Three Years of Good Times

I still have a Bachelorette hangover from last night's marathon of reality romance, so I'm not sure how coherent this post will be. But, Sam's down for the 2:30 nap, which means I have a small window here to write a little, so I'm blogging instead of doing something else slightly more productive. Anyway, I feel the need to mention that tomorrow is our three year wedding anniversary. Three years of wedded bliss (sigh) with just a little bit of un-bliss here and there.

I was reminiscing this morning about how "we" came to be and how now we've got this little guy named Sam as a result (of sorts) of all those dates and emails and transatlantic phone calls and trips across the ocean. So, in honor of August 4, 2007 and my darling husband Matt, I thought I'd post a few pictures from our long-distance dating days and engagement.

The picture of the pink building is actually the governor's castle in Uppsala, Sweden where Matt proposed. It was totally Bachelorette-worthy, which is obviously what Matt was thinking when he made the plan to propose in a Swedish castle. That was also the night I ate reindeer for the first time. As it turns out, Rudolph, Donner and Blitzen taste amazing.

I am extraordinarily blessed to be married to Matt and I'm hoping for 60+ more years of good times with that man.

Operation Night-Night

Operation Night-Night is currently in full swing and so I have a few minutes (fingers crossed for 20) to spend a little quality time with my blog. It's been a while and I thought it was probably time we re-aquainted ourselves.

Of late, we've been implementing a naptime/bedtime routine in hopes of retaining my sanity and perhaps enabling me to resist the urge to take a shot of whiskey every hour on the hour (note: this hasn't happened yet, but Jack Daniels and I may have a future together). Needless to say, this process has been something I'd like to call HARD. Who knew that babies have such major issues with being asked to put themselves to sleep? Not me.

So, we're trying something called SleepSense and I have to say that the $47 I spent online for a downloadable book was totally worth it. I even get a 15 minute call-in once a month to chat with the author. I'm wondering if that's where $37 of that sticker price is going. Not sure what I'll say when I call her but at the moment I'm thinking I'll thank her and, if all goes well, offer to vote for her in the next presidential election.

Perhaps you're wondering why it's taken me 7 months to figure out that The Babe needed a sleep schedule. Well, there are so many reasons why we hadn't given him one already and honestly, I'm not going to waste your time with detailing what I've been doing wrong all this time. I'd rather not be knocked off that high pedestal I'm sure you've had me on. As it turns out, 7 months of not sleeping well can seriously hamper your ability to think effectively. Case in point: I backed into the ditch at the end of our driveway this past week on my way to the grocery store. Roughly two hours later, a very large tow truck was driving away after having extracted the Jeep (question: does a Jeep without 4 wheel drive really deserve its Jeep card?) from the aforementioned ditch. I blame this event on long-term sleep-deprivation and not my driving capabilities. It's possible my husband would not agree with my placement of blame, but I'm pretty sure lack of sleep is the issue here.

BUT, besides Operation Night-Night, there have been some good times with the Samster. Sam saw the ocean for the first time on our little excursion to Jekyll Island with the grandparents last week. Big Fun. He also tried grits for the first time, which is, according to many southerners, the perfect food. He was a fan. Sam went to his first birthday party (not his party, but a friend's 27th birthday party) and he was a big hit. Only speed bump on that highway of fun was the aftereffects of the Happy Birthday song which included some "hip, hip, hoorays" at the end. After the 30 or so adult voices in the room finished with the last hooray, one little voice was still yelling and it was not "hooray." It was similar to his reaction during the World Cup US/England game. The boy doesn't like yelling, which I find ironic.

If I survive Baby Boot Camp (as a friend refers to the sleep-training process), I'll post a few pictures of Sam on vacation soon. That's IF I survive, which today feels like a big, fat IF.

I'll leave you with a quote from Plato, because I am that well-read:
"Out of all the animals, the BOY is the most unmanageable."

This makes me wonder how many Operation Night-Nights Plato had to impose.

Michael W. Smith Was Right

Today I'm feeling thankful for Facebook (honorable mentions: Nutella, Target and anti-aging cream.) Facebook, while a bit of a time-waster, doubles as the portal through which I am able to see the goings-on of friends that live farther away from me than they should.

