A Short Story Involving Cake*

Today is Husband's birthday.  

He is now a number that I cannot tell you, but it's a good round one. 

Husband is not an easy birthday boy.  

He half-heartedly pretends that he would rather than we skip it all together, but really does like it when we celebrate just a little bit. 

Four years ago today was the first time that we celebrated together.  He and I had a been dating about four months and we were pretty serious about each other, so of course I was going to do something to celebrate the day.**

I started with asking about what kind of cake he would like. I am firm believer that it is massively important to blow out candles on the actual day, for luck, one to grow on, etc...

He said it didn't matter.  And of course it did, so I asked what I thought were questions that would lead to the correct answer:

• What is your favorite cake?
• What is your favorite dessert?
• What did your mom make for you every single year for your birthday party?
• If you were starving and the only place to eat within a thousand miles only served sweets and all kinds of them, what would you order?
• If you were famous and I was a reporter for Teen Beat magazine tasked with writing your fan page, what would go into the blank space next to "On my birthday, I like...?"

All of these were met with blank stares, but he was thinking.

Finally he said, "I'd really like a chocolate loaf."***

Of course, having gleaned this bit of information, I was not going to comment on it at all.  I just promised  that on the appropriate day, I would deliver a chocolate loaf.  

But the thing is, there is no such thing***.

So I called Kathleen, who knows everything.  She cooks and bakes and really, foodwise, her only fault is that she is a vegetarian.****  

And we thought and thought and poured through her myriad cookbooks and scrawled notes and recipes lying about her kitchen.  

There was not one loaf cake anywhere.  

And no, I wasn't going to call (One Day Would Be) Husband and ask.  He made his request with such authority, that clearly it was a thing and we couldn't find it. 

So we kept looking. 

Finally, we decided that it must be another name for Chocolate Pound Cake, which is much more challenging to make than you would suspect.  And we didn't have all the exact ingredients nor did we have an exact recipe, but because dear Kathleen is a pro, we just decided to dump some chocolate into the mix.

In retrospect that may have not been the best idea because by the next evening, the chocolate loaf had hardened to a consistency closer to a rock than a cake.  

But dear (One Day Would Be) Husband chomped through several pieces and (pretended) to love every bite of it. 

It turns out that Chocolate Loaf Cake was another name for a familiar kind of cake.   What he really meant was a chocolate cake sans frosting, which, I suppose if you look at it in the strictest definition, that is exactly what it is. 

So the next year and every year since, that is exactly what he gets.

Tonight, we're going to have a little tiny family birthday party, which is exactly what Husband wanted.  

But this weekend, we were at the BigD's house picking up some things.  And she loves birthdays, so she planned a little birthday breakfast brunch for Husband and it went just like this...

Elliot and I played...

While Claudia rapped cooking instructions to BigD...

Elliot showed his toys to Bill...

Then it was time to eat...

Claudia sat across from me...

And Elliot and I sat across from Claudia...

Then we all sang and BigD cut the (cheese)cake...

And then we had a family picture...

Then Elliot and I took turns eating cake...

Mmmmm Mmmmm Good....

The end.

__________________________________________________________

*This weekend, I ran into a regular reader of this blog...And she said, "So when are you going to be blogging again." I started to explain that I had been blogging, a little.  She interrupted and said, "I know, I know, your stuff hasn't arrived, but that's not why I read you.  I read you for the funny stories, when will you post more of those?"  I was a bit stung and didn't even bother to explain while I've been feeling a bit funny lately, I hadn't been feeling all that amusing.  I told Husband about it and of course he made me feel better and got me thinking about things. And along with a few other thoughts, I decided that today I would try to post a funny story, because she's been one of my longest readers.  And she's not the only reader.  There is actually a pretty respectable number of people just like you who click here every single day.  And if you are one of the ones who comes around for the funny stories, I'm working on it. This is my best effort for the day and they'll be back again soon.  

