My House Smells Fabulous!

There's a big stockpot of chicken soup bubbling away on the stove. We don't fuss around with chicken soup here - this isn't some pop open a can of chicken broth and add a few veggies kind of a thing. Oh, no.

There are caramelized onions and garlic. Then we saute the carrots and celery to bring out the flavors. Add ten chicken legs (no skin, please) and fill up the stockpot with water 2" from the top. Add a bay leaf or two, and then cook the hell out of it all afternoon until the liquid is reduced by at least a third (yes, children, a third. you want to concentrate the flavors). Then fish the chicken bones out (since it all fell apart on you), add fresh or dried herbs (I like thyme, dill, and rosemary) and your choice of noodles or pasta and cook until the noodles are done.

Eat. Eat a lot. Then freeze the leftovers in gallon ziplock bags, enough to feed the family for one dinner in each.

Someone told me once that I was making chicken stock and furthermore, "doing it wrong" (ie, you don't let the water evaporate, bla bla bla). They've never tasted my soup, so I can see where they might be confused. I agree that the chicken and veggies strained out, this would be fantastic chicken stock. But why add the extra step of taking the veggies out and then putting different ones back in? The carrots are sliced thick and so is the celery, so nobody's ever complained about the texture of the veggies. You should try it my way. It's really good.

Just make sure you caramelize the onions first. If you skip that, it's not nearly as yummy.

Support Your Candidates

You can't see the shirt too well, but it says "Potter/Weasley '08"

Five Questions

1. I need to know-I LOVE the name Freyja-why did you pick it?

Freyja's name was proposed by my husband - he's a Norse Trad pagan. Freyja is the Norse goddess of love, lust, and war (I found a t-shirt somewhere on the web recently that had a picture of Freyja with the slogan "Freyja - if you can't lay it, slay it"). We wanted a name that was strong, meaningful, and unusual, without being too weird - we both have healthy amounts of Germanic and Scandi heritage, so the family thought it was a great name, if slightly odd. Other names we tossed around for her were Maureen and Ysabel, but when I found my due date was going to be on a Friday, which is Freyja's/Frigga's day, I knew we'd found the right name. Looking back, I don't see how we could have named her anything else. Her middle name is Louise, which means "warrior".

2. If you could be doing anything, ANYTHING in the world, what would you do?

Anything? I could toe the party line and say I'd be doula-ing for a living, but that wouldn't be true. I love doula-ing, but I love acting more. I'd be on Broadway, doing plays and musicals. There's a whole list of roles I want to get through, Elphaba in "Wicked", Kate Monster in "Avenue Q", Carlotta in "Phantom of the Opera"...I could go on. I love to sing and most of the CDs in my car are musical soundtracks.

3. If your man sends you flowers, what ones must they be? Why?

My man never sends me flowers - I'm more likely to send HIM flowers. I love daisies and carnations. Either of those is a good bet. I like purple daisies the best, or big huge bright orange gerbera daisies. Roses are nice, but IMO die too quickly once cut. Daises and carns can last a month if you care for them properly.

4. What kind of an animal is Gonzo anyway?

Gosh, I don't know. I don't think he's an animal at all, but some kind of alien - didn't they confirm that with "Muppets in Space"? I'd say he's a cross between an anteater and a baby elephant.

5. Are you assertive and almost rude with mean/jerky people, or do you seethe quietly?

It depends on the situation. I don't like mean/jerky people. If it's family, I seethe and plot revenge (and usually get it). If it's at work, I try my best to be assertive and use big words the mean/jerky person will not understand. If it's some asshat in a store I'll never see again, I am assertive and probably very rude, but IMO they have it coming.

Interview rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying "Interview Me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with a post containing your the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

My True Nature, Let Me Show it to You.

From Eden via OK CUPID. Really, is anyone all that surprised? Now, does anybody knit or crochet? I need me a scarf. A wool or cotton one, not that nasty acrylic stuff. I'll pay!

Your Score: SLYTHERIN!

You scored 80% Slytherin, 12% Ravenclaw, 20% Gryffindor, and 20% Hufflepuff!

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

These cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.



Slytherins are known for their ambition, guile, and Machiavellian sensibilities.

Link: The Sorting Hat Test written by leeannslytherin on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Note to Self

Must stop reading angsty, lusty Draco/Hermione and Severus/Hermione Harry Potter fanfic.

Even if it is (reasonably) well written.

Even if that pairing has the whole hatred/lust thing going for it.

It's naughty. Shame on me.

