Good news?

Have you ever received good news after a period of stressful waiting and then…not…feel…better?

That was my day.

Hope had her bone conduction hearing test today. We didn’t have to endure the worrisome fasting, the ultra-early morning drive across town, the scary general anesthetic or the endless hours of waiting, all of which colored our previous ABR attempt (thank God).

Instead we drove five minutes to the Research Hospital on our side of town. Hope nursed until an hour before her appointment. Granted, she did have to choke down some vile-tasting chloral hydrate (screaming her head off the whole time), but that was the worst of it. We were in the room with her while she had the ABR, and once it was done, we were pretty much okay to leave. Just had to hang around for a half-hour after she woke up for a little safety monitoring.

(BTW, babies waking up from sedation are hilarious. Hope was full of grins, but totally loopy. Like an incredibly cheerful drunk.)

Anyway. The results were good. Her right ear is functional, pretty much at the exact same level as her left. So, good. Yay.

But the test couldn’t answer my next question: does she hear with that ear? The inner ear can hear (is capable of hearing), but do the sound waves reach her inner ear?

We don’t know. I thought we would. And we don’t.

Baby got back

Yesterday I baked a loaf of bread. My mom gave me a copy of The Laurel’s Kitchen Bread Book, which is primarily about baking bread using whole-grain flour. The food coop recently began carrying whole-grain flour, so of course, I have some. And of course, I decided to bake a loaf of bread.

Let me back up a second. Michael and I almost never buy bread. We have a loverly chrome bread machine that he feeds weekly, and that is our normal source of bread. Cheaper than store-bought bread, plus we can control the ingredients. Perfect, right?

Not so much, unfortunately. I don’t know if it is because we usually set the bread to bake overnight, or if our kitchen is too cold for decent bread rising, or what…but lately the bread has been less than satisfactory. In fact, I would categorize it as Unmixed Floury Goop. Not economical or tasty.

And even when it does turn out looking good, the crust is HARD. I hate that.

Enter The Bread Book. The first dozen or so pages are one recipe: A Loaf for Learning. It gives a great explanation about how baking with whole-grain flour is different, very detailed instructions on how to tackle each step (no matter how tiny), and excellent descriptions of what to look for at each stage of the process. I read it and thought, I could do that.

Later I read the explanation of why breads get a hard outer crust (low temperature during the final rise). And I saw that the Loaf for Learning is marked by a very thin, crispy crust. I knew I had to try it.

So yesterday, I did. It took me about five hours from start to finish, with my two girls underfoot and a business phone to answer and a Nebraskans for Peace meeting at the very end.

By and large, the whole experience turned out great. The loaf is golden brown and delicious. No tooth-cracking crust. Nice light texture.

We ate most of it for supper last night. In fact, it was only when we were almost finished eating that I noticed the bread’s one and only flaw.

It has a butt.

Too much

Because the baby is asleep and I already ate lunch and I am bored and I have not left the house in almost three days and if I do any more laundry I will contemplate suicide…I’m going to write about food now.

I made the best turkey noodle soup last night, and all I put in it was too much.

• Too much celery (a whole celery heart),
• too much garlic (two small heads, plus the four cloves I threw in with the chicken spine for stock),
• too much zucchini (all of the last enormous hunk that had frozen in the back of the refrigerator),
• too many carrots (four),
• too many leeks (four),
• too much turkey (all that was left from Christmas dinner),
• too  much stock (a gallon, maybe),
• too much Schimmel seasoning (a couple tablespoons),
• too much salt (I have no idea),
• too many noodles (half an enormous bag),
• and too much coriander (a tablespoon or two).

Altogether, we had roughly a gallon and a half of soup. Too much for two adults and a preschooler to eat, of course. So why is there only one bowl remaining in the fridge?

New momma advice

The wife of a college friend is expecting, and she asked for advice. She actually ASKED! Of course, when I tried to post my two cents on her blog, it kept reloading and freaking out. (Hm…maybe she doesn’t want advice after all.) But having written my thoughts out, I couldn’t just scrap them. So they are, for anyone to read.

