Coollingwood's: 2003

HotWaterBath is on vacation! We'll be returning shortly after the New Year, so check back for our all new 2004 adventures.

However you observe the passing of the year, have fun and be safe.

I awoke this morning a bit after five and decided to come downstairs and get some work done (does blogging count?). At my desk I can see that my husband was up sometime during the night doing tax preparation and some filing. Looks like we're starting to become a 24-hour operation (Like Wawa?). We're limited somewhat in what we can do during bouts of insomnia - since our house is little dish washing or painting the bath (both of which need to be done) would wake everyone else up - but as long as we have functioning computer equipment looks like we can be productive whenever the mood/need strikes, within reason.

Pre-school is closed today so my son is having what he calls a "Mommy-Daddy Day". Whenever he finds out that a Mommy-Daddy Day is on the calendar, whether through weekend, holiday or vacation, he does this little happy dance which makes me feel bad about the whole day care/pre-school thing. Then again, whenever we pick him up from school he insists, "I need to stay here. Go away and come back later." I guess I shouldn't feel too horribly. We're having Mommy-Daddy Days right up until January 5 so it's a nice little break for him and some good family time for all of us. My husband is on break, too, which helps since that means his schedule is more flexible than usual - nice, since one of my major clients seems to enjoy having everything hit the fan around Christmas. This year is no exception.

Tonight's dinner will be our traditional Chinese or Indian food (no decision made on this, yet), followed by peppermint ice cream (not homemade - although I should look into that) and chocolate cookies (definitely homemade) at home. My parents started this tradition when I was a girl and Santa had the job of decorating our Christmas tree. They wanted to be sure that everything was ready for him to get a good start right after bedtime and so our Christmas Eve feast was outsourced to minimize fuss and cleaning. Even though we eventually began decorating as a family, the dinner out stuck and my sisters also do it to this day. Our late day calls to each other will go like this:

-"Where are you guys?"

-"Oh, Golden Dragon/Maharaja/Bamboo House/Pratip's."

-"Yum! Have a dumpling/golub jamon/spicy cabbage/mango lassi for me! Merry Christmas! Talk to you tomorrow!"

These calls will go on until everyone knows where everyone else is and what they're eating. This is the kind of menu-related diligence helped create the HotWaterBath you know today. In my family, it's not enough to say, "Merry Christmas," you must also know what the recipient of your wishes is eating while you say it.

So, should you celebrate Christmas in your house, Merry Christmas. What are you eating?

I am entering that phase of pregnancy where I am just very little else but pregnant. For me, this stage mirrors early pregnancy in that I want to sleep all the time, I am desparately hungry but eating is unpleasant (at best) and I'm a little flummoxed as to what my body is up to. However, I am also really, really nesty. Laundry is taking on a significance that I cannot explain easily - if I don't get those whites done today, though, it'll be a pretty bad thing. I've also reorganized our bookshelves and am expecting to handle the spice cupboard later this evening and do something about the drawer paper in my dresser - it's three years old, for goodness sake! (I'll give you three guesses what happened three years ago - yep, it'd be the last time I nested.)

There is, of course, a definite upside to all this activity. My office here at home is finally getting to usability (I've been working at my dining room table for six months now, causing a great deal of mess and upheaval) and it's been a while since the kitchen floor was so clean. The downside is that no one else in my house thinks that anything on my to-do list is all that critical and, to be fair, they're probably right. Anything that's gone undone for six months probably doesn't really have to be finished at this minute. So I'm simultaneously exhausting, amusing and annoying both myself and everyone I live with.

Gotta run, lots more to do and daylight is burning away. There's chili to get into the freezer, gingerbread cookies to ice, and books to get to the library for the New Year Book sale. Busy, busy, busy.

The menu for Christmas dinner has finally been set. Usually I have this handled well before the holiday, but we weren't sure if we would be having guests or not so I decided to hold off pending settlement of that issue, since the potential guests consisted of a Hindu vegetarian family and two Muslim bachelors, which would have required a significant departure from our usual roast (either beef or pork). As it turns out, it'll just be the three of us so I'm going ahead with the roast (beef this year) and a selection of our roster of festive side dishes. We're having:

- Roast beef with gravy

- Potato dumplings ("little hooves" - a recipe from a Polish friend)

- Jalapeño creamed spinach (a la Laurie Colwin, who I think took it from someone else)

- Roasted carrots and beets

- Relishes (homemade pickled greenbeans and mushrooms, with the addition of roasted peppers and some nice olives)

- For dessert, a chocolate cake with chesnut filling and marzipan fruits atop the icing.

Such is the Christmas menu of a Polish-Anglo-American family.

The "little hooves" thing is turning into a tradition. I don't usually bother with mashed potatoes, but instead will serve pierogie which, after all, often have mashed spuds in them and are much less of a bother and mess to make. Plus, they taste great with gravy. The last couple years, though, I've turned to this other variation and find that, although they are a bit more trouble than the pierogie, they have the benefit of being somewhat more impressive and a better foil for all the other rich food that's on the table. To make them enough for about six people, make several cups of mashed potatoes (note: it's A-O-K to use "potato buds" for this - trust me - but not the granular kind of instant mashed. Homemade is good, too, if you're inclined and it's not too lumpy). Add to this an egg and enough potato starch (I use Manischevtiz) to make a tender, but firm dough. Roll handfulls of dough out into long snakes about an inch in diameter and cut out the hooves on the diagonal, each about two inches in length. Plop the hooves into a large pot of salted, boiling water a few at a time and them them cook until they rise to the surface (they're kind of like ravioli or gnocchi in this regard). Serve warm with gravy or some other kind of sauce.

I'm in the midst of a conflict with my mother-in-law. No, this is not a story about that age old story of two generations of women fighting to be dominant in a man's heart and thoughts. I'm actually having the same battle with my own mother. It's strange to me that these two women, who actually don't care for each other very much, could each be pushing my buttons in exactly the same way. They both want me to nag my husband more. I'm refusing and my refusal is causing much angst.

My mother-in-law isn't happy with the amount of time or energy my husband expends on maintaining connections with her extended family. He doesn't call, doesn't write, doesn't visit (the ancestral home is nearly 1,000 miles away) and this royally pisses her off. Now, this is not to say that he doesn't pay attention to her, because he does - he always remembers her birthday and Mother's Day, calls on major (and minor) holidays and faithfully visits her several times per year. It's that he doesn't keep in good touch with his cousins, great-aunts, third cousins twice removed, and so on that annoys her. So what does she do? Well, 35 years of nagging him to do her bidding in this regard haven't helped, so now she nags me. She's decided that it's either my job to maintain these connections (to people I don't know well or haven't even met) or join her in nagging him to do it.

My mom, on the other hand, isn't happy that my husband isn't a neat-nick, as she is. In the 13 years that she has known him, she's nagged him to be better at noticing disorder and being more tidy. Since it hasn't helped she's decided that it's my job to nag him to do it. The thing is, he'll clean something if I ask him to do it - he won't notice it needs cleaning on his own, but he'll definitely respond if asked. Not good enough, in mom's book.

So now, I have two women nagging me to nag him. I simply will not do it. I believe that when you marry someone, you marry all the good and all the bad (really icky stuff like violence, addiction or philandering not included, of course) and it's really not fair after 8 years of being married to suddenly start turning on the heat about stuff you knew about when you agreed to get married in the first place. I knew that he isn't super clannish despite being faithful and steadfast to a fault when it comes to immediate and nuclear family and that he isn't the type to clean the miniblinds just because it's been six weeks.

So why on earth would I put that kind of pressure on my marriage by suddenly deciding that these traits aren't acceptable when for 8 years they've been, if not awesome, then liveable? Plus, if their nagging isn't changing the scene, why would I believe that any nagging that I'd do would somehow hold the key to changing these behaviors? I guess I should be flattered that they think I hold such sway over anyone. I still think nagging is a sick, sick habit and not one that's been known to produce much besides anger, frustration and resentment.

So here I am, being nagged and becoming angrier, more frustrated and more resentful by the conversation. How strange is it to be nagged to nag? And how sad that, since the original nagging has been so ineffectual that I'm being seen as fresh troops for the war? This is, however, a war in which I absolutely will not be engaging.

My friend Rob hunts deer and is very good at it. I can only think of one year in the 15 that I've known him that he hasn't bagged at least one (depending upon whether or not extra tags are available). This is the meat that feeds his family - they pretty much use every part of the animal and, if you eat meat at their house, you can be sure that it's deer. Some years hunting season rolls around and last year's venison hasn't been depleted from his freezer so he and his wife gift us with 20 or 30 lbs. This was one of those years. (One year, Rob's wife Jennifer went ocean fishing with some colleagues and, despite never having fished before, managed to catch several bluefish. Since they don't love fish, she gave me the cleaned, wrapped and frozen fillets. These are seriously good people to know. In the past I've tried to return these favors with home grown produce - Jen loves a good tomato sandwich - but now we live too far away for that.)

So tonight's dinner will be venison steaks that are currently marinating in a mixture of dry white table wine and chicken broth, with some onions and garlic minced in. They'll be pan fried (sort of like a Swiss steak, I guess) and served with something kind of risotto-esque (love that creaminess on cold rainy nights) and probably some roasted carrots and beets. How's that for a nice winter's meal?

I'm still working on the gingerbread house pics. We used to have a really great Kodak digital camera, but we didn't treat it carefully and the pictures started coming out blurry. But it was very easy to use - downloading was a snap into our HP Photosmart printer - and now I really miss it. Our current camera is a Fuji that, while it has some cool features like the ability to take short "movies", is a pain in the butt. Nothing's intuitive or simple and it cost quite a bit more than the late, lamented Kodak. I guess this is what we get for not handling our belongings with care - spending more money for a more irritating product. So I'm working on it.