*giggle*

5 Random Things Meme

Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so:

Melanie in Orygun

Mommified Me

Bumblebee Sweet Potato

Spin Me I Pulsate

AmeriMama

There are questions:

What were you doing 10 years ago?
I was still in high school, languishing in teenage hell.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Pretty much the same thing I'm doing now - AmeriCorps, parenting. My life is just not interesting.

Five Snacks You Enjoy

-string cheese with Pretzel Goldfish

-bagels with cream cheese

-anything involving cheese dip

-strawberries dipped in brown or maple sugar

-gingersnaps and ice cold milk

Five Songs That You Know All The Lyrics To-

-Whiskey in the Jar
-Happy Phantom - Tori Amos
-The Wizard and I - WICKED soundtrack
-Hunter - Dido
-Finnegan's Wake

Five Things You Would Do If You Were a Millionaire

-half away for investment/college funds
-send my friends to their Stonehenges (that one place in the world where you think you would feel the most enlightened and connected)
-beautiful wonderful home of our own
-start an Irish pub band, all chicks.
-hire a house staff - maids, trainers, gardeners.

Five Bad Habits

-I bite my nails
-I don’t exercise.
-I like yelling
-Eating cheese fries at every opportunity
-Spending too much money on stupid shit.

Five Things You Like To Do

-cuddle with my toddler (when she lets me)
-read Fantasy/SciFi novels
-buy lipgloss
-drink tea
-act pretentious

Five Things You Would Never Wear Again

-tapered leg jeans
-anything velour and form fitting
-stripper heels
-ugly tee shirts
-thongs

Five Favorite Toys

-the computer
-iPod
-my Senseo
-needlepoint kit
- Game Boy Advance

Now apparently I have to ask 5 other suckers peeps to do this.

So…..

If you want to do it, do it. :D And let me know.

An Open Letter, Part Deux

Dear Women's Clothing Industry,

I know it is hard to believe, but fat chicks like to swim. Not sit by the pool, not try to cover up all the rolls, chunk, and cellulite you seem to think we should be covering with the ugly-ass bathing suits you have on offer this year, but swim. To do so, we need to not be encumbered by swimsuit skirts that are reaching lengths not seen since the Victorian era. And would it be too much to ask to put some decent support for the girls in there? The half shelf bra with wimpy foam cups is just NOT cutting it here.

Also, please get a reality check on the prices. I just paid $13.84 for my husband's brand new board shorts, and there is more material there than in a lot of womens' suits, yet it was a quarter of the price of many suits I tried on yesterday. What the hell is going on with that? The last bathing suit I purchased was about $25 and I wore it for five years, so it's obvious that I'm not going to get higher quality with the higher prices, unless I'm looking for a competitive swimming suit, which I'm not. To be fair, there were some suits for $17 or so at the Evil Store, but they were ugly.

I did purchase a suit yesterday despite my annoyance with the industry. Wonderful Target came to my rescue as usual. I think $25 is plenty to pay for a swimsuit. I bet a LOT of other women feel the same way.

Get a clue,

Heather

Current Events

I have to admit I'm not really "up" on them.

I listen to NPR on the drive in, which consists of a half hour or so of Michigan Radio's morning program including the Marketplace and Environment reports and a half hour or so of "Newshour" from the BBC. This means I usually hear absolutely nothing relevant to what other people are talking about on a daily basis, although I do know quite a bit about the Six-Day War now. The podcasts I download don't help (Wait, Wait - Don't Tell Me; Science Friday; and RadioLab). We don't have cable anymore, so I can't get my hour of news and snark via Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert.

What's a busy mom to do? I've tried watching Headline News at lunch, but people come in and go "Ughhhhhh, are you WATCHING this? Millionaire is on!" (seriously), so that's out. We don't subscribe to any newspapers, although that may be the most cost-effective solution.

Suggestions?

Feeling Bookish

What have you read lately that you would recommend?

Fiction, non-fiction, anything. Self-help, even. I keep rereading the same things over and over, and it's just not satisfying anymore. I need to broaden my horizons past Anne McCaffrey, Jodi Picoult, and Robert Heinlein.

I just want to watch daytime TV

It started on Friday - that niggling little feeling of a scratchy throat. Then as I was sitting in the theatre watching Kerwin's graduation ceremony, the runny nose kicked in.

By the time we got to Chili's for a celebratory beer, the fuzzy head feeling had made its' entrance. So I skipped the beer. Head colds leave me feeling drunk enough. I slept 4 hours in between the waking to blow my nose and cough.

