Christmas Lights

These past few weeks I have been driving around happily. I love the lights people put out this time of year. Christmas lights simply make me happy. They are little bits of cheer in a dark Northeastern winter. Over the last few years my husband has done his best to boycott Christmas, but even he gets excited about the lights. We go driving in search of the biggest displays we can find.

In our little town, one resident and her family erects an enormous display of lights in her yard. She welcomes people to park and wander around to take it all in. This has become a family tradition. Now that we have a child, it will probably become an even more important family tradition.

Winter can be hard enough. Christmas can be stressful if you put too much pressure on yourself to make it perfect and find the perfect gifts to give. Don't worry about the gifts. Give what you can. Leave perfection by the wayside. Get out there and enjoy those lights!

Merry Christmas!

Pedialyte Review

Pedialyte is yucky. It is too sweet. That being said, it is also a wonderful product if you can manage to swallow it. Sweet little Baby Boo was sick with a stomach bug this week. I bought him Pedialyte. He did not want to drink it. When I tasted it I found out why. All of the fake sweeteners in it make it feel like you are drinking concentrated liquified sugar. Anyone who knows me knows how strong of a sweet tooth I have. So this stuff must be awfully sweet.

I watered it down. Alex drank a bit more of it. Fortunately he recovered. Unfortunately he passed his illness onto me. I still had some of the drink left and figured why not have some for myself? I watered it down a lot. The next morning I felt great. So, my personal recommendation is this - buy the stuff, water it down, and drink drink drink (which we should do anyway...). They tell you not to water it down, but if that's the only way to get it into a sick child, why not???

Rest in Peace Pandora

Last week my dear kitty, Pandora (A.K.A. Kitty Kitty Meow Meow) disappeared for a couple of days. I worried. Cats tend to do this when they are sick or injured. But we found her and she stayed in view. However she had stopped eating and was unable to keep water down. Sadly, I knew her time to leave us had come.

By Saturday she had difficulty moving around as her hind legs started to lose their ability to function. A typical cat, she loved to be where she could be tripped over. As the kitchen is the heart of our home, that was her favorite room in the house. One of her particular spots was on the mat in front of the door. Unable to get out of the way of the door, I gently placed her on a folded towel for some comfort and put her next to the door. I did what I could to make her comfortable. And by Monday night she had passed into whatever world our dear kitties move onto after this one.

Her death was not unexpected. We adopted her from a shelter a year and a half ago. She had been placed in our local PetsMart and we saw her often when we went to buy supplies for the critters we already had. Pandora remained there for quite some time awaiting a family. I began to fear no one would take her because she was elderly and so many people want kittens. Finally Craig and I filled out the paperwork. When we went to pick her up about a week later, we found out she had been adopted and returned several times already. The poor girl!

Given that she was already fourteen or so years old (The paperwork had different ages for her.) I figured she wouldn't be with us more than a couple of more years. I believe that shelter life ages cats faster than life in a loving home. But at least it gives the animals a chance at a loving home. (I am taking a moment to get on my soap box here...) So if you want a pet, please don't purchase one from a store. Go to a local shelter or check the paper for a family giving one away. Pandora was one of many animals I have adopted and I have been happy with each of these pets.

We brought her home where she hid under the sofa for two weeks, only emerging very briefly to use the litter box or get a drink. After this she became accustomed to us and then became very friendly with her new family. We fed her. We snuggled with her. She made her way into our hearts. Though we only had a year and a half with her, she will remain in our memories forever.

We will miss you, Pandora. Rest in Peace.

Battling Perfectionism

Yesterday my husband granted me a "day off." He took care of our baby from feeding to cuddling to changing diapers. He did not ask me to do anything like cook or clean. I got to sleep late, then spend the day playing video games. It was a break from life that I desperately needed.

But what brought me to needing to withdraw from life for a day? The previous few days I had been in a bit of a funk. But I still battled on, washing dishes, caring for the baby, making dinner, and teaching a few music lessons through it all.

It all seemed to have its start on Saturday. My dear Craig came across me indulging in tears of self pity. Here is our conversation:

Craig: Why are you crying?

Me: Because sometimes life is hard.

