Mark had a snow day today, along with the rest of the city. It was actually fairly snowy, for Louisville standards. It's still snowing and supposed to get cooler tonight, so I bet there's no school tomorrow. Which means that the kids will be home instead of at school.
I think mommies are the only ones who hate snow days.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Mean Girls...the preschool years
Grady got his first invitation to a birthday party that wasn't for people that count as honorary cousins. It's a little boy in his class at Mom's Day Out, and they're going to tumble at Gymboree for an hour and a half next weekend. Good times.
This leads me to another birthday party, one that a girl in Liam's class had before the holidays. A friend, whose daughter is also in Liam's class, told me about the party--a gymnastics theme where leotards would be provided (really?!?)--and we figured since Liam hadn't been invited, it was a girl's only thing. So I totally forgot about it. In the meantime, we saw the birthday girl and her grandpa one day at Chick-fil-A, and she seemed shy and didn't really want anything to do with Liam or A, his friend from class that was invited to the party. Again, didn't really think much of it.
So last night we had A and her family over for dinner. Her mom and I are becoming better friends and the kids just love one another. Over margaritas, I remembered that I had never asked her how the birthday party went. She said it was fun, though there were a bunch of "yummy mummies" (thanks to my friend with British roots for the term) that were discussing where the kids should head to kindergarten. Then she said, "have you ever met (insert boy from Liam's class)'s mom? And she proceeded to tell me about her. Immediately, my mind starts going. That's a boy. A BOY from Liam's class. And he was at the party. I don't want to think this way, but I automatically do...why wasn't Liam invited to the party? Why doesn't birthday girl like my amazingly awesome son?
Of course I can't bring myself to ask if there were other boys there. I don't think that my face registered any shock or upset, so I just rolled along with it. I mean, I'm ridiculous to even give a shit, but I do.
So today I pick Liam up from school and birthday girl is there (acting a little sassy to her mother, in my opinion)...naturally, I ask him about her while walking to the car. So, do you ever play with birthday girl? Is she nice? Who does she play with? Meanwhile, I'm horrified that I'm even asking these questions. What the hell is my problem? Who cares if my 4 year old is part of the "popular" crowd in preschool?
I don't want to care and I've started to wean myself off caring...but evidently there's a little bit of that insecure 7th grade girl in me. I just need to take care that I don't project her on my little boys, who are perfectly imperfect just the way they are. Leotards or not.
This leads me to another birthday party, one that a girl in Liam's class had before the holidays. A friend, whose daughter is also in Liam's class, told me about the party--a gymnastics theme where leotards would be provided (really?!?)--and we figured since Liam hadn't been invited, it was a girl's only thing. So I totally forgot about it. In the meantime, we saw the birthday girl and her grandpa one day at Chick-fil-A, and she seemed shy and didn't really want anything to do with Liam or A, his friend from class that was invited to the party. Again, didn't really think much of it.
So last night we had A and her family over for dinner. Her mom and I are becoming better friends and the kids just love one another. Over margaritas, I remembered that I had never asked her how the birthday party went. She said it was fun, though there were a bunch of "yummy mummies" (thanks to my friend with British roots for the term) that were discussing where the kids should head to kindergarten. Then she said, "have you ever met (insert boy from Liam's class)'s mom? And she proceeded to tell me about her. Immediately, my mind starts going. That's a boy. A BOY from Liam's class. And he was at the party. I don't want to think this way, but I automatically do...why wasn't Liam invited to the party? Why doesn't birthday girl like my amazingly awesome son?
Of course I can't bring myself to ask if there were other boys there. I don't think that my face registered any shock or upset, so I just rolled along with it. I mean, I'm ridiculous to even give a shit, but I do.
So today I pick Liam up from school and birthday girl is there (acting a little sassy to her mother, in my opinion)...naturally, I ask him about her while walking to the car. So, do you ever play with birthday girl? Is she nice? Who does she play with? Meanwhile, I'm horrified that I'm even asking these questions. What the hell is my problem? Who cares if my 4 year old is part of the "popular" crowd in preschool?
