Things That Are True - When Husbands Go Bad

A few weeks ago, HWSNBN, who works freelance, finished a string of projects and immediately got sick, which is what happens when you run around at mach three with your hair on fire for a few months in a row. After he recovered from his bout of the plague, it was well-deserved lie around and watch tv time.

Except we canceled our cable almost a year ago as a cost- and Imp commercial exposure-cutting measure.

Sometimes Netflix just doesn't cut it, so HWSNBN went out and bought himself some DVDs, most notably the first season of the reboot of Hawaii 5-0. This will be relevant in a minute.

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A few nights ago, I made malasadas. They're a doughnut type delicacy of Portuguese origin, but are hugely popular in Hawaii.

This too will be relevant in a minute.


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I'm not sure if it was the malasadas, or the repeated viewings of Hawaii 5-0 over the last few days, but HWSNBN started to talk about the merits of a trip to Hawaii as he gazed out the window at the angry wind and rain of a Vancouver November.

He even, as a joke, started looking at airfare.

This put me in the unfamiliar and disconcerting position of being the voice of reason in this house. It's not in my natural skill set; I am the one who buys absurdly priced boots when I'm left to my own devices. He's supposed to be the sane one. For me to argue fiscal responsibility is just... odd. And yet, there I was, making my best case that a trip to Hawaii when I'm not earning an income and he's between jobs is maybe not, well, prudent. Also, we were just there a few months ago.

And then HWSNBN done lost his mind.

I fear there may be a lot of photos of this type in the near future.

In the space of an hour, he'd booked flights and hotel.

So, we leave shortly for the balmy shores of Oahu, and I'll be finishing NaBloPoMo from a very different part of the Pacific Ocean than the one I can see from my apartment window here in Vancouver.

I'm not complaining, lest there be any confusion on that point. But wow, I have a metric heapton of stuff to get done in the next couple of days.

Things That Are True - Smashing Pumpkins

The Imp wanted an angry face. I did the best I could.

Today our lone remnant of Halloween, The Imp's jack-o'-lantern, sat on the kitchen table, its scorched insides starting to emit fruit fly-attracting odours.

HWSNBN: Maybe I should take this whole thing out into the hallway and just pitch it down the garbage chute.

Me, looking at our balcony: Dude, if we are going to throw a 14 inch pumpkin down 21 stories, I want to see it smash at the bottom.

HWSNBN, beaming: That, right there, is why I married you.

(I wish, oh how I wish, that I could report that we did, in fact, chuck old Jack over the balcony railing. Alas, death of an innocent by pumpkin from above is frowned upon and legal counsel advised against it.)

Things That Are True - Thanksgiving

Four years ago, I was sitting, surrounded by family and friends, at a beautiful Thanksgiving dinner, and it was everything I could do just to hold it together and not weep into my plate of turkey.


Nobody but HWSNBN and I knew I was six weeks pregnant. And no one but HWSNBN and I knew I was bleeding.


The doctor we'd seen two days before had told us it was almost certainly a miscarriage. We'd done blood tests to determine if the pregnancy was progressing or not, but that was on a Friday before the long weekend. The results weren't available yet.


After six years of trying, many many dollars spent on fertility tests and treatments, and seven cycles of IUI, I'd finally gotten the longed-for two pink lines on the pregnancy test. We'd been toying with the idea of telling our extended family at Thanksgiving dinner - what could make a room full of people we loved more thankful than news that the circle around that same table would be one larger the next year?

I looked normal on the outside, but I was falling apart. I alternated between being heartbroken, feeling numb, and wanting to scream. We said nothing. 


We learned a few days later that what I was experiencing was a subchorionic bleed; first through blood tests, and then confirmed by ultrasound a week later when we heard our baby's heartbeat for the first time. The pregnancy went to term. And now, four years later, we have The Imp creating a noisy joyful whirlwind of confusion in our lives.


Every year as we sit around the family dinner table discussing the things that make us grateful I wonder, "What if...?"