I'll have a picture of the gingerbread house up soon. To alleviate what I'm sure is your overwhelming curiousity, I'll say this for now: it looks as if I gave a three year old access to frosting and candy. No structural engineer would ever sanction the building itself, but it's sweet, colorful and charming and the boy is wonderfully proud of his achievement. Good enough for me.

Last night's advent dinner was kind of a cheater: stromboli and cheese fries from the local pizza place. It was fabulous! We're trying not to eat out as much in order to 1) save money and 2) save money, but sometimes you just really want a stromboli, you know. My mom makes a great one, but she's 500 miles away which seemed a little much for a Sunday evening's drive to dinner. I'm going to have to get her recipe, 'cause now I think I'm developing a stromboli thing. What's not to love - cheese, pepperoni, veggies, and sauce all wrapped up in a bread envelope. Oh man...might have to have another one for lunch tomorrow.

Dinner tonight is a roasted chicken stuffed with preserved lemons and garlic. I wish I could transmit how amazing this smells to you (coming soon to a kitchen PC near you: the Smeller-Net, by Al Gore). It has got to be one of the most amazing scents in the world. Anyway, it came about because I was poking around the basement and saw a box that hadn't been opened from our move back in March. Inside were three pints of applesauce, two quarts of the lemons and some mango jam. Yay! I felt like I had won the lottery. Don't know how these got mis-packed in the first place or mis-laid in the basement in the second, but who cares, really? So I ran right out to buy myself a chicken to roast. To go with: a potato gratin (another thing I'm big on these days) and crusted carrots.

My mom taught me about crusted carrots - they are a great side dish because they retain a carrot's natural sweetness, but make it also richer (and they taste great sprinkled with the lemony-garlicky cooking juices from the chicken). Plus, they're super easy to make - much more so than a pudding or even glazing. To make them, peel and julienne however many carrots you want. Dip them into a raw egg that has been lightly beaten and then in seasoned flour (I season with salt and pepper, and usually an herb or two: finely chopped rosemary is great, as is thyme). Place into a buttered or sprayed shallow baking dish and dot with butter. Cook at oh, say, 350 or so for about half an hour, until the carrots are heated through and the flour mixture is golden. Some of the coating will fall off, revealing the deep orange underneath.

Newsflash: I have just been alerted that we have lost our mailbox to what looks like a game of mailbox baseball. Looks like another trip to Lowes is in the offing.

We're expecting another snow and ice storm here in Cville. As someone who grew up near the Canadian border outside of Buffalo, this amuses me. Yes, you have to take the ice seriously and, yes, it's not good to drive in this kind of weather if you don't have the skills to do it. But seriously, folks, is it really necessary to clean the Kroger out of bottled water and toilet paper every time the flakes fly? My husband and son ran a quick errand to Lowes, which is right next door to a Kroger and thought he might pick up some soda while he was in the neighborhood (I'd also asked him to get some Christmas scratch off lottery tickets for stocking stuffers, if he could). Couldn't get near the place - he said it was total panic. Granted, we are south of the Mason-Dixon line but this seems like a little bit of an over-reaction, even for sort-of southerners.

Granted, this is all through the prism of my upbringing. Come mid-October, many Buffalonians outfit their cars with extra blankets, gloves, and hats, along with granola bars, dehydrated fruit or some similar long-keeping snack. After the Blizzard of '77 (immortalized in the book "White Death" by Erno Rossi), killed more than two dozen people - primarily stranded drivers - and caused a week's worth of utter disruption and mayhem, most of the population of Western New York "got religion" and began taking storm prep seriously so there are very seldom panics on the order of what we're seeing here. And, I should point out, that despite Buffalo's very poor reputation weather-wise, there's a reason that these kind of events live on in everyone's memory - they're just not that common. So there.

Here in our house, we're ready to go. We've always got water and canned goods and took a delivery of firewood just last week. There's plenty of animal food and the candles and matches are always at the ready. My big worry at the moment is that my husband and I both have big things we absolutely have to get done tomorrow (me a deadline, him a final exam) and it looks like pre-school will be cancelled. So we're in active negotiation mode to see how we're going to get all our studying and working done, while not shortchanging the boy.

For my part, I'm going to introduce the child to the joys of making a ginger-bread house. I cheated a bit this year and got a pre-fab kit (but one of the nice ones, in a tin with lots of candy). I have a lovely gingerbread house mold but I figured that making one with a three year old required some more immediate gratification. So after breakfast (waffles left over from yesterday spread with some homemade pumpkin butter) we're going to get to work. Watch this space for photos of what I'm sure will be an interesting, if not ready for Martha, result.

As I type this, there are two deer on my front porch (less than 20 feet away from me) nibbling at the remains of my planters. Beautiful, majestic and seemingly not that bright to be so close to a human. Still, kind of cool.

We had an earthquake yesterday afternoon - 4.5 on the richter scale. It was a little strange, to say the least. I'm not at all used to these sorts of things and for a second or two I couldn't figure out what was up. Thought perhaps it was my heater blowing up or maybe a small plane came down somewhere nearby. Once I did figure out what was going on I couldn't remember what one is supposed to do. Head down to the basement? No, that's a tornado. Put gloves and granola bars in the car? No, that's in case of a blizzard. Wait, wait, I know! Stand in a doorway. Of course, by the time I worked through all of this, the whole thing was over.

I'm feeling a little fluish today, which has me a bit alarmed. I'm not really afraid of the flu itself, it's just that I can ill afford the distraction and potential downtime at the moment. Between the holidays, work committments and trying to get ready for the baby I simply do not have the time at the moment for anything resembling illness. Although I am pregnant I did not receive a flu shot - not out of laziness or cheapness, just because there wasn't any room in the schedule for schlepping to my primary care physician's office. Not every gamble pays off, as we know, so my number might be up. We'll see.

The Christmas tree is decorated and looks lovely, as usual. This is the first year our son has been able to help and what he lacked in ability he more than made up in enthusiasm. He chose a couple of low lying branches and festooned them with dozens of ornaments apiece. I have since gone around and redistributed, filling in blank spots left by the misallocation of decorations. The only thing we're missing is a garland. We use a red wooden bead garland but don't have enough to cover this tree properly. Since I don't want it to look half-assed I haven't put it on yet at all.

Of course, I've been looking to buy more, but haven't been able to find any that is not made in China. As a general guideline, we try not to buy Chinese-made products because we object to (among other things), forced labor and human rights lapses. (Yes, we realize that poor manufacturing conditions exist in other countries.) We are particularly concerned about Christmas related items made in China since, although Chinese citizens are technically guaranteed freedom of religion as stated in their constitution, the reality is somewhat different. Chinese Christians are not generally able to celebrate Christmas freely and/or openly and, for that reason, I cannot in good conscience buy Christmas merchandise made there. Of course, Chinese Jews and Muslims face similar challenges and I would eye any product designed to serve a religious purpose with suspicion.

And don't even get me started about children working in factories to make toys destined for the playrooms of Western kids. I took my son to buy some toys for our local Toy Lift and had a bear of a time finding things to buy. The boy wanted to buy baby dolls, kitchen toys, race cars and more, but everything was made in China. So we ended up buying several boxes each of Candyland and Chutes and Ladders and lots of Legos. Not quite the variety I would have liked, but at least I'm reasonably confident of the manufacturing conditions. Time to do some research into manufacturers who share my values on this subject - the biggies just aren't cutting it any more.

Gwyneth Paltrow is copying me again. I cut my hair, she cuts her hair. I grow my hair, she grows her hair. I get pregnant, she gets pregnant. It's a shame when such a lovely, talented woman needs to find fulfillment in dogging the every step of someone she doesn't even know (is she stalking me?). Let's feel sorry for her rather than angry, though, o.k.? I mean her latest film opened to mixed reviews so maybe she's finding meaning wherever she can - even in the life of a 30-something working mom in central Virginia.

In other news, our house is a mess (again, still, always). In addition to the three Sunday papers we take cluttering up the living room, there are a bunch of boxes labeled "Xmas Tree" strewn about and what seems like dozens of cups, glasses and other dishes. Are there really only three people living here? I'm reminded of that children's story The Borrowers where tiny people live in the floorboards and life off of the detritus of the "regular" people who live in the house. Except that, if I had Borrowers living here with me, I doubt they'd be the ones using 16 oz. cups and littering them everywhere. The tree has been decorated (with the enthusiastic, if not accomplished, assistance of my three year old) and so at least the boxes can go away tonight. I still have to do something about the kitchen, though. Cookie mania is ongoing, but I'm finding I just can't live with the baking stuff out, as I thought I could. It seemed like it would save time, but it's just making me nuts.

Tonight is the second Sunday in Advent. In a few minutes we will sit down to a dinner of herb bread and potage a la bonne femme and light two of the purple candles on our wreath, the one from last week and a new one tonight. If you'd like to join us, here's the soup recipe - highly recommended for cold winter nights when the sun has long disappeared and you have lots of more interesting things do to other than making a super-involved dinner:

Bring 6 cups of broth or water to a boil (I've used veggie broth, chicken broth - both homemade and commercial, or even water). Add three cut up potatoes, two cut up carrots (all scrubbed but unpeeled), some peppercorns and about a teaspoon of salt. Reduce heat and simmer until veggies are soft. Add a couple ribs of celery, cut up (add in some of the cut up celery leaf, too!) and about two cups of shredded cabbage, along with some thyme or rosemary (all scrunched up). Cook until the cabbage is translucent and soft. Remove from heat and puree the soup - either by removing the veggies into a processor or blender or by using a rotary egg beater right in the pot. Adjust seasonings and serve with plain yogurt and shredded cheese if desired.

