The Henry Attitude Rehabilitation Program or HARP

Before having a baby, I worked a lot.  It was not uncommon for me to spend 60 - 70 hours per week working and there were weeks when it was a lot more.  My entire existence revolved around working, cycling, sleeping and eating.  

As an Occupational Therapist, I worked as a contractor for different insurance companies.  My primary population was people with chronic pain.  Chronic pain is a multifaceted diagnosis that involves physical, psychological and sociological factors.  Patients are often in lengthy engagements with insurance companies and have had difficulty with typical treatment protocols.  They generally experience problem froms injuries or illnesses long after the expected timelines, and this leads to friction at work, with the insurance companies as well as within their personal relationships.

My job often had me entering into situations where relationships had broken down between employees and employers.  It was my role to pick up the pieces and attempt to unify the worker, employer, physiotherapist, physician, union, insurance company and any other involved players in a plan to rehabilitate the worker while satisfying the other interests.

Because of the nature of the claims, meetings were often adversarial and at times down right nasty.  I had to make snap judgements and change tactics on a dime if a strategy wasn't working.  After doing this type of work for several years, I was often anxious long before the meetings, anticipating conflict and trying to guess all of the things that could go wrong.  I spent most days engaged in conversations with people who were angry, manipulative, depressed and at times deceitful and cruel.  This takes a lot of energy and truly begins to change the way you see the world.

Once Henry was born, it took me a considerable amount of time just to decompress from having operated in that environment for so long.  As he gets older and more interactive, I've found myself having to examine the way I interact with people as I believe that what Mark and I model will most heavily affect his behaviour.

I think I am generally a kind person, but am prone to being judgemental and reactive at times.  I have a sarcastic sense of humour and often, as I'm sure a lot of people do, will poke fun at someone's funny pants or an elderly person's attempt at parking their car.  I intially rationalized that this wasn't a big deal because I'm an adult, but came to a later decision that it is a big deal.

So.  I've decided to adjust my attitude.  The following is an ongoing attitude rehabilitation program that I am currently undertaking in order to attempt to model the most kind, open-hearted, gentle existence for my child.

1.  Purposeful Smiling.  This is certainly not my own creation and has deep roots in yoga practice.  The belief is that by purposefully smiling, you can channel more positive energy.  It occurred to me that every time I'm staring at Henry's face, he is generally staring back at mine.  His gorgeous little face always made me happy, but I wanted to make sure that he was getting the same benefit.  The pragmatist in me says that he should get used to a range of emotions, but I think as his Mom, it's my job to provide that happy place for him.  So I consciously smile.  Every time I look at him or he looks at me.  As I practice this, I find it comes more naturally.

2.  The "Maybe He's Just Having a Bad Day" Program.   I started this quite recently and have found it very effective for building empathy.  Many years of traffic in Vancouver left me with some road rage tendencies and I would often catch myself snarking at other drivers with Henry in the car.  I would mouth off if someone didn't drive fast enough or failed to yield to me.  I'd get worked up in the grocery store if the lady in front of me paid her entire bill with nickels and then realized she forgot to get peas, and then paid for the peas with nickels, and then needed a rain cheque for hazelnut cookies. 

Now, every time I start to label someone a jerk for parking their car diagonally across two parking spots, I stop and say out loud, "maybe he's just having a bad day".  I started to make fun of someone on a TV game show last night because I felt she was taking too long to answer a question.  Stop.  "Maybe she's just having a bad day".  I find it totally alters my train of thought and is a much happier place to live in.

3.  Taking care of Henry's Mom.  My guilty pleasure is Dr. Phil.  I can't watch it very often, but every now and then, I get a lot of glee from watching him fix people.  I'm amazed at how the guests prefer to be derided by a stranger on television than pursuing more conventional avenues of recovery.  But every now and then he gets something right. 

My favorite Dr. Phil-ism occurs when he works with parents who are usually engaged in some type of self-destructive behaviour.  For example, if Sally's mom was drinking herself to death, instead or trying to get her to negotiate with herself, he would ask her, "How would you take care of Sally's mom?  What would you do for her?"

The purpose is to take her out of her bubble and to spin the perspective towards empathy.  It is easier to see ourselves as sympathetic figures through our children's eyes.  I would treat Henry's mom a whole lot better than I treat myself sometimes.  So, when I decide what to eat or when to stop a workout, if I can't make the best decision for myself, I do it for Henry's mom.  Because I love that little boy, it has become a whole lot easier to love his mom. 

Happiness is a choice.  I don't get it right all the time.  I  have to practice these three things, but I find that I am learning to exist more peacefully. 

And I still reserve the right to cuss like a trucker now and then.  Out of earshot of the boy, of course.

The Seventh Sense

I have a relatively strong background in behaviour theory and have worked in a number of different situations that require consistent, specific responses.  I assumed that upon having a child, I would effortlessly apply my scientific background and experience and simply manage my baby like the black and white behavioural experiment that he is. 

  

No one told me, while I was trying to shape the behaviour of this little creature, that his different noises would actually cause me varying levels of physical pain.  I call this the Seventh Sense, as the sixth sense is apparently taken.  The Seventh Sense is an amalgam of physical pain caused by the child's screaming, Mommy Panic Syndrome-driven anxiety about whether or not he is actually dying this time and the Cave Mom response to perceived danger.

I used to teach parents of kids with autism about responding to different behaviours and how they could shape outcomes to help their children function in a more socially appropriate manner. I would imperiously order parents to simply ignore kicking and screaming and just remain in a calm state until their child stopped an unwanted behaviour and began to approximate the more desired behaviour. Simple.

Often times the kids would have difficulties eating, some of these related to sensory issues, but others just pure learned responses to avoiding certain foods. I, without children, would knowingly say to the parents, "Kids have to eat, you just have to wait it out." I would then go on to wonder why they had difficulty following through with such a simple concept as starving their child.

