Qu'est-ce que c'est gateaux?: Hummingbird Cake Recipe

Wednesday was my honey's birthday so I made his favorite cake. This recipe is the same one Scott's grandfather used to make when Scott was a boy. His mother gave it to me and I'm going to share it with y'all because this is the most amazing cake in the world and it deserves to be eaten and celebrated:

Hummingbird Cake

Ingredients:

3 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3 eggs, beaten
1 1/4 cups vegetable oil
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 can (8oz) crushed pineapple, well drained
1 cup chopped pecans
2 cups chopped firm ripe banana

Preheat oven to 350°. Sift flour, sugar, salt, baking soda and cinnamon together into mixing bowl several times. Add eggs and salad oil to the dry ingredients. Stir with a wooden spoon until ingredients are moistened. Stir in vanilla, pineapple and 1 cup pecans. Stir in the bananas. Spoon the batter into 3 well-greased and floured 9-inch round cake pans. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes,or until a wooden pick or cake tester inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pan for 10 minutes, then turn onto cooling rack. Cool completely before frosting.

Cream Cheese Frosting:
16 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 cup butter, room temperature
2 pounds confectioners' sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Combine cream cheese and butter; cream until smooth. Add powdered sugar, beating with an electric mixer until light and fluffy. Stir in vanilla.

This cake is so rich and delicious. I love it, but I usually only make it on Scott's birthday because it is so special.

Some folks like to put chopped pecans on top of the icing, but I hate the way that interferes with the creaminess of the frosting.

Also, Paula Deen has a version of this cake that is slightly different. My recipe makes a really dense cake. Paula uses Self-Rising flour and omits the baking soda. Everything else is exactly the same, though, including the quantity of the flour.
Her version makes a slightly lighter and fluffier cake that still tastes fantastic!

A Kind of Magic: I Love My Son's Sense of Humor

You're getting a doubleheader today, folks. Two blog posts! Woot!

You'd think I'd save them up and spread them out, but why would I want to be so organized when I can write and deliver in such a willy-nilly fashion as I do?

So, as I type, Scott is on the phone right now with his mom. Both boys are at his mom's this weekend and he called to check on them. Apparently, they're having fun. Brendan got on the phone and pretended to be his little brother and totally tricked Scott. He's hilarious that way. His sense of humor is very much his Dad's.

He loves to do funny voices and imitate his favorite characters in movies. He does a brilliant Yoda. And yes, he can sound exactly like Beckett. He gets me in the same way all the time, calling out from the living room while I'm in the kitchen, saying, "Mama, need you. Need you!" which is often how Beckett summons me. I go running in to see what's wrong and there's Brendan, lying on the floor holding his stomach because he's laughing so hard. He knows he can do the voice. And, sadly for me, has gotten me the same way more than once.

I just think it's funny and interesting. I have to admit, I've wondered if he's going to end up on Space SNL. We have a niece who has blossomed into a very funny and talented young actress doing community theatre and I wonder if this might be where Brendan's gifts lie as well.

I just love watching this side of his personality emerge. He is a joker. He loves to laugh and make people laugh, yet so far, he's not the class clown at school. No, he saves it all for us.

I know time will tell and reveal to us and to him what his gifts are and what he wants to do with them. For now, I am content just to hear my clever boy's delightful peals of laughter and know he's flexing those creative muscles.

Dyspraxia Awareness Week

Over the Rainbow: Thankful Thursday

It's a sunny day in the ATL and there is hope in my heart.

My cuddly two-year old Beckett is sitting in my lap while I type telling me all the colors on the birthday candle that came off his daddy's birthday cake. We're about to go to our playdate with his best friend, Cooke and one of my best friends, Lucy. I have a press release to get out today, and phone calls to make. I am looking forward to joining other friends in a woman's group at church in the next few weeks. The air is crisp and soon will be the time for family gatherings. And I hold in my heart a sense that good things are on the horizon.

I am grateful.

Sorry for 2009: The Things I Never Knew About Parenting

Dear Mom,

Wherever you are out there in the Cosmos, I want you to know something.

I'm sorry.

For twenty odd years or maybe longer, I've been carrying around what amounts to a whole set of deluxe Samsonite, packed tight with my anger and hurt toward you over all the ways I felt that you let me down. I'll spare you the whole inventory, though I suspect in the spirit world, assuming there is one and you are there, that you know all this anyway. And you're probably laughing your ass off.

One of the items that topped my list was the fact that you never let me do anything as a kid. No sports. No dance lessons. No music lessons other than church choir. Not even Girl Scouts. I have been so pissed off at you for years because I felt like you didn't give me a chance to discover any of my gifts or talents. I had always assumed you didn't do these things with me because we were poor and you couldn't afford it. I realize now how expensive these things are.

But now, I also see that the expense lies not just in the actual cost of the activity, but also in the time it takes to do these things. The hours spent sitting at practices waiting for your child, time at games. Time to go buy uniforms. And on top of all that, there is a limit to how much control you have over any of it.

Unless you have volunteered to coach the team, be the den mother, or organize the event in some way – which admittedly, is even more of a time suck – you have zero control over when you'll be there or for how long.

I see now, that working two jobs and making less than $30,000 a year for most of my life, you had little opportunity to give me the kind of childhood I wanted...the one I am now trying to give my boys.

I know now how much it sucks. God. It sucks.

I have been livid for a month now that our stupid Cub Scout meetings are at 6:30 p.m. on Monday nights. Pick the worst day of the week and then plan a meeting for supper time. An hour long meeting that not only interrupts our dinner hour, but runs into our bath and bedtime routine. Thanks, Boy Scouts of America.

The thing is, I remember you serving as den mother for my cousins Troy and Trevor when they lived with us when I was little. It seemed like those meeting were later in the night, but that might be a four-year-old's memory of such things. Who knows? I just remember you did it for them, but not me. And I never understood that.

I think I do now. You were obligated to care for your brother's kids and he wanted them in Scouts. By the time I was old enough to do anything, you were working two jobs to make ends meet. And by the time I was in high school and old enough to get myself around, I was working after school and on weekends. It was too late.

I wonder, I still wonder even today sitting here writing this, how my life would be different if I had taken dance or been in Girl Scouts or played a sport. Would I be more confident? Would I believe in myself more? Would I be athletic and not have to worry about my figure? Would I be a master at sales making six-figures a year because I had learned to sell Girl Scout cookies so well? Who knows?

But I have to stop being angry at you over failing to give me those opportunities. I know now what a sacrifice it is to give your kids those things and I know you had very little to sacrifice, either in time or money or self. I still think you were self-absorbed and selfish and that played a big part in your unwillingness to give me more. But, I also know that to some extent you were just doing the best you could.

And I'm sorry that I've carried this anger – and at times a very strong hatred for you – around this long.

Now I know how hard it is to be a parent and to give of yourself. I know how very little there can be to go around sometimes. I hope I am making better choices than you. I hope my sons never have to even contemplate whether or not I loved them or wanted the best for them. I hope they never look back and think "my mom was so selfish." As much as I hate some of the things I have to do or choose to do for my kids – like dealing with a screaming toddler while his brother is in a Scout meeting – I do them because I hope and pray I am helping my sons become smarter, more confident, happier, and more well-rounded young men who can look back some day and think "Wow! I had a great childhood. My parents really loved us and went out of their way to give us the things we needed to succeed in our lives."

You weren't able to do that in the ways I might have liked. But, I hope and choose now to believe, that you really did do your best and give me all you could in your way.

So, Mom, once again, I'm sorry for being pissed off at you all those years. I love you. And I forgive you.

Dawn

Ask Not What Your Country Can Do For You....

I'm just so discouraged by the political dialogue in this country.

How sad is it that the President of the United States can't give a simple speech to our kids encouraging them to stay in school, do their best, and act obediently toward their parents and teachers without members of the opposing party going all apoplectic?

I just fail to see how this is cause for alarm. There's nothing remotely political about President Obama's speech, yet there are parents who are going to pull their children out of school on Tuesday so they won't have to hear the President's propaganda! Are you kidding me?

I heard one mother, from Colorado, I believe, who was quoted as saying that this government scares her. Really? Because I find watching young men and women die in a foreign country so that our (former) vice-president and his pals can get richer and our country can (in theory) have greater access to Middle Eastern oil, and having my civil rights trampled upon by the Patriot Act, and having my child's ability to gain access to the services he needs to get a good education stymied by the No Child Left Behind Act a hell of a lot scarier than our President telling kids to stay in school.

I really think our country is dying. And the reason is that too many people, some of them very smart people, have closed their minds. They've shut down their ability to reason and think for themselves and are unable to do anything other than espouse the party line. They are unwilling to even listen to any thoughts, beliefs, or arguments other than those they already believe in. Until we return to a place where both sides are willing to engage in constructive dialogue with one another and not just shout ugly words like Communist! or Fascist! at the other side, our country will cease to grow and thrive.

