Time Warp Tuesday: Fear, Zuccanoes, and my CSA

First, some housekeeping.  Yes, I've returned to the Land of the Living, thanks for asking.  No, I don't recommend a four day fever that leaves you lying limp on the couch (101 became 102 and just didn't want to go away) to anyone.  Yes, I've been tested for Lyme.  No, I don't have the results, in case you're worried.  Yes, I will finish out NaBloPoMo, to the best of my ability, and I will be OK with the fact that it's imperfect.

I've never done a Time Warp post before, but since Kathy was the one who prodded me to try NaBloPoMo, I owe it to her to participate, and it's an interesting month, because almost exactly two years ago, I was in a very similar--but also different--place.  I was twelve weeks pregnant, in a state of denial, trying to protect myself from disappointment, and had a moment when I slipped, and allowed myself to let go of the fear, and believe that I might actually have another child.  I was also trying to deal with the abundance of my first CSA--a full share for two adults and a three year old--and feeling like I was drowning in zucchini, after barely surviving treading lettuce.  (Which, by the way, is going to be the name of my CSA cookbook.  I've just decided.  Treading Lettuce.  Has a ring to it, no?  Just kidding.  {AND! Now I've worked Time Warp Tuesday AND Mel's NaBloPoMo post prompts into a single post.  Go, me.})

Now?  Now I have a half share CSA at my local farm.  I love my farmers (who greet me by name) and I enjoy much more reasonable amounts of zucchini, even if I'm not terribly successful this week at coming up with new ways to cook it (and really, my family enjoys some of the old ways, anyway ... check out the Zuccanoes from that previous post if you're trying to deal with yours, too.  Yes, I've just totally cheated and given you an old recipe for a new post.  Be kind, I feel like I just lost four days of my life.).  Now I have a feisty, frustrating, beautiful, vivacious daughter who keeps me on disaster patrol during all of her waking hours.  I was one of the lucky ones.

crappy cell phone camera picture of my CSA field where I picked beans, tomatoes, and flowers for my share today

I always loved that Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear from the Dune series:

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

But I think I don't agree with it completely, like I did as a naive high schooler.  Now, I think that we can and should fear, and that it's a normal and healthy defense mechanism.  And sometimes the fears are completely founded.  Not all stories have happy endings.  Prohibiting fear is useless and sometimes dangerous.  Sometimes maybe we should be more afraid than we are.  What's still true for me is this: that when the fear is gone, you're still there.  Most likely, it's changed you.  It's up to us to decide how to use the insight we've gained, and whether we can use that empty space for compassion: for ourselves, and for others.

Mother, the Verb

For about ten years while I was employed at my last job, I spent Mother's Day poring over the transcripts of about 2,000 seniors with eight other colleagues, locked in our office building together, deciding which ones of them would be able to graduate and which ones weren't.  It was a job that my husband would say, year after year, ought to be done by a computer, but somehow, never was; there were simply too many variables for a computer to understand, even if a student had been cleared to graduate pending successful completion of their spring term courses, and too many ways to make it either work or not work by changing majors to minors, or requesting transcripts from other schools, or any number of other things.  We would start the day with coffee (lots, and LOTS of coffee) and donuts, break it midway with a catered lunch, and stave off insanity during the late afternoon and evening with cookies, brownies, and any other form of sugar we could get our hands on.  We would work in pairs for most of the day, joking with our partners as we flipped through the pages again and again, pulling files, cutting ourselves on the paper.  It was a day when despite our differences, we valued each other, and we took care of thousands of students ... some of whom we would push out of the nest into the world in just four days, some of which we would spend hours trying to console, strategizing with them about what came next, trying to help them see the obstacle of not-graduating as just that: an obstacle, surmountable.  It was an intense day, followed by an intense week of both jubilation and many tears (and curses, and violent outbursts) in our office.  One of my colleagues likened it to being in a lifeboat, out on the ocean in a storm.

In a way, it was a relief to me to spend Mother's Day that way every year, because my relationship with my own mother was such a complicated one (yes, I love her, but no, she does not occupy a place on a pedestal for me), and then during the years of our pregnancy losses and my own infertility diagnosis, when I did it not because my job required it but because I was helping out former colleagues, it was another way to contain the day, not letting it take over.  And working gave me an excuse not to celebrate what I felt was an arbitrary day, like Valentine's Day was arbitrary ... when if what we felt was genuine, we should be celebrating motherhood every day, shouldn't we?

During the last two years, thanks first to a new computer system (which turned that day into a week) and second to my maternity leave, I no longer had the excuse of reviewing transcripts.  In 2010, I celebrated Mother Earth with photos of a walk along the canal towpath not far from our house.  Last year, in 2011, I was on the verge of resigning from my current position, and celebrated the mother within, and reminded myself that we should allow ourselves to be mothered by our innermost selves in that way.

This year, when my mother called me to ask me what we were doing, I confess I felt annoyed.  I have two beautiful children, and we are done family-building.  But honestly?  I didn't want to go out to dinner.  I didn't want to have to find a gift.  I wanted to tell her we were doing nothing, but how does one say that to one's own mother in this country, and not be accused of treason?



But perhaps that's precisely the problem.  Motherhood, as it's celebrated on Mother's Day, is bizarrely perfect--bizarrely, because we can't even agree on a single definition of what that perfection would entail.  Women are judged for having no children ("how selfish" or "just adopt!"), for having too many children ("oh, those welfare mothers!"), for breastfeeding ("those attachment parenting fools!"), for not breastfeeding ("they're poisoning their children!"), for sending kids to school ("those high-stakes dupes!"), for keeping them home ("those hippies!"), for going to work ("those cold bitches!"), for staying home ... especially with an advanced degree ("what a waste!").  I don't want to celebrate a holiday that pretends we don't make these judgements.  And maybe that's why I liked the Mother's Day at work so much; because we were all doing the best we could, together.

So what to do?

I'm going to remind myself that mother is a verb.

This year, I'm going to celebrate the imperfect mothers in my life, the women who do the work of mothering, which is not an achievement but a lifelong journey, even if we never have biological children of our own.  I'm tired of the judgment; part of not judging is accepting that we're all doing the best that we can, for our families, whatever they may look like, and for ourselves.  The imperfect mothers include my friends who are struggling to balance life with children (whether they work outside the home or stay at home), the women who are deep in the trenches of loss and infertility, the grieving childless not-by-choice who have mothered more people than they probably know, those who look like they're holding it together but are really just one second away from unraveling, and so many others.  And me.  I'm a work in progress, too.

For Mother's Day, I'm going to ask you to do something, too.  Write a letter to an imperfect mother.  Maybe it's your own mother.  Maybe it's not.  Tell her how she has touched your life, and the lives of other people.  And tell her that it's OK to be figuring this whole thing out as she goes.  Because there's no such thing as a single perfect apple pie, either.

 

Still Flying the Flag: Tortilla Bandera

"I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail."   -Adrienne Rich, "Diving into the Wreck"


In the wee hours of the morning today, my minister and his wife welcomed a healthy little girl into the world, their second child.  It was a pretty uneventful pregnancy, as far as I can tell.  The mom is healthy, by any standards: I think she competed in a triathlon in her late first trimester.  I suspect that she'll be back on her feet in no time, gracefully chasing around their preschooler while she wears her newborn daughter.

My relationship to these children is complicated.  While I'm celebrating just like everyone else, I see the event through a different lens.  The couple's first child was born when I would have been due, too, and it was during her pregnancy that I was diagnosed (if you can even call it that, because really, it was more like a non-diagnosis) with secondary infertility.  I spent her first pregnancy watching her belly swell and her skin glow, feeling like I'd been robbed of my own child, but also like I had a constant reminder in her of what never came to be for me.  And though I've long since dealt with those feelings, and though we are done building our family, I find myself strangely envious of the ease with which this second pregnancy and birth transpired.  It's not a very graceful feeling, but I can't ignore it.

