarn to tie the quilt and some rick-rack to trim curtains and a bed skirt, which I'll make with the left-over fabric from cutting down the sheets.

Over the past few days, I've finished cutting the sheets down and re-sewing them, and just yesterday I finished cutting all the squares for the quilt top. Today's portion of the project will be cutting down the lime-green sheet to the right size for the quilt back, which I'll try and fit in somewhere between the four loads of laundry I need to do today.

Audrey is vaguely aware that I've got the sheets and all the other fabric in my room, but has no idea that her own bedroom is getting a makeover for her third birthday... mwah-ha-ha-ha!

Field trip report

2010-07-21T13:34:00.000-07:00

Just like last year's report, this is copied and pasted directly from Jimmy's email to his advisory teacher. As before, he typed it himself.

Dear Miss Stevens,

here is my report about my field trip. my mom is going to some of the pictures of my field trip in this email.

have a nice summer

from Jimmy

:-)

On Friday July 9th I went on a field trip to the Pacific Science Center.

I learned three new things there. The first thing is bubbles always want to be round. That is because the air on the inside is pushing out in all directions. You can sometimes make bubbles a different shape by using a wire frame like a cube to make a cube-shaped bubble. Another thing I learned is liquid nitrogen is super cold. I watched Jeff a worker at the Science Center use liquid nitrogen to blast off a soda bottle rocket. I also learned about the owl butterfly which has markings on its wings that look like owl eyes to scare away birds that might eat it.

I saw three really cool things there. My favorite thing was the smell tests. They had bottles with smells inside like peppermint, vanilla, watermelon, pineapple, cherry, coconut and lemon. we had to guess which smell was which and my dad and I both got some wrong. My favorite smell was cinnamon. I also really liked the big white funnel with marbles that went around and around and around until they went into the hole. The last thing that I thought was really cool was the butterfly house. I liked it because there were lots and lots of butterflies. The most prettiest butterfly was the Blue Morpho. I also saw some butterflies in the pupa stage.

On Saturday July 10th I went to the Point Defiance zoo and aquarium.

My three favorite animals were the Lemon shark, budgies, and peacock. I liked the lemon shark because it was huge. Lemon sharks can be up to 10 feet long and can weigh as much as 200 pounds! Budgie is a nickname for the budgerigar parakeet. I got to feed birdseed on a popsicle stick to a blue budgie with a white head. I saw a big and colorful Indian peacock walking on the path in front of me. I took lots of pictures of it. The male peacock uses his fancy tail to attract females. One last cool thing I did was ride a dromedary. a dromedary is a camel with one hump.

I had so much fun and learned a lot on my field trip.

Missing the point

2010-07-16T16:55:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, as I was cruising by MSN.com, I caught this segment of Meredith Viera interviewing Jennifer Senior, the author of last week's New York Magazine cover story, "I Love My Children; I Hate My Life".

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

For five seconds, I got rather indignant--until I slowed down, put the breaks on being judgmental (always my default), and asked myself why I felt that way.

What I came to is this: not surprisingly, indignation usually is my mask for feeling defensive. Upon closer examination, I found the "I hate my life" part a little too painfully close to how I felt until fairly recently. As was pointed out in the interview, many parents--myself included--are reluctant to admit the experience of child-rearing doesn't live up to their expectations. I would never have gotten pregnant if I had a sneak peek at what was waiting for me in the first three miserable months of sleep deprivation and breastfeeding agony after Jimmy was born--and that's before I even had to deal with him as a toddler. So to say it didn't live up to my expectations is a mild understatement.

Still, it's completely worth it. My experience has been that when I make my best effort to be a loving, compassionate parent, I always learn more from my children than I know I'm teaching them.

In many ways, waiting until I was in my 30s to have kids has made motherhood much easier for me: I was more emotionally mature and patient than I was in my 20s, and I had a chance to accomplish some educational and personal goals before raising a family. On the other hand, I also got more stubborn, more controlling, more entrenched in a self-centered way of life that was difficult for me to give up when the kids came along.

I reached a point where I knew the next logical step for my personal and spiritual growth was to have children--and that intellectual justification was coupled with a strong emotional and physiological desire for children, as well. I was committed to working through the challenges I knew would come, knowing I would be better for doing so, and also that I (hopefully) would be raising happy, healthy, kind, and productive children.