I don't want to care and I've started to wean myself off caring...but evidently there's a little bit of that insecure 7th grade girl in me. I just need to take care that I don't project her on my little boys, who are perfectly imperfect just the way they are. Leotards or not.
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Carnitas
We haven't been eating a whole lot of meat the last year or so, but when we do, I do it right. Today we're having some friends over for dinner, and I'm making Carnitas. Traditionally, Carnitas is pork shoulder that is slow roasted and then deep fried (delicious, of course), usually in lard. Since that is a bit out of my league, I have found a (somewhat) healthier alternative...slow roast the meat and then broil it in the oven to create the crispiness that usually comes from the fryer.
First I cut the meat into fist-sized pieces. Then I create a dry rub with brown sugar, dry mustard, coriander, salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Rub this in to all sides of each piece of meat, and then brown the pork in a dutch oven. I used a little bacon fat today, since I had it in the fridge...you could use olive or veggie oil as an alternative. So brown all the meat, perhaps in batches, and then set on a plate. Use a couple cups of chicken stock to deglaze the pan, drop in a couple bay leaves and then place the pork back in the dutch oven. Put in the oven at 300 degrees for at least 3 hours, if not 4-5.
Once the pork is fall-apart tender, use a slotted spoon to pull the pork out of the pan and onto a cookie sheet. Mix some of the juices in the with meat, but leave most of it in the pan. It's really fatty and you don't need it...the flavor is there, believe me.
Broil the meat for a couple minutes in the oven and serve with rice, beans, tortillas...whatever you choose. I like to make a corn and black bean salad to serve with mine.
This is my last date with meat for a while. You'll hear more about it in the upcoming days, tomorrow I am beginning the three day phase in for the Master Cleanse, which I am doing with a fellow yoga teacher buddy starting Thursday. Good times.
Until then, Carnitas and margaritas for me! Ole!
First I cut the meat into fist-sized pieces. Then I create a dry rub with brown sugar, dry mustard, coriander, salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Rub this in to all sides of each piece of meat, and then brown the pork in a dutch oven. I used a little bacon fat today, since I had it in the fridge...you could use olive or veggie oil as an alternative. So brown all the meat, perhaps in batches, and then set on a plate. Use a couple cups of chicken stock to deglaze the pan, drop in a couple bay leaves and then place the pork back in the dutch oven. Put in the oven at 300 degrees for at least 3 hours, if not 4-5.
Once the pork is fall-apart tender, use a slotted spoon to pull the pork out of the pan and onto a cookie sheet. Mix some of the juices in the with meat, but leave most of it in the pan. It's really fatty and you don't need it...the flavor is there, believe me.
Broil the meat for a couple minutes in the oven and serve with rice, beans, tortillas...whatever you choose. I like to make a corn and black bean salad to serve with mine.
This is my last date with meat for a while. You'll hear more about it in the upcoming days, tomorrow I am beginning the three day phase in for the Master Cleanse, which I am doing with a fellow yoga teacher buddy starting Thursday. Good times.
Until then, Carnitas and margaritas for me! Ole!
Saturday, January 08, 2011
Amick vs. Amick
Mark and his dad squared off in the finals for the Academic Team District Cup today, with Mark's team coming out on top. I imagine a movie based on the struggles of the father-son coaches, meeting in a match to determine who has the "quicker" team. Imagine the Chariots of Fire theme song as the match plays out in slow motion, the winning question read with anticipation. Mark's team is quick to buzz in, but not without consequence...an arm is flailed about in excitement and one of the kid's glasses are smashed against their face, a la Lucas. So there is elation over the win, but it's tinged with the tragedy of broken glasses. Meanwhile, Paul's team is devastated in the corner. Paul is sad to lose, but at the same time proud of his son's accomplishments. This has Golden Globe potential.
