You asked...

...actually, this one's for ScienceMama. Here are some of my favorite vegetarian recipes. I can't say they are particularly high in protein...that's one reason I've gone back to eating meat, giving my kid meat, and forcing my husband to eat meat (not really, but someday, maybe???). But they are good for you and very very yummmy!

Ribolita with Herb Pesto from Cooking Light. This one is chock full of good stuff like kale (or chard, you can use either) and beans. The only problem I have with this dish is the pesto leaves this crazy aftertaste in my mouth that I hate. But it never stops me from eating it!

Bulgar Risotto with Peas and Asparagus from Bon Appetit. Veggie made this for me for Valentine's Day (or was it our anniversary?) - well, he made it all by himself, and wow was it delicious! You can substitute any kind of veggies for the Peas and Asparagus, but so far we haven't ventured out of the comfort zone because it's JUST SO GOOD. The other great thing about this recipe is the bulgur - it gets creamy just like regular risotto, but without the added cream! It's also lighter on the tummy I think.

Caption Needed...

...any thoughts?

“Those other blogs...”

I’ve been surfing a lot lately. Surfing the blogosphere that is. The weird thing is, four or five months ago the blogosphere was as mysterious and uninteresting to me as the inner sanctums of a mormon temple. And now I find myself jumping from one blogger’s summer reading list to another’s, lost deep in the labyrinth of mommy-blogomania. After hours wasted on late-night blog surfing, my tired eyes have come to rest back at home. I shouldn’t go out at night alone anymore. My brain is bamboozled and I just.can’t.take it.anymore.

Here’s the problem: where did all the normal people go? Oh sure, there are some (OK, A LOT) of readable blogs from believable people who lead ordinary lives. But for every 20 real-life blogs I find, there’s always one that just deletes my memory bank and makes me think I’m the only normal person left on this planet. I’m talking about those superhuman, supermom, marathon-running, epic-writing, bread-winning, world (or at least blogosphere) -read, 3 course dinner’s ready before 7 mother of 5 kids (or just one beautiful and amazing one). Or the generous-hearted, kind and beautiful, modest and optimistic mother who’s experienced tragic loss and still gives hope to everyone and makes us mortals bow in retribution.

Does anyone know what I’m talking about? Does anyone else read these blogs and think, “D--n, what the f--k am I doing wasting space in this world? I’m not worthy!”

Well, hopefully no one gets a wild hare and goes and makes rules or anything about who can and who can’t waste space on the internet.

My graduate advisor kindly told me once that she thinks all her students should take a writing course. She made this decision after reading a draft of my thesis...2 years later she finally agreed to let me graduate...My point? I’m not the world’s greatest writer (according to at least two people on the planet). But that ain’t stopped me yet. Nor should it stop you, lonely mother of 3 with an ordinary husband, an ordinary house, and lots on her mind. Motherhood (heck, life whatever you may be or do) deserves a thousand, no make that a million, voices, and thanks to the blogosphere those voices can be shared.


*Foot note: none of my descriptions refer to any one blog in particular. Please don’t go looking for the mommy blogger who runs marathons, brings home the bacon and gets dinner on the table while raising 5 perfect kids. She doesn’t exist. Or maybe she does, but at least I haven’t read her.

“Culinary News & Adventures”

I just got fantastic news: Punkin is only allergic to eggs! YAYYYY! Oh you don’t know how happy this makes me. The world of food is suddenly wide open and waiting for my little monster to eat his way through. Lattes and hot fudge here we come....or not. But seriously, enough with the goat dairy already! I mean, Punkin may chow down on goat yogurt and goat cheese three meals a day, but his chef is sick of the olfactory equivalent of cooking, and eating, in a goat barn. Many thanks to the folks at Redwood Hills Farm and Greenbank Farm for their goaty dairy products, but come on! Bring on the MOOO COWS! Just after hearing this lovely news and doing my little celebration dance, to the delight of the completely unaware Punkin, I made the second great revelation...I don’t really have to pump anymore. WOW. Ok, maybe a few times to trick the boobies when needed, but really, just pour some milk in a cup and VOILA. Go nuts little man. Ahhhhh....we are a happy house tonight.