It's not, as my husband might say, that misery loves company.  It's more that I just wish more people fully understood what they seem to take for granted.

The "after" in "parenting after infertility and loss" is a tricky word.  Because there really is no "after."  It's not like something you can leave behind.  There is only "with."  And "through."  When you lose someone else you love, like I lost my father to cancer, people expect you to remember them, to be sensitive on certain anniversaries, though your experience of that loss changes with time.  Why should this be any different?

I've referenced my father here before.  I've been thinking about him a lot lately; something about Easter coming soon and putting in the garden has stirred memories of him in me again that make me smile, and that make me a little sad he never got the chance to meet his grandchildren.  Much as our relationship was a difficult one, sometimes I wish he was here to offer some of his officious (!) advice.  So I spent a week eating his kind of food (more to come in the next posts), appreciating the daffodil blooms with my daughter, and honoring him the best way I know how.

(I will add here that my husband is the one who performed the architectural feat that is this dish.  There was swearing in the kitchen, but I think it turned out great.  The colors are meant to symbolize the Mexican flag, hence the name.)

And to my minister's daughter: welcome to the world, little one.  May you know joy, and beauty, and the love of a community who will teach you to live a life full of grace.  Perhaps a little more gracefully than I do it.


Tortilla Bandera

3 small heads broccoli
1/2 large head cauliflower
olive oil
2-3 large peppers, stemmed, seeded, and cut into 1" squares
salt and pepper
12 eggs

Separate broccoli and cauliflower into florets and cook separately in lightly salted boiling water until just tender.   Drain and keep separate.

Heat 1 T. oil in a skillet.  Cook peppers until soft, lightly sprinkling with salt and pepper to taste as they cook.

Heat 1 T. oil in a 10 inch heavy skillet (preferably cast iron) over medium-low heat. 

Beat 4 eggs with salt and pepper to taste.  Combine peppers with eggs and pour into the hot oil.  Cook until set on the bottom.  Put a plate over the top of the skillet and invert the omelet onto the plate; slide it back into the skillet and tuck the edges under with a spatula.  Cook until set.

Beat 4 more of the eggs and combine with the broccoli.  It will seem that there aren't enough eggs, but don't worry.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.  Arrange egg-coated broccoli on top of the red pepper omelet, leveling it with the back of the spatula.  Cook for about 8 minutes.  Turn the whole omelet over again, using the plate as you did before.

Combine the cauliflower the the remaining 4 eggs, adding salt and pepper to taste.  Don't worry that there doesn't seem to be enough eggs.  Pour the cauliflower mixture over the omelet and flatten with the back of the spatula.  Cook for about 10 minutes, occasionally running the spatula around the edge.  Turn the whole tortilla over one last time using the pate, and cook until firm (you may need to turn it again so it becomes golden).

Serve warm or at room temperature.

Parenting in the Age of Facebook: Nut-Free Healthy Trail Mix Cookies

First, some housekeeping: anyone looking for a BlogHer '12 roommate?  (Yes!  My husband got me a registration for my birthday back in December, and I hope I'll see many of you there!)

Now, for the real meat of today's post:

This morning I took I. and N. for a walk downtown to get a bagel for I.'s breakfast.  It was an exciting trip not just because N. got to wave to the garbage men, or because I. got to wear his rain boots, but because the bagel store has TV.

Yes, it's true: we have no TV in my house.  Not even one on which we watch videos.  But before you pass judgment, know that we have a Netflix subscription that gets watched on a laptop (though we use it at a snail's pace), and that there are plenty of opportunities for my five year old to use the internet--supervised, of course.

Today, as my son was selecting and paying for his honey wheat bagel (because I think it's useful for him to make small transactions like this on his own, with me standing a few feet behind him), I found myself watching TV, too.  Because up there on the flat screen I saw the video I'd seen a few days ago on YouTube, posted by a FB friend, of the father who'd shot his daughter's laptop (which he bought and just upgraded) in response to her FB post about her allegedly demanding parents.  When I watched it the other day, I found myself angry, but not wanting to feed into the (social) media circus already surrounding this family and their choices about conflict resolution.  My son caught it out of the corner of his eye, though, and wanted to know what it was all about.

I explained what had happened, and how her father had reacted, and then asked him what he thought.  Was the girl right?  Was the father right?  We talked about what was missing in the exchange, what they didn't use: their words.  Communication with each other, instead of through a third party: the faceless audience of the internet.

We worry about our children and cyber bullying.  But what are kids learning from their parents about the proper use of media?

Over the years, the internet has made it easier for me to talk to people.  The blogging community has been a source of encouragement, support, comfort.  Sometimes I feel braver, say things I might not have said in person, even when I'm writing to people I know.  But we can't use this media to shout at each other, or worse -- to shout past each other -- if we hope to teach our children love, respect, and tolerance.

I think that parents have the responsibility to build the foundation for communication early on; this doesn't just mean playing with your kid, but really talking with them, trusting them, treating them with respect, and entrusting them with real responsibilities, letting them know that they're an important part of a family partnership.  Sometimes that means baking cookies with them, like I did with I. the other day.  Sometimes it means asking them to take out the trash.  Sometimes it means telling them a difficult truth.  Sometimes it means letting them sit on your lap and saying nothing at all, and really listening when they have something to say.  And then, I think, it's up to us to show them how the internet is just a tool to extend those same principles of communication.

Where does the internet fail you?  What do you think are the limits of virtual communication?  Have you seen the video, and what are your thoughts about parenting in the age of Facebook (Twitter, etc.)?

Healthy Trail Mix Cookies

2 c. old-fashioned oats
1/2 c. whole-wheat flour
1/4 c. ground flaxseed
1/4 c. wheat germ
1/2 t.salt
6 T. unsalted butter, melted
3/4 c. white grape juice concentrate
1 large egg
1 t. vanilla
1/2 c. dried cranberries or raisins
1/4 c. dried apricots, chopped
1/3 c. cacao nibs (or nuts if you prefer)

Preheat oven to 325F. Line baking sheet with parchment.

In large bowl, combine oats, flour, flaxseed, wheat germ, and salt. Add the melted butter and mix well. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, combined egg and grape juice concentrate. Pour over the oat mixture and stir well. Fold in fruit and cacao nibs.

Drop dough by rounded tablespoonfuls onto prepared baking sheets, spacing about 1 inch apart. Flatten slightly with the back of the spoon.

Bake 13-15 minutes, until lightly browned but still soft in the center; do not overbake. Let stand on baking sheets a few minutes to firm up, then transfer cookies to wire rack to cool completely.

Store cookies at room temperature, tightly covered, for up to 5 days, or freeze for 1 month.

Fully Baked

Here she is, fully baked!  Oddly enough, the Bean was born not long after my last blog post.

Here's the story: after our Indian food dinner, I was having contractions sporadically throughout the night, sent I. and S. to school and work at 7:30 the next morning.  I decided to take a walk to see if I was really in labor, and left the house at 8:30, measuring contractions about 5 minutes apart; but I got about half a mile down the road and turned around, feeling like this was not a good idea.  I called S.: by 9:30, he was home, and contractions were 5 minutes apart, getting faster.  We decided to stay at home for another 20 minutes or so, and before we knew it, contractions were coming 3 minutes apart.  I suggested we leave for the hospital, and told Steve that he'd better not make me put on my seat belt, because I'd be damned if anyone was going to prevent me from squatting (which my body desperately wanted to do).  S. drove as gently as he could.  We arrived at the hospital, and I had two contractions in the parking lot.  By this point, I was barely hearing what people were saying to me.  Some gentleman helped me into a wheelchair, and took us around to a back elevator.

