Phoenix Berries

grapes

2009-11-04T12:19:00.002-05:00

I had a wave of nausea hit right before lunch today. At first I panicked. Did I pick up a stomach bug? Then I remembered. Nope. That's just Pete growing a brain. I took my vitamin B6 supplement, remarkably effective against pregnancy nausea, and sat down with Pip for his lunch. I wasn't really hungry, so I ate a bowl of honey nut O cereal. Then I remembered that I am trying to teach Pip a food culture. That doesn't work so well when eating alone. The nausea hadn't passed, and his barbeque plate smelled way too strong for me to handle. But those grapes looked nice.

I went to the fridge and pulled out a handful, washed them. I set them on the napkin between Pip and me. I bit into one. The sweet but not too sweet juice was cold and good. The first bite soothed my scratchy throat. (I have one of those fleeting sniffles that we all share when the weather cools). I brought another handful of grapes to the table. Pip seemed to agree with my assessment of these grapes. They are perfect today. Plump with juice and firm, the diameter of a British pound coin. Larger than the very small person growing within. Food for the whole person.

Whoever thought up grapes in autumn was a godsend.

one small step

2009-11-02T22:10:00.002-05:00

Today Pip held onto me with his little arms and stepped into his breeches when he was getting dressed.

Why have television when you can have smellovision?

2009-11-02T21:14:00.004-05:00

This is my first attempt to participate in a weekly Unplugged Project suggested on the Unplug Your Kids blog. For a while now, I have wanted to make homemade playdough for Pip. I thought this week's challenge was a good excuse to dive in, especially because I want Pip to associate colors and smells and textures in a richer array than might be encouraged by just reading books. With books, he gets the sight and sound and the feeling of being near us or the motions we add. As he starts to apply his knowledge more widely in the world, I want him to be able to associate additional sensory information. (The kid is counting already! He says "1-2-3" when he goes up stairs and just this afternoon showed his Poppa the "two combs" he was holding.) I have been baking more than usual recently. I have made sure to let Pip smell the vanilla, the cinnamon, and the pumpkin. But there are some smells that just seem to go best with a particular color. Orange is one of them. What is more orange-smelling than oranges?

Unfortunately my photos of Pip playing with the playdough wouldn't download, but here is the preparation for smelling orange scented playdough.
There are loads of recipes for homemade playdough. After scouring several playdough recipe sites, I used this one from another Unplugged Project participant because her recipe called for ingredients I had on hand. If you haven't made it before, you should know that it really is as easy as people make out, and I'm pretty sure you can't screw it up. I used natural dyes since Pip is sensitive to red industrial food coloring, so I had to work a little harder to get an even color. My one recommendation for "what to do different next time" is to put the dyes into the hot water if you are using natural dyes.
I want Pip's play baking to smell nice just like real baking smells nice. My childhood memories of play-do are characterized by the scent that comes from those little wads of dough in the yellow containers. It wasn't until I was 8 that I even smelled homemade yeast rolls. But those rich food smells are at least half the joy of baking. So Pip's orange dough smells like oranges.

The finished product. Pip had fun mushing some of it around this morning, and there is plenty left for future "baking."

Happy Day

2009-11-01T18:34:00.003-05:00

Pip has taken to bouncing around the house chanting "Hap-py Day" or sometimes "Hap-py, Hap-py! or "Happy Birthday!" or "Ha-le-lujah Hap-py Hap-py!" He is a very sweet little bear. Today at church Pip and his friend J both started saying "Hallelujah" during Eucharist. Besides the fact that it's sweet to hear little toddlers say holy words, it's really convenient. If they are going to holler something in church, you want it to sort of "fit." "Amen" or "hallelujah" or "blessed" are all fitting. "Poop" and "bum," not so much. I whisper in Pip's ear during church services to encourage his vocabulary toward the "Hallelujah" direction. We 'Piscers tend to say "alleluia" instead, but the beginning "h" makes the word easier for a toddler to pronounce. They like words with definite beginnings.

I never got around to writing out a post on my other blog about babies and toddlers in church, but the whispering description of what's going on is a big item on my list of "how to help kids understand and be involved in church." In big words, Pip receives an instructed Eucharist almost every time we go to the Table. In small ones, I whisper to Pip about how God loves us and what we're about to do. I try to make prayer fun for him and also clue him into the service flow. So I might say, "Now we're going to tell Poppa God thank you." "Father" is a relationship word, sure, but Pip only knows what "Poppa" means because he knows how he feels with his Poppa. Thus, God the Father is "Poppa God" to Pip. And leading up to the "Holy, holy, holy," I might whisper, "Yay! Yay! Yay! Everybody sings!" When the last supper is recounted, I help Pip cross himself by moving his little arm and whispering, "Forehead, belly, shoulder, shoulder, chest. Kiss your little hand, and now you're blessed." Once he hollered "Blessed!" right after crossing himself in this way. And leading up to the fraction, I start whispering, "Ha-le-lu-jah! Ha-le-lu-jah!" When he sees the bread, I tell him "that bread never runs out." When it's time to receive, I whisper, "Jesus kisses!" Sometimes we go deeper, and sometimes I just try to get him to look generally in the direction of the cross or the chalice. The boy has a habit of expectancy, though. He comes knowing there's love at that table.

So, today Rev. Paula placed bread in Andrew's hand and said, "The Body of Christ, the bread of heaven." And Pip swiped it right out of his hand and ate it. Never fear, Andrew's portion of God bread was replaced. I was giggling so hard that I could barely drink from the cup.

Pip stats from his 15 month check-up last week:
Head: 95%; Height 75%; Weight 10% He's growing right along his curve. He was 20lbs, 11 oz. He's taking after me with the Tweetie Bird proportions. His winter hat is sized for the average 3-5 year old. The pediatrician said it's because of all those brains.

Remember that movie Harvey with the giant rabbit? I think it was that movie where Jimmy Stewart was in favor of being kind instead of smart if you had to make that choice. I feel really blessed to have a baby who has an incredibly sweet and kind disposition as well as being bright. An example to us all.

Sort of like an icon

2009-11-01T08:51:00.003-05:00

My friend Rebecca asked how one celebrates All Hallow's Eve instead of Halloween. Here's our take: dress up like saints. We dressed Pip as St. Michael Archangel. Above you see his mighty armor in progress. I made his costume with two buttons as the only sewing. Andrew used seam glue to put the cape pieces together. Then I made the little leather skirt out of leather, leather cord, and stick-on jewels. Andrew was St. Andrew, and I was Perpetua. But we don't have good photos of ourselves yet. However, here is the cutest little archangel you've ever seen.

A bear, some paint, and Pete

2009-10-25T23:54:00.011-04:00

This week Pip got a big bear. He calls it "Bear!" and cuddles the bear. A lot. I'll say, "Are you cuddling your bear?" And he says "Cuh-ul Bear."

On Friday evening, we set Pip up with his first finger painting project. He had a pallet and enjoyed mushing the various colors together with his hands.

After a while, I decided to point out how Pip could put paint on surfaces other than his hands.

Then he painted his little pumpkin.

Pumpkin completed. Poppa! Please turn on the water for us.

The final product:

Pete

We learned this week that we are to expect a second child at the beginning of July. We're very happy. The image of keys came to my mind when I prayed about the child, so we're calling him or her Pete as an in utero nickname. (Pete can be short for Peter or Perpetua.) This is not an entirely rational nicknaming, so don't argue unless you are prepared to back up your argument with lots of chocolate and offers of free babysitting. I think Pip picked up on our talk, because he started carrying around his monkey and calling it "Baby." Baby has been with us to the supermarket and to church. Baby receives many hugs, and we are often called upon to supply additional cuddles to Baby when Pip brings him to us. We love Pip soooo much. And now we also love Pete. It's going to completely freak us out how much we're going to love these kids. Like, we have no idea.

omg cute

2009-10-19T23:31:00.004-04:00

Here you see evidenced several events of note. 1. I cut Pip's bangs in the tub last night. 2. Pip has a little rocking chair. He spent awhile this evening gathering Monkey, Bear, and Personal Penguin to rock with him. Then he covered his lap with his horse blanket. I think he was imitating On Mother's Lap. 3. Pip used a playsilk to make a blanket for Monkey. 4. Pip gets cuter every day.
See #4. above.

