I was supposed to teach this summer. I had all vacations planned around it. We're not going to Salt Lake until later. We're not going anywhere for more than a night or two all of June because I am supposed to be here, teaching Introduction to Creative Nonfiction to ecstatic undergrads. However, the class did not make. I don't know why. I think because Fiction is running concurrently and that's a hotter sport. I am sad because I need the money but I really shouldn't have even thought of teaching. After that marathon semester of baby/book/teaching, I am just now realizing how tired I am. Plus, after reading Dr. Write's list of good summer things, it's important to embrace the summer fully. I plan on picnics. I'm also generating so many funds from my ads that I practically can stop teaching (or, rather, they do offer good research tools. I found a link to a good vegetarian recipe book thanks to my doomed deal with the devil).
So the austerity measures to compensate for the not teaching include so far buying not Reggiano parmesan, buying two turkey Italian sausages and two chicken Italian sausages instead of four of the better chicken Italian sausages and making lunch at home instead of sneaking out while the big kid is at camp.
For lunches, I've been making refrigerator salads meaning anything that's in there is fair game. Today, green apple, smoked turkey thigh (turkeys suffer around here), tomato, avocado, with lime/scallion/pepper/mayo vinaigrette (the lime mayo being leftover from the salmon tacos). Delicious. I'm also trying to eat a grapefruit a day. Mostly because they make me feel a little high.
Before lunch, I took Z to camp at the ridiculous hour of 8 a.m. Who can be anywhere by 8? Apparently, we can. This is day number six and we've been five minutes late tops. She's loving camp where they play with balls and red light green light and crocodile crocodile what time is it, and who knows what else since she is already a teenager and prone to shrugging when I ask her what happened today. She has to take a gigantic lunch plus two snacks to keep her going. Today: cabbage, cherries, strawberries, blueberries, carrots, broccoli, pepperoni, string cheese, granola bar, pretzels and a fruit roll-up. Plus two drinks. She eats it all. They work her hard. After lunch, she goes swimming at Dolphin Day Camp. I think she knows she's a dolphin.
After I dropped her off, I hung out with Erik while the little baby slept. He never sleeps in the day so this was a great riot of fun. Then, I went running. Also, a riot since I've taken to running like Phoebe on Friends. The arm-swinging, skipping, turning kind of running suits me better since I don't run far, I might as well run weird.
Then, Max jumped in his jumper, laid on his boppy pillow, sat on my lap and ate while I typed outside on the deck. I feel extra-productive when I'm feeding Max and writing. I wrote for five hours today if you include this blog post and my status updates, which I do. I still have John Denver songs in my head as altered with the word "Grapefruit" instead of the word "Sun." Except now Dr. Write and High Touch got Rocky Mountain High stuck in my head via Facebook. Rocky Mountain High indeed. I don't think these are still the Rockies though. But I'll be heading toward them soon enough singing the other good John Denver song.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Monday, June 07, 2010
Headache
I had a headache for four days straight. It was the kind that felt like your brain was too big for your head. When I'd move my head, it took a minute for the pain to follow but then it would crash against my skull-wall, threatening to slosh out of my ear. But it never sloshed anywhere out, just back and forth, mainly on the right side where all my headaches live. I had a week-long headache after Max was born. There may be some hormones involved so to cure it, I took my birth control pill a day early. Then, I added an estrogen patch that my OBGYN had prescribed for my last round of headaches. Neither of these helped. I took two Aleves. Another day, four ibuprofen. I thought I was dehydrated so I drank and drank water. My other OBGYN said it's almost impossible to drink too much water in Flagstaff, what with the elevation and the desert-like conditions. I drank 10 of my 32-ounce-jars of water. We did go hiking in the heat of the day and it is 90 here which is unheard of for Flag, but still, two and a half gallons of water should have rehydrated even a mummy.
Erik said maybe I was drinking too much water, which I couldn't believe. Especially since I have cured headaches by drinking 48 ounces in a row. But when I slept fitfully Saturday night, waking up to still pounding headaches, I thought maybe I should give the water thing a rest. In the morning, I took a sudafed and 4 aspirin and then went to the gas station where I drank 20 ounces of blue Gatorade. And thus, my headache was cured. I'm now thinking it low potassium was the culprit but there's always a chance with the headache that the analgesics finally worked or the water was finally enough or the hormones righted themselves or the sun went down or the allergies abated. I won't know until the next headache but just in case I'm right, I bought a flotilla of Gatorade as quick cure.
I cooked a lot this weekend but nothing too amazing, possibly owing to the non-stop headache. My in-laws were down for Erik's mom's birthday. They were going to come the whole of June but now just came for the weekend. My vegetarian culinary skills will not be put to the test as much as I had hoped. For her birthday, I made salmon tacos with apple/cucumber salsa and mango/tomato salsa and lime mayonnaise. The recipe was from Food and Wine and it was a little too healthy for my taste and a little too sweet but pretty OK. I also grilled steaks and portobellos one night and made blender Bearnaise sauce. Almost perfect but a little too vinegary. I'm working on it. And yesterday, we went to Criollo for lunch/dinner after our hike to Kelsey Springs. I ordered the pork belly tacos. Rick had the tamales. Everyone liked the chicken skewers peanut dipping sauce. It is delicious there.
What should I make for dinner tonight? If I don't come up with something relatively soonish, the default will be tacos and I've had tacos two of the last three days. Although there's a recipe in food and wine for braised turkey tacos that sounds intriguing....apparently, this year tacos have replaced last year's pizza, which replaced the previous year's hamburger as the culinary adventure of the cooking class. Or at least the Food and Wine magazine writers. My headache is for now gone. Perhaps I should try something complicated.
Erik said maybe I was drinking too much water, which I couldn't believe. Especially since I have cured headaches by drinking 48 ounces in a row. But when I slept fitfully Saturday night, waking up to still pounding headaches, I thought maybe I should give the water thing a rest. In the morning, I took a sudafed and 4 aspirin and then went to the gas station where I drank 20 ounces of blue Gatorade. And thus, my headache was cured. I'm now thinking it low potassium was the culprit but there's always a chance with the headache that the analgesics finally worked or the water was finally enough or the hormones righted themselves or the sun went down or the allergies abated. I won't know until the next headache but just in case I'm right, I bought a flotilla of Gatorade as quick cure.
I cooked a lot this weekend but nothing too amazing, possibly owing to the non-stop headache. My in-laws were down for Erik's mom's birthday. They were going to come the whole of June but now just came for the weekend. My vegetarian culinary skills will not be put to the test as much as I had hoped. For her birthday, I made salmon tacos with apple/cucumber salsa and mango/tomato salsa and lime mayonnaise. The recipe was from Food and Wine and it was a little too healthy for my taste and a little too sweet but pretty OK. I also grilled steaks and portobellos one night and made blender Bearnaise sauce. Almost perfect but a little too vinegary. I'm working on it. And yesterday, we went to Criollo for lunch/dinner after our hike to Kelsey Springs. I ordered the pork belly tacos. Rick had the tamales. Everyone liked the chicken skewers peanut dipping sauce. It is delicious there.
What should I make for dinner tonight? If I don't come up with something relatively soonish, the default will be tacos and I've had tacos two of the last three days. Although there's a recipe in food and wine for braised turkey tacos that sounds intriguing....apparently, this year tacos have replaced last year's pizza, which replaced the previous year's hamburger as the culinary adventure of the cooking class. Or at least the Food and Wine magazine writers. My headache is for now gone. Perhaps I should try something complicated.
Thursday, June 03, 2010
Good ideas
I had a series of disappointing news bits which is, of course, normal but still less than fun. However, I met with some readers today and they gave me some good ideas. I love it when you go to people not for reassurance but for real ideas. I got some. Thank you good readers.
Although they were going to come for all of June, Erik's parents are just coming for this weekend. They drove down from Torrey in 6 hours. This is making the trip a little more reasonable but for somewhere that should only be 4 hours away, it's still annoying. I need a helicopter.
We went to Beaver Street Brewery's new outfit, The Lumberyard. The building was gorgeous. A remodeled sawmill with corrugated metal walls and polished concrete floors. While we were in the bathroom, talking about how nice and new everything was, Zoe said, they didn't finish the floors that well to which everyone in the stalls laughed. The beer was fine according to Erik. Nothing too exciting. Erik ordered a Pilsner to which he says was "eh." The Kolsh was better because it was more hoppy, ended dry and was well-balanced (I made him come up with some adjectives). Rick, Erik's stepdad, said the Gold was good. Erik thinks if you make the light beers well it bodes well for the heavier beers. BUT, who cares about beer?
The food was mediocre. It's so sad because Beaver Street Brewing's food is also so mediocre. I ordered the Hot Italian Beef. No people. Have you ever been to Chicago? They pulverized the hot peppers, added something tomato-y to the jus, and the meat was fatty. It got stuck in my teeth. The bun came pre-soggy. Ick. Not pleased. Zoe ordered chicken wings without sauce. Those were better. Erik had sliders--mediocre. 2.5/5 (Erik prefers the rating system.) The fries were good. We're going to Criollo this weekend to have some proper food. Nachos with bacon which make you think, why didn't nachos always come with bacon? (I suppose that is the question for all food, but in this case, it's an immediate one).