This commentator has it right. I couldn't agree more with what he has to say.

Adventures in Potty Training: Dyspraxic Child v. Typical Child

When I began the potty-training process with Brendan, when he was two-and-a-half, (the age, mind you, that had been recommended by all the books I'd read, our pediatrician, and my mother-in-law), I was confident that my smart little boy would be potty-trained in no time flat.

I believed that I could and would be consistent in our efforts. I had read a variety of methods and decided on the one I thought best for our lifestyle and his temperament. I was optimistic, to say the least.

For weeks, we struggled. I changed my methods. I tried everything my friends and family suggested. I gave up. I waited until he was three and tried again. This time, we had a bit more success, but still battled daily urinary accidents. And going poopy on the potty? Forget it!

When he was four and a looming August 10 start date for pre-K lay ahead in my future, I was panicking. Freaking out. Finally, after having tried everything to motivate him, educate him, help my son, I called our pediatrician. Her advice? Give up. Literally.

She said to give up trying to train him for one month. She said to put him in pull ups and just leave him alone for one month. To not even mention it. Against every thing that I believed to be true and sacred about parenting, I did exactly what she told me.

And...it worked.

About one month before school began, we put Big B back into regular underwear, told him he was to use the toilet for everything, and he did. He was able to start school with no accidents and he did great.

If only I had known then that he had dyspraxia, I could have saved both him and me many, many tears and hours of pain and anxiety over all of it. I could have saved his self-esteem and my own.

Now that he's been diagnosed, I know that late toilet training is a symptom or sign of dyspraxia. Back then? I just thought he was too stubborn or too easily distracted to focus on what his body was doing. Now, of course, I realize that the process of nerve endings and signals back and forth between brain and bladder and the various other body parts involved is so complicated that the dyspraxic child isn't physically mature enough at two and some not until they are much older, to get it right.

Now I know though. Still, when I began potty training Little B three weeks ago, I began cautiously and fearfully. I was fearful that I was entering another Showdown to the Death. That's what training Big B felt like to me. Between the potty training that was going wrong and the lack of sleep, I really thought one or both of us might die before we were done. And as I began training Little B, I really thought that it had the potential to be just as bad. To me, it felt like Potty Training PTSD. Just thinking of going through that again made me want to crawl inside myself.

I needn't have worried, though. By virtue of the fact that he doesn't have Developmental Dyspraxia, Little B has flourished in his efforts to be a Big Boy.

We spent a couple of days with him in pull-ups, being introduced to the toilet. I would give him juice and then every 10 min. thereafter put him on the toilet with the potty seat attached. After those first two days, he went into regular Thomas underwear, hand-me-downs from his big bro. After a couple of days that consisted of lots of him sitting on the toilet while I ran water and read books to him as we waited for him to pee only to have him have an accident as soon as we left the bathroom, we moved on to successful peeing in the potty with lots of M&Ms and stickers for rewards.

I took Little B to the store where I let him pick out his own underwear (he chose Sesame Street and Thomas) and the rest is history. We're three weeks in and he has only had two accidents the last week. He still hasn't pooped on the toilet, but I'm no longer worried.

I can't tell you what this kind of success has done to restore my confidence as a mom. I'm trying to focus on that and not beat myself up about not knowing Brendan was different. He was my first and I didn't know. And neither did our pediatrician. I talked to them a lot about it and they just kept telling me kids train when they want to. I can wish all day that we'd had an earlier diagnosis, but it doesn't change anything.

All I can say is that my heart is with every parent who is trying to potty train a dyspraxic child. And with that, I would say that if that describes you, be patient. It will come to them. Try, too, to remember that it is not a reflection on you or your parenting abilities if your dyspraxic child toilet trains late. Just keep your patience. I didn't have the luxury of knowing what our problem was and I wasted many tears fighting a battle I could have avoided.

More Back to School Recipes

By not blogging last week, I'm off schedule on doing my Back to School Recipe Reviews that I promised, so today, you're going to hear about three different recipes I tried before I forget them myself.

First, I made Wendy's Chili* for lunch last Saturday while the kids were at their grandparents. The only thing I altered was that I made it without meat, just a purely vegetarian version. It was lovely, filling, and very tasty. I love chili and this one gets high marks. Best of all? It was SUPER EASY!

*I just re-read this post and realized that it sounds like I made chili from the fast food chain known as Wendy's. I didn't. It's a recipe from my brilliant fellow blogger and friend, Wendy Armstrong.

It probably would be better had I added the turkey, but I didn't have any and didn't want to go to the store. So, here's the recipe again so you don't have to look at the comments on older posts:

1 2-alarm chili kit (available in most any grocery store)
1 lb ground turkey breast
1 small can tomato sauce
1 can diced tomatoes w/ green peppers and jalapenos
1 can black beans
1 can pinto beans

Brown turkey breast. Add contents of chili kit (chili powder, cayenne and salt), plus can of tomato sauce and 2 cans water. Stir. Bring to a boil and then reduce heat to simmer. Add diced tomatoes and beans. Cover and simmer for about 25 minutes. Add masa (also included in chili kit) if desired. Serve with chili fixins (we like rice, grated cheddar cheese, sour cream or low-fat plain yogurt).

Next, I made Spanish Shredded Beef, a recipe from the Publix Aprons collection of quick and easy recipes. This one was so easy, an adept tween could pull it off if mom or dad need help in the kitchen:

Spanish Shredded Beef

Ingredients
1 1/2 cups water
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon roasted garlic
1 (17-ounce) package fully-cooked beef roast au jus
1 (8-ounce) can Spanish tomato sauce
1/4 cup sofrito (Spanish seasoning sauce)
1 tablespoon minced onions
2 tablespoons sliced green olives
1 tablespoon capers
4 drops hot pepper sauce
2 cups instant rice

Steps
1. Preheat large saucepan on medium-high 2–3 minutes. Place water, 1 tablespoon of the olive oil, and salt in medium saucepan. Cover and bring to a boil on medium-high for rice.
2. Place remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil and garlic in large saucepan; cook 1 minute, stirring often, or until heated and fragrant. Stir in remaining ingredients (except rice); cook 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, or until thoroughly heated.
3. Stir rice into boiling water. Cover, remove from heat, and let stand 5 minutes.
4. Remove beef from heat; shred meat using two forks. Fluff rice with fork. Serve over rice.

I omitted the sofrito and the olives and the capers because I didn't have sofrito which they sell at Publix, thought capers were a bad choice for this dish, and Scott does not love olives the way I do. It still tasted great. Instead of serving it over rice, I put it inside whole wheat tortillas and served it with corn and fresh bell peppers.

It was not quite the hit I thought it would be with the fam, but I liked it a lot and had the leftovers for lunch the next day.

And then, last night, I made Chicken Paprika, a recipe from this awesome crock pot cooking site that ViolinMama recommended.

You can follow the link there to check out the recipe. It was very simple to make and the fact that I started it before noon really opened up the space between 5 and 7 p.m. All I had to do at that time was put on some rice to go with it, cook a vegetable (green beans, if you must know), and add the sour cream to the sauce. Not hard at all.

It does create a lot of dirty dishes which almost, but not quite, defeats the purpose of the quick and easy meal. As far as the flavor of the meal, it was okay, but a little bland. I'm not sure what I would add to improve the flavor though. I'll have to think about it more next time I make it, if I do. The kids actually liked the chicken which is good. And honestly, I think they'd eat rice at every meal if I made it. Same goes for green beans, which I was sad to learn, are one of the least nutritious vegetables.

So, there you go. Three more quick and painless (unless you're a chicken, cow, or turkey) school day dinners.

The Greatest Dog Ever

This isn't the post I thought I'd be writing today, but it is the one in my heart. The one I need to write.

Thirteen years ago this month, Scott, who was my boyfriend at the time, called me up and told me he had a surprise for me.

I could not imagine what it might be. We had been dating about seven months at the time. The 1996 Summer Olympics had just ended, so it wasn't tickets to an Olympic event. The only thing I could think of was tickets to a show. I just had no idea.

So, I hopped in my car and drove over to his house. He led me up to his bedroom and there, sitting on a bath towel in the middle of his bed, was the cutest, sweetest, most adorable little floppy-eared puppy I had ever seen. He was tiny and black and tan and he had the cutest little pink tongue that was eager with the kisses.

Instantly, I fell in love.

We named him Cooper. Special Agent Dale Cooper, actually, after Kyle MacLachlan's character in Twin Peaks. Even as a six-week old pup, our Cooper had something of a sage and mysterious nature.

He came to live with me in my apartment which had just been burgled a few weeks prior and soon he was a fine guard dog without our having to train him at all. He also quickly learned to go outdoors to do his business and in my recollection only had a few indoor accidents.

The one place he lacked self-discipline, it seemed, was his love for chewing shoes and books. But, with a little tough love, he soon outgrew those habits and became, by our reckoning and that of others, one of the best behaved dogs you could ever hope for.