Craig: My life has never been easier.

Me: (Not out loud, but in my head) Because I've been doing all of the work, you idiot!

If anyone has been watching us, it is true, I have been doing all of the work. But that is not the end of the story. Last night as I came back to reality I asked myself why I have been doing all of the work. Is it because Craig is incapable, unwilling, or something else? He is currently capable and willing. I created the situation in my bid for Perfection. You see, Craig had offered, yes offered, to do the dishes several times the previous week. I declined the offer because I don't like the way he washes dishes. How's that for Perfectionism? Not only did I decline the offer of help, but I did not ask for help with anything else either.

So on Tuesday I found myself in bed late and checking out for the day. Allowing myself such an indulgence is not a problem as long as it only happens once in a while. But I would like for it to come about not as the answer to a Perfectionism induced funk, but from my husband's appreciation for what I do for him and the rest of the family.

What now? I will accept future offers to wash dishes or any other part of the house. It may mean going to another room so that I can not see the suds flying across the room, but that would be just fine. I will also ask for more help from him. Craig is generally very happy to help a person out - especially his wife. He simply needs to know what I need help with. After all, he has yet to learn to read my mind.

Open Letter to President Elect Obama

Dear President Elect Obama,

Congratulations on winning the election. I will be proud to call you my president. There are many things you will be asked to do and for many good reasons by many good people. I would like to add my request to that list.

The situation in the Guantanamo Bay Prison increasingly worries me. I encourage you to keep your campaign promise to get those prisoners trials here in our court system. Recently I heard a news commentator speaking of the fear of some people in the government have about the torture stories that will come out should you allow these people to have their due process under the law. Those tales of torture have become the proverbial elephant in the room. Most of the world is aware of what is going on there, but no one has thus far been willing to acknowledge it.

If we are to heal the rifts in our nation and the rifts between us and the rest of the world, we need to be honest with ourselves and everyone else. We need to acknowledge whatever wrongs have been done to our fellow humans imprisoned in Guantanamo. We need to apologize to those people, their families, and their nations of origin. We need to apologize as a nation.

It does not matter who voiced the orders or who looked away when wrong was being done when we make our apology. (The particular people responsible for unethical decisions ought also to be dealt with but that is not what this letter is about.) We who have had the right to vote into office our elected officials who then hired the rest of the government employees are all to blame. It does not matter if you voted for the administrators directly involved or not. We are a republic with democratically elected people in power. Most of us decided to put them there and that is all that matters.

I am guessing that some of those people truly are criminals that ought to be imprisoned somewhere, but they are also people who deserve the rights we as a nation set forth in our Constitution. To me, it does not matter if a person is a citizen of the U.S. or not. If you are a person, you have certain inalienable rights that we of all nations should respect. One of those rights is the right to a fair and speedy trial. Those souls we have imprisoned in Guantanamo and possibly in other locations have yet to be granted that right. I am holding out hope that you will do all in your power to change that situation.

Sincerely,
Meghan Hamilton

Blessing my Back

About nine months ago I slipped and fell. It was February. I walked outside without any thought about the fact that it was freezing and hit the stairs outside of my apartment. Literally, I hit the stairs. For several days prior, rain had fallen off and on - mostly on. This particular Saturday the sun shone and I felt like skipping. Okay, maybe not skipping, but it put me in a good mood. So out the door I went, stepped onto icy stairs without even looking, and down on my butt I landed.

Heavily pregnant and due in about eight weeks, I screamed in fright. My dear husband came running to see if I was okay. I sat about a third of the way down the flight of steps out of our second floor apartment and took stock of my body. Everything seemed okay. The baby seemed okay. I had a few scrapes on my hands from trying to catch my fall and a bruise on one arm, but I felt like nothing major had happened. Phew! Having assured Dear Craig that all was well and I was simply shaken up, I proceeded to stand up.

Hmmm. How do I get off of these slippery steps? Finally taking a good hard look around me, I realized that every single one of them had ice on it. What's a big ole preggo mama to do??? There were fewer stairs to go up than to go down. I stood and took one unsteady step up. No good. Too much ice. I sat back down. Aha! I'll go down on my butt. So, one slippy step at a time, I lowered myself down until my feet hit the blessedly dry ground at the bottom. I stood back up and went off to teach a piano lesson.