Orange you glad

2009-10-16T22:34:00.002-04:00

I read somewhere that if you wear orange, you seem more approachable to strangers. I wear a lot of orange. Pip's new Sleepywrap is orange, and several of my shirts are in shades thereof. I also L-O-V-E fall colors. Remember the real 1980's (not the "retro" version afoot in your local high school)? My Grandma Betty and lots of other women of a certain age had a book called Color Me Beautiful. My Aunt Michelle diagnosed me as an autumn based on that book's exalted principles. She was so right. I look awesome in autumn. (Except that one shade of turquoise that I sometimes think works for me, but it doesn't. And 98% of blues also don't work, even most of the autumnal ones.) What was I on about? Right. I wear orange and clothes that go with orange.

Maybe that's why I keep meeting loads of really interesting strangers at my local haunts - the fountain in front of Moe's and the Museum of Life and Science, mostly. Or maybe it's because I sing to myself and look up or that I smile a lot or that I stare. Who knows?

The point is, I hate meeting cool people, like one of the other four moms in the zip code who doesn't own a TV or who still wears her toddler (a major signal for AP types), and then just never getting to know them because we have to chase after our kids in opposite directions. So, even though I have liberally mocked the idea as recently as three weeks ago, I have decided to get Mommy Cards.*

Mommy cards include whatever degree of contact information you are willing to share with an almost stranger. In my case, I have my full social name (not the legal one, which is so much longer what with the hyphen and all), the first name of the child, my email and cell number. Laid out like this, with interspersed graphics, like a business card:
Phoenix Berries
Pip's Mamma
phoenixberries [at] gmail [dot] com
123-555-mama (duh, a fake # here, but not in real life)

Have I crossed over to some weird dark side of modern mommyhood? I am pretty sure Miss Manners disapproves of mommy cards, which is why I shunned them at first. (Yes, I admit to being easily swayed by worthy opinions such as hers.) But I hate missing opportunities for more friends just because we're all so sprawled out geographically and schedule-wise these days. I can't count on meeting most of these other moms again without planning. Will the mommy cards be counterproductive, since I want to share them with semi-stranger granola types? Or will the fact that the cards are recyclable be enough to overcome any "the man"-ness of having a freaking business card touting my motherhood?

My long-standing addiction to paper products played no small part in pushing me past these doubts. The graphics are really pretty. Check them out. (I don't get paid for anything I put on this site. I just think these cards are pretty.)

*Disclaimer: I don't want to sound like Little Miss Lonely or something. We have some great parent and non-parent friends at church, of course, but a lot of the other moms are in a coop preschool together that takes up their mornings twice a week and leaves them a little overtaxed for lots of play dates. (Pip and I were invited to join, but he's not old enough for their schedule. He still needs his morning nap, and he can only do without it if I'm present. Otherwise: unhappy boy.) Plus I like making friends. Also, it's hard to meet fellow attachment parenting types in the area if you don't actually live ~~in a commune~~ in Carrboro. (PS I learned the html tag for strikethrough text.)

A Great Grammy

2009-10-16T12:37:00.011-04:00

I mentioned before that my mom and Pip hit it off immediately. She is a great Grammy. I've written before about my mom's on-and-off addiction problems. She was sober this trip. She's been living clean for several months now. I suppose that having grandkids has given her a tangible enough hope for which to live that she is spiraling up rather than down these days. I talked to her on the phone yesterday, and she said something indicating she was defying the doctor's advice to stay in bed for a few days after some injections in her back. But for the first time, I think I was really listening. Instead of, "I am being a self-destructive, self-absorbed petulant child," I heard her emotional cry of, "I feel so out of control. Nothing these doctors have done for me has ever helped, so why should I take their advice now?" I want to think that I'm not just swayed to treating my mom with full human dignity because she loves my baby so well. I mean, I want to believe that I've grown a lot as a person, that I've learned something vital about compassion in these past two years of motherhood (counting from tiny rice-sized Pip in utero). But I am really not bothered by the thought that I can become a better person just because someone loves my kid. Love is love and will transform us however curved the route by which we admit it.

Mom/Grammy taught Pip about wood and chimineas. "Wood," he said. Then they worked together while he figured out how to place the wood inside.

Feels like home

2009-10-10T22:16:00.004-04:00

We got our new iconostasis-sized Pantocrator icon this week. We had to rearrange a bit before we put it in the prayer nook, so Pip got to sit in Jesus' lap, as it were. I think the Lord was pretty amenable to the collective bargaining overtones of Click, Clack, Moo. When Pip first saw the icon, he said, "God." Then he said, "Jesus," and "Lord." He gave Jesus kisses while the icon was in the chair. It's kind of hard to reach right now, but we'll probably take it down for kisses on feasts.

When we first had our house blessed back in February of 2006, we had the area over the fireplace blessed as a prayer area. We have icons, crosses, our wedding portrait, and Pip's baptism candle lined up along the mantle. And now, at last, we have a big icon in the nook.

Our house feels more like home than ever with this icon here. Its silence speaks peace to us as well as a stern and gentle challenge to be like the One whose image we behold, in whose image we were all made. I feel changed for better every time I look up at it.

For those of you unused to icons, they are aids to prayer, but more than that. Images of Christ are meant to draw you into the new reality of the Kingdom of God. Methodists might call them "means of grace," and Catholics would call them "sacramentals." They have a holy power to transform us because of the Incarnation of Christ.

I described my life right now to a friend by calling it "Matriarchy 2.0," because I am learning about a different way to be a woman and a leader than the way I was raised. We toured the Women's Birth and Wellness Center this week so that I can be a patient there should we conceive another child. The culture of midwifery is so affirming and comprehensive. Talking with the midwives, I feel in touch with a sort of wisdom that embraces the goodness of our whole family. The women who provide the care at the center really listen. The appointments are 3 to 5 times longer than those at conventional medical offices so that women can talk and midwives can share ideas. To have people who first accept, then affirm, then guide is like being tossed into a realization of God's rule here on earth: love and wisdom made manifest.

In Poppa's Shoes

2009-10-10T09:53:00.004-04:00

Breast-nurtured, Bottle-fed

2009-10-08T21:46:00.007-04:00

I've written before about how breastfeeding became impracticable since I had extraordinarily low milk production that did not improve with galactogogues, medication, or pumping regimens. Since I went through those traumatic first weeks, I have learned that 1 in 5 women is unable to breastfeed. That is physically unable, not unwilling. Many others choose not to breastfeed or are forced to bottle feed due to circumstance. Since formula is un-PC, there is shockingly little information available on bottle-feeding. Below is a guilt-free guide to bottle feeding, especially if you didn't expect to have to use formula.

Philosophy
The propaganda surrounding breastfeeding can be intimidating and guilt-inducing if you feel as though you are responsible for depriving your baby. The reputable lactation consultants I've met have taken a different approach: look for new ways to nurture and bond with your child rather than worrying over what you cannot do.

Feeding is a way to bond with and nurture your child. For at least the first few months, try to limit bottle feeding to only the parents. Cuddle the child while bottle feeding. Never let the baby feed alone. I practiced this with my son, and he has never had to hold his own bottle. He associates bottle time with cuddles, singing, nurture, and touch play. If you are the mom, hold the bottle right by your breast so the baby is in a natural, comfortable position.

If you feel you missed out on the opportunity to breastfeed for whatever reason, don't be afraid. You are not making your kid dumb, sick, or lonely by feeding the child formula. I will address those concerns in that order.

Formula does not make kids stupid or sick.

