Eczema Soother, Snot Wiper and Food Fixer

Disclaimer: I don't actually combine all these activities together. That might be gross!

What an eventful week! No good events, mind you. Ava and I have both been working up a couple of colds for a week or so. Well the mucus storm finally hit with full force. Taking care of a sick child is bad enough when you are healthy but when you have a cold and can identify with that commercial where the woman's head is swollen to three times it's size then it's awful. Heaven help us! I'm not proud but at one frustratingly low point this week I layed on my bed and actually said out loud, "Who's going to take care of me?" I know, total pity party. Now I've never experienced a proper hangover, but I nursed a Nyquil induced one Sunday that lasted into the early evening. Talk about spacey. My husband at one point asked if I was feeling alright because I was acting odd.

I've known for a few months that something is up with Ava's skin. I thought she was just sensitive like I am. But apparently not. She gets these rashes and they make her itch uncontrollably. Plus I can't keep her skin moisturized. Turns out it's Eczema. I got a lot of good advice from a family member who has dealt with it. I'm slathering her with lotion so thick it's akin to rubbing crisco into the skin. It's helped a little, but we're still having flare ups. It has to be something in her diet. Tonight was especially bad. She was itching like mad. So I thought back about what she's ate today...and discovered much to my shame that she has had a lot of chocolate today. Could it be chocolate? Do any of you have experience with Eczema? I want to hear what you have to say!

Finally I feel like this whole post has been a whine-fest and a boring one at that so I'll leave you with a good family recipe for a spicy, hearty stew that is good on a cold winter night. I will warn you that it is not a thirty minute meal. I start two hours before hand. The simmering is what takes time, but you can be blogging in the mean time right :)

San Antonio Beef Stew

(Grandma Shirleen's recipe)

2 lbs. Beef stew meat
2 cans of Beef broth (14.5 oz. cans)
1 C. hot water
1 (8 oz.) Pace Picante Sauce
1 medium onion chopped (I prefer the red variety)
3 medium carrots chopped
2 medium zucchini's peeled and chopped
1 pkg. frozen corn
1 can diced tomatos (I've used fresh before as well)
1/4 C. chopped parsley
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. ground cumin (I've substituted chili powder before)
1/2 cold water
2 Tbsp. flour

Pour a little oil into a large pot. Add stew meat and brown. Add broth, hot water, picante sauce, onion parsley, salt and cumin. Bring to boil; reduce heat, cover and simmer 1 hour. In the mean time chop veggies. Add tomatoes (with juice), carrots, corn and zucchini. Cover and simmer 25 minutes until carrots are tender. Mix cold water and flour, mixing until smooth. Gradually stir into stew. Heat to boiling, stirring constantly so nothing sticks to the bottom. Boil and stir 1 minute until thickened. Serves 8. I like to make corn bread with this stew, but it is plenty hardy enough by itself.

The Blizzard Blahs

What to do on days like this? I have a solution that will make you feel like you're on a humid tropical beach. Here's what you need...

Swimsuit, check!

Cool shades, check!

Beach towel, check!

Bathroom? Check!

That's right, bathroom. Call it boredom, call it teen ingenuity, but back around age 14 or so I invented a way to transport myself from a long cold winter to a tropical beach in minutes. You take a shower, a really hot one. When you get out pull on your beach attire, roll out your Hawaiian chic bath towel, slip on those sun glasses and assume the sun bathing position. I like to leave the hot water running so the room continues to steam. Sometimes I throw on a Bob Marley CD and dream of Caribbean sunsets and hippies. Also some Hawaiian Tropic suntan lotion will enhance the experience. I actually haven't done this for a few years. But today seems as good as any. When will this blasted winter die? P.S. make sure and lock the bathroom door so your husband can't walk in on you and laugh his head off.

For some reason whenever I feel like I need a get away, I always want to run for the border...the Idaho border. Was my family the only one that when life got too stressful in sleepy Clarkston we'd take off to a friendlier town, one Soda Springs, Idaho? Probably. I don't know why, but my parents used to take us to stay overnight in Soda Springs. I distinctly remember one spring break we stayed there. There's not much night life but if you want to watch a man-made geyser go off then Soda Springs is your town. Odd, I know, but Soda Springs is calling....
Lastly, I just decided to share an embarrassing story to cheer up your day. I have a very vast, assorted collection of mortifications. I look back on most of them with fondness and humor. It helps to remember when I'm actually living through one of those moments that in a few months or years I'll find it hilarious. On to the story.

