Daily Bread

Argh matey! It be Cap'n Dough Hook! About, oh 9 years ago I asked for a super deluxe Kitchenaid mixer for my birthday. You know- the ginormo one from Costco that doesn't tilt back making it a pain in the spoon to add stuff to? (I have to confess, I didn't know about the non-tilting thing until after I brought it home and couldn't figure out how to make it tilt. HELL-O. It doesn't tilt. Derrr...) Back to the story, I had great visions of making homemade bread, filling the kitchen with that oh-so-yummy scent of fresh made goodness. Happy Birthday to me! I got the mixer, and on day one it blew-up. Well not literally blew-up, I didn't have Kitchenaid shrapnel anywhere, but it made a sound like, "Bzzz, zap, kapowie," and then it smoked a bit and that was that. Not a good omen for my career as a bread baker. Kitchie got replaced and that was about as far as the whole bread-making thing went. It didn't really help that Great Harvest was practically within walking distance and let me tell you, their hot berry-bread on a Saturday morning makes the perfect breakfast treat. Fast forward to 2010. I have once again been bitten by the bake the bread bug. I FINALLY got out that dough hook that's been taking up real estate in the cupboard for YEARS. So far, it's been a success. Except for the time I made a french loaf that my family described as, "It's like eating baked salt dough." Oh and the time that the entire bowl of dough just never quite stuck together. And there was the case of the "Well if it hasn't risen after 3 hours, it's probably not going to." Come to think of it, maybe I just need to head back to Great Harvest. Good thing we've found another use for that dough hook!

Milestones Dr. Spock didn't think of...

According to my latest neurotic google search about baby milestones, at 16 months a child should be able to walk well, turn the pages of a book, or get upset when frustrated. May be able to start to climb, walk backwards,or say 10-15 words. Could possibly dance, help around the house (really? and what help would that be? empty a cupboard? dump a laundry basket of freshly folded clothes?), or jump.

I don't think that list accurately gives a picture of what life is like with our 16month old. I have revised this list for my child. At 16 months, Bun is able to disappear in a store in under 3 seconds. (And manage to destroy 5 shelves of clothing displays while MIA. I found her carrying a STACK of shirts. Weirdo.) May be able to pick the lock on the gate at the carousel ride at the zoo. (However I maintain that it was the naughty 4 year old in front of us who managed to get the gate open, my kid just happened to be the one who busted through and ran as fast as she could towards the moving ride... Fortuntely 16 month olds have short legs, the zoo people outran cheetah baby before she actually reached the moving carousel.) And Bun could possibly river dance while bowling on the roof. (I'm not sure about the last one, but I'm not ruling it out.)

When you see my Bun, with her scraped knees, her latest I-run-too-fast-for-my-feet bruise, or her devil may care attitude just remember it's all part of her devolpement. At least in our house it is.

Who needs Zumba if you have a Rug Doctor!

As previously discussed, Bun has asthma. My third child has to create her version of first-in-the-family and so she has. She is the first with asthma. This new diagnosis has prompted her momma to rid the house of all dust, dander, and dog hair. (I DO hear the Mission Impossible theme song, I DO.) Today's chore was steaming the carpets. The rug doctor claims to be steaming mad at dirt, I happen to be steaming mad at asthma. We're a good match.

Have you ever steamed the carpets with a 14 month old running around? IMpossible- right? WRONG! Totally do-able. As you can see, I simply strapped the child onto my front and off we went! Bun is not a huge fan of loud noises so to make the event all the more fun, I danced, bounced, and sang all while steaming the carpets. See the image in your head? It IS as funny as it sounds. Just think of all the extra calories I burned with all that extra baby weight! 23 pounds to be exact. I haven't worked out this much since 2008! I may just make my own line of workout videos!

Words you don't want to read...

O.K. so here's the deal. Bun has asthma. And after about 14 months of denial, it's really official. (She's always been a "loud" breather... I suppose hoping all that "loud" breathing would go away just didn't work.) Time to face it head on and move forward. And doing what any momma would do, I neurotically scour the internet for any and all info. Which is when I come across the "Asthma causes people to go to the hospital or even die" line in the BREATHING EASIER WITH ASHTMA informational page. I'm sorry, but does anyone else see the problem with the title and info therein? And now I can't seem to get past the last word. I'm having google-induced-psychosis.

Die? I am just coming to terms with having to shove a mask on my babe's face while she screams 6 breaths. And then repeat. Die? I just started super deep cleaning everything in the house from top to bottom to try and reduce allergens. Die? I just bought every treat and toy I could think of to give her for the next 5 days while we go through "roid rage" from her steroids. Die? I just started her food journal so we could pinpoint what foods cause her the most problems. Die? I just made plans for getting the dogs groomed and shaved to see if it helps. Die? I just looked into special HEPA filters for the furnace. Die?

Is it inappropriate to write that I simply need to take a deep breath and calm down? I mean, isn't the inability to take a deep breath the whole reason I'm doing this???

