Chickenness, Happiness

On the radio today I listened, briefly, to farmer Joel Salatin describe the importance of allowing chickens to express their chickenness. Otherwise, treated as machines, they can only survive if propped up by artificial means. That got me to thinking about chickens and the way they are - their chickenness, which reminded me a little of children. And I began to wonder how I, as a parent, allow and deny my kids the freedom to express themselves. I didn't start to answer it, but I did like the question.

So here is another, from an article that is taking me over a week to read: Is happiness something you experience? Or is it something you think?

Priorities on the Line

My landlord and upstairs neighbor, Martha, told me that she knows her priorities are straight when there are clothes on the clothesline. It means you're not rushing around trying to do too much. Hanging clothes is actually one of my favorite chores. I like its rhythm, the fresh air and sunshine, the free efficiency of it. Now that summer has finally arrived in Seattle, I've stopped using the dryer altogether. As a result, I've been spending more time in the sunshine. A lot more time. Who knew one extra little person could triple the amount of laundry? Dagan eats popsicles and waters my pots...

while Penelope kicks it in the shade...

The question weighing on my mind, though, is will I be able to keep my priorities straight once the clouds return?

I probably don't have to say it, but I'm not talking about laundry.

Chop Wood Carry Water

Now, in this moment when time stands still

I see the possibilities of a person

of you

unfolding endlessly

The clear alpine eyes

are not wise

You know so little

but have an understanding, it seems,

of things I don't

I'm struck dumb by

your physicality

your soft, sweet, sourness

your expectation of

skin, nipples, warm milk.

You are comfortable and

I'm in awe.

When I look up, six weeks have passed.

Always mine,

but still so new to me

I first laid eyes on you today

Right now, those fluttering eyelids

your mouth forming a whisper, then not.

Your open hand reaching, reaching

always reaching.

You are a mirror, a stranger, a delight.

Redemption Flan

Penelope's birthday cake ended up in the food scraps. I know! What a waste. I felt terrible about it, but believe me, eating it would have made me feel much worse. The cake required eight egg whites and I used organic eggs, so the eight golden yolks were waiting in the fridge to be made into something rich and worthy of them. I'm happy to report that I found it.

When Scott tasted this flan he said, "I've had a lot of flan... a lot of bad flan, but this one is amazing."

Now, you should know that at least two of his bad flans have been mine. A coconut flan I made for his birthday a couple years back was particularly terrible. This flan redeems both of those disasters as well as the strawberry birthday cake. It's that good: rich and creamy, the caramel smooth and toasty-sweet.

And the best part? It's super easy to make. This recipe is modified from Cafe Munchkin:

8 egg yolks

1 can evaporated milk

1 can condensed milk

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1 cup granulated sugar

1/4 cup water

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees and place a pan of hot water in the oven for the flan's steam bath.

Caramelize the sugar in a saucepan by mixing the sugar and water and heating on high until it reaches a golden amber color. Remove from heat and pour into an 8 inch round baking dish (I used a casserole dish), coating the bottom and part of the sides.

In a bowl gently whisk the eggs, condensed milk, evaporated milk, and vanilla. Be careful not to over-whisk, otherwise your flan will be full of unsightly bubbles.

Strain the flan mixture into the dish with the caramel. Cover with foil. Place the dish in the steam bath and bake for 50-60 minutes, or until a knife inserted in the flan comes out clean.

Allow the flan to cool at room temperature, then chill in the fridge. After it has cooled, run a knife around the edge of the flan and the pan, then invert over a plate.

Princess Penelope

Today we had a birthday party for my ten-day-old daughter. I baked a Pretty Pink Princess Birthday Cake. The three layer cake, made with strawberries we picked, weighed more than she does and was too tall for the glass lid to fit over the top of the cake tray. It was remarkable.

While making it, Dagan said, "What's that?"

"It's a Pretty Pink Princess Birthday Cake."

