Weekend at the oven

One of the problems I've been having with gluten-free baking is that most of the sites I find don't tend to post recipes for, say, breakfast cookies, or whole grain muffins. Most of the stuff is treat baking. Which makes sense, in a way -- I guess one of the things you miss most when you go off wheat is the chocolatey, ooey-gooey, icing-covered stuff. The treats.

Which is great and all, but I'm kind of over the chocolate and just want a nice equivalent of a healthy bran muffin to enjoy mid-morning. You know, with some yogurt and fruit or something.

But this weekend I admit that I threw up my hands and gave in, and made chocolate cheesecake brownies. Please excuse two things: 1. the horrible quality of the photo, which really doesn't do these justice, and 2. the amount of brownie gone when they were pulled out of the oven at 4pm today. Shocking, I know.

Anyway I guess there's always next weekend to search for the next gluten-free bran muffin.

Two things on my mind

The feminist websites (some of which I read) are today chewing over the fact that an article that was written by someone in her 40s, a single mother by choice, which espoused "settling" instead of holding out for "the one" is being turned into a book. Women should never settle! Don't take on that loser of a boyfriend for life! they shriek.

This tires me. It tires me because they can't realize that both of them have a good message. One, some women DO need to be reminded to compromise. There are plenty of great, decent, kind men out there who have, you know, faults, who are rejected for these faults but would make excellent husbands. Fact is that we all have faults, and if you expect that someone will put up with yours, then you have to get your mind around putting up with someone else's. The trick to marriage, someone very wise once told me, is not so much finding Mr. Perfection, but rather in the long run finding someone whose faults don't make you want to run screaming. Because let me tell you, your habit of leaving your dirty glass in the living room might just drive them bonkers.

On the other hand, please understand that I am not at all advocating for staying with someone who you don't like. Who drives you crazy, who has very different interests from you -- and definitely not with someone who makes you feel bad, doesn't give you the love and attention you need when you need it, or doesn't genuinely respect you. (And I won't even mention not staying with someone who is abusive in any way.) I mean, obviously those are bad choices for marriage.

In the end, here: There are lots of deal breakers for a long term relationship of any kind. You need to know yours and use them. And then realize that when someone comes along with none of those deal breakers but one or two vaguely annoying habits or traits that maybe you should just live with them, as they live with your habits.

This is all assuming that you want a long term relationship / family. If not, disregard everything I said.

* * * * * * *

Secondly, and quasi-related to the first, a headline from one of my most-read sites today: "Life, friends, is boring." And I got to thinking ... well, you know, maybe it is. Maybe a good life is kind of dull. Bad lives are never boring. If you ricochet from one crisis to another, life will never be boring. But the day to day life of something without tragedy is .... well, kind of boring. I mean, these days The Man and I work, and come home, and eat, and tidy, and take care of a child. On the weekends it's more of the same, only for longer. There's not much to write about -- the day to day mundanity of life.

But -- and yes, I must be getting old -- I kind of think that's not so bad. I'd take this weekend any day over the ones where I woke up post-divorce not wanting to get out of bed. Or even the university years, which were emotionally fulfilling and fun, but there was just dammit always something I had to do. If I wasn't in class, or working (one year at one of three different jobs), there was always some reading or research or writing I should be doing, which didn't leave much time for me. Which was good, because me time was often filled with the questions of "what am I doing this major for? Will I ever get a job? What will I do with my life? Does that guy like me? Am I flirting right? Am I too drunk?"

Ok, not so much the last one, given a.) I wasn't drunk all that often and b.) clearly no one ever asks themselves that question.

Still. Day to day mundanity? Not such a bad fate in life.

Oh, sure, there's part of me that wishes I was travelling the world and writing about it, experiencing new foods and cultures every minute. But there are drawbacks to that: no permanent home to call my own, no sense of security, and probably no family. And that might not be so great in its own way.

No, what I have now ... it's pretty good. Boring. But pretty good.

One dollar well spent

Yesterday The Boy was recovering from a brief but nasty vomiting illness that occupied us Friday evening, so was neither sick enough to sit quietly, nor well enough to be taken out to public places.

And it was rainy. So I scoured the internet for "Things to do with your preschooler indoors" and found the most recommended activity was to get a bunch of dried items such as beans or lentils and then a bunch of bowls / scoops / cups and watch your kid go to town.

I figured we'd get maybe 15 minutes of entertainment from this.

But fifteen minutes is fifteen minutes so I asked The Man to visit bulk foods on his trip to the store and buy a bag of whatever was cheapest. He came home with one dollar's worth of popcorn kernels.

Two hours Saturday afternoon, and an hour this morning, not to mention a fun family corn popping last night after dinner, I consider $0.25 an hour money well spent for entertainment.

Despite the fact that right now as I write this, there is a corn kernel between my toes. And I just know that, six months from now, I will sit on this couch nursing a baby and see my cat chasing something about the floor -- a corn kernel he's unearthed from God knows where. We'll never get it all again.

Ah well. Still. Time well spent.

Grateful

I'm having one of those days where I think if it were humanly possible I'd spit nails. I'm not sure what it is, exactly -- I'd like to list a whole bunch of things that are bothering me, but the truth is that if it weren't for ME being a grump, none of these things would be a real problem. So instead of dwelling on the bad things, I figure that I should just concentrate on the good things in my life and see if I can get the grumps to go away. So here goes!

1. I have great people in my life. My kid, who started off this morning saying "I love you SO MUCH mommy". And my partner, who gamely got out of bed despite a late night and helped with breakfast, lunch, and house tidying.

2. Other great people: my colleagues, who are genuinely nice people; my parents, who give me much love and support; my friends, here and far away.