I am very happy to report that I have (finally) had a successful cookie baking day. Late last night I produced another four dozen chocolate chip, followed this morning by four dozen snickerdoodles (more about these below), two dozen holly cookies and two-and-a-half dozen peanut butter blossoms (you know, the PB cookies with hersey kisses in them). Later tonight, energy level and Christmas tree status willing, I'll make some anise pizzelles and some chocolate pizzelles.

Regarding those snickerdoodles. I went out this afternoon briefly to pick up some needed baking supplied (cinnamon red hots, cake flour, molasses, etc.) and returned to find that my four dozen snickerdoodles had been reduced to 2 and a half dozen. Hmm...what happened? Well, I left the cookie burgler unsupervised, that's what. The boy wonder had been napping the entire time, so the blame was pretty easy to place. The confrontation went something like this:

Me: Sweetie, can you not eat so many of one kind of cookie at a time? I'm trying to make up assortments for gifts.

Cookie Burgler: I haven't had that many.

Me: Dearest, there's nearly two dozen snickerdoodles gone.

Cookie Burgler (all indignant): I have not eaten that many cookies.

Me (leading him to the cooling rack): There were four dozen here when I left. There are now slightly over two dozen and you were the only one here to eat them.

Cookie Burgler: Oh. Sorry.

Tomorrow, if all goes well I'll make cut outs (two kinds), chocolate crinkles and gingerbread angels - I don't have a gingerbread man cookie cutter (how is this possible? I have hundreds of cookie cutters, it's true, but no gingerbread man.)

It seems somehow strange to note in a blog called Hot Water Bath that I've put my canning kettle away for a bit. Because I prefer to can in season, there's not much that can be done right now where I live. Sure, I could make more chocolate sauce, but how much does one house really need? Now that gardeniera and cranberry chutney are done, I'd rather focus my attention to other, holiday-related culinary pursuits. I am planning, though, one last pre-baby canning spree of marmalade. I think that it will be a good thing to have around as we approach Easter (what? Easter already? are you out of your ever-lovin' mind? - marsha's subconscious) for cookies and cakes and such. Since I'm unlikely to really want to do it after the baby's here, I figure the post-Christmas lull is an excellent time. Other than that, I think we may be canning-free until late spring.

Speaking of lulls, we've hit one in the great Christmas cookie plan. Although I did make snickerdoodle dough yesterday I didn't actually get to bake it. In addition to the two-day hiatus caused by the need to get staples placed into my son's head, I've had a spectacular failure in the process of making tea cakes that I'm still in the process of cleaning up. I attribute this to one, some or all of the following:

my oven temperature is both uneven and unstable and requires constant fiddling to keep it at a sort-of correct temperature for any given recipe (for cooking, this isn't a problem but for baking it's another matter entirely)
I didn't follow the recipe correctly
the recipe is crap (Actually, this is one of Rose's recipes from the Rose's Christmas Cookies discussed a few days ago. In the series of Amazon reviews for the book two separate reviewers noted problems with this recipe so, to be fair, I may have somehow influenced it to fail because I expected it to fail, know what I mean?)
tea cakes are a pain under the best of circumstances and I've been sort of distracted lately anyway
my butter was too soft

I should finish the clean up today and will commence with the snickerdoodles. Plus, it's taken me so long to get moving with this business that the chocolate chip cookies are almost gone, so I'll make more of those as well. Then I should be back on track. Of course, this depends on today's wakefullness quotient. It's now nearly 4:30 a.m. and I've been away since 1:30. At some point I'm going to have to go back to bed and try to catch some Zs so I can be somewhat approaching functional today. It helps that I've used this time to get some of the day's actual pay-the-bills work done so I won't be quite so behind once the business day starts.

Finally, if you think of it, please send exam-success-and-confidence vibes to my husband. He has a major, change-the-course-of-your-life exam today and we're both just out of our minds about it. He knows the material, he just needs to know he knows it.

Many thanks for all the good wishes for my son. We're pretty much back to normal now - he's in school today and proudly showing off where the doctor fixed the "hole" in his head. I gingerly washed his hair this morning and he scarcely flinched, so it seems that he's recovering better than I.

From what I can understand, the injury was the result of normal playground roughhousing. The school as responded beautifully, holding an "assembly" of the 3- and 4-year olds letting them know that my son was going to be o.k. and that his parents and doctors were taking care of him. They then led a discussion of playground safety and rules, talking about how the playground is for fun and, if everyone follows the rules, then accidents like this don't need to happen. Apparently, many of the kids were understandably scared and crying, after seeing the blood and tears and then the arrival of the rescue squad. By the time we returned to school this morning, everyone was fine and happily showing off their own scars and owies.

So I'm back to my routine of avoiding work and bemoaning the state of the house. I made up a comprehensive to-do list this morning and am proud to report that I've already (already? it's nearly 10:30 for goodness sake!) crossed a couple things off. I really, really need to get myself together and have vowed to shake off this malaise. I owe it to myself, my family, and my employer to get my game back. And we start today with a technique I use successfully with my son. Mary Poppins called it a spoon full of sugar, but I prefer the more straightforward "bribery".

First up after blogging, a quick audit write-up followed by two necessary phone calls. As a reward, I'll then mix up some snickerdoodle dough. After this afternoon's conference call and a longer audit, I'll get to actually bake the cookies.

Oh man, I'm treating myself like a three year old. Without the nap, that is (although, come to think of it, not a bad idea).

This morning, just after posting my Christmas cookie status, I got a call that threatened to stop my heart. The call that every parent dreads. There's been an accident, the ambulance is on the way. Blood, ooze, crying baby.

I swear I flew out of the house - if it hadn't been for every red light along the way (my guardian angel trying to keep up?) I probably would have hit 100 m.p.h. getting to the school to be able to be in the emergency van as it pulled away. Despite keeping to a more legal (and safe) speed limit, I did make it and was able to accompany my little boy to Martha Jefferson Hospital. By the time we got there, he was feeling more alert and, helped along by the little stuffed dog the rescue crew gave him, started talking a bit and regained some color, losing the palid gray that frightened me terribly during the ride.

The upshot: a switch of hospitals (to the UVA Medical Center which has a pediatric ER), three staples, three nurses, two triage desks, four nursing students, two residents, one pediatric supervising surgeon, and eight hours later, my boy is home and resting comfortably. I am one wound up, tired, wired, slightly scarred mama.

But my baby will be fine. Thank God.

The end of the long Thanksgiving weekend finds me overwhelmed by work (what better way to avoid it than by blogging?) and wondering how fast I can get myself back into the kitchen to continue baking. I am sort of behind the eight-ball work-wise and my reaction to it is puzzling me. I never used to be the kind of person who would avoid a deadline - time was I was a take-a-deep-breath-and-jump kind of girl and there wasn't a to-do list east of the Mississippi that I couldn't tame. Now, I just want to take a nap or maybe even clean out my sock drawer. Or, even more fun, make some Christmas cookies.

I did end up making chocolate chip and thumbprints, but never quite got around to the tea cakes. Hopefully I'll get these done today. Growing up all of our cookie baking was done out of Betty Crocker's Cooky Book. These days I'm baking from Rose Levy Berenbaum's modern day classic Rose's Christmas Cookies which, although beautiful and well-written is not as comprehensive as I would have liked. Had Rose consulted me, there would be chocolate crinkle and pizelle recipes, as well as snickerdoodles and cut outs (all of which are present in the Betty Crocker book). Also, I think I would have left out the gingerbread Notre Dame. I mean, it's gorgeous and all, but who needs the pressure? Still and all, it's a wonderful resource and I recommend it to anyone who lives with a cookie monster (as I do, along with a cookie monster-in-training).

I haven't yet made up a comprehensive list of cookie baking goals yet, but here's the start of one:

~~chocolate chip~~
~~thumbprint~~
tea cakes
chocolate crinkles
holly cookies
gingerbread people
snickerdoodles
pizelles
sugar cut outs
shortbread

Now, anyone free to come help with the dishes?

The boy and I ventured out into the world today in order to give my husband some study time at home - UVA ~~played~~ beat! Virginia Tech here in town today and this old rivalry pretty much guaranteed that he'd be unable to find a quiet space on campus. Plus, his parking pass allows him to park at the stadium every day but game days. So we worked out that he'd stay at home while the rest of the family ran errands.

After all the news yesterday about people being so enthusiastic about getting out and starting their shopping I was pretty surpised at how quiet the stores seemed. Then again, we weren't gift shopping, just procuring our standard household items - things like sponges, coffee filters and so on. I also bought two new cookie sheets to replace those that have mysteriously gone missing (I plan to put these to use this evening). My fellow shoppers didn't seem to be buying out the house, so I guess the ol' patriotic shopper syndrome was confined to yesterday.

Although I cannot claim to anywhere near match Sue in the baking department, I do my humble best and tonight will kick off the season with some basic chocolate chip cookies. Tomorrow I'll do some thumbprints (my favorite) and perhaps some Russian tea cakes. Sue's posted a new gingerbread cookie recipe on the site that sounds really great and and which professes to solve the problem of too-hard-to-eat cookies, so I'll give that a whirl too.

