Headed to Manhappiness….

 

I may come back.  Then again, I might not.

Last night, as I slipped through the darkness to my crying son

I was stopped, in the hallway

between our bedroom and theirs,

By the acrid smell of burnt electricity.

I peered in at my daughter, sleeping peacefully

And walked in for my son, fussing sleepily.

My heart squeezed with fear.

 

I comforted and nursed my son

Then crawled under the blankets.

But sleep would not come.

Fiery, terrifying images crowded my mind

Stealing my sleep, filching my peace.

 

The thought of that smell,

Hanging like an ominous curtain between my children and me

Exposed the bare wires of my deepest fears,

Those consuming, burning fears that

Choke me with the smoky haze of what ifs.

 

At dawn we woke up, safe,

And I spent the morning hours on my deck

With my husband and children

Breathing in the rain-washed air, listening to the rustle of leaves,

Sipping coffee and reading poetry

As if I had nothing better to do.

Because really, I didn’t.

The scent of Spring

What have you done? I asked, bewildered, as Matt walked in the door.
It was 6:30 this morning.  I was sitting at the dining room table.  I can’t remember why I was sitting there.  I had not yet mixed up and ladled out our Saturday morning oatmeal.  My morning coffee wasn’t even percolating yet.  I think that perhaps I was sitting there wishing that my morning nourishment and stimulation would magically appear before my bleary, sleepy eyes.  Instead, as I heard the screen door open, I looked up to see Matt’s arms heavily laden with light pink peonies.  Over 130 of them, to be exact.  As my eyes flew open wide, I demanded, what have you done?  I guess I thought he had been out on a dawn raid of our neighbors’ peonies.  We have one small peony bush–a baby shower gift from my mother-in-law before Amélie was born–that we have nurtured along for five years.  We finally had one beautiful flower this year, and then in the storm two nights ago a large Cottonwood limb came crashing down on our single bloom.  I, like the peony, was crushed.  Peonies are my favorite flowers, and I was so excited that I was finally going to be able to bury my nose into the petals of my own pink peony rather than stealing sniffs from neighbors’ flowers as I walked by.  I guess I thought Matt was making it up to me by stealing 130 blooms. 

He had not stolen the flowers, actually.  I’m not sure why I thought he had.  He’s not exactly the thieving type, although he’s been known to go out on plant rescues in the middle of the night to remove neglected plants from people’s porches.  These peonies, though, had not only been neglected, but they had also been cut and dumped in the alley behind our house.  Why???  I don’t know, but we’ve certainly been enjoying their fresh blooms and heady scent.  When I trekked out to the garage later in the morning to tell Matt that breakfast was ready, I walked back into a house heavy with the scented essence of blooming peonies and fresh coffee.  And after breakfast, Matt read us the following poem by Mary Oliver. 
What beauty…what bliss.

“Peonies”

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
  to break my heart
    as the sun rises,
      as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers.

and they open–
  pools of lace,
    white and pink–
      and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes
  into the curls,
    craving the sweet sap,
      taking it away

to their dark, underground cities–
  and all day
    under the shifty wind,
      as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies,
  and tip their fragrance to the air,
    and rise,
      their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness
  gladly and lightly,
    and there it is again–
      beauty the brave, the exemplary,

blazing open.
  Do you love this world?
    Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
      Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
  and softly,
    and exclaiming of their dearness,
      fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
  their eagerness
    to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
      nothing, forever?

The smell of sautéing onion and garlic makes me happy

I know that’s probably an odd title for a blog post, but the truth is, the smell of sautéing onion and garlic makes me happy. Very, very happy.  Tonight I kept sticking my face down in the pot and almost forgot to add all the other ingredients!  I did add the other ingredients, though, and this is what I made:

Red Beans and Coconut Rice
(from www.cheapcooking.com)

1 Tbs oil
1/2 cup diced onion
3 cloves garlic, minced
3 cups cooked rice (I used brown)
2 15-oz cans of kidney beans or small red beans if you can find them, drained and rinsed
1 15-oz can coconut milk
1/2 tsp thyme
salt and pepper to taste

Heat the oil in a large pot and cook the onion until soft, then add the garlic and cook a few more minutes. Add everything else and bring to a simmer. Cook about 15 minutes, letting the rice absorb most of the coconut milk.

