Happy Holidays

May whomever bring you whatever you deserve! 

Happy holidays from all of us...

We'll be back in the New Year...

We're here...

We've had a big few weeks.

We've changed continents; negotiated baby* jet lag; knocked out an entire list of Christmas presents armed with 90 minutes, the magic of the internets and a highly abused credit card; and sampled the fine cuisines of more than eleven different countries, all of which can be found within three miles of our swanky** Atlanta digs.

And the overall change has been extreme in the weirdest ways.  Once the jet-lag shook out, settling back into the US has been easier than expected.  Really, it's just like we're back from a two year vacation.  It was great in so many different ways, but we're back home now.  There are lots of transitions to come, but right now, it's all good.

The biggest culture shock thus far has been in driving.***  For instance, in Norway, the speed limits are much much lower--90kph (55mph) on the highway--and they are firm, with giant fines, almost impossible to contest.  Here, I had forgotten that the speed limits are much more "suggestions" rather than actual laws.****

And in the city, it's worse.

I follow the speed limit laws there, too.

And there's more to come, but we've been overwhelmed with it all, but slowly but surely, we're getting settled in...


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*As in "experienced by an actual baby," not as in "a small amount of."  There is a big difference between the two.  Trust. 


**And I use the word "swanky" in the most ironic way possible, which really is pretty close to the  opposite of swanky.  To be accurate, I mean the two bedroom suite at the resident inn where the three of us are headquartered.  


***Other than the smiley people. 


****They are laws, but no one follows them.

Babies and Goats

I just showed this clip* to Elliot.

Now he wants a pet goat for Christmas, which really I am sort of okay with...


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*It's "Babies: A Documentary" and no, he doesn't watch tv all the time.

Milo and Lillie are on their way

We've been in the moving process for a while, but until this morning, it's been all paperwork and electronic plans.

We've filled out custom forms and picked up Elliot's medical records and made hotel and airline reservations, but today it really feels like it's all really started.

Today Milo and Lillie were picked up.  Milo is about 100 pounds and Lilie is about 60 pounds, so their airline crates are too big for any plane that flies in and out of the Stavanger airport.

So, in the exact opposite way they arrived, they left this morning.

Yesterday, a man drove from Oslo, spent the night at a hotel here, then came by this morning to drive them around the country today.  And tomorrow morning he will put them on a plane to Atlanta.

They will arrive sometime on December 2nd and will be taken to what I like to call "sleep away camp" where they will stay until about early January or so when we are somewhat settled in our house.

It's kind of odd that our dogs will be back in the United States before we are.

I have really mixed feelings* about leaving, but just today, Elliot and I had been in town for his last check-up and a great leaving lunch with some friends.  We were walking back to our car and we ran into some of our dearest friends.

Instead of just heading home, we sat and visited for much of the rest of the afternoon.

I'm not sure how often that will happen back in Atlanta.

So if you happen to be anywhere near a kennel in Southwest Atlanta over the next month or so, stop by if you have a minute and say hello.

I'd hate for our dear hunds to be lonely.




*In the ideal world, we would have stayed another year.  Our friends are fantastic and the travel has been  wonderful, but I miss the US and most of what that entails.  And we miss family like crazy, plus dear Elliot needs to know his cousins...

Happy Thanksgiving, Peoples!

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.*

(This is Husband's Turkey Day card.)

I love Thanksgiving.  It's a day of good food eaten with people you love unemcumbered by present pressure.  There is usually some kind of drama, as there is when people are in big groups, but that drama almost always gets worked out and becomes a funny memory.  Mainly, to me, it's all about taking a minute to be grateful for all the good things.

Also, I LOVE the fried turkey**, next to key lime pie, it's my very favorite food in the world.  Seriously.

But in years when I haven't made it Georgia for the holiday, I've had some great ones as well.

My sister and I were guests of LisaD's family Thanksgiving in Brooklyn the morning after we spent happy, chilly hours watching the Macy's balloons getting blown up next to the Museum of Natural History on the Upper West Side.  I hosted a friends' Thanksgiving in my tiny apartment in the West Village complete with a champage fountain.  And this year is going to be great, too.

Husband, Elliot and I have been invited to have Thanksgiving at our best friends' home here in Stavanger.  It's happening tomorrow night and there will be the requisite turkey*** and ham and best of all, assorted goodies and important ingredients imported all the way from Denver, smuggled**** in a suitcase carried by an American who has come all the thousands of miles for a real Norwegian-style holiday.