**I've found that birthdays can be fraught with danger.  There is always a history of how things should or should not be done and that coupled with new(ish) dating can equal all sorts of conundrum-like situations.

***Oh my gosh!  I promise you that four years ago, these were not the answers I got from google.  There must have been a chocolate loaf trend since then.  No joke.  This would have made my life soooooo much easier. 

****I kid, I kid.  I do love some steak though.

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.


_____________________________________________

*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.

Mmmmm Mmmmm

I hate being told what to do.

I am all for solicited advice and I regularly look to competent people for ideas, but in the end, I am fairly confident in my own intelligence, reasoning and research skills.

So usually, after a bit, I can figure out exactly what I would like to do.

Norway and I have butted heads on more than one occasion regarding this issue.

It and I had difference of opinion on how I would like to deliver our baby. I lost (and miserably).*

I would’ve liked a bit more choice on whether or not I intended to breastfeed.**

And now Norway is forcing me to make Elliot’s baby food.

I am annoyed.

Not that I wouldn’t have wanted to whip up all of his meals,*** but it’s just another thing I do not have much choice about and it bugs me.

I knew that eventually I would have to figure out how to feed the little man "real food."

So I read up on the first foods, which are the simple ones (carrots, sweet potatoes, green beans, etc…), which tend to be the least likely to cause allergies. I learned that you give them one at a time for several days in a row to make sure that if there is an allergic reaction you can pinpoint the culprit. Also that there are several things that no baby should have until at least the first year (strawberries, nuts, honey, etc…) because they can cause major allergies later on…

So then I went to the store, a large grocery store called Ultra, particularly popular with the expat community because it imports American goods.****

This is what I found when I went looking for the baby food.

I've cruised down that aisle before, of course--that's where the diapers are, too. But I've never paid much attention other than, "Yep, there's some food."

But that's it. In a town full of babies.

No joke.

You cannot swing cat without hitting a baby.

Promise.

And in the first foods...

That was it. Look closely. There is one single food. The rest are a mix, some of which include strawberries, too.

For a country that is occasionally called a Nanny State*****, they are putting a lot of trust in me.

Given a choice, I would eat a diet that consisted solely of appetizers culled from the left side of restaurant menus and the Whole Foods prepared food section, key lime pie, cheese, chocolate popsicles and the occasional steak.

To trust me to adequately prepare and serve my baby nutritious food is asking alot.

Clearly I can barely feed the adults in the house.******

I am trying though.

I started with a sweet potato.

Baked it in the oven.

Whirled it in the blender with some milk.
Froze the concoction into cubes.
And served it up.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

*Seriously folks. There is no need to discuss, but suffice to say…No matter how long we live here, I will NEVER have a baby in this entire country again. And just head off any extraneous comments...this is not a comment on socialized medicine, by the way. This is a comment on my lady parts and how I would like for them to be treated---with drugs if you must know. It's just my choice. If anyone reading this has a different opinion on ladyparts, that's all good. I have no opinions on anyone else's ladyparts but my own.

**I probably would have anyway, but the societal pressure is enormous. Also there are exactly three kinds of formula, which are fairly expensive. Again, I am so glad I am breastfeeding (health, convenience, etc…) but would have liked much, much less pressure.

***I kid. I would have been all about the Gerber. No joke. I read the labels. It’s just the ingredients and water. That’s good enough for me. (And it was good enough for me. I ate it. My sister ate it. Everyone I know ate it, including several healthy little niece and nephew people who were running all around BigD’s house a few weeks ago.)

****Most of which are clustered on one-half of an aisle. The shelves are crammed with all sorts of goods, most of which change weekly. On any given week, you can find six-packs of Cherry Coke, Twizzlers, generic brand stuffing and cans of pumpkin. It's random, as if it just fell off the back of a truck.