I would like this to serve as a formal apology from a well-intentioned, but completely uninformed non-parent therapist.

Henry is starting to crawl.  He's getting pretty quick going backwards, which leads to him ending up in funny places (wedged under the TV stand, stuck behind a speaker, etc.).  Unfortunately, he also still forgets that he needs to hold his head up against gravity sometimes, leading to loud bonks on the floor.  I assume that this is probably normal as they don't sell baby helmets for the crawling stage, but I'm pretty sure there's a marketing opportunity there.

Upon becoming wedged in an undesirable place or bonking his melon on the floor, Henry will let out an earth-shattering, "I'm going to die" scream followed by the saddest cry you have ever heard.  Instinctively, I rush to him every time.  He has begun to notice the expediency of my response to these cries.  I'm screwed.

Mark was out with the boys last night and Henry and I got to play a little game using my Seventh Sense.  Henry was hanging out in his play pen and I was attempting to get his bottles washed before bed.  After being out of view in the kitchen for about 30 seconds, I here an earth-shattering wail.  I drop everything and sprint into the living room expecting to kill a wild animal or smash a looming intruder in the knee caps.  What do I find?  A very cute little turkey smiling at me from his play pen.  This happens several times.  Each time I attempt to rationalize that he is safe in his play pen, but that Seventh Sense consistently beats my brain.

Henry has also started playing a game with mommy when she's trying to be serious.  If I'm trying to get him to go to sleep or be stern with him (as stern as one can be with a 6 month old child), he will flirt with me.  He bats his big blue eyes and then busts out this toothless grin.  I'm usually good for one of these, but if he does it twice, I can't help but smile.  Victory is his again.

I will continue to try to be a consistent parent and provide a level of relatively invariable discipline.  I am going to attempt to react as a rational adult and not a panic-stricken loony.  I do elect, however, to wholly enjoy the experience of being controlled by this 18 lb, blue-eyed little monster.

When Days are Hot, When Days are Cool

Last Wednesday was the final day of Henry's first round of swimming lessons.  He got a little certificate with his name on it that listed all of things he is able to do. Enter the water. Float with help. Move through the water. I had a real moment when I saw this.  It was amazing to me that someone else had written his name and evaluated the things he'd done.  Unfortunately my nostalgia was cut very short.

Henry had missed his morning nap as I left the house early to run an errand prior to going to the pool.  I overestimated the amount of time that I would need, resulting in us arriving almost half an hour early at the pool.

Instead of walking him around or hanging out in the car, I decided we should get into the pool early.  Not a great mommy decision.  Swimming lessons are usually half an hour long, and generally the little guy is pretty pooped by the end.  So, by extending his time in the pool by about 15 minutes, and factoring in the nap he missed, he hit his end about 15 minutes into the lesson.

Henry went from super-fun Aqua man to super-unfun screamy man.  Luckily, someone's kid (not in swimming lessons) pooped in the pool just at that moment.

Everyone was asked to clear the pool and we all ran for the exits, holding the babies high out of the water, presumably away from the floating offender.  I took this as an convenient excuse to take our leave of swimming lessons for the day, and go get Henry warm and fed.

Henry has several screaming gears.   1st gear is sort of mild complaining.  2nd is intermittent crying and yelling.  3rd gear is constant crying in a still-tolerable decibel range.  4th gear requires hearing protection if you are exposed for longer than 30 seconds at a time.  When we entered the change room, Henry was somewhere around 6th gear.

Holding him in one arm, I opened our locker and managed to paw everything out onto the wet floor.  I grabbed his towel and clothes and went into one of the stalls that has a bench about 8 inches wide.  Henry reached 8th gear at this point, and the magnification effect from the fully tiled change room created a noise that would make anyone nuts.

There is a relatively large group of developmentally disabled adults that swim with their aides at the same time as our lessons. Due to the early evacuation from the pool they all funnelled into the change room at the same time and I entered with the unhappy Henry.

After about 3 minutes of banshee-like screeching, one of the ladies reaches her end from Henry's screaming.  She loses it, and starts screming "STOP THE BABY! STOP THE BABY! STOP THE BABY!" over and over again.  To her benefit, I felt like doing the same thing. I'm amazed that it didn't trigger some kind of riot alarm.  I start to go to the happy place in my head, away from the strange hell into which I`ve descended.

I manage to get Henry out of his swim suit and into clothes.  He continues hollering.  I mix a bottle and stick it in the gaping, wailing hole in his face.  I've begun to freeze at this point as I was still soaking wet and realized that I had forgotten my own towel at home.  Avoiding the inevitable, I let the little beast feed for about 5 minutes and then try to remove the bottle in order to allow myself to quickly throw some clothes on.

Big mistake.

He ratchets up to 10th gear (I think this translates to, "Mother, I was enjoying that bottle and would appreciate it if you could please return it to my mouth.  Thank you and you look lovely today."), which causes the lady in the next change room to chime back in.  I give the bottle back and attempt to wedge him against the tiny changing bench while balancing his bottle with my leg.  I give up on toweling off and simply tug my clothes onto my freezing, wet self.  I have to pee.

Peeing while holding an infant is a challenge.  The pants down part is OK, as is the important part, but getting your pants back up is tough.  I urge everyone to go try this.  Try it with an wet, angry cat and you'll likely get a fairly accurate representation of how things should go. 

Unfortunately at this point I, without realizing, fumbled the "easy part", getting my pants off and free off the impending flood.  I manage to pee all down the back of my pants.  As I feel the back of my legs warm, it has become painfully clear that this is a lost cause.  I give up.

I pull my soaked pants back up, stick the baby under one arm, grab our giant, wet swimming bag and quickly run past the other moms.  Henry is asleep by the time we get to the car and  I drive home sitting on 2 burp cloths, alternating between crying and laughing. 