We couldn't be more excited about it.

But tonight, we're having our own little family Thanksgiving---not with turkey, but with Asian BBQ'd pork and cheesy potatoes.  The dishes may not be the "appropriate" ones, but the thankfulness for our good things and happiness is all there.


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*That, and other peoples' birthdays.

**If you're not familiar with it, imagine this:
Take a thawed turkey and a special turkey hypodermic needle.  Then shoot the turkey full of buttery cajun goodness all underneath its turkey skin.  Then drop it into boiling peanut oil. Remove it from the oil about 45 minutes later and enjoy its cajun, buttery goodness.  And also enjoy the fact that it's less calories and more healthy than the turkeys cooked in the oven for hours and hours.  Seriously.  (AMENDED---I actually looked it up.  According to the American Dietetic Association, with the skin on, fried turkey has two more fat grams than the same serving size of conventionally prepared turkey.  Take the skin off and it's less because very little of the peanut oil soaks in...Of course there are lots of mitigating factors...ie the amount of butter you inject but that is often a wash because a conventional turkey is rubbed with it and then soaks in it for hours.  Also fried turkey is not dry and is extra tasty, so there's that....)

***Not fried, but prepared by an Englishman who knows what he's doing.  Don't be sad for me, I'll get the fried goodness at Christmas, so all is well in my world.

****If you are the custom authorities reading this, don't believe a word.  I made it all up.  So pass along, nothing to see here.

Do these socks make my feet look fat?*

Over the past few weeks, I've also been asked:

"Now that you're heading back does this mean you're going to be shutting down or renaming your blog?"

The short answer:
No and no.

The long answer:
Striped Socks and Skinny Jeans was never really about stripes, socks, skinny and/or jeans.**

It's always been about figuring out how to navigate where I am---which right now has been Stavanger, Norway and soon will be Atlanta, Georgia.

I've written about gettting hitched up, being newly married, traveling and having a baby, as well as other weighty topics such as wombats, how not to be burgled, glitter and tobacco.

I've even had contributors.

None of this will change.

So I'm just going to keep on with what I'm doing.

Please feel free to stop back by anytime.  You're always welcome.


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*Horizontal stripes are often not considered a great idea on most body parts unless you are very very brave.  I am not.  But stripes on feet?  I kind of like them.  They just seem friendly.

**The name came from my very first trip to Stavanger, which was not Husband's first trip.  (He's American, but had lived here before, moved back to the US.  Then we got hitched up and moved back to Stavanger for a few years.)

It was early in 2008 and as it often is in these parts, Stavanger was cold and rainy.  But being the optimistic sort that I am, I immediately tried to figure out how to make the dampness less annoying.  And I began with my feet, which if you've ever had really wet and cold feet, you may know that often that makes all the difference.

If you every happen to drop into Stavanger, and really most of Scandinavia, you'll notice that women tend to wear close-fitting pants or leggings, often jeans, tucked into knee high boots. I am convinced that it is less (or at least equal) a fashion statement and more of a practical one.  

On dark, dank days, the last thing you want to do is get the hemline of your pants wet.  Then not only will it eventually creep up your pants, but also will track into your home.

Which brings me to the next bit, the striped socks.  Unless it's a place of business, shoes are never worn inside.  Once you step over the threshold into your home, the shoes are removed.  And really, no one wants to see holey socks.

Also, I just like stripes.

Things I Will Miss, Part One

There have been a few common questions I've gotten when I've told people we're heading back to the US.

The most frequent one is "Aren't you so glad to be going back?"

And I am, mostly.

I want Elliot to grow up close to his cousins and I want him to spend lots of quality time with his NeeNee (BigD)*. My career has been on hold for the past two years and while** Husband and I are excited for me to be fully hands on for the next few years, I'd like to start dabbling in the freelance again when I can.  I miss great museums and we're going to spend lots of time at the High Museum of Art and at the Georgia Aquarium. I love going to matinee movies*** in the middle of the day. The mani/pedis are $20 and Elliot will have a backyard where I'm hoping we can clear out a space for a swing.

But we've had a great two years here.  It has been the best place for Husband and me to start off our adventure.  And other than the initial business about the car, which passed, we've been really happy.

And there are going to be lots of things, I'm really going to miss.  Below aren't all, but just what popped into my head at this minute....

