Heather's Handmade Life

I’m like, a chef … or something

Posted on January 21, 2011 by Heather Laura Clarke

Then and now

Posted on January 21, 2011 by Heather Laura Clarke

Freezer Feast 2011

Posted on January 19, 2011 by Heather Laura Clarke

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I am about to do the impossible.

For me, at least.

Our family is going to attempt to get through the next 31 days without buying (ALMOST) anything at the grocery store.

This sounds crazy to me, because even though Darling Husband is the official grocery shopper of our family, I am the queen of “We don’t have any groooooceries! You need to go to the storrrrrrre! I’m so hunnnnnngry!” (Yeah, I really am that annoying. But I am also very delightful.)

I am also guilty of “not seeing” the piles of food we DO have. I scope out the fridge pretty well, but I’m terrible for not seeing stuff in the freezer, deep freeze and cabinets. Or, if stuff stays there too long, I sort of … lose interest. God, this sounds terrible, writing it all out. But I do. I love new, shiny stuff, fresh from the grocery store! Packaging! And newness! And unopened-ness!

And you know what? This has resulted in a heck of a lot of stuff that hasn’t been getting eaten.

So today, totally inspired by John and Sherry over at Young House Love, I went through our cabinets, freezer, and deep freeze. I made an extensive list of everything, and will use the list to make sure we’re eating these poor, forgotten-about items.

The rules:

We will continue to buy essentials like milk, eggs, butter, fresh fruit and vegetables, etc. as needed
We will continue to buy Diet Coke and potato chips, so that I don’t kill myself/someone/everyone
We will, of course, continue to buy all things Baby Boy needs (his cereal, Cheerios, etc.), although he probably has enough frozen purees to last the month without me needing to make more
We will buy fresh ground beef and chicken if it’s needed to “go with” one of the items (Hamburger Helper would be a pretty sorry sight without ground beef)

What we’ve got to work with …

Meats

Breaded chicken breasts (3)
Cheddar sausages (5)
Burgers (4)
Sirloin meatballs (15)
Meatloaf (1)
Meatballs in sauce (20)
Chicken strips (16)
Pepperoni (1 stick)
Tuna (1 can)

Vegetables

Green beans
Broccoli
Cauliflower
Corn (frozen)
Corn (canned)
Baby carrots
Green chilies

Fruits

Blueberries
Mixed strawberry/blueberries
Mixed strawberry/blueberries

Breakfast foods

White bread (1 loaf)
Whole-wheat bread (1 loaf)
Oatmeal brown bread (1 loaf)
Waffles (8)
Hashbrowns (1 bag)
Rice Krispies (1 box)
Raisin Bran (1 box)
Pancake mix (2 boxes)
Bran muffin mix (1 bag)
Oats
Oat bran
Flaxseed

Quick meals

French fries (1 bag)
Pizza Pops (8)
Bagel Bites (40)

Drinks

Coffee (3 cans, 1 bag)
Tea (with caffeine)
Tea (caffeine-free)
White Grape Juice (1 can)
Apple juice (2 cans)

Desserts/Snacks

Strawberry Rhubarb pie (1)
Freezies
Popsicles
Cornettos (3)
Saltines (3 packets)
Triscuits (1 box)

Pasta/Rice

Spaghetti (1 box)
Rotini (1 box)
Wild rice packet (1)
Hard taco shells (24)
Soft taco shells (12)
Pizza kit (makes 2 pizzas)
Hamburger Helper (2 boxes)
Kraft Dinner (4 boxes)
Perogies (1 box)

Misc.

Turkey gravy (2 cans)
Taco seasoning packet (1)
Salsa packets for tacos (3)
Breadcrumbs (1 canister)
Peanut butter (2 kg)
Onion soup mix (1)
Tomato sauce (1 jar)
Crushed tomatoes (1 can)
Cheddar cheese soup (1)
Beef bouillon cubes

Lots of food, right? I have to say that I’m already liking that it’s so organized. I never know what’s in the deep-freeze, because it’s in our storage room, so this writing-it-all-down habit might continue past these 31 days.