So are you guys gonna call Steven Spielberg or should I?
So are you guys gonna call Steven Spielberg or should I?
Friday, January 07, 2011
Day Six (should be Seven)
I realized this morning that I had already failed my challenge to myself to blog daily in 2011...and it's only day 7. However, rather than beat myself up about my mistakes, I will jump back on the horse and blog again. It's not like anyone's reading, anyway.
I visited with a client this afternoon who is two weeks postpartum. She is, of course, super overwhelmed with healing her own body from a very fast, unmedicated birth; nursing her growing daughter every 2-3 hours around the clock; dealing with the ups and downs of hormone levels; fighting extreme exhaustion; and still attempting to make her house and herself look like no baby has come across it's path. She is a typical American woman and she is doing relatively well, but she's on the verge of losing her shit. And I see so many women like this, day in and day out.
I was one of them. Vacuuming underneath Liam's swing when he was 5 days old. Reorganizing my bedroom to fit the co-sleeper and deciding hey! this would be a great time to wash the windows inside and out. In January. Of course, I wanted to make the most of my "time off" on maternity leave, as so many women do. We feel so much pressure to keep it all together, to do it "by the book", and to make it all look effortless.
Meanwhile, across the pond, in nations as developed as ours, new moms get 6 month to a year PAID leave to raise their infants. They have government sponsored postpartum doulas that come in twice a week and help them get adjusted for the first three months. They live in cultures where it is the norm for mom and baby to stay in bed for a month while friends and family care for the house and the other children. I know I am not alone when I say that I was doing laundry the day that I brought Grady home from the hospital...two days after his birth.
When I was leaving my client's house tonight, after going through the list of questions she had accumulated for me in the past two weeks, she said that she was so glad to have me...that I was her security blanket. Which made me feel awesome for being there for her, but kind of sad that we don't live in a culture where she could have asked her neighbor breastfeeding questions. Or felt comfortable enough to talk with friends about breast milk squirting and postpartum sex and all the other issues that plague women in the months (and potentially years) following the birth of a child.
I don't have all the answers, and as much as I wish I could, I can't solve these problems. I can just take it one mommy at a time. And that is what I'll do.
I visited with a client this afternoon who is two weeks postpartum. She is, of course, super overwhelmed with healing her own body from a very fast, unmedicated birth; nursing her growing daughter every 2-3 hours around the clock; dealing with the ups and downs of hormone levels; fighting extreme exhaustion; and still attempting to make her house and herself look like no baby has come across it's path. She is a typical American woman and she is doing relatively well, but she's on the verge of losing her shit. And I see so many women like this, day in and day out.
I was one of them. Vacuuming underneath Liam's swing when he was 5 days old. Reorganizing my bedroom to fit the co-sleeper and deciding hey! this would be a great time to wash the windows inside and out. In January. Of course, I wanted to make the most of my "time off" on maternity leave, as so many women do. We feel so much pressure to keep it all together, to do it "by the book", and to make it all look effortless.
Meanwhile, across the pond, in nations as developed as ours, new moms get 6 month to a year PAID leave to raise their infants. They have government sponsored postpartum doulas that come in twice a week and help them get adjusted for the first three months. They live in cultures where it is the norm for mom and baby to stay in bed for a month while friends and family care for the house and the other children. I know I am not alone when I say that I was doing laundry the day that I brought Grady home from the hospital...two days after his birth.
When I was leaving my client's house tonight, after going through the list of questions she had accumulated for me in the past two weeks, she said that she was so glad to have me...that I was her security blanket. Which made me feel awesome for being there for her, but kind of sad that we don't live in a culture where she could have asked her neighbor breastfeeding questions. Or felt comfortable enough to talk with friends about breast milk squirting and postpartum sex and all the other issues that plague women in the months (and potentially years) following the birth of a child.
I don't have all the answers, and as much as I wish I could, I can't solve these problems. I can just take it one mommy at a time. And that is what I'll do.