On the Move…

Hey y’all…I’ve moved to a self-hosted blog.  Come visit me at Guitar Picks and Apron Strings.  xoxox – ruby

Blog Love

Yeah, yeah…so I’ve fallen down on the blogging. It’s not easy to balance a laptop on a nursing newborn you know. And before I incur the Wrath of the Interwebs, I clearly mean “with” not “on.”

So, until I get back to the computer, let me leave you with a couple of things. First, here is a very awesome blog written by one of my very awesome and bestest friends. Check it out.

And second some food pron for you to gaze upon:

Hell yes, it’s a Texas Sheet Cake.

The Sleep of the Darned

Here we are. In that first few months with a new baby, when every waking moment (and almost all of them are waking) is an out-of-body experience and the house gets wrapped in a slipcover of prefolds, teeny t-shirts, socks, and blankets. And the washing machine is going nonstop yet all of your clothes still have spit-up or worse on them. And by “clothes” I mean the sweatpants with the paint on the ass and the Reverend tshirt you stole from your better half, because — let’s face it — nothing else fits and you’re sure as hell not going to wear maternity clothes.

But we’ve made it. It’s been almost 2 months and I think we’re finally getting the swing of life with 3 kids.

Oz is a sweet thing who loves sleeping, eating, and peeing all over hapless bystanders. While he definitely owns some crankypants and doesn’t like to be put down, I think it is safe to say he is colic-free (unlike certain other children I have made).

He gets a big crabby/marathon nursing session going in the evening that usually lasts until “bedtime.” And when I write “bedtime,” I mean the time at which my dear and lovely husband takes Oz for a drive so I can get a little baby-free real sleep. In a bed.

No, the baby isn’t sleeping through the night yet. At this point, no one in our house is sleeping through the night. K is plagued with allergies and growing pains (I’m not allowed to mention puberty. Nor the fact that he listens to his iPod at night and I have been awakened by his headphonesdeaf singing of the Shins and FoTC many, many times). Lu falls out of the bed due to the fact that she sleeps with no fewer than 36 “babies” and 536 books.

Oz will get at least one good 4 hour stretch in there, but he needs to eat — baby cheeks don’t enchubby themselves, you know. Until tonight, Mr. Hussy has been on Oz-watch from their male-bonding/Intro to Rock 101 drivetimes until the first waking. And then I take over on feeder alert until the birds, our next-door neighbor, and the sunlight return.

So yeah. Sleep? No. Not so much.

But tonight marks the beginning of a new era. Tonight, all 5 of us are tucked in our beds or at least
a bed. Well, we’re all in bedrooms, anyway. And most appear to be sleeping — I hear snoring (Mr. Hussy) and banging (Lu kicking books out of her bed) and the little goat sounds Oz makes when sort-of sleeping. K, however, is singing (DCFC, I believe).

But — and this is the important part — no one is crying.

And that’s *better* than sleep.

Born to Rock

Quote of the Day: (Luli) “Don’t turn that off — you know it’s my favorite.”
re: AC/DC

Happy Mothers’ Day!

…and a great big welcome to our newest creation, the Wee Baby Ozzy:

The Wee Baby Ozzy

It was a long and weird week, but we’re both doing fabulously.  Obvs I’m going to be blogging sporadically for a bit, but will share some of the the hilarity of hospitalized shenanigoats when I return.  Take care and don’t forget to hug a mother-like person today…xoxox – sdh

I’m Packin’…

It’s been a morning of dealing with clients via phone.  I am not thrilled about this.  I have a settlement that is taking WAY too long to get ironed out, opposing counsel who cannot return a phone call inside of 3 weeks, and a client who is batshit angry/crazy.  Note, these are 3 different cases.  And while I usually enjoy insane, shouty, hysterical voicemails over a mandatory HIPAA release that are left at 8:15 a.m. on my cell phone, I find little joy in them right now.  Between the lack of sleep, the fact that this bullshit should have been done months ago, and the GIANT FETUS doing the running man in my uterus, you could say I’ve lost my sense of humor.

I'm ALL You'll Ever Need...

So in the meantime, I’m going to try to peace out and think about getting my shit together and packing a hospital bag for myself.  Which, having been through this twice already, I can say is an exercise in futility and timewastery.  The only things you REALLY need to bring?  Lip balm and thick socks.  If you’re feeling organizey, toss in a razor and one of those scrubby mesh thingies and some GOOD body lotion.  Also some big sweats you never want to see again, a large zip up hoodie, and whatever low-cut maternity tshirt you hate the least.   If you are the connected type, make sure to bring your various chargers.  Batteries. And more socks.