On the adventurous side, I’m making Creamy Balsamic-Tomato Soup with a side of cheesy toast tonight. This might possibly be Veggie’s favorite meal (friends and family take note). When we were in college and subjected to the wonderful delights of cafeteria cuisine, there was always one meal that set Veggie’s internal Pavlovian dog a-salivating: Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese. Mind you the grilled cheese must be dipped into the soup for ultimate taste sensation. So, being the obedient house wife that I am, I set about finding a tomato soup recipe that would satisfy Veggie’s cravings....and my culinary persnickitiness. And Voila - thank you Cooking Light! (Skip the straining step unless you’re feeling extra masochistic). Melted gruyere cheese on rosemary ciabata bread replaced greasy grilled cheddar on white. Nutritious? Not so much. But the Yum factor is outa sight!

“Corrupting Veggie”

Veggie got his name as a kid when his school friends got a whiff of his seitan sandwiches with soy cheese and a side of rice balls in the lunch room. Deprived of luxuries like animal fat and bbq’d skin, Veggie’s childhood vegetarianism has made him not only skip the bacon tray at all-you-can-eat breakfast bars, but actually dis-like the unfamiliar texture of fillet mignon and coq au vin.

When I was 10 my mother asked me what I’d like for my birthday dinner. “Pork chops and apple sauce,” I replied.
When I was 11 my mother asked me what I’d like for my birthday dinner. “Pork chops and apple sauce,” I said again.
When I was 12....I think you get the picture. I grew up on steak, game birds, and coq au vin. By the time I hit high school my favorite dish on the menu was fillet mignon with Bearnaise sauce. My mother was (perhaps still is) a baconaholic, and my older brothers were in no way subtle about there distaste for vegetarianism.

Despite our extreme differences in culinary taste, Veggie and I survived the early days of relationship by just not eating. Ha, yeah right. After less than a year of dating, he converted me, and quite willingly in fact, I abandoned game, foul, and cow, and took to eating carrot sticks and edamame. Three years, and many carnivorous cravings later, I came back to the dark side and there I shall stay.

So now it’s his turn.

Last weekend I made him eat New England Boiled Dinner...that’s corned beef brisket with cabbage, carrots, potatoes and beets that is FIVE HOURS in the making. Yeah, you better eat that meat and LIKE IT. Yeah. Ok. Glad we got that out of the way.

For the sake of my culinary sanity, I must have beef in the house! I must roast a turkey for Thanksgiving!! The bacon cannot be abandoned by the BLT!!! I don’t know how to make one, but one day we will eat POT ROAST! Amen.

Oh, and one last thing:
Real men grill steak and eat it.

“Crash”

I feel like I need a drink. Not a shot of bourbon or anything. But not a celebratory drink either. Maybe a mojito...I haven’t had one of those in a while.

It’s 11:45. AM.

Now before we get into some serious discussion about alcoholism or bad parenting (I am guilty of neither, I SWEAR), I must explain that some days are just like this and that’s just life so DEAL, ok? Ok. For the last 2 hours Punkin has been nursing, rubbing his eyes, crying, whining, yelling - and boy, can that kid really YELL, like mad angry what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you-Mom? yell. I can’t do anything right, in his eyes, because for the last 2 hours I have failed at taming his maniacal-whirling-dervish of a brain and flying-acrobat-feet-in-the-air body, failed at conducing scrumpy, frumpy, puffalumpy sleepy baby cuddled and slumpy in pillows and fleece. I have failed, and sleep doesn’t come, and crawl onward we must.