Breastfeeding itself does not increase a child's health; recent studies have shown that differences in health and "intelligence" benefits from breastfeeding and formula are circumstantial rather than milk related. More breastfeeding moms stay at home, which means their kids are exposed to fewer germs from daycare and the kids have more one-on-one time with a parent, thus raising test scores later. (My 15 month-old son, totally formula or whole milk fed since six weeks and 97% bottle fed before then, is very healthy. Also, he is ten months to a year ahead of the curve on language and problem-solving skills development. )

If you were planning on having a little green hippie baby who only had your organic milk, don't fret. If you can afford it, there are organic formula options on the market. Ignore the terrible labeling that they are "toddler formulas because you should really be breastfeeding." Those people should not have been allowed to write the labels, but the formula itself is good. Just make sure to follow some of the practical advice below. Almost all formulas come in an added DHA & ARA variety which you can also use if you would like. It's not your milk, but formula when prepared appropriately can be really good for your kid.

Talk to your child, or even better, sing to your child while you feed him or her. Let the baby touch your face, and name the child's action. Kiss the little hands that reach up to your face. Breast-feeding propaganda romanticizes the cuddly moments for a good reason, but here's a secret: you can still cuddle while feeding with a bottle. Those little arms that hug the breast will also hug a hand holding a bottle. The child is happy because he is with you, not because he knows the difference between one type of nourishment and another. Love, love, love your baby while you feed him, and don't worry about what you cannot do.

You might want to check out the advice over at API as well. They call their approach "bottle nursing."

Formula feeding does not make your kid lonely.

Feelings of attachment do not come naturally to all parents and children. Even if you felt the instant bond with your child that we all hope for (as I did), you still have to work to nurture that sense of connection. It's important to feed on demand if you want your relationship to flourish. Bottle feed your baby whenever she or he expresses hunger (rooting, hand-sucking, the hunger cry) just as you would have breastfed in the same circumstance. Feeding can be part of nurturing a connection when you cuddle and interact with your child, as I've stated above. I think that even more bonding takes place by wearing your child, though. When I had problems breastfeeding, my excellent LC told me to try wearing the baby in a wrap-style carrier high on my chest. Even though my milk production did not increase, my oxytocin levels did. Oxytocin is a natural gift to moms to help them bond with their babies. Wearing your baby increases your feelings of connection and love, as does skin to skin contact and (if you are comfortable with it and understand how to do it safely) bed-sharing/co-sleeping. Don't feel as though bottle feeding is taking away the child's connection with you. Pay attention to your child and touch him or her. Hold the baby close to you. That's what matters.

Practicalities
If you planned to breastfeed, you probably bought or borrowed all the wrong stuff during pregnancy. Here is a shopping list for you, based on my experience.

6-12 bottles in each of 5oz. and 9oz. sizes: you don't have to buy both sizes at once since newborns tend to eat less at first. I recommend that you buy the cheap Gerber or Evenflo bottles (like the Purely Comfy). They are BPA-free and cost way less than the bottle "systems" whose prices are hiked up for marketing purposes.
Low-flow only. You never need to switch nipples. That's just marketing. Stick to low-flow nipples throughout the bottle-feeding period. My favorite type is the Medela slow flows owing to their consistency. They cost more but have excellent quality control. If you can afford to buy more nipples than bottles, do so. They take longer to clean, and the baby will inevitably be hungry at odd times when you haven't had a chance to wash all of the day's bottles yet.
Bottle scrub brush. I like the kind that have a removable nipple brush in the base that suctions onto the counter by the sink. To avoid getting splattered by dishwater, hold the bottle under the water when you remove the brush. I recommend washing bottles separately from other dishes if possible. We also use a natural dish soap, but any old-fashioned type that washes off completely is fine.
Microwave steam bottle sterilizer. They make sterilizers that look kind of like cake carriers - white plastic with a basket to hold the bottles and nipples and rings above the water level. If you thought you were going to breastfeed, you might have bought those overpriced sterilizing bags for breastpump parts. Those are okay but don't fit much. Do yourself a favor and get a big sterilizer instead. You don't have to sterilize with steam once the baby is older, but it's pretty important for at least the first few months. After that, you can use soap and water.
Bottle warmer. These aren't strictly necessary, but if you make formula ahead for the fridge, they certainly help. We had one where you measured out the water ahead of time in little vials. It had a cooler section with an ice pack so you could set it up in the nursery at night and not have to trudge downstairs. I think that model was worth it for those first months before we switched to powder.
Anti-gas (simethicone) drops. Formula is not that easy to digest, and your baby will likely be gassy sometimes. Rather than waiting to give a full dose of gas drops once the baby is already in pain, eliminate a lot of the problem by putting two to four drops (two for lower volume, four for higher) of simethicone in each bottle of formula. This is especially important when you are mixing from powder. Simethicone works by lowering surface tension; in other words, it makes bubbles pop. Putting a few drops in per bottle does not overdose the child, but keeps air bubbles out of formula. You still should burp the child every few ounces, of course, but there will be less of a problem this way.
Burp cloths. You need these however you feed, but I'm reminding you in case you forgot. Birdseye cloth diapers are cheap and absorbent. Use one of these or a flannel changing pad as a bottle rest spot near your feeding chair. Bottles leak a little, so you will want a barrier between them and your furniture.
The Happiest Baby on the Block DVD. Borrow this from someone if you can. It gives great advice on comforting newborns. You'll notice that the breastfeeding position is used in this method, but facing outward. We called that position "dangle bear," and we placed our son that way when he was troubled with gas pains.

One more practical point: do not over-tighten the ring on the bottle. When you screw the nipple on, feel it catch tight, then loosen it a quarter turn or so. You'll know if it's too tight if there are no bubbles when your child drinks; you'll know it's too loose if milk starts to leak out when the bottle is on its side.

I hope that this helps you if you are facing an unexpected year of formula feeding. Remember, don't feel guilty about what you cannot do. Instead, use your circumstances as a starting point for loving and enjoying your baby in all the ways you can. That's what's best.

Feast Day Recipes

2009-10-08T21:33:00.004-04:00

Hey, y'all. I wrote this post on facebook on Saturday, but I'm copying it here so I can find it again easier. The food was great, and the wine was awesome. I'm glad we bought that wine when we did, because we could so not afford it if we bought it today. Back when those 2000 Bourdeaux wines came out, we bought two or three bottles of the best we could afford. Great idea. We did the same when the paper said the 2003's would be worth the wait. I chose this vintner because our friend Paul gave us an old bottle from them for a wedding gift. We drank it back in 2000 on our first anniversary, and we were impressed. I really liked being able to share these wines with friends to celebrate Pip's feast. I should add that I was a little under the influence when I wrote the bottom recipes. You should read them through before starting.

We're having friends over to celebrate Michael's feast day tomorrow, but some of them don't eat potatoes. There might also be a vegetarian in attendance, so I wanted a hearty dish for her. The overall menu is apple-braised pork chops, fresh fruit salad (with real whipped cream), mashed potatoes, sauteed greens with garlic(mustard and arugula because that's what was nice this morning at the Farmers' Market), roasted diakon radishes, this rice, and granola made my usual way plus coconut and dates. Did I mention it's a feast? Because, yeah. We're also going to open one each of our 2000 and 2003 Bourdeaux wines and see what all the fuss was about.

Feast Day Wild Rice

For the rice:
3 cups wild rice blend
6 cups filtered water
Sea salt (a couple of teaspoons)
honey (about 3T)
approx. 1/2 cup chopped dates
ten dried figs, chopped
a few dashes of cardamon, to taste
approx. 3 T [cultured] salted butter

Bring the rice to boil in the water with the sea salt and honey. (I wanted to use honey but it needed to be well-cooked so that pregnant women and babies could eat it, too). Reduce heat to simmer and cook for 45 minutes or until liquid is absorbed.

Add in remaining ingredients. Stir. I recommend leaving the cardamon till last so that you can smell the proper proportion to add. It's a very loud spice on the tongue, and you don't want to overdo it. The salt balances the sweetness of the fruit, and the cardamon brings all the earthy flavors together. Yum. I'm hoping it will taste even better tomorrow! (Update: It was.)

