oven fries

This recipe is always a winner in our house. We try to make enough to have leftover fries, which typically make their way into a Spanish tortilla.

From-Scratch Oven Fries
Makes 4 servings

Ingredients
1 1/2 pounds medium-size baking potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch-thick strips
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 teaspoon kosher or table salt
Ketchup (optional)

Preparation

1. Preheat oven to 450°. Rinse potatoes in cold water. Drain and pat dry. Toss together potatoes, oil, and salt in a large bowl.
2. Place a lightly greased wire rack in a jelly-roll pan. Arrange potatoes in a single layer on wire rack.
3. Bake at 450° for 40 to 45 minutes or until browned. Serve immediately with ketchup, if desired.

leek potato soup

Soup's on. (I had some leeks left over from last week's CSA share.) This one's a winner. I was skeptical about the buttermilk, but it balances the flavors perfectly. The soup itself tastes like a baked potato with sour cream.

Alton Brown's Leek Potato Soup
Prep Time: 25 min
Cook Time: 1 hr 15 min
Serves: 6 servings

Ingredients

* 1 pound leeks, cleaned and dark green sections removed, approximately 4 to 5 medium
* 3 tablespoons unsalted butter
* Heavy pinch kosher salt, plus additional for seasoning
* 14 ounces, approximately 3 small, Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and diced small
* 1 quart vegetable broth (I used chicken stock)
* 1 cup heavy cream
* 1 cup buttermilk
* 1/2 teaspoon white pepper
* 1 tablespoon snipped chives

Directions

1. Chop the leeks into small pieces.
2. In a 6-quart saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter. Add the leeks and a heavy pinch of salt and sweat for 5 minutes. Decrease the heat to medium-low and cook until the leeks are tender, approximately 25 minutes, stirring occasionally.
3. Add the potatoes and the vegetable broth, increase the heat to medium-high, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low, cover, and gently simmer until the potatoes are soft, approximately 45 minutes.
4. Turn off the heat and puree the mixture with an immersion blender until smooth. Stir in the heavy cream, buttermilk, and white pepper. Taste and adjust seasoning if desired. Sprinkle with chives and serve immediately, or chill and serve cold.

street photography discovered

These shots are interesting not just for their artistic merit, but also because they were taken by an ordinary woman with an extraordinary eye. I'm curious how this nanny got to Yemen and some of the other places where she photographed. Unfortunately, much of Vivian Maier's story remains private (for now).

Amazing Mystery Photographer Comes To Fame After Her Death
An incredible story. Vivian Maier was a nanny who lived in Chicago for most of her life and passed away in 2009 at the age of 83. Little more is known about her, except that she was an avid street photographer. Her work was discovered at an auction in 2007, more than 100,000 negatives and undeveloped rolls of film, sold by a storage facility who were cleaning out her locker for delinquent rent. Here is a small sampling of Vivian Maier's stunning work from the Maloof Collection, spanning from the 1950s to the 1970s. Many of the photos, if they had any information at all, only provided a year and/or city.

been there, said that

Seba started crawling last night for the first time minutes after Leo got home from work. It was awesome, because both Leo and I got to see it and cherish the moment. As we headed to bed, I reminded Leo that sleep disturbances are common around the time that a toddler reaches each developmental milestone.

Suffice it to say that it wasn't a complete surprise to me when Seba awoke at 3 a.m. today instead of his usual 5-6 a.m. I still muttered the name of this book under my breath each time I heard him making the sounds he does as he gradually wakes up.

Go the Fuck to Sleep: a storybook for exhausted parents
Mark Frauenfelder at 3:48 PM Tuesday, Apr 26, 2011

Go the Fuck To Sleep is a bedtime book for parents who live in the real world, where a few snoozing kitties and cutesy rhymes don't always send a toddler sailing off to dreamland. Honest, profane, and affectionate, Adam Mansbach's verses and Ricardo Cortés' illustrations perfectly capture the familiar--and unspoken--tribulations of putting your little angel down for the night, and open up a conversation about parenting in the process. Beautiful, subversive, and pants-wettingly funny, Go the Fuck to Sleep is a perfect gift for parents new, old, or expectant. Here is a sample verse:

The cats nestle close to their kittens now.
The lambs have laid down with the sheep.
You're cozy and warm in your bed, my dear
Please go the fuck to sleep.

craigslist jogging strollers

I'm on the prowl for a used jogging stroller. (Yes, I have a great umbrella stroller, courtesy of my friend Martha, but need something a little smoother for my all-terrain walks.) This ad slayed me. BTW, if anyone's selling a BOB (or can convince me why their stroller is as good) I'm all ears.