Even so, nothing prepared me for the reality of what motherhood is really like, how draining it is. As much as I thought I was mature and patient, having to devote so much energy, physically and emotionally, pushed all my buttons. Every last one of them. Only within the last two years have I acknowledged to myself and my husband the rather startling fear of having my kids suck the life out of me, and the tremendous guilt that comes with resenting them for it. Identifying this was a big breakthrough for me, and allowed me to finally move past both the fear and the resentment.

What I've learned as I've attempted to reconcile my fears of "losing myself" to my children's demands is this: control is an illusion. I can teach my children good manners, discipline them, and in so doing modify their behavior to a certain extent. What it all comes down to, though, is how I respond when my children exert their own wills in conflict with mine. Do I explode? Do I lecture? Do I yell? Do I lose my patience? Do I beat myself up for not doing a better job? Do I regret ever giving birth to them? Yes, at some point, any and all of those things.

Eventually, after I made all the mistakes I could think of, I started to learn what does and doesn't work for my kids and for me. I learned the only thing I can control is my own reaction, and I'm more happy when I choose to let go of being angry and resentful. I'm learning (still learning!) to choose my battles, to be patient, and to be calm. I'm also learning how to communicate with my partner, get support, and carve out time for myself to do those things that feed my soul and nurture my creativity.

More than anything, I'm learning the difference between "happy" and "rewarding". Life with kids can be happy, even euphoric, but much more often it is painful, tedious, smelly, embarrassing, frustrating, challenging, expensive and even sometimes tragic. Those experiences, though, are a necessary part of life, of being human, of the cosmic balance of opposition in all things. Life with both bitter and sweet is sometimes happy, but always, always, rewarding.

Looking back at the interview, I don't feel indignant anymore. I just think Ms. Senior and Ms. Viera missed the point. Yes, parenting is a challenge, but it's possible to transcend resentment and frustration by focusing on the intrinsic value of sacrifice and growth possible during the parenting experience.

What makes the struggle worthwhile for me is the opportunity to rise above myself and my hangups by being open to change and open to all the things parenting can teach me if I'm willing to learn.

That, and sloppy tucking-in-at-bedtime kisses.

What do you do...

2010-07-15T10:34:00.000-07:00

...when you're at the grocery store and your kids start yelling and hitting each other because someone stole someone else's imaginary ice cream? C'mon kids, figure it out--I mean, what is the point of imaginary ice cream if you can't imagine that yours is magically impervious to poaching (and of course, freezer burn)?

It was tempting to leave them there, in the dairy aisle, to duke it out.

So tempting.

One month

2010-07-12T08:18:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday marked a month since the day I found out our baby died. Jim's parents were kind enough to give us a spot on the north edge of their property to bury him and we did it that evening, right before sunset. The grave is unmarked, except by a small Mayflower viburnum (Viburnum carlesii).

My grandmother had a Mayflower viburnum in her yard, and now my mom has a couple, too. They're a sentimental favorite in our family because (I believe) my great-grandmother had them at her home on Cape Ann, Massachusetts.

Last night was one month since I delivered the baby. After the sense of closure I felt once we buried him, I was a little surprised at how raw my emotions were when I took time to reflect. I've been keeping busy, so I don't think about it as much as I did even a week ago, but it's all still there, so much intensity just below the surface.

It will take time, lots of time. That's okay; I'm going the distance.

Commissioned

2010-07-08T08:26:00.000-07:00

Back in May, my mom approached me and asked me to write a poem for her. Not just any poem, but something for a specific event, with a specific audience. She's a nursing instructor at Highline Community College, just south of Seattle, and she wanted me to write a poem for her department's pinning ceremony.

My mother, aunt, and grandmother are all nurses. So, while I'm not one myself (ix-nay on the bodily fluids), I've always had a respect for them and the sense of calling my mom feels about what she does. I remember the end of my junior year in high school when she graduated with her RN, and all of us kids loaded into our station wagon to attend her pinning ceremony at SPU. There was something almost sacred about the lighting of the candles at the end, and I've never forgotten it.

For a few weeks before my miscarriage, I tried submitting the poem to several different nursing publications, and so I held off posting it here (I've gotten in trouble recently from one place in particular for trying submit work that I had published previously on my blog). I pretty much ran out of steam on trying to get it published, so here it is.