My mother and I were shopping one day in Wal Mart. We ran into a boy my age that I grew up with. I hadn't seen him in a few years. We stopped and the awkward chit chat began. I found out he was just recently married. I then took his hand in mine, my eyes bugging out at his man bling ring. I said something like, "That's a huge ring." Then realizing how I was treating him like a girl in raising his hand and looking at his ring (I think I actually envisioned a french tip manicure on him), not to mention the intimacy of that sort of gesture not being appropriate to an old acquaintance I flushed red and dropped his hand. I then mumbled my congratulations and pulled my mother away from the scene of the crime. WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?! Thankfully I haven't seen him since. He probably decided to move away from the area because my very social faux pas confirmed his belief that people around here are nuts. I can't explain my behavior. When I saw that ring all my inhibitions just went out the window I guess. I swear he had more carets in his diamond ring than I do in mine. What can I say, the man bling dazzled my sensibilities.

Jesus wants me for a sun bean!

This is how Ava sings the song. Don't ask me what a sun bean is though. She's such a funny little girl and every day I wish I could bottle her childhood and keep it forever. There are times when she is in her own little world, dancing or singing and I just watch intently and wish I could always remember this moment. Capture it like a butterfly in a net. But I know the mind is like a sieve with so many details draining through leaving only bits and pieces of the original moment. Already the baby I used to recognize in her face is all but gone.

It's true that you never fully grasp how much your own parents love you until you, yourself, become a parent. The heartsickness and the worry, the sharp poignancy and pride, the overwhelming feeling that it's all going by too fast. Most parents do the best they can with what they know and who they are. I count myself extremely fortunate to have had the childhood I had. Now I worry if I'll ever measure up to my parents. On the graph of patience my mother's patience level is at Job while mine is holding steady at Donald Duck.

For any or you that don't know, I had a long labor. 30 hours in total. I took home a lot of truths from the night Ava was born. One was that my body can do anything. Another is one I learned from the nurse who helped deliver Ava. The worst part of my labor was right at the end where I stayed dilated to a 9 for three hours and was seemingly making no progress whatsover. The place at the back of my neck where they had put the tube where I received pain killing medicine from my earlier epidural was driving me crazy laying on it. I could only lay on one side as every time I switched to the other Ava's heart rate went down. Brig's insistance at turning my hospital stay into a frenzy of ESPN marathon viewing was grating on my last nerve and if I had to have one more change of nurses I was going to choke the new nurse. I felt a bit vindicated as the last one I had I vomited on. Although, in true nurse style, she was alarmingly casual about it. I remember telling my husband that I was never doing this again.

When the nurse came back to check on me after those three hours and told me the news that I still hadn't fully dilated I cried and yelled angrily in equal measures. That's when the nurse decided to give me a dose of tough love. She said firmly, "Listen, this is your first child birth. Once you're dilated you will have to begin pushing. For a first time mother that usually takes 2 to 3 hours so you've got to get prepared for that. You ain't seen nothing yet." I remember blinking back my tears and repressing the urge to tell the lady exactly what I thought of her. I don't know why I didn't, any effort to make a good impression at this point was out the window. There's something about having total strangers view you whale sized pregnant body...all of it, that just takes the winds out of your sails. I remember thinking, do what you have to, I have no dignity left, just get this baby out of me.

When I was fully dilated it took me fifteen minutes before the same nurse strongly advised me to "stop" pushing. Any woman who has given birth naturally knows that that's like asking the waves to stop crashing on the shore. When the doctor got there, it was just one more push and out came my little daughter, even then so quiet and calm.

I've thought back many times on my labor and thought often of the nurse that gave me some good advice. If she had been completely honest she would have said, "Listen, lady. This is motherhood. This is all-consuming. There are days when you will look around you and wonder how you ended up in this untidy house with all manner of food from sticky little fingers smeared on the sweatshirt you pulled out of your husband's closet and you'll actually debate aloud if you've put on deodorant for the day because you honestly can't remember. There are days you'll wander around the house bleary-eyed from lack of sleep. You won't be able to remember when you felt sexy last. There will be nights of sleeplessness worrying about all the perverts out there and how in the world you will ever be able to keep your child safe from the evil existing in all corners of society. You'll worry about if you're child will make friends and if those friends will be nice to her. You'll worry about future boyfriends breaking her heart or even more about the boyfriends that will make her fall head over heels. You'll worry if you're giving enough hugs and kisses and "I love you"s to last through the rocky adolescent years. You'll worry if you're teaching her all the things she needs to know about right and wrong and God and faith. You'll worry if she will make good decisions. And if she doesn't you'll inevitably blame yourself. You'll lament the passing of time because you won't get a second chance. Childhood is a one shot deal. So you better prepare yourself. Motherhood is a lifetime proposition. You ain't seen nothing yet."

Friends

Fashion Rewind: Trends I used to Rock

I was thinking about an old cardigan I used to wear in high school. My grandma made it. It was a tan colored heavily crocheted number with big buttons and a couple of bulky pockets. It was as ugly as the day is long and I loved it. It was warm and cozy and so not in style. I still wonder what happened to it. Some of these trends I remember with less warmth. Without further ado...

