Friday, November 12, 2010

Miso Crafty

My attempts at being crafty are usually dismal failures. This truth has no bearing my my attempts.

Today's fun, messy, somewhat-successful project was dyeing three playsilks using koolaid and vinegar.

I started out with 2 cups of water, 1/2 cup of vinegar, and a blank silk scarf. Exhibit A:

I was going for a purple color, so I mixed  Black Cherry and a Blue Something Or Other Koolaid packets. The red definitely prevailed, and as I was stirring the mixture, I suddenly was reminded that this very same bowl caught my placenta when Annabelle was born. Good memories. Exhibit B:

I microwaved for three minutes, cooled for two minutes, and microwaved again for three minutes. I then soaked it in vinegar, and gave it a cool bath under some running water. After drying... Exhibit C:

Not too bad for an uncrafty craft-wanna-be!

I wanted something kind of teal/turquoise, so I mixed blue and green packets of koolaid. I could tell right away that the green would prevail (blue koolaid is totally weak. Next time I'll double the blues.)

But the green is pretty nonetheless.

The smell of baking koolaid enticed Micah into the kitchen. He wanted to try it too. This time I mixed two oranges and one pink.

I had to tell him several times that the mixture, as fruity as it smelled, would not taste good. He had fun stirring and microwaving, though.

I ran out of koolaid, but I am going to do this again! It's fun, and it worked!

Friday, August 20, 2010

Out-Bound Homebody

I've been thinking about my life these last 9 months I've been a mother to two children, and if there is one word to describe this point in the life of my family, "homebodies" would correctly articulate our lives for four reasons:

1. In May of '09, I left my beloved job of nine years to become a stay-at-home mom; 
2. In August of '09, my husband started working for his company at home rather than their business office; 
3. In November of '09,  I home-birthed my daughter; and
4. In January of '10, I pulled my son out of public Kindergarten and began our homeschooling journey.

If that doesn't make us homebodies, I'm not entirely sure what else we could do to epitomize that sentiment. 

As I approach my return to the workforce, I feel a nostalgic sense of how my life has been exponentially enriched by a life that is considered reclusive to much of mainstream society. During this time, I have 

(in addition to enlarging somewhat)

Watched my son grow from an only child to a big brother

Grown in my journey of becoming a friend and partner to my husband

Encountered awkward and challenging home-schooling moments 

Explored one hobby


And another hobby (cooking)

Being a homebody has caused me to look within myself beyond a career woman, beyond a capitalist in search of the next fad to buy, beyond what most members of my society think of as routine mainstream ideas and lifestyles, and most importantly question and grow in my contribution to my home, family, neighborhood, church and community. 

Some of the answers that have revealed themselves to me haven't been easy ones to digest. On the contrary, I consider the last year one of growth and sometimes uncomfortable stretching, during which I've had to ameliorate my faith. 

Three years ago (to the month), I wrote about being on the verge of a great and monumental, life-changing cliff. Two months after writing that, I began a relationship with a young man who became my husband and father to my daughter. 

Today I have that feeling again: On the cusp of some life-changing happenstance (perhaps more cerebral this time), and again, I pray that I will have the strength, determination, and insight to deal appropriately and graciously with circumstances as they arrive. There comes a time when I have to leave the safety net of my home-bound perspective, and I am humbly thankful for the time I had to grow in understanding and be enriched by my homebody family.  

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

World Breastfeeding Week

This week is world breastfeeding week, and while I am not partaking in many festivities this year (other than the obvious: nursing my 9 month old), I'm happy to take this time to reflect on my breastfeeding journey.

I was 24 years old and single when my first child was born. I came to a vague decision while pregnant that I would try to nurse my baby for two main reasons: 1. It would be cheaper than using formula 2. It was natural. I didn't feel very strongly one way or another about it.

After my son was born, my mother came to stay with me the first week. It was a hellacious week. As "natural" as breastfeeding is, there was a huge learning curve for me. I had cracked and bleeding sores where no woman wants cracked and bleeding sores. Every nursing session was excruciating. I dreaded every time my baby boy woke up to nurse -- and he woke up every 45 minutes around the clock.

Near the end of the first week, I got up to nurse the baby. I sat down in the rocking chair my mother had lovingly refurbished for me and her first grandchild. When he latched on, I screamed in pain and thrust him away from me, very nearly dumping him in my mother's arms, sobbing incoherently. Just give him a bottle. I'm through with this. My mother encouraged me to give it another chance. She leaned over me and tried to correct the baby's lazy latch. That night I sat in the rocker and grit my teeth through the pain, determining right there and then to see this through to the end. I think it was that night I became a lactivist.

Despite the Unlikelihood of my success at breastfeeding -- a young, single, working mother -- I went on to meet my initial goal of nursing for 12 months, and then I went on to meet my secondary goal of nursing for 24 months.