Currently, as I type this, I'm missing my favorite chemist Chrissy in New Mexico and reminiscing about her magical cooking skills that make lovely things out of almost nothing. I'm also pondering what my friend Lyndsay, who works for a non-profit clinic, is doing today in Old Mexico and I'm imagining her healing the sick and eating tacos, the likes of which Taco Bell can only dream of. There's also Amanda and her brood of 3 under 3 who I would pay money to hang out with right now. And then, of course, there's Alexis, sun-tanned creative genius, in sunny San Diego where everyone has good hair and surfing is a prerequisite before breakfast. My dear friend Abigail is in Kentucky when she really should be here drinking tea with me and discussing the future betrothal of our children. Lydia and Jen are in Georgia where I grew up and there are days where I spend considerable thinking power trying to figure out how we can move back down to the Deep South just to be near those childhood friends. Additionally, there's Traci (queen of healthy eating), Steph (my clever friend), Rebecca (the wise one); all in Nashville living lives that should include me. Ha. Atleast, in my opinion. Frankie in DC (my fellow bibliophile), Leigh (the Swede), Jessica (who loves the weather channel and China). Oh dear. This list could go on and on, but I'm running out of my allotted blogging time (set by Sam the Taskmaster).

What's the deal with people I like being so far away? In light of this problem, I find myself pondering what it might have been like to live 50 years ago when things were simpler and people tended to stay in their hometowns and had never heard of Facebook, Twitter or Skype. They had 3 digit phone numbers and wrote letters and had ice-cream socials and rarely drove as far as the next town. Maybe I'm over-simplifying those people and if Mad Men has taught me anything, it's that life 50 years ago might not have been as innocent as it might appear.

Basically, I'm just wishing for the days when you didn't find yourself stalking friends online to see what they're up to because they live next door and you accidentally overhear their conversations on the telephone line you share. I wish I could walk over to Amanda's house right now and let Sam hang out with her boys (which might include some crazy pacifier swapping and maybe even a little group crying) while we talked on the porch about the weather. And how great would it be if I could walk over to Chrissy's this evening to borrow an egg and be entertained by a story or two about what three-year old Ina had to say today.

Like I said, I'm thankful for Facebook, but at the same time, I wish it didn't have a reason to exist. It makes it possible for me keep up with the people that I love but I'd so much rather it didn't have to.

This is the point in the blog when I'd like to take a moment to let out a big 'SIGH.' Ok, I've done my whining and now I'm wrapping up this post so that I can venture over to Facebook to stalk my friends.

Friends o' Mine, you are missed.

Ode to Fish Tacos

We've made these tacos twice this last week and I'm already thinking about when I can get away with making them again. So, in the interest of sharing good recipes with people I like, here's the "Cook This, Not That" version of fish tacos...

Grilled Fish Tacos

Ingredients:
1 mango, pitted, peeled and cubed
1 avocado, pitted, peeled and cubed
1/2 red onion, finely chopped
Juice of one lime, plus wedges for garnish
chopped, fresh cilantro
Salt and Black pepper
Canola oil
2 large mahi mahi (we used tilapia)
1 tbsp blackening spice (more on that later)
8 corn tortillas
2 cups of finely shredded red cabbage

-Mix the mango, avocado, onion and juice of one lime in a bowl. Season with cilantro, salt and pepper.

-Heat a grill or stovetop grill pan until hot. Drizzle a light coating of oil over the fish and rub on the blackening spice. Cook the fish, undisturbed, for 4 minutes. Carefully flip with a spatula and cook for another 4 minutes. Remove.

-Warm the tortillas on the grill for 1 to 2 minutes or wrap in damp paper towels and microwave for 1 minute until warm and pliable.

-Break the fish into chunks and divide among the warm tortillas. Top with the cabbage and the mango salsa. Serve with the lime wedges.

*Rub for Fish:
1 tsp each: cumin, paprika, cayenne, oregano, black pepper, and salt. If you're sensitive to spicy foods, you might want to cut down on the cayenne.

Makes 4 servings
380 calories per serving
11 g fat

Yum.

I Heart Sam

Today started with lots of tears. The big, hot kind that well up in the corner of Sam's big blue eyes and then roll furiously down his round cheeks, blotchy from crying. The culprit? Teething, or so I assume. Ear-pulling, fussiness, chewing on anything and everything, excessive drool: all apparent clues to the advent of The Tooth. I tried everything to make things better. Cold teethers, cold baby food, cold water, rubbing his gums with my finger, and then eventually I held him upside down to hopefully distract him. Oddly enough, that got a laugh or two and seemed to make things better. Whew. And then the tears were back again. Sigh.

Currently, Sam's snoozing in his little swing and I'm enjoying channel 840, also known as "Classical Masterpieces." Now that I have a quiet moment or two, accompanied by Mozart, I'm musing a bit. Specifically, I've been pondering lately how full my heart is these days as a mom. Despite the rough patches, which always pass, I am so in love with this little boy named Sam. Sometimes I get a bit overwhelmed by this love and squeeze him a little hard for someone who weighs 17 pounds. My friend Lyndsay would laugh at this because she's always complaining that I hug too hard. Well, I hug to the measure that I love. Sam's uncomfortable grunt when I hugged him tight earlier today let me know that he'd had enough love for the moment. Seriously, this new reality of being a mom is powerful. I understand now what it means to "have your heart walking around outside of your body." Or crawling, as the case may be.