Here are a couple of the other recipes as I made them:

Pork chops

Bake 45-60 minutes at 350. But before that, place pork chops in a glass baking dish in a single layer. Sprinkle on some ground sage and I think a little sea salt. Spoon a tablespoon or two of unsweetened applesauce over each chop. Then pour some apple juice and a splash of madiera into the pan so that there's a bit of liquid surrounding chops. Drizzle on some maple syrup. Then bake per instructions above.

Roasted Radishes

Get some really fresh local radishes from the farmer's market. They do most of the work for you. Preheat oven to 500. Wash radishes and chop in largish chunks. Spread evenly in a glass baking dish. Drizzle on some olive oil. Sprinkle with Fleur de sel or whatever sea salt you have that is best. Roast for about 15 minutes, stirring once halfway through.

A rainy day visit to Ganyard Hill Farm

2009-10-06T11:35:00.014-04:00

We originally went for the pumpkin patch, but they had lots of fun stuff there, even in the rain. We didn't take advantage of the cool hay maze or hay ride since it was close to nap. The hay mountain, really for older kids, was the only activity closed due to the rain. Here are photos of Pip in the corn crib - a giant room of corn in which to play, feeding the goats, and picking a pumpkin. We wound up getting one that someone else had already cut because that was the one Pip liked.

Chicks and bunnies. The bunnies kissed fingers stuck in the grate and ate hay when offered.

Feeding the goats. The goats' mouths were soft and fuzzy and very gentle.

Simplicity

2009-10-05T23:57:00.005-04:00

We cut off all of Andrew's hair Saturday night. I keep calling him the "fuzzy fuzzy guy" owing to the "Fuzzy Fuzzy Fuzzy" book.

The Afterfeast of St. Francis

2009-10-05T19:32:00.006-04:00

We postponed Pip's feast day celebration till yesterday since his real feast (St. Michael and All Angels) fell mid-week. Yesterday was the feast of St. Francis of Assisi. We thought we'd combine our proclivities for Western and Eastern Christianity and call today the Afterfeast of St. Francis, which was our way of saying that the baby was partied out. He slept more than four hours in naps today and needed to be held almost the entire remaining time. Also it means we ate leftovers for lunch.

At one point today I was really frustrated with the whining. I had to wash his bottle and heat his milk, he wanted to go bye-bye, nap was only twenty minutes away, and we both fell to whining. I should not have whined, of course, but I was getting so annoyed! I put Pip in his stroller and we took a ten minute walk. That totally helped. He got to rid his sleepy self of the stir crazies, and I got to clear my head. I had taken about thirty steps when I remembered the advice an old friend and school counselor gave me. If you are annoyed with a child, it's a miscommunication. If you are angry, there's a power struggle going on. I was annoyed. I realized that I needed to majorly reevaluate. Pip has advanced language, but he's still just an almost 15-month-old. Sometimes whining is his only way to tell me what he needs or wants, especially when he's tired (as he was today). I told Pip I was sorry for grousing at him, specifically for saying, "Just stop whining," because I want to know what he needs, even if whining is the only way he can tell me sometimes. Bonhomie resumed, and we returned home both in a charitable state of mind and soul. Pip and I both had magnificent naps, and we were in excellent dispositions when his Poppa got home from work.

We decided to celebrate the Afterfeast by going out to Moe's for burritos (a quesadilla for Pip), where we ate by the fountain. When we got home, we found that Pip's new playsilks had arrived in the mail. They are just the right size for him. He had fun carrying them around and trying to pull them over his head like I do when I sing him the sky song I made up for him.

The sky is on my baby. My baby's in the sky. Where could he be? Did he learn to fly?

Then it was bath and bedtime.

I found this great local farm in our local parenting magazine. I'm playing it by ear as to when we'll go, but I hope to take Pip tomorrow morning to visit the pumpkin patch and animals. If it's totally awesome, I want to get some friends together for a playdate there soon.

Yesterday was our first Sunday since our rector left to be Dean of Christ Church Cathedral in Nashville, TN. As we expected, attendance was a bit low. I think a fair few people are in shock. I had anticipated that our rector would leave to be bishop or similar sometime in the next couple of years, but I think a lot of folks were thinking he'd be our parish priest till retirement. Anyhow, I think the parish was really blessed by his tenure with us and that God has even greater blessings in store for us. The service yesterday was comforting. It helped that the celebrant, Fr. C, is British. Prayers are so nice in that lilting accent of his. Fr. C is one of three retired priests helping out while our assistant priest is on sabbatical and our Vestry sorts out an interim. He is a kind and gentle and deeply spiritual and intelligent man, and I felt a lot of peace when he started the liturgy. I also really liked the sermon by Fr. M. Honestly, I have to chase Pip a bit in the Narthex, so I rarely hear the entire sermon, but the parts I heard were insightful and felt like good medicine for the soul. Fr. M talked about the difference between the Episcopalian slant toward sophistication and the simple childlike quality to which Jesus calls us. It was the prayers themselves that really gave comfort, though. We prayed one of my favorite Collects:

Proper 22 The Sunday closest to October 5
Almighty and everlasting God, you are always more ready to
hear than we to pray, and to give more than we either desire
or deserve: Pour upon us the abundance of your mercy,
forgiving us those things of which our conscience is afraid,
and giving us those good things for which we are not worthy
to ask, except through the merits and mediation of Jesus
Christ our Savior; who lives and reigns with you and the
Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

That was really the sort of day it was. I had a chance to talk with the leader of our prayer team, who I discovered has an extraordinary gift of encouragement (making you not be afraid). She encouraged me to start work on a book laying out some of the long history of healing in the church. Then we prayed, and I felt my eyes were opened. Have you read the Narnia books? In The Last Battle, there is a scene at the end where a bunch of dwarves are sitting in paradise being offered exquisite food and drink. But they think they are still in a stable and that people are offering them dung. Okay, so I don't think I was as bad off as those dwarves before, but I felt as though a darkness was dispelled from my mind and heart as she prayed. I saw myself surrounded by a peaceful golden light, and I was standing in a beautiful field with grass and flowers. I have made a study of the 23rd Psalm this past year (I think I forgot to mention that here), and I felt very verdant pasturesy. A new thought path coursed through my mind: You have been afraid and sometimes been gruff because you were afraid, but look where you are! Do not be afraid. And I just cried for joy. Because look where I am! Thanks be to God.

response to The Business of Being Born

2009-10-02T22:42:00.002-04:00

I would have called this a "review," but I don't really feel like talking about all the particulars of the film. You might have heard about the Ricki Lake documentary The Business of Being Born that came out recently-ish. Here's a summary.

Natural childbirth=good
Pitocin during labor=bad
Most interventions=suspect (except for emergency C's that aren't brought on by interventions)
Emergency C's=good
Planned C's=bad unless medically necessary
Vanity C's=really bad
In the US we treat pregnancy like a disease instead of a gift
In the US we treat women like they are stupid and train them to fear pregnancy
Listen to your body

Pretty good for someone who is not reviewing, eh? The weakest point of the film philosophically was when a narrator with a thick European accent suggested that because most women no longer experience the amazing concoction of hormones that results only from natural childbirth, there will be a surfeit of motherly love in the world. That is just bullshit. Almost all of my mom friends had interventions of some kind (epidurals, spinals, drugs, pitocin, C's), and they all love their kids deeply. The weakest part of the film from a film point of view was the director's birth story, because they failed to explain the cause of the problem that resulted in her having to have an emergency C section with a tiny 3.5 lb. baby (who thank God survived). Did they not know that women of childbearing age would watch this film and be all, "Oh, no! Another thing to worry about." (But turns out that the internet says smoking and boozing and being too skinny are the main causes of the problem, so I have crossed that idea off my worry list. Oh, and I'm not blaming the director for her baby's problem. Just unworrying since I don't have the high-risk signs.)