*****Without going into too much detail, Norway taxes the hell out of certain things (along with all of the rest of the things) like alcohol and cigarettes to discourage their use. And recently a bill was put forth to add an extra tax to fatty food. This is not real discouragement. It is in fact encouragement to pack ones suitcase full of booze and smokes whenever traveling cross-borders.

******This is a slight exaggeration. I actually do cook, often using recipes. And the results are usually pretty good. And as the BigD said once, "Of course you can cook. You can read, can't you?" The difference is that it is food for fully grown adults. It is also by choice.

In Which I Am Sleep Deprived and Husband Saves the Day

Right after we got engaged, BigD pulled Husband aside and said "When Elizabeth gets cranky, tell her to go take a nap. She'll be better when she wakes up."*  

I've never needed that much sleep.  

In high school and college I  would routinely pull all-nighters.  In graduate school, I did my best work between midnight and 4am when things all around were quiet and all there was to hear were the soothing city sounds and the click click of typing. 

And when I covered red-carpet and parties, I would have to scurry home afterwards to transcribe and write to make my 8am deadline.  After the long nights, I'd nap for a few hours, then go on with the rest of my day. 

But I can only do it so many days in a row.  After five or six days, maximum, it starts to affect my mood. I get teary for no real reason and my patience dissapates.** In the olden days, I would just spend an entire day in bed to catch up.***  

Life is a little bit different these days.

Elliot is a sweet baby and sometimes when I hear stories of babies that are much more challenging, I feel extra lucky.  He has been sleeping in five hour shifts at night.  During the day, we play, he eats, then naps.  (Repeat)  He's cheery and babbles funny things. He doesn't complain when I drag him all over town on errands or walks. And he doesn't fuss when I put him down in the bouncy seat or in his play gym for me to have a few moments of hands-off time.

Until recently.  

For the past four or five days, he's been ultra fussy. He doesn't want to play, go anywhere, sit alone or sleep longer than about two to three hours.  He does want to be held while I walk around the house while we discuss what we are seeing.  He does want to eat every two or so hours and spit lots of it up, always on himself, often on me if he can aim it just right.  And he only wants to play, if I am playing with him.

I don't resent him for it.

First of all, he's a baby and he's only been around for about 14 weeks. One day he will be big and may not let me hold him as much as I want to, so it's really a little bit nice. And he's clearly having a bit of a hard time right now, so of course I'm going to do what he needs to help him work it out. Also, it's not that it's difficult, it's just constant. Plus, he's my dear baby, so I love him no matter what.

But I have asked for some advice.  

The nurse says "He's a baby.  They do this." 

Big D says, "If he's upset, clearly it is something you did.  Tell him I will always be on his side."**** 

The internets say "It's a growth spurt and he may be teething., but it will pass."*****

So this will all be fine.  But, in the meantime, I am exhausted. 

Usually in the mornings, after I feed him at 6:30 or 7, I hop into the shower while Husband listens out for him.  Then the day starts.

This morning, I couldn't do it. He had been up every two or three hours, each time for about an hour.  So I had dozed in one hour increments and when I staggered out of bed, Elliot woke up as well.  So I picked him up, crabbed a little at Husband, felt a little teary and we went downstairs as I plotted the day.

This was my plan:

"It's Tuesday.  I'll head to my mother's group.  Then I'll ask someone to keep an eye on him while I run to the bathroom.  Then I'll wander a bit around the house until I find a bed.  I will get in it and take a nap.  Elliot will be fine and no one will come looking for a while.  Also they are all nice, so probably they will let me sleep a bit."

Husband came down a few minutes later.  This was Husband's plan:

"Elliot will eat again in a bit.  Then he will sleep.  When you put him down, get in the bed, too. Do not turn on your computer.  Sleep. Do not read Gawker.  Sleep. Do not fold the clothes. Sleep.  I will come home at lunch, eat here and watch Elliot while you shower."

And that is what he did.  