At least no one died.

Out of the Wild

I used to think of myself as an intrepid adventurer.  I would decide I was going to undertake a giant bike ride from Vancouver to Seattle, climb some rock face or jump out of a perfectly good airplane. 

Adventure has taken on an entirely new form since having Henry.  Now, instead of packing climbing gear or food rations for 3 weeks in the woods, I tote a giant bag full of diapers, formula, two changes of clothes, toys, diaper wipes, socks, health records and anything else a good sherpa would bring. 

My return to being a wild woman started innocently; I would ocassionally forget to pack things in the diaper bag and then feel like an idiot and a bad Mommy.   After a bit of time, however, I started to find that I could actually satisfy my need to live dangerously by purposefully forgetting things that I might need. I got a bit of a rush upon returning home with only one diaper left in the diaper bag.  My adrenaline surged after the time I actually forgot a bottle and went to the grocery store and back without incident.

I really only do this accidentally, or when I'm about 99.8% sure that we will not need whatever item it is that I'm getting my kicks from that day. But that 0.2% is enough of a margin to allow me to feel like the reckless, danger-junkie that I am.

The toll for not preparing correctly when starting our on an adventure has changed, as well. It is no longer a slow death from exposure or a 10,000 foot fall to the earth.  It is now a quicker, but more painful social death by grocery-store people judgement, or savage noise from the little person whose needs I have failed to meet.

I also managed to find a way to satisfy my need for self-flagellation through exercise.  The toughest thing about having had a C-section with Henry was the activity restriction that followed.  I'm not good at sitting still.  Having recovered well, however, I managed to start sneaking out on my bicycle 6 weeks after he was born.  We were given an amazing jogging stroller when Henry was born, and I now use it to it's full potential.  A couple of times a week I throw the reusable bags in the bottom, put Henry in wind-proof clothes (yes....because I'm that fast), strap on my running shoes, tie the dog to the stroller and head out to terrorize unsuspecting pedestrians.   

We plough down the sidewalks, 6 feet wide and 8 feet long. People scramble out of the way of the baby-dog-CaveMom juggernaut hurtling down the sidewalk towards them at, realistically, about 8 km/hr.  This activity manages to exercise the dog, exercise me, get some fresh air for Henry and get groceries. And, as you're not actually supposed to tie up your dog at Hillside Mall, we also have to dodge the neon-clad, bicycle-driving security gaurds, further exercising my need to flirt with the wrong side of the law.

I told myself I wouldn't change after having a baby, and certainly nothing could be farther than the truth.  My friends have taken endless pleasure at commenting on how soft and mushy I am now.  But I still find ways to be that wild and crazy, devil-may-care troublemaker that I've always been. 

Henry, the gymnast

After a protracted period of time, I am now able to discuss this.

It was later in the evening and Mark had gone off to play hockey.  I really only had about half an hour to watch the boy prior to putting him down for the night.  This was before he started really moving around, so I was still swaddling him and leaving him on the couch.  Henry was in said position, against the inside of the couch with a pillow blocking his exit route when I stepped into the kitchen (likely to get a greasy late night snack, but that's beside the point).

I then hear the worst sound that I have ever heard.  THUD.  The sound of my baby falling from the couch onto the rug.

I dropped whatever I was holding and rushed to get to him.  He actually settled very quickly and appeared unharmed.  I, however, sobbing uncontrollably, garnered all of the skills that I had learned from an education of 5 years of rehab school, 15 seasons of ER and too many late nights on the self-diagnostic medical websites.  I checked his muscle tone, his pupils for equal dilation, and as many cranial nerves as I could.  I checked his ears and his mouth (in case he had knocked out some teeth he didn't have yet).  I did full range of motion testing on all of his joints and palpated his abdomen.   He seemed entirely unhurt. 

Now what do I do?  I felt like an utter failure.  My next stream of panicked thought regarded whether or not I should call the police on myself, having been such a neglectful mother.   No, I reason, they'll certainly come and take him away and put him in a foster home that will only want him for the government money and make him work in a little sweatshop in their shed producing those soapstone carvings you see in all of the gift shops here.  (I know there are wonderful foster homes, but that's not where my mind was at the time).

Seeing no rational option, I decide to Google "my baby fell off the couch".  I am still somewhat concerned that even doing this will trigger some computer-linked child welfare alarm and the police will show up at my house and remove my child.  At this point, however, I'm starting to regain my composure a bit.  Henry is playing quietly while lying next to me on our bed.  Nowhere near the edge.

It's pretty funny what comes up if you Google "my baby fell off the couch".  I did get some good advice that basically said to watch for signs of a head injury, but that he was likely OK given that it was only about 18 inches onto a soft surface. 

But I was amazed to find all sorts of variations of "my baby fell off the couch."  There was "my baby fell off our waterbed", "my baby fell down 13 uncarpeted stairs", "I was carrying my baby and I fell on him", "my baby fell off the change table and sort of into the diaper pail" and all sorts of other traumatic stories. 

My spirits were raised when I saw that the Google search returned over 48,000,000 results.  I felt like I had brothers and sisters in folly. 

I fretted until Mark got home and relayed the story.  He, in his awesome Mark way, just says "geez, I thought I'd be the first one to do that".

I've since talked to other moms about this and it appears it's not uncommon.  Even I fell off things as a baby, which probably explains a few things.

A Love Song for Community

While I was pregnant, Mark and I shied away from reading the parenting books, attending parenting classes or making use of any community resources. We lived in an ignorant little bubble of self-assurance, absolutely certain that we could handle whatever was to come with the birth of our child. We scoffed at those who studied, researched and readied teams of helpers in preparation for their babies.

Prior to Henry, it is likely that I had one of the most massive egos that ever existed without automatically turning into a black hole - I'm pretty sure that's how black holes work.