And other, say, non-maternity clothes?  Yeah….no.  I remember that I brought my favorite hippie shirt and cut-off jeans to the hospital with me when I went in to have K.  Seriously? What the fuck was I thinking?  I ended up wearing the same outfit home that I wore coming in.  With Luli, I brought some nice new large pjs — which yes, they fit, but did I really want to wear them post-childbirth and ruin them forever?  No.

If you want to get something special to wear in the hospital while you lounge in soft-lit, halcyon maternal bliss, seriously, buy a nice LARGE tank top and a nice soft LARGE zip-up hoodie or cardigan type thingy.  Because really?  Everything else will either not fit or will just add to the confusion. If it’s your first time, don’t screw around with nursing bras at this point.  In fact, just wait with all the “nursing clothes” until you get home (I find “nursing clothes” to be utterly unnecessary; YMMV). Just wear a low-cut tank top that you can pull down.  Unless you’ve done it before, the last thing you need is be floundering around trying to figure out all the hidden snaps and flaps while strangers, family, and friends you’ve not yet met file in and out of your hospital room.

And really? The above advice focuses solely on the practical.  You should bring whatever you want.  It’s damn near impossible to predict how you will feel, emotionally and physically, post-birth.  You may want comfort things; you may just want to get the hell out of there.  Pack in some candy.  Some books.  Some pictures.  A little tasteful porn. Whatever.  Your friends will be in charge of sneaking in the tequila- and espresso-filled chocolates.

So really, just bring whatever the hell you want.  I’m going to go pack a back of socks.

Still Pregnant…

Yeah.  No baby yet.  It’s all good, though.

Last weekend, out of boredom and irritation, I decided that I absolutely could not stand to spend another second in maternity clothes.  They are scratchy and, like most things, not designed with my body in mind.  Last pregnancy, I had court appearances up until the day before I went into the hospital (and five weeks after).  So I spent most of my time in “business breeder” gear.  I refused to wear a maternity suit, though.  I have standards. But this time I had very few “lawyer” appearances while giantly pregnant. So, I packed up 98% of the Traveling Maternity Box of Goodness and Delight and will be sending it onward to the next lucky preggo recipient.  In doing so, I found The Pants.  The Magical Maternity Pants, that I think are actually pajama bottoms.  Does that stop me from wearing them ’til they are covered in chocolate and almond milk?  No.  I shall wear them FOREVER.

I’ve kept a couple of things out, but really my go-to pregnancy uniform these days is one of several stretched-out scoop-neck t-shirts, a cardigan, and one of a stack of yoga-waist skirts I got from Old Navy many years ago and The Pants.  At night I slip into my $5 velour yoga pants and whatever of my husband’s t-shirts looks the cleanest. None of these items are maternity.  Which means that all of them are soft, reasonably well-made, and not some tacky shade of puce.  None of them really fit either, but I figure if I can get most of my bits covered, I’m fine to go out in public.

And while last week I was a bit ragey and determined to be unpregnant; this week?  I’ve reached a zen place with it all.  After being head down and moving for weeks, the wee fetus Ozzy decided to get all transverse on me.  Which, by the way, feels really awesome.  And when I say ‘awesome,’ I mean pointy and gross. But on the happytimes side, there was cobbler AND I could eat it without getting sick.

And I did this for one glorious, quiet hour:

Note that I am wearing The Pants.

Going out in public these days mainly consists of going to the doctorbs.  The “B” is for “bwhen am I going to have this baby?”  Apparently no one has any clue. The good news is the perinatologist has now downgraded Ozzy from GIANTMONSTERBABY to large-ish but still reasonably sized baby.  Ozzy measured 6 lbs, 14 oz yesterday.  Which, while still bigger than either of my other two at delivery, is not terrifying.  Anyhow, both docs were all ‘whatever’ as in I could have this baby tomorrow, or anytime over the next 4 weeks.

In the meantime, I think I will head back to the hammock…

Berry Awesome Cobbler

While I dearly love food — eating, cooking, growing, canning, baking, shopping, ogling, etc. — there are really only a few desserts that turn me into a dangerous fork-wielding maniac.  I generally prefer savory food to sweet.  I can’t put down a really good, crusty bread.  I will eat a giant bowl of tabouli without pausing to breathe.  Cheese, bacon, cabbage, nuts — I can’t be stopped.  But sweets?  I love making them but generally find that I’m sated with just a small bit of the finished product.