This weekend, we might go to the Hopi Mesas. I hope to see some examples of the three sisters farming--beans, squash and corn. I've never been east to the Hopi reservation. Apparently, tourists can visit the first two mesas but they are not allowed on the third. I hate feeling like a tourist and an outsider but I presume it's my turn to do that.
Art walk tonight downtown and tacos for El's birthday. Fish tacos? Tofu tacos? Steak tacos with extra veg? There's a recipe in Food & Wine for Gas Station Tacos: bean dip, American cheese, pork rinds and beef jerky. Plus an apple. Because you can get apples at gas stations. I think we'll make Chipotle-rubbed Salmon Tacos with lime juice, orange, chiptole chile powder. And mayo. Usually I make chipotle mayo for fish tacos. This will be a little different.
Did I mention that Erik got me an Alinea cookbook for Christmas? I just now have time to read it. It's insane. 17 recipes for Wagyu beef. 23 for a goose dish. I did however make a rendition of their Opah. Recipe over here.
Although they were going to come for all of June, Erik's parents are just coming for this weekend. They drove down from Torrey in 6 hours. This is making the trip a little more reasonable but for somewhere that should only be 4 hours away, it's still annoying. I need a helicopter.
We went to Beaver Street Brewery's new outfit, The Lumberyard. The building was gorgeous. A remodeled sawmill with corrugated metal walls and polished concrete floors. While we were in the bathroom, talking about how nice and new everything was, Zoe said, they didn't finish the floors that well to which everyone in the stalls laughed. The beer was fine according to Erik. Nothing too exciting. Erik ordered a Pilsner to which he says was "eh." The Kolsh was better because it was more hoppy, ended dry and was well-balanced (I made him come up with some adjectives). Rick, Erik's stepdad, said the Gold was good. Erik thinks if you make the light beers well it bodes well for the heavier beers. BUT, who cares about beer?
The food was mediocre. It's so sad because Beaver Street Brewing's food is also so mediocre. I ordered the Hot Italian Beef. No people. Have you ever been to Chicago? They pulverized the hot peppers, added something tomato-y to the jus, and the meat was fatty. It got stuck in my teeth. The bun came pre-soggy. Ick. Not pleased. Zoe ordered chicken wings without sauce. Those were better. Erik had sliders--mediocre. 2.5/5 (Erik prefers the rating system.) The fries were good. We're going to Criollo this weekend to have some proper food. Nachos with bacon which make you think, why didn't nachos always come with bacon? (I suppose that is the question for all food, but in this case, it's an immediate one).
This weekend, we might go to the Hopi Mesas. I hope to see some examples of the three sisters farming--beans, squash and corn. I've never been east to the Hopi reservation. Apparently, tourists can visit the first two mesas but they are not allowed on the third. I hate feeling like a tourist and an outsider but I presume it's my turn to do that.
Art walk tonight downtown and tacos for El's birthday. Fish tacos? Tofu tacos? Steak tacos with extra veg? There's a recipe in Food & Wine for Gas Station Tacos: bean dip, American cheese, pork rinds and beef jerky. Plus an apple. Because you can get apples at gas stations. I think we'll make Chipotle-rubbed Salmon Tacos with lime juice, orange, chiptole chile powder. And mayo. Usually I make chipotle mayo for fish tacos. This will be a little different.
Did I mention that Erik got me an Alinea cookbook for Christmas? I just now have time to read it. It's insane. 17 recipes for Wagyu beef. 23 for a goose dish. I did however make a rendition of their Opah. Recipe over here.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
Back from Torrey
We had a great time in Torrey. We hiked along Sand Creek. We sat on the deck and got sun burned. We drank wine. It was different than usual because Rick's kid, who is 24 or something ridiculously young, and his girlfriend, who is even younger, and their daughter, 3 months older than Max, were there. But it was still relaxing and they liked what I cooked and Kathryn, the girlfriend, came and sat across the bar from me while I cooked which I love more than anything. I need the wall in my kitchen here to come down, if only so I can invite people over to sit across from me.
I mostly cooked. I made a good portobello. The recipe's at that Poet's Pages and Vowel's blog. I like the title of the blog but the URL is dinner with NVP which I also like.
We came back and I tried to wrap my head around this food book that is trying to kill me. Let me tell you what I'm trying to do and then you can fix it. I'm weaving together my personal story about fertility, pioneerism, my grandmother's personal history and hometown, food, and sustainability.
Here are the working titles:
There's a real title but that's a secret.
I think one of the narrative threads is going to have to go. This makes me sad because I spent the last 9 months putting it in there. It is hurting me a lot. I think it's going to have to be the grandma/Evanston Wyoming sections. Ouch. We'll see.
I do think that I know where I'm going though. Today, I went to check out the charter school Puente de Hozho that Zoe didn't get lotteried into. I had heard Gillian Ferris Kohl on KNAU talk about local elementary schools building their own gardens. I emailed a teacher there and went to see for myself. I do believe this counts as my first real journalist experience. Robert Kelty, a fourth grade teacher, met with me after school. He took his large, janitor-like set of keys and led me out the back door. Behind and between the school's four buildings is a courtyard. Half of it was Ponderosa trees, like all things Flagstaff, but the other half was tiers of gray dirt. Robert told me the kids and he had spent weeks pulling out weeds and elm trees. They'd hired professionals to cut down some of the Ponderosas to let in enough light. All kinds a people had volunteered to help. Aaron Secakuku, the leader of Pathways, a group that helps at-risk Native American kids in after school programs, John Taylor, a local landscaper, and the Hopi tribe which let them come visit their farm in Hotevilla.
The first beds I saw Robert told me had just been redone. These were the kindergartner's beds, lined with small ponderosa logs. He said they were trying to do the three sisters but that they'd planted regular corn seeds instead of Hopi seeds and, not only was it inauthentic, the corn probably wouldn't make it. This garden is going to be a dry farmed one. Regular corn needs regular irrigation.
In another bed, they students had made strips of rocks. In between those rocks, they planted long rows of Hopi beans. Above that, beans and squash. Above that, an empty bed, reserved possibly for melons. And, above that, tomato plants covered in blue, pointy hats. They'll live like that for awhile. I asked how long. Robert said, until they get really big.
They're planning an herb garden and they have peach, cherry and apple trees. I said, surely they need water. He said, maybe. But maybe not too much. He pointed to the roof of one building. "We have a drip system that was donated. We'll put gutters there. And we're getting a rain barrel. Or, rather a rain tank."
I am a bit slow. I imagined the drip system being attached to the building's hosebib like my drip hose at home. But no. They'll connect to to the rain tank. They'll water the garden with the rain they collected. An entirely do-it-yourself, with the help of the Hopi, the landscaper, Aaron Secakuku, and a few hundred elementary school students.
So far, there wasn't much to see but sticks stuck in the ground to encourage the beans to grow up and around them and the plastic hats to keep the tomatoes warm. The ground was so dry and gray-dirt looking. I don't know that if I were a seed if I could make it there. Robert Kelty says the Hopi said not to overwater the beans. They like drought. He admits the fruit trees might have a hard time. Sure, the whole garden might not work. But it might. I asked if I could come back and peak in the summer even though no one would be there. He said, sure and to come back in the fall too. The whole place could be covered in green.
In other good news, while I was there, the principal said some of the incoming kindergartners parents were waffling. Maybe there would be a spot for Zoe. It's an intense place. Only 2.5 hours of instruction in English. The rest in Spanish or Navajo. Dude. That's hardcore.
I mostly cooked. I made a good portobello. The recipe's at that Poet's Pages and Vowel's blog. I like the title of the blog but the URL is dinner with NVP which I also like.
We came back and I tried to wrap my head around this food book that is trying to kill me. Let me tell you what I'm trying to do and then you can fix it. I'm weaving together my personal story about fertility, pioneerism, my grandmother's personal history and hometown, food, and sustainability.
Here are the working titles:
- Expectations
- In Season
- How I got my kid to eat 9 colors of fruit and vegetables a day.
- Making it Palatable
- Intervention
- Manipulations
- You can grow anything anywhere although there are consequences
- A Permanent Home
There's a real title but that's a secret.
I think one of the narrative threads is going to have to go. This makes me sad because I spent the last 9 months putting it in there. It is hurting me a lot. I think it's going to have to be the grandma/Evanston Wyoming sections. Ouch. We'll see.
I do think that I know where I'm going though. Today, I went to check out the charter school Puente de Hozho that Zoe didn't get lotteried into. I had heard Gillian Ferris Kohl on KNAU talk about local elementary schools building their own gardens. I emailed a teacher there and went to see for myself. I do believe this counts as my first real journalist experience. Robert Kelty, a fourth grade teacher, met with me after school. He took his large, janitor-like set of keys and led me out the back door. Behind and between the school's four buildings is a courtyard. Half of it was Ponderosa trees, like all things Flagstaff, but the other half was tiers of gray dirt. Robert told me the kids and he had spent weeks pulling out weeds and elm trees. They'd hired professionals to cut down some of the Ponderosas to let in enough light. All kinds a people had volunteered to help. Aaron Secakuku, the leader of Pathways, a group that helps at-risk Native American kids in after school programs, John Taylor, a local landscaper, and the Hopi tribe which let them come visit their farm in Hotevilla.