The follow-up thought to all this love I'm feeling these days is an acute sensitivity to the thought of a child not being loved. I've always been bothered by news stories about child abuse or children neglected or abandoned. But, now that Sam exists in the world, I feel this intense, instinctive desire to protect. I get a pit in my stomach whenever I see someone yelling at their child at the mall or when I see a new mom who's brought her screaming 2 week old baby to Wal-Mart. It takes everything I've got not to walk over and offer to adopt those people's children. Seriously.

All of this has made me keenly aware of a desire to literally adopt. I've always thought I wanted to, but now I can't stop thinking about it. I know that adopting one child (or two) obviously won't negate all the evil done in the world to children, but at least it's a start. I confessed to my husband recently that I'm praying for enough money to adopt a baby. I felt like he should probably be aware of this specific petition I was making. That way, if God lets us win the lotto, Matt will know where the money's supposed to go.

So, as I sit here and watch the rise and fall of Sam's little chest as he sleeps, I'm wondering what the future holds for him and for our family. Who else is going to be hanging out here with Sam and I listening to Mozart's Concerto No. 1? I love thinking about the possibilities and I'm aching a bit to hold additional little ones and love them as hard as I love Sam.

Spontaneous Baking

So, yesterday morning I noticed there were some over-ripened bananas on the counter and, as it turns out, some chocolate chips in the pantry. The obvious thing to do in this situation? Make some Chocolate Chip Banana Bread. After eating a third of the loaf myself, I'd say this is a recipe to be shared. So, here you go...

Miss Daisy's Banana Nut Bread (chocolate chips, optional)

1/3 c vegetable oil
1/3 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 egg
2 medium ripe bananas
1 1/2 c whole wheat flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 c skim milk
1/2 c chopped pecans
*I added a handful or so of chocolate chips.

Assemble all ingredients and utensils. Preheat oven to 350.
Spray a 5x9 in loaf pan with nonstick cooking spray. In a large mixing bowl cream together oil, sugar, vanilla, egg and bananas with an electric mixer. In a separate bowl combine flour, baking powder, soda and cinnamon. Gradually add the dry ingredients to the banana mixture alternately with skim milk. Fold in the pecans. Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan. Bake at 350 for 45-50 minutes, until browned and tests done. Yields 1 loaf or 12 1/2 in thick slices.

calories sans chocolate chips: 184
fat: 10 g

Tomorrow's recipe? Tomato Aspic, also courtesy of Miss Daisy. So be sure to pick up your lemon-flavored gelatin and tomato juice at the store this afternoon.

Life as a Non-Bachelorette

I have a confession to make: I watch The Bachelorette. Perhaps I just lost a little bit of your respect, but alas, I cannot deny that this glorified depiction of a harem of men all dating one girl sucks me in every Monday night. I missed it this week because we took Sam to the pool, but I planned ahead (which rarely happens these days) and recorded it. So yesterday I found myself doing laundry, feeding Sam and changing diapers as I watched Ali date her way through the last 6 well-built suitors.

If you missed this episode, you should probably take a break now and download it on Hulu.com, because this week found Ali and her fellas in gorgeous Istanbul visiting immense Turkish baths, perusing local spice markets, buying fancy rugs for exorbitant prices, etc. The city was unexpectedly breathtaking and I lost myself a little in the slightly mysterious and brilliantly colorful old world of Istanbul.

And Then. (ominous "dun dun dun" here) A Smell. I glanced down from the panoramic views of Turkey to a telling look on Sam's face and I knew what was coming. I paused the DVR just as Ali's third date was declaring his unconditional, three-weeks old love for her to the camera somewhere during their date. (side note: Do they take time out to interview them during their dates? Seems like that would be a real mood-killer.) While Ali's earnest date was frozen mid-declaration on my tv screen against a backdrop of majestic domed mosques, I changed a diaper that left me needing smelling salts.

I paused for a moment to consider the intensely different situations: Ali in exotic Turkey being courted by 6 handsome men and me in our Tennessee living room witnessing the result of digested apples and prunes. Sigh. I laughed out loud, which is always a little weird when you're alone, or semi-alone. This was one of the more "welcome to the reality of motherhood" moments that I've had lately. I'm obviously not envying Ali the Bachelorette's unusual dating life, but I must admit to wanting a little of the perks that come with it. Maybe I should be more specific.

I'd love to hang out in a Basilica Cistern in Istanbul and have dinner in the middle of a backlit pool of water with a handsome man (obviously, Matt), but what I could really go for is a night out with my husband, wearing something that hasn't been chewed on and eating something I haven't just microwaved.

Here's hoping that this weekend includes a dinner date sans diapers and baby food.