Wish me luck — and feel free to do it, too!

Mormon Mommy Blogs show us a new kind of happiness

Posted on January 18, 2011 by Heather Laura Clarke

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This is the best article I have read in a long time. Take five minutes and read it — it’s awesome:
http://www.salon.com/life/feature/2011/01/15/feminist_obsessed_with_mormon_blogs/index.html

Here’s a snippet:

There’s been a lot of talk in recent years about “the New Domesticity” — an increasing interest in old-fashioned, traditionally female tasks like sewing, crafts and jam making. Some pundits see this as a sign that young women yearn to return to some kind of 1950s Ozzie and Harriet existence, that feminism has “failed,” that women are realizing they can’t have it all, after all. That view is utterly nonsense, in my opinion, but I do think women of my generation are looking to the past in an effort to create fulfilling, happy domestic lives, since the modern world doesn’t offer much of a road map. Our parents — divorced, stressed-out baby boomers — are hardly paragons of domestic bliss. Nor are the Gen X “Mommy War” soldiers, busy winging snowballs of judgment at each other from across the Internet. (Formula is poison! Baby wearing is child abuse!)

I totally identify with the writer. I became equally as obsessed with these kinds of blogs when I was plagued with Baby Fever. Oh, those were the days. I probably set records for the amount of blog-reading and baby-name-site-perusing I did.

You name it, I read it. Blogs about happy stay-at-home moms who craft and bake and sew and organize and paint and clean and invent new recipes, all while doing fun projects with their kids and appreciating their loving husband. Blogs like this absolutely paint a picture of the kind of life I aspire to have — and it seems a lot of other women feel that way, too!

Is it possible that reading these blogs increased my desires to get pregnant, be a good wife, sew throw pillows and curtains, make homemade baby food, sew baby clothes, and be a stay-at-home mom? Maybe. Or maybe I always had those desires, and these blog showed me that it was OK not to be a corporate take-over-the-world type — the way girls my age we taught to aspire to be. Either way, I agree with the writer of the article — what is so wrong with this?

I am seeing people in my generation embracing the old-fashioned, the traditional. But it doesn’t mean we don’t also want to be successful in another field (I do), or that we are failed feminists (I’m not). I think it’s a matter of following your heart, and I am happy to say that I am.

No boob for you!

Posted on January 15, 2011 by Heather Laura Clarke

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I thought I knew a lot about breastfeeding, after doing it night and day for seven whole months. But I learned something new last week.

Namely … it sucks for everyone when you’re forced to NOT do it for 24 hours.

I had day surgery on Wednesday (Aww, you’re sweet to be concerned. Please don’t send flowers — I’m allergic). Darling Husband took me to the hospital at 8:30 a.m., and we weren’t home until 7:30 p.m. Little Sis was a top-notch babysitter when we were gone, and Baby Boy (thankfully) napped, took bottles and ate his meals like a pro.

The problem started when I got home from the hospital.

Well, technically, it started in the hospital.

I’d done a ton of research (read: Googling) about having day surgery while breastfeeding, and wanted to find out how the various drugs would affect it — how long would everything stay in my system, how long would I have to pump-and-dump, etc. I was hoping I could arrive at the hospital armed with some knowledge of the breastfeeding/surgery nightmare.

Long story short? Doctors, nurses and pharmacists subscribe to the CYA theory (Cover Your Ass) — they will tell you to pump-and-dump for 24-48 hours after taking basically any drug, just in case. Because no one really knows how stuff affects breast milk, since nursing mamas aren’t exactly signing up for clinical trials. Sigh.

During the consultations before the actual surgery began, I kept bringing up the fact that I was breastfeeding, and that I wanted to be able to nurse a few hours after surgery if it was safe — meaning it was possible to get by without the crazy heavy-duty meds.