The first beds I saw Robert told me had just been redone. These were the kindergartner's beds, lined with small ponderosa logs. He said they were trying to do the three sisters but that they'd planted regular corn seeds instead of Hopi seeds and, not only was it inauthentic, the corn probably wouldn't make it. This garden is going to be a dry farmed one. Regular corn needs regular irrigation.
In another bed, they students had made strips of rocks. In between those rocks, they planted long rows of Hopi beans. Above that, beans and squash. Above that, an empty bed, reserved possibly for melons. And, above that, tomato plants covered in blue, pointy hats. They'll live like that for awhile. I asked how long. Robert said, until they get really big.
They're planning an herb garden and they have peach, cherry and apple trees. I said, surely they need water. He said, maybe. But maybe not too much. He pointed to the roof of one building. "We have a drip system that was donated. We'll put gutters there. And we're getting a rain barrel. Or, rather a rain tank."
I am a bit slow. I imagined the drip system being attached to the building's hosebib like my drip hose at home. But no. They'll connect to to the rain tank. They'll water the garden with the rain they collected. An entirely do-it-yourself, with the help of the Hopi, the landscaper, Aaron Secakuku, and a few hundred elementary school students.
So far, there wasn't much to see but sticks stuck in the ground to encourage the beans to grow up and around them and the plastic hats to keep the tomatoes warm. The ground was so dry and gray-dirt looking. I don't know that if I were a seed if I could make it there. Robert Kelty says the Hopi said not to overwater the beans. They like drought. He admits the fruit trees might have a hard time. Sure, the whole garden might not work. But it might. I asked if I could come back and peak in the summer even though no one would be there. He said, sure and to come back in the fall too. The whole place could be covered in green.
In other good news, while I was there, the principal said some of the incoming kindergartners parents were waffling. Maybe there would be a spot for Zoe. It's an intense place. Only 2.5 hours of instruction in English. The rest in Spanish or Navajo. Dude. That's hardcore.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Also. I'm getting rich.
I'm making money hand over fist! $1.28 since whatever day it is I turned it on. The future is now.
An extra post
I'm trying to make dinner in the desert. It's really not that hard. I did bring most of the supplies from Flagstaff but forgot skewers and some other things. I went into Loa (a bigger, not-tourist town close to Torrey) and reinforced my provisions:
The list of what you can buy there is impressive:
Tillamook Cheese
Tomatillos
Red cluster tomatoes for $1.49/lb
Spring mix
Portobellos
Shitakes
Wild mushroom mix (oyster mushrooms, enoki, shitake)
Chicken thighs
Bamboo Skewers
Baby chicks
As you’d expect, there are some things you can’t get. This store serves a large county but it’s not a very populated one. The people demanding truffles are far and few between. It’s a poor county. Even if they wanted truffles, they probably couldn’t afford them any more than I could.
Things you can’t get at the Food Town in Loa:
Truffles
Porcini
Chanterelles
Boneless, Skinless chicken thighs
Organic Spring Mix
Vidalia onions
Poblano Peppers
Kosher Salt
Organic anything
Panko break crumbs.
The list of what you can buy there is impressive:
Tillamook Cheese
Tomatillos
Red cluster tomatoes for $1.49/lb
Spring mix
Portobellos
Shitakes
Wild mushroom mix (oyster mushrooms, enoki, shitake)
Chicken thighs
Bamboo Skewers
Baby chicks
As you’d expect, there are some things you can’t get. This store serves a large county but it’s not a very populated one. The people demanding truffles are far and few between. It’s a poor county. Even if they wanted truffles, they probably couldn’t afford them any more than I could.
Things you can’t get at the Food Town in Loa:
Truffles
Porcini
Chanterelles
Boneless, Skinless chicken thighs
Organic Spring Mix
Vidalia onions
Poblano Peppers
Kosher Salt
Organic anything
Panko break crumbs.
The long drive
It's very, very far to Torrey from Flagstaff. It shouldn't be. Torrey is directly north of Flag but there's this very large national monument between here and there and no matter what you do, it takes 7 hours to get anywhere.
We came because we haven't been here for more than a night in over three years. We used to come monthly--sometimes weekly. I've done some of my best writing here. Julie and I came down in the coldest January when not even the Chuckwagon (a tiny general store) was open. All that's open here from November to March is the Subway. When Erik helped to build the place, he and his uncle ate at Subway twice a day. Erik doesn't eat at Subway anymore. We came down with our best friends when Y2K threatened to disable all our electronics. Since there was no internet then in Torrey anyway, what did we have to lose? We've come down with my mom and sisters and with Erik's cousins. Now, this weekend, Rick's kids are coming down. It's not a big place but as I explained to Cleo the Dog last night, this is the one home that hasn't changed for any of us in the past ten years.
Rick and Zoe just got back from the Chuckwagon with doughnuts. Also cream and milk. I don't think they found the skewers I need to make the kabobs tonight. Cooking in Torrey is always tricky. There's a lack of ingredients, an electric induction stove-top and no Caphalon but somehow I think I'll persevere.
We came because we haven't been here for more than a night in over three years. We used to come monthly--sometimes weekly. I've done some of my best writing here. Julie and I came down in the coldest January when not even the Chuckwagon (a tiny general store) was open. All that's open here from November to March is the Subway. When Erik helped to build the place, he and his uncle ate at Subway twice a day. Erik doesn't eat at Subway anymore. We came down with our best friends when Y2K threatened to disable all our electronics. Since there was no internet then in Torrey anyway, what did we have to lose? We've come down with my mom and sisters and with Erik's cousins. Now, this weekend, Rick's kids are coming down. It's not a big place but as I explained to Cleo the Dog last night, this is the one home that hasn't changed for any of us in the past ten years.
Rick and Zoe just got back from the Chuckwagon with doughnuts. Also cream and milk. I don't think they found the skewers I need to make the kabobs tonight. Cooking in Torrey is always tricky. There's a lack of ingredients, an electric induction stove-top and no Caphalon but somehow I think I'll persevere.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Working on summer
I had to go in to the office today to turn in receipts and such from last week's mostly successful workshop with our grand nonfiction visiting writer. He was fabulous. I need a friend like him in Flagstaff--he tried the Dr. Pepper braised Hog Jowls. He ordered the green beans with the miso, blue cheese and crispy wontons. He shared with me the chacuterie of sausages. He wanted a bite of both my duck and my mac and cheese. I have few fellow eating friends here in this land. I think they're all vegetarians. Which is good. In fact, I'm working on being more vegetarianish (I can't commit). I finally found a pasta salad I can like--blanched veggies, shaved Parmesan, shallots and lemons. I plan to make that for Erik's mom's birthday. Or shish kabobs. I'm thinking, why not have all the vegetables at the store on the kabob since in my land, it's always season. I'm going to put poblano, turnips, yellow squash, regular mushrooms, shitake mushrooms, vidalia onions and red bell peppers on skewers. If I can't live seasonal-appropriately in Flagstaff, I might as well make the best of it. We might have bread with the kabobs too. Why eat Lebanese only when you can eat Lebanese and Europeanish? There might be a reason. I'll let you know.
I took Max with me in his sling to campus. He loves to be squished in that thing. We walked the equivalent of a mile in it with no ill-effects except my shoulder is a little sore and I almost fell off my shoe. Also, I'm exhausted. Then we went to Wildflower bread company. I never know what to order there. I chose the Med salad. Vegetarian! And not bad but not good for you. Four pounds of dressing later, I'm actually stuffed on just salad.
Then to the market I went to procure all those shish kabob vegetables. Now, what I really want is for Erik to take me out to BBQ at the Smokehouse. This will take some hefty persuasion since we have no money but perhaps I can file it under "research."
Speaking of which, I'm off to write about choice and food. Updates later.
Last night's dinner recipe at the Dinner with Poets, Pages and Vowels blog.
Also. Note the ugly ads. I pushed the monetize button to see what happened. They sent me a $4,230 check just by clicking. How could I resist? It's because I'm such a reliable blogger. Once a month. That's what those advertisers prefer.
The ads are faintly embarrassing. We'll see how much embarrassment I can take before I make absolutely $0 real dollars.
P.S. I pushed publish and the ads changed to include both vegetarian restaurants and shish kabbos. Cute little ads.
P.S.S. I bought Zoe peaches because she loves peaches. I kept telling her it wasn't peach season yet but she really wanted some and when I saw them at the Farmer's Market store I relented. When she got home from school, I offered her one. She jumped in excitement and found the least hard-as-a-rock one. She took a bite and said, I don't think peaches are in season yet. I reminded her her last peaches were eaten in Italy. We might be at a bit of a disadvantage here.
I took Max with me in his sling to campus. He loves to be squished in that thing. We walked the equivalent of a mile in it with no ill-effects except my shoulder is a little sore and I almost fell off my shoe. Also, I'm exhausted. Then we went to Wildflower bread company. I never know what to order there. I chose the Med salad. Vegetarian! And not bad but not good for you. Four pounds of dressing later, I'm actually stuffed on just salad.