Cooper is an amazing dog. And he has been well-loved from the day Scott found him hanging around a neighbor's yard hoping to get in the fence to be with her two Basset hounds.

I credit him with saving my life on at least two occasions. Maybe more. The first time came when he was just one year old, a long and lanky pup whose ears had finally decided to stand up.

Scott and I had just moved in together. It was going to be our first night in our first home together, but Scott had been invited to a wedding in Baltimore that weekend. I spent a stormy Friday night unpacking boxes and setting up our bedroom. Around midnight, I was so tired, I went to bed with Cooper asleep on the bed beside me. I had just drifted off, it seemed, when Cooper began growling, deep in his belly, and awoke me. I then heard two male voices right under my bedroom window, discussing the best way to get into the house. Cooper began barking and I called 911. The two men were gone by the time police arrived, but I believe that's only thanks to my sweet and protective boy.

About two years later, he pulled me away from our mailbox just seconds before a drunk driver crashed into it, right at the spot where I would have been standing.

At 13 years old, he still barks when he sees someone walking down the street or a strange car in front of our house. And since the day they got old enough to throw a temper tantrum, Cooper has come to stand between me and a screaming crying boy as though he wants to protect me from them.

All of this, and really, Scott is his Alpha, his master. Scott who used to feed Cooper the crusts off his Pop-Tarts. Who made sure I indulged Cooper with pig ears and dog toys.

Still, I don't know that I have ever been loved as unconditionally as I have by Cooper. And my heart breaks as I see him changing and becoming less and less himself, day by day.

It began when he started having separation anxiety. And then he stopped coming to greet us when we came home. Soon, even rain showers were making him shake, cry, and follow me around the house the way the most severe thunderstorms once did.

On Friday, he wandered two doors down to a neighbor's house. When I went to shepherd him back home, he didn't recognize me and almost got hit by a car as he tried to run to the other side of the street to avoid me. As he trotted toward our house, he kept looking over his shoulder fearfully at the strange woman who was trying to get him.

A fair amount of reading has led me to conclude that he has Cognitive Dysfunction Syndrome. He has almost all of the symptoms. The worst, aside from his not recognizing briefly on Friday, has been his inability to sleep at night. It seems it has gotten worse the last few days, too.

I know that it is inevitable that he will die. He has already exceeded the life expectancy for a dog his size by about three years. And, for the most part, I'd say he has had a good life. Although, I keep reliving the moment when I knelt beside him at five a.m., in our foyer, the morning I went into labor with Brendan. My water had broken a few hours earlier and as we ran around the house making phone calls, packing last minute items into bags, loading things into the car, Cooper followed me and kept an eye on all that was happening. He knew something was up, if not what.

I knelt beside him and hugged him and I couldn't hold back my tears as I told him I was sorry that his life was about to change. I knew it would never be the same for him again.

But, the day we brought Brendan home and sat him down in his carrier in the living room, Cooper checked him out and added him to the pack. Moments later, when our orange tabby Mao walked over to check the baby out, Cooper instantly jumped up, barked and nudged the cat away with his nose.

Still, I go back and wish there had been enough of me to go around. To keep up the daily outdoor play time of throwing the tennis ball or a stick. I hope the walks, the tummy rubs, the special treats, the love the kids have shown him have made up for some of the joys in life he lost when the kids came into the picture.

I don't know how much time he will have left with us and us with him. I do hope I can make each of those days as great as possible and that in the moments when he recognizes us and his life that he knows he is, always has been, and will continue to be loved and known as the greatest dog ever.

Beautiful Life: When Ordinary Moments Become Extraordinary

I just watched this video by the band Fisher, who Scott and I discovered way, way, way back in the past when music by indie bands on the Internet was a groundbreaking phenomenon. The song and the video are just so joyful they have helped make my Monday.

I had to share it because it feels like an extension or perhaps rather an expression of the golden ball of Happy that I felt in my heart and soul on Saturday night after a perfectly ordinary day spent with Scott and The Boys.

We slept in, which for us means about 8:30. Then we just puttered around the house. I played with the kids a little, fixed breakfast, made a shopping list. Scott did some work. We ate lunch, and then went to the Buford Highway International Farmers' Market so I could pick up some produce for the week and get the things I needed to make a Broccoli Salad to take to a friend's house for dinner that night.

When we got home, we rushed to get ready to go to our friends L. and F.'s for dinner with them and their two darling little boys. And it was the perfect evening of perfectly ordinary pleasures. Margaritas on the patio. Delicious food like bacon-wrapped, cheese-stuffed peppers. Smoked burgers. Broccoli and potato salads. Watching the boys run and tumble and play until they were exhausted, sweaty, sand-covered little messes. It was the kind of night that helps people grow closer and can stay in your heart forever. And what I loved most was that it did seem perfectly ordinary in the sense that these are people who have grown to be our friends slowly and over time to the point that we now have a shared history and I hope a long shared future. It didn't seem like a big deal to be going to their home. It just seemed perfectly natural. The way friendships do over time. And it's a wonderful feeling.

Even after we left, loaded into Scott's car with our leftovers and sweet, sweaty, sandy boys, and half a pitcher of margaritas L. sent home with us, I felt so...Happy. All four of us together, laughing and teasing and joking. I felt like I couldn't stop smiling as I thought, "This is it. This is what my life is and it's amazing and I am so thankful for it."

Sadly, it's a rare thing that a day spent doing not much of anything makes me feel connected and alive and perfectly content the way this past Saturday did. The experience, though, makes me appreciate the wonder of my life that much more and makes me determined to experience that joy in every day if not in every moment.

More Fast and Yummy Recipes

I have gotten some excellent comments and recipe ideas so far and will be giving them all a whirl. Thanks to everyone who has given me their ideas so far. I can't wait to try Wendy's chili and some of Suz's vegetarian ideas.

In the meantime, I'll give you the recipe for the main dish I made last night, Oven Fried Drumsticks. I liked them, but they weren't as huge a hit as I had hoped. Brendan liked them okay. Scott might have liked them better if they had crisped up more in the oven, which was my fault. I forgot to turn them while they were cooking, so the top half was crispy, but the bottom was not. It all still tasted good and I'm really happy to have leftovers for today's lunch.

I served them with green beans cooked in beef broth with onions and mac-n-cheese (from a box, but doctored up with real cheese).

Breaded and Baked Chicken Drumsticks Recipe
Recipe adapted from a Deviled Drumsticks recipe in Bon Appetit, March 2001.
INGREDIENTS
1/4 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup Dijon or whole grain mustard
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
3/4 cup dry breadcrumbs
2 Tbsp finely chopped chives or green onion greens
Salt
6 large chicken drumsticks, about 1 1/3 lbs
Olive oil
METHOD
1 Place rack on upper third of oven. Preheat oven to 425°F. Coat the bottom of a shallow roasting pan or baking sheet with a thin layer of olive oil.
2 Mix together the mayonnaise, mustard, and Worcestershire sauce in a medium bowl. Mix together the breadcrumbs and minced chives in a separate medium bowl.
3 Sprinkle each drumstick with salt. One by one, dip each drumstick in the mayonnaise mixture, turning to coat. Then dip the drumstick in the breadcrumbs mixture, turning to coat. Place the drumsticks on the prepared roasting pan.
4 Bake chicken for 20-25 minutes, until just cooked through, and juices run clear (not pink) when poked with a sharp knife.
Serves 4-6.

I'll tell you where I changed the recipe.

I omitted the Worcestershire because I was out, but sprinkled in a bit of Montreal seasoning into the mustard/mayo mixture.

Instead of chives or green onions, I added paprika, oregano, and garlic powder to my breadcrumbs. And I used Smart Beat spray instead of olive oil on my pan.

I prepared the mustard/mayo blend and went ahead and coated the chicken with that, put it in a ziplock bag and put that in fridge to sit for about 4 hours before cooking.

I also went ahead and prepared the breadcrumb mixture earlier in the day and put that aside so I wouldn't have to do it during the dinner crunch.

Come time to cook, all I had to do was dip the drumsticks in my breadcrumbs and bake. I also lowered the oven temp to 350 and cooked for 50 min. because I tend to burn things at higher temps.

Hope you enjoy.

Back to School Recipes: Got Any?

School days mean we're crunched for time at both ends of the day.

I told Scott this morning that we seem to have a black hole in our house that sucks up any amount of extra time. So, I need to find some ways to save time. Specifically, I am looking for quick, easy, healthy dinner ideas.

If you send me your favorite quick and tasty dinner ideas I will post them on my blog, complete with a review of the recipe after I've made it and a link to your blog or web site. Click on my profile to find my e-mail address or post it in the comments section. And if you don't have any great recipe ideas, but your friends do, tell them and have them post their favorites.

