My Addiction: McDonald's

I'm just going to come out up front. I love McDonald's.... it's as simple as that. My mom, stepdad, sister, and me are all in Brazil. I have been training by myself for swim team. I hadn't eaten fast food in like 3 weeks!... that's a long time for me. The last I had gone to McDonald's was with my best friend on June 26. I go to McDonald's almost once a week... yeah, I know, it's bad.

The other day, my mom, one of my tias, and me were coming home after my swim training. There was a lot of traffic (it was Friday night) and the ride takes about 20 to 30 minutes. I was supposed to have gone to McDonald's that night after practice with my stepdad, but he stayed home with Stella, so I couldn't go. I was quite pissed off about this new change of plans. Anyways, we were driving home and I talked about McDonald's the entire ride. When I say "the entire ride", I mean the entire ride, from the time I got into the car to the time when I got out of the car.

My mom started to get really fed up with my persistent talking. We were about 100 yd from the house when my tia got out her cell phone to call my stepdad. She said she was going to ask if I could go get fast food. My hopes were high at first, but nobody answered the phone so I just dropped it.

The next day, Saturday, my stepdad, mom, sister, another one of my tias, and I went to the hospital. We gone for the entire day. I was getting tired and bored. My mom and tia started telling me that if I did a runway walk down the hospital hallway, that we could go get McDonald's. I said no... of course! I mean, it's a hospital not America's Next Top Model! I asked my mom later if we were going to McDonald's, and she told me that she gave me a chance but I refused! As you can imagine, I was pissed off. I had spent the entire day in a hospital with nothing to do and now I couldn't even have McDonald's!!!

We went home and I started taking off my jewelry and shoes, when my stepdad told me we were going out to eat. I asked where and he said.... FAST FOOD!!!!! O.Mi.Gawd! You should have seen my face! I went from neutral to pure over ecstasy. The best part was that, I could see all of this unfold because I was in front of a mirror.

We got to the food court at the mall, I saw the golden arches, and I swear I had a heart attack. Mom: I think Grace is going to pass out if she can see the golden arches but she can't taste them.

My stepdad wanted to look around at the other places and I started to get a desperate look on my face. Mom: Grace is getting a desperate look on her face like she might not be getting McDonald's. I think you need to reassure her.

I went up to the counter and ordered a number 1 meal. The price? About $8.50!!! That's proof of an addiction right there. I sat down with my meal while my stepdad, mom, and tia (yes, another one) were still deciding what to order. I said that I would wait to eat. I ate one fries, two fries, three fries... so on and so forth. I offered fries to my tia and she took a couple. That's when she said she was going to get Giraffas (a Brazilian fast food chain). By that time I had already eaten all my fries.

Baduh duh duh duhhhh I'm lovin' it

What? What happened to coffee hour?!??!!?

I may have mentioned in the past that my husband is from Brazil, in South America, you know, where coffee beans come from? Where they speak Portuguese and the word meaning breakfast (café da manhã) literally translates to "morning coffee"? Yeah. Coffee is a big part of our life. Not in a get-the-biggest-vat-of-the-poison-you-can-and-chug-like-an-addict way, but more like a stop-and-make-time-for-each-other kind of way. I think it started back at our first date. I asked him to go to breakfast. He asked what time. I suggested 10a. He was trying to decide if that would work because he knew he couldn't wake up too early on Saturday, but he also knew that once he woke up he wouldn't be able to go very long without coffee. And he couldn't very well wake up, eat breakfast and have coffee, and then meet me for breakfast. The end of the story is that 10a worked perfectly, we parted ways about 4p and now here we are: married coffee people.

For us, coffee is essential at breakfast and in the afternoon. Sometimes we even have a third coffee after dinner with dessert.

Last week my husband had his teeth whitened by the dentist. They look great. But there's one big drawback: he can't have coffee anymore. It stains his teeth. And what's the point of having the dentist whiten your teeth if you're just going to stain them again?

No problem. He substituted warm milk and added a few tablespoons of coffee or cocoa. Cocoa beans also come from South America, afterall. And we carried on like nothing had changed.

Then we went to the pediatrician with Stella yesterday. She's having some strange symptoms with her digestion. You know, I really don't like reading about gross bodily functions when other people write it, so I'll spare you the details and trust that I've given you enough information. Anyways, we decide that the likely culprit is an infantile sensitivity to lactose. She's had nothing but breastmilk since she was born, though. There's no lactose in breastmilk, so where's the sensitivity coming into play? Oh, in my diet, that's where. It's possible that because I'm intaking milk-based products, that's causing her some trouble. The suggestion by the pediatrician was for me to cut all dairy out of my diet for a week and see what happens.

All dairy? ALL of it? Do you know what that covers? That's right: the milk I put in my several cups of coffee throughout the day. See, I'm really a latte kind of a girl. I don't drink coffee black. Ever. Nevertheless, it was give up the milk in the coffee, give up the coffee altogether, or let the kid continue to have her ever-so-pleasant symptoms. Alright then, black coffee it is.

This morning we sat down for coffee. Gone was the lovely milky white coffee in our cups. Also gone was our signature omelet (milk & cheese & butter). Instead we had coffee-like beverages and fried eggs. And toast. It was not the same. By the end of breakfast, I just looked at the remaining half cup of sweet black stuff in my bug and twisted my nose. Ick.

So the way I see it, we can substitute our coffee with mimosas and port wine (did you know that's from Portugal?) and hope for the best.

Where I am this week

Well, Happy New Year, all. I'm taking my good 'ole time getting back into it.

This week I'm posting every day at Midwest Parents. Yesterday I griped about post-holiday issues. Today I went on and on about how much I hate slumber parties. If you want more, keep coming every day. By Friday, you'll get my easiest recipe ever for baked apple. I promise.

So click on over to Midwest Parents and check out my writing. If you're jonesing for some of Grace's writing, I hear rumblings of a new post from her soon, too.

Back in the saddle again

Well, hm. Here I am. It's been awhile, hasn't it? My lengthy absence requires a few cursory notes and then I'll be on to the business at hand: blogging for the day.