Then to the market I went to procure all those shish kabob vegetables. Now, what I really want is for Erik to take me out to BBQ at the Smokehouse. This will take some hefty persuasion since we have no money but perhaps I can file it under "research."
Speaking of which, I'm off to write about choice and food. Updates later.
Last night's dinner recipe at the Dinner with Poets, Pages and Vowels blog.
Also. Note the ugly ads. I pushed the monetize button to see what happened. They sent me a $4,230 check just by clicking. How could I resist? It's because I'm such a reliable blogger. Once a month. That's what those advertisers prefer.
The ads are faintly embarrassing. We'll see how much embarrassment I can take before I make absolutely $0 real dollars.
P.S. I pushed publish and the ads changed to include both vegetarian restaurants and shish kabbos. Cute little ads.
P.S.S. I bought Zoe peaches because she loves peaches. I kept telling her it wasn't peach season yet but she really wanted some and when I saw them at the Farmer's Market store I relented. When she got home from school, I offered her one. She jumped in excitement and found the least hard-as-a-rock one. She took a bite and said, I don't think peaches are in season yet. I reminded her her last peaches were eaten in Italy. We might be at a bit of a disadvantage here.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Where Have I Been, Where Am I Going
One thing I like best about food blogging is that every day becomes memorable. A daily log is only memorable to the log--the experience happens only once in the writing of it. But the food blog recounts the food making itself, the writing of the food, and can be returned to with purpose (looking up the recipe) beyond the relatively uncommon nostalgic re-read of the regular list. The "tags" function works similarly to the food writing. You can recall and reorganize purposefully that previous writing.
But I have been cooking more and blogging less which is bad for the memory and bad for the practicality of noting the important passing of days. Max is 4 and a half months old. I've gone camping and hiking with him. I've been to Wyoming and Denver without him. But the only thing that makes it not a blur is to remember the food. I've put him in the sling to make skirt steak roulades for local folks and fish tacos for the guest writer. I made veggie burgers from scratch and carne asada tacos camping outside of Bluff, Utah.
So, to keep this summer from disappearing, to slow down Max's exponential growth rate, and to make sure I'm writing every day and cooking almost every day, I'm going to post either here or at my sisters' new food blog, Poets, Pages and Vowels. Wish me luck.
But I have been cooking more and blogging less which is bad for the memory and bad for the practicality of noting the important passing of days. Max is 4 and a half months old. I've gone camping and hiking with him. I've been to Wyoming and Denver without him. But the only thing that makes it not a blur is to remember the food. I've put him in the sling to make skirt steak roulades for local folks and fish tacos for the guest writer. I made veggie burgers from scratch and carne asada tacos camping outside of Bluff, Utah.
So, to keep this summer from disappearing, to slow down Max's exponential growth rate, and to make sure I'm writing every day and cooking almost every day, I'm going to post either here or at my sisters' new food blog, Poets, Pages and Vowels. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
A poem that you've seen
before got picked up by the Boston Review! Bad dog = Bad Arizona Law. Good dog = Good magazine.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Last week of the semester!
I know blog posts like this are lame but I have the kind of self-awareness that recognizes the lame and does it anyway.
Today was a super productive day. And I'm not quite exhausted yet. I got up with Max at 6:45, fed Max, made Zoe breakfast, made Zoe's lunch, wrote a letter of rec, braied Zoe's hair, took Z to school, fed Max, responded to emails, checked on grant, responded to four student essays, prepped for tomorrow's class, fed Max, emailed folks about poetry book, prepared envelopes to send poetry book out to Constant Critic, emptied dishwasher, made lunch (smoked turkey, kidney beans, beets, carrots, lettuce), took shower, fed Max, picked up Z, helped Z water plants, helped Z change shoes 4 (that's right, changed shoes four times. My helping mostly meant rolling my eyes and convincing her to put on last year's orange Keens), emailed Baltimore sister (who got a new job, yay!) read and responded to long email from colleague, read essays for Diagram, fed Max, worked on food proposal, checked on grant, rewrote part of grant, emailed thesis student, emailed all students reminding them to fill out their course evaluations, emailed friend at Bookworm in LA, started to make dinner, realized we were out of ginger, took Zoe to the Farmer's Market store and bought ginger, garlic, shitakes, almonds and salt water taffy, came home, fed Max, finished dinner, fed Max, filled out Zoe's summer camp application, folded laundry, sang Zoe sleeping songs, folded more laundry while Max slept in laundry basket, read second to last thesis, put away laundry, harassed people on Facebook, wrote an annoying blog post, fed Max, went to bed.
Today was a super productive day. And I'm not quite exhausted yet. I got up with Max at 6:45, fed Max, made Zoe breakfast, made Zoe's lunch, wrote a letter of rec, braied Zoe's hair, took Z to school, fed Max, responded to emails, checked on grant, responded to four student essays, prepped for tomorrow's class, fed Max, emailed folks about poetry book, prepared envelopes to send poetry book out to Constant Critic, emptied dishwasher, made lunch (smoked turkey, kidney beans, beets, carrots, lettuce), took shower, fed Max, picked up Z, helped Z water plants, helped Z change shoes 4 (that's right, changed shoes four times. My helping mostly meant rolling my eyes and convincing her to put on last year's orange Keens), emailed Baltimore sister (who got a new job, yay!) read and responded to long email from colleague, read essays for Diagram, fed Max, worked on food proposal, checked on grant, rewrote part of grant, emailed thesis student, emailed all students reminding them to fill out their course evaluations, emailed friend at Bookworm in LA, started to make dinner, realized we were out of ginger, took Zoe to the Farmer's Market store and bought ginger, garlic, shitakes, almonds and salt water taffy, came home, fed Max, finished dinner, fed Max, filled out Zoe's summer camp application, folded laundry, sang Zoe sleeping songs, folded more laundry while Max slept in laundry basket, read second to last thesis, put away laundry, harassed people on Facebook, wrote an annoying blog post, fed Max, went to bed.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
The Feeding of the 5000
I used to have an album called the Feeding of the 5000. Crass was the name of the band. They were big fans of swearing. The line I remember off the top of my head was a song, "Do they owe us a living, of course they do, of course they do, Do they owe us a living, of course they fucking do." No wonder I'm a poet.
Facebook gave me no love on the news that Zoe will eat Tom Ka Gai so I'm repeating it here. A whole bowl of it. We ordered it only "2" hot, but still, she slurped it up and wanted more chicken. Once, when Erik and I were at the Emmy award show (I like to name drop that although it was indeed the regional Emmy's and we did not, in fact, win), Zoe's grandma and aunt took her to Thai food and she ordered a Thai Iced Tea, telling them that of course I let her order that. The caffeine plus sugar equaled seventeen running trips around the downtown. Still, it's very good news that we can take Z to Cuban food, sushi, Thai, dim sum, and pizza (my niece does not like pizza. This would kill me I fear.)
I wanted my sister to start a food blog that listed all the amazing food she made for the book release party. Everything had, or was supposed to have, eggs in it since the title of the book is This Noisy Egg. I remember homemade crackers, cobb salad in cups of bibb lettuce, and caviar but she made so much else and if she doesn't write it down, we'll all forget it.
I didn't like to eat much when I was pregnant so I didn't cook often or very well. But when my mom came to visit right after Max was born, I cooked in that week more enthusiastically than I cooked all year. It might have helped that my mom bought all this meat and I was prompted to do something with it all. The best were the too-many lamb chops with a ground rosemary rub and fennel butter. I made a apricot and almond rice as a side. I made brisket with onions, juniper berries and apple cider vinegar. I made pork tenderloin with chipotle mayonaisse. It truly was a meat fest.
When, after the egg party, and you would have thought we were entirely saturated with food, we met for a goodbye dinner, my mom brought even more caviar. Rick made bratwursts from Colosimo's, grilled and then stewed in beer. We took the caviar and put it on top of the mashed potatoes. Now, I'm afraid I'll never enjoy fish egg free mashed potatoes again.
The meat market isn't open on Sundays or Mondays and we didn't plan ahead. Therefore, tonight will either be meat-free or oven-fried chicken (because I can almost abide grocery-store chicken) with jalepeno roasted potatoes. And, because I'm lucky that I have an eating daughter who tries (although mostly fails) to eat 9 different colors of fruits and vegetables a day, we'll have green beans and shallots and count those each toward our goal (green and white). And maybe the jalepenos and potatoes (green and white. See why we fail?). We had carrots for lunch. But for the most part, we're behind today. Perhaps we can import some of the ingredients from the Tom Ka Gai--galanga root and lemongrass--to fill out our food color wheel.
Facebook gave me no love on the news that Zoe will eat Tom Ka Gai so I'm repeating it here. A whole bowl of it. We ordered it only "2" hot, but still, she slurped it up and wanted more chicken. Once, when Erik and I were at the Emmy award show (I like to name drop that although it was indeed the regional Emmy's and we did not, in fact, win), Zoe's grandma and aunt took her to Thai food and she ordered a Thai Iced Tea, telling them that of course I let her order that. The caffeine plus sugar equaled seventeen running trips around the downtown. Still, it's very good news that we can take Z to Cuban food, sushi, Thai, dim sum, and pizza (my niece does not like pizza. This would kill me I fear.)