And when people ask me, "What are you thankful for this day?" it's easy to answer.

This day and every day.

Things That Are True - Best Husband Ever

One of the many reasons I married HWSNBN is because of his friendly, outgoing, and curious personality. He can, and will, have a conversation with anybody. And this is a friendly place; HWSNBN and Hawaii are ideally suited to each other. It sometimes takes us a little longer to get things done (as we learn that the guard at the exit to the rental car place lived in Kelowna for six months working as a roofer), but we're on holiday. Time is merely a construct.

Last night we ate at the beachside Mai Tai Bar at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. It was surprisingly child-friendly - they instantly provided crayons and a colouring page/keiki menu for The Imp. The kids' menu was, like most, full of stuff I'd not likely feed him even if he wasn't allergic to dairy (hot dogs and the like), but the crayons kept him happily busy until our poke, prawns, and chicken skewers arrived.*

Aside: restaurant portions are huge here. Ordering a couple of starters to split between the three of us is all we need to feel full. Having said that, the more posh the hotel/restaurant, the smaller the portions. Implying that rich people care about the quality of their food and that middle class people care about the quantity of their food, I guess.

Back to last night: we'd finished our meal and HWSNBN had to visit the men's room. The Imp was happily sitting on my lap, totally engrossed in the Hawaiian musicians playing on stage, so I sat back to enjoy the music and the warm breeze, belly comfortably full of yummy food, happy that my child was happy. As relaxed as I could get with a squirmy two year old in my lap. Bliss.

The musicians played one song after another. It was lovely. A hula dancer joined them for a couple of songs, and The Imp was enchanted. So was I - she was grace personified.

Then it occurred to me that HWSNBN was taking quite a long time in the bathroom. "Oh well," I thought. "We have been eating a lot of fruit."

I sat back in my chair, looked out over the ocean at the setting sun. Ten more minutes went by. "Who did he get to talking to in the hotel lobby?" I wondered.

The Imp was getting restless. I checked my watch. A full half an hour had elapsed. Where on earth was HWSNBN? And how much longer was he going to be?

Just as I was starting to be more irritated than charmed by the situation, there was HWSNBN, striding across the hotel grounds to our table, one hand hidden behind his back.

This was in his hand.

He'd been plotting basically since we landed to find a way to sneak off and buy me a present. "I've had a good year, work-wise," he said. "And there are a lot of things you've been doing without."

As if this trip wasn't enough. Seriously, y'all. Best Husband Ever.






*Full disclosure: these opinions are entirely my own. We are paying for everything ourselves, selecting our own restaurants, hotel, car rental, and activities. I am in no way compensated by anyone for anything I may or may not write. This trip is entirely on our own dime. Just in case you were wondering.

Things I'm Learning - Toddler Crafts Sneak Up on You

I wasn't going to do a Valentine's Day type post - I'm not an especially Valentinesy type girl.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not anti-Valentine's Day; I don't hate it. Nor am I against other people celebrating it. I'm not the cynic in the corner muttering into my glass of wine that it's a trumped up holiday, a Hallmark invention, an excuse to boost sales in February after the retail doldrums of post Christmas consumer burnout.*

No.

People want to celebrate love, I say have at it! An excuse to eat chocolate? Um, okay!


Since I eat chocolate every single day anyway, I don't need February 14th to tell me it's okay. And since I live in the modern world in a country that allows me a great deal of personal freedom, I don't need February 14th to tell me to celebrate the love in my life. Every day, I get up and choose to spend my day married to HWSNBN. There are no constraints - moral, cultural, or financial - on my decision to stay with him. I want to be with him. Every day. Some days more than others; he does, after all, snore on occasion. But living in a world where I don't have to stay married to someone means that I choose, over and over again, to be with him. And he with me. If that's not a daily affirmation and celebration of our love, I don't know what is. So we don't do anything special for each other on Valentine's Day. And since we don't do anything special for each other, it never occurred to us to do anything special for The Imp.