Girlfriends
No matter how much I love Husband,**** I always need at least one good girlfriend.  And in my time here, I've been so so lucky to have had several.  Some who have moved on to their next location and one in particular who is here on a semi-permanent basis. It's going to be no fun to be six time zones away, but there's Skype and also a pile of airline miles, some of which are going to be used to pop over to Atlanta.  So there's that.

The language
I am no good at the speaking, but I've gotten fairly okay about understanding a little bit when I am listening.***** Norwegian is a challenging language, especially for me and especially because it's Germanic-based.  The rules can simple, but the exceptions are tough.  And the cadences are fun to hear, but they are so hard to emulate...But I still love it. My favorite part is that many of the words are just what they are. For instance, hospital is "sykehus" (sick house) and kennel is "hundepensjonat" (dog hotel).  It's straightforward and great, which is akin to how the Norwegian people are in general.

Baby Cakes

Pre-Elliot, Husband and I took a childbirth class with nine other couples.  And those moms, along with one mom we adopted from a pre-natal yoga class, have met every week since with our sweet babies.  Those weekly meet-ups saved me in the beginning when I was so tired and recovering.  And as the months have passed, it's been one of the major highlights of our week. We visit and compare notes on everything.  And Elliot LOVES his friends.

Roundabouts

This is a pretty rotten photo, but you know what roundabout are. Traffic merges, comes together, then splits off into all the different individual ways.  Sometimes there is just one lane, but often there are as many as three or four, but it all works. Navigating them in the beginning was nothing less than a giant, pain-in-the-caboose challenge, but as the months have passed, I kind of love them.  Seriously. It's much like walking on the streets of New York.  No matter how many people there are, if you know what you're doing, people just move and make it work and it does.

The airport

Ahh the airport.  I've always loved the airport.******  And I love this one, too.  Husband (and now Elliot, too) have had so so many great adventures that (for the most part) started right here.  Europeans know how to live.  No joke.  They work to live, not live to work. And while Husband has worked so so hard, we have also been traveling.  And, once we're back in the States, that kind of adventure will be over, at least for a while.  We'll still go places and do things, but it won't be quite the same.

This sandwich

I LOVE this sandwich.  I kid you not.  It's chicken breast, with hummus and lettuce and tomato on sourdough bread.  If you're in Stavanger, go to either of the Ostehuset locations, go immediately and eat it. Look on the menu under "Sanwich på dansk rugbød." And it's called exactly what it is...Hummus, kylling, ruccula og tomater.******* Have them put it on their sandwichbrød ("sandwich bread,") which is this light, fluffy sourdough-ish bread.  Then ask for an extra side of the hummus.  It's an awesome mix of chunky hummus, with just a tad of curry, but they are a little stingy with it. Good stuff. Trust.





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*Hopefully a few of which are overnighters, once the little man can handle it.  I am not worried about NeeNee's skill in this, she's a pro and I have already scheduled a weekend with her in Spring 2010 so Husband and I can have a weekend away.  I love the little man like crazy, but I love his daddy like crazy, too.

**If all things go well...

***This ship may have sailed.

****And it's alot.

*****Which really means that I could have a small little conversation with a toddler and could gather the subject of a conversation being had by grow-up.  It's hard.

******Seriously.  In most of my jobs, I've always had to travel.  And in a few of them, alot.  And, especially in the years before the things happened in New York, I loved going to the airport early just to watch the travelers.  You can see the entire range of human emotions within the walls of any airport.  Everybody is going on some kind of an adventure.  It's amazing.

*******Which shockingly enough is the "Hummus, chicken, lettuce and tomato" sandwich.  It is, what it is.

Homeward Bound

So it's been in the works for a while, but we've just gotten the final final details...we're packing* up and heading back to the United States.

We're going back to Atlanta, so I guess it's a good thing that the house we own there has never sold.

We have about thirty days left and will touch down in Atlanta the first week of December.

So there's lots to do and lots to report, but right now, that's what I have for you.

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*And by "we're packing" I mean "the nice people hired by Husband's company." Thank you nice people.  Thank you Husband's company.

Beware...if you're a fan of Twizzlers....

My sister Claudia is an artist.  And a good one.  

She made odd, geometric mobiles in elementary school and won art contests in high school.  

In college, she got even better.  For Christmas and birthdays, if I was lucky, she would give me some of her work as a present.  And we have some of it in our house today. 

This one is my favorite. It's a screen print in my favorite colors. 