I wanted my sister to start a food blog that listed all the amazing food she made for the book release party. Everything had, or was supposed to have, eggs in it since the title of the book is This Noisy Egg. I remember homemade crackers, cobb salad in cups of bibb lettuce, and caviar but she made so much else and if she doesn't write it down, we'll all forget it.
I didn't like to eat much when I was pregnant so I didn't cook often or very well. But when my mom came to visit right after Max was born, I cooked in that week more enthusiastically than I cooked all year. It might have helped that my mom bought all this meat and I was prompted to do something with it all. The best were the too-many lamb chops with a ground rosemary rub and fennel butter. I made a apricot and almond rice as a side. I made brisket with onions, juniper berries and apple cider vinegar. I made pork tenderloin with chipotle mayonaisse. It truly was a meat fest.
When, after the egg party, and you would have thought we were entirely saturated with food, we met for a goodbye dinner, my mom brought even more caviar. Rick made bratwursts from Colosimo's, grilled and then stewed in beer. We took the caviar and put it on top of the mashed potatoes. Now, I'm afraid I'll never enjoy fish egg free mashed potatoes again.
The meat market isn't open on Sundays or Mondays and we didn't plan ahead. Therefore, tonight will either be meat-free or oven-fried chicken (because I can almost abide grocery-store chicken) with jalepeno roasted potatoes. And, because I'm lucky that I have an eating daughter who tries (although mostly fails) to eat 9 different colors of fruits and vegetables a day, we'll have green beans and shallots and count those each toward our goal (green and white). And maybe the jalepenos and potatoes (green and white. See why we fail?). We had carrots for lunch. But for the most part, we're behind today. Perhaps we can import some of the ingredients from the Tom Ka Gai--galanga root and lemongrass--to fill out our food color wheel.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Easter
Here's a sign I may have hit the wall. Things are starting to fall apart. For instance:
Zoe woke up before we hid the eggs (seriously, she often sleeps in later than us. We thought we had time). She went to get some milk out of the fridge and saw the carton of eggs. She came back into our room looking a little confused. I thought the Easter Bunny was coming. So sad.
I convinced her to hang out with me while Erik went to make coffee. While he 'made the coffee' (hid the eggs. OK. He made coffee too), I told the lamest story of the history of the Easter Bunny.
Once, there was a little tiny bunny born named Peter. He was a regular, tiny bunny when he was born but he liked candy so much that he ate it and ate it and ate it until he grew bigger than his parents. By the time he was two, he was as big as a human. He went to the doctor to find out why he was so gigantic and the doctor told him it was all the candy he ate. The doctor told him to quit eating so much candy or he'd grow big as a house. But he still had so much candy! What would he do with it? Peter the bunny decided that he would share his candy with all the little kids in the world and that's why on Easter, the Easter Bunny brings you candy.
By the end of the lame story, Erik had hidden all the eggs.
When she asked Erik one more time why the Easter Bunny didn't hide her eggs, he asked, are you sure? Show me.
She went to the fridge to get out the carton and what was there? A carton but no eggs. She must have seen the carton and not noticed the eggs were all gone.
She found them all. And a basket of candy-filled eggs. The moral of the lame story is lost on her as she is eating jellybean after jellybean.
Oh. Wait. She just said so. She just said, after I said, that's probably enough jelly beans, "I don't want to turn out like Mister Bunny." I suppose my lame, I'm barely holding it together, cover the gaps kind of parenting might be enough for today. Thank god Erik thought about returning the empty egg carton to the fridge to cover our tracks.
Zoe woke up before we hid the eggs (seriously, she often sleeps in later than us. We thought we had time). She went to get some milk out of the fridge and saw the carton of eggs. She came back into our room looking a little confused. I thought the Easter Bunny was coming. So sad.
I convinced her to hang out with me while Erik went to make coffee. While he 'made the coffee' (hid the eggs. OK. He made coffee too), I told the lamest story of the history of the Easter Bunny.
Once, there was a little tiny bunny born named Peter. He was a regular, tiny bunny when he was born but he liked candy so much that he ate it and ate it and ate it until he grew bigger than his parents. By the time he was two, he was as big as a human. He went to the doctor to find out why he was so gigantic and the doctor told him it was all the candy he ate. The doctor told him to quit eating so much candy or he'd grow big as a house. But he still had so much candy! What would he do with it? Peter the bunny decided that he would share his candy with all the little kids in the world and that's why on Easter, the Easter Bunny brings you candy.
By the end of the lame story, Erik had hidden all the eggs.
When she asked Erik one more time why the Easter Bunny didn't hide her eggs, he asked, are you sure? Show me.
She went to the fridge to get out the carton and what was there? A carton but no eggs. She must have seen the carton and not noticed the eggs were all gone.
She found them all. And a basket of candy-filled eggs. The moral of the lame story is lost on her as she is eating jellybean after jellybean.
Oh. Wait. She just said so. She just said, after I said, that's probably enough jelly beans, "I don't want to turn out like Mister Bunny." I suppose my lame, I'm barely holding it together, cover the gaps kind of parenting might be enough for today. Thank god Erik thought about returning the empty egg carton to the fridge to cover our tracks.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Packing
I don't like it. I'll inevitably forget something and yet, I'll overpack. I'll bring some things that I never wear as if transporting myself 500 miles will make me that person--the one who wears the brown and yellow silk top instead of the one who wears the green long-sleeved cotton t-shirt. I'll forget the shoes that go with the dress that I might have worn, were I that person who wears dresses in the spring even though I know full well that I hate tights and nylons so I'm the person who only wears dresses in the summer even though my legs are unshaven and the shoes are always the same Doc Martin sandals year after year and don't really go with that dress but once I commit to a pair of shoes.... Well, I'm loyal. And yet, I'll bring some more shoes. More shoes than I've worn all year in case I do decide to wear that yellow and brown silk top which requires boots other than cowboy and I'll bring the scarf to go with the top even though I have no pants to wear in between top and boot. I'll take the scarf to the mall where I won't go and to match the pants I'll buy which are brown pants thinking I indeed need new brown pants but then I'll get back to where we're staying and realize that it's black pants I need not brown and that the yellow and brown top needs a camisole under it and I don't wear camisoles and I don't know where I'd get one anyway so I tuck the boots back in the closet and get out the green cotton t-shirt and put it on along with one of the seven pair of brown pants I brought and throw the scarf on for good measure because even if it doesn't match it's cold outside even though I brought a dress and a skirt because I would very much like to pretend it's summer even if it's not quite yet spring.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Max
I get nervous blogging about Max because either I'll sound like I'm complaining (sleep) or I'll say positive things that will jinx things (sleep.) So, I will do what I'm having my students do this semester which is to describe without evaluating. It's very tricky because I love Mr. Max and think he's pretty much the best thing that ever happened since Zoe was born (see all those superlatives?) but I'll give this non-evaluation method a whirl.
Max is seven weeks and one day old. The first two weeks he mostly slept. In the day at least. At night, he slept for one and two hours stretches but he'd kick and grunt for a good hour before he went back to sleep. Now he sleeps for three hour stretches waking at 2, 5, and 8, just like Z did. I don't mind waking up as long as it's predictable (evaluative comments about my state of mind are acceptable). This week he seems to have a day of sleep and a day of wake. Yesterday, he slept but the day before he was up all day. While he's awake, he stares at you with his dark blue eyes and seems to say, what the hell would I sleep for? I have these big eyes for you to look at. To which you agree but also would like to pee and make something to eat for lunch. Whether he is awake or asleep he is doing Tai Chi with his hands. Or he's conducting the swirling birds above his swing. Either way, he's into his hands and the many ways they can stretch and make new shapes. He likes Zoe a lot (his preferences, since he is the main agent of the piece, can be stated even though there probably is quite a bit of projection here) and exercises his cheek muscles into something similar to a smile whenever she jockeys to hold him. Also among his likes appear to be milk, milk and more milk. Also his dad in the crutch of whose arm Max sleeps an hour or two at night.
In that night, He gets cold and his hands are extremely cold. I warm them up with my body but they just get cold again.
Speaking of cold, he has one. His second. Tiny babies whose sister's go to school are tricky (tricky is evaluative, but everyone knows colds suck). Sisters bring home a lot of germs, it seems. Fortunately I like (again, only evaluating my state of mind, not the text (Max) itself) the bulb suctioning project. To like being a mom, you have to like fluids. Fortunately, I find the production of milk and buggers fascinating (less so poop and pee because that's ordinary). Now I hope that the cold stays a cold in his nose and doesn't traverse to his lungs for I have PTSD of Z's RSV. (Also. I like medical abbreviations though not what those abbreviations stand for).
I mentioned before he roots and grunts like a hedgehog (the word like in simile has been approved, not that I really know that's what hedgehogs look like or sound like. Did you know it's illegal to own a hedgehog in Utah?). He still roots and grunts and I imagine hedgehog over pig. Perhaps it's his soft, still-brown hair.
