I don't quite know what to do with myself these days. I am cooking a lot.
This weekend I have already made sausage tortellini soup, waffles from scratch, taco-skillet pie, grilled chicken with baked southwestern squash, carrot-raisin salad with cumin vinaigrette; tomorrow I will bake a ham, and plan the order of things for the week: curried lentils with butternut squash, spinach risotto, tofu and green beans with peanuts, glazed salmon with avocodo-jicama salad, and countless other meals. The refrigerator is stocked to overflowing.
Dave's Mom's freezer is always filled with old yogurt cartons re-purposed for food storage, neatly labeled with the item and date: fresh blueberries, italian beef, stewed asparagus. She can scallop anything: corn, tomatoes, potatoes with ham. Whenever Dave goes home, she makes lemon sugar cookies; for younger brother Derek, they're molasses. She brings me my favorite biscotti whenever we see each other, and mails it on special occasions. Every meal ends with dessert: rum cake, homemade ice cream, cherry cobbler. (Needless to say, Barb gave Dave his metabolism; the two are built just a like.) When we returned home from Thanksgiving in Morrison, I found in the mail a set of recipe cards with a half-dozen of my favorites from her repertoire; I have adopted them whole-heartedly, with thanks.
Right now, Barb is in the hospital, recovering from major surgery to remove a malignant tumor. The tumor, discovered during a massage- a rare moment of treating herself- was the size of a grapefruit. The Doctors believe they know where the cancer came from; they believe they got it all. We believe she will be just fine. Today, Barb is moving around her hospital room in Iowa, dialing down the pain medication and, I imagine, steeling herself for recovery.
There is an overwhelming sense of impotence when your husband's mother is ill, and you are more than 2,000 miles away. I've seen Barb spend so much time planning for, preparing, serving, and cleaning up after meals for her family, I wonder what it will be like while she is unable to do so; when, in fact, she will need help. This planning, preparing, serving, and cleaning up after is the familiar shape of my recent days, and I wish I could be doing it for her. Instead, I do it for my little family, feeding them to the brink of our refrigerator, right up to the edges of comfort and safety, but I think I am cooking for her.
One thing that Dave was able to do from this distance was to set up a Netflix account for her, and to make the first few selections. She has enjoyed the first seasons of Curb Your Enthusiasm and Arrested Development, as well as the movie Little Miss Sunshine. It is impossible to imagine Barb sitting still for the length of time necessary to accomplish that much watching, but I try, because I believe it's good for her. She said to David tonight that she wonders when she lost the time to watch movies- that it is something she always loved doing.
Maybe, if I find a way to satisfy whatever urge I have to help Barb, even so far away; maybe, when we know she is safe and healthy, I, too, will reevaluate. Because I confront the desire every day to do everything for the family I love; to follow, in that way, in the footsteps of my own mother and my mother-in-law, but I'd like to learn from them not to lose myself in the effort.
Someday soon, I'll order in, and go out to do something fun, just for myself. Okay, not just for myself, but also for Barb. Better yet, we'll go again to get our nails done together.
Sometimes it takes the greatest strength to put yourself first.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Pregnesia: Now there's proof!
Thanks to Katy, who shared this article about a new study linking pregnancy to memory loss. It's so unfair!
Thursday, February 7, 2008
A Montessori Misadventure
On Sunday, Clio went to "interview" at Brooklyn Heights Montessori, the school we hope she will attend two days a week next year. The date has been in the calendar for months, but somehow, with the mad scramble we undertook, you'd think we were snuck in on a last minute cancellation or something.
Let's see, where did the fun begin? Oh yes, when Clio sprouted a fever the night before her appointment, and I, home alone, gave her some tylenol, put her to bed, and crossed my fingers. Around 4am I woke from a bad dream- and realized that I was still home alone. So the real fun began when my husband came home at 5am from a night out with one of the dads we know (thanks, Matt!). We had previously agreed that Dave would take Clio to the interview, as she tends to be less clingy with him; at 5am, I found myself recalculating all of these plans.
Well, Clio woke fever-free (but has been asking for "medcin" all week- damn if that tylenol isn't the closest to candy Clio's ever come), and Dave did a miraculous job of recovering from his short night's sleep, and the two of them got all bundled off to make it to the 10am appointment nice and early, the way Dave insists things must be.
Except that we remembered that, the previous afternoon, Dave had discovered the car with a dead battery. Turns out someone had forgotten to turn the lights off when she was bundling a toddler and many bags from Target into the house in the rain. (Did I mention that I am just now remembering how forgetful pregnancy can make you?) So they called a car service, and Dave hooked our car up to his motorcycle battery charger in the meantime. (Seemed like a good idea to be chauffered and not to deal with parking on the other end, anyway).
So off they went, only to discover that the appointment was not at 10 but 10:30 (I must have put it in my calendar for the time we needed to leave the house, just to be sure), so there Dave was with 45 minutes and a toddler on his hands. The admissions lady was nice enough to offer that Dave could just wait in the school, but after he perched Clio on a high bench and she face-planted into the ground, resulting in wailing and blood, he thought it best to head out and find the nearest park. Which he did, and Clio apparently had a very lovely time. Dave, however, was somewhat soggy, as Clio's sippy cup had poured everywhere while he was separating her face from the floor.