Saturday morning the barrage continued. I think I had a fever, but I don't remember. I was at my folks helping them get the house ready for Kerwin's grad party and we were busy. When my mom and I went to pick up the cake, I also got cold medicine. I chugged it down with a bottle of Bolthouse C-Boost juice blend, hoping to feel better. Within 15 minutes I felt like I'd been hit by a semi truck. Non-drowsy my ass. Since they took pseudoephedrine out of everything you can get off the shelf I figured I'd be safe with the phenylephrine-based stuff they replaced it with. Ha. Decongestants and I just don't get along.

Five hours of sleep Sunday night. The fuzzy head was mostly gone, but the rest stayed. I finished getting ready for the party, welcomed people, attempted to act the hostess. I spent most of the party curled up on the futon in the guest room at my folks whinging to my best friend Angie about how crappy I felt. Way to be the supportive wife there, Heather.

It's still here today, and the fuzzy head is back. I'm here at work because I have a lot to do this week, even though I know I'll be less than productive.

If you send me virtual tea and imaginary cozy blankets, I will love you forever. Mad props, and all that. If you're at home today and you catch Oprah, think of me? I want my head cold rights of tea, blankies, and daytime TV.

Farfalle - Work In Progress

Dug this up this afternoon. I think I'll work on it some more.

Farfalle was named for her mother’s cravings during pregnancy. Her mother always said that rotini made her think of weird bugs and spaghetti just didn’t feel right going down during pregnancy. She craved pasta, though, and farfalle was what she often chose. What better way to name the child conceived at the end of a semester abroad in Italy? Her mother didn’t even know until she got home, and she knew she’d never see Paulo again, or even be able to find him.

Named for a pasta, with a mystery father, Farfalle nonetheless is the apple of her mother’s eye. A becoming combination of her mother’s very Irish features and her father’s classic Italian look, the girl’s curly brown hair, freckles, and startling blue eyes draw constant comments.

Farfalle is three years old, and she loves pasta, too. She loves to chirp her order at her and her mother’s favorite hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant, and it’s always for her pasta namesake. Her mother has done a wonderful thing in weaving a tale for Farfalle about her conception. Many women in her situation would be bitter, and with good reason. Farfalle’s mother had too much fun being pregnant, and then bringing little infant Farfalle to her last semester of classes to be bitter. Understanding professors and a baby in a sling combined just as magically as Farfalle’s conception, and life is good for the happy pair.

Tonight is something new. Farfalle’s mother hasn’t dated since she came back from Italy. She wouldn’t, couldn’t bring herself to leave Farfalle for an evening, and most men aren’t inclined to have a first date with a three year old, however charming, hanging about. Tonight is different. Farfalle waits with her mother at the Italian restaurant for the Greek suitor. They draw pictures as they wait, Farfalle’s mother showing a deft hand with the crayons.

Farfalle sees him first. She tugs on her mother’s sleeve as he approaches. Tall and dark, Farfalle sizes Nikolas up closely. She likes him, at least she likes how he looks and how he smiles, but he has to like pasta, too. She and her mother can’t settle for just anybody. She thinks they do great on their own – her mother is a librarian and Farfalle goes to Jenni’s daycare every day, and Miss Jenni is like a second mother to her. This arrangement works for everybody, and Farfalle is a little nervous about it changing.

Nikolas has flowers, big pretty gerbera daisies. Two daisies, one bright, bright pink, which he hands to Farfalle with a grin, and one orange, which he hands to her mother. He sits down, and they order. Farfalle first, for her namesake with alfredo sauce and broccoli, and her mother and Nikolas next. Nikolas is nice. He talks to Farfalle and her mother, and it’s one big conversation. Farfalle feels very grown up tonight as she eats her broccoli and answers questions politely. When they get up to leave, her mother gives her a thumbs up and a big grin. Farfalle returns it, since she likes Nikolas. They go their separate ways, Farfalle and her mother in their little car, and Nikolas in his littler car.

Farfalle and her mother stop at her Grandma’s house to say hello. Grandma is anxious to hear about the date with Nikolas. Farfalle tells Grandma that next time she will stay with her while her mother goes out by herself, because that is what grownups do. Grandma smiles convincingly at Farfalle’s mother, who reluctantly agrees.

Baby Not Mine

Friends of my brother's brought their 4 month old over last night.

He's cute.

He was also really stiff, spent most of his time mesmerized by lights and the TV, and was generally non-interactive. I felt kind of bad for the little guy - maybe he was just weird because I was new. Maybe they don't hold him enough. I'm just not sure. They both work full time, so maybe they're just doing the best they can. I looked back at Freyja's pictures at 4 months old and she was way more interactive, better developed, and smiley. She was one rockin' baby - I appreciate that more now than I did then.