His legs are still rounded up and bowlegged. I blame the diaper; Erik fears pigeon-toed. Either way, I suspect he'll grow out of it.
He has been to dinner and lunch at Cuvee 928, Collins', Fratelli's (thrice and possibly the fourth time tonight), Beaver Street, Salsa Brava, Dara Thai and Buster's. Most of those were when my mom was here but he has acquainted himself with the local dining scene. He has also been to Safeway, New Frontiers, Target and on several short walks in the sling and too-big-for-him stroller. (Alert ye who say all this going out brought on the cold: The doctors approved the outward going. It's the humans who touch him who give him the colds and Z, who washes her hands and then sanitizes them and then coughs into the crutch of her arm still touches him way more than the outer-world does).
Right now he's in his swing, grunting a bit. He has kicked the blanket off. Later, I'll get up to bring him over to where I sit at the table and prop him in the boppy pillow so he can look at me while I write descriptive comments about my student's essays. I'll go to work and Zoe and Erik will give him a bottle of pumped milk. We'll meet at the CSA and pick up our vegetables for the week and go to Fratelli's for pizza to celebrate the end of the week. Max will hang out in his baby bucket car seat and watch Zoe eat pizza and maybe sleep a little and maybe play a little with his hands.
Max is seven weeks and one day old. The first two weeks he mostly slept. In the day at least. At night, he slept for one and two hours stretches but he'd kick and grunt for a good hour before he went back to sleep. Now he sleeps for three hour stretches waking at 2, 5, and 8, just like Z did. I don't mind waking up as long as it's predictable (evaluative comments about my state of mind are acceptable). This week he seems to have a day of sleep and a day of wake. Yesterday, he slept but the day before he was up all day. While he's awake, he stares at you with his dark blue eyes and seems to say, what the hell would I sleep for? I have these big eyes for you to look at. To which you agree but also would like to pee and make something to eat for lunch. Whether he is awake or asleep he is doing Tai Chi with his hands. Or he's conducting the swirling birds above his swing. Either way, he's into his hands and the many ways they can stretch and make new shapes. He likes Zoe a lot (his preferences, since he is the main agent of the piece, can be stated even though there probably is quite a bit of projection here) and exercises his cheek muscles into something similar to a smile whenever she jockeys to hold him. Also among his likes appear to be milk, milk and more milk. Also his dad in the crutch of whose arm Max sleeps an hour or two at night.
In that night, He gets cold and his hands are extremely cold. I warm them up with my body but they just get cold again.
Speaking of cold, he has one. His second. Tiny babies whose sister's go to school are tricky (tricky is evaluative, but everyone knows colds suck). Sisters bring home a lot of germs, it seems. Fortunately I like (again, only evaluating my state of mind, not the text (Max) itself) the bulb suctioning project. To like being a mom, you have to like fluids. Fortunately, I find the production of milk and buggers fascinating (less so poop and pee because that's ordinary). Now I hope that the cold stays a cold in his nose and doesn't traverse to his lungs for I have PTSD of Z's RSV. (Also. I like medical abbreviations though not what those abbreviations stand for).
I mentioned before he roots and grunts like a hedgehog (the word like in simile has been approved, not that I really know that's what hedgehogs look like or sound like. Did you know it's illegal to own a hedgehog in Utah?). He still roots and grunts and I imagine hedgehog over pig. Perhaps it's his soft, still-brown hair.
His legs are still rounded up and bowlegged. I blame the diaper; Erik fears pigeon-toed. Either way, I suspect he'll grow out of it.
He has been to dinner and lunch at Cuvee 928, Collins', Fratelli's (thrice and possibly the fourth time tonight), Beaver Street, Salsa Brava, Dara Thai and Buster's. Most of those were when my mom was here but he has acquainted himself with the local dining scene. He has also been to Safeway, New Frontiers, Target and on several short walks in the sling and too-big-for-him stroller. (Alert ye who say all this going out brought on the cold: The doctors approved the outward going. It's the humans who touch him who give him the colds and Z, who washes her hands and then sanitizes them and then coughs into the crutch of her arm still touches him way more than the outer-world does).
Right now he's in his swing, grunting a bit. He has kicked the blanket off. Later, I'll get up to bring him over to where I sit at the table and prop him in the boppy pillow so he can look at me while I write descriptive comments about my student's essays. I'll go to work and Zoe and Erik will give him a bottle of pumped milk. We'll meet at the CSA and pick up our vegetables for the week and go to Fratelli's for pizza to celebrate the end of the week. Max will hang out in his baby bucket car seat and watch Zoe eat pizza and maybe sleep a little and maybe play a little with his hands.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Zoe and the Litter Box
Erik: What do I find if I find the clicky clack shoes (high heels)
Zoe: Give you a sticker.
Erik: I want something more than that. I want you to clean the litter box for the rest of your life.
Zoe: Ew.
Erik: That’s the deal. What do you think about that?
Zoe: It motivates me.
To save herself from a lifetime of litter box scooping, she asked my mom who is in town visiting to help her look and said: Maestra, if you find it, can we pretend I found it? The litter box is gross.
(edited to include the story only once).
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Bulletin from the Advising Center
I meant to blog before I went back to work asking for advice but then I ran out of time. That seems like it will be the theme for the next six to eight years. Tuesday was my first day back and I, for some reason, thought hosting my advising center/office hours Tuesday morning was a good idea but that meant getting Z ready to go by 8:50 as well as feeding Mr. Max twice before I left. Had I slept the night before? Not so much. Max thinks, as if he were some kind of hedgehog, that kicking and grunting is an appropriate way to spend the hours between 2 and 3. And between 5 and 6. But I still made it up and out of the house.
I was late. But not SO late.
I advised.
I went home to eat lunch and finish prepping for class. Then, I taught. Almost the whole time. On the first day. Then we had a friend over for tacos. Tuesday nights have been deemed taco night. It was good to see someone from the outside world even if my eyes were only half open by 7:30. I blame the rooting of hedgehog.
But it was really the rest of the week that tried to kill me.
Tuesday afternoon I was asked to speak at a conference on Thursday because the original guest speakers dropped out. In order to avoid the sort of disaster of last year's conference where the keynote speaker had only 4 audience members, I said I'd come and bring my class. So I had to prepare something to read and to somehow make what I read fit with my grad nonfiction class (not too hard. I read some appropriate nonfiction).
Z was sick with the stomach flu Tuesday night. She hates to throw up. She looks so disappointed after--she thinks her stomach has betrayed her.
So Wednesday, no school for Z and a class to prepare for and a talk to give. Mr. Max slept better the night before so I was a little more on.
Thursday, I taught and spoke at the panel and then stayed for the keynote which had been smartly (though I wasn't aware this had been done) combined with another conference. The audience was full and the attendance of my class wasn't as necessary. The high point? After: pizza.
Friday night, as an extended part of the conference, the lit mag here hosted a reading. Friday afternoon, I came down with Zoe's disease and felt as betrayed as she. I made myself go the reading though. I'm glad I did. It was good and by the end, my stomachache had subsided. It was a short sickness that I think Max only got the slightest hint of.
Now it's a new week and Z probably has another cold and I'll panic again like I did with her last cold and this last stomach bug that Max will get it. I hope the theory about breast milk as an immune-system-enhancer is true.
I'm in the advising center, wrapping up. I'm almost ready to teach. I have a meeting with my chair about summer funding. Rinse. Repeat. 10 more weeks of this.
I think I can do it, hedgehogs, stomach betrayal and tardiness notwithstanding.
I was late. But not SO late.
I advised.
I went home to eat lunch and finish prepping for class. Then, I taught. Almost the whole time. On the first day. Then we had a friend over for tacos. Tuesday nights have been deemed taco night. It was good to see someone from the outside world even if my eyes were only half open by 7:30. I blame the rooting of hedgehog.
But it was really the rest of the week that tried to kill me.
Tuesday afternoon I was asked to speak at a conference on Thursday because the original guest speakers dropped out. In order to avoid the sort of disaster of last year's conference where the keynote speaker had only 4 audience members, I said I'd come and bring my class. So I had to prepare something to read and to somehow make what I read fit with my grad nonfiction class (not too hard. I read some appropriate nonfiction).
Z was sick with the stomach flu Tuesday night. She hates to throw up. She looks so disappointed after--she thinks her stomach has betrayed her.
So Wednesday, no school for Z and a class to prepare for and a talk to give. Mr. Max slept better the night before so I was a little more on.
Thursday, I taught and spoke at the panel and then stayed for the keynote which had been smartly (though I wasn't aware this had been done) combined with another conference. The audience was full and the attendance of my class wasn't as necessary. The high point? After: pizza.
Friday night, as an extended part of the conference, the lit mag here hosted a reading. Friday afternoon, I came down with Zoe's disease and felt as betrayed as she. I made myself go the reading though. I'm glad I did. It was good and by the end, my stomachache had subsided. It was a short sickness that I think Max only got the slightest hint of.
Now it's a new week and Z probably has another cold and I'll panic again like I did with her last cold and this last stomach bug that Max will get it. I hope the theory about breast milk as an immune-system-enhancer is true.