I pulled up at my student's home and tried to get out of the car. Uh oh. Super stiff body with a giant belly crammed into a compact car. What now? Find a way out of the car. I needed the money from the lesson. Gingerly, I made my way out of the vehicle and up to the door. Somehow I made it through the lesson and back home. Having gone through the same stiff motions to get out of the car once again, I headed for the inside stairs. (We don't usually use them as they go through a Preschool and we don't want to disturb them.)

By this point, I had developed quite a pain in the area of my tailbone. I took some Tylenol and rounded up my husband to do the driving for the rest of the weekend. By Monday the pain was excruciating. Tylenol had no hope of touching it. I called the obstetrician's office to ask about taking something stronger. The answer was, "No and you need to come in today for a fetal stress test and why didn't you call on Saturday when it happened???"

As I had already figured out by my baby's regular movements, he was fine. It was Mommy to Be that had the injury. The doctor narrowed it down to my pelvis. She sent me off to Physical Therapy. The therapist narrowed down the injury to my sacrum and informed me there was not much she could do as my pregnancy was working against me at this stage. I needed to tighten the pelvis back up, but my body was busy loosening it so that the baby could fit through during labor. Great. She did manage to deliver some relief. I was able to sit again without pain even though the discomfort persisted.

Along came the baby via Cesarean section. My stomach was not in particularly stellar shape before I got pregnant. The c-section put it into worse shape. My back ached all the time. Picking up my sweet baby became difficult. I knew the answer would be to exercise. But how? Where? My floor was covered in clutter and pretty icky underneath it. After all, in my exhausted late pregnant and injured state, I had become unable to do any housework. My husband had lost his marbles and was unable to do any housework.

Enter FLYLady. On and off over the past few years I have been using her system to keep the house clean. It was time to get back on. Now I have a clear floor that has seen a vacuum. I can do all of those exercises to strengthen my back and pelvis and whatever else I want to strengthen. One of the many things I love about FLYLady is that she has renamed many activities that often become seen negatively i.e. exercise. She calls it "Blessing Your Heart." Tonight I decided that I would be "Blessing my Back."

Go Me!!!

Size Matters - bath size that is...

Yes Folks! Size Matters! When it comes to a baby's bathtub it does anyway. This is Alex in his brand spanking new bathtub. Previously he cried when given a bath. At first the sound of the water coming out of the faucet scared the heck out of him. By the time he got over his fear of the sound of running water he had grown so much that he was busting out of his space saving fold up tub. So he cried in discomfort.

What is a mommy to do? He is only seven months old. Thus he still needs assistance sitting up. So putting him in the main tub is out. But he is HUGE!!! The kid is growing faster than most weeds. Even a lot of the tubs that are supposedly toddler friendly seemed too little. I looked everywhere there is to look around here. Have you ever shopped for baby products? Some stores simply have too many choices. Other stores don't even carry what you are looking for (see my post on Cute Baby Boy Clothes).

Finally it was back to Kmart. I picked up the one remaining tub on the shelves (Apparently we were not the only people in need of a baby bath tub!). No contours - this seemed like a good thing. It came with toys. Toys are good. It has a non-skid surface to put baby's butt on. Another plus!

As you can see in the picture below, he is eating pancakes. Anyone who has spent time around a child knows that this is a recipe for a big mess. I worried about the ensuing bath, but you can see above that he actually enjoys it now! Splishy Splashy!!!

Candy Corn

I don't understand Candy Corn. It tastes funny, yet once I eat one I must keep eating them until my stomach is on sugar overload. Even then I want to keep at it. Do I simply have a sugar addiction? Well - I probably do, but even if there are other choices, the candy corn has some sort of hold over me. Did I mention that it tastes funny?

Halloween is just about the only time I eat it. They make it all year round now, colored for just about every holiday. Maybe it's Halloween that does it for me. Perhaps I am reliving my childhood memories. Back when I was trick-or-treating, I would eat all of the other candy first, leaving the candy corn for last. Now as an adult, I home in on the Halloween colored bits of confection.