I got zero baby fever. That's ok. I wanted to be done by the time I was 30 - I have four years yet.

A Bookish Meme

Since my life is going through some upheaval that I'm just not quite comfortable posting about yet, here is some non-content.

Hardback or trade paperback or mass market paperback? I like mass market paperbacks because I'm hell on books. I can take them everywhere, break the spines, and if they wear out, just buy a new one.

Amazon or brick and mortar? We only have Barnes & Noble in the area, so I'm a big Amazon fan unless I drive 30 miles to the nearest used bookshop.

Barnes & Noble or Borders? B&N - no Borders in the area. I only go in when I have time to kill or need stationery rightthissecond.

Bookmark or dog ear? Dog ear, and I get yelled at for it constantly. My husband comes from a long line of librarians.

Alphabetize by author or alphabetize by title or random? Random. I try to stick things by one author all together but that doesn't always work.

Keep, throw away, or sell? Keep keep keep keep keep. We just had to buy a fifth bookshelf...

Keep dust jacket or toss it? Keep, but it gets taken off when I read.

Read with dust jacket or remove it? See above.

Short story or novel? I like novels.

Collection (short stories by same author) or anthology: Collections by my favorite authors, and anthologies by others..

Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket? Harry Potter.

Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks? Chapter breaks, or I get hella lost. Or I stay up all night.

“It was a dark and stormy night” or “Once upon a time”? “The night was sultry.” Once Upon a Time

Buy or Borrow? Buy.

New or used? I really do love both.

Buying choice: book reviews, recommendation or browse? I just grab things that look interesting, unless I'm looking for something specific.

Tidy ending or cliffhanger? Cliffhanger.

Morning reading, afternoon reading or nighttime reading? Nighttime :D

Stand-alone or series? Hmmm. Tough. I'm not too picky.

Favorite series? Pern. Flame me all you want, I know it's trash with bad science and worse characters, but I love it.

Favorite children’s book? Blueberries for Sal

Favorite book of which nobody else has heard? Gosh, that's a tough one. I don't venture off the beaten path as much as I should.

Favorite books read last year? The Truth About the Mommy Wars, The Red Tent

Favorite books of all time? Anything that's an escape.

Least favorite book you finished last year? If it sucks, I stop reading. (yeah, that)

What are you reading right now? The Thinking Woman's Guide to a Better Birth, and the Elric of Melnibone saga.

What are you reading next? Dunno, might try some Mercedes Lackey.

Postpartum Abandonment

For January's Pulsate Olympics.

I suppose the feeling of abandonment started in the labor room, when Kerwin left me to go talk on the phone as the Stadol wore off. It continued as he slept soundly for eight hours, snoring away on the little cot in my postpartum room, as I attempted to cope with being sliced open from hip to hip and having a new little person to take care of besides. I couldn’t get up from the bed, and the nurses shook their fingers at me and said “Don’t you fall asleep with the baby in your bed!!!!” so I was up until 2 AM, hopped up on morphine with my beautiful new baby, who I couldn’t stop kissing and smelling and trying to get latched on properly, while I tried in vain to call to Kerwin to wake him up to put Freyja in her plastic bassinet, and the one response I got was, “Leave me alone, I’m sleeping. I was up early.”

Really? I was up at the same time, and I had major surgery plus 12 hours of labor today. But you sleep, honey. You just go for it.

I finally had to call the nurses to come and get Freyja at about 2 AM, said I needed a little sleep, but please bring her back when she woke so I could feed her. They came back at 4 AM with a little bottle of soy formula and one of those supplemental nursers, the one that you have to tape above your nipple. She told me, “Your milk hasn’t come in yet. Your baby is hungry. You have to give her this formula. You just fed her two hours ago and she’s hungry again, you’re not making enough milk.”

Everything, EVERYTHING in my brain was screaming that this was wrong, I wasn’t supposed to have milk yet, just colostrum. Breastfed babies need to eat about every 1 and a half to two hours, this is normal. However, my baby was crying louder than my brain could handle, so I let them tape the little tube to my breast and let her eat the nasty soy formula (never to this day do I understand why it was soy formula). They took her away again.

I was awoken again at 6 AM by the family practice doctor that was on call for Freyja’s doctor. He was nice and smiling, said I had a perfect baby and that her regular doctor would come to see her on Monday before we were discharged. I fell back asleep and the baby was back at 8 AM, with the young morning nurse who had GIVEN HER A BOTTLE OF FORMULA without my permission. I just nodded numbly, I didn’t even know what to say to that. Getting mad was no use, I had no backup from my snoring husband.