I'm in the advising center, wrapping up. I'm almost ready to teach. I have a meeting with my chair about summer funding. Rinse. Repeat. 10 more weeks of this.
I think I can do it, hedgehogs, stomach betrayal and tardiness notwithstanding.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The Days. Oh How They Are Long
Perhaps you could read this to the tune of "If you take a mouse to school..."
Erik has this job where he has to wake up at 6:45. In the morning. I know some people do this regularly but we are not usually of these people. Erik's getting up didn't wake me but Zoe popped in at 7:14. (You can tell what kind of day it's going to be by how strictly you pay attention to the minutes on the clock. ) From there, the day began. First, coffee. Then, breakfast for me and Z while Max still slept. I printed out the galleys to my book so I can try to get them off to Publishers Weekly today. Then, awaken the Max so he can eat. Bring Zoe's albuterol to her in the front room so she can nebulize whilst watching Curious George. Change Max. Print out homemade publicity letter. No color comes out on the color printer. Don't care. Black and white it is. Make Zo's lunch. Change Max. (Thank god Zoe is extremely capable of getting herself dressed. She's wearing my favorite yellow dress with yellow pants outfit. Thanks Z). I look up Publishers Weekly address. I also write, "in lieu of galleys" since these are homemade and I could do it after the copying and the binding but I'm afraid that this day will be a day where I spent 12 minutes trying to decide whether it's spelled leiu or lieu in the car at the post office.
Then, into the car we go: one of us with binkie, one of us with a water bottle, one of us with a manuscript, a lunch box, a diaper bag, a purse, and an array of re-usable grocery bags.
On the way to school, I describe to Zoe Max's doctor's appointment. He's going to get circumcised. I explained about the delicate removal of the foreskin from the penis. She said, I know what Max is thinking. I said, what. She said, Max is thinking "Doctor, don't cut off my penis." I said, he probably is thinking that.
I drop Zoe off at school, carrying Max in his baby bucket (relevant only later, and relevant only to my shoulders), go to Office Max for the copying and binding (with baby bucket), go to grocery store (with baby in bucket), I come home, bring in groceries, put away the groceries and feed the baby. I remember to eat a yogurt. Check email. Respond to a few. Friend calls to discuss Kindergarten, ballet, and piano lessons for Z. I have to cut her off because it's 11:49 and we are already late for the foreskin removal service scheduled for 12:10
Arrive at sad place. I have second and third thoughts. Think of springing the poor 3 week old from the medieval torture. Fortunately, the doctor ushers us in quickly, laughs at the medieval jokes AND Zoe's joke about don't cut off Max's penis. Funny doctors are rare and reassuring. They give Max sugar water. He's so enamored I'm afraid he'll never go back to breast milk. He cries when they anesthetize the area--the stick the lidocaine into his actual penis! but after that, no crying. Even when the take something that looks like a bottle topper or wire cutter right to the tip. The doctor successfully does not remove the penis. Zoe will be so happy which is good because we have to go!
Off to the post office to drop off PW package. Then, to meet Erik and Z at the dentist at 1:30. Arrive early. Eat Zoe's almonds from her lunch.
Z's first dentist appointment. Great teeth! Yay! We're not neglectful, horrible parents for waiting this long for the dentist (although we did just purposefully and intentionally torture our son but hey, life is pain, princess...). And then, come home. Eat chips. Eat cookies. (What happens when you don't eat lunch). Set a better example: Eat strawberries, grapes, celery. Feed Max (man, we're close to the 2, 5, 8, 11 schedule and yet it's 2:32). Played fish (I draw some fish.) Play Princess (again. As usual. What does the snow princess where? Whatever you're wearing Z). Play hide and seek (really? But I have to get up for that!). Write blog post for the new Essay Daily Website. Send novel to novel contest. Feed Max. Feel bad for Max who seems to be in a little pain. Worry he was just putting up a strong face for the doctors. Poor Max.
But, work! Send: flurry of emails about certificate program--3.0 gpa required? Everyone gets back to me so quickly that I fear I've neglected them lo these many weeks off. Won't my colleagues be thrilled when I'm officially back and emailing daily? (Not daily. I promise). Help Z wash lettuce for tacos. Find onions for Erik for tacos. Feed Max. Update blog. Type one-handed. Play pretend dinner with Z. Hope the table cleans itself off.
Looking forward to tonight, a multiple choice quiz.
a) shovel snow
b) read student (295 page!) thesis
c) finish thank you notes
d) send manuscript to other review places
e) play princess
f) feel bad for Max. Worry. Infection, bleeding, pain. Oh what have I done for the sake of not Max not having his penile region called pigs in a blanket (and other reasons. I promise. Also, the dentist supported the circumcision and had just read new studies about the preventative powers of the circ. So good then.
g) watch the state of the union.
h) want to watch Modern Family.
I say all of the above except A. But A sucks particularly when there's nowhere new to put the new snow. But I have an excuse. I have to feed Max. 9 lbs 7 oz a mere three weeks after his birth (including a first few day loss of 10 oz.).
Next blog: OK. This is all well and good but I go back to work next week.
Erik has this job where he has to wake up at 6:45. In the morning. I know some people do this regularly but we are not usually of these people. Erik's getting up didn't wake me but Zoe popped in at 7:14. (You can tell what kind of day it's going to be by how strictly you pay attention to the minutes on the clock. ) From there, the day began. First, coffee. Then, breakfast for me and Z while Max still slept. I printed out the galleys to my book so I can try to get them off to Publishers Weekly today. Then, awaken the Max so he can eat. Bring Zoe's albuterol to her in the front room so she can nebulize whilst watching Curious George. Change Max. Print out homemade publicity letter. No color comes out on the color printer. Don't care. Black and white it is. Make Zo's lunch. Change Max. (Thank god Zoe is extremely capable of getting herself dressed. She's wearing my favorite yellow dress with yellow pants outfit. Thanks Z). I look up Publishers Weekly address. I also write, "in lieu of galleys" since these are homemade and I could do it after the copying and the binding but I'm afraid that this day will be a day where I spent 12 minutes trying to decide whether it's spelled leiu or lieu in the car at the post office.
Then, into the car we go: one of us with binkie, one of us with a water bottle, one of us with a manuscript, a lunch box, a diaper bag, a purse, and an array of re-usable grocery bags.
On the way to school, I describe to Zoe Max's doctor's appointment. He's going to get circumcised. I explained about the delicate removal of the foreskin from the penis. She said, I know what Max is thinking. I said, what. She said, Max is thinking "Doctor, don't cut off my penis." I said, he probably is thinking that.
I drop Zoe off at school, carrying Max in his baby bucket (relevant only later, and relevant only to my shoulders), go to Office Max for the copying and binding (with baby bucket), go to grocery store (with baby in bucket), I come home, bring in groceries, put away the groceries and feed the baby. I remember to eat a yogurt. Check email. Respond to a few. Friend calls to discuss Kindergarten, ballet, and piano lessons for Z. I have to cut her off because it's 11:49 and we are already late for the foreskin removal service scheduled for 12:10
Arrive at sad place. I have second and third thoughts. Think of springing the poor 3 week old from the medieval torture. Fortunately, the doctor ushers us in quickly, laughs at the medieval jokes AND Zoe's joke about don't cut off Max's penis. Funny doctors are rare and reassuring. They give Max sugar water. He's so enamored I'm afraid he'll never go back to breast milk. He cries when they anesthetize the area--the stick the lidocaine into his actual penis! but after that, no crying. Even when the take something that looks like a bottle topper or wire cutter right to the tip. The doctor successfully does not remove the penis. Zoe will be so happy which is good because we have to go!
Off to the post office to drop off PW package. Then, to meet Erik and Z at the dentist at 1:30. Arrive early. Eat Zoe's almonds from her lunch.
Z's first dentist appointment. Great teeth! Yay! We're not neglectful, horrible parents for waiting this long for the dentist (although we did just purposefully and intentionally torture our son but hey, life is pain, princess...). And then, come home. Eat chips. Eat cookies. (What happens when you don't eat lunch). Set a better example: Eat strawberries, grapes, celery. Feed Max (man, we're close to the 2, 5, 8, 11 schedule and yet it's 2:32). Played fish (I draw some fish.) Play Princess (again. As usual. What does the snow princess where? Whatever you're wearing Z). Play hide and seek (really? But I have to get up for that!). Write blog post for the new Essay Daily Website. Send novel to novel contest. Feed Max. Feel bad for Max who seems to be in a little pain. Worry he was just putting up a strong face for the doctors. Poor Max.
But, work! Send: flurry of emails about certificate program--3.0 gpa required? Everyone gets back to me so quickly that I fear I've neglected them lo these many weeks off. Won't my colleagues be thrilled when I'm officially back and emailing daily? (Not daily. I promise). Help Z wash lettuce for tacos. Find onions for Erik for tacos. Feed Max. Update blog. Type one-handed. Play pretend dinner with Z. Hope the table cleans itself off.