The tricolored stuff has been around for just about a century now and we Americans eat tons upon tons of the stuff according to Answers.com. It is used in video games as a way of giving players/characters extra energy or life (World of Warcraft, Guild Wars, and probably others). If you look at Halloween greeting cards, you will see many pictures of the too sweet kernels of colored corn syrup. Several years ago, someone even declared National Candy Corn Day on their web page.

How did this obsession begin? Will it ever end? I don't know, but I think I need to go eat another hand full of the stuff!

I love the Internet!

I have never had a period in my life where I didn't have to fight with the Clutter Monster. For the past few years I have had an ally on the World Wide Web helping me to fight that Monster. She goes by FlyLady. You will find a link to her website here on this blog. With her help, I have been able to tackle my clutter. She also encourages us to care for ourselves by exercising and eating well.

This brings me to today. I had been wondering how to work some exercise into my life. My home is on a very busy road without a sidewalk. As I have a seven month old that I would have to push in a stroller, that means driving somewhere safe and paved to take a walk. So, needless to say, I have not been walking very much.

Joining a gym is out. Even if I had the money, I would need to find someone to watch the baby. And then I'd have to pack up my stuff and get over there. So, I have not joined a gym. I could buy an exercise video. I've done that in the past. But some of them are too hard. Some of them require more room than I have in my tiny living room. And even if it is the perfect level for me (super easy on the totally out of shape body...) AND there is enough room in my place for all of the moves, I'll probably grow bored with it at some point. Then what would I do with the video? Let it clutter my home?

I found the solution!!! Several years ago I joined Netflix because there were no late fees. You just return your video at your convenience and they send you another one. Perfect for me who is rarely on time with video returns. They also have way more movies to choose from than any regular store can keep in stock. Recently, they added a new feature. You can watch quite a few of their movies right over the Internet. Voila! I can do an exercise video!!! If it turns out to be too difficult, I can stop it and try another one. If it requires more space than I have, I can stop it and try another one. If I get bored, I can try another one without ever having to figure out whether I should store or get rid of the video. If my baby needs attention, I won't be away at a gym.

No clutter!!! Healthier me!!! I love the Internet!!!

Where are the cute baby boy clothes?

Where are all of the cute Holiday outfits for boys? Are our little girls the only ones who should have nice clothes? I mean, I'd like to be able to take a picture of my dear son in some sort of nice outfit. I realize that boys have a reputation for being hard on their clothes, but I'd like to think that I can get Alex into an outfit and get a picture in the nick of time before he drools or pukes all over it. Besides, he's only seven months old. He's not quite crawling, so he's not getting into any messes on the floor or ground. I can feed him, let it settle, then change him, then get my picture. I know that he'll get the clothing messy sooner or later. But I'd like the option.

I've been looking for a cute Christmas outfit for him since the end of August or beginning of September. Today I finally found a shirt that will be suitable. (Picture to come later folks!) Of course, if I had shopped online I would have found plenty. But I like to see some things up close and in person because I am terrible about returning things. Hmmm, so is it that no one else in my area has a son they want to dress up for the holidays? Does everyone want their boys in truck and sports tee shirts all of the time?

Don't get me wrong, I have quite the collection of truck and sports tee shirts for Alex and I like them very much. But once in a while I'd like the option of something nicer. I see how cute he is in this basketball tee. Even with the drool all over his clothes it's a great picture. But is it suitable for blowing up into an 8" x 10" photo to frame and hang on the wall? Not really.

Last summer I went to a family function and really wanted a suit to put on the little guy. Do you think I could find one anywhere? Nope. What frustration!

What I am saying is that I want my local stores to carry better looking clothes for the more formal occasions that I will be bringing the little one to. Is that too much to ask for?

Don't vacuum the kitty

I am beginning to wonder if all cats hate vacuum cleaners. As a kid we had a cat who ran from the vacuum as if it was going to eat her. As an adult I have had two more cats that don't want anything to do with the sucking machine. Our current cat won't even stick around while I use our power sweeper. It is not nearly as noisy or large as the regular vacuum.