This is from her senior show.  It's not just a portrait, it's a process.  She took individual photos, then transferred them onto cloth.  Then created colors and dyed thread.  Then embroidered each one.

And those are just a few.

BigD snagged some of the best ones.  If you ever go over to my mom's house, check out the nude in the guest bathroom.  That's a Claudia original as well.

And I still think about a an oil/chalk vegetable still life she gave to an old friend of mine.*

Over the years, Claud has moved a bit away from creating art.  Instead she's been focusing on the son she created, which is understandable.

But just a few months ago, she decided to go back to school.  Before she starts her actual program, she's been filling in a few of the prerequisites.**  And of course, she's doing extra credit.

This is the photo that appeared in my email in-box a few days ago.

What is it, you may wonder?  I'll let Claudia explain in her own words...***


"I knew you wanted to see.  The bottom is yellow and represents the hypodermis (the fatty adipose part that binds the skin to the muscle), then the red dermis part (highly vascular), then there is whipped cream-the epidermis (it blows away just like your skin cells).  


Just think, when you look at Husband it is all just dead cells protecting his insides.  


Anyway, there is the twizzler, obviously the hair and a grape and marshmellow representing various secretion glands.  


I made 100.  


Go me."




I love it.  


Though I may never eat a Twizzler again.  


And dang it, I loved Twizzlers.


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*If you're reading this, you know who you are.  Though I suspect it's hanging in your house, pretty close to the last place I saw it, we're not really friends anymore.  I asked for it back all those years ago, but you refused.  Will you think about it now?  I'll buy it. No joke.

**Human A&P was not on her art school course list.

***I asked her permission and she said it was fine.

A Short Story About Hats

Every single year, the International School in Stavanger celebrates Guy Fawkes Night* by building a bonfire and burning the poor guy in effigy.

We had a plan to meet up with several other families from our babies group.  We were going to visit, watch the bonfire and stay for the fireworks.

Elliot hated it.

And we're not quite sure if it's because of the darkness, the fire, the wind or AS's hat.**  But after a bit, it just seemed the nicer thing to scoot out early.

At least we missed the traffic.

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*In 1605, Fawkes was one of the leaders in a plot to blow up the Brit's Houses of Parliament.  It failed. So depending on how you feel about that, you can feel a bit sorry for him...or not.

**It was a furry one, kind of like a cartoon hunter's.  (I'm not cracking on it, really...It suited him.) And every time he leaned into Elliot's face to talk to him, Elliot wailed.  So I'm going with the hat.

Norway is safe, but...

Let’s be clear.  Norway is a safe country with really low crime rates.*

(This is our dear Lillie.  She sweet and friendly and looks much much scarier than she is actually is...unless she senses some sort of danger to her people.  Then, if you are the dangerous one, trust me, she is too.)

When we went to Spain, we forgot and left some accessible windows open. A few weeks earlier, our car, filled with baby stuff and our stroller, was left unlocked and parked on the street in front of our house the entire six weeks we were in the United States this summer. 

Husband has lived in Stavanger a total of almost six years and other than one incident with his wallet has never experienced any sort of incident.**

In the almost two years, I’ve lived here, other than some parking tickets and working on immigration papers, I’ve only had two incidents with the police. 

The first was when I was about 14 months*** pregnant.  At the time we lived across the street from a mosque and on the holy days, dozens of cars would illegally park, many directly in front of our house.  It was cold and snowy and I worried about not only where to park, but then tromping up our hill, big and pregnant and wearing slippery shoes.

I pulled up next to the police car parked at the bottom of the hill, explained how pregnant I was in case he couldn’t see.  Then I asked if he could do something about all the cars, particularly the ones parked in front of my house. 

He said, “I don’t do that.” 

And I replied, “Well what do you do?”****

The second time was yesterday when Husband and I went to the police.  We intended to either make a complaint or report a crime.

It all started on Tuesday morning.  I was running up and down the stairs straightening up before the cleaners arrived.*****  Elliot was safely deposited in his playpen and the dogs were laying about downstairs.  All of a sudden, on a run upstairs, the dogs went NUTS, barking their heads off. 

I went downstairs to check on it and told them both to sit down.  Milo went to his corner, but Lillie got even more agitated, placed herself in front of the door, kept barking and bared her teeth.  

That when I noticed the big man-shaped shape through the frosted glass in the door. 

