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!