I contracted in the elevator, and somehow made it into the maternity ward, where there was way too much discussion about getting me a room.  Finally, I made it into a room, where they discovered I was fully dilated and ready to give birth.  Someone said, "umm, we're having a baby here, folks" ...

The Bean was born 7 minutes after we arrived at the hospital.

Fully baked, folks.  The miracle is, indeed, possible.

The Heart Sutra

Gate gate pāragate pārasamgate bodhi svāhā.

My yoga teacher began class with this chant this week, which means (more or less) "gone, gone, gone beyond, utterly gone beyond, enlightened, so be it."  The Heart Sutra invites us to become more than what we are, more than ourselves, to go beyond what we know, and find that in that going beyond, there are no more expectations, no fears; we are free to simply experience what our new selves offer.  By letting go, by going beyond our mere selves, we can experience wonder.

I'm about to "go beyond" what I know of life, and enter into an entirely new experience, certainly by having another child, and possibly by changing my career.  I could have expectations.  It's hard not to.  Sometimes I feel like I'm hard-wired that way.  But, the mantra suggests, it's better to allow myself to simply grow into this new person that I will be, to immerse myself in these new waters, and to experience this life fully.

A friend gave us some baby clothes, which I washed and organized in the baby's room tonight.  It starting to look like a little girl's closet now.   Am I starting to get anxious about the birth?  Yes ... and I'm trying my best to focus on all of those blessings and good wishes that were showered down on us just a few posts ago.  Going beyond what I know, taking a leap of faith, with confidence.

It's sort of an interesting coincidence that I was just "tagged" by two fellow bloggers for the Versatile Blogger award; versatility, after all, is about going beyond what you know.  Athena from A Field of Dreams gave me one of these, and Lauren from Lauren vs. the World gave me the other.   Thank you both for your kind words and recognition!  The rules of the award are that you link back to the bloggers who gave you the award, share 7 things about yourself, and then award 15 recently discovered great bloggers.  This sounds vaguely chain-mail-like to me, not to mention that I think there are lots of amazing women out there (and I gave the same award recently to some of the bloggers I follow), so I'm going to break the rules and do something different: I'm going to link back to some things about me, but then I'd like you to choose one of my followers at random to give the award to.  I reached 60 followers today (hooray!), so you have lots to choose from. :)  You can tell them that the award is on my site for them to pick up.

I wish I had a recipe for you today, but we've been eating some boring things: more lentil and spinach soup (a different recipe than the previous one I posted, but similar nonetheless), curried ground turkey and peas, a crockpot mulligatawny that disappointed us.  I'm considering making some magic cookie bars tomorrow, after my ob/gyn appointment, so I'll post some tantalizing pictures if I do.  In the meantime, I hope that there are good smells coming from your kitchens, and that you do something small this week to go beyond yourself and your small corner of the universe.

Showers, and Fish (or Vegetable) Chowder

First thing's first: don't eat vast quantities of wonton soup when you're pregnant, no matter how much you might think your body wants it.  The eight pounds I gained in a recent post?  All but half a pound gone by my appointment this past Wednesday.  I'm chalking it up to water retention, due to too much salt.  Of course, I celebrated by having an enormous piece of cheesecake (apologetically thinking about those of you who have gotten pregnant and have to deal with GD).  And JeCaThRe's right; it's all well within the range of "normal," and I need to stop obsessing.

I'm going back to work tomorrow, provided I don't go into labor overnight.  There are still some loose ends I am trying to tie up.  I've scheduled one meeting on both Monday and Tuesday, and have left myself open for the rest of the week, with the exception of an all day meeting on Friday, which I will attend for everyone's amusement if I still haven't given birth.  I am definitely having "practice labor" this time around (my hynobirthing instructor says we shouldn't be using the words "contractions"), which is a little bit freaky; last night, I was lying on the couch, trying to decide whether to worry about the tightness I was feeling, and decided to go to sleep, figuring I'd wake up if I were really in labor.  I did wake up, but by then the feeling had subsided.

My work shower was nice: a light lunch, (purchased) cupcakes, people mingling.  The only really uncomfortable part of it for me was opening gifts: I already feel like we have enough stuff, and even though there were some things we needed and got (case in point: why were the bottles from 4 years ago not BPA free?!), I don't like having to open gifts in front of people, especially if I'm the only one doing so.

My virtual shower, on the other hand, was amazing.  :)  Thank you to everyone who attended ("latecomers" included--though that's the beautiful thing about a virtual shower: you can't be late!), and to JeCaThRe, who is not only an incredibly creative human being, but one of the most thoughtful, generous, wonderful people I know.  My love to you all.

I. had another snow day on Friday, and there's vague talk of yet another storm system here on Tuesday into Wednesday.  Part of me is wondering if we should demand partial tuition refunds from I.'s day care for all of the school closings this year; another part of me is wondering if Mother Nature is trying to ensure that Bean is born in a blizzard, just to make it memorable.

Though I'm feeling less and less like cooking these days, soups and stews are still my meal of choice, and this one is good for wintry days.  I've offered some options to make it vegetarian.  Miso is salty enough (and every so slightly fishy tasting to me) to stand in for clam juice/dashi, and you can toss in beans rather than fish.  If you're living in the Northern Hemisphere, stay warm ... and if you're living in the Southern, please soak up some sun on our behalf.

(Fish) Chowder

2 1/2 c. frozen whole-kernel corn, thawed and divided
8 (vegetarian) bacon slices, chopped
3 c. chopped onion
1 1/2 c. finely chopped celery
1 1/2 c. finely chopped carrot
1 c. finely chopped shallots
4 garlic cloves, minced
1/4 c. chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 T. chopped fresh thyme
1 T. paprika
3 T. butter
1/4 c. all-purpose flour
3 c. whole milk
1 t. salt
1/2 t. freshly ground black pepper
2 (8-oz) bottles clam juice (or dashi or miso soup broth)
2 bay leaves
1 1/2 lbs. Yukon gold potatoes, 1/2" cubes (about 4 cups)
2 lbs. firm white fish fillets, bite-sized pieces (use large white beans for a vegetarian version)

Place 1 cup corn in a food processor or blender, and process until smooth. Set aside.

Cook bacon in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat until crisp. Remove bacon from pan with a slotted spoon, re-serving 1 tablespoon drippings in pan; set bacon aside. Add onion and next 4 ingredients (through garlic) to drippings in pan; saute 5 minutes or until tender. Stir in parsley, thyme, and paprika. Remove vegetable mixture from pan; set aside.

Melt butter in pan over medium heat. Gradually whisk in the flour. Cook over medium heat 2 minutes or until browned. Gradually add the milk, stirring with a whisk. Add vegetable mixture, salt, and next 4 ingredients (through potatoes); bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer 10 minutes or until potatoes are almost tender. Stir in fish (beans), pureed corn, and remaining 1 1/2 cups corn kernels; cover and cook 15 minutes or until fish flakes easily when tested with a fork. Discard bay leaves. Top with bacon.

Speechless (Almost): Blondies for the Guests at my Virtual Shower

The other day, I was whining about never being thrown a shower by friends, about feeling less than enthusiastic about a well-intentioned work shower that was going to be thrown for me in the middle of a politically messy leave-taking.  JeCaThRe, who is one of my few IRL friends who reads my blog, decided to throw me a virtual shower at her own blog (Bread, Wine, Salt), and invite all of the people who read and comment here (or simply who lurk here) to offer their gifts and best wishes for the anticipated arrival of our little one.