Once Henry was born, we managed for about 8 days and then things started to fall apart. We, with spent adrenaline tanks, shot nerves and depleted sleep reserves, began to stumble. After several figurative round-house kicks to the face, we crawled battered and bloody to our families, upstairs neighbour-angels, community agencies, public health nurses, doctors and friendly passers-by on the street begging for help. They, with absolutely no air of smugness, rallied around us and carried us through those first weeks and months.

At that point we made the decision to move from Vancouver to Victoria, where we could be closer to a much larger volume of family and friends. Our dear friends and upstairs neighbours at the time would say repeatedly, that "it takes a village", and Mark and I are now firm believers of the village concept.

Since moving to Victoria we have reaped the benefits of community. Henry and I have started swimming lessons; we have friends and family over to the house all the time and I have recently started a social cooking group for new parents. I have had an overwhelming response to the group and have managed to garner three sponsorships to date - a local market, a composting/recycling company and an organic home food delivery company. These businesses have been amazingly enthusiastic and eager to be involved with a bunch of moms that are working together to feed their families local, healthy, preservative-free food.

I had the distinct pleasure this summer of meeting my brother-in-law and sister-in-law and watching them, with a very new baby, continue to participate in their regular activities and maintain community relationships that had provided them so much support during their pregnancy and birth. I have watched my brother-in-law and sister-in-law here in Victoria do amazing things in the community and raise awareness about current issues through their tremendous artistic talents.


Just being in proximity to these hubs of activity has inspired me to connect with the community and involve people in things I am passionate about. There are few things more rewarding that finding others who are excited about the same causes and I can't think of a better way to build a sense of citizenship and commmunity in Henry.

Involve your kids in the community - teach them to build relationships that will give them places to fall back on when hey face challenges. Know your neighbours. Maintain relationships with local businesses. Take your kids along to community events that interest you and bring them along to volunteer for causes that excite you. Teach your kids to be kind to people and in kind to rely on other people. Teach them passion for their community.

I will not always be able to help Henry, but if he knows how to be part of his community, I hope that he will always feel connected and supported.

That's enough for today.....if anyone wants to hold hands and sing "We are the World"......you know where to find me.

The Virtuous Rice Cooker and that Evil Toaster

I love my rice cooker unabashedly.  I don't quite understand the voodoo that it uses to always know when the rice is done, but I don't care.  It cost about $20, it's from Canadian Tire, and it gets the job done.  I decided that I should probably understand how it works, so here's what I found out:
http://recipes.howstuffworks.com/tools-and-techniques/question35.htm

For the reasons described above, the rice cooker is able to do white rice, brown rice, basmati rice, wild rice, rice blends, cous cous, quinoa, and any other grain I've thrown at it. I've also started to put other things in the rice cooker.  Dangerous, I know.

My first foray into challenging the rice cooker was adding raisins and cinnamon, before asking it nicely to cook my cous cous.  (I secretly think that it is my nice way of talking to the rice cooker that causes it to cook everything correctly, and not the answer that fancy know-it-all website gave, but who knows.)  Once it had turned off, Mark and I had this lovely fragrant cous cous, with plump, juicy raisins.


So, a few tips for making your rice-cooking experience more exciting.

1.  Use different grains.  Try different kinds of rice, grains or even blends.  You can find these anywhere.  Check your rice cooker guidelines, but I always add two parts water for every one part grain.  I err a little on the side of too little water, just so things don't come out soggy.

2.  Use dried fruit or vegetables.  When putting rice and water into the rice cooker, add some dried cranberries, raisins or sundried tomatoes.  Stick with the same rice to water ratios, but while it is cooking, it will plump up your additions and infuse your rice with the flavour.

3.  Use aromats.  Yeah, that's just a big fancy word for stuff that imparts flavour into the dish it's cooked in.  For a formal definition, I found this was the best:

http://ruhlman.com/2009/01/aromats/


I find herbs are easiest to do with the rice cooker, as you typically don't have enough time to really benefit from the flavour of the classical aromats (celery, onion, carrot).  You can start cooking things before putting them in the rice cooker, but that kind of defeats the purpose.

4.  Get creative and combine things.  I have a lovely little basil plant that lives on the shelf above my sink.  Combining some fresh basil and sundried tomatoes in the rice cooker with basmati rice makes a lovely side dish.  Sometimes I cheat and just combine the main flavours listed on a bottle of salad dressing - it always seems to turn out well.

While I was researching this post, I found this website that gives some rice cooker reviews, as well as ideas for complete meals done in the rice cooker:  http://bestricecookerratings.com/complete-meals-in-rice-cookers/

Rice cookers are amazingly handy for their pure time-saving, hands-free magic.  But I love mine because it loves me back.

I am however pretty upset with the toaster.  I've realized that it doesn't use a heat sensor and relies purely on time, therefore giving me unevenly cooked bread and insensitivity to different things that I put in it.

On the other hand, I did cook two veggie burgers in it yesterday....

Stuffed Hungarian Peppers

This was something that I made for dinner one day after coming back from our amazing vegetable market.  I know that Hungarian peppers sound kind of "exotic", but this recipe could be done with any sweet bell pepper.  I just happened to find these at my local veggie market and decided to try them.

Ingredients:
4 large Hungarian peppers (sweet bell peppers)
3 cups of prepared brown rice (I do mine in the rice cooker, as always)
1 1/2 cups of grated cheese (I used a local spiced gouda, but any kind of mozzarella-like cheese will do)
2 cups of beet greens
2 cups of chopped mushrooms (any kind you'd like!)
1 medium sized onion, diced
2 eggs
1 cup of whole wheat bread crumbs
1 tbsp of butter (or olive oil, if you prefer)
Kosher salt
Pepper

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees!