Grace's foray into the world of blogging has been a trip for me, as it has been for all of you, I see! She is an honest and forthright person, with me and with the blogging community, so I think that makes her an exceptional writer within the venue. For instance, I told her she needed to moderate her comments and she did so by checking the site throughout the day. Then I asked her if she wanted to have comments forwarded to her email address so she wouldn't have to check the site so often. Her response? "Oh God, NO! I don't want all that mail in my inbox!" I'm guessing she doesn't want to friend any of you on facebook either. But you can always try....

And another thing about Grace. Try as I may, I cannot bring myself to call her Gracie outside of the context of our home. Yes, everyone calls her Gracie. EVERYONE. It's rather classy, I think. But I just can't call her Gracie in written form. So, she is Gracie, yes, but I as her mom will continue to call her Grace. You all out there can call her whatever you like.

Sunday is the second blogoversary of Comparative Childhood. That's something cool. I'm finding it kind of hard to believe that I've been doing this so long already. (Maybe that explains the almost 2 month leave of absence I'm just now coming off. Just an idea...) I'm going to have to talk to Grace about what we should do now that this is "OUR" blog.

Sunday is also the day we will be celebrating our family Christmas. Grace is leaving on Monday evening to visit with her father for the holidays. She's currently trying to negotiate an early return on December 30th so that she can host a New Year's Eve party at our house on the 31st. But that requires a bunch of teenagers to be at my house on New Year's Eve. And of course since it's New Year's Eve, they'll be around until midnight. And then later too, of course. And then there's the question: will their parents be willing to pick them up at 1 or 2a New Year's Day? Of course not. So we'll be having a sleepover? Oh lordy, yes, it seems like we may. However, neither Grace nor I have run this by her stepdad yet and gotten a green light...

But back to the point: family Christmas on Sunday. We'll be having honey glazed ham, because I'll be damned if I'm going to make ANOTHER turkey, and for three people, no less. Grace is convinced this will make our Christmas less than traditional. I feel like telling her to go get rifle, go out to the woods and shoot us a wild goose with some shot. Traditional, my foot. YOU'LL HAVE HAM AND YOU'LL LIKE IT.

More importantly, I'll be scheduling posts for the next couple days and probably relying upon Grace to moderate comments. Because (get ready)...

I'm having surgery tomorrow.

No really, I am.

I was in denial for awhile, there. I still am, actually. I'm still not fully grasping that I really am going back to the hospital to have my fourth surgery in 18 months. No matter, it will happen whether I'm accepting it or not. Something is going awry in my uterus. It looks like it's most likely "retained product of conception," as my doctor put it. And just so I can head you all off at the pass, no, "retained product of conception" does NOT refer to Stella. I've had some infection going on since she was born and after three rounds of antibiotics, it was clear that a little more investigation was in order. Whatever it is they can see on a scope doesn't appear to have any "depth" to it, so they assume it's a piece of membrane or placenta left over. Strange, I thought, since I had a cesarean (they usually do a pretty thorough job of 'getting it all out') and since the site of the muck is not anywhere close to the site of the placenta. But still, my surgeon hopes it comes out easily.

So there you go. I'll be at the hospital most of the day tomorrow. I'm having a spinal rather than general anesthesia, so hopefully this will lead to a shorter time in recovery before we come home. I've been pumping milk for Stella just in case I have get something in me during surgery that she can't have. And one more hopefully...hopefully I'll feel good enough to enjoy pizza and movie tomorrow night because did you hear that Domino's Pizza reworked their recipe and they are testing out the new kind in our region exclusively before launching it nationally?

Alright, then, now I seem to have gotten back on track. I'll put up some more lovely musings shortly. I have missed you all sorely. It's good to be back.

"As for where I've been" and other details to tie you over...

Yes, I'm here. Whoa, we've had quite a couple weeks here in my little corner of the world.

Yes, Ginger the Cat's birthday party is still coming. But much like Grace's birthday this year, I'm finding the rest of life getting in the way of throwing a proper party. Thank goodness the cat doesn't know or care. As for the rest of you who DO care...it'll be up in the next few days. If you still want to wish Ginger happy birthday from your own beast, send me your greetings via email asap.

Yes, I have been writing. If you are dying to read something from me, head over to Midwest Parents. I'm posting there all week. And hey, there's swine flu and Veteran's Day and discussion of the horrible mother-daughter communication we all know and love and even a recipe for Orange Cranberry Muffins. No lie. Check it out.

And yet another cake fiasco

I think I mentioned last week that I made a cake for Children's Day. It was quite an experience, that cake-making event. I didn't think it would be since I tend to be good at making desserts and baked goods. I mean, how hard could it be to make two round layers of cake out of a box and then whip up some frosting and ice it? I've done tons of cakes before that were way more complicated. Yet, this experience takes a special place in my heart. Sort of like the scar tissue resulting from a heart attack has a special place.

It started out easy enough. It being fall and all, I decided to make a butter cake. Out of the box. No problem. Sunday night, two 8" round cake pans, about 55 minutes, voila, they came out perfectly. I put them on the cooling rack overnight. The next morning they still looked perfect and I was ready to frost the sucker and call it a successful Children's Day.

I whipped a cookbook off the shelf, the Southern Heritage Cake Cookbook, published by Southern Living in 1970. I received it secondhand from a friend whose mother had purged it from her massive gourmet kitchen when she divorced and left Texarkana for Australia for good. If anyone knows how to do a good cake, it's Southern Living. (Be careful, though. Those Southerners do Coca-Cola Cake too, and we all know that don't come out so well.) In the last chapter, "Finishing touches," dozens of frosting and icing recipes come to life on the pages. There, on the first page of text, I saw it. The answer to my autumn cake dilemma. What kind of frosting should I put on a butter cake? Why, Caramelized Frosting.


Not only did the recipe call for only three ingredients, the recipe included step by step directions, complete with photographs. Yippee! What could be easier? And it sounded luscious. A caramelized frosting over butter cake. Perfect for fall. After reading through the recipe to make sure I felt confident, I dug in.