I stood there for a moment intending to open the door and ask if I could help him or what he was doing just lurking about on the doorstep.  But then I thought that it might be the wild boys who live in one apartment downstairs wanting to talk to Husband about the trashcans or maybe the Mormons in the other apartment.  Both are kind and harmless, but I didn’t have time for either, so I ignored it.

Also, the shape never rang the doorbell or knocked, so it really made me a bit nervous.  What if something happened to me and Elliot was in the house?  And a host of other sorts of bad thoughts, etc…. crossed my mind.

And while I was standing there, pondering these things, the shape receded and footsteps thumped down the stairs.  I leaned out the front window to see who it was. It wasn’t one man, there were three men, all dressed in jeans and ski-ish jackets and they were big.  And I couldn't understand the language except for one bit: “Hun er americansk”******

And then I forgot about it.  The cleaner arrived.  I put the dogs up and out of the way and Elliot and I went to meet our friend Jenny at a baby store.  She is pregnant and Elliot was helping her peruse the merchandise, by sitting in things like baby cages and strollers when my phone rang.

It was the cleaner coordinator who said that that police had just come into our house.  The woman cleaning was startled, but also worried because they were looking for me.

The door was left unlocked because the cleaner was going in and out.  And the cleaner had gone around the corner to the kitchen to get something.  

When she walked back around, there were two big men standing there, in our living room.  

Everyone involved jumped.  

And the men asked if she was the woman who lived there.   They flashed some sort of badge, said they were the police and were looking for me.

Standing in the baby store, I panicked a bit and called Husband to make sure he was okay.  

Once that was established I told him what happened.  We catalogued my list of offenses and determined that other than a parking ticket that isn’t even due yet, I’m pretty much in the clear.

He called the police to figure out why the officers came to our house.  

Also why they walked right into our house.*******  

They had no record of it. At all. But asked us to check back.

So overnight, the more we thought about it, the more we were worried about it.  

If those men weren’t police, that’s one scary thing.  

If those men were police, what were they doing just walking in our house?

So Husband, Elliot and I went to the police.  And as Husband put it, “We are here to either register a complaint or a crime.”********

And they had no record of any police coming by our house for any reason at all.

So people, lock your doors.

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*According to NationMaster, if you look at just burglaries per capita, Norway has just 1.15 per 1000 people,  which ranks 38 out of 40. As a comparison, the United States is 7 times higher per capita… In case you are interested, you can find more Norwegian crime stats here

 and here and here.

**He left a door unlocked in our first apartment when he was walking the dogs.  The next morning his wallet was gone from the table beside the door.  He canceled the credit cards and was in the process of reapplying for a passport.  A few days later, a man knocked on the door and returned it with everything intact and in place save the 200NOK cash that was inside.  We’re pretty sure it was the thief, but really, that’s what you get for living next door to a drug house.  We didn’t realize it when we moved in and moved out soon after.

***It felt that way, trust.

****Perhaps I was a bit snippy, but really it’s so safe here, you rarely see police anywhere.  No joke.

*****Don’t judge. The thought of cleaning bathrooms grosses me out beyond belief and we are not even dirty people.

******She is American.

*******This is a whole other issue.  No one should just walk into my house, ever, unless I know you and think it’s okay, even if you’re a police officer.  The very thought just is WRONG.

********Related to the point above, if it had been the police, we would have also would have wanted to report a complaint AND a crime.

Trick or treaters: Then and Now

So I spoke too soon on the Halloween evening...

I was hoping for trick or treaters.  I hadn't had any in years.  The last time trick or treaters came to my door, I was a sophomore in college and my roommate and I weren't going out until later, so we stocked up on the candy.

Right after the sun went down, our doorbell rang.

Standing at the door were two giant people both of whom were probably linebackers on their high school football team.  They had painted their faces with white and black makeup to look like ghosts.

When we opened the door, they held out their bags, which were not so much trick or treat bags as wadded up grocery bags from the local A&P that probably had held their illegally bought 40s of beer a few minutes before.

While my roommate and I considered the sight, in unison, they said, "Trick or treat," in these deep Barry White baritones.

So of course, we gave them every single bit of chocolate we had.

And that was it for the evening.

I've never had trick or treaters since.  My apartment buildings always had security doors.  And trick or treating isn't big in our neighborhood in Atlanta where our house is.

But I love Halloween and seeing all the children* dressed up and running about, so I was hoping for at least a few, even though Halloween is not big in these parts.

And I am pretty sure that it's not well understood in any case, but I still hoped.