Dear people who think your USED jogging strollers are worth HUNDREDS - $9000 (San Diego)
Date: 2011-04-21, 4:58PM PDT
Reply to: sale-c6amg-2339615363@craigslist.org

Dear people who think your USED jogging strollers are worth HUNDREDS of dollars:

I've had it with you and your $350 FIRM 3 year old USED Lance Armstrong edition BOB revolution and your $250 "decent" will not budge under any circumstances 20 inch allow wheeled baby joggers.

NEWS FLASH!!!!! You have this sick twisted emotional attachment to these strollers thinking of all your fond baby memories pushing around your little bundles of joy with smiles and giggles while the rest of us trying to purchase these are thinking of how many times your precious baby barfed, drooled, and shat all over the place and if we can even clean them good enough to actually feel comfortable putting our children in them.

You are selling a HIGHLY USED worn out stroller and GUESS WHAT....after three years of use they are not still worth $350 or more.

So, if anyone is interested in selling me their USED jogging stroller for a normal "this has been used for years with my drooly, farty, poopy, spilling baby" price, email me.

Oh and this goes for those of you who are selling USED Ikea furniture at astronomical prices as well.

Sincerely,

Fed up craigslister.

* Location: San Diego
* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

breaking free of the "man box"

When I found out I was pregnant with my little boy, my friend Sally told me that there's something quite feminist about raising a compassionate son. She's right -- we're raising a little boy who will one day be a man and it's something Leo and I think a lot about.

This powerful TED Talk looks at the consequences of putting our sons into the "man box."
What’s Wrong With Being a “Man”?

At TEDWomen, Tony Porter makes a call to men everywhere: Don't "act like a man." Telling powerful stories from his own life, he shows how this mentality, drummed into so many men and boys, can lead men to disrespect, mistreat and abuse women and each other. His solution: Break free of the "man box."

epic eating in penang

I will forever remember Penang.

Leo and I followed advice from our friends Ash and Reggie and enjoyed many amazing meals. I'm looking forward to taking Seba there when he's old enough to appreciate the UNESCO World Heritage-designated city, gorgeously diverse and friendly people, unique harmony between Buddhists, Sikhs, Muslims, and Christians, and (of course) the food.
12 dishes, 12 hours: Epic eating in Penang! « Street Foodie

quotable

Don't limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time. - Rabindranath Tagore

sweet potatoes, apples, and braising greens

We got a bunch of braising greens in our CSA share this week, so Leo found this recipe and I made this tonight, along with some pork sirloin chops in currant sauce.

The apples alone are to die for. Adding the sweet potato and the greens made for a nice balance of flavors.

Ingredients
4 medium sweet potatoes, peeled and cut lengthwise into quarters, then cut crosswise into 1/8-inch slices
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus 3 tablespoons melted
1 tablespoon fine sea salt
2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
3 medium baking apples, such as Sierra Beauty or Granny Smith, peeled, cored, and cut into sixths
6 cups loosely packed braising greens such as kale, chard, or collard greens, stems removed and torn into 2-inch strips

Preparation

1. Preheat oven to 400°F.
2. On foil-lined baking sheet, toss potato slices with 3 tablespoons melted butter, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. Bake until cooked through and slightly caramelized, about 20 minutes. Keep warm.
3. In heavy medium skillet over moderate heat, melt 3 tablespoons butter. Add apples and sauté until tender and golden brown, about 15 minutes. Keep warm.
4. In heavy large pot over moderate heat, combine remaining 2 tablespoons butter and 3 tablespoons water. Add greens and sauté, stirring occasionally, until wilted, about 5 minutes. Lower heat to moderately low and add sweet potatoes and apples. Continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until warmed through, 3 to 4 minutes. Stir in remaining 2 teaspoons salt, and 1 1/2 teaspoons pepper. Serve hot.
   

Makes 10 servings

Adapted from Sweet Potatoes, Apples, and Braising Greens by Traci Des Jardins (Jardinière Restaurant, San Francisco) Epicurious, November 2007

the power of vulnerability

Over the years, I've realized that I experience the most joy when I make myself the most vulnerable, when I decide to choose fearlessness and take the biggest chance in hopes of an even greater reward. To be sure, sorrow, fear, and painful disappointment have been part of that equation. But joy beyond words has also been the result. Brené Brown studies human connection -- our ability to empathize, belong, and love by analyzing vulnerability, courage, authenticity, and shame. Her talk on the power of vulnerability blew me away. I've captured just a few of the things she said, but there is so much more in the talk. Enjoy. And be vulnerable.