By the way, the reference to the "house of misery" in the first line of the fifth stanza is a nod to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem about Florence Nightingale, "Santa Filomena".

The Keepers of the Lamp

We, the keepers of the lamp,
pass this gleaming flame of knowledge
from our practiced hands to yours.

May you see farther by it than we have,
lighting the way for those in your care
and one day kindling its glow in those you will teach.

May you always keep your lamp filled
with the pure oil of compassion,
which burns hot, clear and long.

May you care faithfully for your own vessel,
that in darkness you may bear light
without growing dim or going out.

May you tread softly in the house of misery,
for its beds are full and a careless footstep
can crush a mending spirit.

With hope and pride, we pass to you
this calling to listen, to care, to heal
for you are now, with us, the keepers of the lamp.

Cherry jam

2010-07-06T08:55:00.000-07:00

One of Jimmy's favorite books introduces the preposterous idea that it's possible to get tired of jam. Obviously, Frances' mother must have stocked her pantry with the store-bought variety, because as anyone who puts up their own preserves knows: there's no such thing as too much homemade jam.

Through Jim's folks, we got a great deal on Bing cherries; we bought 40 pounds at 50¢ a pound. We pitted and canned the first 25 pounds, which yielded 18 quarts. With the last 15 pounds, I made a quadruple batch of sugar-free cherry jam, and we still had a few pounds left over for eating fresh.

I used the same recipe from the pectin package as I did for the strawberry jam, but with a few additional modifications.

A single batch of cherry jam calls for three pounds of prepared fruit and the equivalent of that is about one cup to one pound. Since cherries compress quite a bit when they are pitted and ground, I started with four heaping quarts of cherries--I measured them out in a big glass two-quart measuring cup, which I heaped as high as possible. Then I pitted the cherries before grinding them.

I fired up our KitchenAid stand mixer, used the food grinder attachment, and made a total of 12 cups of ground cherries. I simmered them down for about a half hour to thicken the consistency before adding the other ingredients.

Then I used half the amount of pectin called for, because when I cracked into a jar of my new strawberry jam on Sunday, I found that the texture was more like paste than jam--tasty paste to be sure, but a bit too thick for my liking. I also used less Splenda because I wanted to bring out the tart flavor of the cherries; I used 1 cup per batch.

The quadruple batch yielded 7 pints of jam, and I was very pleased with the results of my alterations to the recipe. The flavor was sweet but tangy, and the consistency was thick but not gelatinous. Ah, success!

Strawberry jam

2010-07-03T09:19:00.000-07:00

Canning season has officially begun here at the Big Red House. On Thursday I picked up our order of Klicker strawberries from Winegar's, which sells them locally. The berries are a bit spendy (20 pounds set us back $50, but we did split the order with a friend, which helped)--though in hindsight, they were completely worth the cost because they arrived in a food-grade plastic bucket already hulled and sliced.

With all that prep work done, it only took me an hour to cook, can, and process my jam. This is the first year we've made strawberry jam, and I experimented with a sugar-free batch, while Jim made a batch of the fully-leaded variety.

I used the recipe from the "no sugar needed" pectin box, with a couple modifications. I doubled the recipe and added butter, which the pectin instructions recommended to reduce foaming. I also eliminated the cup of apple juice that was called for, and added lemon juice.

Sugar-free Strawberry Jam

4 cups prepared strawberries (hulled and sliced)
1 1.75-oz. package no sugar needed fruit pectin
1-1/2 cups artificial sweetener (I used Splenda)
1-1/2 teaspoons butter
2 tablespoons lemon juice

1. Prepare boiling water canner, jars, and lids.

2. Combine prepared berries in a 6- or 8-quart saucepan and mash gently to release juice. (The recipe didn't call for it, but I actually simmered my berries for 15 or 20 minutes while I was washing jars and getting the canning kettle boiling.) Gradually stir in pectin and lemon juice. Add butter to reduce foaming. Bring mixture to a rolling boil that cannot be stirred down, over high heat, stirring constantly.

3. Add artificial sweetener. Return mixture to a full rolling boil. Boil hard for 3 minutes, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Skim if necessary.

