Labour intensive desserts

I love cooking and baking and if a lot of effort is required to make a certain item but the payoff is good, then I'll make it again. Only once have I made something that required so much effort and the end result was a mere meh, that I have not made it again. It was an apple gateau (cake) made of only apples, yes just apples, well a few other things for flavouring, but no flour, eggs, butter nothing traditional for cake baking. In retrospect I'm not sure why I thought it would be absolutely spectacular, but it seemed quite unique and I had more time on my hands back then. I had to peel and core 6 1/2 pounds, yes that's correct not 6 1/2 apples, but POUNDS of apples and then slice them thinly (1/8 inch thick) with my mandoline. Thank goodness I didn't have to do it by hand, the slicing that is, as I did have to peel them by hand as I didn't have one of those handy apple peelers and corers.

After slicing them, I rubbed 6 large sugar cubes over 2 oranges, unpeeled, to essentially create orange flavoured sugar and then crush them with a rolling pin. In a tall souffle dish, with a high parchment paper collar, I then started the process of layering the apples, in a floral pattern and interlocking them and sprinkling the sugar after a few layers. I repeated until all 6 1/2 pounds of apples were layered. Then, I placed a circle of parchment to fit the top over the layered apples and placed a few plates on top to weigh it all down. This was then placed in an oven set at 175F and baked for 12 to 14 hours. I'll just let you have a moment and let that sink in.... 12- 14 freaking hours!!! The entire time I'm making this cake, I'm thinking it better be damn tasty! When I was done, and the cake came out of the dish, I have to admit it looked rather pretty and impressive. I took a bite and it tasted like.... cooked apples, layered thinly with a bit of orange flavoured sugar. Huh... who would have thought? DUH!! Granted I probably should have made the caramel salt butter sauce that is suggested to be served with it, but quite frankly, after spending all this time making the gateau I didn't feel like doing anything more. I expected it to somehow melt miraculously in my mouth and taste absolutely heavenly, afterall it had been in the oven for over 12 hours! Now you're probably wondering who inspired me to make this crazy cake... Anne Willan, a French chef, and this cake is featured on the front of her cookbook. I'm such a sucker for photos!

So, why am I mentioning this baking tale? Because I have now encountered my second item that I will likely never attempt again. Yes, the one you've all been waiting for, the concord grape pie.

I used my trusted and favourite flaky pie crust recipe, which never fails me. Easy enough. The filling however required 3 pounds of concord grapes, which as I mentioned previously, I decided to use coronation grapes as a substitution. Concord grapes are usually seeded, luckily for me, the coronation grapes I bought were seedless. The recipe calls for the grapes to be seeded if they are concords, so that would usually mean one less step. But no, as I needed to heat the pulp mixture to melt the butter and sugar into it, so I sat there squeezing out 3 pounds of coronation grapes and separating the pulp from the skins, reserving both. A very sticky and squirty job but after 30-45 minutes later it was done. Then I heated the pulp and thankfully did not have to strain the mixture to get the seeds out. I added a significantly less amount of sugar than required as I do with all my baking. The recipe called for 1 1/2 to 2 cups of sugar and I put in 1/2 cup in total. Then added the lemon juice and butter and mixed it all up. Then, I added the skins back into the pulp mixture and the requisite tapioca powder for gelling. Cooled it and then put it in the pie crust, topped it, cut the vent holes, glazed it, sugared and into the oven it went. Significantly less work than the apple gateau, but still a lot more work than making a standard apple, strawberry rhubarb or even lemon meringue pie. 55 minutes in the oven at 425F (which by the way is way too hot or I should have covered it at one point because the top of the pie started to burn, especially since it said to sprinkle sugar on the top (as shown in the picture here). We had to wait until the next morning to try the pie as it looked fairly soupy still. I cut into the pie the next morning and it looked good. Very purple and grapey and smelled like grapes. Tastewise, it was very much like having a glass of Welch's grape juice with a bit more pulp and skins. It had a cloying kind of sweetness to me, especially in the finish but it was also tart. It was really a rather odd sort of sensation and taste in my mouth. PB seemed to like it, but then again, he's not very discerning when it comes to my baking (although he thought the apple crisp I made last week was far too sweet) and will pretty much eat anything, especially in pie form. He agreed though that I was crazy for all the work I put into it. I think he'd much rather have is favourite lemon meringue over the concord or pseudo concord grape pie. Sadly now, PB had to go to work, and I have to figure out how to freeze the other half of this pie do he can eat it when he gets back.

Leaving you all in suspense

Although I'm sure you're all on tenterhooks wondering what happened with the concord grape pie, it'll have to wait until tomorrow. PB got word that he's got to leave for work tomorrow morning, so I'm spending the night with him.

Slacker

24 days of writing faithfully, even if it's only a small note and then WHAM! I did not write a thing yesterday because I'm a slacker. No, that's not entirely true, I didn't write intentionally as I rediscovered something about myself yesterday.