Mix together butter and sugar until a syrup. Slowly add milk. Yep, uh-huh, I'm with you entirely. Now, keep stirring and simmer the mixture until it reaches the soft ball stage, about 240 degrees F. I don't have a candy thermometer, but I know how to test when a mixture reaches the soft ball stage. Got it. The recipe read that it would take 20 minutes, but after only 10, that syrup was definitely at soft ball stage.

That's when the fun began. The recipe said I should remove the pan from the heat and mix in the pan with a hand mixer until the frosting reached the desired consistency for frosting.


Well, I did my cooking in a teflon pan, not an iron skillet, so I'll be damned if I'm going to risk ruining my pan with a mixer. Then there's the matter of a hand mixer. I don't have one. I have a super duper 600 hp KitchenAid mixer, made to handle any mixing needs you might have. So I lifted that skillet up off the burner, poured the mixture into the mixing bowl and immediately started mixing.

Perfect. It looked perfect. I was starting to imagine how good this was going to taste.

For those of you who cook, you may be thinking something here. Something like this: "Heather, it sounds like you just made caramel candy, not a frosting. Are you sure that this stuff is actually going to spread onto the cake?"

The picture in the recipe of the finished cake looked so easy to obtain.


And yet...

Oh, if you are one of those people who realized my mistake as reading this, I wish you had been there to tell me that before I began this adventure. Indeed, I had made a huge mixer bowlful of caramel candy. It was only at the point I began trying to apply said candy to the cake in a frosting-like manner that I realized just what a mistake I had made. It probably was the difference of 30 or 45 seconds too long heating in the skillet. Or maybe it was taking the mixture cooling down while it was mixing. No matter what the tiny mistake was, I was now in quite a pickle, my great grandmother would have said.

The "frosting" was turning solid within seconds. I realized I'd better move fast, like ice this whole cake in 3 minutes or less, otherwise I'd REALLY have a mixing bowl full of solid caramel candy. I slapped it on the first layer then threw the second layer on top as fast as I could. I continued feverishly frosting the top layer and the sides, little by little. It got to solid to do anything with. Undeterred, I put all remaining "frosting" in a pyrex measuring cup and microwaved it for 15 seconds. Voila! I got soft frosting again. But it only would stay that way for a minute tops. I tried it once more and managed to finish the job. Here is what it looked like:



Not bad. I mean, not exactly professional quality, but not bad given what I just explained as to the cake's origins.

Whew.

Or so I thought. We gathered as a family that night to celebrate. A good dinner, gifts for the girls, and then...cake! We lifted the dome off of the cake plate and everyone smelled the cake. And then, we got out our sharpest knife, ran it under hot water, and tried to slice through the frosting. No way. That frosting, unsurprisingly, had hardened into a toffee shell, encasing the cake. After five minutes or so, we realized we should put aside good manners and try to get the cake out at all costs. We all had a piece, but I can't say it was pretty.

It was very tasty, though. And very sugary and chewy. We all brushed our teeth very well that night.

People, after this fiasco, I'm over my sugar fix. That was just a bit too much. It's sort of like making your kid smoke 200 cigarettes after you catch them with the first, right? You make them feel so sick that they can't associate a cigarette with anything but nausea? I wasn't nauseous, but I sure haven't been craving as much sugar since then.

Update on simple sugars

I just opened my laptop for the morning to check email and facebook. Within five minutes, two glaringly obvious news stories came across the screen and seemed to be screaming at me. Since I'm working away from the simple carbs and sugars, get a load of this:

Found at Yahoo, The Tragedy of Krispy Kreme - all about how the popular doughnut chain rose in financial success and then crashed just as quickly.

Published at NPR's website and broadcast this morning on Morning Edition, Soda Tax Could Shake Up Industry - all about how sugary sodas create havoc for a person's health because of the huge doses of sugar and contributing to obesity.

Now I feel really guilty and lazy just giving in to this weakness. I'm going to have to break this fix. Today, wheat toast with a side of strawberries and bananas instead of cinnamon toast.

I thank you in advance for your support in this trying time.



***UPDATE AS OF 11:15 AM***

And then the first lady gives this address about eating more vegetables and limiting the take out fast food:



What is it, a mass healthy-lifestyle conspiracy against me?

*****UPDATE AS OF 12:45 PM*****

My husband kindly left an article in my path for me to peruse today:


That's right. "20 Things You Didn't Know About Sugar." Found on the last page of this month's Discover magazine.

When I first looked at the article, #7 jumped out at me: "Can you imagine eating 16 sugar cubes at one sitting? You probably have. That's a little less than what is contained in a 20-ounce bottle of cola." The irony of the rhetorical question at the start is that I think it's intended to evoke to immediate answer "no," followed by the revelation that drinking a bottle of cola is the equivalent of doing so; in my case, I probably have literally eaten 16 sugar cubes at one sitting. And it sounded really tempting as I read it.

My husband has no idea about any of my postings on the topic of my diet. So much for my belief that no one else is noticing my lack of propriety in my dining selections.

O Dia das Crianças, or Children's Day

One time when I was a kid, my mother had my sisters and I working hard on something for Father's Day. I can't remember what, I can't remember how old I was, I just remember that it seemed like a lot of work. I remembering asking my mother something like, "there's Mother's Day, there's Father's Day, when is Children's Day?"

My mother quickly retorted, "every day is children's day, we don't need to set aside a special day for that." I felt badly that I had asked such a dumb question. And I was disappointed.

It turns out, my mother's answer was a reflection of her culture, her American, WASPy, puritanical culture. Children should be seen and not heard, children should mind their elders, children don't really count until they are more like adults.

In Brazil, children are not menaces, people who are a bother until they mature and become "real people." Children are part of every day life. They are kissed and hugged a lot. They are part of dinner time conversation and are included in banquets and dinners out of all kinds. Nothing is too formal for children to be included in. It's not just parents who are like this; family is a social unit that is important in Latin America, and family includes children of all ages. Everyone gets to be a kid and, as an adult, you get to revisit your childhood every time there is a child around. Perhaps it's not a coincidence then that every year on October 12th, in the middle of spring in Brazil, everyone stops to celebrate "O Dia das Crianças," or "Children's Day."