When I searched the Internet for stories on the subject, they were by and large about cats being afraid of the vacuum. Or I could watch videos of cats in fear of the noisy electronic beasts. I found one article that claims most cats will grow accustomed to the sound. The three kitties in my life never did. The one I have now is pretty old, so I doubt she'll change anytime soon.

Her name is Pandora. We usually just call her Kitty. Which brings me to another point about pets. I've often referred to my pets by their species, not their actual names. I call cats, "Kitty." I called our family dog, "Puppy." We also have turtles here and I will greet them with, "Hello turtles!" Their names are Leonardo and Michelangelo.

You'd think that with names like that, the critters would be females right? Well, my dear husband got them when he was a little boy. As such, he could not conceive of having female pets. So he named them after two of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Yes kids, the cartoon characters are pretty old. I think it's safe to say that they would no longer be teenagers if they lived outside of cartoon and movie world. Even our very real turtles are at least twenty years old.

At least they aren't afraid of the vacuum cleaner. But they are in fact afraid of some of the fish they live with.
By all rights, the turtles should be terrorizing the fish. After all they eat fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Don't worry pet specialists - they eat their veggies too! (Here I go talking about food again...) Of course, these fish are too big to fit in the turtles' mouths, but seriously. Why are they letting a little fishy boss them around?

Then there are the salamanders. They aren't afraid of anything except their owners. They don't do much either. I don't know if they are males or females or one of each, so they are called Sampson and Delilah. Each of them is about ten inches long. I have never been able to get an exact measurment as they squiggle too much when I try to handle them. I think they would like very much if we vacuumed up the kitty. For kitties love to catch and eat critters such as salamanders!

Another food essay...

I actually ate a sweet potato today. I've never cared for sweet potatoes. Something about them makes me gag. My first memory of truly eating one comes from my childhood. My best friend had invited me over for dinner. Her grandparents were in town and her grandmother was cooking. I had had her food before and loved it. So with my mother's permission I went on over.

We all sat down at the dinner table, gave thanks to God, then passed the food around. Then I spied it. The platter of baked sweet potatoes. What was I to do? I knew that I hated them. My parents had a long standing policy of "You have to try it at least once before you decide you don't like it." I had tried sweet potatoes several times. They were disgusting. I had never managed to eat more than a bite or two. Potatoes are supposed to be white and mashed and buttered and salted and hopefully covered in gravy. Another policy instituted by my parents stated that when you are over someone else's house, you eat what they serve you and don't tell them that you don't like it. You simply eat it without saying anything and then thank them for the meal.

Bracing myself, I took the smallest of the potatoes, which was not exactly small. I buttered it. I salted it. I did what I could to make the thing more palatable. I choked it down. Really. I gagged as each bite went down my throat. I made it through dinner and was rewarded with some sort of dessert. I even liked the rest of the meal. But who knows what it was. I had bravely eaten a sweet potato and survived and that was all that mattered.

In the years since that evening, I have tried sweet potatoes again and again, hoping my tastes have changed. After all they are nutritious. They are what my baby loves to eat. They make my husband happy. I want to like them. What to do?

Aha! Tonight I dutifully pealed and cut up a medium sized sweet potato. Then I added several white potatoes to the pot and boiled them up. After mashing and pouring gravy and adding in some broccoli, I found I could eat it. Success!

Beans!

Beans, beans, the musical fruit!
The more you eat the more you toot!
The more you toot the better you feel,
So, eat some beans at every meal!

When I was in elementary school we loved to chant that. Now I actually love to eat beans. Not because they make me toot, but because they can be pretty delicious. (I know, another post about food...) When I was a little girl I thought that beans meant chili and I hated them. Then I was a somewhat bigger girl when someone introduced me to Boston Baked Beans. I hated those even more than the beans in the chili.

Then I went to the Dominican Republic with a church group shortly after graduating from high school to help build a hospital, I fell in love with beans. One night our hosts served us a "native meal" that included the most delicious beans that I have tasted in my entire life. They were black, firm, and seasoned to perfection. Never again have I tasted them quite so good. That has not stopped me from trying to experience once more that sort of bean nirvana.