3. My work, which while not terribly stimulating these days, is still a good gig with lots of good things going for it, and helps keep my family clothed, sheltered, fed, and healthy.

4. The baby, who kicked me hard in the ribs this morning. For being here, being still content where he / she is, for showing off his / her soccer prowess. 10 more weeks 'til you're allowed out, kid!

5. It's not raining, and there's actual blue sky out there. It's also ten degrees and more signs of flowers are appearing every day (they are HELICOPTERING IN SNOW to the North Shore Olympic site. No kidding. They are going to use helicopters to get the snow from the nearby mountains and dump it on the Olympic site. Where it can slowly melt over the course of the day, and then crystallize, making a snow-covered site that's roughly as soft and malleable as cement. HOOOOO-WHEEEE it will be fun to watch all the horrible injuries that come from snowboarding in such stiff stuff. I'm no snowboarder, but I work with a few and have it on good authority that hard snow is really ... uh, shall we say terribly detrimental to snowboarding. A colleague sustained a concussion a few weeks back while snowboarding, after hitting hard crystallized snow and going for an impressive tumble.)

Where was I?

6. I have a nice office to sit in today, with a big window with lots of light. I have music on the iPhone, a child who is happily sharing a book with his friends at daycare, a bottle of filtered water and some chocolate right here at my fingertips. When I left this morning, my patient SO hadn't lost his mind from dealing with grumpy kid and grumpy wife. Really my little sphere of life and what's important in it is doing pretty awesome.

7. On my way to park, I got to see one of the farther off North Shore mountains brilliantly sillhouetted against the sky, covered in snow. Gorgeous! (although I suppose that might be where they are GETTING the snow, so soon enough the poor thing will be all bald. Hee.)

8. Man, that chocolate is good. Nothing like chocolate as a pick me up at 10am.

9. I have nothing terribly taxing to do today at work -- nothing onerous that I'm dreading, or nothing excruciatingly boring.

10. the cleaner is coming today, so when I get home, the house will be sparkling. Well, perhaps not sparkling, but it will look gorgeous.

11. I hired a doula! I don't think I mentioned this. I hired a team of doulas who -- get this -- combine a doula practice with an acupuncture practice, so they give you acupuncture in the weeks leading up to full term to ready your body for delivery, then they come to the delivery and provide support and acupressure, and then they have a follow up visit post-birth! All for the low-low price of .. I don't know, about $700, I think. BUT -- most of it will be covered by my health insurance because it's acupuncture! Yay! (Extended health does not, for obvious reasons, cover doula services, which was a small concern because MAN, they are NOT CHEAP. I mean, for the average 12 hour delivery, as well as pre- and post-delivery visits, I support $700 is not so bad, hourly wise. About $40 an hour. But when you're expecting, as I am, that your delivery might be as little as three hours, it's hard to imagine paying someone $100 an hour for the same service, especially when it's much easier to get through three hours than it is to get through 12. I imagine at a 12+ hour labour, those ladies EARN that money.)

12. It's almost the weekend, and we have nothing planned but lounging, relaxing, and watching the fire crackle merrily in the hearth. Bring it on.

Yikes

It occurred to me today, sitting at work, that in a few months time, I'll be a mother to two. And perhaps, even more terrifying, a stay at home mother of two.

You might well ask why this is only just occurring to me, six months in. I can't tell you. There's something about pregnancy -- you know, you spend time trying to get pregnant, and thinking of conception ... and then once you are pregnant, you concentrate on the pregnancy itself. Nine months is a very long way away, especially when you take into account the fact that, especially in the first few weeks, you don't know if things will stick. So it's hard to think that far in advance, and you live more in "now and the next few weeks" than "nine months from now".

But now I've reached that six month mark, and my mind can -- if only barely -- stretch forward a few months to see myself, home alone, with a four year old and a newborn babe and I can't really describe it as anything other than just plain scary.

Oh, don't get me wrong -- we'll likely keep The Boy in his daycare for at least a few days a week. He'll be four, preparing for kindergarten, so the social interaction is good. Not to mention the fact that he really does seem to like it, and has lots of friends he likes to play with. But we'll likely cut down on the days he's there, if only for financial reasons ... I'll be on EI for eight months of the year, which is nice to have, but still is a significant financial hit. So it'll likely be necessary, and desirable, to cut down his days, which means ... I'll be home. Alone. With two children.

[pausing to hyperventilate into a paper bag]

Yes, yes, I know. Why have another child if you are panicking over this? You shouldn't have children if you aren't sure you can handle it! Terrible mother! Shocking!

Fact is that this hasn't much to do with reality. I do know that I will manage two children on my own just fine -- some days that will be swimming pools and library visits, creative crafts, a clean kitchen, and home-made nutritious meals. Some days that will involve watching Toy Story over and over again, and toast and juice and a house that looks like a bomb hit it. Just like any other mom.

But also like any other mom, I sit here and look into the unknown, and it's daunting. I admit it: I'm scared. I know it'll be ok. I know I'll handle it. I know I have a support network to help me get through it if I need it.

But for right now, I look into the future, just for a moment, and think ... wow. This is going to be a hell of a trip.

Completely unrelated thoughts

1.

This afternoon driving home, I saw a cherry tree in bloom. And then this afternoon after I parked, I walked out of the garage to the most amazing smell .... following it, I saw that the large jasmine bush outside the neighbours was in bloom. Glorious.

But hilarious that ... I mean, I've lived in Vancouver for seven winters now, and this is BY FAR the earliest I've ever seen signs of spring.

The year of the Olympics.

The universe has a sense of humour, indeed.

2.