O Dia das Crianças is everything you'd think the holiday would entail. A day off of school (and a day off of work for grown ups!), presents, celebration, music, games. It's like one big birthday party for all the kids in the country. Since we are a bi-national household, it's O Dia das Crianças at our house today too.

I made a cake for the girls. We're also having pizza for dinner since Grace likes that a lot. For gifts, Stella is getting a mirror for her crib, a tummy time play rug, and a laminated collage of photos of our family members. Grace is getting a cover for her iPod, the book "Half the Sky," and a new stationary set.

If you have children in your house, give them a big hug and wish them Happy Children's Day!

A dietary consideration

I don't have the greatest sense of nutrition. I know what I should eat and what's good for me, but I have the worst cravings around. Fried food, fatty desserts, cheese sausage (love the cheese and sausage), and sweet treats. I really can't resist it. If I go out to eat, the only chance that veggies will show up on my plate is if I'm at a vegetarian restaurant.

But there's a catch. If my intake is being directly passed on to someone, I tend to be a little more careful. When I'm pregnant, I make sure to get enough calcium and eat 5-6 fruits and vegetables a day. I eat fish, not too much and not too little (you need to Omega-3, but can't overdo it on the mercury). Fat is ok, because little people in utero need fat. Sugar is ok too, as long as you don't make it your whole meal and aren't hungry for foods with essential nutrients.

Some of you astute readers out there are remembering something important. See, pregnancy isn't the only time when what I eat is passed directly on to someone else. One of you is bound to bring it up, so I'll just get it out there in the open: Heather, didn't you mention way back when you were pregnant that you were going to nurse Stella exclusively for a year?

Why, yes. Yes, I did say that.

Indeed, Stella's had nothing but mommy milk since she came out of my womb.

Well then, it's relevant to consider my diet, yes. What exactly am I putting into my body to help Stella grow strong? Er, um, well. I've got a slight problem, ladies and gentlemen.

Lately I've noticed something odd going on with my appetite. At first I thought it was just my old friend, my addiction to Coca-Cola, rearing its ugly head. No matter, passing caffeine to a baby is no big deal. But then I started craving coke all the time. Like, right after I finish one can, I start longing for another. Then it occurred to me, this isn't just a caffeine addiction. This is something worse. I'll wake up and for breakfast I make a piece of cinnamon toast on white bread and a second piece of plain toast with grape jelly. (I've never eaten white bread before.) Feeling guilty, I might make some cooked apples, doused in sugar and cinnamon. The tiny powdered doughnuts that my husband leaves out for Grace to eat after swim practice? They look irresistible. I down the whole lot of them before noon. The candy bowl full of Skittles was emptied in a day or two. A pack of Juicy Fruit with 15 pieces would be gone in one day.

Notice the trend? Simple carbs. Sugars. I can't get enough of them.

If I stopped and ate a deep fried something with some protein, it actually would be good. At least I'd be getting protein with my fat. But as it is, I stare into the fridge, I see the ham and cheese, and then I close the door and eat a pound of pretzels.

I've never had this happen before. What's going on? Do any of you have any ideas? I can't imagine this is filling my milk with the right nutrients, even when I'm taking a prenatal vitamin every day. And of course, it's ok for me and I don't gain weight as long as I'm making the milk, but sooner or later I'm going to stop. And then what happens? It can't be good.

More about me than you ever wanted to know

Right after Stella was born, Heather of Cool Zebras sent me and some other bloggers in the Midwest an email. She was curious to find out if the collective blog Midwest Parents (which Heather created) could be reinvented, rebooted, revived in a sense. She wanted to know who was in.

I thought about it long and hard. If I committed, I was really committing. How much extra time did I have? And there was a new baby...

She sent out details on how the blog was going to be reorganized. I'll admit, I was intimidated. Each contributor would have a week of their own, five straight days of blogging. And not just blogging anything, there were daily themes. Like, I'd have to come up with something for "Foodie Friday" and I'd have to write up something about my personal reading.

But I'll also admit, it looked pretty cool. The stuff Heather* wanted to include in the new and improved Midwest Parents was stuff I don't do here. I don't do Wordless Wednesday or give parenting tips. Here...well, here I mostly lament. More importantly, I was not only intrigued by how this would stretch myself as a blogger, I was interested to see what the other contributors would dish up for me to chew on. Eager to be part of a renewed project, I decided to jump in.

The re-launch of Midwest Parents officially began last Friday when Heather introduced herself to the readers of Midwest Parents. Since then, the contributors have been posting their own introduction each day. And today? Who posted their introduction today? Why, me, of course! So check it out, ok? And check back every single weekday for something new at Midwest Parents!

* When I was a kid, there were always a ton of other girls with my name. Now? Now we're all bloggers, apparently. Evidence? The ones I can think of off the the top of my head are this woman, this woman, Heather at Cool Zebras and me. Lemme know if you know of others (or if you're a Heather too!). I think I'm gonna have to do a genuine Heathers post one of these days. Because despite being Heather, I was so much of a Veronica.

Homecoming is here again.

Tonight. Tonight's the night.

It's Homecoming at Grace's high school.

Last year I had no idea what Homecoming meant, what the event entailed. This year, I was prepared.

There's a football game, yes, but who really cares about that? Grace especially doesn't care given that she's on the swim team and they had a meet scheduled at exactly the same time as the Homecoming football game.

The most important event, of course, is a dance. A semi-formal. Grace, unlike most girls, goes to a dance and wants to dance. She wants to be wild, be goofy, take pictures, eat, and have A LOT OF FUN. BOOOOOOOO, she says to the girls who go to these events and look and act like princesses, not daring to do anything to muss themselves. A dance is for letting down your hair and HAVING FUN.

Now that you get the picture, here are the essential points I have learned since last year.