"Maybe stories are just data with a soul, you know, and maybe I'm just a storyteller."

"When you ask people about love, they tell you about heartbreak. When you ask people about belonging, they'll tell you about their most excruciating experiences of being excluded. When I asked people about connection, the stories they told me were about disconnection."

"Courage -- the original definition was to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart."

"They were willing to let go of who they thought they should be in order to be who they were."

"They fully embraced vulnerability. They believed that what made them vulnerable made them beautiful."



"Here's the thing -- I'm struggling. I know that vulnerability is kind of the core of shame and fear and our struggle for worthiness. But it appears that it is also the birthplace of joy,of creativity, of belonging, of love."

You know how there are people who when they realize that vulnerability and tenderness are kinda important, they surrender and walk into it? A) That's not me. And B) I don't even hang out with people like that.

Religion has gone from a belief in faith and mystery to certainty. I'm right, you're wrong, shut up. That's it.

This is what politics looks like today. There's no discourse anymore, There's no conversation.. There's just blame. You know how blame is described in the research? A way to discharge pain and discomfort.

We perfect, most dangerously, our children. Let me tell you what we think about children. They’re hard-wired for struggle when they get here. When you hold those perfect little babies in your hand, our job is not to say, “look at her, she’s perfect. My job is just to keep her perfect and make sure she makes the tennis team by fifth grade and Yale by the seventh grade.” That's not our job. Our job is to look and say, “you know what? You’re imperfect and you’re wired for struggle, but you are worthy of love and belonging.” That’s our job. Show me a generation of kids raised like that and we’ll end the problems we see today.

But there’s another way, and I’ll leave you with this. This is what I have found: to let ourselves be seen, deeply seen, vulnerably seen; to love with our whole hearts, even though there’s no guarantee; to practice gratitude and joy in those moments of terror, when we’re wondering, ‘can I love you this much? Can I believe in this this passionately? Can I be this fierce about this?’ Just to be able to stop and instead of catastrophizing what might happen, to say ‘I’m just so grateful. Because to feel this vulnerable means I’m alive.’ And the last, which I think is probably the most important, is to believe that we’re enough. Because when we work from a place that says ‘I am enough’ then we stop screaming and start listening, we’re kinder and gentler to the people around us and we’re kinder and gentler to ourselves.”

quotable

Believe there are no limits but the sky. - Cervantes

cass' oreo pie

My friend Cass makes a phenomenal oreo pudding pie that consistently wins favorite dessert contests at work. I asked her to share the recipe with me and she did.

1 package oreo cookies, crushed into crumbs
1 stick butter, melted
1 cup powdered sugar
8 oz cream cheese, softened
1 large tub cool whip
1 package chocolate pudding mix
milk

1. Use food processor to crush oreos. Pour crumbs into a pie plate. Pour butter over crumbs and pack to make a crust.
2. Beat cream cheese and sugar until combined. Fold in half the cool whip. Place in a layer on crust.
3. Prepare chocolate pudding. When set, place in layer on top of cream cheese mixture.
4. Spoon remaining cool whip on top of pudding layer.

quotable

"I call upon you to draw from the depths of your being to prove that we are a human race. To prove that our love outweighs our need to hate. That our compassion is more compelling than our need to blame. That our sensitivity to those in need is stronger than our greed. That our ability to reason overcomes our fear. And that at the end of each of our lives, we can look back and be proud that we have treated others with the kindness, dignity and respect that every human being deserves." - Elizabeth Taylor, in her 1993 Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award honorary Oscar acceptance speech.

soccer dreams in a floating village

How these boys living in a *floating* village went from being soccer fans to becoming a football club is so inspiring. Whatever challenges you face in life, if you think you can make a difference, you can.

quotable

Cancer, I've found, is a passport to intimacy. It is an invitation, maybe even a mandate, to enter the most vital arenas of human life, the most sensitive and the most frightening, the ones that we never want to go to but when we do go there, we feel incredibly transformed. -- Bruce Feiler, author, father, and cancer survivor.

lentil and vegetable stew with kale

Leo and I made this for the first time last night.

The herbes de Provence made for a delicate, slightly sweet soup that knocked our socks off. I was concerned that the kale would make the soup bitter, but removing the stalks also removes the bitterness. We topped this with fresh grated parmesan cheese and oyster crackers.