To get things started, here's what I made for tonight's dinner. It was the first day of school for us and I wanted to be prepared for homework, hearing about Brendan's day, and just being with my kids, so I pulled out the old crockpot and made:

Garlic Chicken with Artichokes and Peppers

Ingredients
12 garlic cloves, minced
1 medium onion, chopped
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 (8-9 ounce) package frozen artichoke hearts
1 sweet red pepper, cut into strips
1 1/2 cups chicken broth
1 tablespoon quick-cooking tapioca
2 teaspoons dried rosemary, crushed
1 teaspoon finely shredded lemon peel
1 (1/2 teaspoon) ground black pepper
1 1/2 lbs boneless skinless chicken breasts or chicken thighs
Directions
1In small skillet cook garlic and onion in hot oil over medium heat, stirring occasionally, 5 minutes, or until tender.
2In 4 quart slow cooker combine the frozen artichoke hearts, sweet pepper, chicken broth, tapioca, rosemary, lemon peel, and black pepper. Add chicken; spoon garlic mixture over chicken.
3Cover and cook on low setting for 6 to 7 hours, or on high setting for 3 to 3 1/2 hours.

Dyspraxia USA Works to Raise Awareness of the Hidden Handicap

Here's a link to the press release I sent out yesterday on behalf of Dyspraxia USA:

Press Release

Congressman Hank Johnson to Hold Town Hall Meeting on Health Care Reform

Thanks to State Senator Curt Thompson for this update:

Congressman Johnson to Host Health Care Reform Town Hall

Congressman Hank Johnson of Georgia’s 4th Congressional District, proudly serving DeKalb, Rockdale, and Gwinnett Counties cordially invites you to his 2009 Health Care Reform Town Hall.

The event is scheduled for Monday, August 10, from 7 to 9 p.m. at the Georgia Perimeter College Clarkston Campus, Cole Auditorium/ Fine Arts Center, 555 North Indian Creek Drive, Clarkston GA 30021

Scheduled Panelists include:

U.S. Rep. Hank Johnson
Moderator: DeKalb Commissioner Larry Johnson
Michael Young, Grady Hospital CEO
Dr. Sandra Ford, District Health Director for DeKalb County
Dr. Arthur Kellermann, Emory University

Congressman Johnson and his staff will update the status of health care proposals. A panel of health care professionals and advocates will discuss reform. The final hour and a half will be open to the public for questions and comments.

DIRECTIONS: Georgia Perimeter College 's Cole Auditorium and Fine Arts Center is at the corner of North Indian Creek Drive and Memorial College Avenue in Clarkston. Driving south on I-285, take the East Ponce de Leon exit toward Clarkston, exit 40 -- turn left. At North Indian Creek, turn right and take it to Memorial College Ave ; take a left. The Cole Fine Arts Center is on your right. Driving north on I-285, take a right at the Memorial Drive exit, exit 41. Turn left on Rockbridge Road, right on North Indian Creek Drive and a right on Memorial College Ave. The Cole Fine Arts Center is on your right.

For more information, call Andy Phelan at 770-939-2016 or visit http://hankjohnson.house.gov

Day of Remembrance and Healing at National Shrine of St. Jude

Today is a Day of Remembrance and Healing at the National Shrine of St. Jude for all those affected by cancer.

The Claretian Order who run the shrine are there praying to St. Jude for intercession on behalf of everyone suffering with cancer, their friends, and their families.

Here is a message I received from Fr. Mark Brummel, Director of the Shrine of St. Jude:

May the Lord bless you and keep you and all those you love, especially those affected by cancer. Throughout today’s liturgies at the National Shrine of St. Jude, we will pray in a special way for all those who suffer from cancer. I invite you to join us today, and on the first Wednesday of every month, as we call upon St. Jude for the healing of cancer. Please send your special intentions for healing and remembrance of those affected by cancer to the Shrine today.

Join with them in prayer today.

We pray together:
God of healing mercy, in Jesus your Son you stretch out your hand in compassion, restoring the sinner, healing the sick, and lifting up those bowed down. Embrace us now in your loving care, particularly those afflicted with cancer, for whom this intention is offered. May the Spirit of Jesus bring us all health in soul and body, that with joy and thanksgiving we may praise you for your goodness, through the same Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Preparing Your Child with Dyspraxia or Sensory Processing Disorder for School

Beginning a new school year can be very exciting for most children and their families. New school supplies. New clothes. New friendships. New teachers. There’s a lot to look forward to.

For children with Developmental Dyspraxia or other Sensory Processing Disorders (Sensory Integration Disorders) and their families, back-to-school time can hold an entirely different set of thoughts and emotions. It’s a time that can be fraught with fear, anxiety, and other negative feelings.

With a little planning and effort on your part, you can calm your own fears and help your son or daughter enjoy a smooth transition from summer fun back into the classroom.

I’ve talked with a number of parents, educators, occupational therapists, and family therapists to cull their best and most effective ideas for preparing your child with SPD/SID and have compiled them here.

For Makasha Dorsey, the mother of Justin who will enter Kindergarten this month, it was extremely important to establish the fact that her family was in control of Justin’s SPD, not the other way around. She and her husband spent the first year following Justin’s diagnosis with SPD closely monitoring their son’s behavior to find out what some of his specific issues and triggers were. She says, “Like most children, he likes to know exactly what's going on and when. Therefore, we use social stories, calendars, and daily schedules to help prepare him for school.”

Before classes begin at Justin’s elementary school, Dorsey scheduled a meeting – without Justin – to meet his teacher and get his schedule of daily activities. During the meeting, she took photographs of the school, Justin’s classroom, his teacher and her assistant, the school principal, the hallway, bathrooms, and the front office, which she then compiled into a social story called Kindergarten. During the week prior to the start of school, Dorsey will use the story and implement the daily schedule at home in order to help Justin prepare for and acclimate to his first school experience. The preparation will culminate in taking Justin to the school’s open house to meet his teacher in person. Dorsey says that she knows on the first day of school, “I can take him to school and know that he will have a great day because he has been prepared.”

She also points out the importance of educating your child’s teacher about Sensory Processing Disorder. Because it is a relatively new diagnosis many teachers and administrators have not heard of SPD. Dorsey compiled a booklet for Justin’s teachers using information from "The Out of Sync Child" and "Its So Much Work to Be Your Friend". She gave copies of her booklet to Justin’s teacher, the principal, school nurse, and school counselor.

Sharron Dark, a special education instructor who teaches in the Washington, D.C., public school system agrees with the importance of educating the educator and any support staff who will have contact with your child. She points out that most mainstream classroom teachers are relatively unfamiliar with and uncomfortable with diagnoses like SPD. She says that providing them with basic information about the condition is extremely helpful, but you should be careful not to overwhelm your child’s teacher with too much information. You should also be wary of undermining your child by setting up low expectations with the teacher.

To prepare your child and encourage them to be excited by school, Dark recommends taking your child to the school before school starts when it is not crowded in order to help familiarize your child with the school. She also suggests taking your child to shop for a special item such as a new backpack or lunch box. Finally, she recommends using puppets or dolls to create and act out a story about the emotions your child may be feeling with regard to starting or returning to school.

Minneapolis mom Eileen Parker recommends integrating sensory therapies like weighted blankets to help calm children with Sensory Processing Disorder while in the classroom. This is an item that parents can introduce to their child’s teacher during an open house or meeting scheduled before school begins. Parker’s child benefited so much from the use of a weighted blanket that she launched her own line of weighted school Lap Cozys that help ease anxiety and help with concentration and focus.

Remember that every child is different and you know your child better than anyone. That said, most children with Dyspraxia or any other form of Sensory Processing Disorder benefit from having a routine and from being prepared for transitions. Starting school, whether for the first time or the fifth time, remains a huge transition after a summer that may have offered a more flexible schedule with lots of down time. Taking the time and effort to prepare you son or daughter for the start of school can pay off tremendously in reduced stress and better classroom performance. Your child and his teacher will thank you. And you just might thank yourself.

That's Me Trying: The Movie Little Children and a Revelation

I saw the movie Little Children early Saturday morning. For some reason, I was awake at 5:30 a.m. when it came on and I got caught up in it.

Let me preface the rest of this post by letting you know there may be spoilers in here, so if you plan to see the film, you may want to stop here.

Scott had seen it before and liked it. I wasn't sure I wanted to see it. With the primary focus of the film being on a stay-at-home mom (Kate Winslet) who is dissatisfied with her life, I thought the film might hit a little close to home. Making it even creepier? The fact that my friend Jean has told me that I remind her of Kate Winslet.

The movie was hard to watch for a variety of reasons, but primarily because I did see bits of myself in Winslet's character, Sarah.

Sarah is a stay at home mom and kind of a failure. She has her Master's in English Lit but never finished her Ph.D. She's in kind of a loveless, passionless marriage. She has a little girl, but she's so absorbed in her own drama, her own ennui, that she can't take joy in the wonders of the world, the profound and beautiful moments of her own life that are right before her.