#1 - It is very important that you pick out a dress that makes you look spectacular. It is also very important that no one else pick out your spectacular dress.

Grace and I set out a day, a Saturday three weeks ago, to go shopping together for a dress. The two of us with baby Stella in tow went to the mall on a mission. Once we had located the motherload of dresses at our favorite department store, we grabbed as many dresses as we could find and Grace tried on at least thirty. We narrowed it down to eight, and then two. Finally, she decided on a purply-blue satin dress with silver accents. Low cut in the front, yes, but not in a way that looks slutty. It's technically a halter top, but the back has this fantastic look where two straps come from her nape down to the sides of the dress. Like backless with some flair. She said it didn't look like a typical Homecoming dress, the kind that people would expect you to buy (ergo, no one else is likely to pick out the same dress). She also bought $16 silver ballet flats with a big sequined flower at the toes that make the dress stand out and look fun. And that you actually dance in, as opposed to just look dressy in.

Stella behaved perfectly through the whole process.

#2 - You have to weigh the pros and cons of going with a date.

Grace mentioned to me this Tuesday that she might be going to the dance with a date. Now you must realize, Grace has never actually been on a date before. I asked her for more details. Well, she said, it was a friend of hers, someone who has a girlfriend who goes to another high school, but they may be breaking up, but that doesn't matter because Grace and this boy are just friends, and in the end, who really would think much of it anyway? By Wednesday she told me there was no date because she decided that the whole situation was just too complicated. Last night, she told me that several boys had asked her to the dance, but she turned them all down because she didn't want to have to spend all night with one guy when what she really wanted to do was party with her girlfriends. OK, then.

#3 - Corsages are not obligatory.

Last year, at the last minute only hours before the dance, I remembered that Grace would need a corsage for the dance. I called four florists from my office before one would agree that they could get it ready in the space of three hours. I agreed, paid through the nose for it, and it was beautiful. It matched her dress perfectly. I brought it home, my husband gave it to her, and she smiled for pictures with the lovely attached to her wrist. Then she quietly slipped it off before we left for the dance, leaving it on her desk at home. She put it up on display after the weekend as a souvenir. My husband was hurt. She explained to us that it's really weird to wear a corsage if you don't have a date. And though it might be nice to have a corsage and a date, see the discussion under #2.

So, my life is easy. No corsage to worry about this year. Or ever, for that matter, since I only have daughters.

#4 - When you get ready for the dance, it is way more fun to do this with friends.

I have this old-fashioned, idealized notion that every time my daughter has a formal event to attend, she will be close by so that I can relish in her getting ready process and can take an endless number of photos before she actually attends. In the sitting room, by the front door, in a scenic location both in the front yard and the back yard, a beautiful pose, a silly pose, posed with my husband, posed with me, and on and on and on the list goes.

Well, Grace doesn't really have all this as part of her idealized night of Homecoming. She wants to get ready with her friends and go to the dance with them too. The only way for both me and her to have our way is for me to host her friends and let them all get ready at my house. So two of her friends are coming over this afternoon and they are spending two hours getting ready together. Grace wants pizza and other refreshments on hand. I am surprising her by providing Izze, a beverage far too expensive for every day consumption.

I'll take pictures of all three girls in the sitting room, by the front door,...

#5 - Parents should be cool and trust teenagers who have never dreamed of doing anything dangerous in the first place.

'Nuff said.

Happy Homecoming, all you sophomores at Grace's high school.

Sav(or)ing the garden before the frost

I'm a little behind this year. Apparently while I wasn't looking, autumn arrived. See, I've been inside the house for the last two days and didn't notice that the chilly temperatures on Monday weren't just glitch. It's reliably in the 50s every day, the leaves are changing color, and everything around me is signaling that our Indian summer is long over.

So suddenly did the autumn come that without warning, we are under a frost advisory tonight. Frost. And it's (technically) not October yet. I can't say I find it unbelievable given the very cool summer we had. Still, frost? I swear that we were at the pool just a few weeks ago. Yes, in fact, we were at the pool only a few weeks ago. I remember. It was exactly eight weeks ago, the day before Stella was born. Grace and I and my dad were at the pool together, the two of them doing laps and me enjoying the buoyancy. We can't possibly have gone from summer swimming weather to frost in the course of eight weeks.

As you might recall, Grace and my husband decided to plant seeds in early June and see what might become of them. Some vegetables, some herbs, mixed up with a little optimism, they hoped that they might see the fruits of their labor later in the summer. They got more than I thought they would: the seeds sprouted and grew heartily, the zucchini plants thrived exceptionally well. Despite this, I can't say we saw any genuine vegetables like tomatoes or eggplant. We did get some rather healthy herbs out of it, however. Dill, Italian parsley, marjoram, spearmint, and basil. Did I mention basil? Ah, yes, basil. Lots and lots of basil.

Today, the plants are still growing strong. But there is that frost advisory. I'm not much of a handy gardener, but I do know that frost is not good for ground plants like vegetables and herbs. My husband called me from his office this afternoon to ask me to clip as much of the basil and marjoram off as I could.

I ventured out in the early evening sun. A young buck, a doe and a small fawn were enjoying their supper in the back of our lot near the woodlands. They continued feeding as I made my way to the herb garden. I clipped as much of the marjoram as I could. Then I considered the parsley growing close by. It certainly wouldn't weather the overnight frost well. I clipped a generous amount. On to the basil. Three plants had good growth. I clipped them down to the root and brought them inside.

I wish I could upload scent files to my blog. The aroma in the kitchen is indescribably wonderful. So you'll have to settle for photos. Here you are.

parsley and marjoram

basil

And for an extra treat, I'll give you a look at the chrysanthemums blooming right at the edge of our garden. I hope they survive tonight's frost and stick around for a few more weeks at least.

crysanthemums

up close

Happy Autumn to all of you!