Ingredients
* 2 tablespoons olive oil
* 1 large onion, chopped
* 2 large carrots (8 to 9 ounces), peeled, chopped (1 1/4 cups)
* 1 medium celery root (celeriac), peeled, chopped (3 cups)
* 1 medium rutabaga, peeled, chopped (2 cups)
* 1 pound brown lentils, rinsed
* 1 tablespoon herbes de Provence
* 10 cups chicken stock
* 1 large bunch kale (about 9 ounces), ribs removed, leaves coarsely chopped

Preparation
Heat oil in large pot over high heat. Add onion and next 3 ingredients; sprinkle with salt and pepper and sauté until beginning to soften and brown, 10 to 11 minutes. Stir in lentils and herbes de Provence. Add broth and kale. Bring to boil, stirring to incorporate kale. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover with lid slightly ajar, and simmer until lentils are tender, stirring occasionally, about 20 minutes. Add more broth to thin, if desired. Season with salt and pepper. Serves 8.

PREP: 35 minutes
TOTAL: 55 minutes

Nutritional Information
One serving contains:
Calories (kcal) 280.5
%Calories from Fat 14.5
Fat (g) 4.5
Saturated Fat (g) 0.6
Cholesterol (mg) 0
Carbohydrates (g) 46.3
Dietary Fiber (g) 15.8
Total Sugars (g) 9.5
Net Carbs (g) 30.5
Protein (g) 16.8
Sodium (mg) 1005.5

Recipe adapted from the Bon Appétit Test Kitchen, March 2011.

quotable

The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along. - Jalal ad-Din Rumi

apple bread

I made this bread for the first time this morning. It was a hit with us and with our breakfast guests. Although the dough seems very thick, do not add additional liquid. The resulting cake is moist and light.

Prep Time: 20 Min | Cook Time: 40 Min

Ingredients
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon allspice
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 cup applesauce (unsweetened)
1 cup sugar
3/4 cup brown sugar, packed
2 eggs, beaten
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 cups apples - peeled, cored, and coarsely chopped

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350F.
2. In bowl, combine flour, cinnamon, baking soda, baking powder and salt; set aside. In large mixing bowl, combine oil, sugar, eggs, vanilla and apples. Fold dry ingredients into wet ingredients, stir until just moist. Note: dough will be thick, but do not add any more liquid.
   
3. Divide mixture between two greased 8-in. x 4-in. loaf pans.
   
4. Bake for 40-45 minutes or until bread is done. Cool for 10 minutes on wire rack before removing from pan.
   

Adapted from Apple Bread by Phyllis Herlocker

quotable

"Being who you are is one of the bravest and most rewarding experiences. So start immediately - as you can't imagine how much fun you'll have, until you do." -- , Eamonn, on the Born this Way blog

quotable

"Yes, some man will love you, child, because it's your nature. And I hope it will be somebody who loves you for who you are, and not for what he wants of you. We have a right to what we want." - DH Lawrence

quotable

"It may happen that a crab is caught with the shadow of a hand on its back, that the wind be imprisoned in a bit of knotted string. And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery." - E. Annie Proulx

better than grannie's creamed corn

We made this and couldn't get enough of it.

Better Than Grannie's Creamed Corn
Recipe courtesy Alton Brown

Prep Time: 10 min
Cook Time: 10 min
Yield: 3 cups

Ingredients

* 1/2 onion, diced
* 1 tablespoon butter
* 2 pinches kosher salt
* 8 ears fresh corn
* 1 sprig fresh rosemary, bruised
* 1 tablespoon sugar
* 1/4 teaspoon turmeric
* 2 tablespoons yellow cornmeal
* 1 cup heavy cream
* Fresh ground black pepper

Directions

In a saucepan over medium heat, sweat the onion in butter and salt until translucent.

In a large mixing bowl, place a paper bowl in the middle of the bowl. Resting the cob on the bowl in a vertical position remove only the tops of the kernel with a knife, using long smooth downward strokes and rotating the cob as you go. After the cob has been stripped, use the dull backside of your knife to scrape any remaining pulp and milk off the cob.

Add the corn and pulp mixture to the saucepan and cook over medium high until the juice from the corn has tightened. Add the rosemary. Sprinkle the corn with the sugar and turmeric. Stir constantly for about 2 minutes. Sprinkle the cornmeal onto the corn, using a whisk to combine well. Add the heavy cream and cook until the corn has softened, about 2 to 3 minutes. Remove the rosemary. Season with freshly ground black pepper.

in defense of the guilty, ambivalent, preoccupied western mom

In Defense of the Guilty, Ambivalent, Preoccupied Western Mom
Ayelet Waldman on the virtues of letting kids quit, have sleepovers and find their own way.
By AYELET WALDMAN
JANUARY 15, 2011
Here are some of the things that my four children of a Jewish mother were always allowed to do:

• Quit the piano and the violin, especially if their defeatist attitude coincided with a recital, thus saving me from the torture of listening to other people's precious children soldier through hackneyed pieces of the juvenile repertoire, plink after ever more unbearable plonk.