Here's how I felt about the film. It was affirming. I felt so affirmed listening to other women talk about the connection and power and goodness they experienced in natural child birth. I loved seeing other perfectly lucid new mothers hold their babies for the first time. And even though I disagreed with the European voice-over's conclusion as it relates to non-intervention childbirth moms, I felt as though the recognition of the unique hormones and feelings after natural child birth helped me name my experience better. I have struggled all these months to heal from those hours after Pip was born when the "business as usual, you are the only natural birth in here this week, what the hell is kangaroo care?" hospital took my child from me. I think people think I am exaggerating when I say that I slept maybe as much as two hours in the 48 hours surrounding Pip's birth. The busy part of labor (3cms-birth) only took about 19 hours, but I only slept one hour of the following day.

I needed to be with my baby. I cried and shook (terrible shakes after all that work, no food in the system, and the pitocin I let them give me after the baby was born to keep me from bleeding to death) for hours in the dark, waiting to get to see my baby again. Until I heard the dude describing the intensity of bonding and need to be near and protect and love the baby in a mother who gives natural childbirth, I didn't have space to describe those first hours as they really were: the worst time in my entire life. If you've read this blog much at all, you know I had an f'd-up childhood. I was molested by more than one person, beaten, verbally and emotionally abused, abandoned, rejected, and oh, I'm an after school special voice over talking about how it can work out with God and therapy. But shitting myself alone in terror in the dark and being beaten for it was nothing compared to the absolute mind-boggling agony of not getting to hold my baby.

They let me hold him for five precious minutes, then they whisked him off and didn't let me hold him again for thirteen fucking hours of hell. Then I had to sit with my sore, "no, we only give you one Motrin per six hours and you can't have more tylenol either you crazy person who won't take percoset" um, area, on a hard lobby-type plastic chair in order to hold my heavily wired/tubed-up kid. And you know what was wrong with him? Jack shit. He breathed fast at first. I found out after they released us that the never-consulted-us-about-it a-hole doctors (who are not our pediatricians, by the way) ran him through two chest x-rays (where some stranger would have had to hold him down while he screamed) besides making him get an IV since they didn't feed him or let me breastfeed. So instead of getting to hold my kid while he coughed up some extra fluid (and he would have recovered in no time), they ran him through a cold bright uncomfortable gammut while I suffered in ignorance down the hall, ignored by the nurses so thank God I didn't have complications. I understand how the people there think, so don't defend them. My point is that all I cared about was being with my baby, and they wouldn't let me. Being away from him then was the worst experience of my entire life.

According to the European guy, my need to be with my baby is normal. I just needed to say, thanks, whoever the hell you are, European voice-over guy from the documentary. I thought my feelings were too intense to be real, but they were so intense because they are so real. The bonding hormone cocktail is just a rare experience among women these days, is all, so I hadn't really heard about it.

Watching the film helped me sort out how I regard my birth experience. I felt a new appreciation for my total lack of despair. Apparently "all" [sic] moms experience a moment during natural childbirth when they feel they cannot handle the pain or that they cannot go on. I never felt that. I kept focus throughout labor. I knew that it would get harder and harder and then I would have a baby. I was totally in tune and in touch with the pain and what it was telling me to do. I felt as though the pain was holy and for a purpose. It was the most intense pain I've ever felt, beamed from beyond to course through me, it seemed, to open my womb. I moved my hips and leaned over against the bed, walls, counters, helping the baby keep position. On the big contractions I leaned, on the little ones I was able to squat a bit. I could not have gone through it without singing. But I sang. Sometimes really, really high and loud. I learned a strength I could not have imagined otherwise.

Around the time I watched the film, I also read several birth stories of women going through natural childbirth. There is a whole school of thought in the hypno-birthing/dissociating from the pain method of dealing with birth pangs. While I could tell that the dissociative state was very comforting and moving for the women who experienced it, I am glad that I did not choose that route. Going back to those not-the-worst moments in my life, the ones that were horrible and dark and bad: You know how I survived them long enough to get awesome grades and leave home for college? Dissociating. I am a healthy and healing person now because I spent many, many painful hours late at night in my college chapel crying as I came back to life. I hate dissociation. I know it's what we have to do to survive sometimes, but it is not life-giving to me. As much as it may sound crazy to someone coming from a different set of experiences, I needed to feel the full spectrum of pain of childbirth. Doing so enabled me to feel the full spectrum of joy. Birth was not a threat, and I could never treat it as such by retreating from it or numbing myself to it. I regard natural childbirth as one of the most joyful experiences of my life, pain included. Birthing is a painful bodily joy, but it is one of the body's joys nonetheless.

I felt so alive, so connected. The film brought that feeling of pulsing, glorious loving power back to me full force. It helped me to associate all the joy of birth with the daily joys of being connected, the pulsing glorious loving power of my little boy's heartbeat next to mine when I rock him to sleep or when we laugh together. These joys reach across the dark hours of the worst time. They grab one another and won't let go. They burn through the trauma of no breastmilk. They burn through the separation until it is gone.

We have always loved each other, you and me. You are a joy to me, Pip. A pure, a holy joy.

Happy Feast Day, Pip!

2009-09-28T23:15:00.004-04:00

St. Patrick's Breastplate:

I bind unto myself today
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same
The Three in One and One in Three.

I bind this today to me forever
By power of faith, Christ’s incarnation;
His baptism in Jordan river,
His death on Cross for my salvation;
His bursting from the spicèd tomb,
His riding up the heavenly way,
His coming at the day of doom
I bind unto myself today.

I bind unto myself the power
Of the great love of cherubim;
The sweet ‘Well done’ in judgment hour,
The service of the seraphim,
Confessors’ faith, Apostles’ word,
The Patriarchs’ prayers, the prophets’ scrolls,
All good deeds done unto the Lord
And purity of virgin souls.

I bind unto myself today
The virtues of the star lit heaven,
The glorious sun’s life giving ray,
The whiteness of the moon at even,
The flashing of the lightning free,
The whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,
The stable earth, the deep salt sea
Around the old eternal rocks.

I bind unto myself today
The power of God to hold and lead,
His eye to watch, His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need.
The wisdom of my God to teach,
His hand to guide, His shield to ward;
The word of God to give me speech,
His heavenly host to be my guard.

Against the demon snares of sin,
The vice that gives temptation force,
The natural lusts that war within,
The hostile men that mar my course;
Or few or many, far or nigh,
In every place and in all hours,
Against their fierce hostility
I bind to me these holy powers.

Against all Satan’s spells and wiles,
Against false words of heresy,
Against the knowledge that defiles,
Against the heart’s idolatry,
Against the wizard’s evil craft,
Against the death wound and the burning,
The choking wave, the poisoned shaft,
Protect me, Christ, till Thy returning.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me.
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name,
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One and One in Three.
By Whom all nature hath creation,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
Praise to the Lord of my salvation,
Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

some granola stuff

2009-09-26T20:05:00.006-04:00

I am very, very glad that I was able to pass my Sleepywrap on to my baby sis. But I went through withdrawal today and ordered another one. We might have another child with whom I could use it, and I also still really like wearing Pip sometimes. You can safely wear a baby or toddler till the child is 30 pounds, so I figure I have up to a year or so remaining where I can wear Pip.

I have been less granola this week than usual, what with Andrew (dish-doer supreme around here) being home sick and our flu scare early in the week. The chief consequence is that Andrew cooked once and I only cooked once all week. We are toast addicts when we are sick. Not sure why; maybe all the B vitamins in bread? What I'm trying to get to is, I haven't actually made granola this week. Which is weird considering I made it twice on our Texas trip. Aunt Keely and my relatives loved it when they tasted the first fast-disappearing pan. A second pan was demanded. I found the recipe over on Suburban Jungle, but I've modified it a bit. Her recipe has weird cinnamon advice. Just mix the amount of cinnamon you like in with the dry ingredients; I tried it both ways and my way is better. Also, since it was from memory, I'm pretty sure I used a whole stick of butter instead of whatever she lists there. I also don't measure the oatmeal carefully, so I have about 1/2 cup more in my recipe. I also switched out Honey Nut O cereal for rice crispies, and I don't measure the nuts and chocolate chips. I just tump the stuff in by eye usually.