On the package of rice we recently bought, there is a large label that proclaims it "GLUTEN FREE!" I love the fact that there are so many gluten free products out there, but this is really becoming the new big thing. Like fat was twenty years ago, remember when they used to put "fat free!" on things that had never had fat in them, like, I don't know, applesauce? Since when has rice had gluten? I mean, come on, if you are serious about avoiding gluten, you already know that rice is gluten free. But I do appreciate the gesture.

3.

My son loves to give presents. He loves to wrap things up and pretend that they are presents, anyway, and on occasion he gets me real ones with the help of his father. Tonight he brought me the present from his Christmas lego set. And then went back with the present crate to get more presents.

Soon afterwards, he brought me another relic of the Lego Christmas advent calendar. The remains of the lumberjack.

Yes.

My son brought me A SEVERED HEAD AND A CHAINSAW as a present.

I admit I laughed so hard I couldn't speak for a moment.

He has decided my reaction was a good one, and has since brought me three more heads. I hope this isn't a sign of something. Really, we are a nice, normal family. I swear.

The power of four

I'm having one of those days where I feel enormous and uncomfortable. My ribs stick into my stomach; my skin feels taut and stretched to capacity. I feel ungainly and heavy and clumsy, and can only walk at a snail's pace. My back aches with holding up a belly, my lower abdominal ligaments scream each time I move my legs.

I come home, change into even more flexible clothing than I used to have on. I lounge on the couch and read. The Boy comes over, talks to my belly, kisses the baby. I tell him that I remember from some week-by-week predictor that the baby has finished making everything -- all its organs and bits are now in place, and the rest of the pregnancy is for growing. The baby weighs about two pounds now.

And I'm suddenly struck by the fact that this baby will likely quadruple in size in the next three months prior to birth.

FOUR. TIMES. BIGGER.

I already feel stretched and squished to capacity. If it weren't for the fact that I've done this before, and managed not to explode from an almost eight pound baby, I'd be terrified by that knowledge.

Today's baking

Chocolate banana muffins. I was intrigued because unlike many other
gluten-free recipes, these have no rice flour -- only quinoa (yes,
again!!) amaranth and almond. And then the usual eggs, butter, sugar,
etc.

First day they are pretty good. We'll see what if they pass the day
two test.

This is what my husband thinks is a reasonable amount of macaroni and cheese for a three year old

Textbook

In other news, I saw my midwife again at the 25 week mark last week. We're still going only every five weeks until 30 weeks; guess there's still not much to do except sit back and wait.

Pregnancy: how to learn patience.

We did start measuring the fundal height to check for growth, and I weighed myself too -- they don't make you weight yourself, but I do it anyway, just for my own interest.

Fundal height measurement is supposed to correlate to the weeks you are pregnant; weight gain is ideally 10 pounds until 20 weeks and then a pound a week thereafter. And lo and behold! I have 25 cm measurement, and I've gained fifteen pounds.

Which you know, just strikes me as a little weird. I mean, I'm happy that things look normal, of course, but to be to the exact measurement just seems ... hilarious. Mostly because the midwife and books and websites all say these are averages and every pregnancy is different and you might be measuring different, but approximately is fine. And so you prepare yourself to have gained 18 pounds, and be measuring 26 cm or something. And then .. nope. EXACTLY RIGHT ON.

The universe has a good sense of humour.

Also hilarious is this: during my last pregnancy, we joined a team with this practice, a team that at my 5.5 month mark announced they were leaving the practice five minutes from my house and moving to East Van. I was not amused, and asked if I could stay with the current practice. They obligingly asked the midwife with whom we subsequently delivered, and she allowed us to join her team -- very unusually as midwives four years ago were even more oversubscribed than they are now.

We liked this midwife a lot, and went back to her this time. She was, five months ago, partnered with a different woman with whom I had my first few appointments (you are supposed to alternate between the two, but it didn't happen). I liked her well enough, but she was young and had a nervous demeanour, and I thought that having her as the delivering midwife might make ME nervous as well. But ... well, it is what it is.

And at our last appointment -- finally with the "central" midwife -- we were informed she'd left the practice too. She'd just been a locum (for the permanent partner, now on mat leave, but coming back early), and had been offered a permanent position somewhere else. And so took it.

And although I wasn't altogether enamoured of her, it's still a little disconcerting that I now, at six months in, have to get used to / get to know another midwife who might deliver my baby, since the other partner is coming back on.

Sigh.

The good news is that the current midwife gave me a few doulas to check out, and I really like the looks of a pair of them, so I'm going to give them a call next week to see if I can get on their list. Yay!

Grump

From the second he regained consciousness this morning, The Boy has been a Big Grump. Much wailing, much rudeness, much complaining. Everything is high pitch, high volume, and just plain wrong. Efforts at patience are pretty much useless.

It's not a nice way to start the day.

I can't help but think that this is what I have to look forward to when he's fourteen and a belligerent teenager.

Whee.

Uh oh

I mean, this is why I live in Vancouver -- spring arrives early. I took this photo at lunch today, on a walk. I didn't wear a coat. Now granted I'm almost third trimester and therefore always hot, but it was a good ten degrees out.

But.

At the same time, this is early even for Vancouver, and that really doesn't bode well for, oh, the WINTER OLYMPICS. Given that the North Shore mountains are actually thawing. And they plan to have events there. The kind that need snow.

This should be very interesting.

Sick

My doctor once said that she often felt more tired after caring for her sick kid than she did when sick herself. I have to concur; sick babies are awful. It's awful watching your kid suffer, it's awful not being able to make it better, and it's awful not getting much sleep or rest or break or food because a small person needs you so much.

On the other hand, it is a wonderful feeling knowing that nothing else matters, all your baby wants is YOU. YOU make it better, YOU are what they want, YOU are their comfort. The small sweaty head leaning on you, when they finally fall asleep after hours of coughing or fever or discomfort or crying ... such a sweet relief. Such a wonderful feeling that you -- just you -- are all that they need.