Rayne and I had an exchange at her blog about our respective cranberry sauce productions. Although I did not make any for our Thanksgiving dinner, I did set about canning four pints for use as Christmas gifts. To my surpise, it came out somewhat different than last year's batch, although I guess that's what happens when one uses a "bit of this and a bit of that"-type recipe as opposed to an actual, scientifically-developed in a test kitchen recipe. This year's chutney included:

two bags of cranberries, softies and broken ones picked out
three tablespoons chopped candied ginger
quarter cup chopped walnuts
a can of crushed pineapple
the juice of one orange
about a cup of white sugar
about two tablespoons of crushed red pepper
three-quarters of a cup or so of mixed raisins

Put all of this in a large saucepan or Dutch oven on medium heat, stirring frequently. As the cranberries cook, they will bubble and pop and the whole mess will gradually become somewhat jam-like in consistency. When things are pretty amalgamated, taste and adjust as you see fit - maybe add more pepper, citrus or sugar. Whatever you think it needs. Pack into prepared mason jars, seal and process in a boiling hot water bath for 15 minutes after the water returns to boil after the cans are added.

Rayne suggested that carmelized Vidalia onions might make a good addition, as well. I agree completely, but didn't quite get around to it. Perhaps next year.

Today's other holiday activities included cranberry and popcorn garlands for our woodland friends, decorating the mantle, pulling the advent wreath and candle holder out of storage (Advent starts tomorrow!)and positioning the now blooming paper whites around the hearth. We rounded this out with a really nice (if I do say so myself) beef stew with dumplings and are now just sort of lazing around resting. Tomorrow will be another busy day filled with decorating and more pedestrian chores such as laundry. But tonight...tonight is all about resting, with nothing more strenuous than cooking making and, possibly, enjoying a cup of hot cocoa.

Because we've been holed up here at home, just the three of us, we've been blissfully able to avoid Thanksgiving hype and hysteria, concentrating instead on family time. It's been very nice - long naps for everyone and an afternoon of cooking some of my favorite things.

I just pulled the stuffed shells from the oven, the bread pudding is cooling and cranberry chutney is bubbling away as I type. I give thanks, indeed.

Well, we're back. It was a good trip in many ways but I am relieved to be back. In addition to the joys and stresses of spending so much time with people I typically see only a couple times per year, I have brought back a medical condition that I call the plague (although my doctor seems to think it's a cold - I wonder where she went to med school). The boy has officially contracted Over-Indulged, Under-Rested Toddler Syndrome, a malady more dreadful than most of what Hollywood offers up in horror films. It's very nice to be home.

As a result of my coughing and hacking and my husband's study load, we've cancelled the Thanksgiving trip to Philadelphia. I have some mixed emotions about this, but mostly I'm feeling insanely glad not to be going. We're going to miss an awful lot that we wanted to do and see, but with so much post-vacation laundry/cleaning to do, not feeling well, being way too pregnant to be pleasant and just plain tired it's probably all for the best. So it's Thankgiving at home for us and I'm actually pretty pleased about it.

I won't be making a turkey, but rather will dust off a favorite recipe from an old Martha Stewart Living: pasta shells stuffed with crab. Basically, you make a bechemel sauce with crab, stuff it into prepared shells, top with more sauce, garlic, cheese and bread crumbs and bake. It's rich, filling, indulgent and wonderful. With a good bread and salad dressed in a nice sharp vinaigrette it just can't be beat. For dessert I'll make the chocolate bread pudding I neglected for the bonfire party. Our little family, all together, (mostly) healthy, happy and as safe as it's probably possible to be in this world. Excellent reasons for thanksgiving.

Much multi-tasking going on here today at Hot Water Bath. First, the Halloween decorations are coming down (and being put away on the same day - shocker!) and Christmas decorations are being moved from the darkest reaches of the basement to the bottom of the stairs so that they're more easily accessible once we return from Thanksgiving. I'm also running errands (CVS for buy-one-get-one Christmas candy and "non-aspirin pain reliever"), the library (return books) and to the pet sitter's (drop off keys). I also want to finish the out-of-town Christmas present wrapping, wash the sheets and towels and complete the packing process for the impending trip to Florida (10 days, with one day home before turning in the opposite direction for Philly).

All of this is hopefully getting done around work requirements. I'm trying to learn a new publishing tool today so that I can get moving on some deadlines that are rapidly approaching. It doesn't help that I was supposed to have received the stuff from the client oh, about a month ago and I just got it on Friday. The deadline hasn't been adjusted so I'm going a little crazy trying to adjust my own timeline to get everything done. Still, I'm kind of a sucker for learning new software - seems like a game - that I'm able to keep from being too frustrated. I have not yet told my parents that the trip to Florida with them has become a working holiday. My dad might understand, but my mom will thoroughly disapprove since she expects her girls to be recreation-ready at all times and finds work for pay (for either gender) a little unseemly and probably more trouble than it's worth (truthfully, I've long suspected that she's on to something here). Plus, since my parents very much enjoy their grandkids, but do not appreciate actually babysitting them, I will have to be creative about how the work actually gets done. No worries.

In preparation for the trip I have decided to forego my ritual pre-trip cleaning of the house. Because my husband is not going with us and will be - I hesitate to use the word "unsupervised" but that's the thrust of it - in the house on his own, there is absolutely no value to my doing a spit and polish before I leave. The dear man has many charms and excellent qualities, but tidiness is not one of them and I know that I will not arrive home to a clean house so why bother? On the other hand, I will clean in the 36 hour break between arriving home from Florida and leaving for Philly because he's coming with for the second trip and I will be more assured no housekeeping surprises when we get back. Besides, I figure it's better to know our limitations than risk a scene of nagging and anger when I return. We've known each other for 13 years and I am proud that I have grown as a person to just let this go. He cannot see dirt or clutter and will not clean and that's that. In return, I am hoping to get him to accept without question one or more of my irrational habits (I don't think I have any, but I am assured otherwise).

Off now to pick items from the canning cupboard for my sisters' stocking stuffer gifts. I'm pretty sure that my oldest sister will be receiving pomegranate jelly while my youngest sister is getting chocolate sauce, but I'll have to see if I'm inspired otherwise while standing at the open cupboard. I've asked for a jar of my brother-in-law's salsa and was informed that there's a waiting list (like for a Prada bag or the hot new MAC lipstick color?) and there may be a pre-Christmas lottery. And so the pressures of the season commence.

According to the numbers available for 2001, the Virginia State Police Motorist Assistance Program provided assistance to stranded or disabled motorists on 56,023 occasions. Whatever the numbers turn out to be for 2003, I will be counted among them.

This past Thursday, I was driving to Philadelphia when I hit an undetermined something known to us only as the "road hazard" which cause my brand new front passenger-side tire to become comprehensively, irrepairably, flat. I should mention here that it was pouring. The county officer who saw me pull over stopped, took one look at the tire and one look at wet, very pregnant me and told me to get back in the car and he'd send motorist assist. The fine gentlemen who came to my aid were good natured, quick and thorough. After putting on my doughnut spare, one of them escorted me to the nearest rental counter when I obtained the last available car and went on my way. Kudos and many thanks to the good folks at Motorist Assist. Not only did I make my appointments in Philly (3 hour closure on I-95 and harrassment courtesy of a truck driver not withstanding) but I was saved an incalculable amount of stress. Not the best beginning to a trip, but much better than it could have been, thanks to those kind men.

Once my business was through I spent some time visiting with my friend Anna who brought me the breast pump she borrowed and some of her canned goods to share by way of thanks. I have a pint of her dilly beans (which look spicier than mine), a half pint of eggplant relish and a quarter pint of her piccalilli. Clearly, I should lend stuff to Anna more often. I am really looking forward to the eggplant relish since, in my opinion, there is very little that's wrong with eggplant anything. I bet it would make an excellent pizza topping, in fact. If I hadn't planned spaghetti carbonara for dinner, I might be tempted to try it.

Behold my little race car driver. Yes, the costume was completed on time. Although I do confess to a couple sewing newbie mistakes, all in all I'm quite proud of the work. Note the Nascar stickers. My boy's father was adament that his son would be a Formula 1 driver, none of this Nascar hooey. Well, we do not live in Monaco but rather in central Virginia where it is somewhat difficult to escape the Nascar hegemony so Nascar it had to be. In fact, the local auto place only had a handful of appropriate stickers in the first place, reducing our choices to #20 (Tony Stewart's number, I have been informed) or nothing. So #20 it was.

The important thing, though, was that the boy was utterly thrilled with his costume and over the moon that the grown ups on the trick-or-treating route knew what he was supposed to be (well, except for one woman who thought he was an astronaut, but I believe this is a forgivable error). As mom-moments go, this Halloween was exceptional. Plus, I got to feel like Martha Stewart without the indictment. Can't ask for much more than that.

I've recovered somewhat from my voting angst. Actually, I've managed to distract myself with various domestic/nesty activities. Specifically, I've turned our uncarved pumpkins into pumpkin mush for the freezer to be made into pancakes, waffles, bread, muffins and other goodies throughout the winter. I also roasted the seeds, which turned out to be the best I've ever done. What did I do, you ask? We had four or five cups of seeds so put them all in a bowl and poured about half a cup of melted salted butter on top, added 4 or 5 tablespoons of soy sauce and a couple sprinkles of garlic powder (in fact, roasted pumpkin seeds are the only reason I keep garlic powder around). Mix well and spread on a buttered or sprayed rimmed cookie sheet and place in a 350 degree oven. Stir every 15-20 minutes or so until the seeds are golden/brownish and dry. Let cool on the sheet and store in a sealed container.