My two biggest pieces of new momma advice:

1. Keep in shape while you are pregnant.
2. ASK FOR HELP!

Exercising and eating right are hugely important. They will keep you and the baby healthy. They will give you energy to prepare for the baby’s arrival (and to stay awake!). They will give you the stamina to endure labor, give birth and be a momma 24 hours a day. I cannot stress this enough: stay in shape!

As far as asking for help…I always have a hard time admitting to my friends that I don’t have it all together (as if they don’t know). I have a hard enough time getting things done without a baby to care for; trying to do so with a little one is almost impossible. There are days when getting dressed is a huge accomplishment!

The greatest new mom gifts I received were gifts of time–when my mom took the baby for a walk around town so I could nap, when my sister came with me to the first baby check-up, and when my in-laws kept big sister overnight so Michael and I could bond with the new baby.

(And the diaper service. I love the diaper service.)

Often people–even the ones who love you dearly–are clueless about what you really need. And before the baby arrives, it’s easy to pretend that it won’t really be that hard.

It will be. At least in the beginning.

Ask for help. Ask your neighbor to cook you dinner. Ask your best friend to do your laundry. Ask someone else to pick up groceries…and let go enough that it doesn’t matter if it isn’t the brand you usually buy, or if she used an odd-smelling detergent. These are small things in the aftermath of a new arrival.

I promise your friends will help. You just have to show them how.

Hopey news

It has been two weeks since Hope’s surgery, and I still haven’t posted about it. Sorry. In my defense, it is Christmastime, plus we’ve just endured a massive snowstorm.

Anyway. Hope’s surgery went relatively well. The two little bumps are history, as is the cartilage root that was hidden beneath one of them. Her stitches are already out, and her skin is healing wonderfully. She barely even needed the painkillers the surgeon prescribed. So, yay, God!

On the less great front, prior to the surgery, she developed a serious ear infection in her “good” ear, so they couldn’t do the hearing test. So we still don’t know if she has hearing in her right ear. Which was the whole reason for having the general anesthesia in the first place.

Grf.

She just finished up a course of antibiotics, and on Monday we’ll see if the infection has cleared up. If it has, we’ll reschedule the hearing test, which will mean another half-day at the hospital, more (but milder) general anesthesia, and more medical bills.

And so the carousel flies.

But life is not all hospitals and medical bills (thank God), and neither is my Hopey news. Yesterday Little Miss Bliss sprouted her first tooth! She hasn’t bitten me yet, and my breasts and I are aiming to keep it that way.

Blizzard banquet

We had planned to eat Christmas dinner at my parents’ house this year, with my in-laws in attendance. However, a swirly-whirly blizzard encompassed the area, and we were pinned to the homestead. So at 11 AM, we began making alternate dinner plans.

The duck climbed out of the freezer.

We bought the duck last month from the food coop. I was excited, but a little nervous about it–I like duck, but I’ve never cooked it before. But it definitely qualifies as Special Occasion Food, unlike most of the other food in the house (tuna, anyone?).

I unearthed a recipe for Duckling Peasant Style in my Romanian cookbook. Mostly a simple roast duck, with a glaze composed of tomato, garlic, paprika and honey. Sounded like a winner, so it beat out the standard Duck with Cherries. We didn’t have any cherries anyway.

To go with it, we chose Lucia rolls: a saffron-flavored Advent creation from Scandinavia. Because of our wonderful Spanish friends, we have an abundance of gorgeous saffron, and this seemed a fine time to use it. A few handsful of golden raisins rounded out the recipe.

Those two stars, plus some roasted parsnips and carrots and perhaps a glass or two of Moscato d’Asti, would make for a lovely Christmas dinner, blizzard or no blizzard.

Of course, these things never proceed as planned. At 10 PM, when the duck was still cooking and I realized that the rolls needed to rise AGAIN…we decided to scrap the plan, and just eat our gorgeous dinner on the 26th.

Christmas dinner at our place? Green salad with ranch dressing, a little jamón serrano and a couple bites of Snickers cheesecake.

Whoo.