And sure enough, while Husband, Elliot and the dogs were out walking, our doorbell rang.  While I frantically ran around the hour looking for our bag of candy, I heard the little footsteps going down the stairs.  So I threw open the door and said, "I'm here.  And I have candy."

Two little American girls, twins about eight years old, dressed in their ski gear ran back up the stairs, said, "Trick or treat," showed me their outfits and then said, "Thank you" before heading back down the stairs and on to the next house.**

About 30 minutes later, the doorbell rang again, so I grabbed the bag of chocolates and went to the door.  Standing in front of me were two little Asian girls, about seven and five.**

The older had on a witch's hat and the younger was carrying a devil's pitchfork.

They looked at each other, held out their bags, took a deep breath and yelled, "HALLOWEEN."

I was the funniest thing I had ever seen, so I gave them the rest of the candy.

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*And Elliot is a little too young to drag him all around the town on the slight chance for a photo-op, but for a 7.5 month old, that's all it is, really.

**Both the moms were standing at the street level watching.

Happy Halloween, peoples

There's not much in the way of festivals or trick or treating in these parts, and I haven't seen one carved pumpkin.* 

But Elliot's cousin Jack gave him a great costume.  

And it's Elliot's very first Halloween, so we stuffed him in it.  

And he loved it. 

But today we didn't really have anywhere to go Halloween-y**, but we did have to go to the grocery store***, so we dressed the little man up and went there.

I'm pretty sure he didn't know the difference.

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*At least not in our neighborhood, dang it.  There probably are somewhere else in the country, just not around where I am sitting right now.

**Husband and I were invited to a party. This is us last year.  We couldn't top it, so we're staying home.  Also, it's hard (and expensive) to get babysitters.

***This was also a lesson on why I will never ever let him eat candy given out in a public place.  Not only was it not wrapped, there was one kid who ran his fingers through the whole pile (and I am pretty sure he licked them, too.)

Countryside, Wild People and a Lack of High Chairs

All sorts of things have been happening these days, but there are very few of them I can talk about just yet, so in the meantime, here are a few things I've been thinking about...

1) Norway's countryside can be incredibly beautiful.

Every week, Elliot and I go to meet with our moms and babies group.  This week we went out to a place called Kvernaland, which is about 30-45 minutes from where we live.  The first time we went there, we were about two hours late because I couldn't find our way there.*

This time, I couldn't find our way back. I took a left when I should have taken a right or maybe the other way around.  

In any case, we ended up in a place called Tu, which is so small that it only gets two letters and most likely you will never go there either unless of course you are lost as well.

So we just enjoyed the view for a bit....

(These photos do not do justice at all.  Imagine that you can actually see the rich blues and clear whites and strong greens.  Also, please imagine my car windows are clean.  That would be great, too.)

2) Sometimes I pretend to lament that Elliot is so mobile and energetic and wild, but I don't mean it at all. 

I love the fact that he is curious and funny and looks like he's growing into a sweet, slightly headstrong little person. 

I also love that he is starting to understand "No."

But all that said....

3) We will never again go for a family lunch at a place that doesn't have high chairs.

*The first time out, the problem was that I wasn't going far enough.  And on this second time, we got home by trusting that eventually there would be a sign for the highway.  There are probably some life lessons in those two sentences.  I will leave that to you.

Every single day

I plan things.  

So does Elliot.

Those two  plans do not necessarily mesh.

Asian fast food

Pre-Elliot, I would try a million different recipes.  I would tear them out of magazines, borrow them from  websites and hound BigD for directions of how to make whatever it was that I remembered from the dinner table when I was eight.

These days, while I will try new things occasionally, I have gotten into a bit of a rut. Along with a few surprises every now and again, our staples are Husband's favorite tacos, the BigD classic*, Jenny's wok recipe and crispy chicken wraps.  Most of these are not created from scratch.**

But even as my head is still clouded with Elliot-things: like getting to know each other and helping him learn important skills, I am slowly trying to get back to cooking meals that are a little more fun than what can be found on the packet aisle at the grocery store.

Last week, we ate lunch with a friend from Singapore.  She served us soup that was so good and so pretty that I asked for the recipe.  She said that it was "just Asian fast food."  That it was nothing special and that in Asia you could buy it on the street for just a few dollars, but it was special and a few nights later, I made it for Husband.

And it was good...