Elliot and I both slept for a full 90 minutes.  He is clearly still tired because when Husband got home for lunch, he fussed a bit more, then fell back asleep.

As for me, we're still going to our group in a bit. And while I'm feeling almost back to normal, I need just a little bit more, so I still haven't ruled out my plan. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

*On that same day, my Nana also had some advice for Husband.  "If she ever gets out of line, bear down on her." We don't know what this means.  I asked her a few days afterward and she never really answered.  She just laughed. She was also 93.  I'm thinking that had something to do with it. 

**With adult people, not with babies. 

***Don't judge.  In busy times, I would work four or five 15-hour days in a row. Even on the slow weeks, it would be three or four 15-hour days.  It was much much fun and I never felt one bit guilty about spending an entire Wednesday in bed watching reruns or not showering, but rolling out to catch an afternoon matinee.  Those were great years.  

****She kids.

*****I love the internets.

Things I Learned Today: Oslo with an Infant

This afternoon we returned from our long weekend in Oslo.  We had to go to the US Embassy to get Elliot registered and passported, but we stayed for our first family mini-break.  

It all went shockingly well, but we did learn some lessons* which will serve us well when we attempt our upcoming trip to the US.  

1) Always pack 1/2 of what I think I need. Always pack twice as much as what I think Elliot needs.

This is mainly because I don't wet, poo or spit up on myself. 

2) Keep the sleep situation as consistent as possible.

Some dear friends of ours sent Elliot a Sleep Sheep. It is magic. He always sleeps to white noise, but for travel, his Sleep Sheep is magic.  (It is so magic, I will write it twice. On purpose.) That, along with his wrap and us, made it all okay.

3) Don't attempt too much.  

We never left the room before about ten am.  We choose just one goal a day. (Friday: Go to Embassy. Saturday: See The Scream. Sunday: Go home.) Then everything else was just extra fun. 

5) No matter how challenging it was to learn to breastfeed, the convenience is worth it.

We couldn't have done nearly as much if we had to constantly make a bottle. Warm it. And then wash them all, etc... Now feeding Elliot is really just a matter of finding a semi-quiet, out of the way place and adjusting my shawl as to not flash the general public.

3)  I am almost the master of camouflage.

This is especially key because we're going to be all over the US and Elliot is going to need to eat.  

Yes, I know it is all legal and super healthy for babies.  

This does not mean that I would like to be the posterchild for it.  I can count on one hand the times I have ever seen a mother breastfeed in public.  I can remember many more times I read articles about issues with it.  

Really I don't care what other people do. I prefer to be super discreet. (At least in static places, like restaurants.  In trafficked places, like airports, I care much less.)

4) Most people will give you a break if you are carrying a sleeping baby.

Seriously.  Even the people with the grumpiest faces will help out.

6) It is possible to have good meals as long as you go either early or late. 

It's not so much about Elliot's behavior, which is pretty steady right now.  It's more that I feel too stressed to enjoy it if I am worried that we could possibly ruin other people's dinner. 

7) Allow twice as much time to get whatever it is done.  

Seriously.  

When I was in high school...really as far back a I can remember...whenever we going anywhere --particularly church, for some reason--- Big D set a time for us to leave.  Then whenever she was finished getting ready, she would go out to the garage, get in the car and honk.  

Take note: No one was late.

 She just happened to get ready early and would run out of things to do inside, so she would go outside and sit in the car and honk.  It was to hurry us up, but really it just drove me nuts.  Now that I am an adult, I still get anxious when I am about to be late. 

(Actually being late is not nearly as bad.) 

But now, I find as long as I build in lots of time, no one gets anxious...particularly me. 

8) It helps to at least try to speak the language.  

Occasionally I find that when I am at a loss for language, it affects the service.  

Luckily, Husband is fluent and when he chatters a bit with pretty much anyone, it greases the wheels in all sorts of ways. In just the past 24 hours, it has gotten an extra seat on the plane and general smiles.  