JeCaThRe tells the story of our friendship a little bit differently than I do, of course: we agree that I was originally college friends with her husband, but we part ways on the point where she talks about how she admired me and friended me on my blog ... I had, longer than she had known, admired her blog, her smart and honest and unapologetic writing, her faith, her strength through her own perinatal loss, her leadership, her compassion, her wide ranging knowledge about so many things (and eagerness to learn about three times that much; I feel sometimes like I read her Cliff notes so that my brain doesn't leak out my ear).  We agree again, though, that over the past five years, the friendship has become ours as our sons, born around the same time, have also gotten to know each other, and as much as I am still her husband's friend, too, she's right; in the unlikely event of divorce, she'd get custody of me.  ;)

Honestly, this virtual event has left me speechless (not easy to do for a former graduate student in English literature, even if I am sort of people-shy in real life).  Everyone offered their best wishes for a safe delivery, and said some incredibly supportive things about their confidence in my ability to handle the transition to a two-child household, about what they admire about me ... honestly, it left me glowing.  And there were gifts of the best kind: Melissa from You Found What in There, heroic BLM to a recently-arrived preemie, posted a virtual gift that moved me to tears: her girls will be offering up three acts of service in thanksgiving for the safe arrival of this baby.  Serenity, who is a mother and runner and amazing secondary IF survivor, offered up her recipe for penne in vodka sauce, to re-empower me in the kitchen when I come home: to bring me back to the place where I feel like I'm in control, even when everything feels like it's spiraling out of control (I so often feel much more Zen online, S., than I do IRL!).  InBetween, a university professor and IF/loss survivor now pregnant with her little girl, is going to deliver red velvet cupcakes made from my recipe to a woman down the street who is due just a few weeks after she is, to try to make friends, or at least to test the waters to begin finding her community of moms.  Rebecca, from The road less traveled, who is 9 weeks pregnant with a donor embryo after losing her own little miracle at 22 weeks this year, gave her recipe for chicken shawarma and blessings for the safe arrival of my little one.  Athena, from A Field of Dreams, left a post for Greek Honey Cookies, traditionally served to visitors to the newborn.  K. from Pull Up Your Potty Seat, who is 7.5 months pregnant with twins and still chasing a two year old little girl, left me an 8x10, that I'm uploading here for you all to admire.  TasIVFer, also now pregnant after a loss, and bravely taking her pregnancy one day and one breath at a time, came all the way from Tasmania with a table full of party food that she compares to me as she's gotten to know me online.  N brought a pea pesto and a wonderful link to a website for creative food ideas.  I can't even describe how amazing reading these posts has felt for me, and I hope that every one of these bloggers (and those of you who have attended my virtual shower in anonymity for so many reasons) knows how much they are loved, no matter how long they've been reading here, and how much I appreciate these incredible gifts.  I have never felt more celebrated and supported; sitting here, I'm somewhere between tears and a broad grin.  JeCaThRe, this is the best shower I could imagine having.

I didn't participate in ICLW this month, because I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to be responsible about commenting: I didn't know if I'd have a newborn in my arms, or what I'd be doing this week.  But this virtual shower has reminded me, yet again, about the incredibly powerful effect of online community; many of these women have been with me from early on in this pregnancy, cheering me on and comforting me when I felt like no one else would understand.  They know that the answer to the question "So, are you excited?" is fraught with complication for me.  They get why I still have a hard time washing a Boppy cover, for example, and throwing away the gift receipt.  And from all over the world, they will be with me in spirit through these last days, through my labor, through tenuous days of new motherhood (provided that all goes well), and I hope long after that, as I look forward to celebrating their milestones, and I continue to navigate the role of parent, trying to figure out, each day, what I will do with my "one wild and precious life."

Thank you so much, to all of you, for being here, and being where you are, for all of us.

I baked a treat for the party, too: not cupcakes, as I'd originally promised, but buttery, nutty, chocolate-filled blondies.  As much as I love brownies, sometimes they're just too dark -- you're craving something brighter, lighter, with more variation in texture, sweet but complex: something the blogging world -- and this community in particular -- offers beautifully.

Blondies

1 c. pecans or walnuts (4 ounces)
1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1 t. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
12 T. unsalted butter, melted/cooled
1 1/2 c. packed light brown sugar
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
4 t. vanilla extract
1 c. chopped white chocolate, or 3 oz. each white chocolate and semisweet chocolate chips

Adjust oven rack to middle position; heat oven to 350 degrees. Spread nuts on large rimmed baking sheet and bake until deep golden brown, 10 to 15 minutes. Transfer nuts to cutting board to cool; chop coarsely and set aside.

While nuts toast, cut 18-inch length foil and fold lengthwise to 8-inch width. Fit foil into length of 13 by 9-inch baking pan, pushing it into corners and up sides of pan; allow excess to overhang pan edges. Cut 14-inch length foil and fit into width of baking pan in same manner, perpendicular to first sheet (if using extra-wide foil, fold second sheet lengthwise to 12-inch width). Spray foil-lined pan with nonstick cooking spray.

Whisk flour, baking powder, and salt together in medium bowl; set aside.

Whisk melted butter and brown sugar together in medium bowl until combined. Add eggs and vanilla and mix well. Using rubber spatula, fold dry ingredients into egg mixture until just combined; do not overmix. Fold in chocolate and nuts and turn batter into prepared pan, smoothing top with rubber spatula.

Bake until top is shiny, cracked, and light golden brown, 22 to 25 minutes; do not overbake. Cool on wire rack to room temperature. Remove bars from pan by lifting foil overhang and transfer to cutting board. Cut into 2-inch squares and serve.

Removing Obstacles: Autumn Vegetable Stew with Wheatberries

Two weeks ago, after my yoga class began with a chant to Ganesha, I was going to write a post about removing obstacles (Ganesha is known as Remover of Obstacles).  I abandoned it because it was taking me too long to write, and because I was feeling too beleaguered by obstacles myself, but after my teacher came back to the theme again this week in class, I felt like it was too perfect a fit not to talk about here.

After our beginning-of-class chant, my teacher, in her infinite wisdom, commented that the obstacles rarely go away (e.g., a diagnosis of IF is not likely to change any time soon); rather, it's a matter of changing perspective on the obstacle by returning to the present, by stripping away the complications that make dealing with it more difficult, and being able to see how to approach the problem more clearly.   Yoga teaches us to recognize and acknowledge difficulty when we encounter it, and then realize simplicity by coming back to what is immediate: our breath, our bodies, the way we feel right this very instant.  This sort of makes sense to me: when I'm in an asana, sometimes if I breathe, I find that I can go deeper into the pose or become more balanced on the exhale.  I haven't removed the obstacle; by staying present, I've managed to work through it.

This isn't to say that we can make difficult things "easy," by any means -- but rather, simplify them, make them less complicated, by looking at them in the present tense.  According to this line of thought, when we're looking too far ahead into the future, worrying about too many things, the simple things begin to look more complicated than they actually are, and what could be clear becomes muddled; we lose the ability to focus and problem-solve.

This exactly describes where I am, in this pregnancy, with my professional life, with everything.  I'm practically hyperopic ... I can't focus on things that are right in front of me, in the present tense, because I'm so worried about the immediate and not-so-immediate future: about how I will deal with a baby and still pay enough attention to my son (I imagine scenarios in which my husband spends lots of time away from me with my son [whose company I just love most of the time], thinking he's doing me a favor, and leaves me to feel completely alone with an infant), about how I will deal with coming back from maternity leave to a situation that will be very different from the one I left, about how we will manage financially and how I will manage psychologically and intellectually if my career will take a different turn.  I love going to yoga class because it helps me to leave all of this behind, or at least to put it where it belongs--in the future--and to concentrate on my breath, the way my body feels, the way that Bean is shifting and moving in my abdomen, the sound of the eternal Om playing during savasana.  Type-A personality aside, I can't do anything about some of these possible futures, because they haven't happened yet ... so trying to deal with them is not only a waste of psychic energy, but complicates what is happening right now.