When the movie opens, Sarah is at the park with her daughter on a playdate with three other moms from the neighborhood. They're all very WASP-y and Stepfordy. I do kind of think the director went a little far with it. There's a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, one dressed in pink, one in yellow, and one in pale blue. And they're mean and judgmental and you know they all talk about each other behind one another's backs.

They help Sarah out begrudgingly and with lots of snide little comments about how she should make a list for herself when she realizes she has forgotten her daughter's snack at the playground. And naturally the child is melting down and humiliating her mother because she feels neglected and she wants her snack.

I related to the mousy Sarah so much in that scene. Her disheveled appearance is a stark contrast next to the ironed and button-downed, if not stylish women who surround her and that combined with her scatter-brained inability to create a successful park outing for her child reminded me of myself in a couple of ways.

I mean, I'm not always like that. But I have had my moments. I just went on a playdate with my not-yet-potty-trained two-year old to a friend's house and forgot diapers. Fortunately, when he needed a change I was only four doors down and could walk home for a diaper while my friend watched Beckett. And when I'm around the well-groomed beauties in my neighborhood, I always feel a little...um...mousy and disheveled? Even though I know I'm not and I actually try to look good most of the time unlike Sarah who is of the pretentious "I'm too intelligent for make-up and a hairstyle" ilk. I live in a neighborhood with an unusual amount of beautiful and well put-together women. But I digress.

Thankfully, that level of screwiness is about where my similarities end with Sarah. Sort of.

Sarah ends up having an affair with Brad, a stay-at-home dad she meets at the park. All the stay-at-home moms in Sarah's cohort have their collective eye on him, but Sarah somehow gets his attention and they begin an affair that ultimately culminates in their plan to run away together.

There's a lot of other things that happen in the movie and I won't bore you with them. I will get to my point here though.

The biggest way in which Sarah fucks up and is fucked up is that she can't get out of her head. All she can do is stew in her own sense of tedium and neglect until she meets Brad and then, almost instantly, the two of them get swept up into each other's lives, scheduling daily playdates for their two small children just so they can see each other. This gives her a break from the monotony of her life, but it does not get her out of her own head, nor does it make her in any way a better or happier person.

The thing is, I know what it's like to think that you're going to get married and have kids and have this perfect little life and then realize that you've not only put any other dreams you had on hold, you've up and abandoned them completely.

Although, I think in Sarah's case, having a child was a convenient excuse not to finish her dissertation and thereby avoid "real world" responsibilities. Except, guess what? Having and raising a child is very much of the real world and requires a completely different set of skills than teaching English Lit.

The thing that pained me most about this movie was how little Sarah was capable of connecting with her daughter. She simply could not get out of her own way to be able to engage with the child on any level short of taking care of her basic necessities. At one point, she tries to pay a neighbor who has been caring for the little girl while Sarah is out conducting her illicit affair with Brad, and tells her neighbor it's "for your trouble," ignoring all the sweet, generous comments the neighbor makes about what a delightful little girl Sarah has.

I know there have been times when I am guilty of those same crimes. There have been times when my worries about life, the stresses and anxieties of the world, my own sense of being lost or having no sense of purpose or wondering what my purpose is keep me locked inside my head, unable to do more than make sure everyone is clean, safe, and well-fed. But, I am very much aware of this fact and am fighting daily to make sure that I am present and engaged as fully as I can be in life, thankful now for every moment.

And that is where Sarah and I differ. Sarah seems to have no sense of being disengaged. Not really. She seems to believe that the "life" she has created with Brad, with both their children lurking around the fringes as a convenient excuse for their relationship, is real and she takes great effort to sustain it, yet she can't be bothered to stop staring at her reflection in the mirror (almost literal navel gazing), long enough to greet her daughter whom she has not seen in 24 hours.

There's a lot not to like about this movie with it's unintentional humor, annoying voice-over, some bad acting, and really, really annoying characters. Still, I'm glad I saw it; glad I saw myself in it a bit. It made me realize that while I may be imperfect, at least I'm here. And at least I'm trying.

Get Around: Bank of America's Museums on Us Program

It's Museums On Us weekend!

If you're a Bank of America cardholder (credit or debit), you can get into select museums in a variety of cities for free the first full weekend of every month!

Here's the list of participating museums in Atlanta:

The Atlanta History Center;
Fernbank Museum of Natural History
Atlanta Botanical Garden;
Millennium Gate;
Zoo Atlanta;
High Museum of Art

To find out which museums in your city are participating, click here.

*Just so y'all know this is not a paid endorsement. What could they give me? Free entrance to a museum? Just kidding. But I just thought I'd let you know that I'm just relating this information because I think it's really cool and plan to take advantage.

Forever. Or Maybe Not.

And now, for some Friday fun...


Jill And Kevin's Unexpected Wedding Entrance - Watch more Breaks Biggest Winners

Followed by this parody:


JK Unexpected Divorce Hearing Entrance - Watch more Funny Videos

And We Have A Winner!

Congratulations to Cranky Mommy who is the winner of the Melissa & Doug Lace and Trace Shape Set.

From reading her post announcing the contest, I see that she's beginning to home school both her oldest and youngest children, so I know she'll get a lot of use out of this!

Thanks to both of you gals who entered for sharing news about the contest on your site and via Twitter!

And if you're curious as to how I selected a winner, I used the number randomizer at random.org after assigning you numbers for each of your contest entries.

Thanks again for visiting and playing!

Repeating Myself: Enter to Win an Awesome Developmental Toy!

Time is running out to enter to win the Melissa & Doug Lace 'n Trace Shape Set.

It's a great gift for a developing toddler or an older child who has fine motor difficulty. Follow this link to read about the contest and enter. You'll see there are multiple ways you can win!

Arms of an Angel

I just learned about a baby and a family that needs our prayers right now. I've linked to the mom's blog where you can read about what is going on. But please keep little Stellan and his family in your prayers right now.

If you're Catholic, or believe in intercessory prayer, you might want to say this prayer to St. Jude, patron of the hopeless:

Prayer to St. Jude for our Child who is Sick

St. Jude, the glorious apostle faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the patron of hopeless cases of things despaired of, pray for our child who is sick and so miserable. Make use we implore you of this particular privilege accorded to you, to bring visible and speedy help where help is almost despaired of. Come to our assistance in this great time of need, that I may receive the consolations and succor of Heaven in all my necessities, tribulations and sufferings, particularly to help our child to get better from his illness and to give him good health and to guide his path, and that we may bless God with you and all the elect forever. I promise you, O Blessed St. Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor, and I will never cease to honor you as my special and powerful patron and to do all in my power to encourage devotion to you. Amen.

Sea of Teeth

Not only has summer flown by, but it has brought a host of changes.

Both my boys grow and change and become increasingly more...human every minute of every day. Right before my very eyes.

In the span of a month, Brendan has lost his first two teeth; teeth that seem as if they came in yesterday as I massaged his tender gums with cooling gel and froze binkies for him to suck on.

Beckett has gone from baby to little boy overnight as well, it seems. Two weeks ago I pulling my hair out and trying to schedule an appointment with Babies Can't Wait to have him evaluated for a speech deficit because at 31 months old, he's still not speaking in sentences. Then, on Thursday of this week, he just pops out with his first sentence, telling me, "Mom, I have a poop." Meaning, of course, that he had a dirty diaper.

Then, he told me to "Put the lid down." Since then, he has added sentences to tell us that his brother is mean, to ask me to stop doing something he didn't like, and to direct us all to do his bidding.

He has also become less tolerant of having his big brother take his toys without asking and more demanding and grabby himself. Preschool should be fun!

Fear of having a burgeoning bully on my hands aside, all of this rapid change in the boys is very exciting. I love seeing them grow and learn and become more confident and more of who they truly are every day.

It's far to easy to get caught up in life's daily minutiae and miss the miracle of it all. I may not always express it and I know that my penchant for falling into depression can mask it, but I really am amazed by the joy that is to be found in creating, living with, mothering, and just being around these little people, who still live each and every moment fully. What a fantastic experience!

Give It Away: Win a Melissa & Doug Lace 'n Trace Shape Set

When Brendan began occupational therapy last fall, one of his favorite activities recommended by his occupational therapist was working with lace-up boards to help improve the muscular control in his hands.

Well, today, I have the chance to give one lucky winner a set of Melissa and Doug Lace 'n Trace Shapes. They're a great developmental toy for little hands craving opportunities to develop fine motor skills.

This gift comes courtesy of All Children's Furniture, where you can find everything from bunk beds to nursery furnishings, toys to art supplies. They literally have a little of everything you need to decorate your kids' rooms, keep them entertained, and keep yourselves all on the go.

Two things I was impressed with were the amount of arts and crafts supplies they have as well as the number of developmental toys I saw. It's difficult to find toys like lace-up shoes and dolls or stuffed animals with zippers, snaps, and buttons, and while they don't have a ton on their site, there definitely are some available which is better than most general toy sites.