It may also help that Husband is hot. 

9) There's always one more form. 

No kidding.  More on that tomorrow.

____________________________

*Some of them are age-specific and yes, I realize Elliot could become beasty at any moment, but he's not today.

Elliot's Debut World Tour

While I get homesick for the US fairly often, one of the advantages to living in Europe and specifically Norway, is the vacation allotment. Husband has roughly six weeks, plus sick days and this year, because of Elliot's arrival he also has the "Papa Permission," which is another huge sum of weeks of paternity leave.

I'm leaving that vague, not because I don't know, but because I don't want this to become a discussion of the family system in Scandinavia vs the US. But I do mention it, because, without it, visiting home would immensely hard.

Door to door to either San Francisco or Sacramento, both cities close enough for the Durel family visit, is nine time zones and 22 hours.

Door to door to Atlanta, where we fly into for my family would be six time zones and about 18 hours door to door.

Also, for those unfamiliar with US geography, Georgia and California are on opposite ends of the country---four time zones and a six hour flight.

So as you can imagine, scheduling anything gets complicated.

For most visits, we can only manage one location or the other, but because this is Elliot's big debut, we want to stop on both coasts. His California family has not met him yet. And most of his Georgia family hasn't either.

We also are homesick for some of our best friends, so we are using the cross country travel as an excuse to stop in Colorado for long weekend. Plus, we're building in a few days with Andrea and Deena in San Francisco and may even get a wee visit with Lisa. (And of course we're going to try to see all our Georgia people.)

But back to Husband's liberal vacation time...

In just a few weeks, we will head off for Elliot's world tour and I say world tour because in the course of five weeks, we will leave Stavanger and touch down in (for various amounts of time, of course):

Part One:
Stavanger
Copenhagen
Seattle
Sacramento
San Francisco

Part Two:
Atlanta
Gainesville
St. Simon's Island

Part Three:
Denver

Part Four:
Sacramento
Chicago
Amsterdam
Stavanger

Of course some of those are just buzzing through airports for a plane change, but because we will have a baby and all that entails in tow, I choose to count them.

Since we've made the plans, I've been waking up to scrawl notes on a pad I keep beside my side of the bed...thus far they range from how many diapers we'll need to which bag to carryon to whether or not the floor we'll have enough room to wrap Elliot in a blanket. And whether or not his favorite rattle will drive everyone around us nuts.

Luckily I am breastfeeding and have almost perfected the art of draping the two of us with a shawl, so we won't have to deal with bottles of formula or flashing strangers internationally. He doesn't tend to be a crier, unless something obvious is wrong (hungry, wet or hurt, etc...) so hopefully he won't be the plane pariah. And he's so young that perhaps the time zone changes won't freak him out so much.

But, overall, packing for the planes, not to mention what all three of us with need for five weeks is a little daunting. (I'm thinking we'll just pack for just about a week or so and plan to do laundry...) And the travel and timing are all going to be a little nuts. We’ll all probably need a week-long nap when we get home.

But those are just the details---overall I'm soooooooooooooo excited.

While I love our life and all of our adventures, I get so homesick for my family and our friends. Because of the pregnancy and travel restrictions and all that goes with it, I haven't been in the US since late November and haven't seen my branch of the family tree since early that same month.*

Sure, there's time to plan...we have about six weeks before take-off, but I am already counting the days.



************************************

*Yes, the BigD was here for ten days in April, but that wasn't enough. I miss my mom, so does Elliot (and Husband a little bit, too. Seriously.) We need to see the D, not to mention my dear sister. Also, Elliot has two cousins who are boys and about his same age. They need to get well acquainted so they can start planning who will steal the beer.

Big D (or Big Bug)

This morning as Husband was leaving for work, I said, "So what day is it?" If you wonder why I share that bit of information...The reason is two-fold. First, it's been a little busy in these parts lately. And secondly, that is why I feel totally justified in posting photos from a visit that happened several weeks ago.  