• Sleep over at their friends' houses, especially on New Year's Eve or our anniversary, thus saving us the cost of a babysitter.

• Play on the computer and surf the Internet, so long as they paid for their Neopet Usuki dolls and World of Warcraft abomination cleavers out of their own allowances.

• Participate in any extracurricular activity they wanted, so long as I was never required to drive farther than 10 minutes to get them there, or to sit on a field in a folding chair in anything but the balmiest weather for any longer than 60 minutes.

• Quit said extracurricular activities, especially if their quitting coincided with league finals that might have demanded participation on my part exceeding the requirements stated above.

In the days since this newspaper published Amy Chua's simultaneously entertaining and infuriating excerpt from her new book, "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother," my two elder children, 16 and 13, have devoted a remarkable amount of time to raging against the essay and crafting compelling and bombastic rebuttals to be delivered to Ms. Chua herself, should they ever encounter her.

I am more than a little astonished. I say with confidence that neither of my children has ever before bothered to read a single word of The Wall Street Journal. I don't think that I could have screamed or threatened them into doing so, not even if I'd tossed them outside in the middle of winter, to cower barefoot and freezing on the front step. So to Ms. Chua I express my gratitude. It seems to take a Chinese mother to force my Western kids to read the paper.

Were I crafting my own bombastic and compelling rebuttal to Ms. Chua, I might point out, as others have, that Asian-American girls aged 15 to 24 have above average rates of suicide. I might question the hubris of taking credit for success that is as likely to have resulted from the genetic blessings of musicality and intellect as from the "Chinese" child-rearing techniques of shrieking and name calling. But I have a feeling that she knows that.

More importantly, if I did write such a rebuttal, I'd risk being called a hypocrite by my own children. Sophie, my oldest, would remind me of the recent evening when I stared in stony silence at her report card, sniffing derisively at her father's happy congratulations.

"What?" she said. "I got 5 solid As."

I shrugged.

"Ayelet," my husband warned.

My daughter narrowed her eyes at me. She knew what was coming.

I pointed at the remaining two grades, neither a solid A. Though there was not the "screaming, hair-tearing explosion" that Ms. Chua informs us would have greeted the daughter of a Chinese mother, I expressed my disappointment quite clearly. And though the word "garbage" was not uttered, either in the Hokkien dialect or in Yiddish, it was only because I feared my husband's opprobrium that I refrained from telling my daughter, when she collapsed in tears, that she was acting like an idiot.

The difference between Ms. Chua and me, I suppose—between proud Chinese mothers and ambivalent Western ones—is that I felt guilty about having berated my daughter for failing to deliver the report card I expected. I was ashamed at my reaction. But here is another difference, one I'll admit despite being ashamed of it, too: I did not then go out and get hundreds of practice tests and work through them with my daughter far into the night, doing whatever it took to get her the A. I fobbed that task off on a tutor, something I can afford to do because my children reside in the same privileged world as Ms. Chua's.

I am, actually, grateful to Ms. Chua, and a little in awe of her. I expend far too much of my maternal energies on guilt and regret. Reading her essay definitely put some Chinese iron into my Nerf Western spine, and though I eventually apologized to my daughter for failing to acknowledge, right off the bat, all those tough classes in which she had excelled last semester, and for expressing my disappointment at the others too vigorously, I have also refused to back down from my expectation that she devote extra time to those two subjects in which she is "underperforming."

In her book, Ms. Chua tells a story of coercion that resulted in a certain kind of success with one of her daughters. Let me tell another kind of story. My Rosie is mildly dyslexic. By the time she was diagnosed, in second grade, she was lagging far behind her classmates. For years I forced her to spell words in the bathtub with foam letters, to do worksheets, to memorize phonemes and take practice tests. My hectoring succeeded only in making her miserable. Eventually, and totally out of character, she had even stopped loving school. She suffered from near-constant stomachaches and broke down in tears almost every day. At last we heard about a special intensive reading program that required students to spend four hours every day in a small room with an instructor, being drilled in letters, sight words and phonics. It sounded awful, but Rosie insisted on doing it. She loved books and stories. She wanted to read.