So now we sit, I try to ignore his over-tired, annoyed and frustrated yells in my general direction because I won’t let him play with yesterdays half-empty coffee cup, and I retreat to writing about a situation I just can not fix in the hopes that maybe when I’m done trying to sum it all up, everything will have fixed itself. DREAM ON, Mama.

I could go on and on about our recent sleep troubles and why I’m caught between doing everything in my power to get my kid to sleep or keeping a tiny bit of my own sanity while I wait out whatever it is that’s keeping him awake and indulge myself in the meantime. But instead, I’ll point you in the direction of an insightful, honest, and moderately depressing (only to moms and drug addicts) article in this month’s Brain Child: The Absinthe-Minded Parent. Unfortunately, this article isn’t available through the magazine’s website. Bummer.

Basically, it compares the stupor induced by the popular french beverage, as depicted in a painting by Edgar Degas in 1876, to the stupor of a tired mother of four. Ok, I know, I only have one kid. But sometimes he likes to pretend he’s four kids, like multiplying the time it should take to fall asleep by a factor of four or more. It is not a mental place we mothers (should) find ourselves in too often, and at times is quite normal to go from this state of apoplectic daze to cheerful with a side of moderate enthusiasm because, for example, junior has stopped crying or yelling at his inadequate mother and instead thrown his hands in the air, roller-coaster style, and given her a big goofy grin as if to say “Wheeee....isn’t parenting FUN???”

Yes. Yes it is.

Time Traveler

I’m a horrible mother. I never made a baby book. Someone gave me one, I remember that, but it just seemed so....arcane? I mean, nearly every page had a place to glue a picture. Like, a hard copy print. Who has those? Was this thing printed in the ’90’s? Do they expect me to go through the trouble of ordering prints or actually getting off my sorry arse and going to a photo store? Yeah, I don’t think so. Page 10 asked for a lock of my baby’s hair from his first haircut, just after first tooth and before first word. Ummm...yeah, so Punkin was pretty much bald for the first, oh, 6 or 7 months, if you don’t count his monk do (hair on the bottom, bald on the top) and I have yet to slice into the “party in the back.” First tooth? Try 4 months. I think. Oh wait, now I can’t remember. SEE?? I’M A HORRIBLE MOTHER!!!

I am petitioning for a do-over in the “Worst Mother of the Year” vote, and as evidence in my case I will present monthly reports for the first 10 months of life, in reverse order. Yes, folks, I am traveling back in time, testing my powers of retention and surely frying my heavily marinated tofu brain in the process. I cannot promise much in the way of creativity or humor. By the end, I’ll be lucky if I remember his name (Niknup?).

Stay tuned...

Spring Break

I’ve taken a brief hiatus from writing because, well, Mom is in town. Yes, that’s Mom with a capital M. You see, it’s really hard to write when you’re being dragged all over town by a 5’3” highly caffeinated speed-walking shopaholic, to the aquarium, the supermarket (3 different ones of course), three restaurants in two days, two kid’s stores, the dog park, the original Starbucks, should I go on? Yeah, my life is hard ;) But seriously, during this blessed week I have rarely turned on my computer, yet another reason to be grateful to the Mom. And Punkin has been suffering right along with me. Actually, although I know he loves Grandma D-D’s visits and all the new toys and clothes and extra attention (actually, he probably could care less about the clothes, but I’m grateful!), he’s been so exhausted I don’t think he knows what end is up. We did a lot this week, but my greatest accomplishment, the thing I bragged about to Veggie when he got home tonight, worth popping open the bubbly and actually let my husband look at me, you know, that way...I actually got Punkin to TAKE TWO NAPS and get to bed before 8:30. What the h*#l has happened to my life that this is the best part of my week? I became a mother, that’s what, and my accomplishments in my new found line of work make me a cocky, badass, toddler toting mama who can sometimes let her husband look at her that way. If he’s lucky.

What’s for dinner?