4. Fill and seal jars. Process in water bath for ten minutes.

Yield: 4-6 half pints (doubling the recipe, I filled four pint jars)

Hope

2010-06-21T09:33:00.000-07:00

This morning I checked my blogroll and came across a link to this video on one of my favorite blogs.

I love Elder Holland because I remember him being the president at BYU when I went there so long ago, and he has always had such a gentle way with telling a good story. This made me cry, but for the first time in two weeks I cried with tears of hope.

Flying solo, day #15

2010-06-19T14:14:00.000-07:00

Jim's flight is in the air somewhere near the Georgia-Tennessee border. Only a few hours to go...

Flying solo, day #11

2010-06-15T22:36:00.000-07:00

Today I loaded the kids up and we drove to Yakima for a Costco run. Grieving or not, we were out of cheese and lunch meat, and two sandwiches away from no more peanut butter. My first foray back into being in public was relatively pain-free, at least until I tried to lift a 45-pound bag of cat litter.

On the plus side, I used fewer Kleenexes today than yesterday--though I'm still trying to sort through whether it actually makes me feel worse that each day I am crying a little less, that in a few months I will no longer feel this keen sense of loss, that someday I may forget how much I loved this little person who was with me for such a short time.

Flying solo, day #9

2010-06-13T10:53:00.000-07:00

I went in for an ultrasound on Monday and we discovered that the baby had died. On Wednesday afternoon I was admitted to the hospital to induce delivery.

Friday night, just before 8 o'clock, I gave birth to a tiny baby boy. He weighed about 9 and a half ounces, and looked so much like Jim and Jimmy.

I got home from the hospital yesterday.

Physically, my recovery has gone smoothly--very quickly, compared to what I experienced after having Jimmy and Audrey by c-section--and that's something to be grateful for, as it's allowed my to channel my energy toward the much more arduous emotional recovery.

I've been surrounded by family and friends who have supported me, fed me, rubbed my feet, sat silently with me, held me while I sobbed, and left me alone when that was what I needed most.

Today I'll be spending a lot of time writing in my journal. I want to capture all this while it is still fresh in my mind, and before the kids return home later in the day.

All the wonderful thoughts, prayers and love being sent my way are very tangible to me, and I thank all of you. I'm getting through this, one minute at a time.

Flying solo, day #4

2010-06-08T06:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went in for my monthly prenatal exam, and we couldn't hear the heartbeat. My OB reassured me that often happens, for whatever reason--the location of the baby in my uterus, the placenta being in the way, etc. So he asked me to come in a couple hours later for an ultrasound, just to be sure everything was normal.

I brought Jimmy and Audrey along, thinking they'd be thrilled to get a sneak peek at their new sibling.

Right away, my doctor knew something was wrong: no movement, no heart beating. It was surreal in those first few moments, because I had felt the baby move, a gentle flutter, I thought, earlier that morning, and hadn't been worried even when the doppler didn't pick up the heartbeat.

Over the next few days I'll be undergoing a procedure to help me deliver the baby, and will probably be in the hospital for a couple days starting tomorrow afternoon. Already I've had so much support and help from family and friends, which has made this burden much more bearable. I'm so grateful to know that I'm not alone through this experience.

I also know that in the coming weeks as I sort through it all, that support will continue to be an anchor to me, as well as the deep faith inside me, which has actually grown stronger even in the last few hours. I don't know anything about how or why or what, but I know in time I'll be blessed with the grace to move forward, even not knowing.

If you call or email me and I don't pick up or respond, please know that I'm still grateful you're thinking of me--just in a very raw place right now--but no less grateful.

Flying solo, day #2

2010-06-06T17:41:00.000-07:00

weeks of pregnancy: 19
time Audrey crawled into bed with me: 6 a.m.
minutes laid awake until alarm was supposed to go off: 90
minutes early to church: 10
dishes cooked Jim hates: 1
kids in this house who hate chicken divan: 2
kids in this house to be bathed before bedtime: 2
days till Jim gets home: 13

Flying solo, day #1

2010-06-05T20:07:00.000-07:00

Shepherd's pie. I love it. Jim hates it. With him gone, I jumped on the chance to cook it for dinner, which I haven't done since before we were married.