(I will take this moment to apologize to his future spouse now: sorry for not teaching him to buy flowers and stuff on this most auspicious day. Hopefully our example will have taught him, however, to buy flowers and stuff for no reason at all, and that will make up for it. Still friends?)

That being said, we do have one small, goofy Valentine's tradition. Six years ago this month, we moved into our apartment. We were both working absurd hours at the time, and couldn't manage to schedule the move in of All Our Stuff until the weekend after Valentine's Day. For a couple of weeks we had our bed, our clothes, and not much else. No dishes, no books, no furniture... That Valentine's Day, we both arrived home late, and famished. Our romantic 9pm Valentine's dinner was a couple of slices of pizza HWSNBN picked up on his way home. Having no cutlery, plates, or napkins - not even a tea towel - we stood together over the kitchen sink hoovering back our lukewarm meal. As a joke, the next year I arranged to have pizza handy, and we leaned over the sink to eat it, giggling like fools. We've done it every year since.


But that's not what this post is about!


This is a post about Crafty Stuff. Although I'm not a crafty gal, despite my love of cooking, sewing and crochet projects that I never finish. I recoil from glitter and glue sticks with something akin to horror, and am mightily grateful that The Imp can get his craft on at daycare, and I don't have to a) come up with fun stuff for him to do or b) clean up the mess after. Score one for outside the home childcare!


And then daycare provided a class list for Valentine's Day.

They were careful to explain that cards were optional and not expected, but that if we were going to bring something, we had to bring something for everyone. Fair enough. I tucked the list into my bag and promptly forgot about it, until the evening of the 13th, when I suddenly remembered. We've never had to do anything for the big day before - at his last daycare all the kids were so little they wouldn't have known what was going on. But now he's hanging with the big kids, the 3-5 year olds, and they most definitely do know what's going on.

It was dark and raining. I did not feel like venturing out to buy cards that would almost certainly end up in the garbage within 48 hours.

So I dug through the "craft supplies" (a plastic bag jammed in the back of a closet) and found: construction paper (someone had given us a pad) and markers. And we have tape and scissors.

The Imp: What we doing, Mommy?
Me: (faking enthusiasm) We're going to make cards for all your friends at school!
The Imp: Happy Birthday cards? (he's made a few of those, mostly scribbles, for family)
Me: Not birthday cards, Valentine's cards!
The Imp: Okay!

I handed him a piece of pink construction paper and a red marker to distract him while I tried to figure out what the hell we were going to do. He promptly and happily began to scribble.

Inspiration! I swapped The Imp's well scribbled-upon paper for a clean sheet, drew heart shapes onto it, and cut them out. Great, now we have hearts. Um...

Green, blue, yellow, and orange construction paper became simple one fold cards. I stuck tape on the back of the heart shapes, The Imp stuck them on the front of the cards. Perfect. I wrote "Happy Valentine's Day!" and "From [The Imp]" on the inside and presto voila alakazam, we can haz Valentine's Day cards for 25 kids in twenty minutes or less for zero dollars.

Fancy.

We wrote his classmates' names on the front of the cards, and delivered them to everyone's decorated paper bag card receptacle this morning. Win!

One of the other parents at daycare this morning looked at our efforts and said, "I can't believe you made all those cards."

Truth? Neither can I.

And now I have a mess to clean up.

*Although in writing that, it occurs to me that it all may be true whether I'm a cynic or not.

Things That Are True - The Sunday Morning Shower

It's possible that no 15 minute increment of time all week is as jealously protected and keenly anticipated as the Sunday morning shower.

Our morning rituals are pretty much the same every week. Monday to Friday is a free for all, just trying to get everyone ready and out the door is some sort of cohesive fashion. Saturday morning, HWSNBN gets to relax while I'm on point. But Sundays, ah Sundays. Sundays are mine.

