bloggish smirks - and a pause to be warned

Somehow, in a fit of former grad-studentness, I became a MedPage reader. A not-quite daily medical/science news update reader. MedPage added blogs at some point - I noticed at a far later point - and read them oh, whenever there's nothing good on in the world of medicine. Which is not so very often, honestly.

But sometimes, I do. And then I wonder at the indignation of someone like this, writing about the horrors of preschool pizza. What is she worried about? It's pizza! Do you know how much lousy, crunchy clinical trial food my kid ate to get his pizza?

This is a line in the sand, drawn by someone who knows that something dreadful lurks in the dunes. Another blogger helpfully explained: it gets worse. Kids eat the most amazing crap in schools, breaded and served up with a side of bread. Or potatoes. No, really. See? Count the number of green things, the second blogger suggested.

Or go for the gusto, and count the ways that you can make a celiac twitch.

And that, I realized, is the missing link between an allergy-friendly school and a school that really cannot be bothered. Or won't. When the monolith of the school menu is standing there, all sorted out and scheduled and packed with the carbs, salt, oils and proteins that kids will eat - and oh, but finding that magical, what they will eat is not to be sneezed - or hived - at, then who wants Change? even Change for Good Reasons?

We know how to feed them. Sort of. Until the allergy kid comes along, leaving shredded cafeteria menus in their legislatively enhanced wake.

Um. Well. Okay, so maybe we still can feed 'em. But from the looks of this menu, we figured out how to feed our kids back in, oh, 1940? And haven't really thought about it since.

Or maybe this has nothing to do with the immunocentric universe, and is really about something far more basic. Like the possibility that taking candy bars out of the school vending machines? A faint, feeble start. Stop picking on Snickers - think about this: for a massive number of school children, this is the central nutritional pillar in their world. Which, to my untutored eye, explains that.

Which is so depressing that I'm going to shut up now, and soothe myself with some Buffalo Bleu chips.

springing up

In case you were worried, it's okay - I found another jar of Vegemite at the back of the pantry. It is, however, my last. This is a serious matter, as Kraft stopped making kosher certified Vegemite some time ago, which means that any Vegemite I purchase will not be kosher, even though it is absolutely identical to the kosher stuff.

No rabbi in the factory, no kosher thingie on the label. What oh what will I do without my Veggie on toast to shock my mouth into wakefulness? Vegemite on toast, plus coffee in mug = reluctantly wakeful moi. Works every time. Wakes me up enough for me to be allowed to play with teensy needles, which tells you something about a. how sharp and alert I can be, given incentive or b. how desperate the bleeding disorder community/my family is to have my kid clot.

mumble, grumble, grumble.

Or, to quote joy's inner toddler, stomps. Do you realize how hard I had to work for toast? The salespeople in Sears were edging away when the crazy woman was cackling about buying a toaster, but damnit, you have to have bread to be able to toast it. And apparently, a rabbi if one's breakfasty fantasies are to be put into play. Ahh, the joys of tarry, yeasty blackness on not quite burnt toast.

It is at moments like these that I have to snort at my own religion. And wish that snopes was wrong, and that the FDA and customs had really, truly decided to do something so silly as ban Vegemite from the country - at least then I wouldn't have to look at all the nearly-kosher stuff on the shelves.

Hmm. Maybe I'll try Marmite. (ducks)

walking, teething, touristing we

This food is so good that I have to go and blow my nose.

(silence, as the mama tries to parse this compliment. Muffled amusement, as Auntie A and the partner watch mama and Eldest.) Note: recipe is below

It's a grab bag kind of day, people. Here it is:

*the babes has two teeth coming in, as evinced by a delicate thread of drool working its way down his chin. The teeth are on the bottom, and angled just at the same angle as the Eldest's two front lower teeth. The alignment between the boys delights me.

*Auntie A, or as we call her 'Almost Auntie A' is in town for a week! a week! Such delights have not been mine in years, and she had to come during school vacation? Oy. We've been shuttling around to the MIT museum and Frank Gehry building, the local Butterfly Place (a surprisingly delightful find), and if it ever stops raining, to the duck boats. Such plans we had! The Garden in the Woods has a big rock exhibit (small boys and big rocks - seems perfect, no?), Land Sake farm in Weston has pick your own cherry tomatoes and raspberries, taking the babes to see the allergy nutritionist - okay, so that last plan will survive the rain, but the rest are taking a beating. If anyone has a suggestion for kids on rainy day activities that will delight the adults, I'm listening. And please don't suggest the Aquarium which is a pain to get to, and yes, we'll go to the Science Museum, although the idea of seeing dried dead bones and muscle and tendon gives me serious icks. Tonight, we escape to Pandemonium, a funky bookstore in Central Square, where we'll wander and I'll try not to spend money. Ya, right.