Except for two very specific dishes.  Tiramisu we can discuss at another time, but suffice it to say I make very very good tiramisu.  Today I want to discuss cobbler.  Specifically berry cobbler.

I love berry cobbler in a way that would sustain a marriage for 50 passionate years.  But mind you, it has to be GREAT.  There is nothing worse that a shitty, soggy, tastes-like-paste cobbler.  And I have been angered by plenty of these.

The best cobbler, to my belly, is also the simplest.  And the best recipe is Meme’s Blackberry Cobbler, from the very excellent cookbook Bon Appetit, Y’all by Virginia Willis.  Even Martha agrees.

I pretty much follow the recipe, though I make changes depending on what I have available.  For example, today I desperately wanted cobbler but also desperately wanted to not go to the grocery store.  So I used three cups of frozen mixed berries and tossed them with 1/3 cup of sugar mixed with 1 T corn starch because they were *really* juicy. (NB:  I generally hate corn starch and do whatever I can to avoid it, but sometimes I give in and use it when soupiness would ruin the dish).  I also used bread flour today because I ran out of AP and, for the first time in decades, I did not have any more in the pantry because for some weird reason I intentionally bought rye flour instead of AP last week.  Yep.  I make awesome shopping decisions while pregnant.

Anyhoodle, here’s the basic recipe.  You can use fresh or frozen berries.  You can use other fruits, too (peaches, cherries, etc.).  I usually add lemon zest to berries, fresh grated nutmeg to cherries, and almond extract instead of vanilla for peaches.  ENJOY!

Berry Awesome Cobbler

Meme’s Blackberry Cobbler from Virginia Willis’ Bon Appetit, Y’all

Serves 6 to 8

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
• 4 cups fresh blackberries
• 1 cup sugar, plus more for sprinkling
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• Pinch of fine sea salt
• 1 cup whole milk
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• Whipped cream, creme fraiche, or ice cream, for serving

Directions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Melt butter in a large cast-iron skillet or ovenproof baking dish, in the oven, 5 to 7 minutes.

Meanwhile, place blackberries in a large bowl. Using a potato masher, mash blackberries to release their juices. If blackberries are tart, sprinkle with sugar.

In another large bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt. Add 1 cup sugar, milk, and vanilla extract; mix until well combined. Remove skillet from oven and add melted butter to flour mixture; stir to combine. Pour mixture into skillet and pour blackberries and their juices into the center.

Transfer skillet to oven and bake until top is golden brown and a cake tester inserted into the batter comes out clean, about 1 hour. Serve hot, warm, or at room temperature with whipped cream, creme fraiche, or ice cream.

Pink Chocolate

The other day Luli informs me that she wants to make pink chocolate cupcakes.  So, we did.  I was planning to write a whole post about making your cupcakes moist (RRRAWWWRRR!!!), but I apparently have a poppy seed stuck under my space bar from eating on the computer (yeah, I know — unless you want to tell me how to get it out, I don’t want to hear it).  Also, I’m having some wicked braxton-hicks contractions — like nonstop.  Also, the Fetus has moved such that I can actually eat for the first time in weeks, so I’m going to go devour a box of Milk Duds.

In the meantime, here are our gorgeous Pink Chocolate Cupcakes:

Pink Ladies

SDH PINK CHOCOLATE CUPCAKES

Cupcakes

• 3/4 cup cocoa powder
• 1 T powdered espresso or coffee
• 1 cup boiling hot water
• 1 1/2 cups sifted cake flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
• 1 cup and 1 T granulated white sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 1/3 c sour cream
• 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 375.  Lightly butter, or line 20-ish muffin cups with paper liners.  In a small bowl, stir the cocoa powder, the espresso, and the boiling hot water until smooth. Let cool to room temperature.

In another bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt.

Then in the bowl of your electric mixer, beat the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating until smooth. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed. Beat in the sour cream and vanilla extract. Add the flour mixture and beat only until incorporated. Then add the cooled cocoa mixture and mix until smooth.

Fill each muffin cup about two-thirds full with batter and bake for about 16 – 20 minutes or until risen, springy to the touch, and a toothpick inserted into a cupcake comes out clean. (Do not over bake or the cupcakes will be dry.) Remove from oven and place on a wire rack to cool.  Frost after the cupcakes have completely cooled.