Another update in pictures

Remember what my toes looked like two weeks ago? When they were swollen? And I had just had a pedicure? Apparently I didn't know what swollen was. Here's what they looked like then:


This is what they looked like Wednesday night:


I knew you could bloat after a cesarean, but this was off the charts. They pumped a lot of fluid into me via IV during the surgery and from Friday noon until about Wednesday morning, every single bit of tissue in my body from my diaphragm down was completely bloated with fluid. My joints were useless, no contour of my muscles could be detected, and my bones couldn't be found anywhere. Since I'm not supposed to be moving around much (and frankly there was no way I can move around much given the pain level I'm experiencing), it makes getting the fluid out of my body more difficult. And then I came up with an idea: use heat to get my blood circulating, and then the fluid will get carried out of my tissue. Pleased with my new idea, I put the heating pad on high and left it on my thighs overnight. Sure enough, blood circulation increased rapidly and I started getting on my feet to the restroom every hour. It also had the nice effect of making me sweat. Within 24 hours, I had lost 15 pounds. I have never seen such a fast and dramatic change. I also have never been so eager to be uncomfortably hot ;-)

OK, on to better things. Since we came home from the hospital Sunday evening, I've mostly been sitting in my bedroom like a Victorian aristocrat, getting every meal in bed and moving only when absolutely necessary. I have the home phone, my cell phone, my lap top, the tv remote, the iDock remote, the camera along with all its cords, note pads, my wallet, medicine, candy and chapstick, everything all within arm's length. So I can make shopping lists, order stuff online, blog, play online games, check facebook, watch cable reality shows, pig out and get a sugar high, and sedate myself all without getting out of bed. I feel incredible. Here's a sampling of a typical breakfast I receive here in Chez Postpartum:


Raspberry danish, marble and cheddar cheese cubes, hard boiled egg, raisin bran and sweet cherries and blueberries on the side, all with orange juice and milk. Yesterday morning I got French toast with sour cream and maple syrup, berries on the side and wheat toast. Yes, I'm a spoiled Victorian aristocrat. Duchess Heather, we'll call me. Duchess Heather and Lady Stella.

And now for a update on how things went medically and on our general health. This is what I looked like at 7a, when we arrived at the hospital.


The part about this whole birth story that I'm keeping very quiet about is this: I actually got the chance to have contractions. Really. It started Wednesday night. I noticed I was having trouble breathing and used my inhaler. I called my allergist first thing Thursday morning, asking if it was wise for me to use my inhaler so close to surgery and after steroid injections the previous two days. He said there was no way it was asthma; the steroid injections would have prevented any onset of asthma. Then again, Thursday night, breathing trouble. It went on for a good hour before I realized, I'm having trouble breathing because I'm having contractions. I decided to not alarm my husband, take a warm bath and go to bed. I mean, what's the difference at that point? They stopped overnight. But I will hold onto that brief experience as a taste of what the natural onset of labor would have felt like had circumstances been different. A small gift.

My surgery involved some unexpected twists and I lost more blood than normal. During standard pre-op monitoring of vitals, Stella was showing some signs of distress without an apparent explanation. Though she was healthy and fine when she finally was delivered, the vitals caused my doctor to jump start the surgery. (I applaud him for not alarming me or my husband by sharing this information until after the surgery was completed.) Consequently, I don't have a cute tiny c-section scar. It's low and it is wide. Which came in handy when, after delivery, my doctor had to lift my uterus out to ensure I could have more children later. The myomectomy site from my surgery a year ago was pretty thin and the doctor expressed his happiness that we scheduled the c-section for 36 weeks. He chose to stitch the site so that the uterine wall would be reinforced for future pregnancies. My husband watched the whole surgery, except for times when he was kissing Stella and I and taking in her awesomeness. He even filmed a good bit of the surgery and took pictures, though I haven't been brave enough to see those shots and clips yet. When my surgeon had closed and all things surgical were almost over, he came over and congratulated me, and I gave him a hug.


Stella was 6 lbs, 7.4 oz at birth. Like most late preterm infants, she lost some weight and she's having a hard time getting it back. As of Wednesday, she is still under 6 lbs. Not a huge deal, but the pediatrician wants us to reduce her activity as much as possible and have her eating a lot. So...the Victorian aristocratic lifestyle it is. She and I stay together in our pristine tower and eat and rest, eat and rest, eat and rest all day and night long.

But she is cute. And sweet. And lovely. And I am completely euphoric, even in my present state of complete sleep deprivation.


So much for "our daughter will never wear pink." We are guilty as charged.

The most amazingly mature thing Grace said this past week

Given the post I wrote the night before my cesarean last Friday, it could be surmised that we are having some extended family conflict in our household for the last few weeks. This would be an understatement.

My mother has a very clean, white, polished picture of the world and how things should run. It's best for a woman and man, both virginal, to meet and fall in love, get married, have children, and live happily ever after. I think the "happily ever after" part is optional, whereas the other parts are essential. Also I'm not sure the falling in love and staying in love is important either. What is important is the loyalty, the longevity, and the lack of variability in what a family constitutes.

Grace was talking with my mother the other day while they were preparing dinner together. The topic of one of my close friends came up. Grace has known this girlfriend of mine since she was born. She has been married and divorced twice. As you can imagine, these ups and downs in her personal life were something she never would have imagined. Grace has known every husband and watched both divorces. She's also watched and experienced the divorce of her own parents and my remarriage. In all these circumstances, she's had the opportunity to ask honest questions of both me and my girlfriend.

When my friend was divorcing for the second time three years ago, she came to visit Grace and I in order to get a weekend away and just recharge emotionally. Grace asked me privately during the weekend, "Why does your friend always get married and divorced?" I told Grace that I wasn't sure but that Grace was welcome to ask my friend. And she did. And they had a heart to heart conversation about how life sometimes turns out differently than you imagine, no matter how much you work for things to be otherwise.

The bottom line? This friend of mine has been one of the kindest and most honest and most nurturing people to my daughter that exists.