The two faces of Hope

“For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.” Romans 8:24-25

In eleven days, my daughter is supposed to have surgery to remove two small branchial cleft remnants on her face. Immediately afterward, before she wakes, she have a bone conduction hearing test to determine whether and to what extent her right ear works.

I am consumed with worry.

I am not, however, worried about her hearing. At least, not today. Today I am more-or-less at peace with her ear. Whatever will be, will be. And I have known many people who thrive with partial or total deafness, so even if her ear is completely nonfunctional, I know she will be fine.

I am worried about the general anesthesia she will undergo as part of the procedure. I am worried that she won’t wake up from the anesthesia–1 in 250,000 people don’t, and the risk is higher in infants. I am worried that we’re taking an enormous risk for a mostly cosmetic procedure, since the hearing test can be done with a much milder (but still general) sedation.

The doctors tell me that this isn’t just cosmetic, that there is a chance of infection or other problems with the remnants. And we should do it now, while she’s young, to minimize scarring. But I still can’t shake the feeling that the doctors are influenced by traditional ideas of beauty. Or, failing that, just expectations of how people “should” look.

My daughter is adorable. She has two little bumps on her face, but they are just bumps. Who cares if she has bumps on the edge of her face?

Here is where I admit that I am a hypocrite. I don’t want to care about physical beauty, but I do. Because I know that the wider world does, and I don’t want my daughter to feel inferior because she has bumps on her face. After surgery, her face will be different. No bumps.

I want to teach my girls that it is what is on the inside that counts. I want them to know that real beauty cannot be seen with the eyes. If I make a decision to alter Hope’s appearance, will they believe me?

The point

When I was a college freshman, I had an argument with my mother. I don’t argue with my mother much, truly. But at that time, in that situation, we had such a huge difference in perspective that I still think about it.

I was registering for classes, and I wanted to sign up for International Studies II: Romania. Never mind that I did not take International Studies I. The course sounded intriguing.

My mom asked what degree requirement it would meet.

“It doesn’t meet any of them.”

“Then you’re not taking it.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it doesn’t meet any of your requirements.”

“So what?”

“So you can take a class that does.”

And so on until I hollered, “I thought the point of going to college was to learn!”

My mother’s response? “The point of going to college is to get a better job.”

Eventually, we compromised. Undergraduate degrees do require a certain number of elective credits, so International Studies II became one of mine. But I puzzled and puzzled over what she said. Why did we have such different ideas about college?

Only recently did I finally put the pieces together.

My mother is a first generation college graduate. She started college after high school, but left without finishing her degree when my father’s job sent them to another state. When I was ten, she went back to school. She received her degree a year or so later. She has been working in school libraries ever since, which is what her degree qualifies her to do.

I grew up knowing that I would go to college. It was never “if we can afford it” or “if you want to”. I was going, period. And I did.

When my mother was starting college, achieving a degree really did give you an edge when you applied for a job. Which I guess is still true, but the impact of having a degree is blunted by the fact that everyone applying for white-collar jobs these days has one. Plus, aside from certain fields like medicine and teaching, college degrees don’t fit you for a particular job anymore. It’s just important to have a degree in something.

For me, college was almost like an extension of high school. You have a certain number of hours to fill, so you sign up for classes that fit your interests. I have a wide variety of interests, so I was never at a loss. Band, choir, foreign language, journalism, art–I wanted to study them all. College offered an even bigger smorgasbord. Why wouldn’t I sign up for International Studies?

Eventually I obtained degrees in magazine journalism and German. Since then, I have dabbled. A few language courses, a few seminary courses…but I haven’t settled on a field or degree program. I flirt with law and theology and education, but I don’t commit. Why?

Every program I consider prepares its students for a specific career. And while I may be interested in the job, I am not certain the nuts-and-bolts courses will hold my attention. In the specific instance of teaching, I like to teach, but every education class I have ever taken was so chock-full of “duh” that I’m not sure I can stomach a degree program’s worth of them.

From my perspective of education for the sake of learning, it seems disingenuous to enroll in courses I have no interest in. And if I don’t enroll in those courses, I won’t achieve a law degree or masters in divinity or education.

Hm. Maybe–in this instance–my mom was right.