In Gainesvegas, NeeNee rules.

(NeeNee AKA BigD AKA the incrediably rare Drawlin' Fruity Fly, native to the wilds of Northern Georgia in the United States. Pictured here on a boat in the fjord.)

My brother, his wife and their two children live around the corner from her.  My sister and her son live a little bit farther, but still close enough that if Jack was old enough to run away from home and if he wanted to head to NeeNee's, he could probably make it there quickly and pretty safely on foot. 

And when I say NeeNee rules, it's not in the creepy, overbearing, roll-your-eyes sort of way. She never drops in or offers unsolicited advice or horns in.  (These are massively important qualities.) 

I mean that she really does know how to do things and will help if you ask her.  Also, she shows up when babies arrive to get them straightened out and to let the moms sleep. 

Then, pretty much immediately afterward, she babysits or carts them around or just coos over them and helps them learn crucial things like how to share, how to keep their fingers out of their noses and the alphabet. `

So when we knew that we were having Pickle, I knew that being no where within close proximity to Gainesvegas would make it hard. I know that people all over the world have babies and handle it just fine all on their own, but I didn't want to.  I wanted my mom to come immediately and help us before we screwed everything up.  

But we live thousands of miles and six time zones away, plus she's still working, so we decided to wait until her spring break (BigD is a special education teacher.) So it was three LONG weeks until she arrived. 

And while Husband and I survived the first two weeks with Elliot all on our own and it was nice to get things started together, it was challenging ---  especially since Husband had to take care of me, too.  

So were all really, really glad when NeeNee stepped off the plane. 

This is what happened next....

Elliot wore his fancy outfit to meet NeeNee at the airport. He wanted to make a good first impression.

Finally she appears.  See that bag on the bottom?  It's filled with goodies for Elliot and a few for us. We all got teary, me most of all. I was tired and hadn't seen her since early November.  That's much too long.

 

We waited until Husband got home to spread out the goods, but she took Elliot immediately. 

He loved it. 

She brought him an alligator sleeper and fed him his very first bottle so we could go to meet some friends for a bit. 

And she worried the whole time that Lillie or Milo would eat Elliot. That won't happen. It is much more like they would eat her. 

Dressed up and ready to go sightseeing. 

They were tight immediately. 

Big D loved going to the grocery store and seeing things like the giant displays of potatoes.

She also loved seeing the magazines about her age group filled with pictures of old ladies.  Check the cover model on this one. Big D smokes her.

Elliot had so much fun, he passed out most days. 

She worked on key skills like grasping...

And taking a pacifier. (this one hasn't really stuck.)

Elliot took her around town. 

Then he and I sat in the car, while...

Husband showed her things.

And more things. 

She sneaked* into a backyard to take a photo...

of this view.

And Husband took her through Old Stavanger. 

We headed out to the sea and the WWII bunkers.

"Well I guess I should climb in one."

She looks the part, no?

She saw sheep.  I saw dinner. mmmm little lambs eat ivy.

She got him to sit in what we now refer to as The Magic Chair.

We went on a fjord tour. It was windy.

Big D or Big Bug?

Big D likes to participate.

Big D and Priekestolen.

But after a while, leaving what was inside the boat was too hard...

.

So we just looked out the window at the sights.

And read about it in the guidebook.

Nope, those are not my skinny jeans, yet. But soon....

Bill loves motorcycles, so we had to go take a photo of it for BigD to show him.

We all went to dinner.

Then we all went home.

Then it was time for NeeNee to head back.

And she left us with a clean house, pictures hung in all the right places, piles of clean laundry, a baby that was a little more settled and a really good visit. We're all ready for our trip back in June.

*Yes, sneaked. Not snuck.  Snuck is not a word, no matter how common the usage of the word is becoming.  "Snuck" makes my eyes and ears bleed.