Hopefully, this long standing friendship will survive a week with my kids. And with me, being testy at my kids. Possibly that last is the trickier obstacle - I'm rather demanding of the eldest, and currently buried in enough work to be impatient with anyone who isn't falling into line. Luckily today was a day founded on flexibility, with three separate, possible plans in train, depending on the oh-so variable weather. With that mindset came a somewhat more patient Mama, a trick I really ought to remember. Of course it helps that Auntie A is here, and currently reading stories with the Eldest while I avoid writing his IHP (Individual Health Plan) for school...

*the partner man has decided to walk. A lot. But at least he decided to walk with a cause, covering the Boston Marathon route for the Jimmy Fund, come September. He's going into this blindly hoping to find the time to "train," a practice with which I am familiar, thanks to a marathon running father. In my humble opinion, I consider marathon runners to be exhibiting an obsessive form of behavior, in which momentum is used to blot out the rational thought that would keep one in bed at 5 am on a Sunday, avoiding the pulled muscles and pain of serious running, and so on. But who am I to judge? Anyone who has seen me working my way through a bag of Madhouse Munchies barbecue chips knows that I am not unfamiliar with the focus needed to get a job done.

Me, I strongly suspect that he's walking because someone's giving him an official-ish excuse to do so, but I trust that his choice will offer support and a sense of community to our friends whose daughter is battling leukemia. And some time for quiet solitude, always useful in the over-programmed. Here's the link to his post, describing his plan and giving folks a chance to donate to the Jimmy Fund. For those of you who don't know his real name, well, it's a decent cause anyway...and the name of our friends' 1 yr old daughter with leukemia is Amelia. When in doubt, a donation in honor is always welcome. Now, if we can only manage it such that the partner doesn't spend the next few weeks hobbling with sore, cramping muscles. And I am far too wise to refer him to the marathon-running crew, who'd doubtless know how to do this. (But hopeful that you'll offer him advice without my wifely, aka credit dampening, intervention?)

*************************
The recipe that makes the Eldest blow his nose, adapted from Sole with Fresh Tomatoes,' Almost Vegetarian Entertaining.

Blow Your Nose Fish:
1.5 lb mild white fish
1 Tb olive oil, plus a drizzle
2 garlic cloves, smashed and chopped
coarse salt
fresh black pepper
2 Tb fresh chopped parsley
2 Tb fresh chopped oregano
(Note: I love having herbs growing! dried should be fine if you need to substitute for the fresh herbs)
zest of 1 lemon, or most of a lemon

Combine the herbs, garlic, salt and pepper, lemon zest in a bowl. Drizzle with a bit of olive oil, stir. Pour 1 Tb olive oil into baking dish, lay fish in dish, overlapping where necessary to make it fit. Spread herb-lemon mixture on top of fish, let sit (in refrigerator, covered) for a bit while you start the sauce. Bake in preheated oven at 425 F for 7 minutes, then broil for 4 minutes. Baking/broiling times may vary - check. Fish should flake easily with a fork.

Federle Sauce:
Courtesy of Redfire Farm and their tomato festival (to which I dragged the non-tomato eating Auntie A), I now have a new found love of the Federle tomato, a roma-style tomato that dissolved into a heavenly sauce. Here's the sauce that we ate with the fish:
2 garlic cloves, smashed and chopped
2 onions, sliced somewhat thinly
4 fresh sage leaves (or substitute dried), chopped
1 Tb cornstarch
1 cup dry white wine/mirin
8 chopped Federle tomatoes
salt and pepper
1 Tb olive oil
optional: 1/2 cup sour cream

Saute garlic, onion, sage in olive oil until onions start to brown a bit. Add cornstarch, stir until paste-like. Then add 1/4 c of the cooking wine, stir some more. Dump in tomatoes and the rest of the wine. (At this point, I'd shove the fish into the oven.) Stir and leave to cook, stirring occasionally, for 12-15 minutes on low. The tomatoes should break down into a wonderful texture, making it unecessary to puree.