My fridge…she is full

And I’m going out of town in three days! Augh!

What can I make with:

• half of an enormous pumpkin,
• two dozen chicken eggs,
• milk,
• sour cream,
• chestnuts (still),
• yogurt,
• scallions,
• leeks,
• half an enormous zucchini,
• figs,
• underripe pears, and
• green garlic?

Augh! What can I make with all of this that my leetle family will also EAT in the next three days?

I already made last week’s pumpkin lasagne (instead of cannelloni–much faster), lamb kebobs, zucchini fritters and cranberry-orange bread. And Michael cooked the chicken last night for an early Thanksgiving with his parents, which means I still have a bag full of parmesan rinds looking for a home.

Poor little parmesan rinds.

On the menu tonight is the Swiss chard and sweet potato gratin I didn’t get around to last week. And I suppose we can still have the maple leek salad with it. Maybe I’ll throw some figs and chestnuts in there, too.

But still leaves half of the foods on my list! Augh!

You know what this means. It’s time to get creative.

I could make angel food cake and lemon curd. That would take care of my egg infestation. (Wow, that sounds gross. Perhaps egg invasion would be better.) But do I really need to make more dessert when we already have leftover Grape and Almond Frangipane Tart and Pumpkin Pie with Brown Sugar-Walnut Topping? When both are delicious beyond words? When we’re already planning to make a new kind of pecan pie and maple cream pie for the trip?

Perhaps not.

I could whip up some pumpkin butter, but I don’t have any bread to spread it on! So, okay. Start with bread. Or something bread-like, anyway.

Smitten Kitchen is no help. All I want to do now is make soft pretzels, which is not exactly a great idea when home alone with one’s five-month-old daughter, no matter how cute she is.

Looks like we’re going with the old stand-by: zucchini bread. Whether this will meld well with pumpkin butter, I do not know. It will be tasty with the gratin, I’m sure. Maybe we’ll skip the pumpkin butter and use the pumpkin for Tuesday’s dinner.

For Tuesday night: pumpkin curry with vegetable biryani and a yogurt-green-garlic-and-scallion sauce to cool. And, of course, naan.

Leaving…ooh, I think just the pears! Well, we can just take those with us if my husband doesn’t finish them off with his lunches between now and Wednesday. Yay! Kitchen success!

But what will we do with the leftovers?

Sincerity

Sincerity is such a tricky wicket.

According to wordnik, sincerity is “the quality or condition of being sincere; genuineness, honesty, and freedom from duplicity.” All good things, right?

Yet in this snarky, self-concious, hipper-than-thou culture of ours, it is cool to mock everything.

I am, I think, a painfully earnest person. (“Marked by or showing deep sincerity or seriousness”–I love you, wordnik.) I take what people say at face value, responding seriously to the most ironic of comments and embarassing myself tremendously in the process.

One of my closest friends rarely passes a moment without engaging in heavy sarcasm. I knew her FOR AN ENTIRE YEAR before I decided that yes, she did like me, and she wasn’t just putting up with me for a mutual friend’s sake. She is that snarky.

Therein lies the rub. Like most of my generation, I think sarcasm and irony are funny. I love The Daily Show and Tom Lehrer. I try to be quick-witted and smart-mouthed at parties, because that is entertaining to me and my circle. Sometimes I even feel my face burn when a quip goes awry, especially in the presence of my second-snarkiest friend, whom I have for some reason never stopped trying to impress.

And yet. And yet.

I feel vaguely guilty and hypocritical when I’m sarcastic. Especially when it’s mean sarcasm. (To be honest, when is sarcasm not mean?) It’s hard for me to meet anyone’s eye when I’m snarky.

It’s a vicious circle. I’m not a sarcastic person. But I enjoy sarcasm, or perhaps I just enjoy the company of people who do. So I employ sarcasm. But it doesn’t come naturally to me, so I embarass myself. And the whole time I wonder if I’m doing something wrong, acting so blase and snarky about things and people I really do care about.

Too sincere for sarcasm, I think. Does that make me boring? Does it matter? Perhaps I should stop trying to be something I’m not.

“Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ.” — Galatians 1:10