The doctors were extremely supportive, and ended up giving me a different kind of anesthetic than they were planning, because it would be out of my system immediately. It meant I would be completely awake during the surgery, but I didn’t care. Not having to pump-and-dump for a day was totally worth it.

But after the surgery was a different story. The doctor had written me a prescription for the heavy stuff (hydromorphone) “just in case,” but said I could try just taking Tylenol and Advil if the pain wasn’t too bad. I was in pain once the anesthesia wore off, but determined to just take the milder drugs (Tylenol and Advil) if I could stand it.

I was surprised when the nurses kept trying to force the heavier stuff on me. They pressed me, saying, “Why won’t you take it?” and I kept explaining that my baby would be upset if he couldn’t nurse in the middle of the night, and that it would be so hard (on both of us) for me to hold him and have him struggle to nurse without being allowed.

I also said something about how it would be hard on my husband, to deal with a hysterical baby refusing a bottle all night, and that was a mistake. They instantly switched into feminist mode, and tried to badger me by saying,” So what? Your husband can deal with it!” Crap. Backtrack! That was just one of the reasons, people.

Before I was released, the pain was so bad that I did end up taking a hydromorphone. I was really upset, even disappointed with myself. The pain was horrible. I was exhausted. I was starving — having not eaten since 10 p.m. the night before. I missed my baby terribly. And now I wouldn’t be able to nurse him until the following day (or whenever the drugs were out of my system).

The nurses kept saying, “You have to take care of yourself first. Your baby will be fine with your husband.” I knew that, and felt like screaming at them. Of course I knew Baby Boy would take a bottle, but the idea of having to keep my distance — when I was missing him intensely — was absolutely crushing.

Of course, as soon as I came in the door, Baby Boy was nuzzling and struggling at my shirt. And just as I knew it would, it broke my heart to have someone take him away from me before he got too upset. Little Sis held him in the other room while I pumped yet another round of breast milk to be dumped.

(Sidenote: If you’ve ever breastfed, you understand how annoying it is to let even one ounce be poured down the drain! I dumped 24 ounces during that day/night, and it was awful — especially knowing there was probably nothing wrong with it. My mom suggested we donate the milk to a meth clinic for mothers. She’s pretty funny.)

Little Sis got Baby Boy to take a bottle at bedtime, and he went to sleep. However, when he woke up two hours later, he was not so agreeable.

He was OK when Darling Husband picked him up, but when they settled in the rocking chair with a bottle, and he realized Darling Husband was not bringing him to me, he screamed bloody murder. I cried in our bedroom, listening to his shrieks over the monitor.

I was especially upset because the stupid hydromorphone was preventing me from breastfeeding, and it hadn’t even worked. The pain was the same as ever, so I didn’t take another. I just cried and cried and cried, and started sobbing down the hall, “I miss him!” and “Please! Just let me try! Please!” Poor Darling Husband.

He gave it a good try, but after a while, he brought Baby Boy and the bottle to me. It was tricky, because Baby Boy was snuffling and trying to get at my goods, but I was finally able to sneak the bottle into his mouth and distract him by kissing his face nonstop, and whispering to him like I always do. And he drank it! Then Darling Husband would take him back to his room, I’d pump-and-dump, and we’d go back to sleep … for like an hour.

We went through this routine during all of the nighttime feedings. Darling Husband kept insisting that he would try to give him the bottle, but I refused. I had no doubt Baby Boy would take the bottle, but I was a blubbery mess and I wanted my babyyyyyy. And if I couldn’t give him exactly what he wanted, I’d at least feel comforted by giving him a bottle and holding him.

When Baby Boy’s nap at 10 a.m. rolled around, I was able to nurse him — thanks to the amazing help I got from calling Motherisk, I found out hydromorphone only stays in your system for 10.5 hours. Baby Boy, Darling Husband and I all breathed a sigh of relief. Things were back to normal, and I don’t think we’ll ever take breastfeeding for granted again!