I have a goal to start having weekly meals with friends. To that end, we have been shopping for a long time for a nice round dining table so we can fit more people around it. We have always lived in smallish spaces, but our old drop leaf round table is really just a table for two. Tonight we found a very suitable table. If we still think it's a great idea after a good night's sleep, we plan to buy it in the next couple of days. Also pursuant to that goal, I have started thinking about easy to cook from-scratch recipes that we can make even on a week night. I actually broke down and bought a Paula Deen and a Martha Stewart magazine this week. I don't generally follow recipes (especially not the casserole-ish ones in Ms. Deen's magazine), but I got some ideas about foods suitable for the coming season. Even though we haven't renewed our CSA for the fall/winter (Yet?), the last several months have given me a jump start on cooking seasonally. {Update: I went ahead and signed up for the winter CSA because it is mostly greens, which we love.}

So, here's an idea for a great brunch food/dessert that I've cobbled together from the magazines, granola recipe, and my own vast mind. I think I'll make it for brunch sometime this fall, along with an artichoke heart and goat cheese quiche and maybe bacon or apple-maple braised pork chops.

Brioche French Toast with Sauteed Pears, Caramel

Slice brioche into the size you want for French toast. Soak pieces in a mixture of eggs, whole milk, and vanilla extract (all to taste and as needed volumetrically) for about 5 and up to 20 minutes (you don't want brioche to get all soggy and gross). Some people say you can bake French toast. Honestly, I will butter a skillet and brown ours over medium, but I don't think it matters how you cook it. Set the French toast aside. If you are making it the night before or in the morning before church, you can refrigerate it. Otherwise into the oven, covered, on warm (or 185-ish).

Not long before serving, slice a few pears, number as needed. Set aside for a few minutes if needed so that you can begin cooking pears and caramel at the same time. (I plan to reuse my French toast pan for the pears.) Once the butter has melted in the caramel pot, begin cooking pears. Sautee them either in coconut oil or butter for a few minutes on medium low or maybe medium, depending on your pan and stove. If for some reason the pears cook a little faster than your caramel, by all means remove pears from heat for a bit.

Here's the caramel recipe, heavily adapted from the Suburban Jungle granola recipe linked above:
1 stick of butter, preferably pastured or organic if you can find/afford it (it's yellow instead of white) Don't use margarine. (If you are dairy-free, I suppose you could use a 1/4 cup of coconut or canola oil instead of the butter.)
1/4 cup of honey
1/2 cup of packed brown sugar
1/2 tsp cardamom
Pinch sea salt
1 tsp real vanilla extract

Add first five ingredients (not the vanilla) to a small saucepan over medium low- to almost medium heat. Once butter melts, stir occasionally. When sauce begins to boil, time for two minutes. [You can cut off the heat on the pears at this time]. After two minutes, remove from heat, add vanilla, and stir a few times. The mixture will foam up when you add vanilla, then settle into a sauce after about a minute. Stir again.

Assemble servings by layering pears on top of French toast, then drizzling caramel sauce over pears and toast. Add [toasted or not] walnuts as an optional garnish.

Variations: pears love cardamom, but not everybody does. Vary the strength of the flavor by using the cardamom with the butter to saute the pears or by using the cardamom in the toast marinade.

I haven't made this recipe yet, but I'm sure it will work because I have written it the way I really cook, and I have only made one foul recipe in my adult life - an attempt at an asparagus sauce when I was sleep-deprived in early grad school (yuck). I may adjust the amount of the cardamom down a peg, depending. That stuff is potent, often appearing in 1/8 tsp intervals in cake recipes. I often use more vanilla than I think, too. Have fun, and maybe come over for brunch sometime. We miss you.

It was him all along.

2009-09-26T17:24:00.004-04:00

Eating lunch with Uncle Joe in Houston.

From time to time I deal with my abandonment issues here. Well, it occurred to me recently that someone must have been a father figure to me when I was really little. My mom didn't marry the man I knew as my dad till I was two. So I started praying about it, and this smiling happy face beaming down at me came to mind. In fact, it's the most constant, happy memory I have from babyhood. My Uncle Joe. He lived with us and Grams when I was a baby. Only he had some truly righteous and long 70's hair in my mental image. Uncle Joe was burned over a lot of his body in a house fire when he was nine. I can honestly say I never noticed his scars till I was like 8 and someone told me, and then I didn't care. Uncle Joe has been the most consistently kind and loving father figure to me in my life. I knew it had to be someone.

rude rants.

2009-09-25T08:52:00.004-04:00

I get it that a lot of people like to buy used things as part of a green lifestyle. But there are some things you should not get used (of course you can buy second-hand things sometimes that are not used, so there's still wiggle room on a couple of these). I list them here for the greater happiness of us all:
1. Bras. Don't do it. They are good for 100 wears for one person. After that, sagginess encroaches.
2. Shoes (these are often pretty much unused at nice thrift places, though). You don't want your posture affected by someone else's tread, and we don't want to put up with you being cranky from a sore back. [Exemption for awesome square-toed heels from the 1920's, of course.]
3. Mattresses. Don't do it. Bed bugs. Back aches. Gross. (Okay, unless it's off your rich friends whom you know to be free of bed bugs. Then you can buy a used mattress.)
4. Make-up. Face infections are not pretty.
5. Computers if I used them first. I will have ruined some part of it and not noticed till the warranty expired.
Most of my greenie thrifty friends are totally with it and cool and also not at all snobby about buying used. But some snob-butt bragged about ONLY buying used stuff on a facebook thread the other day, and I have been concerned for that person's health ever since. Also, I call bullshit. That person was just being self-righteous. No way s/he buys used soap.

While I'm ranting, I will also add this: Women who get on forums to brag about how little they spend on groceries owing to coupons need to zip it about how they are being healthy AND saving money and they just can't understand how other people could spend so much on food. Nearly all food coupons are for processed foods. They are not the healthiest choices. Also, food costs about 30% more here in NC than in TX. Those women aren't taking geographical differences into account. It's okay to pay more for higher quality food if you can afford it. That may mean that other things have to give, but it's a legitimate choice for those who choose it. I'm not offended by other women saving money with coupons; they shouldn't get huffy over the fact that I buy what we need without consideration of coupons. I try not to let marketing drive my purchasing decisions is all. Clearly I am weird and unvirtuous. Okay, I'm done on that topic. Just came across a lot of ranty forums recently.

This entry reminds me of one of my favorite descriptions of demons in Evagrius Ponticus's writings. I can't quote it, but basically it says that vainglory (self-righteousness) is the worst of all demons because as soon as you think you've defeated it, vainglory rushes forward to cheer about how great you are that you defeated it. Yes. I know that by ranting about some self-righteous stuff instead of just lovin' and not judgin', yo, that I am behaving a tad on the self-righteous side. Vainglory!

Yes, his real name is Cute E. McCuterson. You figured it out.

2009-09-25T08:48:00.003-04:00

Here's Pip napping on the antique bed at Noni and Pops' house. I think it's time we buy him a pillow.

family tradition

2009-09-24T22:41:00.004-04:00

I got to pass along my Sleepywrap to my baby sister. Here she is wearing her newborn son Jaiden. He is so sweet, and only a little bigger than Pip was when he was born. I know it's only been fourteen months, but I'm still going to say it: I forgot how tiny they are.

Eucharist

2009-09-24T21:11:00.006-04:00

Guess who said "Thanks" today for the first time? Andrew and I were deciding what to call Pip's new favorite snack, graham crackers, so as to distinguish them from round crackers. Pip pointed to the crackers then to ask for one. I gave him a cracker, and he said, "Thanks" right before taking a bite. How cool is that!? We have never told him to say "Please" and "Thank You," just tried to model it so he would pick up the habit by immersion. Hopefully today's incident marks the first step in a new habit of gratitude.