Every day when we picked her up, her face would be red with tears, her eyes hollow and exhausted. Every day we asked her if she wanted to quit. We begged her to quit. Neither her father nor I could stand the sight of her misery, her despair, the pain, psychic and physical, she seemed far too young to bear. But every day she refused. Every morning she rose stoically from her bed, collected her stuffies and snacks and the other talismans that she needed to make it through the hours, and trudged off, her little shoulders bent under a weight I longed to lift. Rosie has an incantation she murmurs when she's scared, when she's stuck at the top of a high jungle gym or about to present a current events report to her class. "Overcome your fears," she whispers to herself. I don't know where she learned it. Maybe from one of those television shows I shouldn't let her watch.

At the end of a grim and brutal month, Rosie learned to read. Not because we forced her to drill and practice and repeat, not because we dragged her kicking and screaming, or denied her food, or kept her from the using the bathroom, but because she forced herself. She climbed the mountain alone, motivated not by fear or shame of dishonoring her parents but by her passionate desire to read. She did it herself, without us, and it is no exaggeration to say that we were and remain stunned with pride. What's more, she came out of the experience with a sense of herself as a powerful, tenacious person, one who is so proud of having succeeded despite her dyslexia—"like Alexander Graham Bell, Winston Churchill and Albert Einstein," as she likes to say—that during her school's "Care Week," on her own initiative, she gave presentations to her classmates and to groups of other students about living with dyslexia.

I have a feeling that had one of Amy Chua's daughters suffered from a learning disability like Rosie's, Ms. Chua would have channeled her admirable perseverance into finding a solution that worked for her child. She would have been just as dogged and determined, but in an entirely different way. Roaring like a tiger turns some children into pianists who debut at Carnegie Hall but only crushes others. Coddling gives some the excuse to fail and others the chance to succeed. Amy Chua and I both understand that our job as mothers is to be the type of tigress that each of our different cubs needs.
—Ms. Waldman is the author of "Bad Mother" and the novel "Red Hook Road."

on breastfeeding

My good friend and former roommate had breast cancer a few years ago. She's now in the process of trying to adopt. People invariably say the wrong thing, and weird things. I thought her post on the things smart, kind, well-meaning people say about breastfeeding (to someone who's had a double mastectomy, no less) was awesome on many levels.

One reason it resonated is because breastfeeding was one of the hardest, most frustrating experiences of my life. Leo and I took breastfeeding classes while I was pregnant and were able to cite the myriad benefits of breastfeeding. I wanted to have a breastfed, happy baby and was planning to do so for at least a year. My mommy friends were all great about saying that it's a tough thing for you and the baby to learn and get right -- even if everyone thinks it's "the most natural thing in the world." They were also right to say to get help -- from lactation consultants, other moms, and support groups.

When Seba was two days old, I remember holding him at 3 a.m. in the NICU and trying to get him to feed. He was hungry and not latching well. With the pillows, rocking chair, footstool, IV, wires, monitors, and everything else, I found that I was about three hands short of what I needed to position him properly. As my back and shoulders throbbed from contorting myself into a position that was supposed to work for feeding him, I wished for the many hands of Shiva. I looked down to see the few precious drops I was producing (my milk hadn't come in completely) rolling off of Seba's cheek and into my hospital gown. That was the first time I completely lost it while trying to feed him. The silent tears were profuse and my swollen eyes hurt almost as much as my C-section incision and tweaked back when I struggled back to my bed.

Over the next few days, we tried again and again and again and had a little better luck. I also pumped every two hours to help stimulate and establish my production, and that was yielding better results. Still, things weren't working as well as I had hoped. By the end of the week, Leo growled at the nurses who would bring us privacy screens any time I was breastfeeding Seba in the nursery because I "might want more privacy".

In spite of our plans and our efforts, Seba never latched well. It might have been that he was bottle-fed for that first week of his life because he was in the NICU. Or it might have been the damn brace he was in for his hip dysplasia for the first six months of his life. Or it might have been my letdown. Or it might have been something else.