Though I don't often cook wheatberries, I like this stew because of its satvic properties, and because it's so uncomplicated.  It's adaptable (like most Mark Bittman recipes) to the season, and to your tastes: substitute dried fruits, or summer vegetables like leeks and zucchini and tomatoes, or whatever you like.  There are no "obstacles" in the way of appreciating the tastes of the vegetables and grain: no heavy sauces, no overpowering spices.  While those things have their place, too (ayurvedic eating, like pretty much everything else in yoga, is about finding the balance that is right for you), this can be the base for any meal, and you'll leave the table feeling satisfied, but light enough to tackle the next challenge.

Autumn Vegetable Stew with Wheatberries

3 T. extra virgin olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
Salt and pepper to taste
¼ lb. green beans, 1" slices (1 scant c. ... you could also use carrots)
1 acorn squash, peeled seeded and chopped
½ c. white wine or vegetable stock
2 c. cooked wheat berries
1 heaping c. kale
1 t. dried sage

Put the oil in a large saucepan or deep skillet with a lid over medium-high heat. When hot, add the onion and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until soft, about 2 minutes. Add the squash (and carrots, if using those instead of green beans) and stir to coat with the oil. Stir in the wine.

Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover, and cook, stirring once or twice, until the squash is just starting to get tender, 20 minutes (if you're using green beans instead of carrots, add them after about 15 minutes and continue to cook the whole thing for 5 minutes more). Raise the heat a bit and stir in the wheat berries.

Cook, stirring frequently, until hot and bubbling, a minute or two. Stir in the kale, season again with salt and pepper, cover, and turn off the heat. After about 5 minutes, add the herb and fluff the stew gently with a fork. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Serve right away or at room temperature, drizzled with a little more olive oil if you like.

Midnight Mass and Candy Cane Cupcakes

On Christmas Eve, I went to midnight mass.  I abandoned Catholicism long ago, for a variety of reasons, but there's something about the solemnity (or potential solemnity, anyway) of Christmas midnight mass that strikes a chord in me, and reminds me of my old-world Catholic father, who died eight years ago this February from stomach cancer.  Though "midnight mass" when I was growing up happened at 9:00 p.m., I can still remember him singing Christmas carols in French and Latin in his booming baritone, burying his head in his hands as he knelt in prayer.  

There is a Catholic church just a block from where we live, so since I was awake anyway, I walked up the street, listening to the silence, looking at the stars, tasting the crisp wintry air, and feeling the quiet in my soul.  When I got to the church, I sat in the back, watching the parishoners filter in, looking for friends and family, admiring each others' Christmas finery (and four inch spike heels).  I was wearing my ratty green maternity sweater and clogs, looking very pregnant.  No one greeted me, and few people looked my way.  But I had to laugh as I thought to myself, sitting there, that in a strange way, I was physically the closest person in that church to Mary at that moment.  I smiled, thinking about the difference between this church and the UU fellowship that we attend, where everyone greeted everyone with hugs and kisses at our Christmas celebration, and no one was looking at what anyone was wearing.  A 20th century Mary and Joseph would have been welcome in our midst, and would have been offered a cup of coffee.  Still, though I didn't make it all the way through the midnight mass --I lost steam about halfway through, I was glad to be reminded of my father, for all of his faults, and the way he embraced the spirit of renewal and possibility that was Christmas.

In that same spirit, I finally got around to a baking project I'd intended to try for weeks, inspired by a blogger friend who'd had a dream, while she was still pregnant, that she was eating candy cane cupcakes.  Melissa was originally due to give birth to her third child just after I was, but had her baby girl at just shy of 30 weeks, 3 lbs. 11 oz.  Kiari has been doing remarkably well in the NICU; she's been a fighter since before she was born.  I've been wanting to send them something; I'm in charge of what's fondly referred to as the "casserole brigade" in our fellowship (though I refuse to call what I make "casseroles"): when there are new babies or illnesses or other crises in life, I organize the group of people who bring food and comfort to the doors of our friends.  Candy cane cupcakes sounded like they might offer some promise of traveling well, if I sent the frosting separately, and I knew that a part-buttercream would keep with no trouble in transit, given the weather out this way lately.

So I made my standard vanilla cupcake using half peppermint extract in place of the vanilla (if you're going to try this, don't just settle for something called "mint extract," which is half spearmint, and really won't work at all) and tinting half of the batter with red food coloring, layering the two colors of batter, and swirling them around just slightly with a toothpick before baking.  I packed a standard vanilla buttercream, made with crushed candy cane bits, and included some extra small candy canes in the package for decoration.  (Here, in the picture, I put some crushed candy cane bits on top.)  Before we sent them off, we tested one to make sure that it was fit for human consumption.  While it was good, it wasn't exactly as good as I was hoping; I think next time I'd be less sparing with the peppermint extract (which I was afraid would be too overbearing), and possibly alternate two kinds of batter, red velvet and white chocolate pappermint instead of vanilla with peppermint.  Still, the end result was pretty, and the stripes inside were even more or less what I'd envisioned.

The best part of this story, though, is that the cupcakes arrived on Melissa's daughter Kelsi's birthday.  Kelsi was one of the three smallest living babies born at the hospital where she entered the world six years ago, and sadly, she didn't survive.  But every year Melissa and her family remember Kelsi's short life, and celebrate the effect she has had on so many people.

So happy birthday, Kelsi ... may 2011 bring us all hope and the human connections that make us better people.  Thank you, Melissa, for letting me be part of such an important day in your family's year.  The bloggers and friends I've met on this journey have inspired me, humbled me, and helped me to keep putting one foot in front of another.  And as much as I wish I was holding a live child in my arms right now, instead of worrying about these last few weeks and all of the things I know could still potentially go wrong, I will take comfort in the fact that I have a community of amazing people rallying around me, cheering me on to my own small miracle.

The Calm After (and Before) the Storm: Minestrone Soup

The presents have all been opened and put away, the Christmas goodies eaten (and eaten, and eaten ... not that they're all eaten yet, of course, but we're getting there).  My father-in-law and his wife were here since Christmas Eve, and left yesterday morning for their next stop, in upstate New York.  I am sitting, Moby Dick-like (yes, a white whale), on my couch, in my new fleece robe, thanks to my brother, listening to the wind outside, following up on the "blizzard" from earlier this week, which, strangely, brought our county only about four inches ... the storm just missed us, and socked the rest of the state. 

It was quiet on the roads yesterday, given that our state was still under a state of emergency.  There was still too much ice and snow to go running, and I ventured to my yoga studio, hoping that I would find that my teacher had come in--she does, after all, live only two blocks away, and the streets were clear; she was there, and two other students joined me for a very private, intimate class.  It was good to be there, to be in that space of calm after the mad rush and entertaining of the holiday.  I needed a mental and spiritual detox.  (Case in point: I got two items of clothing for Christmas, and broke out into tears because I couldn't try them on to decide whether or not they were even the right size.  Yep, love those hormones.)  At our request, we did lots of hip openers and spent an extra long time in savasana while she came around and gave us each a quick massage.  Have I mentioned how much I love my yoga teacher?  Oh, right, I guess I have.

The big accomplishment this week was finding a postpartum doula.  The one I had last time, kind as she was, just talked entirely too much ... about her kids, about band camp, about anything under the sun.  This one seems very no-nonsense, practical, thoughtful, but caring.  The down side: this one also requires a commitment of a minimum of 20 hours a week, so it will be a pretty significant expense, one we weren't really planning on.  Still, I think it will be good to have someone not related to me help us at the beginning, since we won't have any family coming to stay and help (I will bite my tongue here and not make comments about my mother), so we are going to bite the bullet and sign the contract.  I've started to pack for the hospital, too, which is strange ... I think I'm beginning to realize that that this child could arrive at any moment.  My "due date" is just over a month away.  Some relatives gave us pink clothing for Christmas (not that we need another shred of clothing; this little one will be well-outfitted for the first six months of life, I think).  I feel so not-ready for this ... then again, will I ever feel any more ready?