Back to Grace's conversation with her grandmother. My mother was asking Grace about my friend. She wanted to know from Grace if the friend was planning on marrying her current beau, a man who Grace met for the first time a few weeks ago. I overheard the conversation at the point my mother said (approximately) this to Grace:

"Once someone gets married and divorced, they are probably going to never get married successfully again. Every time they get married and divorced, it gets worse. If she gets married again, it will end in divorce." She then went on to tell Grace that this is why it's so important that you get married to the right person and stay married, because if you get divorced, it's nothing but difficulty from there on out.

Grace didn't miss a beat. She replied, "that's not true." Her grandmother immediately contradicted, "yes, it is, it is a well documented fact that you can read about." Then Grace retorted, "No, you're wrong. Look at Mom and my stepdad. Mom got divorced and she has a great marriage now."

I won't try to summarize in one sentence how amazing that made me feel. My heart warmed to an orange heat and I smiled more broadly than I have in months. When I related the story to my husband later that night, he said he loved that kid and was impressed with how mature she had become.

Maybe, maybe, she's getting the whole picture in a balanced way. Maybe it's starting to make sense to her in a real way. I love her so much.

The Weekly Slug: 34 weeks, almost 35, but who's counting anymore because we're going to have a baby in not more than 11 days.

I thought I'd give you guys some fun stuff to savor since events have been a bit on the heavy side around here.

First, a picture that my husband took of me right before I was taken to triage at labor and delivery last Wednesday night.


I look terrific, don't I? Like it's really not 11 o'clock at night and that I'm contemplating a delivery at 34 weeks? Like I'm not sitting there having contraction after contraction thinking, 'hm, these are starting to hurt a bit'? You guys are too kind. Thank you for reassuring me that I look just fine.

That trip to the hospital did have one good effect. It woke us up to the reality that we were completely unprepared for a baby to come into the house. Or even into our lives. Here's a picture of every first-time dad's nightmare:


That car seat wasn't even out of the box last Wednesday night, much less in the car when we left for the hospital. I guess we figured that if the girl was born at 34 weeks, it was highly unlikely she'd leave the hospital right away with us. Still, the stroller has no wheels and we still really have no idea how to put the car seat in the car safely. I am POSITIVE that when Grace was a baby I was one of those 4 out of 5 people who had the car seat installed incorrectly. Positive.

I still don't have a bag packed for the hospital. For myself or for the Slug. Oh my.

One good thing about Papai going to Brazil just a few weeks before his Slug's birth is that he brought back gifts and gifts and gifts and, oh, did I mention? Some gifts. Here is one of my favorites.


This is from one of my sisters-in-law. It is one bottle of shampoo and one bottle of lotion specially formulated for both mommy and baby. They both smell amazing. She sells products from the entire line of this company. It is like a woman's dream-come-true to have someone in the family constantly supplying green-friendly beauty and health products. She is fabulous.

Even better as a dream-come-true is that I got these babies all prettied up this afternoon, while also having my feet scrubbed and massaged and pampered:


I can't keep my toes from looking like little sausages skewered onto the end of a pot roast, but I can at least get them to be cute. And feel cute. I cannot tell you how amazing of a treat this was. I haven't been able to reach my feet for weeks now, consequently my podiatric hygiene and care has been less than acceptable. Given that I only wear flip-flops now, it was grossing me out a lot that everyone could see them. So I got myself to the mall, went to one of those nail-only places, made good use of the back massager in the treatment chair and relaxed for about an hour. At the very least, by the time this picture was taken my ankle bones were showing a bit. That's a distinct improvement over their normal appearance of late.

And now for my confessions of guilty pleasures. The entire bottom drawers of my nightstand is filled with my stash. Witness it in all its decadent glory:


I wish I could tell you that this is just a symptom of pregnancy but alas, I am a big wimp when it comes to resisting sweets. So there you go. The caramels were just purchased last night on a distinct pregnancy craving. The juicy fruit is going with us to the hospital. When I get around to packing a bag. Assuming that is before the Slug is actually born.

Enough for now about the Slug. I've been neglecting discussion of Grace. Also of The Cat. They will get some good dedicated posts soon. Because they are both pretty awesome.

Where were we? Ah yes, I remember.

My husband was gone to Brazil from the 12-21st. If you'll recall, before leaving he told his (soon-to-be-born) daughter just not to try any funny business until he got back on the 21st. She complied perfectly. However, yesterday in the evening of the 22nd, a little over 24 hours after he got back...

I started having contractions that wouldn't stop. Every 3 minutes. By the time I called triage at the hospital, they said 'Come in NOW.' And that we did.

We came home this morning at 3 or 4 am after quite an adventure which included among other things: one botched IV that left a huge bruise on my right hand, one good breathing treatment due to a sudden onset of asthma and a baby girl still in utero who decided those few hours in the hospital were the moments to REALLY practice her soccer skills (what, with dad back from Brazil and all). Finally the contractions lessened in frequency and there seemed to be no other immediate health risks to attend to. During the whole time I just kept thinking, 'I can't be having this baby now. I mean, look at my husband....'

...who was barely able to keep his eyes open. His past week consisted of crazy travel itineraries, the death of his father, working all the funeral arrangements out with some help from our newly adult nephew, mourning, and trying to make sure everything was ok here in the US with me. When we got to the hospital last night, he phoned his sister from the triage room because he hadn't even gotten the opportunity yet to call her and tell her he had arrived home safely. It had been a long week, what with his father passing away and all....

Yesterday, we went to mass in the evening in honor of my father-in-law. Seven day mass. It's a cultural tradition in Brazil -- have the funeral the day after the death, mourn for a week and go to mass seven days later. When we arrived home from mass, me still wearing my black, the contractions kicked into overdrive. And thus we found ourselves at the hospital all night. However, before all this ensued...

While my husband was gone, my bestest best friend came in town for a week. She was great. She took care of everything. It was great to see her and visit. I was grateful for her to be here. She even indulged me in a haircut and coloring, a photography session done by her at my house and many lovely dinners. I indulged her in one home-baked cherry pie. Which reminds me...

A couple weeks ago I promised a post on the paucity of cherry crops in Michigan, the state where the annual National Cherry Festival takes place. That post never came. Ah, well, what am I going to do? I think I'm going to make another pie this weekend, so if you're lucky I'll remember to take pictures and post them here. But until then...