"Who's the Princess?"

"Penelope."

"Oh! I didn't know she was a Princess!"

Unfortunately, the cake also tasted remarkably terrible. Fortunately, when my mom comes to visit next week she plans to make an angel food cake with whipped cream and strawberries, which should make up for this disappointment.

However, the cake isn't really the point now, is it? The point is the celebration... and we have been doing that remarkably well. Besides, Penelope slept through the whole party anyhow.

Penelope was born on Wednesday, May 26th at 5:34 p.m. She weighed 7 lbs. 13 ounces and was 21.5 inches long. She arrived early and came quickly. We were able to take her to my little sister's wedding in Virginia City, Nevada. And I have to say, I'm so glad she arrived into my life a week before she was due.

Nesting

Left to Right: Wayne, Molly, Dylan (barely visible), Rach, Chey, and me.

As a young 4-H member, I raised Californian rabbits and learned skills that still serve me well today. I had to develop discipline to wake up before a freezing dawn to swap out frozen water containers with fresh water. I understood my responsibility to care for the animals - to provide the rabbits with milk jugs of frozen water, juicy chunks of watermelon, and dripping burlap-sack curtains during the desert heat. I learned that life can be unfair and cruel when a neighbor's dogs massacred my pets, killing some and maiming most. But I also learned that justice sometimes prevails - the dogs were put down and damages were paid.

I also learned a number of things that now strike me as completely bizarre - how to tattoo a rabbit's ears, "sex" it, check it for "snuffles," feed it calf manna, harvest Angora rabbit wool, and to always, always take a female rabbit to the male rabbit's cage when breeding them. I was reminded of why recently when a co-worker's 3-year-old daughter came to play with Dagan. She explored our house and Dagan's toys with curiosity while he followed around after her, only interested in engaging his new friend. "Don't you want to play with me?" he implored. To which she responded, "I'm busy looking at these toys right now." If you took a male rabbit to a female's cage he would explore the new territory while she fiercely defended her space. A female rabbit, interested in the male rabbit's digs would ignore him while he, well, went about impregnating her.

It takes just 2-5 minutes. Less than two weeks later you can actually palpate her belly to feel the baby bunnies inside. Soon after that you put a nest box in her cage. She loves that, in her own fussy way. She hops in and out. She rearranges the straw. She pulls fur out of her dewlap and lines the nest. And then, just a month after breeding, she gives birth to 6-8 pink baby bunnies.

I'm acting just like a fussy rabbit (although, no, I am not pulling out my hair). This fussing is actually making me really happy. It's a nice instinct, I think. And particularly nice in spring.

So here's to nesting, and to...

A fully-stocked freezer: two spinach quiches, spaghetti sauce, chicken noodle soup, roasted veggie & black bean burritos, thick & chewy granola bars. (I had to abandon my plans to make lasagna, lentil soup, and enchiladas because there is simply no more room in the freezer.) A flipped mattress, a feather comforter aired out on the clothesline, and washed and fluffed pillows. New baby diapers triple-washed and dried, baby clothes washed, sorted, and stowed away. Home birth supplies purchased. Houseplants re-potted, herbs planted. A multitude of things taken to Goodwill. CD collection sorted. The toxicity of bath and body products checked. Eyedoctor appointment scheduled. Date with Scott scheduled, reservations made, childcare arranged. Important work e-mail reminders sent, but scheduled to be delivered when I'm on maternity leave (magic!). Cleaning supplies sorted and labeled. Pantry cleaned. Spices labeled. Desk organized...

I could go on. I've been very fussy.

But truthfully, the list of things left to do is astounding in comparison:

Set up Quickbooks for home budgeting. Take knitting class. Fix closet door and bathroom faucet. Buy sexy lingerie for sister's bachelorette party. Find silver shoes for wedding. Sew buttons on duvet cover. Take baby stuff to consignment store. Sort medicine cabinet. Sell some books at Half Price Books. Set up VPN connection at home. Get haircut. Buy some cute pajamas. Vacuum, armor-all, and wash car. Install Dagan's new car seat. Clean kitchen cupboards. Clean bathroom. Clean out fridge & top of fridge. Clean baseboards. Sort & clean Dagan's toys and books. Well, and a whole lot more cleaning.