1.  Combine chopped mushroom and diced onion in a fry pan with butter and a generous amount of salt and pepper.

2.  Separate beet leaves from the stalks and then chop them into strips.
3.  After the mushrooms and onions have begun to brown in the fry pan, add the beet greens for no more than 1 minutes.  Otherwise, they lose all of there beet green-y goodness!  Once this is done, remove it from the heat and set aside.

4.  Cut the tops off of your peppers carefully as you will use these later.  Remove as much of the inside of the pepper to create a nice place for your stuffing to live.

5.  In a bowl, combine your cooked mixture with the prepared brown rice, grated cheese, 2 eggs and the breadcrumbs.  Stir just enough to evenly distribute the ingredients.  Add some more salt and pepper.

 6.  Use a spatula, or your fingers, to stuff the peppers full of the yummy stuffing.  Fill them to about 1/2" from the top, leaving a bit of room for the lids.

7.  Put the lids on and bake in the oven for about 45 minutes.  You'll be able to tell they're done when the pepper skins are soft and slightly brown.

8.  Serve and enjoy!

Mommy Panic Syndrome, or "I didn't inhale"

Mark and I went to watch the Pearl Jam 20th Anniversary Tour concert on Sunday, September 25th.  I was initially aghast to see my peers looking, well, a little older than I'd expected.  There was an awful lot of sensible shoes and receding hairlines.  There were mom jeans and pot bellies.  Those old plaid Lumberjack shirts were looking pretty long in the tooth.

At the T-shirt sales table, there were onesies along with the predictable rock concert gear.  "I guess they know their audience", Mark says.  Most of these grunge rockers from the 90s were coupled off, many wearing wedding rings and cooing over the spray-paint-can-adorned baby undershirts.   I found myself feeling a bit disappointed at the lack of anti-establishment rhetoric and the noticeable absence of teenage angst.

We made our way up to our seats.  Behind us to the right were a group of portly 30-something dudes wearing wrinkly T-shirts, faded jeans and thick glasses.  Between songs, the guy sitting next to me was scheduling meetings for the week on his Blackberry, sending e-vites to his fellow coworkers.

I should note, this was the first time that Mark and I had left Henry with non-family members.  They seemed like nice people and accepted spare change as payment, so we figured it was OK.  It was the first time I hadn't been with him when he went to sleep.  I found myself wondering how many other concert-goers were checking their watches between songs, wondering how their little ones were doing?  This was probably pretty different from what were doing when we first heard this music twenty years ago.

I enjoyed the music, but it was difficult not to reflect on what happens in the span of twenty years.  A lot of the music they played has been a constant in my existence, while everything else has changed and changed and changed.  I wondered how it was that we could all have been doing the same thing in the 90s and how that led us to sharing this moment two decades later.  I thought it was beautiful that these funny-looking 30-somethings could all jump up and down like children while Eddie belted out Alive.

Then I realized the guy three seats down was most of the way through his joint and I was likely high.

I did pretty well until the band came out for their second encore; the show dragging into the 2 1/2 hour mark. At that point, I could no longer ignore my Mommy-Panic.   I began wondering if Henry was sleeping well, if he thought I had abandoned him and was never coming back, or if dingos had carried him off into the temperate rainforest.


We had two cell phones (in case one of the fully charged batteries died) that I checked at regular intervals to see if the babysitters had started their trip to the hospital because of some awful diaper-changing-related accident.  I powered through the final song, and after begging Mark to pay an exorbitant amount of money for a cab, he talked me down and we took the bus home.

Upon our return, Henry was sleeping soundly, and had been since prior to the band even taking the stage.  He didn't even notice we were gone and Mark and I enjoyed a really lovely evening together.  All was well and the dingos retreated back into the night.

My favorite part so far (well, at least one of them)...

There are a lot of things that I've enjoyed about becoming a mommy.  For someone who has balked at any kind of imposed routine throughout my life, I love the simplicity of my existence with Henry.  I love our days together, swimming, running, going to the mall to talk to all of the old people (thank you Victoria).  But, my favorite part so far is what I call Cave Mom.

When I was pregnant, I had two previews of Cave Mom.  The first occurred when Mark and I were in Seattle on our last trip together before baby.  This was intended to be a fun romantic get away, and although we had a blast, a lot of time was dedicated to finding me places to pee.  At 7 1/2 months pregnant, this trumps even places to eat.  

We decided to take the Monorail out to the Experience Music Project, a large museum named after Jimi Hendrix's band.  We decided not to take the tour, but rather to sit (something I was great at at that time) and have a snack (another winner).  I had to pee.  So I waddled into the museum in search of a washroom, only to find that they were located, in visual range, about 5 feet behind the ticketed area line.  So I asked the gentleman guarding said line if I could use the washroom.  He told me I had to buy a ticket.  I cried at him and escalated to yelling about my plight and what an insensitive jerk he was.  He didn't give.  So I hauled my big self around him and went into the washroom, on the assumption that he likely wouldn't tackle a pregnant women - if for no other reason than I would certainly pee on him.  On the way out, he told me to have a nice day.  Without a thought, I told him to go f*%! himself.

I have never said those words to anyone before in my life, and it came as such a surprise to me that by the time I reached Mark I was crying and laughing so hard I had to pee again.

The second preview came about 3 weeks later.  A this point I'm more than 8 months pregnant and moving really slowly.  I was walking through a small parking lot on Granville Island with a girlfriend, and an elderly gentleman in a large, cream-colored car was pulling into the lot.  I was waddling across the handicap parking stall as he was attempting to pull in.  I didn't move quickly enough for him, so he felt it appropriate to wait until I was dead center on the grille of his car and then blast his horn.  The first REAL Cave Mom moment.