And I also have to admit that I'm really glad it's very likely just a cold with mild fever, and so things will be on the mend -- and back to normal -- tomorrow.

Charlotte's (Big) Web

So yesterday I thought about my penchant for letting my kid watch videos when we were home alone, and decided maybe a book might be a good alternative. So I stopped at a used bookstore on the way to get him something, and found myself a copy of "Charlotte's Web". I've been slowly building up his collection of books I liked as a kid, and didn't have this one yet, so it seemed a win-win situation.

I put it on his carseat, and told him on the way to the car that I had bought something he might like. He picked it up when he got in, read the title and looked at the cover image, and tossed it aside.

"I don't think I like it," he said.

We had a short discussion about how he can't know what the book is about and therefore can't like it and that went no where, and then I said:

"It's about a SPIDER!"

"Who TALKS!!"

He pondered that for a moment.

"What kind of spider is she, mom?" he finally asked.

I was stumped. A plain grey spider, as far as I recall, but ... no idea what kind. "I don't know!" I replied.

He paused a little again. And then he brightened. "I bet she's a TARANTULA!!" he said, obviously reconsidering this book with this new idea.

I laughed. I know it's stereotypical, but it made me chuckle to think that little boys can apparently only get excited about Charlotte's Web if it involves something BIG and SCARY.

********

But I should note, in all fairness, that apparently that was all he needed to get interested in the book, because he was keen to start reading it when we got home and we read the first seven chapters over the course of the evening, and bedtime. He was definitely interested. And not at all disappointed that Charlotte didn't turn out to be a tarantula. At least, not so he related to me.

If you sit still long enough, I might eat you

I think maybe this baby is having a growth spurt or something because yesterday and today all I can think about is what I can eat next. Apparently everything in the house is DELICIOUS. Pickles! Chocolate! Oranges! Apples! Cheese! Toast! Muffins! Cookies! Salad! Pine Nuts! I could go on. You name it, I'll eat it.

In different (but of course completely unrelated) news, yesterday my work colleague gasped when she saw me, and said -- wow, you grew over the weekend!! Another mom at the daycare mentioned I looked like I had finally popped. And yesterday in a meeting the conversation veered wildly from "when are you due?" to "Did you hear about that teenager who had a 250 pound tumour removed from her abdomen??" "Oh, and how about that guy who weighted 1300 pounds?"

I'm sure their choice of topics was completely unrelated to me. Really. Now where's the food?

On eating and food. Yet again.

But in which I cop to "bad" behaviours with relation to food.

So there's an article / interview on Babble today with Michael Pollan, he of the many books on food fame. He has some interesting things to say, including "Don't eat anything your grandmother couldn't identify as food" which made me laugh. Frankly, there's enough out there that *I* can't identify as food that I don't need to use my grandmother's metrics. Since I started having to read labels, I eat less and less processed food, even if it doesn't have gluten in it; half the time I get only half way through the list before being sickened by the incredible number of things I can't pronounce. Just ... ew. If I don't know what it is, how can I possibly eat it??

Anyway. One of his points made me wonder, though -- the one about eating around the table without distractions such as books or TV. We often eat at our coffee table. Oh, quite often it's without benefit of any screen, we all sit around the coffee table and eat. There are many reasons for this: our place is small, and the dining room table is often a repository of ... stuff. There's no room there. It's also more comfortable. Especially now when sitting upright in a chair makes my ribs dig into my stomach, which hurts. On the couch, I can more easily recline, and have less discomfort. And let's face it: we're lazy. I apologize.

But I figure the basics are there: we're eating together, as a family. Does it really matter how high the table is off the ground?

But my really bad sin is that some nights, particularly those I am home alone with my child, I let him eat in front of the screen. Some nights I even feed him. I admit it. And MIchael notes that you should never eat with distractions, because you don't focus on what you're eating. He points out that you can plop a kid down in front of a screen and he will eat an entire bowlfull of food, more than he might otherwise, including vegetables that he wouldn't normally.

And I can't quite get my head around this being a BAD thing. I mean, that's often why I do it. There are some nights I know my kid is tired, and over-wrought, and sitting down to veg out in front of the TV is the only thing that will really help him shut down for the night. I also know that a good helping of food will be great for his mood and emotional well-being, but the only way he'll eat anything is if he doesn't have to think about it. And so I do it: I switch on a show, I sit down with him, and he watches, and eats, and when it's all over, most of the time he is feeling better. A lot better. Because he's had time to zone out and he's full of something yummy.

Moreover, I enjoy the opportunity to shovel vegetables into him, because that way I know that at times, at least, he's getting some good nutrition. Without a show, I would get three bites of dinner and a whole lot of "But I don't LIKE that!!" and tears (despite the fact he's eaten it happily, of his own accord, many times); with the show, he'll happily eat a small bowlful, veggies included. I rarely feed him more than he might otherwise normally eat; only if he asks for more.

I suppose one might argue that I'm trading short term gain for long term pain: he's eating now, sure, but I'm setting him up for a LIFETIME of bad habits of eating with a screen. (Because of course what I'm doing now will create patterns of behaviour that CAN NEVER BE CHANGED. My child is an automaton and won't be able to make decisions for himself as an adult. For the rest of his life he'll be completely unable to eat unless there is a screen in front of him.) And maybe I am. My parents never ate in front of the TV, or at least never let us do it as kids. (Although, on occasion, we did get a concession to have early dinner on Sunday nights for the Disney special -- if you're of the same Canadian generation I am, you'll probably remember that.) I also do believe that sitting down to a meal with friends and family is one of the many pleasures of life, one which I hope my children will greatly enjoy -- and know how to behave at such -- as adults. And so we'll need to do more of this (at the dining room table, even) as he gets older.