Here's what you need...adjust the amount of each ingredient for the amount of soup you'd like to make.  Keep reading...I think it will make sense...***

And, depending on your level of skill and time, you can create every single bit from scratch or cheat a bit and get it from cans and jars.****

Pork filet

Cha sui marinade, which is kind of like Asian BBQ sauce, sweet and a little tangy

Kernels of corn

Chopped green onions

Cooked udon Noodles

Medium boiled egg sliced in half

Miso soup

Marinate a pork fillet in Cha Sui sauce for a few hours.

Bake it in the oven at about 250 degrees C until it's done (flipping and spooning the sauce over it about every ten minutes or so).  Make sure it's still a little bit rare in the middle...the timing depends on the size of the piece of meat.

In the meantime chop the vegetables or pour them out of a can.

Boil an egg to medium (about 8 minutes)

When the meat is cooked, set it out and when it is slightly cooled, slice in disks.

Cook the miso soup to boiling.

Put noodles in bowl about 1/2 way, then pour boiling soup over top.

Add in slice of egg, disks of pork, onions and corn.

______________________________

*Awesome pasta with zucchini and squash. If you've ever eaten dinner at my house, you probably have had it.  It's one of my absolute favorites and no one cooks it better than the BigD herself.  But I try.

**I didn't know that "from scratch" was a good thing until I was about 25.  My elfin grandmother, who was not an elf, but was about the same size as an elf, was a fantastic cook (Her fried chicken is unparalleled to this day).  But she was sadly lacking in baking skills---with the exception of pound cake and chocolate cake...those were TASTY.  She was not aware of this and often would proudly present her brownies, proclaiming that they were "from scratch." We would take a bite, praying not to chip a tooth. For years afterward, I was certain "from scratch" was polite code for "tasted horrible" and would avoid it at all costs.


***There is a talent to writing recipes. I am pretty sure I don't have it, but hopefully you'll understand it anyway.

****Guess what I did?  And really, it's Asian fast food.  Also, I'm not in the business of judging.

Yesterday's yoga

So how did Baby Yoga go you may wonder?

In case you didn't read yesterday, Elliot had been running amuck.  All the other babies were calm and good.  I thought it was stressful and tried to turn in my classes to no avail.

So we went back.

And it was better, mainly because Elliot had an entire room to himself.  Seriously.  The yoga room is giant and L-shaped.  The class happens in one end of the "L" and the other part is supposed to be sort of off limits because the footfalls disturb a doctor who works underneath.

Apparently the yoga people were willing to make an exception for Elliot.  And it's not like he's all that noisy other than a few thuds and the occasionally LOUD babble.

They had even baby-proofed.  The electrical sockets were filled in, the heating coils were off.

I did have to go through the room and move all the giant loops of rope hanging from the wall.  Other classes use them when the students lie on the floor, then grab the loops to pull for leverage.  They were right at Elliot's neck level, but were easy enough to loop higher than his little hands.

And this time, I only had to get up five times during the class, which split over an hour, averages about once every 20 minutes and that may not seem like much, but if you consider that about 15 minutes was spent working with Elliot.  And also that the teacher took him and carried him with her for the last ten minutes, that's alot of popping up and down.

But we've (really meaning "me") has switched my attitude about it all.  I have given up any hope of yoga-ing myself and have decided to look at it as Elliot's play time.

Because Elliot loves it.

One of our friends and her daughter comes and he loves to see them.

He thinks the massages are the best thing ever and he laughs and laughs.

When I pop up to save him, it's big fun for me to come and play with him.

Sometimes, the teacher will pick him up and let him sit with her, so he gets a different view of the class.

And really, Elliot is my funny little love and any mischief he causes in only in the spirit of curiosity and having fun. And I cannot blame him a bit for it* and overall, think it is the best thing ever.

And, this time, the "worst" thing I caught him doing was leaning over another baby blowing raspberries in her face.  And, she loved it too.

Only five more classes to go.

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*He cannot help his gene pool.

Baby yoga would be less stressful without the baby

Baby yoga is the most stressful activity we do all week.

(Also the room is absolutely not baby-proofed, but why would it be?  But, check the hazards in the photo. No joke.)

Bar none.

This is counting:

- Stopping at the grocery store when Elliot should be napping.
- Changing a dirty diaper in the back seat of a car.
- Looking for a place to feed Elliot where we will not be in complete plain sight.

So when I say it’s stressful, I mean it.

Several months ago I ran into a local yoga instructor at an event.

She had just had a baby.

Elliot was about ten weeks old and we got to chatting.