So occasionally I’d like to write about my adventures in cooking, which have become more adventurous and less cooking in the past year, but whatever. It’s food. EAT IT. I love to cook. I’m not sure if I’m really good at it, or just good at reading directions. And sometimes, clearly, I can’t even accomplish that.

Last night I decided to cook up our acorn squash and thought I’d find some recipe on Epicurious that used quinoa so we might have some protein. And all I have to say is “WTF happened to my food?” Why I thought 1 inch cubes of acorn squash would completely cook in 20 minutes when barely covered in liquid is a mystery to me, but I’ve decided I’m going to blame the 98 reviewers that claimed this recipe was flawless and delectable. After simmering for nearly an hour, some of the squash was still al dente and squash should not be al dente. EVER.

And it’s spicy as all hell, but that’s ok, as long as you’re not planning on feeding it to a one year old. In the end, though, I gotta say it was a tasty dinner, especially on nights #2 and #3.

Check it out here.

What’s in a name?

I’ve decided to change my name. My blog name. The old one is boring and only really made sense when my blog was going to be called “Not another baby blog” which was already taken by some spanish speaking woman who didn’t write about babies. So I am now Queen Zucchini. I had to look up how to spell zucchini first. Yeah, tofu brain.

Another Life

Listening to Science Friday podcast from NPR and it’s actually about the degradation of the world’s oceans. Before I became an expert poop-wiper and professional milk cow, I used to study this stuff, got a graduate degree studying it, am still passionate about it. Listening to a panel of world-class scientists speak in Boston, MA, at the American Association for the Advancement of Science meeting, I realized I actually know 2 of the 4 speakers, have met with them and even did research with one. Rather than make me feel all-knowledgeable and learn-ed, this fact made me kinda sad. I used to be a part of all this, the nation’s army of scientists learning how our little blue and green world works, and in my case, working towards protecting our little marble and its many seas and oceans. I studied with incredible minds and learned amazing things, had unforgettable experiences and the opportunity to do great things. So how do I find my place in this world of expert and laymen, working man(and woman) and home maker, people who’s brains are constantly being stretched and strained, and those like me who’s brains have turned to inert tofu?

Monthly Punkin: The First Year

You are now 1 year old. Did you know that? I think you do. You went through a pretty traumatic event on your birthday and ever since then you’ve been en fuego. We had a small gathering a few nights later and you were quite the life of the party - I think you may have been showing off for your girlfriends (2 of them were there, plus 2 potentials). You crawled back and forth about 100 times from kitchen to living room (not a considerable distance in our little bungalow) screeching at the top of your lungs. I am (little) man, hear me ROAR.


So what have we learned from you over the past 365 days? Well there’s no questioning your strength...you have the determination and will power of...an orangutan? Ok, your dad came up with that one and I’m not sure I agree...but here’s his rational: you’re big (for your age) and silly and happy. All true...you’ve always towered over your age group (95% bigger), you love to play games and try to make us laugh, but you always laugh the hardest. You’ve got a contagious belly laugh. But perhaps you’re more of a bear: also big, and cuddly, and ferocious when it comes to getting your way. But both animals are rather sedintary most of their lives, and sedintary you are not.
Let’s get back to your will power: the first week of life, you gave new meaning to the term “keeps you guessing.” Every day we had to find a new way to make you happy, keep you asleep for more than 10 minutes, and get you to nurse without crying. We quickly learned to be creative, flexible, and accept our places as servants under your reign.

We also figured out you were sick. You know, if I had acid bubbles burning my esophagus every time I ate, and I’d only just figured out how to eat, I’d probably be a raving bitch. But you were just hungry, hurt, and very, very confused. The first time you smiled (in an Emergency Room, but that’s another story), I knew you were stronger than either of your parents. You’re going to outlast and out-laugh us all. That’s another thing, you find joy in nearly everything, from belly buttons, to hanging upside down, to smelling flowers - who on earth ever thought it was a good idea to stick their face in a plant and then scrunch up their nose all funny? And have I mentioned that laugh? Seriously, you’d give those YouTube babies a run for their money.