So is this something I plan to keep up forever? Goodness no, no more than feeding him or dressing him or helping him on the toilet is. I hope in future he'll be in control enough of his emotions that he won't need the distraction to eat. But for now, he's three. I'm alone, tired, and pregnant, and this is one way I can manage to make the evening manageable for both of us, without time outs, yelling, impatience, and tears. And I kind of think that a meal in front of a movie with mom cuddled close beside him is a better option than the anger that might otherwise be created if I didn't allow him the luxury of emotional release every once in a while.

Just saying.

Mixed successes

Orange quinoa muffins. Pretty yummy! The quinoa flakes make the texture like oatmeal muffins, so they are pretty dense, but I quite like them. I think they will make an excellent morning snack.

These, on the other hand, didn't fare so well. Lemon poppyseed, with almond flour. The taste of them is fantastic, but I think that somehow or other (my mistake or typo on recipe) they didn't have enough flour. I cooked them for 1/2 again as long as they asked, and then poked them a lot with toothpicks and tapped them with my fingers ... against my better judgement, I pulled them out and -- yup: clung. They sank, and they are ... well, they are almost kind of done, but not really .... it's very strange. I think it's the almond flour, which does tend to make things quite dense and moist, and so while I think they are cooked enough to avoid food poisoning, they aren't quite the texture I was hoping for.

I will make them again, though, because they do taste really good. Next time ... more flour? More baking powder? More time in the oven? Something, for sure.

Recipes both from here.

Chocolate chip cookies

What I did this morning before the party:

Two and a half dozen cookies for snacks this week. If they make it that far. No nuts (since I can't send those to daycare, alas), but quinoa flakes so they still have a nice slightly nutty flavour. And I added raisins to take the place of the nuts. We've been having too many chocolate chips lately, so I think maybe another time they might just be raisin cookies.

Tomorrow, still on my quinoa kick, I may just try quinoa orange muffins. I can't wait.

What a difference five months makes

Back at the end of August, we were invited to a birthday party for one of the kids from daycare. It was a fun party, but I spent most of the time chasing a child who really had no clue he should play with the other children, and was in fact so exhilarating for the child, that he ended up running away from me when I said it was time to go and then completely lost his mind at the end, causing me to haul him bodily from the party, kicking and screaming, wrestle him into his car seat, and drive home with a screaming child.

After that, I resolved NO MORE BIRTHDAY PARTIES.

I knew that this was a resolution that would not hold. No way, no how. But still, this Saturday we were invited to two parties and I declined one invite realizing that while my older child could cope with one party, two would likely result in a similar situation. And me being significantly bigger than last time, I didn't have the strength or will to wrestle a screaming child two blocks to a parked car.

We went over it, before we left: what would happen, what was expected. I reminded him of it over and over, and lo! he was angelic. Well, not angelic, per se, but played well and happily, enjoyed himself, ate pizza and cake, and when I said it was time to go expressed regret but got on his coat and left without a fuss.

I can see more birthday parties in our future. Thank heavens.

But the thing I think is key here is that not only has he grown up and realized there are social customs and expected behaviours, but that I'VE become better at this too -- communicating those expectations, taking time during the party to remind him, letting him know when we're leaving, and generally being more clear about things.

It's only taken almost four years, but I think I'm just starting to get a handle on this parenting thing.

Food for thought ...

So I read this article today -- no idea where -- and it said something about the author's new year's resolution was to cook every day. And by "cook" he / she meant even to put blueberries on top of cereal. And she / he encouraged every one else to do the same! Cook something! It's empowering!

I am flabbergasted. Are there actually people out there who don't "cook" -- by this lose definition -- at all? Seriously?

What on earth do they eat?

I admit to being a mediocre and somewhat careless cook. My criteria for a good meal is something easy and quick, so my specialties of the house are macaroni and cheese, pizza, and soups that need to be simmered for lengthy times while I stir on occasion and basically ignore them (not quick, but definitely easy). I also am very good at salad. And breakfast in general. I can put berries on flakes with the best of 'em.

(Also, I don't consider that "cooking".)

I don't think I have ever, in my life, regularly eaten breakfast on the run, from a cafe / fast food joint / package. And I always eat breakfast. But ... I mean, come on, people! How hard is it to "make" your own cereal instead of getting a breakfast 'wich from the nearest coffee shop? And let me tell you from the queen of quick meals: it's just as easy (and far better for you) to whip up single pot macaroni and cheese and broccoli from scratch than ordering in, microwaving a ready meal, or eating out.

I think perhaps I've just led a sheltered life as far as food goes -- my mother cooked every night, even as a working parent. Delivery was never an option, although we did, on some occasions, go out to eat. My current partner is a great cook, and my previous one liked to cook (although I now realize he was no where as good as he liked to believe.) And then I have a metabolism that hates fast food anyway -- the very idea of eating every meal from a restaurant or cafe physically repels me. Just the thought of it, let alone actually doing it.

And it's really no wonder why we're a nation (or culture) of terrible health issues when people actually DO eat that way.

Limits of imagination

For the first time ever, The Boy has become attached to a lovey. Of sorts. Since birth we have peppered the child with soothers, blankies and assorted stuffed toys, and while he has greatly enjoyed some of them -- the Backyardigans toys, for one, and the stuffed turtles that Soja made -- he's never wanted them to sleep in his bed and accompany him places.

But this Christmas he was given a bizarrely shapen stuffed crab whom he has named Moon, and Moon must go everywhere. And be with him. And be in bed at night. He cuddles Moon. He talks to Moon. He loves Moon.