Fast forward five and a half years from that night I became a breastfeeding advocate; I birthed a 6lb baby girl on my own bed in my own house. Moments after she was born, I placed her at the breast, confident that I could overcome the difficulties I faced with my son almost six years prior. Sure, nipples got sore, but I repositioned and re-latched until it felt better.

And then something was wrong. Two days, no wet or dirty diapers. Three days. Baby girl screamed painfully in between bouts of fitful sleep. Over a pound lost of her initial birth weight. Pediatrician visits. Heel pricks. The "Black Diaper Bag of Doom" -- filled to the brim with formula samples and serious conversations about failure to thrive, and "we'll have to hospitalize if this doesn't resolve...". But I was a lactivist. I had read the breastfeeding boards on for years. I took one look at my precious baby girl's gaunt, yellow face and warmed the formula and handed it over to my husband to syringe-feed our daughter. And I understood why some people give up. If not the sore nipples, the hungry baby.

Homeopathics, tinctures, hours hooked up to the double electric hospital pump squeezing out nothing but drop after disappointing drop, and nothing short of sheer unadulterated determination, and I am still successfully nursing my baby girl nine months later. I am three months from my initial goal of nursing for a year. I'm already planning on making our secondary goal.

If someone were to ask me why breastfeeding is so important to me, I might have a hard time coming up with an answer that makes sense. Sure, it is the biological norm for feeding a mammal infant. There's no denying that fact. Yet not as easy to enumerate, the bond I have with my nurslings is unequivocal and irreplaceable; the pride I have in providing nourishment for my babies is a warm, peaceful comfort in the often hectic, hormonal, harried days of motherhood. My baby's obvious lack of sickness in her short life in a nice bonus, and being able to calm many of life's bumpy moments with a snuggle and some milk is often reason enough alone for me to continue toward my goals. And if I am going to be perfectly honest, there's the lovely excuse of "I'm nursing the baby" to get out of other duties and responsibilities as I recline on the bed cuddling the cutest baby girl I ever birthed.

Reflecting on the journey of motherhood, and consequently nursing, is celebration enough of World Breastfeeding Week to me. That, and blogging while my little one nurses to sleep curled in the crook of my arm, peaceful and innocent.

(Now I'm off to go peruse -- I hear they're having a 25%off sale Bravado!)

Monday, May 10, 2010

5 Minute Chocolate Tires.

A delicious aspect of homeschooling is that, on occasion, one can sleep in until 11:30 and stay in one's pajamas until past noon, and better yet, decide to eschew the normal book work, handwriting practice, and paper crafts and decide to... bake cake instead. Today was that day for me.

Of course, this is The UNlikely. That means it won't turn out the way I imagined it in my head. That's the way it goes.

After much deliberation and a serendipitous encounter with a Facebook page devoted to the 5 Minute Chocolate Mug Cake, I told Micah that today's lesson was very special. Home Economics is special. Cake is special. Chocolate is special. And a 5 minute lesson is special. Go us!

First, we assembled the ingredients:

Micah added all the dry ingredients and stirred.


meanwhile, I moved the almost-crawling wiggly baby from her escape path
and back on to her play mat. "I a goo girl, Mama. I stay where put... "

Micah was still busy stirring.

We added the egg. "It looks like a juicy eyeball, Mommy!"

We dumped in the milk and vanilla extract, and Micah stirred it without too much mess. I added some mini marshmallows on top, just for good measure.

I forgot to time our endeavor. All of that should have taken two minutes, according to the 5 Minute Chocolate Mug Cake gurus.

We put the mug in the microwave and set it for 3 minutes. During those three minutes I...
...put away the ingredients
... Said "not yet" three times to the question, "Is it done yet?"
...Sliced a strawberry for my soon-to-be delicious chocolate cake
... Picked up the baby and put her in her high chair with a toy
... Picked up the toy she threw down 4 times

The microwave dinged. Micah and I cautiously opened the door to see...
...Uh. OK, not what I expected.

Maybe if I put it out onto the plate it will look more appetizing?
Excuse me, but I think someone's pet Martian defecated on my china-ware.

OK, if I cut it in half and put pretty red strawberries on it...
It'll still kind of look like poop.

Annabelle is disgusted. Micah is intrigued and tempted by the chocolate.

So he decides to eat the strawberry part first.

And the rest can only be said with pictures.




I commend my boy for tasting it. He insists it tasted good. I dubiously tasted a corner of it, and Andrew Zimmern critiqued my cake in my head: "MM-hmm. Rubbery. Semi-truck tires with just a hint of chocolate. Fantastic."

And so yet again, the UNlikely hits my latest project. It isn't pretty. It's barely edible. I documented the process diligently and ... am still unpopular.