I also managed to start wrapping Christmas presents so that I don't have to rush around at the last minute. Since most of our presents go out of town I am trying to have those for Philadelphia ready before Thanksgiving so they can be delivered in person and those for both Buffalo and Grand Rapids ready to ship in earliest December. Then I'll have only our household presents left, to be wrapped at my leisure. Other early holiday projects found me getting the paperwhite bulbs into forcing position in the hopes that they'll be ready for our mantel come Christmas. And this afternoon I'm off to buy cards. All of this early work should leave me with lots of time to bake cookies with the boy in December. He's also asked for a gingerbread house for us to make together - I can't imagine a better way to spend an afternoon.

In preparation for election day I recently picked up a voting guide published by the League of Women Voters. The guide outlines each of the races on my local ballot and features profiles and Q&A of each of the candidates who chose to participate. Charlottesville strikes me as a kind of strange place politically - it's very crunchy granola in a lot of ways but also maintains this strict very conservative spine that seems at odds with the very granola-ness.

For example, Charlottesville and Albemarle county boast one of the greatest park systems I've ever seen. The parks are beautifully maintained and offer everything from tennis courts to bike trails to swimming holes. The county and cite parks departments offer swimming lessons, crafts, all kinds of hiking tours and are staffed by some of the most dedicated outdoorspeople I've ever met. The playgrounds are, to a one, clean, bright and safe and I've never seen such well built and outfitted picnic pavillions. Really, it's just great. On the other hand, there is no longer recycling for county residents. That's right, if you don't live in Charlottesville proper then you pretty much throw away all of your trash - even things like soda cans and newspapers that are allowable in even the most limited recycling programs. Apparently, recycling doesn't "pay" in the sense that the county can make money off it and might even have to occasionally fork over money to do it, so the county supervisors put a stop to it.

Anyway, a glance through the voters' guide shows an incredible number of Independent candidates running for local offices (state offices feature only one Independent in nine races and there are no federal office races in Virginia this year). One reason there are so many Independents is that party endorsement entails a kind of cost-share deal. A candidate who raises money in $25 increments through weiner roasts is likely to take a dim view of sending any of that money "upstate" (as we say in New York) to assist candidates in the inner ring D.C. suburbs. So in a sense, all the Independents are keeping Albemarle money in Albemarle. However admirable I find this, it does tend to obscure the essential shorthand that voters may rely on to tell them who's who. I've never believed in voting a party line but it seems to me that learning that someone is a Green, Libertarian, Republican, Democrat or whatever gives you a jumping off point for understanding where he or she is coming from, who they hang with and what they've bought into in order to win office. Even if, say, a Republican candidate is pro-choice you would still get a feel for a general worldview and system of priorities.

All these people seem the same to me and trying to suss out any one person (in the races that are even contested - nine of them are not) to vote for without the shorthand of party affiliation is proving difficult.

I finally got organized to make some hot pickled veggies - gardeniera, I believe the mixture is called. Cauliflower? Check. Carrots and celery? Check. Little baby onions (my secret favorite)? Check. I'm leaving out the stringy bits of red pepper because I don't like them. Normally I love red bell peppers (roasted, fried, whatever) but pickled they're just a crime against food. So today during what is supposed to be my lunch I'll cut everything up and then tomorrow it'll be processing time. The only thing I forgot to buy is more vinegar so another trip to the grocery will be required. No problem - I'll go when I head out to do the preschool pick up.

My husband thinks I'm out of my mind - this stuff can be bought pretty cheaply, right? Why make it? Well, darling, for the same reason as you felt you had to make our marital bed when any furniture store anywhere sells dozens of them, that's why. For the same reason that I have sitting on this desk a 75% completed race car driver costume when Lillian Vernon could have sold me one for forty bucks or so (tax, shipping and handling not included). Sometimes things you make yourself are just better in some indefinable way - the seams might be a little (o.k., a lot) crooked, the veggies not all chopped to uniform size, the bed not totally sanded on the bottom - but it's all just better. That's why. I love gardeniera (a delicious, nutritious, fat-free snack - what's not to love?) and I want to make lots and lots of it.

I keep saying I need to take a canning break and, after the gardeniera, I'm really going to. I am pretty behind on household-related goals (preparing the nursery, rearranging the Boy Wonder's bedroom, painting the upstairs bath) and am very behind on professional goals (completing a business plan, completing a book outline, finishing a tracking database for a client). I have also had the same DVDs from Netflix sitting on top of the television for weeks. No late fees, sure, but not exactly cost effective if you don't actually watch the movies.

Then again, the post-Christmas/pre-baby lull would be a great time to make some marmalade.

I had to throw away two jars of mango jam yesterday. Very disappointing. Besides the obvious lesson, which is to take your canning safety seriously (could I ever have forgiven myself if my son was made ill via his PB&J?) it got me to thinking about those times when you do everything right and still stuff gets mucked up.

In college I studied languages, learned lots of applications and different operating systems, had several excellent co-ops (all activities billed as rendering me ready and perfect for the job market) and yet, in graduating into the recession of the early 90s, found myself pounding the pavement competing for temp positions. It's been 11 years now (I'm no longer considered a "young alum" by my alma mater) and I think I've caught up but those first years of working were difficult, because I did everything I was told would make me very competitive and it turned out there were thousands of kids just like me and companies could hire PhDs for the same cost as my little ole' BS. Things are worse now for new grads, and I just can't imagine what it must be like being out there new to the workforce with little to offer when so many with excellent resumes and track records are on the bench and you just can't compete.

Or take my sister-in-law's good friend who just gave birth, except she won't be taking her baby home. "Lisa" is ridiculously fit, never smokes or drinks, eats a good and varied diet and took prenatals for months before even trying to become pregnant, would leave the room in the presence of a litter box or unpasteurized cheese, and gained the recommended and physician-sanctioned 25 pounds exactly. And yet...her daughter was stillborn. She did everything right, left nothing to chance, but her baby will not be sleeping in the basinette in the corner of her bedroom.

Then there's my friend "Gina". She and her husband prepared for their marriage like it was the bar exam. They took extra preparation classes, communication classes, household management classes, sex classes. Once married, they kept weekly date night sacred through three kids and two cross-country moves - and took yearly, kid-free vacations to keep connected. But now he's fallen in love with a colleague and says that Gina never really understood him. She says he's right.

I guess sometimes it all just hits the fan and there's absolutely nothing we can do. As a Type-A control freak in (tenuous) recovery I find this hard to take. I want to feel that if I do everything I'm supposed to do, make all As, remember to pack a raincoat and check all my seals for leakage that nothing bad will happen to me or anyone I care about. Unrealistic, I know. Doesn't change my inner voice, though (the one that's keeping me up at 4:45 a.m. writing this and thinking about what has to be done today), and it doesn't stop me from trying to fix everyone's lives so that I don't have to feel sad for them. And it doesn't stop me from putting "make more mango jam" on the already too long to-do list. It's my son's favorite so I have to make it - just hope I don't screw it up this time.

When I left my last corporate job two and a half years ago much of my family and many of my friends thought I was nuts. I had been working for a well known professional services firm, received much professional admiration from having a cutting edge title (I had to supply a business card to my father to prove that "Knowledge Manager" was, indeed, an actual job) and truly enjoyed my colleagues, if not my management. Leaving was a calculated risk, though, and one that I knew I couldn't let pass. Since then, I've worked steadily (although not constantly) and am pleased and proud to have been able to support my family while my husband finishes school. It turns out that the solo working life suits me.

So why is it then that the thought of going further with this little experiment scares the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of me? Do we all have a built in risk threshold and I've come up against mine? I have this idea and have scoured the earth looking for reasons not to pursue it and can find none other than my fear. So what's the problem? I have a small amount of capital ready to invest and am confident I can start on a shoestring, am rolling off my current project just before I go onto my self-scheduled and self-funded maternity leave and will have some time to put together a plan (don't laugh! I started grad school and got pregnant with my first in the same month and left my job when he was 9 months old, so I think I can multi-task here, too). Again, so what's the problem? Why can't I just say outloud that I'm starting another company and close this latest chapter of my life. Maybe it's the idea of leaving myself rather than some company that cared little about my actual competencies and more about my ability to be a warm body. Maybe it's that I know that leaving behind a good thing is much harder than leaving behind a mediocre thing.

In mulling over these issues and rereading all of my "Gen-X entrepreneur" books I came across a passage where a women relayed the story of her dithering over writing a book she knew she had in her. Finally, her frustrated companion said, "Someday you'll be in a book store and see your book on the shelf, but written by someone else. And you're going to have to live with that."

Yikes.

I am a very tired woman. Scratch that. I am a very tired woman with a very messy kitchen and I should be shot for using so many dishes at one go. Oh well, as annoyed as I am with myself now, I know that I'll be glad for it all in the end.

My freezer is now harboring large batches of both black bean and split pea soup, as well as several kinds of muffins (these are for the bonfire party this Saturday). It always feels so good to put stuff in the freezer, like a "get out of jail free" card for those inevitable days when I just can't face the thought of cooking but am nearly crazed with hunger when 6:30 rolls around. As much as I love to cook there are at least a few such days each month.

We actually had some of the black bean soup last night for dinner, with a nice french bread on the side. Very yummy. The Boy Wonder surprised and pleased us by asking for both plain yogurt and lime juice in his and then eating it all and wanting seconds. Dinner tonight was leftover roast chicken and succotash with rice pilaf. I also made a wilted lettuce salad, which is possibly the worst salad you can eat, health-wise, but it is so very delicious. If I have time tomorrow dinner will be shells stuffed with crab and bechamel (double batch with extras going into the freezer, natch).