I had visitors intermittently the rest of the three days I spent in the hospital. Kerwin, however, went right back to work on Sunday morning. He came on Sunday night for a couple of hours, then went home to “clean”. He also worked Monday (when the hospital records woman came in and was beastly to me and caused me to cry profusely, refusing to believe that I was married because my last name was different from ‘the baby’s father’) and went his first day of college classes in the new semester on Monday night as well. Thankfully, his instructor told him to go be with his wife and new baby instead of spending 3 hours in class. I didn’t even get any flowers.

When we came home on Monday night, there were dishes and laundry everywhere.

Want to guess who ended up doing all those dishes and laundry 4 days after major abdominal surgery while trying to not become sleep deprived, shower every day, and take care of a newborn (who, thankfully, was VERY mellow)? Yeah. That’d be me, because he was right back to work (regular FT job plus being editor of the college newspaper which caused more than a few incredibly late nights) and college classes. I don’t know if it’s even fair to blame him for abandoning me. We were pretty broke and needed the money, but I also needed the support that I never got. All of my family lives within a 20 mile radius, and nobody called to offer to come and sit with Freyja so I could sleep, or help me with housework, or just come and visit to keep me from going batshit crazy. Nobody called at all, except my folks. Granted, my folks both work full time as well, and my mom took a week of vacation over my due date, which was two weeks too early.

The crazy thoughts started coming about two days after we got home. I kept telling myself that it was normal to want to put Freyja in her carseat, strap her in, and leave her out by the road for somebody else to come and take care of. After all, I was having no trouble sleeping, or sleeping too much, and that was the major harbinger of PPD according to the books, magazines, and websites. I didn’t have time to be crazy, I had too much to do being a new mom with an absentee husband. I was neurotic in checking on her to make sure she was still breathing, feeling incredibly guilty that I wished she just didn’t exist.

I tried to make up for the thoughts by cuddling her and singing to her, and loving on her all the time. I wanted so desperately to feel that “bonding” that all the books talked about. I really wanted to feel differently, and I knew what I was feeling wasn’t right, but I had no words to ask for help, nor did I feel that I would be worth my salt as a mother if I did. At least I had a husband who did what he could when he was home. Lots of single moms did all of this on their own, and no complaining. What right did I have to complain, or to ask for help, or to admit that I was really having a hard time?

Thankfully, my physical recovery from the caesarean birth was textbook. I took it easy as much as I could, I slept when Freyja slept except her morning nap, which I used to shower (to prove to myself I wasn’t crazy, I showered daily and was meticulous about my appearance and clothing) and hop online to get some form of socialization.

I still don’t know how I got through those first few months, much less the first six weeks. I lied on the PHQ at my six week postpartum appointment. I didn’t want to admit that I was weak. I didn’t want them to call CPS and have Freyja taken from me because of my horrible thoughts. I didn’t want to go to the psych ward. The fear of those interventions was crippling, and so I couldn’t admit my problems and concerns.

I am terrified to have another baby, because I hear that PPD gets worse. My words to Kerwin on the subject the other night were, “I’m scared to turn into Andrea Yates”.

I still think that I’m a terrible mother for thinking what I did when Freyja was so tiny. When people comment on how wonderful she is, or how smart, or how pretty, I feel guilty, because I couldn’t see how wonderful she was when she was a newborn because my brain doesn’t function properly. I hope that someday I can get past it.

My Messy Desk

I wish I had my digicam.

My desk here at work is hideous. There's a little clear space in the middle for the laptop, and stacks and stacks of crap on the other sides. I have, at current count, seven projects on the go right now - and I'm one of those "out of sight, out of mind" people - if it goes into the drawer, I forget about it.

To the left, I have the current Provider Incentive Program lists for the biggest of the insurance companies I work with. On top of those, there's a stack of No-Call, No-Shows that I need to go through and pull out all missed prenatals and well child checks under 1 year, check and see if any of those patients are Maternal and Infant Support Services clients and email resulting names/pt numbers over to MSS/ISS. On top of that is an interoffice mailer with brochures for an upcoming health fair that I need to distrubute.

On the other side is a stack of flyers that need to be put in staff mailboxes, two interoffice mailers that have supplies for the other clinic in them, several notebooks, doula project phamplets and posters, Reach out and Read materials, and Provider Incentive Program postcards.

On the shelf I have more postcards, more health observance foo, and a stack of bookmarks. Add all that to the fact that I also have a basket which holds my tape dispenser, stapler, paper clips, and other supply stuff plus a box of kleenex and a phone.

I guess I should quit procrastinating and tackle some of this mess.

I know, that's crazy talk.