Shower, Oswego Hotel, Victoria, a few minutes ago

It's the one morning a week that I get time to myself, time to be something other than a producer of food, perpetrator of discipline, seeker of teachable moments, reader of stories, and personal jungle gym to The Imp. The one morning that HWSNBN is around, awake, and on Imp Patrol so I can have as long a shower as I want, uninterrupted.

Of such small gifts to each other are great marriages made.

Things That Are True - Toddlers and Chocolate Cake

It's possible that we are bad parents; we did not go all out and have a big theme party for The Imp's second birthday. I thought about inviting friends to join us for an afternoon of kids running around shrieking in the park close to our apartment, but the Vancouver weather's been dreadful and 900 square feet of living space does not make the "If it rains we'll just go inside" concept exactly workable. So we had a simple but fun family dinner with his adored older cousins the Sunday before, complete with off key but enthusiastic singing, lots of presents, and birthday cake.

The morning The Imp actually turned two, we sang him "Happy Birthday" again first thing in the morning. To him, this meant birthday! cake! should follow almost immediately. Not having any on hand at 8am (clearly bad planning on our part), we promised him there would be some birthday! cake! after dinner that evening. Off he went to daycare, I got to work, picked him up early, and we headed to an afternoon meetup with other moms, kids, and Erica from yummymummyclub.ca. None of which involved cake, and all of which prompted The Imp to remind me of the promise made to him at breakfast.

When we got home, The Imp helped me mix up a quick one layer cake and I threw it into the oven. It was done and out on a cooling rack awaiting frosting on the kitchen counter. HWSNBN and I were sitting in the living room puzzling over what to throw together for the evening meal. The Imp was in the kitchen playing with his fridge magnets. We weren't paying as much attention to him as maybe we should have been.

The Imp has developed the charming habit, as he learns new words and expressions daily, of narrating things as he does them. Like, "I hugging Daddy," and "I climbing the chair."

You can see where this is going, can't you?



The Imp's little sing-song voice gradually entered our conscious hearing: "I eating the cake! I eating the cake!" he chanted gleefully.

HWSNBN and I ran into the kitchen to find The Imp sitting on the floor, chocolate crumbs all around him, chocolate cake crammed into his mouth, chocolate morsels smushed into his little hands, his t-shirt, his hair. He was, indeed, eating the cake.

 The Imp's handiwork, of which he was most proud

Us: (exasperated) Imp! What did you do?
Imp: Grin.
Us: (ask a stupid question...) Did you eat the cake?
Imp: (looking at us very seriously, then suddenly beaming) Happy Birthday!

So we all ate chocolate cake for dinner. Maybe we're awesome parents after all.

Wordless Wednesday - Happiness is...

Happiness is a lazy Sunday morning cuddle with my boys.

This post is linked to A Lot of Loves' Wednesday of Few Words.

Wordless Wednesday - Of Skinned Knees and Sunny Skies

Yesterday was a spectacular day - sunny and warm, and we spent a chunk of it at the playground, where The Imp learned that running headlong and falling down in the dirt while wearing shorts is very different than in long pants. There were tears.

He also learned that nothing beats hanging out with Grandpa and Daddy on a park bench on a sunny evening. There was great joy.


This post is part of A Lot of Loves' Wednesday of Few Words.

Things That Are True - Seven Years

Seven years ago, I took a moment before the Getting Ready began.

Seven years ago, I actually shrieked in delight when I saw my fiance and his groomsmen running across the church lawn in their kilts - they were a little late, I was a little early, waiting in a vehicle at the curb. HWSNBN insisted that if he couldn't see my dress before the wedding, I couldn't see his either, so it was the first time I saw how great the boys looked.

 

Seven years ago, I walked down the aisle, arm in arm with both my parents.

And seven years ago, surrounded by family and friends, I married my best friend, my partner in crime, my reason for reason.

 And there was cake.

 It was a spectacular day in every way. 

Seven years later, there is still nowhere I'd rather be than by his side. Wherever he is, is home to me.

Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart.*

*And thank you for giving me permission to post pictures of you today.

Things I'm Doing - Fit By Forty: Week 3

If you're new here and want to know more about my Fit by Forty efforts, you can go here and here for some background and also check out Week 1 and Week 2. 

Week 3 - The New Normal

They say it takes three weeks to form new habits. They, the mysterious they that seem to be not only experts on everything that ever existed anywhere in the universe, but also have been behind every cabal, plot, scheme and conspiracy with new ones being hatched daily. They are very busy people. Whoever they are.

By the end of Week 3 I no longer had cravings for The Bad Food, unless I watched TV. (Because those ads for too-sweet, over-salted frankenfood will simultaneously repulse you and make you want to eat that crap Right! Now!) My body had grown more accustomed to the exercise; I felt stronger, I had more energy, I was (when The teething Imp would let me) sleeping better longer. We didn't have to buy the Costco-sized Advil container this week.

Eating
Portion control: what a negative way of phrasing it. The word "control" implies restriction, policing of food intake. Like "crowd control" it doesn't have any fun connotations. It also sounds far too clinical to describe the joyful act of eating. Food is such a primal thing. Feeding yourself, feeding your family is one of the greatest sensual experiences in life. And by sensual, I refer to "of the senses", not "in the bedroom". Although breakfast in bed has its joys too.

Rather than the dietician sounding, desensitized phrase "portion control" I prefer to make it simpler. I'm not measuring my food. I'm not counting calories or calculating grams of fat. I prefer to say I eat only when I'm hungry and I stop eating when I'm no longer hungry. I make healthy choices ninety percent of the time. I'm not depriving myself, after all, this was the week of The Awesome Chocolate Birthday Cake of Doom. And yes, I enjoyed a slice of it, without apology and without regret.

Side note: maybe "Without apology and without regret" is what should go on my non-tombstone bench memorial thing. Must tell HWSNBN.

Takeway:
Eating is enjoyable. It's family time as often as possible with HWSNBN's long hours. It's one of those most basic things in life that bring us happiness. I will not let a get-fit-lose-weight plan take the focus off the fun, the joy, or the chocolate. But not hoovering back everything The Imp leaves behind on his plate does help with the goal-achieving.

Exercise
More of the same, except better, faster, stronger. Made it up a couple of hills I'd been struggling with - when I shifted down into the granny gears on my bike, but still. Added more stair climbing this week to up the cardio challenge. But for the most part, my trusty bicycle remained my go-to exercise choice. I also was fortunate enough, this week, to meet and have dinner with the awe-inspiring four time winter Olympian Sharon Firth. Listening to her speak about the work she now does in the small communities of the Northwest Territories to inspire youth to achieve excellence was incredibly humbling, and made me even more determined to model healthy, active living for The Imp.

Takeaway:
Don't fix what ain't broken. I like the bicycle, the bicycle is easy to implement into my daily life. And The Imp likes the bicycle too. If it ever starts to feel stale, I'll find something else. Right now, it's exactly the right thing.


And now, for the numbers:
Starting weight: 149 lbs
Week 1 weight loss: 3.5 lbs
Week 2 weight loss: 3 lbs
Week 3 weight loss: 2 lbs
New weight: 140.5 lbs

Also, I need to find a trusty-steed type name for my bicycle. Any suggestions?

Food Revolution Fridays - Blueberry Pie Edition

I don't talk a lot about my husband on this blog. In fact, I think of him as He Who Shall Not Be Named when I'm writing posts. He's a far more private person than I am. I've always been an open book, freely sharing my hopes, fears, triumphs (and the many moments I fall on my face) with friends. To me, this blog is just an extension of that. By HWSNBN is much more guarded than I am. Out of respect for that, I don't write about him except in passing. I think even he would be okay with me saying that today he's celebrating a birthday, because the snippet I'm about to reveal involves possibly his favourite thing in the entire world: blueberry pie.