We've also started to make and freeze some meals, for those nights we don't feel like cooking because we're trying to figure out how to deal with a new infant: a chicken soup, a lasagna.  This week is a good week for that kind of preparation, since we're home on vacation, with some extra time on our hands. As much as I like to read recipes (and look at pictures of food) online, I'm considering getting a copy of World Vegetarian just to have, and maybe making some healthful meals from there.

While this isn't one of the things we're freezing, it is a good "detox from the holiday excess" kind of soup.  It's hearty, and filling, but has lots of vegetables in it, and you can always put in less pasta (or pick around it like I do and leave that part to your pasta-loving husband and son, like I do).

I think the first time I made this soup I was living in Los Angeles.  In fact, I think that the recipe was passed on to me from an ex-boyfriend (which would be strange, given the fact that he is probably the biggest carnivore I know).  I can't be sure.  It reminds me, though, of the time I was first learning to cook, first learning that soup didn't have to come from a can, first learning the versatility of vegetables.  Everyone should have a good minestrone soup recipe in his/her back pocket.

Tell me, what are your favorite things to make ahead and freeze, for when you know the storm is coming?

Minestrone Soup

1/2 c. dried red beans, soaked and drained (or one 15 oz. can)
5 c. water
2 c. shredded green cabbage (or kale, or spinach, or other winter greens)
1 1/2 c. chopped tomatoes (canned are OK if the fresh ones are awful)
1 small onion, chopped
1 celery stalk, chopped
1 carrot, diced
1 zucchini, diced
1 medium potato, peeled and left whole
1 small potato, peeled/diced
3 T. extra virgin olive oil
1 t. salt
1 1/2 T. finely chopped garlic
1/4 c. basil
1/2 c. small shell-shaped pasta (or whatever you like)

Place all ingredients except basil and pasta in a large soup pot or Dutch oven, bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover, and simmer until beans are tender, stirring occasionally.  This takes about an hour.

Transfer 2 c. soup to a blender (or use your handy-dandy immersion blender) to puree part of it, and return the puree to the pot.  Add the basil and pasta, and simmer until the pasta is cooked through, about 25 more minutes, stirring occasionally.

Season to taste with more salt and pepper, and serve, if you like, with grated Parmesan or Manchego cheese.

Hitting the Wall: Chocolate Crinkle Cookies

I need a nap.

On Thursday, I-bug got a stomach virus at school.  Apparently every child and teacher in the school has had it, and it was his turn.  I got the phone call about 15 minutes before a meeting I'd scheduled at work, and the other person was already in transit, coming from an hour away, so I felt I needed to stay for the meeting.  His teacher assured me that she'd be able to keep him until regular dismissal time.  When I got there, he was lying on the floor, covered in his little blue fuzzy blanket, and I found out he'd been sick every half hour.  My mom-guilt kicked in, big time.  How could I be such a horrible parent, to not rush to pick up my sick child immediately?  Stupid hour commute.  I spent the rest of the day trying to make him feel better; poor little monkey was writhing in pain, begging me to do something, and all I could do was feed him sips of water from a teaspoon and rub his belly.  We both spent the night on couches in the living room. sleeping fitfully and waking every few hours.  He didn't get sick again, until today, when he tossed his cookies at lunch.  Suffice to say that he has not been a happy camper.

Of course, my body is now too misshapen to be conducive to sleeping in my own bed, so I'm spending most of the night on the couch, anyway, heading to our room for the last hour because I feel guilty for abandoning my husband.  Not that sleeping on the couch allows for much actual sleeping, of course.  I think I'm running on about eight hours over the past two nights.

We interviewed a postpartum doula today, who said something about always asking clients if they've gotten to sleep.  Half-jokingly, I said, "the answer to that question is already 'no'."  At least she would ask.  Not that my mother has volunteered to come cook and do light housekeeping and help with baby care in those first few weeks (the other day when she was here she told me she didn't put laundry in the dryer because she didn't know what went into the dryer and what didn't), but if she did, I can't imagine her asking me if I need a nap.

How can I be hitting the wall already, when I haven't even given birth yet?

I've been trying to mitigate the effects of sleeplessness (mostly unsuccessfully, of course) with sugar and chocolate, in various forms.  (Doubtless, I will have gained at least 5 pounds this week at my next weigh-in.)  The leftover cookies that didn't make it to the neighbors or get eaten by my undergrads beckon loudly from the kitchen, and I hasten there when I'm called.  These little morsels are particularly tasty, and barely survived a day after the open house for my students.  Eaten within a day or two after baking, they're like soft pillows of chocolate (you won't want to keep them too much longer than that anyway).  Eaten warm, they're simply amazing.

Perhaps they'll get you through the holiday, too.

Chocolate Crinkles

4 T unsalted butter
8 oz. bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
1/2 c. sugar
2 large eggs
2 t. vanilla
1 1/2 c. flour
1/4 t. salt
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. peppermint extract (optional, if you like peppermint-flavored crinkles, or other flavoring if you like)

Topping:
1 c. confectioners (powdered or icing) sugar, sifted

In a stainless steel bowl placed over a saucepan of simmering water, or a double boiler, melt the chocolate and butter together. Stir well, remove from heat and set aside.

In the bowl of your electric mixer (or with a hand mixer), beat the eggs and sugar until thick, pale, and fluffy. (When you slowly raise the beaters the batter will fall back into the bowl in slow ribbons.) At this point beat in the vanilla extract and then stir in the melted chocolate mixture.

In a separate bowl whisk together the flour, salt, and baking powder. Add dry ingredients to the chocolate mixture, stirring just until incorporated. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until firm enough to shape into balls (3-4 hours or overnight).

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F and place rack in center of oven. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Place the confectioners sugar in a shallow bowl. With lightly greased hands (this is really important; I sprayed oil on my hands periodically and it worked quite well), roll a small amount of chilled dough to form a 1 inch ball. Place the ball of dough into the confectioners sugar and roll the ball in the sugar until it is completely coated and no chocolate shows through. Gently lift the sugar-covered ball, tapping off excess sugar, and place on prepared baking sheet. Continue forming cookies, spacing about 2 inches apart on baking sheets. (If you find the dough getting too soft for rolling into balls, return to the refrigerator and let chill until firm.)

Bake cookies for 8 to 10 minutes or just until the edges are slightly firm but the centers are still soft. (For moist chewy cookies do not over bake. Over baking these cookies will cause them to be dry.) Remove from oven and place on a wire rack to cool.

These cookies are best eaten the day they are baked.

Makes about 3 dozen cookies.

Comfort (and Joy?): New Mexican Stew

The other day, my yoga teacher began class by asking us all to get comfortable.  She begins class this way every time, of course, but this week she stressed the importance of finding that comfortable space, and settling into it: to really feel what that comfort felt like.  Maybe it's sitting in lotus position, but maybe it's kneeling, with our hinds on a block for support.  The practice of yoga is not about whether we can all do exactly what the person in front of the room is doing, but whether we can find our own ways to achieve mindfulness, using our bodies as a tool,or a pathway.  Patanjali, in the Yoga Sutras, writes that only when experience comfort can we experience true awareness (or joy).  This makes sense to me, as most things in yoga do: if I'm not comfortable, all I can think about is getting comfortable.  But rarely does anyone invite us to revel in comfort, to find it and to explore it, to be mindful of how we feel in that state.  My yoga teacher said, too, that it's important to remember that our experience of comfort may change from pose to pose, day to day, even minute to minute.  So the way I flop on the couch one day may not work for me the next day.  This, too, makes lots of sense, but I'm particularly biased right now, because it takes a while for me to get comfortable; I'm just in my own way all the time.