That has led me to all kinds of ways to cook them. There is the southwestern chili in a tomato sauce with some sort of chili powder. There is Indian style with Cumin as the base flavor. There is Italian style with the same seasonings you might find in spaghetti sauce. I have even used them in place of meat balls in my spaghetti sauce. I have discovered the endless possibilities.

I have also discovered that I prefer preparing dried beans rather than using the canned ones unless I'm making a bean dip. They are have a firmer feel in my mouth that I enjoy much more than the mushy feel from the canned versions. So I spend several days trying to remember to put them into a bowl of water to soak. Then when they have plumped up in the water they get a rinse in the sink and off to the slow-cooker! That's when the real fun begins. I pour in plenty of water for them to cook in. Then come the spices! I pick an area of the world that I would like to explore and hit the spice cabinet. A few hours later I am in bean nirvana.

Spooned over rice or noodles, they fill me up with a wonderful warm feeling. A nice hot cooked meal to enjoy with my family. Yum!

Homemade Baby Food is Fun?

I never thought that I would say it, but making baby food is FUN! Before I gave birth to my dear son, I thought to myself. I really ought to make his food from scratch. It will be cheaper and I'll be able to avoid the things that my husband and I are allergic to. And didn't my mom used to make baby food for my sister and me? I'd be carrying on a tradition.

Well, when the time came to start the little dear on solid food, those pre-made jars and containers in the grocery store suddenly seemed to sparkle like precious jewels. Being a bit of a magpie, I bought them. I told myself it was for research purposes. I needed to know how finely to puree the food at home and what sorts of foods are appropriate for my bundle of joy. Yeah right. I truly enjoyed taking the easy road. After all, you have only to open the container and start shoveling it into the baby's mouth.

My food processor remained on it's shelf glaring at me every time I looked at it. It knew very well that I am capable of boiling some veggies and pureeing them into oblivion. My mother in law passed on the hand operated food mill she had when my husband was a baby. Obviously she wanted me to save money and make the food myself. Not only did my electric processor accuse me of not doing things the right way, but now the food mill glared just as hard.

I've always been good at ignoring people who are telling me what to do. So I set it aside and continued to buy baby food off the grocery store shelves. I filled precious cupboard space with the little squares of easiness and lived happily. Sort of.

My beloved husband's grasp on reality is, shall we say, tenuous. He has struggled with mental illness for the last ten years. He does admirably well. But the past couple of years have not been especially easy for him. He has not been able to work steadily for a while now. When we found out I was pregnant, we thought, well, okay, he'll be a stay at home Dad. That might actually help him out. The baby will most likely be on some sort of schedule and schedules are great for my husband. Caring for the baby would give him a sense of accomplishment. Yes it would be hard, but he's a strong person. He's a loving person. He can do this.

He fell off his rocker and kicked it to the other side of the room. It was too much for him. So I quit my job with the great insurance and something approaching a decent wage to be at home with my family.

We could not afford commercial baby food any more. The food grinder squealed with joy. The food processor jumped off of the shelf and onto the counter. My pots simmered with anticipation of cooking large quantities of food for my family. All of the appliances had a little party. I went to work cooking and pureeing. The baby screamed in abject fear at the sound the food processor made. I have never before seen anyone so terrified. The pureeing would have to be done with him in absentia. No making small batches that he can eat in one or two sittings. No grinding up a portion of our dinner for him so that I could make one meal instead of two.

Now I spend the hours between ten o'clock and midnight (It's safe to say that we're night owls.) boiling up sweet potatoes and vegetables then setting the food processor in motion while the little dear sleeps blissfully unaware of the noise in another part of the house. As this is the time I would like to take for myself, I've decided to make great big batches of the stuff and freeze it so that I do not have to spend every night doing this.

This evening, my husband wandered into the kitchen as I poured puree into ice cube trays. He laughed in delight. "That's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "You're the kind of wife I always wanted!" Sincere flattery goes pretty far with me. He earlier in the evening told me the roast chicken I had made was the best chicken he'd ever had in his whole life. Go me!

I digress. As I poured the goop into ice cube trays, I thought, "This is actually pretty fun." I enjoyed it so much that I made an extra batch of peas for the little guy. Who knew I would love making my own baby food so much?