I am not a routine type person. So what do I do? I go out and become a mother, which is riddled and structured with what? Yes, ROUTINE! Children thrive on it and I will go crazy! I had this epiphany yesterday afternoon and started getting more and more grumpy, much to the dismay of my poor PB. When I get depressed, I start shutting down. I become apathetic and I don't want to do anything. I just want to sit on the couch and play pity party. So that's what I did last night to also take a different turn from my regularly scheduled activities.

I felt guilty this morning, just a little bit, that I did not write anything yesterday, so here I am again back at my laptop, tapping away. I have come to the realization though that writing everyday may just not be in the cards for me right now, unless I can find time to do it throughout the day, rather than at the same scheduled time every night. The monotony and routine is just far too boring for me. I like being spontaneous and perhaps that's where this blog is now headed. To write when something really strikes me as opposed to sitting down and trying to come up with something new to write. I feel like a quitter though, that I should I be persevering and writing something just to maintain the discipline. So, now I'm sitting on the fence and wondering what tomorrow will bring.

Pie.... yes tomorrow will bring pie as I baked one today (to break up my routine). I ventured to make a pseudo concord grape pie. Pseudo because I did not use concord grapes, but a very similar coronation grape. It's cooling now and will be ready for tasting tomorrow. Rather a peculiar pie but after seeing the recipe and knowing how much PB loves pie and concord grapes, seemed like a good idea. I'll share the adventure tomorrow.....

Dim Sum

There's a delightful Chinese restaurant in the asian part of Scarborough that we frequent on a regular basis. In fact, when Corwin was only a week old, it was the first public place we took him to aside from being in the hospital. It is our favourite dim sum restaurant.

I introduced PB to dim sum during our first visit back here in Toronto when we were dating. Dim sum is Chinese for snack. Snacking is hardly what we do though. From 10am until 3pm, the restaurant serves delightful small plates of various steamed, fried and braised items. As with traditional dim sum places, women push carts around laden with their fare, calling out what's on their cart to those who may be interested. Foreigners who don't speak Cantonese, simply ask them to show what's under the covered bamboo steamers and point to what they'd like. I don't speak any Cantonese except for picking up all of the names of the dishes that we like.

Steamed dumplings are a favourite amongst many - har gau (shrimp enveloped in translucent rice flour wrappers) and siu mai (pork and shrimp dumplings with a bit of flying fish roe on top) are the primary staples although there are other variations. Hau ba yip (beef tripe steamed with ginger) is a big favourite of PB's and he usually orders two plates along with his ma si ko bau (Mexican bun - filled with a sweet taro paste). My favourite lately is the ou chai quot (steamed beef short ribs in a black pepper sauce and garlic.

There is something very homey and comforting about the environment, although it is a cacophony of chatter and mayhem - perfect for bringing young children if they may become fussy and start crying. We've been going there on a regular basis for 10 years now and most of the staff know us well. The dim sum ladies have watched Corwin grow older and he is very flirty and friendly with them, unlike most strangers he encounters when we go out.

This particular restaurant also has a very distinct hierarchy of employees and knowing who's who helps in getting what we want. Ask the wrong person and the glass of ice water may never arrive. On the lowest level, dressed in a brick coloured jacket and black pants are the busboys that take all the plates and garbage that is cleared from the tables from the set up stations to the kitchen and they do not speak to patrons. Above them would be the dim sum ladies that push the carts - white blouse, red vest, black skirt. Next in line are the wait staff - dressed in an Asian style cream coloured jacket with black pants. They are responsible for clearing finished steamers and plates, refilling the tea pot, bringing an ordered beverage (soda, wine, beer, water) and setting up new tables and clearing off the used ones. Above them are the hostesses, dressed in an Asian style cheong sam dress, sometimes in blue and sometimes in a fuschia pink. Getting in good with these two ladies means priority seating. There is an unspoken "VIP Regulars" line at the back. Patrons crowded together at the front of the restaurant, watch as regulars such as us, bypass their line and go to the back of the restaurant and wait in an alternate grouping which gets seated faster. We used to be the ones waiting at the front and wistfully wondering what made the people in the back so special. Above the hostesses are the "suits" wearing black, either male or female. These are the major players - authorizing changes in orders, signing off for complimentary tea (otherwise there is a charge), taking special orders for the kitchen, handling bill transactions and can also get you bumped from the front line to the VIP line. They occasionally serve specialty items from the kitchen from a tray or cart - especially during a busy weekend where the chef is testing out a new potential menu item.

There is a cost to being a VIP client at this restaurant and receiving all of the privileges that it entails. Every year for Chinese New Year, I am busy handing out little red envelopes of lucky money to all of them - of varying amounts depending on where they are in the hierarchy. On Chinese New Year, they are like vultures scouring tables with familiar patrons, practically holding their hands out in expectation, their pockets already bursting with flashes of red. Dim sum ladies will remember and in the year to come will search for the best plate before presenting it to our table and some will even come directly to our table knowing that we will like what they have, bypassing other tables completely. Wait staff remember what kind of tea we like and how many glasses of water I need. They will also clear our dirty plates and refresh them with new clean ones midway through our meal. Thanks to our payment to the 'suits' we have never paid for tea and when we ask for menu items that have not come out on carts, they are quickly procured for us. Hostesses keep us in the VIP line and get us seated as quickly as possible, apologizing when there is an unusually lengthy wait.