Yes, we saw the lactation consultant three times a week for about six weeks.
Yes, we tried a supplemental nursing system.
Yes, my kind seamstress mother-(s)in-law made a custom nursing pillow to try and get Seba in the perfect position to nurse despite the hip brace. She also drove me to lactation appointments and even lent a hand whenever I needed it to get Seba into the proper position while nursing.
Yes, my baby screamed at me and cried whenever he was put to a breast -- he loved my milk from a bottle, by the way.
Yes, my breasts leaked horribly at the forceful letdown.
Yes, I took fenugreek and blessed thistle and all the recommended homeopathic herbs and foods to help my milk production remain high.
Yes, I felt like a failure for not being able to do something so "natural".
Yes, I cried as my milk production tapered to nothing after I took supplements and pumped with a hospital-grade pump every 2-4 hours AROUND THE CLOCK for nearly 4 months.
And, yes, I finally learned to stop measuring my motherhood in ounces.

So, yes. As I told my roommate, skipping the hardest, most frustrating experience of motherhood is not necessarily a bad thing.

Today, I will feed Seba the last 3 ounces of the freezer stash of breastmilk. I'm grateful to have been able to give him what I could, but hope that I don't have the same issues with our next child. Beyond the emotional component of breastfeeding, there was the sheer exhaustion borne of spending 25 minutes every 2-4 hours pumping, and 25 minutes every 2-3 hours bottlefeeding our son. Leo was amazing in the process and helped a great deal. Still, when I realize that I basically doubled my sleep deprivation/ feeding time by having to pump and to feed, it's no wonder that I was a zombie for the fourth trimester.

For those who are interested, here's my friend's post on the topic:

Some Perks of Not Breast Feeding
Sometimes smart, kind, well-meaning people say stupid and insensitive things.

As an example, about 6 months ago I was doing some house-related shopping. The charming (no sarcasm intended) sales lady asked, "do you have or plan to have children?" At which point I gave her a quick explanation of my parental status. No kids yet. I'm adopting. Could happen tomorrow or in five years. And, oh yes, I've pretty much always wanted to adopt at least one kid -- my friends from high school are in no way shocked by this decision -- so when I was diagnosed and told this meant I was not allowed to get pregnant and take some of my post-chemo meds (you take them for 5 years) adoption was an easy and obvious choice. And, no, I did not have any eggs frozen or even consider that. "But you might be able to get pregnant later? Because, you should experience breast feeding if you can. It's such a great bonding experience." No, I'm not kidding. She didn't just talk about the joys of pregnancy, she specifically identified the joys of breast feeding. One minor problem with that: I had a double mastectomy. The only thing coming out of these guys is saline.

Even in my post-breast-cancer days, I've heard many stories about why breast feeding is just the best experience ever and how it really cements maternal bonds. Though, a good friend called me one day to say, "in case you were wondering, I hate breast feeding and wouldn't do it if I could get away with it." This, of course, got me thinking about possible benefits of my particular situation. As usual, if anyone else wants to share thoughts, please do so. And, no, you don't need to tell me about why breast feeding is good. I am actually pretty familiar with all of that.

(1) There is no reason I have to be the one to always get up in the middle of the night to feed the baby. A baby is a very compelling reason to get out of bed, and certainly I plan to take on my fair share of 3 a.m. feedings. But, I'll have less moments of mild resentment while I look over at my sleeping husband than the average new mommy.
(2) Speaking of this, along the lines of feeding=bonding, my husband will be seen as equally able of meeting essential needs in the eyes of our little one (who has no concept of $$$), and will get equal bonding opportunity. My husband is pretty nifty. I don't mind sharing with him. He deserves equal adoration.
(3) No need to pump, find a place to pump, find a place to store pumped milk, etc.
(4) No milk leaking onto my dry clean only work wardrobe. Also, no need to worry about leaking in front of a client, judge, boss, etc.

P.S. The woman carrying the baby in the cute little onesie at a breast cancer awareness march that says "I'm a breast man," probably didn't have a mastectomy.

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"If there is a heaven, I hope this is what it's like: free books and good company." - Karina Vesco

boys and their toys

Boys love their toys and their penises. So ... welcome to the Toylet.

SEGA Brings Gaming To Public Restroom Toilets

"SEGA recently announced that they are testing their Toylets male urinal video game at select locations around Tokyo. Toylets uses a pressure sensor located on the back of the urinal to measure the strength and location of your urine stream. A small LCD screen above the urinal allows you to play several simple video games including a simulator for erasing graffiti and a variation on a sumo wrestling match. At the end of a game, the screen displays advertisements. Whether you find the concept hilarious, disturbing, or disgusting, urinal video games are simply another way that interactive media could invade every part of our lives. It also shows that no space is safe from digital ads."

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"Decide that you want it more than you are afraid of it." ~ Bill Cosby

exactamente

Leo and I were talking to his family a few days ago about how we hope to raise Seba. He'll be bilingual (Spanish/ English) at home, and will study a third language, hopefully beginning in elementary school. Leo pointed out that Mandarin is the logical third language. Nicholas Kristof agrees.