Dear BREATHING EASIER WITH ASHTMA, either re-title your info BREATHING EASIER WITH ASTHMA SO YOU DON'T DIE or maybe, just maybe don't mention the DYING part on the first page. It makes it hard to think about the rest.

Sincerely,
Weezie's mom.

I AM A REAL MOM

I was born in 1971. GULP GULP GULP! According to my math, that was like 23 years ago! My mother wasn't present at my birth. Odd, but not that odd. There was another woman there, my birthmum. And I want to thank her for going through pregnancy (I'm a little more than thankful that abortion wasn't legal at that time, I'm just saying), I want to thank her for going through labor (before the era of routine epidurals!), and I want to thank her for giving me to my mother. My real mom.

My mom has always been my mom. Always. She might not have been there when I made my entrance into this world, but she was the one holding me while riding in the wheelchair when I left the hospital and has been with me ever since! I think this counts as real.

My daughter was born in 2009. I wasn't present at her birth either- neither was a doctor, but that's a story for another day. However I was the one who stayed with her night and day in the intermediate care nursery, I was the one who fretted over her first few days as they ran this test and that test, I was the one who patiently held her on her side and fed her drop by drop because she just couldn't grasp the whole "suck, swallow, breathe" thing. It felt real enough to me.

And this is NOT a comment on birthmums and the choice they make for their child. Do not mistake, there are not adequate words to express the benevolence I feel towards birthmums. How do you thank someone for the life you have?

This is however, a response to the questions I hear about my "real" mom and Bun's "real" mom. I actually had someone ask me about Bun's parents. And he wasn't asking about the Canuck or myself. Grrrr.

That's a grrrr of frustration, not anger. I am the real mom to all of my children. They live with their parents. They are all loved equally- even the one who is almost 16 and eats ALL the ice cream in the entire freezer in one sitting. (grrrr again!)

I get it, you think I'm being overly sensitive. But blame it on the real daughter in me and the real mom in me. Defending my mother, defending my child. And the next time you want to know about someone's birthmum, asked them about their birthmum. If you ask them about their real mom, they might just write about it.

In a blink of an eye...

Oh my goodness! She's ONE! Where did that year go? I can no longer say things like, "Can you believe that a year ago, we didn't even KNOW about BUN?" I seriously uttered that phrase at least 365 times in the past year! Probably more, definitely more! Of course, the phrase has now changed to, "Can you even imagine the past year without Bun?" NO WAY!

I think I know what it feels like to win the Super Bowl, to earn a gold medal, to pick all the right lotto numbers! Actually this is better than all that. She's been our baby for a year and I still get excited at the thought! It literally takes my breath away! Happy Birthday Bun, I'm gonna go catch my breath...

The Road Less Travelled a.k.a. Cleaning Beanie's Room

Beanie's room was clean... Once... About 10 months ago. That's when we moved Beau to the Man Cave in the basement, moved Beanie to the big room, and Bun got her nursery. Everything was moved out of the big room and it was clean! I mean, new paint, shampooed carpet, even the blinds were scrubbed! Then Mess Master moved in and that was the end of clean. Two weeks ago, I'd had enough. Enough of trying to remember if Beanie's bed was next to the wall or the window, enough of being awakened each morning by Beanie asking if I knew where her clothes were, enough of the shame that comes from a room that may or may not house a family of pigs. I'm not calling Beanie a pig, I'm just saying that OTHER pigs might think she's a pig. I did it. I hired grammy to come watch Bun the Danger Magnet (She couldn't very well GO into her sister's room while I cleaned, she might be bitten by wild farm animals or something!) while I spent the day attacking the room of doom. I knew my eldest daughter was incredibly creative, but little did I know to what depths her creativity ran! She does all the typical I-cleaned-my-room-but-really-everything-is-just-stuffed-under-my-bed but in addition to that I found countless cleaned-my-room surprises. For instance. I found a plastic jar stuffed into the back of a drawer. I opened the jar and found- pajammas, a feather boa, a giant fake coin, a bib, a sock, a poster marker, a t-shirt, some fabric, a ponytail holder, a pixter game, and a couple other things I can't identify! I have to admit, I was a wee bit worried at this point. Does Beanie have some hoarding disorder? Um no. She had to pick up her room, there was a jar, she shoved everything on the floor in it, put it away and VOILA room "cleaned." We had a little chat. It went a little something like this, "Beanie?" "Yes Mother?" (Hey I said a LITTLE something not exactly.) "Beanie, I cleaned your room today." "Oh THANK YOU!" (That part was real.) "And Beanie if it ever looks like that again, I get to pick out your clothes for a week!" "I promise it won't!" (With fear in her eyes! What could be worse than MOM dressing me?! Just wait daughter!) "And Beanie, if you still make messes after that, GRANDMA gets to pick your outfits for a week!" (Now she's tearing up- the HORROR!) "I PROOOOOMMMMIIISSSSEEEE!" And that was that. After 8 hours, 6 black trash bags, and several hundred deep breaths the room was clean. And I mean it, if it goes to the pigs again I'll be posting pictures of Beanie wearing mom jeans and an applique vest!