The miracle of the day is that somewhere in all of this, Dave called me from the cell phone he had managed not only to charge but to bring with him and turn on (!!!!) in order to tell me he would be home later than expected, and not to worry (!!!!!!!). (And while we were talking, did I think I could change the voltage on the battery charger from high to low, seeing as how things were taking longer than planned).
They arrived home in one piece, with Clio starving for cereal, which I had sent along in the diaper bag but which Dave had left at the school (or in the car service or park) in the scramble.
At some point in the afternoon, I remembered to ask how the interview had gone.
Dave smiled at me and said, "she killed it."
Performing under pressure already? That's my girl.
Let's see, where did the fun begin? Oh yes, when Clio sprouted a fever the night before her appointment, and I, home alone, gave her some tylenol, put her to bed, and crossed my fingers. Around 4am I woke from a bad dream- and realized that I was still home alone. So the real fun began when my husband came home at 5am from a night out with one of the dads we know (thanks, Matt!). We had previously agreed that Dave would take Clio to the interview, as she tends to be less clingy with him; at 5am, I found myself recalculating all of these plans.
Well, Clio woke fever-free (but has been asking for "medcin" all week- damn if that tylenol isn't the closest to candy Clio's ever come), and Dave did a miraculous job of recovering from his short night's sleep, and the two of them got all bundled off to make it to the 10am appointment nice and early, the way Dave insists things must be.
Except that we remembered that, the previous afternoon, Dave had discovered the car with a dead battery. Turns out someone had forgotten to turn the lights off when she was bundling a toddler and many bags from Target into the house in the rain. (Did I mention that I am just now remembering how forgetful pregnancy can make you?) So they called a car service, and Dave hooked our car up to his motorcycle battery charger in the meantime. (Seemed like a good idea to be chauffered and not to deal with parking on the other end, anyway).
So off they went, only to discover that the appointment was not at 10 but 10:30 (I must have put it in my calendar for the time we needed to leave the house, just to be sure), so there Dave was with 45 minutes and a toddler on his hands. The admissions lady was nice enough to offer that Dave could just wait in the school, but after he perched Clio on a high bench and she face-planted into the ground, resulting in wailing and blood, he thought it best to head out and find the nearest park. Which he did, and Clio apparently had a very lovely time. Dave, however, was somewhat soggy, as Clio's sippy cup had poured everywhere while he was separating her face from the floor.
The miracle of the day is that somewhere in all of this, Dave called me from the cell phone he had managed not only to charge but to bring with him and turn on (!!!!) in order to tell me he would be home later than expected, and not to worry (!!!!!!!). (And while we were talking, did I think I could change the voltage on the battery charger from high to low, seeing as how things were taking longer than planned).
They arrived home in one piece, with Clio starving for cereal, which I had sent along in the diaper bag but which Dave had left at the school (or in the car service or park) in the scramble.
At some point in the afternoon, I remembered to ask how the interview had gone.
Dave smiled at me and said, "she killed it."
Performing under pressure already? That's my girl.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Hormonal
It's no surprise that being pregnant makes one a tad, well, emotional. Your hormones are raging, your body is changing, you're subject to all kinds of indignities- the delicate sense of smell, the loss of memory, the dropsies- it can all leave you feeling a bit, how shall we say... off.
Last night I realized I have a very particular emotional afflicition. It's no secret that I'm a weepy wendy, but while pregnant my heart swells even more than usual at the notion of people having a shot at realizing their dreams; and going one step further, I get all veclempt when they're lovingly supported in their quest. So, I tend to mist up as singers are handed a golden ticket on American Idol (especially the single parents, last-chancers, and anyone in recovery from anything), but the tears really start to roll when they bust through those double doors and their families and friends jump up and down and tackle them and scream and cry for joy. And last night, when Eli Manning took a wild-card underdog team and turned a record-making game around against the undefeated Patriots seeking to make history, needless to say I was a little weepy. But when they cut to big brother Peyton barely containing his pride in a private box, well, that's when I really lost it. I'm sure this is exactly what Dave expected from his Superbowl experience; and I'm sure he's thrilled he stayed home to watch with his pregnant wife instead of going to a party with a bunch of guys who really knew what was going on, but hey- in its way, that's exactly the kind of familial support that itches my tearducts.
(Last time around, as a comparison, I remember sobbing- SOBBING- my way through Eight Below, that movie about the team of sled dogs that gets left behind at the South Pole when the human team evacuates in a storm- and their loyal master's unlikely quest to save them. And I'm not even remotely a dog person. And it so obviously was going to have a mostly happy ending. Marni kept looking sidelong at me like I was crazy. But those based-on-a-true story stories have an edge up, just like the single parents, etc.)
What can I say? It's an emotional whirlwind.