Moon went to daycare on Monday -- not for the first time. I tucked Moon into The Boy's cubby, and there he stayed all day. And unfortunately .... all night. I forgot him.

And dear LORD, the wailing that happened that night.

My child sobbed -- Sobbed! -- over Moon's absence. He wept copious tears. He hiccuped out that he needed Moon, and Moon needed him, and they had to be together, and he couldn't sleep without him. Moon would miss him! Moon needed him! Moon is his Best! Friend!

The drama went on.

In a desperate effort to change the subject to something happier, I told him that Moon would be having a Great! Time! there all by himself! He'd have his pick of all the toys! What would Moon play with if he could pick whatever he wanted to???!!

The sobbing ceased a tad, and then The Boy said, "Mommy." (honestly, Mommy.) "He's not REAL."

Colour me confused. Because Moon can need him, but Moon is not real enough to go out and play with the toys. Interesting how his little mind works. Moon is real, I guess, on an emotional level for him, but not a physical one. Which is a very interesting dichotomy.

We went back to daycare the next day and unearthed Moon from the cubby. I told The Boy I'd take Moon home, so as to be sure we'd remember him, but he was adamant that he stay. That afternoon, I had to search the place for Moon, who was eventually found buried under some pillows under the indoor climber, with a jaunty scarf tied about his neck. Clearly Moon had had a very interesting day.

Falling prey to stereotypes

This evening, after dinner, I went into the kitchen and ate several small pickles straight from the jar.

And then got a bowl of chocolate ice cream.

I suppose I should just be glad I didn't eat them together.

Twelve

1. Recent bedtimes have become a battleground. So much so that my child seems to transform from a lovely, reasonable, cooperative child (morning) to a demon (7pm). It sucks. We're trying some new things, but bedtime ... man, bedtime has been more or less of a problem for almost the last four years. Sigh.

2. I hope to heck this next kid sleeps a little better.

3. Every single day this week is forecast with rain. Welcome to January in Vancouver.

4. I made lentil soup again tonight. My beloved significant other is out; he hates the stuff. My child, on the other hand, ate more than I did. Three bowls! I love it.

5. My child informed me that his friend from daycare was coming for a sleep-over, which was corroborated by the friend. I have no idea where the idea of a sleep-over came from; I didn't bring it up. I mean, three is a little young, isn't it?

6. My Christmas decorations have been down for weeks, but the cards are still up. Which makes sense, I haven't even sent my cards, which sit written and just waiting to be addressed on my sideboard. Sigh.

7. Despite reassurances that the baby would move upwards, it still sits on my bladder and tickles me below my pants line. Feels like it might fall out at any time. I hear that this too is common in second pregnancies.

8. I have been trying to knit a scarf with the bison wool for all the weeks since Christmas. I can't, for the life of me, knit lace. And the pattern I'm using is SUPER easy lace. But, oh, no, it's just constant screw up, and I can't seem to pick out just until I get to the mistake. So I've given up ... for now. And moved on to ...

9. Moebius knitting. With the green that came for Christmas. The only circular I had worked but really was too short, which resulted in a little moebius I couldn't get over my head (I had at first intended it for a scarf; I think figured it might work as a headband. Turns out: neither.) So I got a new one today. Will be casting on post-bedtime. If I ever get there: see point 1. So far, despite the difficulty of the cast on and first few rounds, I love the process -- it's my type of nice, relaxing, effortless knitting, but transforms into something pretty! Whee!

10. I wish I knew how to knit and read at the same time. Combining my two passions would make life ideal. But I end up reading on the computer, or watching a show instead, because I can't handle a book and knitting needles. I did find some books on tape -- or rather, recordings -- online. But most were old classics -- great, but limited. And I can't concentrate on them as well as the written word.

11. It's kind of sad that I really do like the music from Toy Story 2. Although that might just be because I've listened to it SO MANY DAMN TIMES. My kid has a real Buzz Lightyear fetish.

12. 24 weeks. Still pregnant. Not much else to say, other than I feel very lucky. And grateful. Grant me another 10 weeks (preferably 13), and I'll be all set.

Braxton and Hicks

Apparently -- so says the midwife -- the second pregnancy is just ... more. Bigger, faster, sooner, more twinges, niggling pains, and annoyances. And apparently that goes for the ol' practice contractions too, which I've been having for more than a month at any kind of minor exertion, especially if I'm even a teeny bit mildly dehydrated.

Like yesterday, when I spent an hour at the park, after a slow walk there, and a little bit of moving around, and then a walk home, and some baking. I was on my feet for only two hours, but at the end of it I realized that my belly button hurt and my abdomen was tense and so I got off my feet and had some water and it took half an hour for things to calm down.

The midwife, as ever, was unconcerned. It's common, she says; the fact that it lasted so long is actually good because real contractions don't last like that; just get off your feet and drink more water. It doesn't lead to preterm labour, she says, which is of course what I'm worried about. If I were sure that nothing were changing inside I'd be a lot less concerned, but you never can tell, there's just hope and faith that things will just somehow work out.

Sigh.

Anyway, as of tomorrow by normal calculations I've hit 24 weeks, the point at which premature labour doesn't automatically equal the worst possible pregnancy outcome. And I have no indications of early labour, or any risk factors other than being old (ha ha ha. love that I'm old at 35). So I guess just more water and feet up, which isn't so hard, for the most part.

The only problem is that sitting still makes me stiff, and tired, and so when I *do* get up and get moving I feel all of my 35 years -- or even more, really -- and end up waddling exaggeratedly down the hall or across the parking lot, creaking my ancient and unused bones and muscles along, unkinking as I go. I'm sure I look hilariously comical.

