Mamalicious in the City

I keep trying to work through my present state — to mold it into something new and improved.  There are things about this loss for which I’m actually grateful.  It affirmed for me all of the reasons why I married my husband.  And it reminded me that life is too short to worry about the little things, or to put something unimportant before myself, my family and my friends.

I try not to get lost in sadness or bitter sentiments.  I think I do well most days.

And there is a lot to be thankful for in my life.  We had a really nice Pesach this year with friends and family.  I was adventurous.  I made gefilte fish from scratch.  It tastes surprisingly similar to jarred gefilte fish, with an added bonus of picking through raw fish for a couple of hours.  On the other hand, the homemade matzoh ball soup was a hit and absolutely worth it.   

I’m also adding two new recipes to my stable.  This Israeli-inspired cornish game hen recipe is a nice contrast to the bland traditional Ashkenazi Jewish dishes. 

Next year I might skip the potato rosti, although my husband liked it. 

This charoset is the best I have ever tasted.  I added cardamom, and I also used a red sparkling wine (La Sera Red Ambrosia) in place of Manischevitz.  Full disclosure: it’s not kosher!  Look, I could barely get the pork out of my house by the time the matzoh came in. 

Speaking of pork, I think it’s pork belly time.  I might have to jet down to the butcher shop in Del Ray to get some. 

I’m also on the warpath to get our garden in shape.  The front yard is getting there, and I’ve planted mint, sage, lavender, thyme, basil, strawberries, cabbage, broccoli rabe, garlic and lettuce.  This weekend I want to start clearing out the bricks in the backyard patio so we can start garden phase two. 

I’ll have to post some pictures.  It’s quite a project to get this little rowhouse in shape.  E just figured out that we live in a rowhouse actually, and is completely tickled by it.  Speaking of e, he’s turning six next month!  Yikes.  Where did the time go?  I am hopeful he’ll have a brother or sister before he turns seven.  I had always imagined he’d be four or five, but life happens. 

April is going to be a busy month for us.  My sister is getting married.  I’ll still have to write my speech!  Busy, busy, busy.

I just watched a Discovery Network special on Radical Parenting.

Yawn. First of all, attachment parenting is hardly radical. At least not in my elitist urban universe. The basic concept of attachment parenting is completely obvious. Meet your child’s needs.  As opposed to the rest of us who just chuck them a bag of cheetos and hope for the best.  Baby-wearing, breastfeeding, cosleeping and elimination communication. Most of this has become kind of mainstream.

Even if you don’t officially practice elimination communication, I would guess that you probably potty trained by, gasp, talking to your child. I know that there are formula-feeding, crib-sleeping, diaper loving parents who lock their kids into a stroller and cackle maniacally for good measure, but I don’t meet many of them. Most parents I know do a little of this and a little of that, and it all comes out in the wash.

They also covered gender neutral parenting. That’s a good one. I tried hard to parent in a gender neutral way, and dutifully bought my kid baby dolls and play kitchens. He loved the kitchen. The doll was usually at the bottom of his toy bin. Today he loves X-Men and Bakugan, although he occasionally expresses love for the color pink.

Finally, “unschooling.” You got me. That seems radical. No rules. No discipline. No hierarchy? That seems like a frightening prospect, although it’s tempting to just let it all go and see what happens. According to Freakonomics we’re all pretty worthless anyway. On the other hand, I have no idea what we’d do all day in our unschool. Evidently there are no rules about bathing, the parents simply express disinterest in cuddling which eventually prompts a run in with water.  Anarchy!  That really does blow my mind.

E was sick last week.  At four am, he woke me up and needed more medicine and water.  I started to think about what I would do if anything ever happened to him.  I would just lie down and die.  That would be it. 

I mean, part of me feels like, my God, how amazing is it that there are any healthy children in this world.    How does that happen?

Last week I had my follow up doctor’s appointment.  It went well actually.  Trisomy 18 is very rare, and while there is a type that can be passed genetically, that’s even more rare.  I believe they are testing the fetal tissue to confirm that it is not that type.  Anyway, he felt strongly that lightening doesn’t strike twice and that we should just try dinner and a movie.  Weird, ’cause I thought sex had to be involved.  Ba dum dum! 

The doctor told me to make a preconception appointment with my regular OB  in a few months.  For some reason I bristled at the suggestion of a pre-conception appointment.  I was in the happy go lucky pregnancy club!  That was me!  That was us!  But I got kicked out.  Now I’m someone who talks about trying with what seems like the whole world.  Well, I’m 35.  Life carries on.  What can you do?  That’s the least of our worries, of course.  We just want everything to go well next time. 

In the meantime, weirdly, I’m nesting.  This morning I made apple pancakes.  Last week I made apple cider slow-cooked pork shoulder with carmelized onions, and apple bread pudding (yes, we do have a lot of apples).  I’m going to make banana cupcakes with E later today. 

It’s snowing outside.  Cleaning, cooking, rinse and repeat.