This lesson about the body is just as applicable, I think, to our environments and our dinner plates.  If you're like most people I know, the holidays can be stressful.  Even if you're the sort of person that cheerfully hauls out the holly in October, there are worries that come with gift-giving and socializing during this time of the year; if you didn't have to do so at Thanksgiving, chances are you'll be invited to a gathering that you'd really rather not attend, feel strangely obligated to give a gift that doesn't come from the heart.  This season, given all of the craziness at work, and the impending arrival of this child, I've been thinking a lot about what makes me comfortable.  While I wouldn't consider myself a grinch, for example, I did skip our division's holiday party this year at work, because I just felt like I didn't want to socialize with that group right now.  And though we don't always have the luxury of opting out, the least we can do is to figure out how to be comfortable where we are, and to allow ourselves to be comfortable, even if what we discover we're feeling isn't exactly joy.

I invite you to soak in the comfort of this winter stew, too.  You can alter it to your tastes (and your diet) pretty easily.  And when you're done licking the bowl and sopping up the broth, you're invited over for cookies (though I didn't win the chocolate recipe exchange contest; it seems I was beat out by, among other things, creme de menthe and spicy sugar in a chocolate cupcake.  Still, fifth place out of 26 entries isn't all bad, right?  And oddly enough, this week's competition, which opens tomorrow, is focused on comfort foods ... maybe this means something?).

New Mexican Stew

1 lb. fresh ground turkey, chicken or pork (I used a 15-oz can black beans for vegetarian/vegan)
1 onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder- hot or mild, to taste
1 1/2 cups peeled butternut squash, diced
2 large yellow or white gold potatoes, peeled, diced (I used sweet potatoes, or you could toss in some zucchini if you prefer to have some green in here)
3 medium carrots, chopped
1 cup roasted chopped green chiles- mild or hot, to taste (I use the canned kind)
1 quart chicken or vegan broth
Sea salt and ground pepper, to taste

Before serving:

Juice from 1 large juicy lime
2-3 tablespoons fresh chopped cilantro (as you can see, I forgot to get cilantro at the store)
1-2 teaspoons raw sugar or raw agave nectar, as needed

If using turkey, brown the ground turkey in a skillet and pour off the fat, if any. Add the turkey to the slow cooker/Crock Pot and add the remaining ingredients- through sea salt and ground pepper. Stir to combine. Cover and cook on low for about 7-9 hours.

About 20 minutes before serving, stir in the lime juice and cilantro; taste test. Add a dab of sweetener, if needed, to balance the spice. If you prefer it to be more like soup, add more broth. Heat through.

Little Indulgences: Cranberry Bliss Bars

(Welcome Macaroni Kid subscribers!  Feel free to poke around, and please consider following me if you like what you read!)

So according to my midwife, I lost a pound and change over the past two weeks.  She wrinkled her brow and looked at me, asking, "are you sure you're eating well?"  Mostly well, I thought.  Except for the fact that I'm eating cookies from the freezer and peanut butter off a chopstick at night ... but that should make me gain weight, not lose it, right?  (An aside: I wish that less emphasis would be placed on "proper" weight gain, and more emphasis placed on healthy eating for pregnant women.  Most of us already obsess over our bodies even when we're not pregnant; we don't need yet another reason to feel like we're doing it wrong.)  In any case, I told her not to worry, and that I'd likely gain back that much and more by my next visit.

I made good headway on this promise yesterday: there was a technology showcase (run by my favorite office/division of the IT empire), and the division head bakes over 6,000 cookies for public consumption (it takes her a few months to do this, so don't go feeling all inadequate about your holiday cookie preparations!).  And tonight I'm hosting a cookie swap and holiday prep/wrapping party for the working moms group I founded for women in my county who have young children and work part or full time.  Doubtless, I have too much food: cheese and crackers, hummus and carrots, salsa and chips, shumai, spanikopita, lemongrass chicken spring rolls, and ... of course ... cookies.  I have one more batch to do for the event at school next week, and I didn't want to make any of the "usual" cookies, so I decided on these. They don't take as much time as drop cookies, and the payoff is pretty significant.

If you've ever gazed longingly into the Sta.rbucks dessert case, or broken down and actually purchased one of these for yourself, you'll recognize these: a buttery blondie base with tart cranberry, spicy ginger, sweet white chocolate, and cream cheese. They really do feel like holiday treats, and they're an impressive dessert to bring to a holiday get-together or to include on the cookie plate you're making for your friends and neighbors.  Unfortunately, they don't mail well ... but that means there are more for you to eat.  After all, you need to make sure they taste good, right?

Go ahead.  Indulge a little bit.  It only happens once a year.


Cake Base
2 sticks butter, softened (or use 1 1/2 ... they'll still come out OK)
1 1/4 c. brown sugar, packed
3 large eggs
1 t. ground ginger
1 t. vanilla
1/4 t. salt
1 1/2 c. flour
1/2 c. dried cranberries, minced
1/4 c. high quality white chocolate (chopped or chips)
3 T. minced candied ginger

Frosting
4 oz. cream cheese, softened
2 1/4 c. powdered sugar
1 T. butter, softened
1 t. vanilla
2 t. lemon juice
1 T. orange zest

Topping
1/4 c. dried cranberries, minced
1/3 c. white chocolate, melted

Preheat oven to 350 and lightly grease a 9x13 pan.

Beat butter and sugar together for the cake base, and add eggs/vanilla beating until fluffy. Sift together flour, ground ginger, and salt and then add to the butter/sugar mixture beating well. Fold in the cranberries, chocolate and candied ginger. Spread thick batter in pan and bake for about 20 to 25 minutes or until light golden.

When cake is cooled, mix all frosting ingredients together and spread a thin layer over the cake. Immediately sprinkle with the minced cranberries. Then use a pastry bag of melted white chocolate with a tiny decorating tip (like the size used for writing on cakes) and drizzle the chocolate over the cake.  You can also dip a fork or small whisk into the melted chocolate and use that to drizzle if you don't have a pastry bag.

Cut into bars immediately because the white chocolate hardens quickly and makes cutting messy.  Store these in the refrigerator ... that is, if they last that long.  I like to cut these into squares first and then triangles, because they're pretty that way ... you can cut them however you like, and make them as big (or as small) as you need to, depending on just how much bliss you need.

Good for the Heart: Moroccan Bean Soup

Well, it's flurrying here again ... as it did yesterday, and on Saturday.  Those of you who were patiently waiting for an update on snow: the flurries seemed to happen around my birthday this year rather than on it.  I'm not sure if that counts for the record books or not, but it's immaterial to me ... I still enjoyed the little taste of winter, which changed the way that the world looks for a little while.

Despite the chill in the air, I got a warm hug from msfitzita in the form of the Cherry On Top award!  Thank so much, msfitzita, for including me on your list of "five wonderful women who always manage to say something that makes me smile, cry, nod or laugh - sometimes all in the same post"!  This was sweet of you.

We all know how these work: I have to link back to the person who awarded me (do go read her blog), and then pick five blogs to pass the award along to. Make sure to comment on the awarded blogs so they know they’ve been picked.

Just a handful of amazing women I know, whose stories have moved me, and who inspire me to be a better human being (and please don't take offense if you're not on the list ... when I get an award I try to share the wealth so that all of the wonderful bloggers I read feel the love ... see the Versatile Blogger award post for some other blogs worthy of your reading time):

• Rebecca at http://roadlesstraveledblog.blogspot.com/
• Melissa at http://melissamuirfamily.blogspot.com/
• RunningMama at http://moreroominmyheart.blogspot.com/
• Serenity at http://serenitynowinfertile.wordpress.com/
• Tasivfer at http://tasivfer.wordpress.com/

So all in all, it was a good birthday: the 4-year old party in the morning was as sane as those kinds of parties at indoor play-places get, I got to go to the indoor market and visit my friend the artisan chocolate truffle maker (who, to my surprise, took my advice for adding more spices to his pumpkin caramel truffles seriously enough to change his recipe!), took a nap in the afternoon while I. was napping, went to dinner at a new restaurant where the food was both delicious and reasonably priced, and then bundled up to watch our town's holiday parade, full of floats and fire trucks and Girl Scouts dressed like presents and penguins.  My father-in-law sent me desperately needed new socks, my mother-in-law sent me note cards, my husband gave me gorgeous new pottery (I am such a sucker for pottery) and an extension tube for my food photo hobby, my brother gave me new running shoes, and my amazing creative sister in law made me a tote bag with fabric she bought in Paris.  I didn't have to eat any chard or clean up any pee on the floor.