Frosting

• 8 oz white chocolate, finely chopped
• 8 oz  cream cheese, softened
• 4 T unsalted butter, softened
• 3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2 cups confectioners sugar

In the top of a double boiler or a heatproof bowl, melt the white chocolate, stirring often. Remove from the heat once melted and let cool to lukewarm. Transfer the melted white chocolate to a large bowl, and add the cream cheese, butter and vanilla. Beat together at medium speed until you have a smooth sauce. Add the confectioners sugar and beat until smooth.  Tint with red or pink dye (I use Wilton’s).  Or don’t.

Lowered Expectations

When I was pregnant with my first, I obsessively read every book on pregnancy and childbirth I could get from the library.  I mostly focused on the more “medical” books, but I also read a far amount of the schlock, as well — probably because as an expectant single mom, I felt a desire to belong that was normally absent from my psyche.

I thought that the ‘What To Expect’ books were horribly condescending and really kind of crappy to anyone who wasn’t a white, hetero, married, non-poor, etc. etc. etc.  I honestly found the book that was written by Jimmy Iovine’s wife to be more helpful and less judgmental.  Because seriously — if ANYONE ever “gave me a look” when I ordered dessert at a restaurant while pregnant, I would be across that table so fast they wouldn’t remember anything but a blur of pregnant fury.

Bloody show, indeed.

My opinion hasn’t changed much and I really haven’t read any pregnancy books since then. And aside from Hip Mama and Mothering, I’ve found most pregnancy/parenting magazines to be utterly void of anything helpful or interesting.  Nor am I the type to hang out at pregnancy websites unless I am looking for a very specific answer to a very specific question.  I’d much rather troll around GFY or io9.  I mean, I get that most of the appeal is the excitement of being pregnant and wanting to share, but I sort of feel like I’ve already done enough research and am ready to just focus on practice.

So, I exist in a pregnancy bubble.  I’ve got everything I need baby-wise.  I have bins of diapers and clothes and I’m part of a circle of ladies that have been shuttling around an ever-growing heap of maternity clothes for about 6 years now.  A quick peek down my shirt assures me I can feed the baby.  As for the rest, I generally just hope that the mechanics of pregnancy and childbirth haven’t changed too much since the last one.

Anyhow, I had an unusually long wait to be seen at Dr. YoureHavingAGiantBaby’s office yesterday.  The tv was running some weird ad/show on repeat, I’d failed to find anything interesting to read via my blackberry, and my husband had quit responding to my text messages (probably because I was mainly just updating him on how many times I’d peed).  So, I picked up a copy of some parenting magazine.

Holy shitballs, y’all.

It was about 11% “interviews” with CelebrityMoms like the wife of that dude from Creed and 89% advertisements-that-looked-like-articles for crazyass crap like this:

Yes, those are holes over the boobs.  It’s like the opposite of pasties.  But WHY?  It’s advertised as a garment to ‘hide your unsightly belly while nursing.’  They should have spun it as a garment that will ham-fistedly advise your partner that sexy times are GO.

And really, most of the ad-ticles were for utterly unnecessary and perplexing things.  Or they were for books and products that would show you how to be a skinny pregnant bitch who is a tiger in the sack and wears 4 inch heels at all times and is confused for a model.  While all the “interviews” were with women whose jobs consist of being sexy, having gobs of money, and being utterly out of touch with the way that 99% of people live.

I mean, I GET IT.  We, the pregnant polloi, are not doing it right.

When you are pregnant — especially for the first time — it’s almost like puberty all over again.  You have to get to know your new body, your new gender/sexual identity, and your news feelings — both emotional and physical.  It’s a weird and disconcerting time.  Not to mention that around the bend is an entirely new source of fear and anxiety — parenthood.

And really, the LAST thing any woman needs on top of that is to be told that she “has to be” skinny/sexy/confident/energetic/happy/taut or else she will be embarrassed/ashamed/deficient/guilty/weak.  But yet that is the capitalism of American pregnancy, isn’t it?  There is only a handful of “right” ways to be pregnant, but don’t worry, we have an infinite supply of things you can buy to get there.

Seriously, fuck off already.

Expectant mothers, please feel free to be exactly and whatever the hell kind of pregnant person and new parent you want to be.

And if that involves wearing a the tank equivalent of crotchless panties, more power to you.