Pics of a very pregnant lady with a fabulous new hairdo:



34 weeks yesterday. Still with baby inside. Just stay put, little girl, ok?

The up side

I've been a bit melancholy. That's an understatement, actually. I'm depressed. I saw a PSA on television yesterday for some depression medication and it included the rhetorical question, 'what does depression feel like?' Then the answer: depression hurts. And...I started crying. 'nuff said.

The family is doing well. I went out with a friend to bridal luncheon yesterday. While I was gone, which frankly was a long time because I got on the wrong highway and drove 20 miles out of my way, my husband took Grace to the hardware store to buy some last materials for her science project. They also bought a wheelbarrow, some planting soil and some seeds.

When I arrived home, Grace was upstairs working on the last of her project and my husband was out back planting seeds. There were little tags that said "basil" and "eggplant" and "watermelon" that Grace had made. Watermelon was Grace's pick. They also got some tomato seeds and zucchini seeds in the ground.

I'm a pessimist when it comes to gardening. I kill almost everything. Grace gave me a couple of those seedling kits for my birthday this year. You know, the kind that include seeds and a little pot and a disc of fertilized soil? All you have to do is follow the directions and give the newly sown seeds some TLC? She chose strawberries and lavender. I decided to get after it and try to see what could become of the thing. I saw some sprigs about two weeks into it and I had a tad of hope. That hope, however, was dashed when the green sprigs wilted away and two months later all that was there was dirt in two little cute pots. I bought 6 herb seedlings four weeks ago. Basil? Dead within three days. Marjoram held on for a couple weeks before biting the dust. So for me, I just feel like it's so defeating to garden. I feel like Dr. Death.

But not these two. They are optimistic. They believe that watermelon can grow in Michigan. And they're hoping their tomato plants sprout, despite the fact that they are months overdue for the prime growing season.

In the flower beds close to the house, there are several plants we've had the pleasure of discovering throughout this spring. Just in the last few weeks, we realized that we had three healthy peony plants getting ready to bloom. The biggest plant had one bud so heavy, the whole branch was falling over.

After I watched the depression PDA yesterday afternoon, the sun was setting and my husband finally came in from gardening. Everything felt odd. All was good and right with the world, yet something was not right. He said to me, you haven't even noticed anything around you, have you?

Indeed, I had not. There, only a few feet from me, was the biggest, heaviest peony, carefully cut and opening in a crystal bud vase on the mantle. A gentle yet robust expression of life, sitting there as if it came into the world just to try and cheer me up.

Hopefully this is a passage in my life, a phase. Maybe it will bring me to a better place. But in the meantime I'm trying to realize that the world around me is much, much better than I deserve. I have people around me who love me and who are happy just to see me happy and laughing.

Me, as described by my teenage daughter

A few months ago, a friend of mine on facebook tagged me on a question series for moms. I have grown a little weary of reading these things by other people and I am far too private to consider actually doing them myself. But this one looked like fun. Since Grace went along with the whole thing gleefully, I'm posting it here for fun.

The idea behind this thing is that you ask your child a bunch of questions about you, their mom, and they get to supply the answers unedited. I think the original intent of this thing was to get cutesy answers from preschoolers. You know, like asking how old your mom is or how tall she is? When I got it, I couldn't help but get Grace to answer it. I thought the perspective of a teenager would give the set of questions a new life. I was happy to tag all my friends who also had teenagers in the house. The result was that the early childhood cutesiness and love of mom was warped into something a little twisted, but still full of love for mom. Also, I love that Grace and I did this whole thing through messaging on facebook. Seriously, we never spoke a word about it to each other in person until the text was posted.

I give it to you all for fun. If you want to try it yourself (and haven't done this yet), just ask your kid the questions and write them down exactly how they respond. Grace told me I could put it up on facebook, so long as I did NOT change her answers. Too funny.

Without further ado, here it is as originally published.

-------------------

by Grace, 181 months (heh, heh. I love that I'm still saying how many months old she is)

1. What is something mom always says to you?
"What's your goal Grace?"

2. What makes mom happy?
Chocolate, a happy house

3. What makes mom sad?
bad grades

4. How does your mom make you laugh?
i dunno... i'm just a laughable person XD

5. What was your mom like as a child?
smart... she still is smart

6. How old is your mom?
37

7. How tall is your mom?
5 something

8. What is her favorite thing to do?
read, facebook, be with family and friends

9. What does your mom do when you're not around?
work... the usual

10. If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?
being fabulous!!!!!

11. What is your mom really good at?
being a mom!!!!!

12. What is your mom not very good at?
singing

13. What does your mom do for her job?
she's a linguist

14. What is your mom's favorite food?
chocolate!!!!!!

15. What makes you proud of your mom?
she's MY mom

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?
i dunno, i don't think as my mom as a cartoon type.

17. What do you and your mom do together?
watch movies

18. How are you and your mom alike?
we both play musical instruments.

19. How are you and your mom different?
she's heather, i'm grace... enough said

20. How do you know your mom loves you?
she says "I LOVE YOU." it's pretty self-explanatory
(I have to interject here, I wish you could hear her say this. The capital letters and the period are intended to convey a tone of sarcasm, as in, 'duh, what a stupid question!')

21. Where is your mom's favorite place to go?
she likes to travel in general.

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Head on over...

... to Midwest Parents. I'm blogging there today. About garden pests in the backyard and Grace leaving food in her bedroom. Two plus two equals...

Some things I am craving

Nova salmon with cream cheese loaded up on an everything bagel with fresh, crisp, cool red onion and tomato slices.

Sushi. Crunchy sushi with crab filling, wrapped in seaweed and sprinkled with caviar.

Brie. Lots and lots of brie.

Red table wine at dinner. And mudslides. Actually, anything made with Kahlua.

Seared tuna, just barely, in a salad with lots of wonderful vegetables to complement the flavor and a fabulous light dressing.

Spring just ain't feelin' like spring without these indulgences, you know?