To enter, leave me a comment below telling me about one item you love on the All Children's Furniture site. If you also post a link to this contest on your blog, you'll receive one extra entry. And if you subscribe to my blog, you'll get one more. Do you really want another entry? Okay...Tweet about it and that will be good for an entry. Be sure to let me know in your comments whether you subscribe, tweet, or post about the contest on your blog.

One winner will be selected at random. The contest ends at 12:01 a.m., Friday, July 31.

If you want to share this on your blog, feel free to copy and paste the text below:

Belle of the Blog is having a contest courtesy of All Children's Furniture, where you can find everything from bunk beds to toys. Stop by and enter to win a set of Melissa and Doug Lace 'n Trace Shapes.

Best of luck!

Don't Mess with...Tussionex!

I'm battling a sinus infection and bronchitis. Right now, despite my best efforts to stay positive, I think the sickness is winning.

Of course, Big Bad Bronchitis has had help kicking my butt from the prescription cough medicine my doctor prescribed for me. It's called Tussionex. It is, apparently, the only liquid cough medicine currently on the market because the FDA, in its infinite wisdom, decided to pull every other liquid cough medicine off the market because they could not prove their efficacy. As my doctor pointed out, some of these medicines had been on the market for 50 years working just fine, but because they had not had updates and new testing and no one was dying from taking them, the FDA thought it would be a good idea to banish them from the marketplace and encourage Big Pharma to go out spend several millions of dollars on testing so they could then jack the price up on all the meds once they gave them the okay to return to the marketplace. That is, if they return at all.

At any rate, Tussionex contains hydrocodone and it's a time-released medication. So, even though, I took it before bed last night at around 9:00 p.m., I am still feeling the effects of it some 16 hours later. Dazed. Confused. Sleepy. All this, and I took the right dose.

I'm having trouble keeping my thoughts all marching along in a straight line. I feel other-worldly, out-of-body, floating in a sea of me-ness right now.;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

Dammit! See that... I just drifted off.

So, even if I weren't hacking up a lung, I'm not sure I'd know the difference in how I felt because I'm too spaced out.




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Stick to the Status Quo: on Healthcare Reform

I'm no expert on healthcare reform. But, I do have the common sense and awareness of what goes on around me to know that our current system is broken. Just like our educational system. But that's another blog post for another day.

My family is lucky to have insurance paid for by my husband's employer. I know that not everyone is so fortunate and I wonder what the cost of that is ultimately to our government and our society.

What is the effect of the uninsured clogging up hospital emergency rooms with a cold or flu or minor healthcare issue that a person with insurance would go to their primary care physician for? What happens to the child whose parents ignore his asthmatic wheezing because they can't afford to take him to the doctor? Shoot, what about the ones who have insurance but can't afford the $100 co-pay at the ER and ignore that cough and wheeze until it's too late?

I fell into this thought spiral after a visit to my own doctor yesterday. I woke up feeling miserable yesterday after developing a cough over the weekend. I felt lightheaded, run down, and my chest hurt. Then I developed a headache and head congestion. It actually probably happened in the other order, but I seemed more aware of the chest congestion than any sinus problems.

I've had these symptoms before. This was actually my third time since 2008. I end up with a sinus infection that turns into bronchitis. I learned my lesson in the spring of 2008 when I kept ignoring it. With a few exceptions, all of my adult life I've been stronger than any illness and able to will it away. That time, my efforts failed and bronchitis turned into walking pneumonia and while Beckett was in the hospital because of his asthma, I ended up about as sick as I've ever been in my life.

Thankfully, though, I have a good doctor who got me on antibiotics and a good cough medicine and after a couple of days in bed, I was better. Of course, with two kids, that could only have happened with the help of my family and friends.

So, now when I start feeling like I have bronchitis, I go to the doctor immediately because I can't afford to get that sick. I know, though, that if we did not have insurance, I would probably ignore the symptoms until I wound up dead or in the hospital. And I know most other working class families would do the same thing. I grew up in one.

Although in my case, my mother had insurance through her job, but couldn't afford the premium for me, so I didn't have insurance. As a result, I wasn't allowed to do anything because as she kept reminding me, if I got hurt, she couldn't afford to take me to the ER.

While I was at the doctor's office, I asked my doctor what he thought about President Obama's healthcare reform plan. And he told me that no plan is going to be perfect but that we "must have change." He said that most doctors he knows are in favor of healthcare reform initiated by the government and they would overwhelmingly choose not to have to deal with the number of different insurers they do now. He said the paperwork and nickel-and-diming attitude of the insurance companies, not to mention their bureaucracy, is what keeps him and other doctors from being able to practice true patient care.

He told me that his greatest desire (and that of most of his physician colleagues) is standardization. He said that while one insurer might pay for a certain test with no questions, another one will only pay for it if a patient has a temperature in a specific range and if all the right checkboxes are marked on the paperwork. Literally. He told me there are insurance companies that, even though well-child visits are mandated by law, don't want to pay for immunizations and they have to submit paperwork on vaccines multiple times before they'll pay.

It sounds insane.

And obviously, as this article points out, a government agency like HHS and Medicare can't be trusted to run the Great Medical Care Show. At least not in the current incarnation. And it's clear nothing is going to change as long as lobbyists continue to line the pockets of our Senators and Representatives. Rep. Marsha Blackburn, the gentlewoman from the Great State of Tennessee makes that perfectly clear:

"My hope is that as we look at health care reform that some of those that are working off of theory, if you will, and the federal system will slow down and we look at where the lessons learned should be and we will think long and hard before they move aboard a single-payer or mandated to restrict choice and restrict options for individuals."

I do believe in change. But Americans need to open their minds and their ears and stop listening to those who are making millions from the status quo while there are children in this country going without healthcare.

And just keep this in mind... The refrain I keep hearing from the right is that any healthcare reform package will limit our choices. But... Do you really believe you have a choice now? Really?

Most companies offer one or two options from the same insurer to their employees and when it comes to buying a private plan, most of us in the ever-shrinking middle class, are limited by our incomes. And God help you if you ever find yourself uninsured and happen to have a pre-existing condition.

If you can find anyone to insure you, consider yourself lucky. Luckier still if you can afford the premiums. And if all that's true and they'll agree to cover your pre-existing condition, stop gambling. You'll have used up every drop of luck on that wager.

It's clear we need a change. I just don't know what that change should be. But, I do trust that President Obama is above the will and whim of the lobbyists in trying to do what's right for the American people.

A Clarification and An Apology

In my post from a few days ago where I talked about Beckett breaking my favorite bowl and how I was angry and frustrated, I said in the post that I started to call my husband Scott but didn't because I thought he wouldn't understand my anger.

That's not entirely true and not what I really meant to say.

Scott is very understanding and supportive. But, he's also someone who operates on a pretty even keel. He knows how to manage his anger. He doesn't yell. He doesn't get frustrated with the kids like I do. And he works really hard at a job that means he doesn't have time to talk on the phone a lot.

So, when I didn't call him, it wasn't because he doesn't "get me" or something. It was just that as I was dialing I was thinking, "Well, what's he going to do? He's at work. You'll be interrupting him and you know that he wouldn't react like this, so, just get yourself together, and do what a normal person would do."

I projected my own insecurities and feelings of failure for getting frustrated and angry onto Scott and that is wholly unfair to him. And I'm sorry.

My husband is a really amazing guy who takes wonderful care of his family while balancing work and music and I'm extremely grateful for him and for all he does for us.

I just hope he knows that.

Angels Among Us

I am overwhelmed with gratitude this morning.

Our friend Barrett came over for dinner last night. When she arrived, she had a big Crate and Barrel box. She said, "This is for you," handing it over to me as she walked in.

I couldn't imagine what it might be. My first thought was wine glasses because one of our favorite activities is hanging out and drinking good red wine while we talk and laugh. And I was thinking, "Wow! That's really nice."

I had no idea that the gift she was giving me was something so superior to any ideas I had that it would blow me away with the scope of her thoughtfulness and generosity.

Barrett had read my post from the day before where I was kvetching about the broken bowl. (Funnily enough, I had already decided I was a heel for being upset over a stupid broken bowl.)

And then here comes Barrett with this amazingly thoughtful gift for me. Yep, the 5-piece bowl set from Crate and Barrel in this gorgeous array of colors. And for no reason other than the fact that she's just a very loving and considerate person. She read my post and just wanted to replace my yellow bowl, but when she couldn't find one, she just bought me this whole set instead. Now I'm thinking what a pretty palate that would make if I repainted the kitchen. Just like that pancake-eating pig. But, I digress...

Barrett is a fairly new friend in the relative scope of life, but a genuine one.

And I know I am undeserving of her kindness. But, I am terribly grateful for it.

Magic: Boy Wizard Brings Awareness to Neurological Disorder Dyspraxia

With all the Harry Potter mania going on right now, I thought it seemed like a perfect time to share this article from last summer. It talks about the fact that Daniel Radcliffe suffers from dyspraxia, the same neurological/sensory processing disorder/learning disability as Brendan.