I became murderously angry.  I barely resisted the urge to rip the door off of his car and pound him to a pulp, and managed to wait until he had parked.  I stood right outside of his door, and once it had opened, I hollered at him in no unspecific terms how inappropriate it was to honk at a very pregnant lady.   Mark stood about 15 feet away, averted his eyes and did not approach.

Since Henry was born, this Cave Mom thing has fascinated me.  At first, it was completely overwhelming as I was trying to protect him from everything and everyone.  Burners on the stove seemed scary, and I was certain that I needed to shield him from all of the vehicles that were certainly about to drive directly on to the sidewalk and over the stroller.  I had a moment with a close relative when he was about 4 days old, when it literally crossed my mind to kill her for not giving my baby back when I asked.  

I have always been uber-concerned with not offending people and ensuring that their feelings are not hurt.  That's kind of gone out the window when it comes to things involving the boy, and there is a real freedom in that.  Now, if someone even mildly imperils me while I have him, I become a raging she-bear.  Threaten my child?   There will be no negotiating, no prisoners taken.  I'll hack your head off with the pen in my purse and then serve my family a spinach and rice pilaf out of it for dinner (insane laughing).  A bit extreme, maybe.....but you get the point.

I've found this new mothering thing really empowering.  I am his first line of defense against the whole world and I'm relishing the baseness and pure primal awesomeness that comes with that.  I really like Cave Mom - I'm going to try to be more like her.

Stay tuned for my recipe for Hungarian Peppers stuffed with a bunch of yummy stuff.

Fig Jam and Beet & Cous Cous Salad

Well, as I had said earlier it was the fig jam that really did it for me.  We have just moved into this beautiful house in Victoria that just happens to have a fig tree in the back yard.   Our neighbours to the north also have a fig tree as well as two giant apple trees, a pear tree and grape vines.  I am planning a raid on their property soon, as this fruit appears to be going unpicked.

I  have picked the fig tree twice now, yielding about 7 - 10 lbs of figs each time.  The tree looks like it will still give another haul of about double this amount.

Here are some interesting facts about figs:

• The fig tree is a deciduous tree. 
• The fruit of the fig tree are the seeds within inverted flowers. 
• The fig most likely originated in Asia Minor. 
• The fig tree was first recorded on the tablets of Lagash in 2738-2371 BC and it appears in ancient Greek and Egyptian records.
• Figs are higher in fiber than any other common fruit or vegetable, and they also contain iron, calcium and potassium. 
• Figs are a natural mild laxative and have been used as such since the Ancient Egyptians. 
• The fruit has also been used as a mouth cleaner and to relieve chest congestion.
• Figs have been used as a coffee substitute, and, due to its high alkalinity, it is eaten as an aid to those who wish to quit smoking.

If you haven't had enough figgy fun yet, here's a quiz:

http://www.funtrivia.com/playquiz/quiz302273229af80.html

Fig Jam

Ingredients:

About 7 cups of figs cut into quarters - I removed the stem and the bottom, but left the skins on as they soften up nicely and give structure to the jam
2 cups of brown sugar
1/4 cup of brown sugar set aside
1 1/2 boxes of Sugar-Free Pectin
1/3 cup of lemon juice
1/2 cup of water
2 Tbsp cinnamon

1.  Sterilize 7 - 250 ml jars by running them through the dishwasher with the lids and rings
2.  Most jam recipes imply that you need a canning pot (about $30 - 40 at a department store), however, I just use my soup pot
3.  Keep the jar lids warm in a bowl of hot water
4.  In a large pot, combine cut figs, brown sugar, lemon juice, water and cinnamon
5.  Bring to a low boil and cook for about 10 minutes
6.  Combine the sugar-free pectin and 1/4 cup of brown sugar in a separate bowl to allow it to spread nicely thoughout your jam without clumping
7.  Add the pectin mixture to the jam and bring to a rolling boil
8.  Boil for 1 minute - if you boil too long, the pectin won't set - and then take the mixture off of the heat
9.  Take a small spoonful of the jam and let it cool on the counter to check the gelling of the jam - it should set up nicely, but if it is runny, you can quickly reboil and add more pectin and brown sugar
10.  Once you are satisfied with the gelling, pour the jam into the jars, leaving about 1/4" at the top
11.  Wipe any jam off of the tops of the jars to ensure a good seal
12.  Apply the warm jar tops and hand-tighten the rings
13.  In a large soup pot or canning pot, bring water to a boil
14.  Add jars and boil with at least 2" of water covering the tops - if you are using a regular pot, you may have to do a couple of batches
15.  Boil for 5 - 7 minutes and then remove - do not overboil, as this will cause your jam to be runny
16.  Remove from water and set your beautiful jars on a towel
17.  Leave for 12 - 24 hours, ensuring that the center of the lid has sucked down
18.  Give away or eat it all yourself!

Beet and Cous Cous Salad

I owe this recipe to my brother-in-law, who is an absolutely incredible chef and teacher.  I have made a couple of adaptations, but the flavour combinations are well beyond my skill level.  I share it as it has become a staple in our house.

Ingredients:
6 medium sized beets (I'm really looking forward to growing these myself next year)
2 cups of dry, whole-grained cous cous
1 cup of crumbled goat cheese
3/4 cup of dry, unsalted cashews
1/2 cup of dry, chopped figs (these did come from my tree!)

1.  Boil the beets with the skins on and about 1/2" of the tops left on to prevent bleeding.  This will likely take about 30 minutes, however, it's good to check them around 25 minutes to see if a fork can go through cleanly - you want them to be al dente and not overdone
2.  Prepare the cous cous as per the directions on your bag/container.  I do mine in a rice cooker
3.  Take skin off beets (it should just slide off) and them cut into about 1 - 1 1/2" pieces

4.  Combine cous cous, cut beets, chopped figs, cashews and goat cheese in a large bowl
5.  Add salt and pepper to taste (I don't add any) and enjoy!