I'm pretty sure this list could keep me occupied for another two months, which I don't have. Which is also just fine, because once my baby arrives I know I'll be perfectly content just to be.

Desire

My Valentines were very sweet to me: red tulips, the New York Times and breakfast, a trip to the movies, and a couple hours to catch up at work. My gift to them: dinner, Epsom salts for Dagan (who loves salty baths), vanilla ice cream, and Fig, Fennel, & Almond and Hazelnut Crunch bars.

Today I saw two lovers kissing at bus stop under a pale pink umbrella. The young cashier at the movie theater wore a tie with little red hearts on it. It was a rainy, February day in Seattle and I loved it.

Still, something about the day left me full of... wanting. So to get it out of my system, I'm going to list those desires here:

• Tickets for a flight to New York to see this Broadway play.
• A problem-free computer, as mine keeps re-starting on me repeatedly. Useless!
• A babysitter for the evening of 2/23
• A little sunshine.
  
• For my 9-day-old cold to finally be over
• This clever gadget.
• For this website to actually work, and if it did work, for it to not be quite as crappy as it is.
• Something new to wear like this or this or this.

I'm consumed by consuming whenever I find myself without credit card debt, which happily, I am right now. Maybe there's an element of self-sabotage here. Certainly, I find it hard to be disciplined. Since I'm the breadwinner in the fam, Scott's very flexible (even encouraging) when it comes to my spending money on silly things. Of course, he doesn't hold himself to that same standard. The problem with treating myself is that a Chai latte break at work snowballs into a number of other frivolities and then I'm back where I was last month - with a credit card bill that makes me cringe. The lesson, I think, is to find ways to spoil yourself without spending money.

I'd love to make another list right here, but I'm afraid nothing is coming to mind. Perhaps another post.

Labor

Today, after devouring scones with plum jelly, watching Dagan rip through his presents, and curling up on the couch with green tea, I decided to devote my day to reading. I just finished Labor of Love by Cara Muhlhahn, a memoir about her experiences as a midwife with a homebirth practice. She was also featured in Ricki Lake's documentary, The Business of Being Born, but which I have yet to see. Midwives fascinate me. The erratic schedules, long hours, and enormous responsibility would make the profession unappealing to most. Besides that, pregnant women have to be the most obnoxious population to work with. They're (we're) often neurotic and self-absorbed. While I think birth is pretty interesting and amazing, and I while I know from previous experience that labor is fucking painful, I still would get tired of all the women bitching and moaning about the pain during labor. I guess I wouldn't make a very good doula, either.

(By the way, it seems so appropriate to be thinking of this on Christmas. Wouldn't you love to know more about Jesus' unassisted birth? Man, I bet Joseph was freaking out.)

At my prenatal visit on Monday I'll be 18 weeks along. Finally the morning sickness is gone, except when I don't eat well enough. And I'm able to stay awake past 8:30 p.m. I'm feeling the gentlest of kicks and looking forward to finding out the baby's sex this time.

Labor of Love got me thinking about labor tonight, and comparing my foggy memories of Dagan's birth to Scott's. It's astounding that so much is unclear to me. Some of the specifics, like when Dagan's heartbeat began to slow significantly and I was given oxygen... was Dagan in distress because the cord was wrapped around his neck twice? Or was it just that I had stopped breathing well? Was Dagan's passing meconium upon birth a sign that he was in distress? Why did I bleed so much afterward? And why were parts of the placenta still being expelled a week later?