Unfortunately, this article focuses far too much on the fact that one of the common effects of the condition is clumsiness. Sadly, it's not the only – and not by far the worst – problem children and adults who suffer from dyspraxia face.

So few people know about the condition and it along with the other SPDs often gets overlooked or ignored because there are no glaring, outward signs. Unfortunately, many children who suffer from dyspraxia are labeled lazy or stupid or as behavior problems or unmotivated when, in fact, they are often very bright and eager to learn, yet their inability to process information the way you or I do stands in their way.

I worry night and day over the challenges that face Brendan. I kept waiting for the day when things would get easy with him and for him. Now I fear that day will never come.

I know with the proper therapy he'll improve, but it will always be work for him and for us.

Yet, I do think his dyspraxia, like Daniel Radcliffe's is on the milder side, so who knows? Maybe one day my darling boy will find his voice and a dream and work some magic just like Harry Potter.

And in the meantime, the rise of organizations like Dyspraxia USA which intends to raise awareness of this condition and funding for research into its causes and new treatments gives me hope and a connection to others going through the same thing.

Yesterday

Yesterday was a bad day. I don't know why.

It just was.

We were getting a new roof put on because ours had suffered hail damage back in April. It was really noisy. The roofers showed up at 6:25 a.m waking me and the whole household up. And probably the neighbors, too.

That was actually fine. I was expecting them to arrive early. I just thought I'd be up and about before they got there.

What I didn't expect was how terrified our dog Cooper would be. He's afraid of thunder, but I didn't expect him to be so terrified of 10 or so strange men banging hammers and buzzing saws 12 feet over his head. But he was.

Trembling. Whining. Pressing his 65-lb. hot, furry, panting dog-body against me at every turn.

Every time I went to the bathroom he would either follow me in or scratch at the door until I let him in and then squeeze himself between the toilet and the wall.

When I was writing, he would crawl under the desk and lay on top of my feet.

It was stressing me out. So finally, I loaded boys and dog into the car and we headed to the church playground at our church, where I will be damned if there wasn't a house backing up to the playground that was having a roof put on it.

We left there after a few minutes, hit a drive-thru, and then headed to another park where there was absolutely no shade.

It was our first visit. I went on the recommendation of a friend who told me it had a very nice dog park as well as a cool playground with a merry-go-round.

Fun!

Not!

The only shade was in the picnic pavilion where we scarfed down our Chick-fil-A in between me yelling at Beckett because he was whining and refusing to eat because there were flies buzzing about and yelling at Brendan for repeatedly taking off his shoe and then asking me to put it back on. I realized after eating that I had low blood sugar which always makes me angry and no one likes me when I'm angry.

So, after eating we played on the playground until Beckett and I couldn't take the heat any longer then we marched a 1/4 mile to the dog park.

Cooper wandered around off leash and we played freeze tag. It was fun, but miserably hot. After about 20 minutes of that, we had to go home and I swear I thought I would never get them all back to the car.

Finally we did and we got home to the comfort of air conditioning only to have Cooper start freaking out again. Thankfully, my dear friend Laura rescued us by inviting us and Cooper to her house for a playdate. Cooper played with her dog Sonny and fun was had by all until 5 p.m. when it was decided that daddies would be home soon and dinners must be made and we had to come home again.

I ended up popping some corn for me and the boys after putting Cooper in the basement where he couldn't hear the noise as well and all was going great.

I was just running a shower for Brendan when suddenly I heard it! Crash! The sound of glass splintering on the kitchen tiles. I ran into the kitchen and immediately looked toward the counter where I had just poured myself a glass of wine. Brendan was saying, "Beckett did it! I told him not to!" when I looked down and saw that I was standing, barefoot, amid shards of broken glass and popcorn.

And then I realized that my favorite bowl was broken.

I know. It's silly. A bowl.

But it was bowl I had had since before I knew Scott. A bowl I loved. A yellow mixing bowl, medium sized, with a wide opening. The bowl I made French toast in. The bowl I used for popcorn.

I know most moms with common sense would use a plastic bowl, but I hate plastic. Hate the way it looks and feels and smells.

This bowl was gorgeous. The color of sunshine. And I was so angry that it was no broken into countless pieces on my kitchen floor.

Mad at my two-year old who doesn't really know he shouldn't take it off the kitchen table and carry it to the living room although I tell him many times every day that he can't have food in the living room.

It was the exclamation mark on a really shitty day. And I had to lecture myself that people are more important than things. But I have to wonder, why is it always my shit that gets broken. My favorite pitcher that was a wedding gift. My favorite bowl. My antique table that gets a chip out of it when a baby throws his bottle.

Why?

I think beautiful things add to our quality of life and there's nothing wrong with having them and that if more people had them and the ability to afford them they'd be happier. I'm not saying we should covet things or put them above human beings, but damn it! It makes me happy to look at pretty things and that bowl made me smile every single time I used it. That's why I picked it out yesterday to put popcorn in.

I ended up banishing Beckett to time out until I got all the glass cleaned up and by then I was calmer. Initially, my blood was boiling I was so angry. I was slam doors and throw things and yell at everyone around me angry. But I did none of those things. I tried to call my best friend who wasn't home. I tried calling Scott but he doesn't understand my anger so I didn't follow through on that.

I just gritted my teeth and swept and cried silently and debated myself over the non-monetary value of things.

I'm not angry now. Just sad that I no longer have my favorite bowl. And I feel stupid for letting the kids near anything I treasure. I can't tell you how many necklaces Brendan has broken while I was wearing them.

I guess I've learned a lesson. I'm not sure what it is. But today was a new day. And I'm moving on.

Let's Be Friends

I had the fun and rare opportunity to meet one of my favorite fellow bloggers last week.

Lisa from That's Why, formerly of Politits, invited my husband Scott to perform at a conference she was organizing for her company. I was so excited that she thought of him and asked him to play.

Last Thursday night we drove up to Hiawassee, which is, by the way, just gorgeous. I want to go back. But, I digress... We drove up there to The Ridges Resort where Lisa's conference was being held and Scott played in the Lakeside Pavilion overlooking Lake Chatuge during dinner and drinks. It was a lot of fun. And apparently, the attendees and other organizers were pleased. I thought he played a very relaxed and intimate set. Very nice.

We really had a great time. We met a real interesting fellow named Mike Purcell who turned out to be a session player, among several other things. He and Scott played together for a bit when Scott was finished performing.

Like I said, it was a fun night. The best part, aside from hearing my honey-boy play was meeting Lisa in person. She's as beautiful and charming and funny in person as she is in writing. I originally found her blog a couple of years ago, or so, after reading her insightful and bellylaugh-inducing comments and observations on another blog that we both read. I soon added her to my blogroll and the rest, as they say, is herstory.

If you visit her blog, you can see a video Lisa shot of Scott performing that night. Check it out.

Ain't That the Way: Why You Should Never Let Someone Else Undermine Your Own Beliefs and Instincts

So much for my joy over Brendan making progress.

I'm back in panic mode.

We've been reading every day. Working on handwriting. Drawing. Coloring. Trying to keep up with some OT exercises now that our sessions have run out for the year. Brendan has been going to tutoring twice weekly since school got out.

I thought he was making tremendous progress over where he was. And, realistically he has made tremendous progress.

According to his tutor, however, he's still not quite where he ought to be. She recommended again yesterday holding him back in Kindergarten.

I have to keep telling myself we are doing the right thing and that he will continue to progress and that Kindergarten retention is a very, very bad thing that has nothing to do with the reality of how children develop.

How I wish I were a motivated activist who knew how to fight the Man and get this unrealistic expectations of what a 5 or 6-year old is capable and should be doing replaced with realistic notions of what Kindergarten is meant to be.

Are we creating a generation or future society of doers who are incapable of real thought or creativity?

Happiness Runs: Our Circular Search for Meaning and Joy

Do you know the children's story, If You Give a Pig a Pancake (If You Give...)?




I had a minor epiphany about that story tonight.

I actually thought of it yesterday and in a very circular fashion came back to it tonight. And by the way, this circular theme is, well...a theme.

So, we are getting a new roof tomorrow because of hail damage our roof suffered from two hail storms back in April. Almost every house on our street and in a 4 or 5 block radius has either gotten a new roof or is about to. No joke.

Anyway, I was thinking that once we have a new roof, we're going to want to paint. And just like that pig who needs syrup to go with her pancakes, once we paint, we're going to want new doors. And once we have new doors, we're going to want to replace our front steps, and once those new steps are in, we'll need new outdoor lighting, and once we have new lighting, we're going to want to re-landscape...

And, well... you get the idea.

So, tonight I realized that Pig and its sister books are really just metaphors for Life and Its (Our) never-ending search for happiness.


In each of those books, the main character – Pig, Moose, Mouse, Etc. – asks for something he or she believes will make them happy. But once they have that thing, the darling creature decides it really needs something else in addition to or instead of the original item until they work themselves in a (aha!) circular fashion, back to the item they began with.