I'd like to note Henry's amazingly intelligent, creative aunts and uncles by including some links below:

Chris is involved in an event that asks people to live off the food in a food hamper from a food bank for a week.  You can follow him here:  http://gwdothemath.ca/

Michael is presently in Italy, but you can always find amazing things on his site:http://www.novembirdproject.com/

Marlene is also in Italy and has just published her first book, Bucolic Battery.  Check our her stuff here:  http://marlenejess.ca/

This is just one of their amazing joint ventures in Victoria:  http://mondaymag.com/articles/entry/whats-in-your-bottle-of-water/

Melissa is a gardening goddess and mama extraordinaire and I've pulled the following from her work with FarmStart:  http://us1.campaign-archive1.com/?u=161ababe722ef78f40ab203a0&id=ae03330ee2

Jillian is a doctoral student at UWO, volunteer coordinator for the London Fringe and a triathelete.  Learn more about her here:  http://ir.lib.uwo.ca/lme/May30/Program/22/ and here:  http://www.londonfringe.ca/

Bryn is an Assistant Professor in the Music Department at Ithaca College.  Here is his bio:  https://www.ithaca.edu/music/mthc/facstaff/bhughes/

I really couldn't be more proud of Henry's family; they are talented, intelligent, conscientious, amazing people.  And that's only the aunts and uncles!  I'm saving Mark's ventures for a separate post, as his remarkable development deserves its own attention.  Stay tuned!

Einstein, marketing and the bliss of homemade cheese.

To preface this post, I should indicate that I have begun to lust for the power that blogging brings.  A good friend said to me that it is like writing a thesis.  It is the lazy man's thesis.  I can make completely unfounded, unresearched claims based on nothing other than casual observation and assumption.  On that basis, I proceed. 

Also, if you wish to skip the anti-advertising rhetoric, skip down to the bottom for the homemade cheese recipe!  I served it with homemade fig jam (with figs from our tree!) and brown rice crackers - tasty!

I find myself feeling eternally glad that Henry will grow up in a culture that is beginning to realize the dangers of processed foods.  It is becoming on trend again to grown your own food, question what goes in it and seek out healthy options.  It so painfully obvious that our bodies get confused with processed sugars, additives, preservatives and other chemicals that go into food.  I'll lament more on that another day.  But the segue is....we've started to question what goes into our food, however, I wonder if we really question what's going into our minds.  Deep, I know.

As I now have a child, I've spent more time with people that have children and have become more aware of how people entertain and teach their children.  We now have educational toys, developmentally-appropriate playthings, Baby Einstein videos and basically any kind of multi-colored, multi-textured object that should help baby become that rocket scientist you know he's meant to be.  

I'm scared of Baby Einstein videos.  I realize this will probably raise the ire of many a responsible, well-intention parent, but after sitting and watching one Baby Einstein video, I felt completely overstimulated and unwell.  I felt as I imagined Alex felt in A Clockwork Orange.  My brain couldn't make sense of what I was watching, yet I felt somewhat altered.  May be it was just too much red wine or possibly my meds need to be adjusted.

I have watched Henry stare at trees and houseplants with great amusement.  He can watch shadows on a wall for an amazing amount of time.  I can see his little mind working in the stillness and I can't wait until he can ask me those questions that I can see in his eyes.  I watch him watch our dog Jack.

We evolved with trees and sunsets and animals and all of these other natural toys and types of sensory stimulation.  Technology in food and in sensory input have exploded at a rate that we are not adapted to, and hopefully will not have to.  So, as four and half months of parenting has made me an expert on all things related to child development, I would encourage examining what we put into our minds.  What kind of research has gone into the design of the play mat......does it have the exact shade of blue that is on a Pepsi can?  Do the football slogans on his "little boy" clothes make him more prone to buying things from Superbowl ads in his 20s?  Is the orange in that Baby Einstein video that same as in the A & W logo?

Sounds paranoid....probably.  But it's worth a second thought.

On a lighter note, Henry and I made cheese the other day.  It super easy and here's how we did it:

Ingredients:

2L Homogenized milk, the less pasteurized this is, the better
1 1/2 cups of lemon juice (you may not use all of this)
1 Tbsp of sea salt
About 1/3 cup of any type of fresh cut herb that you like, chopped.....I used dill
Cheesecloth (found in the grocery store)

1.  Pour all of of the milk, salt and desired herbs into a large saucepan and bring it to a light boil.  Stir occasionally to prevent it from scalding.

2.  Once it has boiled, remove it from the heat.
3.  Start pouring in the lemon juice, a bit at a time, while stirring the mixture.  Curds will begin to form.  The rate at which this happens will depend on the pasteurization of your milk.  Keeping adding the lemon juice until your curds are about the size of small peas.  My mixture smelled like buttered popcorn at this point!

4.  Line a collander with the cheesecloth and slowly pour mixture through the cheesecloth.  The curds will remain and the whey will go through the cheesecloth.  Apparently this can be saved for a number of uses.  I did not learn this until I'd dumped mine down the sink.

5.  Gather up the curds in the cheesecloth to form a ball.  Squeeze out most of the liquid.  don't go overboard on this, as your cheese will be dry.  Just squeeze it enough so it forms a ball. 

6.  Place in the fridge in the cheesecloth and cover with plastic wrap.
7.  Once cool, unwrap, cut and serve!

A couple of funny first-time mommy stories to start...

This was a post from a few months ago when I was really green. It does, however, follow my strange pattern of random destruction....

The Scourge that is Mom Brain - June 14, 2011

I will write this in an intention, action and result format to indicate my good will.

Intention: To prevent myself and the boy from being carjacked.
Action: Asked Henry's Dad to lock myself and the boy in the car while he went to get a few groceries.
Result: While attempting to get to the crying boy in the back, I activated my car alarm with no way to shut it off.