Now on to some more serious items. Clearly, you are a very smart boy. When faced with a new task, like mastering the ball thing with the ladders and stuff that you got for your birthday, you’ve got it figured out in the blink of an eye, and if it takes longer than that, you sit and concentrate and furrow your brow and stick out your lower lip and refuse food and water until whatever it is has been mastered. Yeah. You get that from your father. I’d give up after 2 minutes and go looking for more ice cream.



Since it’s taken me so long to write this post (your birthday was a week ago - I’m a procrastinator, what can I say?) you’ve actually learned even more worth noting. Like how to answer the phone. Yes, it’s taken me just over a year, but I’ve finally trained my personal secretary and he’s now taking calls. Seriously though, the cuteness factor when you pick up your toy yellow receiver and hold it lopsided towards the back of your head and look up at me with the goofiest grin is almost enough to make me want to get out of bed at 5:30 in the morning...almost.

I can’t believe one year has passed since you came into my life. It seems simultaneously like you have always been a part of my life, and like you were truly born yesterday. All I know is you’ve made me a different, a better, person, and I thank you from the very bottom of my heart. I hope I can live up to all your expectations as a mommy, because you’ve certainly blown away mine.

Love,
Mom-mom

An Email for the Archives

I wrote this during Punkin’s recent waking up at the ass-crack of dawn and refusing to go back to sleep phase. I’m not a morning person...

“I'm exhausted and not happy but there's too much to do to sit around and feel sorry for myself and No, I'm not going to nap with him because honestly that sometimes just makes my day harder. His nap times are the only times i can do things like laundry and sit and relax and not think about him at all and go pee and not be under duress. I'm sure you've experienced a little of this on the times that I have left you alone with him. I just feel like in the long run it's better to be exhausted but feel slightly accomplished than well rested and sitting in a filthy house with no clean clothes and an overfull bladder. I just wish I could get a full nights sleep, and I think Punkin needs more sleep than he's getting, so we have to figure out how to get him to not wake up when you get up.

-me

p.s. i'm planning on having a lot of caffeine today and making it to happy hour tonight, but i'll play it by ear.”

Satisfying

So lately I’ve been stressing about writing: what to write, how to write it, how it sounds, how much I talk about being a mom and my baby and life as a SAHM, and how pathetic that seams sometimes because a little over a year ago I was all about, well, other things. Like how huge my belly was and how much it sucked to work at a computer all day when my arms could barely reach the keyboard. But that’s a whole ‘nother story.

I could go on and on about all my writing insecurities, but instead I’d rather point to the delectable ditties of the Dooce.

On just what it is I’ve been trying to tell Veggie for the past 372 days:
http://dooce.com/archives/daily/03_25_2004.html

On why it is I have a desert addiction:
http://dooce.com/archives/daily/03_19_2004.html

Thanks Heather, I only wish I could write with 1/100th of the insight and humor that you have.

New Baby Care Package

Do people still send care packages? I do!

If I had all the money in the world and could buy my friends everything I thought they’d need or want in the first year of their baby’s life, man could I go to town. But since I don’t and I can’t, here’s what I sent a friend recently for her new babe (ok, I admit, my mom paid for it all...but if you’re on a budget, some of these things might inspire you):

Organic Ultimate Receiving Blanket - best swaddling blanket ever
Cotton breast pads - washable, reusable, less likely to harbor yeast or bacteria
Soothies - “Ahhhhhhhh” for sore nips
Baby Legs - especially great for diaper change squirmers
Trumpette socks - 6 pack - just really damn cute

If these don't have links tied to them yet, it's cause it's late, I'm tired, and Punkin's teething. I'll do it in the morning, I promise ;)

Vit D strikes again!