The grunge flannel. I actually enjoyed wearing this. I had a couple and they were in my major weekly rotation in grades 8 and 9. All through middle school I struggled with what "group" I fit into. This was my experimental foray into the alternative group. A boy named Jeremiah was my inspiration to take on this characterization. He had super straight light brown hair worn long to his jawline and parted perfectly down the middle. Smells like teen spirit, indeed. This poor model up above regrettably has no trendy hairstyle because he is headless. :( I wonder how this makes a "model" feel. Your body is great. We like what we could do there but that face of yours...it's gotta go. Or maybe they didn't say anything and when he picks up his copy of Flannels R Us and opens up to the page he's on...Whammo! He's suddenly kindred spirits with a guy who rides a spooky black horse and throws pumpkins at goofy big adam appled guys down in the hollow.

I swear this guy went back in time and raided my closet. That flannel looks identical to one I had. Unfortunately his wife beater tank top does too, even the stain on his pectoral. Listen if you're out to save money the wife beater is the way to go. I think you can pick up a pack of Hanes for under ten dollars. The flannel and the wife beater, a match made in heaven.

Girbauds were more of a sixth grade phenomena. But my goodness we were bold dressers back in the day. Purple and Green and Navy Blue, oh my! My parents would never spend the money to buy me a pair, but fortunately I am the poor relation to my more wealthy cousins who gave us all their hand me downs. These jeans were a dream to wear. High on the waist, baggy in the thigh and tapered to the ankle. They went just right with the combat boot version of Dr. Martins.
I shudder just looking at this monstrosity of a body suit. Remember the snaps under the crotch? The skin tight fit? So do I and I'm afraid a few middle school boys probably remember too. Why an early bloomer like myself decided the way to blend in with all my flat chested peers was to don the body suit is beyond me. Thank heavens after the fifth or sixth cat call from an older boy I was shamed into retiring the body suit. This trend? Just weird. Body suits are for babys. Always. Never for adults. Never.

I smile just thinking about the birkenstock. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times and it was so very comfortable and convenient. Imagine my delight as I went shopping a few months back with some friends and there in a trendy mall store was an updated version of the birkenstock. My more fashion conscious friend gave me an emphatic no go. Friends don't let friends walk birkenstock.

Ah the incredibly ugly big scrunchy. Don't act like you didn't love them too. They doubled as a bracelet at times. Solid fashion gold, I tell you. Solid fashion gold. They are synonomous with high pony tails and cut top off the shoulder sweatshirts worn by one Kelly Kapowski. Unfortunately I was more of the brainy not quite as hip Jessie Spano. Remember how she rocked those mom jeans? Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-B. Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-B. Go Bayside!

It was never between you and them anyway...

I learned a lesson from a fourteen year old young woman in church yesterday. It put things in perspective for me. I think I need to be reminded often. She got up to bare her testimony and started by saying she's been dealing with a lot of negative thoughts and really feels like she doesn't fit in. She said she had read a quote attributed to Mother Theresa and it had really touched her. She didn't quote the whole thing but I went home and looked it up and here it is:

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are successful you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Be successful anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

I have always worried about what others thought of me. I've often felt like I didn't fit in. Here was this young girl who admitted her vulnerability but she took courage in the knowledge that in the end it really doesn't matter how others judge you, just how God judges you. If I had realized that at fourteen, I may not be twenty-seven and still doubt myself.

I guess I always thought that when you were a grown up that you didn't struggle with confidence anymore because you were grown up. That doesn't make sense but it's what I thought as a shy, awkward teenager. What challenges could possibly chip away at self esteem when you are a mother and a wife? I've let too many negative thoughts about myself get in the way of me just being me. How many times have I entered a room where I didn't know a lot of people and start comparing myself in the most harshest manner to other women in the room? It becomes so overwhelming that I can't just be me. I stay quiet and pray that no one notices me.

My mother thinks I'm wonderful. Most mothers think that about their children. That's why I've always rolled my eyes when she reassures me. I always think, but she doesn't know I can curse like a sailor when I'm angry, etc, etc, etc,. But the thing I thought about last night is but Heavenly Father does know I do all these things. And he loves me anyway. He still wants me anyway. He still knows the potential I have. We had a seminary lesson years ago about seeing others with the eyes of God. How he would look at them. I think it's easier for me to see other's redeeming traits than to see my own. I'm never going to be "good enough" but I can be "good". In the end that's all that matters anyway, right. How good we are to God, others, and to ourselves. I'm so glad a young woman was honest enough to stand up and speak her heart. She's given me the courage to sit and type mine. And if you're still reading this, gold star! I hope you got something out of it other than this lady needs to get to bed and stop analyzing herself.