Jim will be pleased to know the kids side with him when it comes to shepherd's pie. Though Jimmy did ask me if there were more of the mashed potatoes with cheese melted on top, just by themselves.

Cocoon

2010-05-27T08:45:00.000-07:00

I had a glucose screen last week because my OB wants to stay ahead of the game if I develop gestational diabetes again. My test results came back borderline, so I had to do the more involved 3-hour screen on Monday, with a total of four blood draws.

Because I eat so little sugar any more (usually as a minor ingredient in things like bread or condiments), these tests really took it out of me. The rush of sugar made me so sick that I was tired and nauseated for 12 hours after. It was worth it, though; the results of the 3-hour test came back negative. So at least for a little while, I'll enjoy not having to poke myself four times a day. I do fully expect to wind up with gestational diabetes later on, though.

This week I realized I've been isolating myself a bit. Not on purpose, really; more out of self-preservation. I've been wrapped up in this tight little kid-centric cocoon: potty-training Audrey, powering through the final month of the school year with Jimmy (our last day of school is June 14), and bonding with baby #3, who I can finally feel flutter-kicking inside me.

It dawned on me yesterday that I need to start reaching out even if the urge to isolate continues, because at the beginning of June, I'm staring down the barrel of two weeks of flying solo while Jim does job-related training in Atlanta. No matter how much I feel like withdrawing now, I'm going to be starved for conversation and interaction with adults by the time Jim rolls back into town on June 19.

Abundant eternity

2010-05-20T19:16:00.000-07:00

Reincarnation promises a certain
pleasing cosmic economy
in its efficient recycling
of the same few souls
working their way
across eternity’s furrowed field
one life at a time
in a world where none
are truly strangers
but are only meeting
for the first time
again
hoeing their rows
beside each other
again
and again.

I’m not sure why
but I can’t help chafing
at such a frugal
mean
careful
and spare universe.
I long to believe in an eternity
that is abundant
rich
generous
even extravagant
where I am
the only version of myself
a lavishly created single body
housing a single soul
that together
are
and always will be
me.

T-t-tuesday

2010-05-18T16:23:00.001-07:00

Today we drove down to Yakima so Jimmy could have a lingual frenectomy. He's been tongue-tied since birth (a congenital anomaly that runs in Jim's family), which wreaked havoc with trying to breastfeed him until we had his pediatrician snip his frenulum to open it up a bit. At the time Jim was convinced that she didn't snip it enough, but I noticed such a dramatic improvement with nursing I didn't really pay much attention to his concerns.

Recently, though, it's started to impact Jimmy's speech. While the lisp is barely noticeable, we decided it should be addressed before he gets any older. Jimmy's dentist here in town couldn't do the procedure, so he referred us to a pediatric dentist down in Yakima. They had to put Jimmy under so he'd be completely still to prevent them from accidentally severing any nerves around the base of his tongue.

Jimmy, in spite of his usual reticence about dentists, and some real anxiety about this particular visit, performed like a champ. He didn't complain at all about not having anything to eat this morning (12 hours of no food or drink because of the general anesthesia), and when he got to the dentist, he didn't put up any resistance about taking the meds they gave him. Jim took the day off and stayed with him at the dentist's office.

Meanwhile, Audrey and I took a trip just down the road to Walmart in search of that holy grail of toilet training: big girl underpants. Did I mention we started toilet training this week? The prospect of having two in diapers is a big motivator to get it done earlier with Audrey than we did with Jimmy.

Not just any underpants would do, though—it had to be Tinkerbell underpants. The $7.75 pricetag for a seven-pack of panties (the exact same pack Macy's sells for $11.95) was enough to get me over any lingering qualms I have about the general PC-ness of shopping at Walmart. That, and for a buck apiece I will be able to dole out a pair of new panties every day she goes potty and make the magic last at least two whole weeks.

Of course, we also had to get the floppy-brimmed Tinkerbell sun-screen hat. And after picking up the boys, we stopped at Target to find sandals for Jimmy, and wound up with a pair of Tinkerbell flip-flops for Audrey while we were at it. So now she's kitted out in sparkly purple Tink, head-to-toe, inside and out.

Getting used to having a girly-girl is still an adjustment, after four solid years of snakes, snails and puppy-dog tails. I do find myself painting my toenails more often than I used to.