Serve sauce with fish, on the side, to be added as desired. We also had a corn, peach, avocado green salad, and rice cakes to mop up extra sauce. Okay, so the babes had rice cakes and we all glommed on to the idea. Happy, happy, slightly over-full we.

fragments of sense

Tonight my mood is fizzing, swinging between delighted and sensible, so I won’t aim for a coherent post. Instead, I offer you these snippets:

*today I used craigslist for the first time as an consumer, rather than a provider. I’d used it twice before, to get rid of a bookcase and to put our bird up for adoption. Each time, craigslist served me well. Today, I picked up a rocking chair – a solid and surprisingly large piece that will hopefully help us in the great effort to persuade the babes to sleep. (Yes, still working on that. Please don’t offer advice…) Magid joined me and hoisted most of the weight, most of the time. Okay, nearly all of the weight, nearly all of the time. I darted ahead and opened doors, measured openings and delivered opinions. And held small children and got in the way. Huzzah for craigslist, for magid and for the commonplace marketplace! We could never have afforded such a chair on the fly like this, nor would I have managed to get the thing home without magid who, when I was nearly ready to give up (we couldn’t fit the thing into the car), figured out a way to secure it in the trunk and guided me home.

*The babes is now happily standing on his own, and continues to rise to standing calmly, with an expression that indicates that applause would be appreciated, but that he intends to look mildly surprised and humble should it be provided. If I am too slow, he provides this himself. He continues to delight the Eldest and I, recently by helping put laundry into the washing machine, or by holding a block or toy to his ear with a quizzical expression, as if waiting for it to act like a telephone. I had forgotten how much a child of nearly-one understands, and the social scientist of their minds at work. Already, he recognizes and responds to my roar – less clear to him is the Eldest’s wail of distress, perhaps partly because he knows that the wail may easily turn into a giggle..

*the search for a our-family-friendly breakfast cereal continues. Most contenders have potential cross-contamination with wheat, dairy, nuts or peanut, so we’re limping along on puffed rice. Today, I broke down and bought a cocoa-flavored puffed rice. Any suggestions, o readers? On the upside, I finally found an easily portable finger food for the babes, who needs practice with such things, as well as to be persuaded that when I produce chunks of baked sweet potato, bits of rice pasta, etc, that these things are desirable and delicious, despite not being pureed. And yes, he maintains this position of uncertainty despite his happy continued peach-gnawing. I salute his determination to hold the line, whatever that line may be. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to respect it.. But it irks the dickens out of me that the new option is by Gerber, evil megacorp that it is.

*I have finally embarked on a long standing project. Two, to be precise. The first was working on the lighting for our home – our tenth anniversary present to ourselves, supported by the MIL and FIL. We intend to bring light into various dimnesses, and to get rid of the ancient halogen that pretends to light our dining area. It was perhaps unfortunate, then, that we went as a family to look at lighting while I was loopy on Benadryl. What a waste! My chances of getting my partner back out to the store are nearly nil, and I spent most of the time thinking things like ‘ooo, look at the pretty light. It sparkles. Do I like sparkles? (note: I probably do not.)

However, I pulled it together long enough to make several potential choices, to gasp at the cost of the only – only! – fixture I liked for the dining area, and to go home where I fell over. I have a vague recollection of my partner looking grumpy as he sat on the edge of the bed, and I’m fairly certain that at least one child joined me at one point. If not two.

Combining the beginning of the lighting project with another minor project, painting blackboards on a wall in the boys’ room, and I feel pretty snappy. My list of DIYs is irritatingly long, and each morning I look at the cracking grout around the bathtub and swear that yes, today is the day! I will caulk today. I even have the caulk. It is even sittng on the staircase, waiting to be taken into the bathroom and used. And yet, there it sits. Could I yet become a person who has caulked tubs? Today, I feel that there is hope.

* The fish have stopped dying. (We can now all pause for a wee Hannibal Lector moment.) We went burning through Speckles One and Two, Katie One and RedCap, but Katie Two, Snapper/Snappy and SillyFish seem in the bloom of health. And occasionally cranky when I forget to feed them quickly enough. And to my joy, the fishtank has actually had an unexpected benefit: instead of collapsing in front of the TV in the late afternoon, whilst I make dinner, the Eldest is now watching the fish, and narrating what he sees. When he gets bored, he wanders off and plays. The amount of TV he watched was a major point on my Bad Mama list, and to have that removed is a great relief. That the Eldest, sans TV, is a happier kid surprises me not at all: a half hour of the idiot box and he’d be a limp rag. More, and he is a whining limp rag. (shudder) Now, if only the fish didn’t seem to be taking turns with the roses, my score on the keeping things alive scale would be better.

All of this, and I have yet to find a nanny. Anyone know of someone in the Boston area who wants to look after the babes two days a week? She should be loving, inventive, cool headed in an emergency…and preferably carry a parrot-head umbrella.