Using my last jar of home canned diced tomatoes reminded me of my committment to myself to do something about the garden situation. The current garden is too far from the house to be tended to conveniently and, as it is somewhat down a hill, cannot be seen from the house. This situation (along with a poor summer in terms of weather and my disinclination to do much due to morning sickness) led to our garden being stop number one on the deer and rabbit buffet hit parade. So we're moving the garden closer to the house via a series of raised beds roughly 4' X 6' in four rows of three. I'm hoping that proximity to both the house and the dog run will discourage our neighborhood creatures from partaking of my veggies. We shall see.

Anyway, my point with this is that we also prepared some areas with mulch and manure. I've covered the areas where the beds will go with 8-10 layers of newspaper (weeds here are more like super-plants so I'm seriously concerned that this wasn't enough) and then put the manure on top of that. Throughout the winter I'll pile our compostable waste over the bed areas and the in the spring we'll be ready for a final layer of compost and mulch. If all the stars are in alignment we will have all the tomatoes, squash, peppers, beans, greens, etc. that we can eat (plus leftover for sharing and canning). Still, I'm thinking of joining a CSA just to cover my bases.

The weekend was rounded out by pumpkin buying and preparing the bonfire site. Some of our smaller pumpkins will be cut into luminaria to decorate the area around the fire but we made sure to get a nice big one for our family jack-o-lantern. The Boy has made it clear that he expects a "scaredy face". I am sure we can accommodate him.

I was inspired this morning to go grocery shopping quite early and get it out of the way before the day started to get away from me. Because I work at home I can usually take care of these kinds of errands whenever I feel like it but more and more I feel like it ruins my day to have to deal with a supermarket and I've begun to put it off. Early on a crisp, clear fall day it felt more like a pleasure to head out just after rush hour to take care of it. Plus, getting it done today may pay off in other dividends - UVA is playing FSU here in town this weekend and I've been told by those in the know not to even try to head into the city or get anywhere near it, for that matter. So if we're sticking close to home this weekend, it's nice to know that there is some decent food in the house.

I must be started to get a little nesty, because I as I was pushing my cart around I started to think of all the stuff I wanted to cook. I bought supplies for bigos, black bean soup, split pea soup, potatoes grantinee, roast chicken and lots more. The soups I'll do and then freeze, since there's nothing better than to be able to pull something like that out of the freezer when you think there's nothing to eat and you don't feel like going anywhere. In front of a fire with a glass of cider and a hunk of good bread a nice thick soup is like heaven.

I'm going to roast the chicken for dinner tonight. Along side will be succotash (don't say "yuk"- it's really yummy), the aforementioned potatoes gratinee (bought a nice gruyere for the occasion), and a green salad.

Here's how I'll make the succotash - it's based on a Laurie Colwin recipe that I think she, in turn, took from a friend. I start by sauteeing a small diced onion in about 1 tablespoon olive oil and 1 tablespoon butter. When the onion becomes translucent, I add two parts frozen or canned corn, two parts frozen lima beans and one part frozen sliced okra. Cook, stirring frequently, until all the veggies are heated through and the liquid is mostly absorbed or evaporated. Add a bit more butter to taste and season with salt and pepper. Hmm...I'm getting hungy already.

I haven't done any canning since the brussels sprouts last week. Work has been busy and now that I've realized that our bonfire party is only a week away followed rapidly by a host of other activities I'm not sure if I'll ever get to that applesauce. I'm sad about this, but in the pantheon of trade-offs it doesn't rank very high.

Just because I haven't been canning, though, doesn't mean I haven't been preserving. This is the time of year I renew my supply of flavored oils and vinegars. I tend not to get to fancy with these - basil vinegar, garlic/pepper oil, garlic vinegar and so on - but I still like to have them around. It's very short work to delicious marinades and salad dressings once you've got a supply of this stuff on hand and it's much cheaper to make your own than buy them, even if you choose to get fancier than I. I use old Grolsch bottles or the kind from the fancy lemonade you buy at Whole Foods. My sister also made me a set of really great etched wine bottles, which I stop with a cork. So even though the applesauce remains undone, I still feel the warm glow of accomplishment.

I had a minor meltdown last weekend when I realized that I have roughly 15 weeks (give or take a fortnight) left of pregnancy. This made me very happy until I realized that these 15 weeks will have to encompass:

And this doesn't take into account the stuff I've said "no" to (my soon-to-be-born nephew's Christening, Christmas in either Philly or Buffalo, a Christmas party the week prior in Philly). I simply do not have time - I'm just going to have to be pregnant for 50, maybe 55, weeks.

Yay! I got some brussels sprouts! Besides the fact that those two expressions are side by side for possibly the first time in human history, this development is momentous for another reason. Today, for the first time ever, I will post my pickle-making methods. If you like pickled veggies, this is for you. If you don't, then it might still be for you since it's a great recipe and you don't know what you're missing.

The first thing is to make sure you know what you're doing, canning-wise and that you have the basic equipment on hand. You'll need a canning kettle (preferably one that comes with the jar rack), a box of pint size jars with the two piece "dome" lids, some kind of funnel (a special canning funnel is nice, but not necessary) and a couple of saucepans and wooden spoons. Other than the sauce pans, you can get most of this at your neighborhood hardware store - not the big-box type of store, but the old-fashioned kind where things get kind of dusty and the workers know what they're talking about. You can buy a starters kit that contains most of this stuff, plus some more special items. If you think you'll like canning, then by all means make the investment. (By the way, yes I know that your great-grandma canned 800 quarts a year using nothing but old mayo jars and some parafin. Get the new-fangled stuff anyway. We know more about food-borne pathogens now and it's not all that terribly expensive and should pay you back in savings if you end up canning more than a few pints, depending upon what you can.)

Next, get thee online or to a library and read the basics of home canning. Most canning books will feature several "how to" pages about preparing jars and lids, processing time, etc. Each box of new jars has good basic instructions, too, and usually comes with a recipe or two. DISCLAIMER: Home canning has a small, but real, inherent risk. Make sure your kitchen and utensils are absolutely clean and that you follow directions well in order to reduce the risk as much as possible. Only high-acid food may be canned safely in a hot water bath (which is what I focus on) so don't go thinking you can make, say, turkey rice soup. You can't. And don't skimp on processing time or acidity recommendations or sealing directives. It's 100% your responsibility to make sure that you follow all the guidelines.

Now, let's pickle some brussels sprouts. Follow the recommendations for preparing the jars for canning. Place some sprigs of dill, a large clove of garlic and a whole, fresh jalapeno pepper in each pint jar. Fill jar to about 3/4 of an inch below the top with brussels sprouts. In a saucepan, bring to boil 2 cups of water and 2 cups of regular white 5% acidity vinegar (not the fancy-pants gourmet wine stuff) along with a half a cup of pickling or kosher salt. Stir the salt to dissolve. After the vinegar mixture comes to a boil bring it off the heat and pour into each jar using your funnel and a heat-resistant measuring cup, leaving a half inch of head space at the top of the liquid. You should have enough liquid for four pints. Clean off the rims of each jar using a CLEAN towel dipped in very hot water (I use the water in which the lids are boiling) and then seal by placing the flat part of the two piece lid on the rim of the jar and screwing the ring around it until it's nice and tight. Because you are an organized canner you've already started boiling the water in your canner (fill the canner up pretty high - the water should be at least two inches over the top of the jars when the rack is lowered) you shouldn't have to wait too long before it reaches a rolling boil and is ready to receive the prepared jars.

Place the jars onto the canning rack using either the special tong thingies made for this purpose or a thick oven mitt. Try to balance the jars on the rack so they're not all on one side and tip the rack over. Lower the rack into the canner and cover. Process the sprouts for ten minutes, starting the time count after the water in the canner has come back to a boil. At the end of processing time, remove the jars using your tong thingies or oven mitt and place on the counter on a folded dish towel. Do not mess with the jars or lids while they're cooling. As the jars cool, you'll hear little "pings" indicating that your seals are sealing and you've done a good job.

Let the pickles season for a couple weeks before you open them to the raves that are undoubtedly coming your way.

Let's refresh: If you've followed the basic canning instructions you've sought out as well as my recipe you've got heated jars, heated lids, heated pickling liquid, and the sprouts boiling in their jars in acid, as well as being heated by boiling water from outside the jars. This should cover the territory germ-wise, provided the jars seal. Any jars that don't seal can be reprocessed using new flat parts of the lids.

That's it. I made four pints of picked sprouts as I typed this in real time this morning. Not counting typing time, the four pints required about 20 minutes of preparation, 20 minutes of waiting for the canner to boil and 10 minutes of processing time. That's just a little more than 12 minutes per pint, which will pay you back many times over in the sheer joy of accomplishment and inspiring awe in people who think, quite wrongly as we've seen, that it's hard to can stuff yourself. Today pickles, tomorrow rhubard-ginger marmalade.

Today's first topic: funny CNN.com headlines. I'm not talking about those "news of the strange"-type stories (Would-be Bank Robber Writes Demand Note on Own Deposit Slip), but rather articles for which the subject matter is truly serious, but the headline itself just isn't so. For today, see China's Space Base Not Where Thought. My first thought upon reading this was, "Um, you mean the space base isn't in space? Where is it, then?" Of course, what was meant is that China's launch facilities weren't in the earthly location many/most people (at least among those who care) thought they were.

The previous winning CNN.com funny headline rather lost some humor after reading the story behind it, but just try to read the words Arrest in Fatal Amish Tomato--Tossing Prank without grinning. Please don't misunderstand, I'm not taking pleasure in the fact that someone was actually killed in the tomato-tossing prank, just that the fine folks at CNN couldn't think of a way to headline the story without such seeming insouciance about the whole thing.