Looking forward to tonight, a multiple choice quiz.
a) shovel snow
b) read student (295 page!) thesis
c) finish thank you notes
d) send manuscript to other review places
e) play princess
f) feel bad for Max. Worry. Infection, bleeding, pain. Oh what have I done for the sake of not Max not having his penile region called pigs in a blanket (and other reasons. I promise. Also, the dentist supported the circumcision and had just read new studies about the preventative powers of the circ. So good then.
g) watch the state of the union.
h) want to watch Modern Family.
I say all of the above except A. But A sucks particularly when there's nowhere new to put the new snow. But I have an excuse. I have to feed Max. 9 lbs 7 oz a mere three weeks after his birth (including a first few day loss of 10 oz.).
Next blog: OK. This is all well and good but I go back to work next week.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Goes so well, until...
For all the fretting I did about having two kids, these first weeks have been surprisingly easy, thanks mostly to Zoe's enthusiasm for Max and her willingness to give him a binkie no matter what else she's doing. As Erik says, she shows no fear in giving him it--she knows he'll resist at first but she just patiently holds it against his mouth until he realizes she's a force for good not evil. There was quite a bit of competition when Erik's mom was here to hold him, but now that she's gone, we've even had moments where we've put Max in his swing. Z likes the music. I do not. Right now, as I type, he started crying and Z popped up to check on him/give him his binkie. I'm against binkies. Until I'm not. That dude likes to suck.
Things would be even more smooth-going were it not for the minor disasters of the week. First, the toilet upstairs stopped working--the flange in the works cracked, and even though we have two bathrooms, with guests, one is just not enough. So Erik spent last weekend replacing the upstairs toilet which led, as it always does, to Erik designing whole new bands of swear words. Z was like, woah, I can't wait to memorize those for most surprising/embarrassing use later.
But then Z got a cold and, although it was nothing like the horrible croup of early December, I knew it would lead to late-night albuterol and possibly infecting the babe whom we were told to make sure did not get sick those first two months home.
But once again, Z proved her mettle. Her immune system might actually be beginning to function. Albuterol only in the morning and the night. And she was so careful not to get Max sick--hand sanitizer and coughing into her elbow--she has, thus far, kept him from getting the cold.
But then the snow storm of 2010 hit. 56.5 inches of snow down here. 92 inches up at the Snowbowl. More snow in this system since 1967. This meant Erik shoveled pretty much from 9 a.m to 6 p.m. with some breaks in the middle but also some shoveling in the night. I shoveled a tiny bit too but mostly I exercised my ability to be a stay-at-home-mom. I did OK. Only one or two breakdowns--once at Z because really, Z, I can't play princess anymore. I can't remember if you're princess Rose or Princess Mirabella or the Snow Princess and you never like how I'm being the witch and if I say, princess, give me your strawberries, you just say no and then the story is pretty much over. So I broke down and told her I couldn't play princess any more. I made it up to her by playing princess some more.
We also played trains.
Did I mention Z has been home for 3 days in a row now--no school?
Erik colored with her.
I colored with her.
She painted.
She danced (thanks maestra for the ballet clothes).
And she played princess for 23 of the 24 hours a day. Yes, even in her sleep. In her sleep, she's the teeth-grinding, coughing princess.
Erik shoveled the roof this morning. He wanted to sled off it. So far, he hasn't.
I'm not very good at being a stay at home mom. I get nervous when I'm playing trains, like I should be doing something else. I'm also a bad working mom since when I'm working on my syllabus, I feel like I should be playing trains. The nice thing is, blogging and being on Facebook and IMing are all guilt free because I should be doing none of them. Everyone is being equally neglected.
So, if Erik weren't so otherwise busy, things would be super easy. But as they are, they're still pretty manageable. Manageable enough that we're even having company tonight! I'm so excited for in-person interaction with the outside world. Turkey breast and roasted root vegetables with Chardonnay gravy. Should I make mashed potatoes too? Is the answer to that question ever "no"?
Things would be even more smooth-going were it not for the minor disasters of the week. First, the toilet upstairs stopped working--the flange in the works cracked, and even though we have two bathrooms, with guests, one is just not enough. So Erik spent last weekend replacing the upstairs toilet which led, as it always does, to Erik designing whole new bands of swear words. Z was like, woah, I can't wait to memorize those for most surprising/embarrassing use later.
But then Z got a cold and, although it was nothing like the horrible croup of early December, I knew it would lead to late-night albuterol and possibly infecting the babe whom we were told to make sure did not get sick those first two months home.
But once again, Z proved her mettle. Her immune system might actually be beginning to function. Albuterol only in the morning and the night. And she was so careful not to get Max sick--hand sanitizer and coughing into her elbow--she has, thus far, kept him from getting the cold.
But then the snow storm of 2010 hit. 56.5 inches of snow down here. 92 inches up at the Snowbowl. More snow in this system since 1967. This meant Erik shoveled pretty much from 9 a.m to 6 p.m. with some breaks in the middle but also some shoveling in the night. I shoveled a tiny bit too but mostly I exercised my ability to be a stay-at-home-mom. I did OK. Only one or two breakdowns--once at Z because really, Z, I can't play princess anymore. I can't remember if you're princess Rose or Princess Mirabella or the Snow Princess and you never like how I'm being the witch and if I say, princess, give me your strawberries, you just say no and then the story is pretty much over. So I broke down and told her I couldn't play princess any more. I made it up to her by playing princess some more.
We also played trains.
Did I mention Z has been home for 3 days in a row now--no school?
Erik colored with her.
I colored with her.
She painted.
She danced (thanks maestra for the ballet clothes).
And she played princess for 23 of the 24 hours a day. Yes, even in her sleep. In her sleep, she's the teeth-grinding, coughing princess.
Erik shoveled the roof this morning. He wanted to sled off it. So far, he hasn't.
I'm not very good at being a stay at home mom. I get nervous when I'm playing trains, like I should be doing something else. I'm also a bad working mom since when I'm working on my syllabus, I feel like I should be playing trains. The nice thing is, blogging and being on Facebook and IMing are all guilt free because I should be doing none of them. Everyone is being equally neglected.
So, if Erik weren't so otherwise busy, things would be super easy. But as they are, they're still pretty manageable. Manageable enough that we're even having company tonight! I'm so excited for in-person interaction with the outside world. Turkey breast and roasted root vegetables with Chardonnay gravy. Should I make mashed potatoes too? Is the answer to that question ever "no"?
Friday, January 15, 2010
For Lis and Lisa B.
Because of my own proclivity for complaint, I emphasize the hard parts of this whole "labor" thing (remember, that's why they call it "labor"). The truth is, things have gone so easily that I worry whatever positive thing I say here will send us all jinxily back to the hospital. But the truth is, it's only been a week and I'm already feeling almost good. It sucked having to recover and breastfeed all at once but now, there's this disturbing normalcy. With Z, everything was so traumatic at first. The only good thing was the first couple days to recover and sleep and the slow-entree into breastfeeding. It 100% sucked sitting in the lactation room off the NICU, pumping, while Z had an IV line needled into her scalp. Now, it's like a week of sharp pain and, I hope and knock on wood, another two weeks of mellowness to get ready to go back to work.
Also, Lis, you probably don't suffer from my many weaknesses: a tendency toward week-long headaches, insomnia, and an inability to sit down for more than 20 minutes at a time. Really, 2-3 hours of pain before the epidural, some hurts everywhere pain for 2-3 days, and then the nipples of doom for a week. Really, considering the whole extra person who now lives with us, it's not too much to suffer. And, as Lisa B. said in the comments here, there is some sort of pride in the whole thing. No matter if you have a c-section or an epidural or no drugs and no matter if you breastfeed or not, the whole fact of producing so much well-organized matter out of almost nothing. It's awesome even though difficult.
The truth is, I'm spinningly happy, even at 5 a.m. The right breast hurts very little and the left one only hurts upon latch. I'm cleaning the house today! How scrubbingly delicious.
My sisters are up in Salt Lake and doing Iron Chef pig without me which I am desperately sad too miss. Also, I seem to have picked up an attachment to adverbs. First order of business: how to exorcise the adverbs.
Next week: write a little. And get ready for my semester, dynamically dated to begin February 2nd.
Also, Lis, you probably don't suffer from my many weaknesses: a tendency toward week-long headaches, insomnia, and an inability to sit down for more than 20 minutes at a time. Really, 2-3 hours of pain before the epidural, some hurts everywhere pain for 2-3 days, and then the nipples of doom for a week. Really, considering the whole extra person who now lives with us, it's not too much to suffer. And, as Lisa B. said in the comments here, there is some sort of pride in the whole thing. No matter if you have a c-section or an epidural or no drugs and no matter if you breastfeed or not, the whole fact of producing so much well-organized matter out of almost nothing. It's awesome even though difficult.
The truth is, I'm spinningly happy, even at 5 a.m. The right breast hurts very little and the left one only hurts upon latch. I'm cleaning the house today! How scrubbingly delicious.
My sisters are up in Salt Lake and doing Iron Chef pig without me which I am desperately sad too miss. Also, I seem to have picked up an attachment to adverbs. First order of business: how to exorcise the adverbs.
Next week: write a little. And get ready for my semester, dynamically dated to begin February 2nd.
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