It's not much to complain about, and I'm not complaining, per se. Just realizing that this may well be why people have children at 25. It's clearly possible to have a very healthy pregnancy at 35, or 38, or 41. It's just, apparently, for me, not possible to be comfortable while doing so.

But then when there's a baby concerned, I'll take health over comfort any darn day.

Sunday night

There's warm banana bread cooling near the gingerbread cupcakes, the house is clean (or what passes for clean around here), the laundry is cleaned, folded, and put away, the child is bathed and asleep, we are sated from a delicious dinner of chicken piccata over quinoa with broccoli on the side. With ginger cupcakes for dessert. There may not be many left for lunches this week.

Just another Sunday, not much to report.

Oh, we did have the exciting event of trying our self-cleaning oven this morning. For the first time since we moved in. Three and a half years ago.

And we learned something new: Don't let it go three and a half years between cleanings. It worked, but HOT DAMN did it ever smell bad in here for a while. The good news was that we got to turn off the heat for a while, because the oven heated the entire place for much of the day.

That is all.

Ginger cupcakes

Pardon the knife holes in two of them; had to check they were done, after all. They are really rather delicious -- good taste and texture and so far, not too potent.

The acid test of course will come post-dinner when I offer one to the child.

More gluten-free baking

Today I am making these. Ginger and molasses cupcakes. With cream cheese icing. Because I deem it so. Take a look at that recipe -- the first ingredient is ginger. Not powdered -- no no, that comes LATER. Fresh ginger, grated.

I have a feeling I have made these just for me too. I can't imagine my kid will eat them -- much too spicy.

(He's also gone off a lot of food recently. Which is disappointing, he used to be much more adventurous. We get a lot of "I don't LIKE ... " whatever it is we're eating. Despite the fact that he's eaten and enjoyed the very same thing countless times. I suppose it's just a phase, and frankly a less annoying one than the "I won't go to bed!" phase which has been played around this house since, oh, BIRTH. Just in various keys and various tunes, but the end message is the same.)

And recipe makes a dozen? HA. I have a good 18, and good size ones too. I will be eating these all next week.

I sure hope I like them.

I will actually try and post photos this time.

First week in, 2010

If I'd had any sense at all I would have taken a day off this week. Two weeks off work and then a full week back is well night on exhausting. Especially when my rapidly stretching self is just not used to sitting for long periods of time in an office chair. This evening, I have the uncomfortable sensation that the skin underneath my ribs is stretching which -- duh! -- it is, but the knowledge of the stretching is almost as uncomfortable as the stretching itself.

I remember this from last time, just as I remember the discomfort of same, the constant congestion, the stiffness / waddliness of sitting long periods, and the need to heave my larger self up from the floor or whatever other surface of things I happen to be on -- car seats, sofas, beds, toilets, etc. Not to mention the pokiness of a child flailing around in my lower abdomen, startling me with unexpected jabs to my bladder and causing me to suddenly realize with an urgency that I need to visit the bathroom, and then just as suddenly realize it's not true, it was just a foot poking at me. It's the sort of thing you kind of forget in a way, but which rushes back with alarming familiarity.

I spent part of work today planning out my vacation days for this year and for the following year's return to work; I have 32 days to spend this year, and although the fantasy of my using every single last one starting around the beginning of March, I am alas aware of the fact that I need to save at least some for the very likely possibility that my child won't get daycare for when I need to return to work. However, I did plan out two weeks at the end of April to sit about in my full term discomfort, and for mat leave to start May 1, for a due date five days later. And I'd just like to let you know that I now have 71 days of work left.

You'll know it's getting bad when I start counting down the hours.

Academe

Some many years ago, as I sat and contemplated my future prospects, I emailed my undergraduate supervisor, and asked him bluntly -- if I pursue a doctorate in this area, will I find a job in Canada?

He answered: no.

He was kinder to me, I think, than many, at least according to this article, which suggests that many academics tell hopeful students that there is much hope for work, that retirements will ensure a steady need for humanities professors. And that fewer than 50% of them now find work, given retirement jobs are not filled, hiring freezes are in place, etc. A cousin of mine is in this situation -- he has worked as an adjunct for many years now, moving from town to town. It doesn't sound like fun.

Oh, I think still that perhaps had I changed my area I might have found work; I know others who have. But I didn't think at the time that spending four or five years in something I wasn't extremely passionate about -- not to mention teaching it for the rest of my life -- was worthwhile. If I was going to dedicate my life to something, it had to be something I loved.

Of course, I've currently dedicated my life to something else that I'm not sure I love, so there is that drawback. I mean, I love writing, so I guess in a way I'm dedicated to a love, but what I'm writing is generally not an area about which I would wax poetic.

I think my cousin would argue that it's worthwhile to be doing something you love. And frankly part of me agrees with him. At least the part of me that looked at my to-do list today and sighed.

I still plan to do it, someday. I plan to go back and get that doctorate I wanted. I can do it after retirement. For me, it's like that novel I want to write: it's something I want to do for me. It's something that it doesn't matter when it gets done, or even if it gets done if something else I'm passionate about -- raising children, perhaps, or a new career turn -- takes precedence.

Still. No matter what, there's part of me that wishes for the alternate life I could have lived, and wonders just where I would be now had I not heeded his advice, and just taken a chance.

Confession

I am totally embarrassed to admit that today, for the first time (that I remember) in 35 years, I bought shoes that are neither brown nor black. For the longest while I was too poor (university, grad school, first job) to buy anything that wasn't wearable with everything; and then soon after I had enough money to be more adventurous I had a baby and it just seemed frivolous again. But I got a raise late December, and dangnabit I went and bought shoes that are red. RED. I love them. I will wear them every day.

You know, except for those days I don't have an outfit that will go with red shoes.