Onward to business: I doubt that I'll be doing much canning in the next two weeks, unless I can get my hands on some decent looking brussels sprouts that aren't too expensive. Instead I'll be preparing for my household's first annual Fall Fest. The menu is: chocolate bread pudding (the one that calls for 8 egg yolks and two cups of cream), gingerbread cookies and pizzelles, apple muffins, pumpkin muffins, s'mores, and popcorn balls. To drink: warm cider, spiced wine, Oktoberfest Bier and regular juice boxes for the kids. We bought one of those coffee dispenser thingies you see at Borders to keep either the cider or the wine warm so I don't have to keep running up and down the hill with a pot full of hot liquid - hopefully we'll find another one in the next couple weeks. Plus, my husband's brand new power inverter will allow us to play tunes off of the tractor battery, so no running endless extension cords through the yard for people to trip over in the dark. As an added bonus, the need to create a big pile of sticks is prompting us to clean up the yard well before our natural inclination (which inclination is that?) to do so would have kicked in.

I am now the proud owner of 6 pint jars of dilly beans and have more jars ready for the hoped-for pickled cauliflower and brussels sprouts. The applesauce didn't happen because the orchard didn't have the winesaps ready, after all. Because I know that fruit growing (or growing anything, for that matter) is an inexact science I got over my disappointment. Perhaps this week if I'm able to get up to the orchard.

So I made some more chocolate sauce instead. This time, though, I made it according to the recipe and not according to my tweak-it-as-you-go-along method. You know what? It's better. Seriously - and, blow to my ego aside, you really ought to check it out. It's delicious and simple (if a little dangerous - syrup burns really are horrifying so have your aloe plant near by - and pretty quick. If you're organized you can have several pints cooling on the counter in a matter of a half hour or so.

In addition to working today I am in the process of sorting baby clothes. I have a few piles: 1) clothes that I will wash and send to my sister (whose son is due in the next few weeks) 2) clothes that I will wash and keep here for our (drum role please) baby girl and 3) clothes that I probably wouldn't put on a baby girl (yikes! gender roles and she's not even born!) but are too sentimental to give away. My sister's son will be born near enough to my son's birthday so that she will need to spend very little outfitting her boy. My daughter will be born near enough to her daughter's birthday so that I will need to spend very little outfitting my girl. Nice how these things work out.

To wrap up for today, I am one of those sick people who find holiday preparations to be fun. I'm nearly done shopping and am wildly looking forward to wrapping and bow tying and shipping and all the rest. It is in the spirit of my madness I direct your attention to Christmas Baking with Susie J. Sue is a friend from college (we studied German together, with differing degrees of success - she actually speaks and remembers it and visits family in Germany with whom she can converse. sigh.) and is a kuchen goddess. (In a neat bit of serendipity, it turns out that she also was friendly with the man who became my husband although none of us knew that we all knew the others for a while. I also knew the man who has become her husband but, again, it took a while for us all to realize that we all knew each other.) Anyway, in addition to the benefit of Sue's wisdom, you may learn from the recipe submissions and "kitchen disasters" of others (for some reason I have three such entries of the latter). If Christmas is not celebrated in your house but you do have a relentless sweet tooth you, too, should check it out.

This just in: The New York Times is running an article about canning by Nigella Lawson. Recipe and a picture of Ms. Lawson are to the right of the article, sort of in the middle of the page. Funny thing, I look just like Nigella when I can. Seriously, no sweat on my brow, my kitchen's immaculate and there are no kids or pets running about. And, I look just as nice in a twinset. Ahem.

My Death Star moment lingers, although not a strongly as in recent days. I've decided to move on to other things, not quite ignoring the feelings of imminent doom but rather making an effort to carry on while watching for additional signs or information that could explain why I'm feeling this way. In the meantime, let's talk about food.

I bought four pounds of green beans yesterday which will be made into spicy dilly beans this weekend. The beans were on sale at Giant and since I missed the real green bean season I decided to go for it. I try to buy canning fodder only in its proper season, but occasionally life interferes - I'm sure that these beans will be just fine. I haven't missed the seasons for cauliflower or brussels sprouts, though, which also make excellent pickles. Hopefully I'll be getting to those soon.

Tomorrow I'm accompanying my son on a(nother) field trip to a local orchard and am planning to purchase a bunch of winesaps to make sauce and maybe some spiced apples as well (for crisps and pies). Last year's apple sauce was good (even better since the apples were free) but not great. I understand that winesaps make excellent saucing apples so I'm looking forward to the process. Nothing makes the kitchen smell better than simmering apples with just a hint of cinnamon thrown in. My mom just finished her sauce - she uses jonagolds, which give a lovely pink color to the finished product - and we've promised each other a swap of a few jars.

In non-canning food news, I am thrilled beyond belief that we are going to visit my in-laws in West Chester, Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving. Beyond my in-laws' charm and the inherent attractions of the holiday itself (although I am increasingly uncomfortable with certain aspects of both its history and current celebratory traditions - posts for another time) there is also the added benefit of the new Downingtown location of...Wegmans. Sign. Swoon. For those of you who are not familiar with Wegmans, I can say no less than it is what every supermarket wants to be when it grows up. Seriously. We lived for a time in Canandaigua, New York, the ancestral home of the Wegman family, and enjoyed what was then the flagship store. To say that Wegmans' stores are monuments to the glory and bounty of the world's table is not going too far. Plus, Wegmans is committed to scholarship among its employees who choose to attend college and makes huge efforts in procuring local produce wherever a given store is located, as well as supporting local food banks and community kitchens. As if these were not enough to engender admiration, the store itself is a marvel. Basically, if it's edible, it's available at Wegmans at a reasonably decent price.

Finally, we've decided to host a bonfire toward the end of the month. It's legal here to have open fires after 4 p.m. and we've got the perfect spot for a nice fire down by what was to be the garden. Should be fun - we'll roast marshmallows, drink spiced cider, dance in the light of the moon. Isn't fall just grand?

Remember that scene in Star Wars when Luke is practicing the light sabre with that little flying orb thingy in the Millennium Falcon while, unbeknownst to him, Princess Leia is being interrogated by Darth Vader about the location of the rebel camp? Virtually at the same moment that Luke masters the light sabre, Darth Vader destroys Leia's home planet (at least I think it's hers) to demonstrate to her the power of the Death Star. Obi Wan Kenobi, who had been watching Luke practice, suddenly starts. "There a tear in the force. As if a million voices cried out and were silenced at once." (Or something like this.)

That's how I feel today. Like there's something going terribly wrong in the universe. Unlike Ben Kenobi, I can't put my finger on it. A very uncomfortable feeling.

Chocolate sauce = fabulous! Really. And I'm not even much of a chocoholic but this is the kind of thing that makes a person swoon. I'm working on getting the recipe together and will post it within a couple days so check back. Seriously, you've got to try this. As it turns out, you don't need much in the way of canning equipment since it does not need to be processed since there's nothing in it that can spoil - it's all pretty much sugar and chocolate. Once you open a jar you'll probably want to put the remainder in the fridge but sealed it can sit on your shelf.

Although I'm not usually a chocolate fanatic, my husband is. We can't keep anything chocolate in the house for very long (he's been known to pack away a 2 lb. bag of M-n-Ms in a single day. Another time friends who didn't know what he might like for Christmas gave him 15 pounds of Hersey miniatures and kisses which we stored in our punch bowl. This is a man with a problem (he doesn't know about the chocolate sauce yet and I'm going to try and keep it a secret for a while so I've got a prayer of keeping some for holiday gifting - maybe I'll give him a jar in his stocking). Anyway, I'm telling you all this for a reason: Last week I went with my son on his first fieldtrip to a local apple orchard for a hay ride and apple picking. All the kids got to pick a quarter peck of red and golden delicious to bring home. The next day I asked if he wanted to make a special apple dessert with his pickings. Excited doesn't even begin to cover his reaction. So I peeled and sliced and he helped put the apples in the pan and pour on sugar and spices and cover with the crumb topping. We had to open the oven several times to look at it while it baked and I endured a half an hour of, "When is my special apple dessert done, mommy?"

Finally, it was cooled enough for the tender toddler tongue. I spooned some out into a bowl, poured a little cream on top and handed it over with a flourish, "Look, honey, your special apple dessert!"

He looked into the bowl with his spoon poised midair for attack. Suddenly, his smile vanished. He pushed the apples around with his spoon frantically and finally looked up at me with a wail, "Mommy!! Where's the chocolate?!!!" The despair in this voice was unbearable. Upon hearing that there was, in fact, no chocolate he left the table and I never could convince him to try the crisp. In this case, the apple really did not fall far from the tree, so to speak.

O.K., it's like this. While I've bought everything I need for the chocolate sauce (I already had cocoa, but I got some nice maple syrup -!- and some other stuff, too) it didn't get done last weekend. I'm not sure why, but I think we were really busy. The strange thing is that I can't remember a thing that we did. Anyway, provided that Isabel doesn't wreak too much havoc on my central Virginia home, I'll try it this weekend - promise.

As I write this, the lights are flickering. We've already lost one 15 foot pine tree that fell just a few feet from the house in a snap that sounded much like a gunshot. A few roofing tiles are lost and we've sprung some leaks in the basement, but otherwise all is well as we approach the peak of the storm. To prepare for possibly losing our power, I've baked some potatoes that could be easily reheated in the fireplace and put an array of mason jars on the counter, ready to be opened. The biscuits are ready for a smear of pumpkin butter - an excellent breakfast even if you do have electricity. Tuna sandwiches will be enlivened with some pickled carrots and a little chutney will go a long way toward perking up lukewarm steak - pregrilled and warmed near the flame of the fire. Thanks to Izzy, I suddenly remember why I can.