It's funny, though ... I was looking in the mirror yesterday, thinking to myself that I really am older.  Not that I've turned all that much older overnight, of course, but 37 feels different than my early 30s.  I'm a little wizened, a little more tired, a little more jaded, perhaps.  But my world is much more expansive, too.  Even the bloggers I've met through this community have changed my perspective; I've had few female role models in my life, and honestly, so many of the women whose blogs I read inspire me to be a better person.

I don't typically make birthday or new years' resolutions, because I feel like they're artificial, and I have a hard time keeping them.  But last year when I "didn't-resolve" to blog and to "join a community of people who would help me finish the baking," I found this space and all of you.  I wrote a while ago about wanting a new gig ... that still applies, and perhaps this is the year that I will find clarity about my next calling.

You all know, of course, the rhyme about beans.  "Beans, beans, good for the heart, the more you eat, the more you ..." well, I promised not to be obscene here, and there is the other version about "the musical fruit" and "the more you toot."  But I thought I'd post this recipe today, because I'm hoping for a new year in my life that is good for the heart: a new child to learn about who will teach me to parent and to love all over again, purpose and direction in my life's work, more writing and creating, friendships on and offline that continue to grow and develop, wishes and hopes and dreams of all of my friends and loved ones fulfilled.  Here's to 37; I'm raising my bowl of beans to you--may you be good for the heart.

Moroccan Bean Soup

1 T. olive oil.
2 chopped onions
2 garlic cloves minced
1 t. peeled and grated ginger
6 c. water
1 c. lentils
1 (15oz) can garbanzos, rinsed/drained
1 (19oz) can cannellini beans
1 (14.5 oz ) can diced tomatoes (I used fire roasted)
1/2 c. diced carrots
1/2 c. celery
1 t. garam masala
1/2 t. ground cardamon
1/2 t. ground cayenne pepper
1/2 t. ground cumin

Saute onions, garlic and ginger in 1 tbs olive oil for about 5 min or until translucent.  To the sauteed onion add lentils, carrots, celery, tomatoes, garbanzos, cannellini beans.  Cover with 6 cups of water, and add the spices.  Bring to boil for a few minutes, lower the heat and simmer until the lentils are soft.  Puree half the soup in the food processor (or whole soup if you want it smooth), return to the pot, stir and enjoy.

The Importance of Believing (and Sweet Potato Shepherd's Pie)

Today, a fellow blogger (You Found What In There), who has experienced both complications and loss in pregnancy, delivered her daughter at 30 weeks, weighing 3 pounds 7 oz., and measuring 16" long.  The ALI blogging community has been sending all kinds of positive energy her way through this difficult pregnancy, which has included everything from blood transfusions in utero to preterm labor, and I know that she has been grateful for that continued support.  Thankfully, Mom and baby are doing well, all things considered, but she could use your continued good thoughts.  (Please go visit her!)

This post, and the story I promised to tell in my last post, is strangely related to her news today.

Every year, sometime near Christmas, Santa drives up our street in a fire truck, sirens blazing.  I'm not sure why, but it used to happen in the town where I grew up, too, so I sort of take it for granted.  Tonight was the night of choice for 2010, and my son was out front, waving his little hand, eyes shining.  Every year, it makes me think about the things we believe in, and the power of believing.

As a first year student in college, I lived with some pretty interesting and creative people; one of them claimed he was a wizard.  He also, we suspected, had a little crush on me, and as my birthday approached in early December, he asked me what I'd like.  I, being the obnoxious little college first year student, told him that since he was a wizard, he should make it snow.

"Hm," said he, pulling thoughtfully at his nonexistent Gandalf-beard, "snow is hard, but I'll see what I can do."

I thought little more of the conversation until the morning of my birthday dawned: it was a beautiful blue-sky day, not a cloud in sight.  I caught said wizard on his way out the door for our second period class, and said, perhaps a little insensitively, "nice snow, G."  He scowled.  "Just you wait," he said, shaking his finger at me.  "Just you wait."

And I'll be a monkey's uncle if by the time I came home that afternoon from class, there wasn't two inches of snow on the ground.  Moreover, every year since then, it has snowed on my birthday ... from a token few flurries to a full blown blizzard.  When I lived in California while I was going to graduate school, it was too warm for snow ... but it rained.  (If you want proof of this strange phenomenon, here's someone who has actually kept track.)  My birthday is coming up on Sunday, and I'm watching the forecast.

The moral of the story, for me, is that you never know when you might run into a real wizard.  Or, perhaps a little less bizarrely put, it's important to allow yourself to believe, even in the things that seem impossible.  The birth of little Kiari today, and the fact that her little body fought so hard to come into this world, even as early as she did, and that she is alive, is proof positive to me that we have to believe.  I'm not saying that we can change reality: infertility and loss still suck, and there is no magic wand to make it any easier; difficult work situations still exist; people are out of jobs; families fall apart; and we are in many ways a broken, searching world.  But really believing that something good is possible--as tiring as it can be to believe in the face of persistent loss and disappointment--can change us, even if it doesn't change the facts.  And that, my friends, is perhaps even more powerful.

This recipe really has nothing to do with believing, but it's good vegan or non-vegan hearty (and healthy) winter food, and just the sort of thing you might take to a family who has just welcomed a tiny new addition to their home.  I think that parents of newborns need meal delivery, and if I lived near Melissa, I might bring one of these over.  Happy birthday to her little girl; Kiari, I believe in you.

Sweet Potato Shepherd's Pie

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

For the topping:

3 medium sweet potatoes, peeled and diced
Sea salt and ground pepper, to taste
A dash of nutmeg
A drizzle of fruity olive oil, to taste
milk (of whatever sort you like), as needed

For the filling:

1.5 pounds ground beef (or another can of black beans, see below)
1 onion, diced
4 cloves of garlic, chopped
2 small to medium zucchini, trimmed, cut into pieces
1 cup artichoke hearts, cut up
1 15 oz. can black beans

1 14 oz. can Muir Glen fire roasted tomatoes
some frozen corn, if you like

2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried basil
1 teaspoon dried parsley or cilantro
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
Sea salt and ground pepper, to taste

Place the sweet potatoes in a pot of fresh salted water and bring to a boil. Cook until under fork tender and mashable.

If using beef, saute it in a large hot skillet till lightly browned; pour off the fat; return the skillet to the stove. If not, just start by sauteeing the onions and garlic; stir and cook for five minutes or until the onions are soft (just add these to the beef if you're not going veg.)

Add in the zucchini; stir and cook for a couple of minutes. Add in the artichokes, tomatoes, and black beans. Stir in the balsamic vinegar, agave, dried herbs and cinnamon. Season to taste with sea salt and pepper. Cover and bring to a simmer. Cook until the liquid is reduced a bit. Remove from heat.

Back to the sweet potatoes:

Drain the cooked sweet potatoes and mash them lightly. Season with sea salt, ground pepper and nutmeg. Drizzle with a little fruity olive oil. Add a couple of tablespoons of milk (soy or regular) and stir until smooth and fluffy.

Layer the filling in a casserole or baking dish, and top with the mashed sweet potatoes.

Bake in the center of a preheated oven until bubbling and hot, about 25 minutes.