So the other day I was sitting on the floor with the Punkin in my lap - he played, I marveled at his genius - when suddenly it occurred to me how amazingly sentimental I was feeling. I couldn’t stop sniffing his hair, kissing his cheek, telling him how great it was that he could put that toy inside that cup and take it back out again. Watchout Harvard. I felt so happy to be at home with him, bonding, watching him grow, cementing our relationship....ok, if I had written these things down a week earlier I would have been repulsed by my own cheesiness. But this day everything was suddenly different, happy, content...oh the warm fuzzies were coating my brain like...like...damnit writers block strikes again....the brain was just fuzzy ok? and warm! get it?

So wtf happened to me, you may ask? What turned a cynical, often oblivious, what’s-the-point-in-stopping-to-smell-the-roses kinda gal into queen of warm fuzzies? It was a sunny day in Seattle...in February...VITAMIN D!! It’s a drug. Too much of it and your brain melts and you decide your loving devoted husband deserves pain and torture at the hands of a maniacal pinch-happy toddler. Just the right amount and you’re mama bear on qualudes. I swear they need to moderate my intake. And I thought my hormones were wacky. No, it’s just the weather.

Which reminds me, next time I gotta write about living in the “Rainy City” with S.A.D.

Happy 1st Birthday

Last week was Punkin’s birthday. Normally, I would have been all over this posting and actually gotten it up on time. The truth is, I’ve been really putting off writing about this day. I don’t want to relive the day, not yet anyway. But I must, before the details grow fuzzy and yet another adventure takes its place in my less-than-perfect memory bank. I’ve also been struggling with how best to describe what was quite possibly THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE. Or at least the worst 4 hours of my life. Seriously. Worse than giving birth even. Appropriate being as how it was the 1 year anniversary of that momentous, exhausting, traumatic and exhilarating event.

Ok, so just what was it that made Mr. P’s anniversaire so effroyable (that’s horrible in French - sounds kinda like f’ing incredible - appropriate)? The long version or the short? Let’s go for the short - I don’t got much time.

I found out the hard way that Punkin is quite allergic to eggs. Yes, hives, swollen eyes, itching, sneezing, nose dripping, and, la piece de resistance, projectile vomiting. All over mom-mom (and mom-mom’s favorite morning time fleecy sweater). And the bed. And the rug. Not the dog (how does she escape culinary karma?). And all over himself, poor kid. You see, I had the brilliant idea that on his 1st birthday Punkin would have the delectable delight of eating his very first scrambled egg. I had put off introducing highly allergenic foods like a good little diligent mama until he reached the appropriate age, despite all his other baby friends eating cheese and eggs and bread for weeks before him. But social pressure finally got the better of me and I knew I couldn’t keep my little monster in a mama bubble forever. So eggs. Why not? Well, I’ll tell you why not. Hives, swollen eyes, itching, sneezing, runny nose, and projectile vomiting. That’s why not. Not to mention anxiety, adrenaline, exhaustion, crying, and, finally, holding a 25 lb puffy-faced toddler for 4 hours straight.



He better not be allergic to chocolate or Easter is really going to suck.

Thank god the rest of the birthday was uneventful. Oma arrived in time to see the fading puffy eyes, Veggie got to spend a day home from work (yay!), and by dinner time Punkin was back to his old belly-laughing self. We didn’t get around to birthday “cake” (bowl of fruit topped with goat milk yogurt and a candle) or the obligatory 1st birthday haircut, but I promise our little Terry Bradshaw won’t go the way of Ryder Robinson or Presley Gerber.


There have been other events this month that shouldn’t be overshadowed by his near-death experience. Like clapping, signing for more and milk, feeding himself with a spoon and sippy cup, pointing, walking behind his M&D push toy, standing for a few seconds unassisted, all those simple new skills that make mamas go googoo and non-breeders roll their eyes. The past month has been developmental overdrive...next up: walking, talking, dating and making his parents feel like total dorks...oh wait, we already do...