Gifts of memory can come from the strangest places. So can inspiration and I spent the morning making lists of all that I need to get started with: apple pie filling, apple sauce, more pickles, and so on. But most of all, that chocolate sauce.

I still have not been able to face another attempt at Orangina jelly. Perhaps this reveals something about my character, that I fold in the face of difficulty. Or maybe that I have enough sense to know when to stop. Either way, I made a promise to try again. And I will. Someday.

In the meantime, I've found a recipe for chocolate sauce that I think will be a winner for holiday gift-giving. This weekend (pending morning sickness status) I'm hoping to give it a try. Don't you think it would be adorable wrapped up with an antique (or not) ice cream spoon or somesuch frill? It's also inspired me to try and find or create a peanut butter sauce recipe for canning. I just love peanut butter things (although I don't really love just plain 'ole peanut butter - is that weird?) and just the other day I enjoyed a double scoop of peanut butter cup ice cream before I remembered that, being in the family way, I'm not supposed to be eating peanut butter as it may impart serious allergies to my unborn. I'm not seriously worried, since I think these things are related to progressive exposure but I am going to watch myself from now own. We have predispositions to allergies in our house and I don't think I want to stack that particular deck against us more than it already is. Anyway, I think that a jar of peanut butter sauce and a jar of chocolate sauce is a really fine gift. Now, if you are in a gift-exchanging relationship with me, just pretend you never read this. Either that or start practicing your look of delighted surprise now so you'll be ready this winter.

The chocolate sauce recipe started a whole rumination on the issues of risk avoidance versus risk reduction versus risk elimination (as chocolate is not terribly acidic and generally isn't a candidate for longterm storage without pressure canning, which I do not do - yet) and my personal reactions to these things, as well as societal reactions. Someday soon I'll post something about it. Before we get to that, though, I have a more important topic for discussion: using brand names just 'cause you always have versus trying the knockoff.

My local Big Lots has canning jars packed in boxes carefully designed to cause the quick of glance to assume that the jars inside are, in fact, Ball brand (quite possibly the most famous, if not most popular, commercial canning jar) at a price of about 2/3 what you can find in a supermarket or discount mart. Now, I'm not generally brand loyal (tampons, cold remedies and yogurt seem to be the major exceptions) but there's something about the knockoff jars that is giving me pause. Is it the dire warnings of safety relative to home canning (maybe this discussion is related to risk avoidance more than I thought) or is it just the idea that, well, Ball makes canning jars and there's really no reason for anyone else to do it? My grandmothers, mom and aunts use(d) Ball and that's good enough for me. Maybe it's the idea that the "original" isn't that expensive, after all, and works fine so what did they do to the knockoff to make it cheaper? What corners were cut? Was it the seals - are the seals crappola? 'Cause canning is all about the seal (well, that and processing time). Is it the glass itself? A flaw in the glass can create the most difficult mess if the jar cracks or shatters in processing. I just can't convince myself to try the knockoff - that the savings would be worth whatever they've done to make the jars cheaper. Then again, there's really no reason not to other than it's counter to the way I've always done things and the way I've always seen things done.

I guess I feel this way about a lot of things. I may insist upon some stupid expensive foundation (for the increasingly rare days I put make up on at all) but my eyeliners are all Wet-n-Wild. If I saw an eyeliner cheaper than my usual $1.99 would I buy it? Probably not - the price would be lower than what I've assigned to what represents "quality". Anything lower would seem, well, cheap and probably not worth it. But if I saw a MAC eyeliner priced at $1.99 would I buy it? I don't know - what if it's only priced that way because there's something wrong with it? There are always stories about some luxury brand reducing their prices and seeing sales fall since the price change violated consumers' sense of price versus value. Sales rebound when the price is raised to its original heights.

There's probably an economic theory that explains all of this - the complicated price versus value versus perception of quality/desirability equations we all work through internally every time we buy something. Actually, I probably learned said theory in school. Damned if I can remember what it is, though.

Orangina jelly status: poor. My mom helped me tweak the recipe and we still had strange, intermittant, sort-of jelled jelling. I told her that enough was enough and that this was my last attempt. You may be glad to know that she shamed me into making another, as-yet-unscheduled try. Mom doesn't know from all this blog stuff, and she's not a big fan of the internet, but once she learned that there are people out there who know of this saga, she insisted that I continue. "It's not as if people are depending upon me," I pouted. "That's not the point," she wagged her finger at me, "you started something and now you have to finish it."

So that's that. I felt as I did the year I tried to quit band midway through the school year. Guilty and ashamed and like I was letting the side down. Attempt #4, coming up.

The $500 decorating challenge went well. I know have "art" on the walls and window coverings and a fabulous mantle arrangement. There are still a couple things I want to do, like cover the giant reading pillows. I like the new bee print from Calico Corners, but I'd rather buy something at a local, non-chain shop like Fabric World. Fabric World is really great, run by these very stern women who take their fabric seriously. The store is house in an old warehouse that has definitely seen better days - in fact, it looks sort of abandoned. Once you're inside, though, it's like entering a magic world of tassels, trims, buttons and toile. The best kind of candy, if you ask me.

Things are looking a little bit better in the pissed-off pregnant woman department. Feeling a wee bit healthier at the moment (fingers firmly crossed) and so I decided to make attempt #2 on the Orangine Jelly project. Official result of attempt #2: failure. I think I may have failed to distribute either the pectin or the added citrus juice properly or something. There are clumps of jelly-like material floating throughout - kind of like those warm springs on the Jersey Shore when that plankten-gel stuff floats about in the water. Gross. Bad to swim in, worse to eat.

Attempt #3 will likely happen this weekend. I'm not sure how I'm going to approach the problem, but my mom is here for the week so I'll run it by her. I'm starting to wonder if the carbonation is somehow interfering. I'm going to look up more of those beer jelly recipes I saw and see if inspiration doesn't strike. Several years ago (like, ten) my mom was canning peaches and had leftover peach flavored syrup that was pretty thin. We got an idea to cook it down to thicken it and then can the result so we could have nice peach syrup for pancakes and cakes and whatever. Didn't work. The syrup never cooked down and certainly never got thicker. We figured it was the MSG-type stuff she used to preserve the color of the peaches that were the original source of the syrup in the first place. It was disappointing to be sure, but we both felt like we had discovered something important - even if to this day we can't really articulate what it was: "Remember that peach syrup."

"Yeah. Weird that it didn't thicken."

"Sure was. Must have been the fruit fresh, don't you think."

"That's the only thing I can think of."

"Weird."

We have this conversation, seriously, like twice a year. We'll never tire of that story - this is the stuff of which memories are made and familial bonds are tied.

Mom is here this week to do the "$500 Decorating Challenge." I was bitching and moaning about how much I hate our new house and she said she'd come "do it up" for us. We set a budget of $500 for which she said she could do the living room and dining room. Not buy new furniture, mind you, but do that Use What You Have magic and then buy some key accessories that would make our hellish, nature-assaualted house a home. Last night she tried to sell me on velvet chair covers. As a woman with a toddler and a baby on the way, I did not have to think hard to see that this was a bad idea.

Mom's been an empty-nester for a while now and she's struggling with her cream carpets and taupe furniture and the onslaught on grandchildren. Maybe a week with my darling, but messy, boy will help reorient the project. The boy brought me worms as a present on Sunday ("Mommy, I picked flowers and worms for you!") so velvet anything is out of the question.

A lot of my identity is wrapped up in being capable. Whatever needs to be done, I can handle it. I can lift it, carry it, drive it, feed it, pay for it, process it, write it, cook it, clean it, remove it, hide it, reserve it, finish it, present it, wrap it, talk about it, put it away, whatever. Except for lately, that is. Lately I feel...fragile. Breakable. Frail. Delicate. And I don't like it one bit.

I think I've pretty well established here that I'm not one of those women who finds pregnancy to be a charming state. I don't glow. I don't feel beautiful or strong or at one with nature. I feel shitty. And I feel less than capable. How can it be that the one thing that I can do that's the most womanly makes me feel less than who I am?

When I was pregnant with my son a woman I worked with tried valiantly to convince me to start a pregnancy journal so that I would always remember how I felt during "this special time." I responded that my first act of maternal love would be to forget how I felt so that I could get over any lingering resentment I felt toward a child whose very creation rendered me so utterly ill, so incapable in so many ways. Saying those words I felt certain would doom me to any number of calamities. This is what befalls a woman who bemoans her pregnancy the universe would say, but I couldn't help myself. The gift of a healthy child cost me a lot and I was angry.

This time around things are a bit different, if only because I now understand that it is possible to love a child whose existance began with such despair. It's possible to love that child madly and I have no doubts about my ability to mother well this babe growing inside of me. Still, I haven't "announced" really, despite my rapidly growing belly. I don't want to hear the congratulations, with the expectations that I'll smile beatifically in return. I don't want to talk about nursery plans or names or the terrible state of maternity fashion. I want to not feel cheated - of a Hallmark gestation, of a "Baby Story" narrative of fun and happiness and discovery, of a Toni Braxton-esque stretch-mark- and vomit-free pregnancy suitable for documentation in the mainstream popular press. When my husband rests his hand low on my stomach waiting for those first kicks and swirls I want to want him there. Most of all, I just want to be me again. Me, strong and capable, with a husband and a toddler and, yes, a baby.

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