I asked about Baby Yoga because, several years ago, I loved going to yoga.  I felt fit and relaxed and the good kind of “yoga high.”  And on this studio’s website were many photos of babies perched on their mothers while in the warrior pose. 

It looked like fun.

But because I had only known Elliot a short while, I asked all about the class...By the time we started he would be seven months, is that too old?  What was the skill level, etc…. 

We chatted for a long time about how her own children went until they were about a year and loved it still.  And at the time, Elliot while always sweet, was loud* and demanding and I thought that maybe a little yoga could calm the little man down.

But over the ensuing months, Elliot and I have gotten to know each other better.  I can handle him much more effectively and he’s not so demanding because he doesn’t have to be.**

He also has gotten completely mobile.  He has a funny way of getting around which is a combination of conventional crawling, rolling, military crawling and hurling himself into space. 

So when we got to our first Baby Yoga class, I was excited.  Elliot would be into it.  I’d get a little stretch.  All would be well.

Clearly I was nuts. 

Baby Yoga is not yoga for mothers and babies.  It is yoga for mothers and immobile babies.***

The mothers gather their equipment…mats, blocks and such, while the babies lies on their blankets with a soft toy.  Then the babies play quietly for the first 45 minutes while the mothers stretch and do poses. 

Most babies.  Not my baby.  My baby runs amuck. 

Seriously. 

Amuck.

I close my eyes for a second and he’s four mats down “borrowing” another baby’s toy.

So I pop up, gather him and make apologies.

I close my eyes for another second and he’s on the instructor’s mat cramming her class plan into his mouth.

So I pop up, gather him and make apologies.

I after that, I never close my eyes again.

I save him from the heating coils lining the walls.  I save another baby from his rolling.  I save the yoga blocks from his spit up.  I save his head from thumping the floor too hard and when I can’t, I comfort him, which means…

I pop up, gather him and make apologies.

When we finally get to the last fifteen minutes of class, we pick up the babies, massage them and do a few yoga poses with them.  It’s supposed to be relaxing and calming.  Elliot will have none of it.  He thinks the massage is HILARIOUS which makes him laugh his head off. 

And holding him during the poses?  Forget it. 

It’s the most stressful hour of the week.

I tried to trade in the classes for a few of the yoga classes.  The plain yoga classes.  The ones where sweet Elliot stays at home with Husband and I head off for a basic class, alone. 

I wrote an email explaining my case, praising the teacher (who is seriously good, but is the teacher, not the baby minder).  I hoped for mercy.

There was none. 

I got shamed for not practicing with Elliot every day to get him more used to it.  I was instructed to move to the back of the room so he would have more space to wiggle about where I could control him better.  And also she reminded me that her babies loved it until they were a year old.****

But the number one reason why I can’t trade in the class for other classes?

It is not fair to all the people who couldn’t get into it in the first place.

So we’re going to try it one more time.*****

Today. 

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*He is still loud.  I don’t mind that.
**Yeah, he may be the daytime boss of me, but that boss sleeps for 10 hours every single night and another two during the day, so while I work hard during the on-time, I have off-time as well.  Plus he’s funny and easy on the eyes…pretty much the best boss I’ve had thus far.

***He is also not the oldest baby there.
****I should have taken the gene pool into consideration.  She probably had serene, calm yoga babies.  I  have unruly, loud wild babies.

*****Why don't I just quit?  We already paid for it and I am ridiculously optimistic.  Maybe this time will be different...

Think Pink

There are almost 2,600,000 million people in the United States who are survivors of breast cancer.  Depending on what statistics you follow, that’s roughly one in ten. 

One in ten.

Just based on probability, you know someone who has survived the second most common cancer. 

The first most common cancer is non-melonoma skin cancer.  You probably know someone who has had that too, and I am not discounting the trauma of it, but clipping off a mole is not the same as removing a breast. It’s just not. 

And it’s not epidemic just in the United States, it’s worldwide.  Breast cancer is the most common cancer in the United Kingdom.

And in Norway it’s the most common as well. 

One in ten women can expect to get it, which is slightly less than the one in eight that can expect to get it in the United States.

And this is not even considering the statistics about the people who die from it.

I say "people" because men get it, too. Not as frequently, but they do as well. 

So do something about it.* 

Support a walker.

Save second base.**

Or, if you'd rather spend corporate dollars and not your own, just click. 

*Also, if you have a favorite breast cancer site, put the link in the comments and I'll add it to the post.

**Thanks Cherie.