And so it is with the rest of us that we live when we live unconsciously.

We're always looking for the next great thing that is going to change our lives and make us happy. It doesn't matter what it is...
house, boat, car, wife, husband, dog, cat, boyfriend, girlfriend, job, hat, hairdo, plastic surgery, baby, baby boy, baby girl, one more baby... Whether it's something that we have that we've craved and longed for and put all our hope in or just something that caught our attention and our whim, we barely acknowledge the moment or show any gratitude for what we have before the magic and thrill fade and we're left looking for our happiness fix.

And ultimately we end up back where we started. Back wanting another pancake, another muffin, another house, another car.... Defeated by our inability to live in the moment, to be content with what we have, to be grateful for what we have when we have so much.

Slow Turning: Winning over Dyspraxia

After worrying so much this past year about Big B's academic progress, we've begun to see some big breakthroughs.

There's absolutely no doubt about his intelligence. He's a very bright kid. It's simply a matter of working around his dyspraxia and its effects on his ability to perceive and recreate phonemic sequences. It's all just a little harder for him to do.

Just like everything in life has been, is, and will continue to be just a little more difficult for him because of the way his brain processes information. It takes just a few seconds longer for information to hit its mark while traveling from brain to body and those seconds make all the difference in being able to read 35 words in a minute versus 75. And those 40 words make all the difference in how a teacher perceives a child.

He is still reading slowly. Painfully slow sometimes. But he's reading. And I am thrilled by this.

Last night we sat and he read to me the first three pages of The Cat in the Hat and the only two words he asked me to help him with were nothing and could.

I'm very proud of how far he has come in terms of his attitude and his belief in himself. I'm beginning to see that he is proud of his efforts and realizes that he is accomplishing something in learning to read.

I also have to keep reminding myself that these standards of expecting children to read in Kindergarten are really abnormal standards and that technically he's actually almost right on track.

Shine: God's Love is Brighter than Hate

My friend Sarah is an Episcopal priest at a parish in Chicago. I link to her blog the caffeinated priest in my sidebar.

Last weekend she and many of her parishoners marched in Chicago's Pride parade along with congregants and ministers from 22 other churches. Sadly, I'm going to guess there weren't many Roman Catholic parishes participating.

Here's an excerpt from her post, but I urge you to stop by her blog and check out the full post:

For me, it was a powerful experience. I missed the step off (and took the picture above) but jumped in the parade a bit later. What amazed me most, standing on the sidelines and watching, was the sheer increase in volume that happened when the church groups walked by. The joyful and exuberant crowd took their jubilee to a whole new level. Cheering, yelling thank you. In the midst of floats with barely dressed men, drag queens and beer adverts (there were a lot of beer floats), the church groups stand out. And I think it's a visible witness that God's love is there for all, not only for the few.

I think she provides an insightful and moving account of her experience and what a testament to God's love each of us can be.

All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth: Searching for Meaning in Life's Milestones

If my life were a movie, in it, I would be standing there, holding my newborn baby. I would blink and then a sweeping, spinning rotation of the camera would highlight images of Brendan as a baby, then a toddler, then an older boy. It would all be beautifully shot, with sunlight glinting and glaring through a canopy of spring and autumn leaves. In an instant, I'd open my eyes and see standing before me my college-aged son, handsome and smiling. It would all take place in the blink of an eye.

That's what my life feels like today.

To me, it seems like yesterday that I stood inside our church, holding him as the priest poured holy water over his tiny little head and anointed him with chrism. Sunlight streamed through a skylight at the very moment the priest anointed him and shone on his peaceful, sleeping face.

I remember holding Brendan in those first few weeks of his life, overcome with emotion and feeling unworthy of this gift I had been given by God and thinking that he was not just a gift from God, but was of God, an extension of the Creator, embodying everything that is good and holy.

That moment that stands out so vividly against a blur of 2:00 a.m. feedings, diaper changes, and hormones feels like yesterday or last week, not six years ago.

Yet, here we are. Summer 2009. And my baby has his first loose tooth.

When he discovered it last night, I was really excited for him and a little panicky because I'm not sure what the going rate is for the tooth fairy and I knew I had no cash. I was hoping it wouldn't come out for a day or two more.

After that initial reaction, it only took a few moments for sentiment to overtake me and bring me here, to this place where it feels like it's all going so fast. Too fast. Where I feel like such an ungrateful heel for the times I've complained about lack of sleep or lack of place and space and lost identity. Where I wish I had never lost a moment of joy to depression or fear or sorrow.

So what to do? Let it go. That's all I can do. Any time spent on regret for the mistakes of my past would just be more wasted time. All I can do is embrace the here and now. Be here. Be present. Be positive. Roll with the punches and do the best I can. Love my boys. Love their dad. Love myself. Just keep livin'.

And figure out how this whole tooth fairy thing works.

Ave Maria

My husband may be embarrassed by what he would term an act of superstition. Not that he doesn't have faith. He does. He just doesn't give a lot of credit to intercessory prayer, an act of faith in which I am a tremendous believer, but don't practice as much as I'd like because I don't really practice any act of faith and spirituality as much as I would like these days.

But, I credit my mother-in-law's recovery from a kidney infection and sepsis as much to the Blessed Virgin Mary as I do to the doctors and nurses who tended her in the hospital.

The first 48 hours she was in ICU, I prayed this prayer almost non-stop. It is a beautiful prayer that I love and have used before in times of crisis. I first learned it when I was going through post-partum depression and was scared of and for myself. When I would have an anxiety attack and feel like I was literally crumbling apart, I would say this prayer, asking Mother Mary to intercede and save me. Always, within a few minutes, calm would return to me.

Mother Theresa called it her Miracle Prayer and believed that it worked miracles. So do I. As I mentioned before, sepsis has a 60% mortality rate and my mother-in-law was in relatively poor health to start with. My mother died of sepsis, so to me, a miracle was the only hope. And I believe, fervently, that because of the intercession of the Holy Virgin Mary, we got one.

Thank you, Blessed Virgin, for offering your prayers on behalf of my mother-in-law and helping to bring her back to a semblance of health. Amen.

Whiter Shade of Pale

Need proof that all of us white folk look the same?

I'm posting from the waiting room of the Children's Hospital where Brendan is getting OT.

One of the therapists just walked back into the waiting room. She's Indian, tall and gorgeous with sparkling brown eyes.

She's looking for the mom whose driver's license and insurance card she holds in her hand. She looks down at the license and walks up to me and says, "Holly? Holly Whosit?"

Nope. Not me.

So, she then kind of yells the name out. The mom who responds to the name and comes over to her is no less than three inches shorter than me, has white blond hair and a darker complexion, and looks absolutely nothing like me.

The only explanation I have is that all white people look the same if you're not white. I recently saw an article that said babies can easily tell the difference between lots of different kinds of faces, but it's a skill that is lost over time.

I tried to find it to link to it, but the site was down.

Anyway, it kind of tickled me because I had just read a The Wordy Shipmates and in it Sarah Vowell tells a story about how one of the Algonquin tribes that has a relationship with the English basically tells Roger Williams (I think) that they can't tell one white guy from the next. This is after a Dutch trader has killed an Indian and the Indians kill an Englishman, thinking he's the Dutch guy. It was an amusing anecdote and I was just reminded of it today.

Trouble

I've spent the last 24 hours or so trying hard not to worry about my mother-in-law.

She's in ICU with sepsis, the result of a kidney infection left untreated. She's diabetic, and although no one has said this, I think her diabetes combined with recurring kidney stones ultimately led to this infection which has now spread to her bloodstream.

We got a call yesterday morning form my sister-in-law to let us know and have been in wait, pray, and see mode ever since.

I'm terrified. She's like a mother to me. I love her. I can't imagine what it would do to Scott to lose his mom, to my sons to lose the grandmother they adore. Beckett walks around the house asking for her; gets out my cell phone and pretends he's calling her or asks me to call her so he can talk to her.

72 hours. That's how long the doctor said it could take for the antibiotic to work. And I can't help but wonder if a small city doctor has the resources and the knowledge a doctor at a major medical facility in a large city would. Is that weird?

My mother died of sepsis in a small town hospital. I didn't even know what it was when they told me she had it. Today, I have a general idea of exactly what the doctor should be doing thanks to Google. Of course, I'm not there to ask all the questions and I think I pissed my brother-in-law off or he just thinks I'm a freak because I sent him a link to the Surviving Sepsis Campaign's guidelines for treating sepsis and asked him to discuss it with the doctor. I guess my attitude is that I may piss off the doctor, but what if I piss her off and she reconsiders her course of action and my loved one lives as a result. It would be worth it.

I'm rambling. Thankfully, I've had lots of distractions today with the boys.

I think I'll turn in now, say a few prayers, and believe that when I awake tomorrow she'll be better.