If this coming baby is a daughter, I will encourage her to always own at least one pair of shoes that are fun only, and not practical. Something red, or pink, or bright blue.

Although to be fair, I will probably, being me, also encourage her to be practical, and make sure she has a pair in black that go with everything.

15 weeks

No, that's not how pregnant I am. That's how many more weeks of work I have from when I go back tomorrow until I am off to have a baby. That's .... that's not much. Especially since two of those weeks at least will be mostly off working at home during the Crazy Times (aka the Olympics). Thirteen weeks of being at work! My heavens!

I haven't been writing much on the baby, mostly because ... well, there's not much to say. The baby moves, I enjoy it. I'm getting bigger, although it seems imperceptible to me. (I don't feel any bigger than I did at seven weeks, but clearly I must be.) The baby is about 11 inches long, but I feel tiny to have such a big thing in me.

At the moment we're still on sporadic midwife visits (which I think get more frequent after this next one) and it's a bit like we're all biding our time waiting for the kid to just grow. I'm about five months (in months) or five and a half (if you want to measure weeks) right now -- just before Christmas was about half way. At this point it's all about growth and more growth and ... well, that's about it.

This baby is more docile than the last -- not much squirming at all. The Boy was a big squirmer, always moving, and this one can lie still for hours which always makes me wonder what the heck is going on. I have this image in my head of it kicking back on the placenta, remote control in hand. (My imagination does not actually notice if there's a TV in there.) And then there'll be a flurry of movement as s/he gets up for a drink and settles back down comfortably. Heh.

I'm still tired, but more energetic than I have been. I fell asleep on the couch at 2 today. but only dozed for half an hour or so, at most.

And now I'm going to see if I have enough energy to get to the maternity store to see if they have a dress that will fit me. Because I could use something pretty to wear (not to mention something comfortable!) for the next four months.

And shoes too. Because at least I can buy shoes that fit.

Today's gluten-free baking

Today I made chocolate chocolate chip cookies. Big ones, although I hadn't meant them to be so -- they spread more than I anticipated. They are mostly sweet rice flour, with some teff, millet, and tapioca thrown in for good measure. Sorry, no picture, but while I was doing this I was also trying to clean out a bunch of kitchen cupboards and get some laundry done, so I am sitting on the couch EX-HOSS-TED. And letting the baby kick for a bit. Or at least hoping s/he will.

(We went out for dinner New Year's Eve and as I exited the restaurant I went *ss over teakettle down onto my side on a slippery patch of tile -- it was raining outside. This prompted some calls to the midwife, who calmly replied the usual -- make sure the baby is moving, call me if there's any blood or fluid that shouldn't be coming out of you. And then also, in her typical midwifery way, did note that were there an actual problem "there really isn't much that can be done." Which is not terribly comforting, but at least doesn't give one the idea that one can solve the problem by being paranoidly suspicious over every little thing, and in a strange way is more relaxing than trying to notice every single tiny thing.)

(So I'm resting, is all I meant to say. And feeling for baby kicks. Which are coming, by the way, despite the fact that this child seems to be much more docile that his / her brother.)

I'm so off topic.

Anyway, the cookies. Well, they have dairy in them, so The Man won't eat them. And The Boy has declared them "too sweet" which kills me, because I have the most amazing sweet tooth and every time he says something like this I want to ask him exactly whose child he is? (The Man's, who also doesn't like overly sweet things.) So now I have about two dozen gluten-free chocolate cookies to eat all by myself.

Don't feel sorry for me. I think I'm going to enjoy it.

Yet another thing my kid won't experience

My kid is very fond of the Christmas special "How the Grinch Stole Christmas". We have it on video, and I've lost track of how many times we've watched it over the last two or three weeks. He especially seems to love the parts where the Grinch steals the toys and Christmas things from the Whos, commenting with gasps of horror each time, and reminding me that it's a good thing the Grinch didn't come to OUR house.

There's a particular scene where the Grinch takes candies and ice and food, and he also opens an old camera and takes the film. With each new theft, my child gasps. "He's taking the candy!" "He's taking the ice!" "He's taking the roast beast!"

And: "He's taking the RIBBON!"

We laughed, and explained that no, it was film, not ribbon, but we had no luck in convincing him. We had no frame of reference to explain it to him. We don't use film at all anymore. He's never experienced anything like it. He will grow up in a world without film, only ever knowing cameras where you can see each picture after seeing it.

What a concept.

New Year's Day

This morning began at 3:30am. My child was awake, furiously shrieking that his diaper had leaked. As I stumbled about looking for a replacement, I mumbled "Welcome to 2010" to myself.

He was up, up and awake and raring to go, and it was another 1.5 hours before he finally fell back to sleep; I lasted 1.25 of those hours before getting fed up and leaving him to his father. I went back to bed, and slept another two hours before being woken by my son's hysterical wailing -- he'd woken up, wanted me, and then when his father, very kindly, had tried to give me more time to sleep, he'd awoken the three year old beast. Once we finally quelled the tantrum, he climbed into bed with me, his father in the child's bed, and we all went back to sleep for another two hours.

Alas this was of course the only morning this week that we actually had to be somewhere -- my sister's, for 11am new year's family brunch. For which we were supposed to bring baking. We were, by some miracle, only half an hour late.

So it was hardly an auspicious beginning to the new year.

But we're home now, and the fire is going, and we're still enjoying the Christmas tree we plan to take down later this weekend. The Boy is still with the cousins, coming home later, and dinner is being prepared. Something yummy, to ring in the new year. So I'm going to scrap this morning's darkness and just pretend that this was the way we spent the whole day -- happy, playing, and relaxed.

Hope your first day of 2010 went as well as mine (kind of) did!