"So, by all means, have your kids dive into the glamorous world of Mandarin. But don’t forget the language that will likely be far more important in their lives: el idioma más importante es Español!

¡Bien dicho, Señor Kristof!

Op-Ed Columnist: Primero Hay Que Aprender Español. Ranhou Zai Xue Zhongwen.
By NICHOLAS D. KRISTOF
Published: December 29, 2010

A quiz: If a person who speaks three languages is trilingual, and one who speaks four languages is quadrilingual, what is someone called who speaks no foreign languages at all?

Answer: an American.

Yet these days, we’re seeing Americans engaged in a headlong and ambitious rush to learn Chinese — or, more precisely, to get their kids to learn Chinese. Everywhere I turn, people are asking me the best way for their children to learn Chinese.

Partly that’s because Chinese classes have replaced violin classes as the latest in competitive parenting, and partly because my wife and I speak Chinese and I have tortured our three kids by trying to raise them bilingual. Chinese is still far less common in schools or universities than Spanish or French, but it is surging and has the “cool factor” behind it — so public and private schools alike are hastening to add Chinese to the curriculum.

In New York City alone, about 80 schools offer Chinese, with some programs beginning in kindergarten. And let’s be frank: If your child hasn’t started Mandarin classes by third grade, he or she will never amount to anything.

Just kidding. In fact, I think the rush to Chinese is missing something closer to home: the paramount importance for our children of learning Spanish.

Look, I’m a fervent believer in more American kids learning Chinese. But the language that will be essential for Americans and has far more day-to-day applications is Spanish. Every child in the United States should learn Spanish, beginning in elementary school; Chinese makes a terrific addition to Spanish, but not a substitute.

Spanish may not be as prestigious as Mandarin, but it’s an everyday presence in the United States — and will become even more so. Hispanics made up 16 percent of America’s population in 2009, but that is forecast to surge to 29 percent by 2050, according to estimates by the Pew Research Center.

As the United States increasingly integrates economically with Latin America, Spanish will become more crucial in our lives. More Americans will take vacations in Latin America, do business in Spanish, and eventually move south to retire in countries where the cost of living is far cheaper.

We’re already seeing growing numbers of Americans retire in Costa Rica, drawn by weather and lifestyle as well as low costs and good health care. We’ll also see more and more little bits of Florida that just happen to be located in Mexico, Panama or Dominican Republic.

Another reason to bet on Spanish is that Latin America is, finally, getting its act together. Of all regions of the world, it was arguably Latin America that rode the recent economic crisis most comfortably. That means that Spanish study does more than facilitate piña coladas on the beach at Cozumel. It’ll be a language of business opportunity in the coming decades. We need to turn our competitive minds not only east, but also south.

Moreover, Spanish is easy enough that kids really can emerge from high school with a very useful command of the language that they will retain for life, while Mandarin takes about four times as long to make the same progress. Chinese has negligible grammar — no singular or plural, no verb conjugations, no pesky masculine and feminine nouns — but there are thousands of characters to memorize as well as the landmines of any tonal language.

The standard way to ask somebody a question in Chinese is “qing wen,” with the “wen” in a falling tone. That means roughly: May I ask something? But ask the same “qing wen” with the “wen” first falling and then rising, and it means roughly: May I have a kiss?

That’s probably why trade relations are so strained between our countries. Our negotiators think they’re asking questions about tariffs, and the Chinese respond indignantly that kissing would be inappropriate. Leaving both sides confused.

In effect, Chinese is typically a career. Spanish is a practical add-on to your daily life, meshing with whatever career you choose. If you become a mechanic, you’ll be able to communicate better with some customers. If you’re the president, you’ll campaign more effectively in Texas and Florida.

China will probably be the world’s largest economy within our children’s lifetimes and a monumental force in every dimension of life. Studying Chinese gives you insight into one of the world’s great civilizations and creates a wealth of opportunities — plus, it’ll be a godsend if you’re ever called upon to pronounce a name like, say, Qin Qiuxue.

So, by all means, have your kids dive into the glamorous world of Mandarin. But don’t forget the language that will likely be far more important in their lives: el idioma más importante es Español!

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"If you want to build a ship, don't herd people together to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea." - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

conversations with seba, part 1

Seba: Achooo.
Mama: Salud!
Mama: aaAaachooOooO.
Seba: (Startled look) A-gooooo (big smile).