Now, I changed this up a bit.  First, I doubled the recipe.  I wanted leftovers.  Next, I added more garlic.  My rule of thumb for cooking is to always double the amount of garlic the much-too-cautious cookbook writers say to add, so double the garlic I did, and I wasn’t disappointed.  I used dry small red beans that I cooked earlier in the day rather than using the canned beans.  This was cheaper than canned beans and made me feel better about splurging on coconut milk.  I also added a little sugar and vanilla, and although I really and truly tried to resist the temptation, at the end I threw in some curry, because I just knew that curry would snazz it up a bit and up its deliciousness factor.  I think that for tomorrow night’s leftovers I’m going to add some fresh basil, because basil is my favorite flavor to add to food, I think.  Well, garlic is my favorite flavor, too.  How about both of them together. 

I think I like this recipe so much because it reminds me of the Trinidadian Peas and Rice recipe I made with Megan last time I visited her in Chicago.  This recipe is much more labor-intensive, but it’s absolutely, positively, amazingly wonderful.  It’s even more delicious if you make it with a friend.

Trinidadian Peas and Rice
(Bernice, this is that recipe I promised you, uh, almost year ago.  With you guys I halved the curry since Ann doesn’t like curry, but if I were you I would sneak the extra tablespoon in when she’s not looking.)

 2 tsp minced garlic (except I always add more)

½ cup finely chopped red onion

2 tbsp vegetable oil

3 cups rice (I always use brown, but either kind will do.  You can also use wild rice.)

2 cans red kidney beans

1 package fresh thyme

1/3 cup finely chopped chives

2 tbsp curry powder

½ tsp pepper

2 tbsp sugar

1 tbsp vanilla

6 cups coconut milk (3 cans)

Salt and pepper to taste

 

1. Saute garlic and onion in hot oil for a few seconds.
2. Add rice and cook for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally until slightly brown
3. Add red kidney beans, salt, and pepper, and cook for 2 minutes more.
4. Stir in coconut milk, sugar, and vanilla, and bring to a boil.
5. Lower heat, cover, and simmer for 30 minutes.
6. Add curry, thyme, and chives, then simmer for 10 minutes (or until rice is tender and liquid is absorbed).
7. Adjust seasoning and serve.

Anybody else have a good beans and rice recipe to share?  I’d love to hear about it!

 

Part 1: Tofu and toes. Part 2: “Big Jack”

Below is a conversation that took place at our home yesterday afternoon.  (The “Jack” referred to here is “Big Jack,” our 5-year-old neighbor, about whom I will complain in the second half of this post.)

Me:  Amélie, I need to start thinking about dinner.  We’re having tofu stir-fry tonight.
Amélie:  YUM!  I love tofu stir-fry!  Jack, do you like tofu?
Jack:  NO!  I don’t like it.  I’ve never had it.
Amélie:  Then you don’t know if you like it or not, Jack!  It’s really good.  It doesn’t taste like toes at all!

I nearly fell over.  Toes???????  She thinks we’re eating a tasty conglomeration of sesame seed oil, garlic, ginger, vegetables, soy sauce, and toes?  As a matter of fact, yes.  I asked her about the conversation this afternoon, and she confirmed that yes, indeed, she thought we were eating toes.  A later dinnertime conversation revealed that she thought we were eating human toes. 

She also informed me that she had gotten so excited one evening when daddy was getting a ride home in a tow truck because she thought he was getting a ride home in a big–you guessed it–toe. 

Just stop and imagine Matt gallantly pulling up in our driveway in a big toe.  It’s OK to laugh.