Intention: To soothe my crying baby.
Action: While quickly exiting the car to try to get into the back (which is inaccessible due to the alarm), accidentally and unknowingly placed Blackberry on roof of the car.
Result: Strange, unidentified vibrating sound while sitting in the car waiting for Henry's Dad to return with keys to turn alarm off, which has now terrified the boy and shot my nerves.

Intention: To leave the supermarket parking lot quickly without further incident, failing to identify the strange vibrating sound, coming from somewhere in the car.
Action: Henry's Dad drives away, merging into rush hour traffic.
Result: Vibrating sound stops as small black object flies off of the roof nearly causing car accident.

Intention: To retrieve what we now know is my Blackberry from Grandview highway.
Action: Henry's Dad wading into highway speed rush hour traffic to retrieve the 3 pieces.
Result: Mom brain strikes again.


The second story here comes with a content warning. If you are a man, particularly one without children, this will likely make you at least uncomfortable, and at worst, will make you never want to have children. Or a girlfriend. Or you may just want to lie in the fetal position.

Anyways, here goes:

To Soothe a Crying Baby - June 9, 2011
My partner was to be away one night for several hours, and Henry had started to be fussier in the evenings. Henry's Dad left at 5 and was to return around 10:30 PM. Promptly upon his departure, Henry started to yell (he doesn't really cry at first, it's more like yelling). So I attempted to feed him. He ate a little bit but wasn't really into it. So I tried to burp him. He burped initially and then projectile vomited through his mouth and nose all over himself and myself. Once I had this cleaned up he actually gave me 10 minutes of respite during which I inhaled my dinner.

After graciously waiting for me to finish, he started to really cry. We tried swaddling, rocking, walking, bouncing on the exercise ball, a warm bath, singing, dancing and finally attempts at reasoning and bargaining for about the next 3 hours, at which point I decided to take him out for a walk...he usually sleeps in the stroller. Instead of his usual bit of complaining and then stroller coma, he yelled at all of the neighbours for 45 minutes of walking around the neighbourhood and people looking at me like I had put broken glass in the stroller with him.

While yelling, he managed to kick his legs out of the legs of his sleeper and kept getting them lodged in the body part, causing the back of the neck to put him in a backwards choke hold. At one point, after I had remedied this several times, he managed to get both legs sticking out of different snapper holes in the body of the sleeper and nearly taking his head off with the neck of the sleeper. At this point, I ripped it off of him and swaddled him in the blanket I had brought. All of a sudden, he is asleep. Victory is mine!

But alas, my first period had started that morning and I notice at this point that my tampon has epically failed and I have blood running down the insides of both my legs. So, as the boy is now asleep, I seriously debate continuing to walk around the neighbourhood this way, however, ultimately decide the neighbours are scared enough at this point and head home. He remains asleep for approximately 3 minutes after our arrival.

The following hour and a half sees a call to my mother, and eventually a rigging of my hairdryer beside his crib and the white noise soothes the little beast for nearly 20 minutes. He starts up again, so I give up, lie in bed with him and just let him scream. His dad rolls in at 10 PM; I hand Henry to him and he is asleep within 47 seconds.

The beginning

It all started with fig jam. Well, I suppose that it started before the fig jam, but that was really the turning point. Although it feels somewhat self-indulgent, let's back up and start with a bit of history.

A little over two years ago in an amazing little twist of fate, I met the man who is now my life partner, best friend and the father of my child. We met during a pit stop on the Ride to Conquer Cancer, a 2-day, 262 km charity bike ride from Vancouver to Seattle. At the 90 km mark of the first day, I got off my bike at a pit stop, grabbed some lunch and sat down next to a lovely lake. I looked to my left and was struck with the bright blue eyes of this beautiful man. At that time, I was in the early days of a divorce and he and I continued a friendship over the course of the next year while we both sorted through personal issues. In August 2010, we decided to be together and were blessed with our little surprise miracle baby about 3 days later. I gave birth to Henry Douglas on April 29, 2011.

When Henry was born, I had been working as an Occupational Therapist for almost 7 years, self-employed for the past 4 years, primarily focusing on working with chronic pain clients. It was not uncommon for me to work 50 - 70 hours per week, I had my phone on 24 hours a day and had not taken a real vacation in about 2 years. I didn't know how to not work. When Henry came along, I got that much-needed break from work, and discovered a whole different kind of occupation. It's taken me about 4 1/2 months to get my feet under me, but I am now a reformed work-a-day woman and a happy housewife. I spend my days planning healthy, gourmet meals, picking fruit from our trees, planning my garden for next year, knitting, and most importantly caring for my child. I run and ride my road bike about 4 times per week. I used to spend my energy dealing with frustrated and angry adults, and now I get to put all of my energy into caring for, feeding and growing my family. I grew up in a society still fresh from the Feminist movement, during a time where housewife was a dirty word and a homemaker was perceived as an uneducated woman who didn't have any choices other than the menial daily tasks of childcare, cooking, cleaning, etc. I have discovered that being that housewife is the most rewarding thing I can imagine. I get to be a gourmet cook, to focus on local, healthy food and create amazing recipes. I get to create homemade toys and clothes. I can still be an athlete, a social butterfly and a wholly fulfilled person. I can use my university education to provide amazing care for my family by applying the skills and tools that I gained during that experience to everday life. I taught myself how to make jam and jar it yesterday. I ate it on my toast this morning and it was amazing.

That was the beginning of my housewife renaissance. I've created this blog with the aim to share recipes and patterns, to discuss how to balance being a housewife while maintaining independent interests, to communicate funny stories from my new role as a mother and just generally to share the journey. I hope that attitudes continue to change to respect the amount of time and energy that goes into raising children, specifically in devoting yourself to feeding them healthy food, providing a loving environment that encourages growth and ultimately provides them with the tools to become amazing people.