When we visited Texas, Noni pointed out that I never mentioned that Pip is walking on my blog. I don't think that's true, especially since I have posted numerous photos of him walking. But, by the way, Pip started walking on July 9. Andrew and I both got to see him take two steps in the upstairs hallway, and Pip has continued to walk since then. Now he has almost started running. Today he lifted his long leg (can you say "growth spurt?") and climbed right up on his play/our coffee table. I looked up from the kitchen, and he's standing on the table all triumphant. The kid is a climber. His Poppa figured out that he just needs to climb some more and let him work his legs out on the stairs for awhile. I'm taking him to the museum in the morning if he's feeling well (more on that below) so that he can play on the climby things there.

So, we returned safely from our Texas trip on Monday evening after a slightly stressful day flying standby on two flights (we missed our morning flight due to traffic). Tuesday morning we were all a little groggy and Pip was a little clingy, but we were not concerned. Then we got two calls - an urgent message from my mom that my cousin Carly has swine flu, followed by a message from my Aunt Keely wondering if Pip is okay because Carly has swine flu. We watched Pip, and he had a low fever, coughed a little, and complained of a headache. (He does this by pointing at his temple, making a pained look toward us, and saying "eye?" in a plaintive voice, because he wants to know why that part of his head hurts, and "eye" he understands.) So we called the doctor and left a message. We also arranged to voluntarily quarantine ourselves for a couple of days at least, through the typical incubation period of that bug, just in case. We got Pip's snot cultured - he thought it was a little weird, but then funny that someone wanted to stick something up his nose - and found out yesterday around 5:30 that he does not have flu of any variety, pig or otherwise. So, Yay! He seems to just have had the airplane snuffles, and he seems better already today. His Poppa, however, has a stupid coughy headcold, and I seem to be on the mend from a very mild case of airplane snuffles myself. We have lots of Kleenex, tea, and toast here.

The Texas trip was way better than I expected. Well, I'm fairly optimistic. Better to say that we had prepared for the trip to be more complicated than it was. Turns out that Pip is a great traveller. He slept on three of the four plane rides, enjoyed playing with the windows and tray tables, wasn't bothered by the landing pressure, and had an absolute blast with our friends and relatives. While we were away on our visit, he picked up lots of new words, including the names of people -"Boo" for Aunt Boo, "Mahwg" for Aunt Margaret, KiKi for cousin KiKi and Aunt Keely, Lucas for cousin Lucas- loads of words for things (e.g., wood, chair, butt [that's my fault, sorry]), and added a new habit of speaking largely in short sentences. He was overawed by the amazing Clem and also Aunt Keely's young charge Bryn. We found that he is so fascinated with older children in the 2-5 range that he is quieter around them right now. But he talked normally around his fellow toddlers and babies.

He is at that point in language development where he's absorbing everything he can. He requests us to read him several Dr. Suess books a day (favorites: Hop on Pop, On Beyond Zebra -especially the Quandary page, One Fish Two Fish, Fox in Socks, Green Eggs and Ham) as well as other books. He imitates sounds as best he can, tries to sing along with songs, and identifies new objects by name. Tonight on our walk, he looked up from his stroller and pointed at the first star. "Star!" he said. Then he looked at the moon, which he's been calling by name for awhile now (a couple of months at least), and asked, "Star?" We told him it was the moon even though it's only a crescent now. Then he pointed at the star, said, "Star," and pointed at the moon and said, "Moon!" He seems very chipper about getting to name things. [Aside: There are some icons of Adam naming the animals, and judging from Pip's pleasure in naming, Adam does not look nearly joyous enough. Come on, Adam. Stars, dude! Cow! What's not to love?] Also, it's because of this phase that I accidentally taught Pip to say butt. I was joking around with my sister Alyssa about something crass about people who scratch their butts. Pip was on my lap. You see what's coming?
"Butt! Butt!"
"Did he just say, "butt?""
"Butt! Butt! Butt!"
Fortunately we call his derriere a "bum," so this new word has not been reinforced. Only now there is a possibility that we'll be in church and someone will quote Jesus, "But I say unto you..." and Pip will shout, "Butt!" Also Boo taught him to say "naked," as in "butt naked!" Okay, my baby says, "butt naked" now.

We got a new camera which takes much better, but much larger photos, so I will post photos from the trip separately so as not to take all night to get this post up.

You know how I talk sometimes about believing in healing prayer? Well, I still get surprised by grace all the time. My mom was really cool this visit. Sure, she still has some issues, but it's clear that she has been working on them and has done a lot of hard work to stay sober for several months. She was great with Pip. They hit it off right away. After about an hour, he was turning to her with his little hand up, wanting her to hold his hand as they walked around my Aunt Keely's back yard. {I also want to give credit to the grace that has changed me. I'm sure that played a role in the pleasantness of our interactions, too.}

This is how they met: I come downstairs with Pip after his morning bottle and drawers change. Aunt Keely and my mom -hereafter Grammy, as Pip will call her- both go, "He's a little Summer!" And I'm all, "Yes! You guys see it! No one else knows he looks like me." They're all, he looks just like you when you were a baby, but with different coloring. Your hair was that color, though, and he's Tweetie Bird like you. But he has his Poppa's coloring. Then we discussed the details. His Poppa's mouth, but my grandmother's eye color, a bit more blue than his Poppa's eyes, which tend toward grey. Pip's eyes are hazelesque blue in that they vary slightly on the blue to violet spectrum, but they are not grey. Aunt Keely then began to dance. Pip spent a few minutes smiling at Grammy and Aunt Keely. Then Aunt Keely scooped him up and hugged him, and he just smiled. Then they took him outside to play, and that was that. He spent the next few days outside with them for hours. I felt so relieved to be around these two ladies who were both such a huge part of my childhood. For one, they get it. For two, they love the snot out of Pip. For three, they are great teachers. And fourth, which I thought was so cool! and now I know where I get it from, they understood his baby accent. We went outside, and he was all, "What is that?" and they repeated sans-accent, "What is that? It's a flower bush." He said "I want to get it," and they said, "You want to get it? Okay, let's go get it." My cousin Heather also understood everything he said. And I sat back all flabbergasted like, dang, y'all, my whole family is a bunch of teachers who understand toddlers. No wonder most of us talked earlier than usual. (Though admittedly I was weird talking at six months, and Pip is even more unusual to begin talking at four months and to be at his level at 14 months. He's about a year ahead of the curve on language development.) So instead of having to be on call, tentatively hanging nearby with an ear out, I got to go inside and have tea, followed them around solely for enjoyment and taking photos (as opposed to hanging out to alleviate anxiety - his or mine), and have a long shower without fretting about being out of earshot. And also, they know he looks like me, which is really affirming somehow. No one in our usual circle has seen my baby photos or knew me as a toddler. They all believe that God cc'd Andrew via my womb but added some of my charming facial expressions.

We had so much fun visiting with everyone. I will try to make several shorter posts with the different groups so as not to gyp the stories too much. But it was great to stay with Rebecca's family, to see my sister Kristin, to watch cousin KiKi get baptized, to see Pip hit it off immediately with his Aunt Margaret, to have a blast with my relatives, to watch Pip sniff at Uncle Snuffy after his great-grandmother taught him how (Uncle Snuffy's attitude was not acceptable to Pip, and Pip worked hard to cope with Snuffy's presence in the living room there), play at the San Antonio Zoo and the Houston Children's Museum, two of the very best and most kid-friendly places in the world (and the museum was free to us because of our Durham Life and Science membership. Also, the Houston Children's Museum is ranked #1 in the nation, which ranking it deserves. So cool. Check it out if you are in driving distance.) We plan to make the SA Zoo and Houston Children's museum annual trips if possible.

Being away helped us put a lot of stuff that had been stressing us out in perspective, too. I hope to write about that stuff also in separate posts.

Since this entry started with Pip, I'll end by catching up on what he's up to these days.