Last night I realized I have a very particular emotional afflicition. It's no secret that I'm a weepy wendy, but while pregnant my heart swells even more than usual at the notion of people having a shot at realizing their dreams; and going one step further, I get all veclempt when they're lovingly supported in their quest. So, I tend to mist up as singers are handed a golden ticket on American Idol (especially the single parents, last-chancers, and anyone in recovery from anything), but the tears really start to roll when they bust through those double doors and their families and friends jump up and down and tackle them and scream and cry for joy. And last night, when Eli Manning took a wild-card underdog team and turned a record-making game around against the undefeated Patriots seeking to make history, needless to say I was a little weepy. But when they cut to big brother Peyton barely containing his pride in a private box, well, that's when I really lost it. I'm sure this is exactly what Dave expected from his Superbowl experience; and I'm sure he's thrilled he stayed home to watch with his pregnant wife instead of going to a party with a bunch of guys who really knew what was going on, but hey- in its way, that's exactly the kind of familial support that itches my tearducts.
(Last time around, as a comparison, I remember sobbing- SOBBING- my way through Eight Below, that movie about the team of sled dogs that gets left behind at the South Pole when the human team evacuates in a storm- and their loyal master's unlikely quest to save them. And I'm not even remotely a dog person. And it so obviously was going to have a mostly happy ending. Marni kept looking sidelong at me like I was crazy. But those based-on-a-true story stories have an edge up, just like the single parents, etc.)
What can I say? It's an emotional whirlwind.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Eloise
Yesterday, my friend Kim drove all the way from her home in Maplewood, NJ here to Brooklyn, despite the rain, so her daughter Eloise and Clio could be reunited after far too many months apart. Here are the girls, through the "years"
Meals, Revolutioned
Speaking of lunch, I was just telling Dave how I feel that this melamine plate with 4 little compartments and pictures of dinosaurs has revolutionized my ability to conceptualize and execute Clio's meals.
(I got this little number on the sale rack at Target- with matching dinosaur cups with glitter floating in some kind of gel, no less.)
Dave thought this was pretty, um, funny, and said "sounds like a blog post to me."
Now, I know it is a simple little thing, but somehow having four compartments, each in a different, manageable size, keeps me focused on creating a balanced meal in normal, kid-size portions. And I swear, there has been tremendous improvement in Clio's eating habits in the few weeks that we've been using the miracle melamine. The meal here isn't the best example- I prefer to have at least 3 colors on the plate (although she did follow this up with mango, which she insisted in having in three of the four spots, so there you go)- but at least I can look at it and think, protein, veggie, veggie/fruit, carb. Plus having 4 compartments is just right, because if she rejects one thing (usually one of the veggies), she's still pretty well covered for the meal.
By the way, that bite she is devouring is a Dr. Praeger's Kids Fish bite- a new favorite that I discovered at a playdate at Zoe's (thanks Statia and Peter!) The best part? You can just pop them in the microwave and dinner can be ready in 60 seconds (especially if you don't bother to defrost your frozen veggies- an excellent tip from Melissa and Peter, so thanks to you guys, too), and even the most pregnant of us can handle a toddler chanting "eat" for just 60 seconds.
Hmmmm. I've obviously given this a lot of thought. Do I need to get out more? (Someplace other than Target?)
(I got this little number on the sale rack at Target- with matching dinosaur cups with glitter floating in some kind of gel, no less.)
Dave thought this was pretty, um, funny, and said "sounds like a blog post to me."
Now, I know it is a simple little thing, but somehow having four compartments, each in a different, manageable size, keeps me focused on creating a balanced meal in normal, kid-size portions. And I swear, there has been tremendous improvement in Clio's eating habits in the few weeks that we've been using the miracle melamine. The meal here isn't the best example- I prefer to have at least 3 colors on the plate (although she did follow this up with mango, which she insisted in having in three of the four spots, so there you go)- but at least I can look at it and think, protein, veggie, veggie/fruit, carb. Plus having 4 compartments is just right, because if she rejects one thing (usually one of the veggies), she's still pretty well covered for the meal.
By the way, that bite she is devouring is a Dr. Praeger's Kids Fish bite- a new favorite that I discovered at a playdate at Zoe's (thanks Statia and Peter!) The best part? You can just pop them in the microwave and dinner can be ready in 60 seconds (especially if you don't bother to defrost your frozen veggies- an excellent tip from Melissa and Peter, so thanks to you guys, too), and even the most pregnant of us can handle a toddler chanting "eat" for just 60 seconds.
Hmmmm. I've obviously given this a lot of thought. Do I need to get out more? (Someplace other than Target?)
The Bank of Clio
Now, I'm sure you're not supposed to let kids this age play with change, but Clio found some somewhere (and, okay, I gave in and emptied my wallet when she demanded "more") and spent much of the day yesterday separating coins out into some system of cups that only she can understand. All I know is I got to do all the breakfast dishes and fix lunch without being interrupted. Clio also spent a lot of time dropping coins and then retrieving them from under the table or sofa or wherever they rolled- so I figure she's getting a little indoor exercise, too. Right?
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