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The above conversation, as I noted, took place with “Big Jack,” our endearing but exasperating neighbor.  I am struggling, struggling, struggling with him.  Here’s the deal.  First of all, he often descends upon our home in a cloud of negative energy, which leaves a tetchy film on our spirits after he leaves.  He whines when I won’t buy them treats from the ice cream man.  He pouts when I won’t push him in the stroller meant for baby Jack.  He breaks things.  With one hand he takes the allotted piece of candy, while as soon as my back is turned he uses his other hand to load his pockets with sugary contraband.  He lies about the stolen bubble gum in his grubby fists.  He is mean to my daughter, and she takes it, b/c to her it is far worse for him to be banished to his house than it is for him to treat her badly.  And I could go on……

But here’s the other side of Jack:  yesterday was his kindergarten graduation.  No one from his family came to see him go pick up his diploma in his miniature cap and gown.  He has a nana who sits in her house, yells at her grandkids, and drinks can after can of Budweiser all day.  I’m pretty sure she didn’t have any engagements more pressing than the next can of Bud or another cigarette drag.  He has a mom who comes and goes in his life.  Sometimes she lives at that house.  Sometimes she doesn’t.  Yesterday afternoon during the graduation she was apparently visiting a friend.  He and his four siblings share one mom and four fathers, and the only reason there are four different dads and not five is because the oldest two girls are twins.  The kids breathe a haze of cigarette smoke day after day after day.  He is dirt poor.  I have never seen Jack’s mom say something positive to him or wrap him up in a big hug.  The kid has just about every card stacked against him.  I don’t want to be another of those cards.  He’s one of “the least of these,” you know?  He needs to be loved and affirmed and encouraged.  He needs a positive influence in his life.  Since he spends so much of his time here (much to the detriment of my sanity level), I could be one of those positive influences.

But the kid drives me crazy.  I get mad as hell when he’s mean to my daughter.  Today, under the influence of a particularly acerbic case of pms and just plain tiredness, I nearly lost it when he complained about the snack I gave him, didn’t appreciate the graduation gift Amélie and I had so carefully picked out for him, whined when I told him he couldn’t stay for dinner, and especially when he drove my sensitive daughter to tears after he told her that he was never, ever coming back to play (actually, I perked up a little at that point).

What am I supposed to do?   I love that boy.  I hate him.  He makes me cry with anger.  He makes me cry with grief.  Sometimes I want to wrap my arms around his filthy little body in a big hug.  Sometimes I want to sling him over my shoulder and then toss him into our pond.  I embrace his potential.  I anticipate his demise.  He’s a stinky little wretch.  He’s a precious human being.  He’s ripped my sanity and my heart right in two…and I don’t know what to do. 

Happy Birthday to Jack! Happy Birthday to Matt! Happy Mother’s Day to my moms and to me!

The following two pictures are from last weekend when Amélie went to a princess birthday party.  She loves dressing up!

 

Last Night the Rain Spoke to Me

Last night
the rain
spoke to me
slowly, saying,

what joy
to come falling
out of the brisk cloud,
to be happy again

in a new way
on the earth!
That’s what it said
as it dropped,

smelling of iron,
and vanished
like a dream of the ocean
into the branches

and the grass below.
Then it was over.
The sky cleared.
I was standing

under a tree.
The tree was a tree
with happy leaves,
and I was myself,

and there were stars in the sky
that were also themselves
at the moment
at which moment

my right hand
was holding my left hand
which was holding the tree
which was filled with stars

and the soft rain -
imagine! imagine!
the long and wondrous journeys
still to be ours.

-Mary Oliver, from What Do We Know

really, really random

This whole toxic plastic thing has me confused and worried.  There’s been a bunch of hoopla about baby bottles, but what about sippy cups?  Should I throw those away and find…what?  Stainless steel ones?  Today I washed Jack’s sippy cups in the dishwasher, filled a clean one up with water, and then wondered at the toxins I was leaking into his pudgy little body.  I’m not really keen about toxins leaking into my body either.  I confess–I use plastic water bottles.  But, I reuse them.  Apparently, this is an eco-friendly but not body-friendly thing to do.  So what kind of water bottles should I buy?  Any ideas?  The crazy thing is that my water consumption has significantly diminished in the past two weeks.  I know that I could go over to my cabinet and pull out a lead-free glass, walk over to the freezer for some ice, drop those ice cubes into my glass, and then fill my glass up with water, but that’s approximately three extra steps to my grab-toxic-bottle-out-of-fridge routine.  Hmph.

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Random update on Jack:  he’s completely walking now.  He loves it.  He’s always been a happy baby, but now he’s really, really pleased with himself.  He can see more, do more, destroy more!  What is there not to be happy about????