He learned how to kick a ball after watching his cousin Lucas. (Lucas has a hereditary disposition toward soccer, of course.) Now he kicks his earth ball around the living room.
He "read" his first book to himself yesterday, picking one off the shelf - My Mother Had a Dancing Heart, actually- and describing it to himself in a little sing-song chant voice. He mentioned "eyes," "they do that," "love," and a few other words and phrases I recognized from other books and just life in general. I haven't read the book to him yet, so he was "reading" the pictures.
I'm hoping to let Pip finger paint soon. He likes to color with his crayons, and he usually names his drawings. They are of course a little abstract right now, but that's to be expected.
Pip loves us to read to him.
He loves playing outside, and today he became enamoured of being pushed in the stroller. Previously he liked us to carry him, but he's so tall now that I think the stroller is more comfortable.
He likes us to sing him motion songs. Last week he liked "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" best, before that it was Patty-Cake. And now he loves our version of "Little Bunny Fu-Fu." He imitates the good fairy and the part where Fu-Fu is turned into a loon. He also loves "Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes." Tonight he had fun pointing at my head and laughing when I pointed at the other parts with his hand. He said, "head, knees, eyes," and tried to say shoulder and ear, too. He knows where the nose, mouth, and ears are but mostly just says head (sans final "d" usually) and eye and knee. He pronounces "knee" like "ghee," but it's consistent and cute. What else?
He likes to play with his stuffed penguin, monkey, and cat sometimes. He leans over to cuddle them or carries them around. He does the same with icons when we let him. Yesterday he cuddled "Jesus," what he calls the Pantocrator icon over his crib when he doesn't just call it "icon." He plays with his baby doll whom he calls "Baby" or "Doll" or "Dolly" and once, "Baby Doll." Really he was into that doll before the trip.
Since the trip he has been a little stir-crazy and really into his books. But he'll come back to the dolly when he pleases.
He likes to play pretend with cooking stuff like his little teapot and cup and our spoons and forks. We got him some additional kitchenware from IKEA that Andrew's parents are shipping to us.
I put out a tray for him to splash water and pour out his sippies so he doesn't make himself slip by doing so on the floors. Since I showed him how to use the tray instead, he has been pouring his cups out there when he wants to splash. [I sound like a commercial: with our cookie sheets, 90% fewer wipe-outs. That's right! 90% fewer "spills."]
Pip also likes to share his food with us. He puts it in our mouths and smiles.
And maybe he likes chocolate even though I'm not sure if I'm supposed to admit that publicly yet. Hypothetically, though, he might love chocolate in chunk or Green&Black's ice cream or homemade chocolate chip granola form. Just saying.

Pip is not shy or retiring, but he is socially cautious and observant. Some people, like Aunt Keely, Grammy, Aunts Margaret and Boo, and Cousin Heather, he warms to immediately. Others he likes to watch for awhile before he talks or interacts much. If you wear your heart on your sleeve, he'll probably sing you a ditty. If you are reserved or if you tend to prevaricate (even for the sake of love or humor), he will probably proceed with caution. We encourage Pip to trust his instincts and take his time in figuring out where he would like to stand with people. He has a definite need for personal space with most people, which some adults keep labeling incorrectly as shy. For instance, even though he lurves his cousin Lucas (he who is Pip's junior by only half a day), Pip flipped out whenever Lucas came right up and hugged him the first day. That's not shyness. It's a desire to know what to expect. By the end of the trip, Pip could handle Lucas hugs with greater alacrity. Shy people are a little obsessed with what others think of them, but Pip is actually more concerned about what he thinks of other people. He's healthily extroverted and healthily cautious. Since Pip is sensitive, we want him to take his time to establish boundaries with which he is comfortable. We're pretty sure he's empathic like both his parents, so those boundaries are important. It's only slightly frustrating in the meantime to hear Pip labeled by some folks as "shy." The kid has flirted with and smiled at every lady between here and the Guadalupe River. He's not shy.

This post is so stream of consciousness, omg I haven't blogged in ages, get it out of my head already anyway that I'll go ahead and say this. Here is what I mean by empathy. Andrew walks calmly into the room. He pours himself a cup of tea. He washes his hands. He turns to dry them on the cloth. I look at him sternly and say gruffly, "What is it? Just say what's bothering you!" "What? I don't know. Nothing's bothering me." "That's not true. You are so anxious that you are making me sick to my stomach." "Okay. I didn't want to mention it, but..." I have a different m.o. when I try to prevaricate, but it has similar results. Andrew's all, "you seem really bothered by something. Do you want to talk about it?" Squirm, squirm. We have no secrets here. Enter Pip, empathic baby who sees right through you with those big bright eyes. Don't try to put him to bed if you are anxious, or he will pinch your nose and stare wide-eyed with a stiffened back until you chill out already and shut up with the emoting so some of us can get some sleep around here.

Which sounds lovely right about now. Good night.

How to Make Lembas Bread

2009-09-06T22:53:00.005-04:00

First Tries, or Mixing Mythologies

We're heading to Texas this Friday to see relatives and friends. Obviously we needed to make some preparations, such as whipping up a batch of elven way bread.

At first I tried using Harry Potter mythology to make the bread. I figured that if a house elf wandered by, maybe I could get him to zap it into lembas. All elves make lembas, right? Well, no house elves were fooled by my little ruse. I tried all the magic spells from the movies - Expecto patronum, wingardium leviosa, petrificus totallus, even Expelliarmus. Nothing. They may seem like all-purpose spells on film, but bread is indifferent to them.Pip enjoyed eating the pattycake that resulted from my first try, though.

Interlude of the Tamale Saleswomen/Elven Maidens

I went to the door, and this lady was all, "Tamales. $5/half dozen." I could tell by the fact that her robes were long and flowing and that she was speaking to her companion in elvish instead of Spanish that she was likely an elf. So I haggled with her.

"$5/half dozen!? In Texas, you can get $5/dozen. What? Are they made of gold?!"
The women/elves looked at one another guiltily.
"Fine. I'll take a dozen, but you must tell me how to make lembas bread. I've been trying all night but just get pattycakes. We need it for our trip to Texas."
They knew they'd been spotted, and after looking meaningfully at one another for a couple of moments, the quieter one spoke.
"Well, we can't give you the secret to the leaf wrappings, but your cause is worthy. We, too, are trying to get back to Texas."
Then she looked at me. The dark centers of her brown eyes seemed to swirl, and I saw as in a pool of light that I must take up my volume of Tolkien and read to the cakes. I shook my head to clear it, and the elves were gone. Good tamales, though. We didn't even need Tums after.

The Tolkien Trials

I took the Latina Elves' advice and got out our bound set of the complete Lord of the Rings. I turned to the chapters where they are at Elrond's place. I thought, hey, elven bread, read about elves, right? Next time I think I'll read from Lothlorien, where the bread is mentioned. Might speed things up.

First I tried speaking sternly.
Pip liked the pattycake that resulted.
Next I summoned a great deal of gravity and affected a voice I thought was pretty close to a serious deep elf dude voice. The lembas wasn't buying it, though.
Pip liked the pattycake that resulted.
I was getting desperate, so I tried reading a section of poetry, all chipper-like. It seemed to be working at first, but...
At least Pip enjoyed the pattycake that resulted.
Finally I got an idea. I turned to one of those ubiquitous poems and sort of sang it in speech.
It worked!

The Test: Can one small bite fill the belly of a grown man?

Andrew wasn't particularly hungry (he ate some of the failed lembas attempt pattycakes, too). Fortunately, we have a hobbit in the house. I figured a real piece of lembas would fill the belly of a baby hobbit, right?

I guess I wasn't sure what would happen. He ate the bread all up, and then I wondered, "How will we know if it's really way bread?"
Success! Immediately after finishing the lembas, the baby desired that we go, "bye-bye," which I'm pretty sure is elvish for, "you made some awesome lembas." One way or another, it sustained us on our long and perilous journey around the neighborhood, where we met a Sheltie known to herd party guests, talked to our neighbors, avoided goose poop, watched water sprinklers and kids on bikes, and identified not one, but several pine cones, rocks, and variously colored paint dots.