My husband married me because of my blueberry pie. It's true.

When we were first dating, he mentioned that he loved blueberries.

HWSNBN: I love blueberries, especially in blueberry pie. 
Me: Well then, I'll make you blueberry pie some day. I make really good pie.
HWSNBN: Every other woman I've ever dated has said she would make me blueberry pie. Not one of them has ever done it.
Me: Good thing I'm not every other woman you've ever dated then.

Time went by. Suddenly it was Christmas. We'd only been dating a couple of months. I surprised him with a home made, from scratch, delicious blueberry pie I'd made specifically for him. He was agog.

By Easter we were looking at engagement rings. Behold the power of a good flaky crust!

Today is his birthday. When I asked him a few weeks ago what he wanted as a birthday gift, he didn't hesitate: blueberry pie, please!

So here it is, the secret to my successful marriage:

Pastry
I've seen a few versions of this basic pastry recipe over the years in various cookbooks. This one comes from a newspaper clipping my mom had tucked into our family cookbook when I was a kid. I'm typing this out from memory, so forgive me if I don't use the right culinary terminology!

1 3/4 cups flour
1 tsp salt
1/2 cup vegetable oil
3-5 tbsp cold water

Mix flour & salt in a large bowl.  Add vegetable oil and mix with flour and salt until the mixture looks like pea sized crumbs. Add cold water 1 tbsp at a time and mix until you get the consistency you want and the dough forms a ball. Roll out the pastry out to the desired size between two sheets of waxed paper. (Wipe the rolling out surface with a damp cloth before laying down the first sheet of waxed paper to prevent it from sliding around while rolling.)

For an unfilled crust, heat oven to 475F. Flute the edge, prick bottom and sides of the pastry thoroughly with a fork. Bake 8-10 minutes or until it reaches the desired golden light brown colour. Cool & fill.

For a filled crust, bake as directed in your pie recipe.

I like a good solid crust since I tend to overload my pies with filling, so for a single crust pie I make one recipe's worth, and for a lattice top or two crust pie I make the recipe twice. I change it up by varying the kind of oil I use. If I'm not being fancy I use canola oil, but I've also used peanut oil and macadamia nut oil with great results. (I've never tried olive oil, it just seems like it would be too heavy.) For other subtle differences in flavour, I'll throw in a tbsp or so of brown sugar to the dry ingredients for a sweet pie, and for a savoury pie I'll substitute smoked salt for the regular salt or throw in some dried herbs as well. It's a pretty fool-proof pastry recipe, so I take all kinds of liberties.


Filling

I tend to fly by the seat of my pants a bit on fruit filled pies. My vagueness irritates people who ask for the recipe, but I honestly don't have one. I tend to let the fruit tell me what it wants, if that's not too flaky. (Flaky! Ha! See what I did there?) So for the purposes of this post, I'll say:

Use enough blueberries
toss in a couple of handfuls of flour
add sugar to taste
add cinnamon if you like it
and about a tbsp of lemon juice
and mix together in a bowl. 

I don't like super-sweet pies - I usually let the fruit flavour speak for itself as much as possible. Your mileage may vary.

Pour berry mixture into the pie crust.
Dot with small pieces of butter.
Cover with 2nd crust and pierce it, or make a lattice top.
Flute the edge, bake at 425F for 35-45 minutes.
Or until done.

That, to me, is the beauty of making real food. Based around a rock solid base recipe, you can try new things: experiment with ingredients, improve, and refine to fit your individual taste. It's a bit like haiku - rigid as to form, but endless variation in the subject matter or ingredients.

I don't have any pictures of the pie. My husband has to work late tonight, so the pie making will occur tomorrow. Since The Imp cannot resist helping me in the kitchen, I'm very much looking forward to showing him how to make his first blueberry pie! I'll try and update with photos tomorrow.

This post is part of Food Revolution Fridays at Scattered Mom. Head over there and check out what other people are doing with real food!