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Random update on Amélie: She lost her first tooth a week ago.  She ate it, actually.  I looked into her mouth, observed a hole where her tooth had been, and then reacted with such enthusiasm I scared the poor girl half to death.  She quickly got over her fear and is now vigorously wiggling loose tooth #2 so that she can collect more from the tooth fairy.  When I asked her if her preschool teachers had noticed her missing tooth, she responded with some puzzlement that no, they had not noticed, even though every time they looked at her she had opened her mouth. 

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Really random Ed update:  Our 11-year-old weimaraner has diabetes.  Guess what I’m doing twice a day now?  I am giving him an insulin shot.  an insulin shot.  for my dog.  I know we’re crazy.  I swore I would never go to great lengths for a dog (which is a total lie–we dropped a grand for Molly when she got hit by a van; we paid for surgery when Ed inhaled a foxtail and was sneezing blood; we’ve been at a vet emergency room in the middle of the night.  I think I’ll stop there.)  The thing is, we love Ed.  He is our old soul.  Our kindred melancholy spirit.  And, for the record, he’s feeling much better on the insulin.

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I am excited–so, so excited–that the film The Business of Being Born is now available to watch for free on-line.   You can go here to watch it.  I can’t wait to watch it again.  and again.  and again.  This film fills me with excitement, anger, joy, and the urge to be an activist for women and birth.  I highly recommend that you watch it, and then I’d love to hear your response.

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Along those same birthy lines, I think I’m ready to plunge into my role as a postpartum doula.  I’ve completed the training and am finishing up all of the other requirements for certification…which include actually having clients!  I am a thinker and a planner…not so much a doer.  The thing is, I could work at and study towards being a doula forever without ever having any clients!  I just need to take the plunge.  My next step is a website.  I’m also working on birth doula certification, but I won’t be able to go through the necessary training classes until September.  I’m really excited about being both a birth doula and a postpartum doula.  I am passionate–absolutely passionate–about helping women have a positive birth experience and a nurturing postpartum period. 

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This next week is going to be a busy one as we prepare for Jack’s first birthday…Matt’s birthday…and Mother’s Day–all on the same day!!

It’s been awhile….

I know it’s been awhile since I posted last.  Matt went to Orlando for a computer programmer’s conference, and we headed out to KC to spend time with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  We had a nice time, but it’s also good to be home (although not so good to deal with piles of laundry and the jarring effects of being thrust back into “real life”).  We managed to fit in a grand adventure on our way back home.  We left at about 5:00 on Monday afternoon so that we wouldn’t get home too late.  At about 6:00, however, as we were trucking along approaching the Topeka rest area, the engine in our Jeep started smoking.  We made it to the exit ramp, and then stopped.  Matt poured water on the engine, and some nice guy stopped his truck, opened up the cooler in the back, and threw out water bottle after water bottle so that Matt could continue to try to cool the engine.  This nice man also took me and the two kids on up to the rest stop, which was a really good thing, b/c Amélie had informed me she had to poop.  Of course!  Once she made her announcement I had scanned the windy, cool area for a proper place to poop, but there just wasn’t any.  I don’t think I’ve ever been more thankful for a rest stop bathroom!  I got a little tired of the rest stop, however, after spending 4 hours within its walls.  Jack spent a great deal of time rearranging the electrical tape and Chex Mix, Amélie proved herself to be a real trooper, I tried not to panic, and Matt calmly held us all together.  On Tuesday Matt got the sad news that his beloved Jeep is dead.  He is in a bit of mourning right now, I think. 

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Do any of you who live around me know of a good bakery that makes cute cakes?  I’ve used a lady around here that I really like for Amélie’s last two birthdays, but she is booked for Jack’s birthday.  I need a cake!  I knew I should have called earlier!  I can’t believe he’s going to be one in ten days.  (I am sacrificing the order of my DVD collection, btw, to write this blog entry.  He loves to rearrange everything!) 

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I really wanted to write a blog entry this morning on contentment.  I’ve been thinking a lot about contentment lately, mostly because I seem to be sorely lacking in it.  Now that I’ve written all the newsy news, though, I don’t have time for the real stuff.  I’ll try to type more later…………..  In the meantime, if anyone of you has any thoughts on conentment, I’d truly love to hear them.