None of this matters, but I'm thinking about it because Dagan's birth is the only preparation I have for the next one. I'm not nervous about labor - not the pain, the process, or any of that. In fact, hours after Dagan's birth I told Scott, "We should have a lot of babies! We're so good at it (Dagan being the obvious evidence) and I feel like I get how to give birth now." I know part of that declaration was due to the cocktail of hormones in my system, but it was probably good I had Mirena inserted months later.

What I am nervous about, is having this baby on the side of I-5 somewhere in Oregon. My little sister is getting married on May 29th, so we'll be driving 14 hours to be at her wedding in Virginia City, Nevada. I'm due three days later. I know it has no significance, but I keep remembering that Dagan was born on January 18th - he was due the 21st.

I need to relax. I know that, but it's hard for a planner like me to let go. So I'm preparing myself for different birth scenarios and trying to become comfortable with any of them. My favorite scenario is this:

I'm huge, so I let Scott unbuckle Dagan's carseat, which is now directly behind the passenger seat instead of the middle to make room for the infant carseat we brought along just in case. The crate full of homebirth supplies wasn't touched all weekend, but it's late and we're tired, so we're leaving it in the car. It was a great wedding and a long trip home. I'm looking forward to meeting our new baby and working with my midwife again.

Cluttered

There is too much stuff in my life. I've rearranged our apartment countless times, storing unused furniture and toys under side tables, squeezing yet another box or bag of clothing (or clothing-stuffed luggage) under our bed, baby gates under couches, stacking boxes on shelves until they touch the ceiling, and making the very best use of space possible. But is that really the very best use of space?

Maybe not. I'm thinking of June. Another baby. I need space.

In the end, it comes down to purging. I've done plenty - and I enjoy it. There's nothing quite like the feeling of dropping off bags at Goodwill, but clearly I don't do this often enough to keep up with the amount of new stuff we've acquired.

So, inspired by a friend who keeps an in/out box by her front door (nothing new can come into the house until something else leaves), I've decided to get rid of 100 things by the end of this year. And to keep me honest, I've decided to track my progress here.

In the meantime, I'm curious to know:

1. How many books should I own? Between the internet and the library, is there any value in owning books at all?
2. Should I be saving anything for the future? That's my biggest worry, that I'll get rid of something that I'll wish I had later... (you know, when I have more space?)
3. How much of my "past" should I save for sentimental reasons. Photos, letters, scrapbooks, wedding dress, dried roses, 4-H record books, etc.
4. What would it feel like to get rid of all of the above?

Beginning at the End

Next week the nonprofit where I work is closed for a furlough. I'm excited about my plans, which won't include doing any of these things. We wrapped up our summer quarter tonight with a community potluck. The goodbyes at the end of the party felt like a relief.

At work, this summer has felt like one long, extended goodbye. Today was the last day of work for a co-worker that I've always thought of first when answering item 10 on the Q12 survey during my performance evaluations. Tasha is remarkable in many ways, but her sense of humor and the way she brought her whole heart to work are things I'll miss terribly.

The economy's impact on our organization is calling us to evaluate priorities and look at ways to be more efficient, so this summer we've begun discussing how to re-organize our work so that we can fulfill our mission. This strategic planning is fascinating and exciting, but it's also messy and disorienting. When we return to work a week from Monday we'll be diving back into that discussion, hoping to emerge at the end of the week with a plan.

William Bridges talks about the neutral zone in transitions - the part of any transition where the ending isn't quite over and the new beginning hasn't quite started. Although the summer in this "neutral zone" has been exactly what Bridges calls, "A disorienting sort of 'nowhere,'" I still welcome all of these changes. Because while it's difficult to say goodbye to co-workers, I'm excited about the new staff and AmeriCorps that are joining our team. My work will probably change significantly this year, and that challenge will be good for me.

So although the long, drawn-out goodbyes were wearying, I can appreciate that it also gave me time to grow accustomed to those losses and even look forward to the new beginnings that will unfold this fall.

But first things first... my furlough week camping trip!