Along with knowing the hierarchy, etiquette for dim sum is also important. Belching without saying excuse me is the norm. Be aware that hoarking loudly is also considered to be acceptable. Talking loudly is expected as it is the only way tablemates will be able to keep up with the conversation. Eating sweets one minute and going back to savoury is always part of the norm, as is eating strange things like steamed chicken feet. Pointing at another table and asking "what's that?" is also completely acceptable, whether you'll get an answer in English is a different story.
And lastly, the most important of all, if you need a refill for the teapot, simply lift the lid slightly askew and set it to the edge of the table. Within moments, a waiter or "suit" will collect your pot and return it with more hot water or will bring a pitcher of hot water to top up.

Another thing about being a pilot's wife

Another thing about being a pilot's wife is that I really want to spend as much time as I can with PB but with our crazy schedules and having a 10 (almost 11!) month old baby it's tough trying to find the time. By the time I get Corwin to bed and the kitchen cleaned up and dishes done, I try to find some time to write my blog, get caught up on my "board" and other emailing and take care of any wake ups that Corwin has. In that time I also have to find some time to spend with PB doing some "us" stuff - watching a movie, reading together, having a snack and just talking. It's getting harder, but it's really important to us.

Maximizing on the amount of time we could spend together is one of the reasons why I started a business at home and stopped working a 9-5 job. Since PB is away more than half of the month, if I also had to work, that's 40 hours a week (not counting any travel time) that we wouldn't have together. We'd barely see each other throughout the year and we've always been very committed to not letting our relationship slide from being a top priority.

While we were dating, PB told me that pilots have one of the highest divorce rates. It is tough to be apart but we work hard at staying connected. We speak daily, at least once or twice, when he's away - whether it's through Skype on video cam or on the phone. We are also very open with each other - nothing is taboo in our relationship. We speak about things that most couples have probably never spoken to each other about in fear of reaction from the other partner. Utmost honesty and openness works extremely well for us and makes things so much simpler.

So, with that said, I'm off to spend some 'quality' time with PB. We may just squeeze in a few episodes of Futurama together before we head off to bed.

Waaay too much information

Men and women faint of heart and who don't want to hear about my monthly cycle, please stop reading now.

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For those of you still with me, and I can't imagine why? I have been completely obsessed by my monthly "visitor" today because I decided to start using the "Diva Cup." For those of you unfamiliar with it, it's a "revolutionary alternative to tampons and pads" that is essentially a flexible funnel shaped cup with the tip capped off. It's reusable, so therefore environmental. It's safer as it does not carry the risk of toxic shock syndrome. It's cheaper in the long run because you don't have to purchase a whole line of products varying in absorbency for your cycle. When used properly, there is no risk of leakage. It's more convenient, as it can be worn up to 12 hours.

Well.... maybe for most women it can be.

I've always had a peculiar cycle - super short, lasting only 2-3 days with the first 1-2 days being very heavy. Very heavy? Hrmmm, perhaps I should say extremely heavy. I have severe cramps that are quite debilitating and usually my first day is a write off in terms of getting anything done unless I'm doped up on Advil. My body clearly feels the need to rid itself of this blood immediately and works hard churning all of my muscles to do so. I had no idea of how heavy it was until I started using the cup this morning, which is why I've been obsessed over it all day.

The cup holds one full ounce and according to the directions and their website, the average woman's cycle flows 3-4 ozs. (90-120 ml.) in it's entirety. Keep in mind again, that the directions say most women can wear the cup for 12 hours without changing it and that it's usually only about half full after those 12 hours. I've had to empty my cup - EVERY 2-3 FREAKING HOURS!!!!!!!! The first time, after having it in for 3 hours, it was only half full, but I wanted to check and see out of curiousity. The next time, again 3 hours later, I started getting a bit of leakage so I knew it must be full. Following time, also started getting some leaks and that was only after 2 hours. In total, since putting in the cup at 8:30am, I have already expelled 85 ml.! ARGHHH!! This explains the cramping and why even the super duper ultra absorbent tampons only lasted me an hour!

I do have to say though, I enjoy not having to use tampons. There is a bit of a learning curve in using the cup and getting it in right, but after it's in, it's quite comfortable and does contain everything really well.

Well, looks like my time is running out and I'll have to go empty the cup again before I go to bed.

Follow up on the water heater

Just a quick follow up note for today as it's late, we had friends over for dinner and I'm exhausted and would like to go to bed.

PB has been tinkering with the water heater and it seems that the issue is electrical (so the plumbing hat was not needed!). It would seem that one set of wires that connects our remote for the upstairs bathrooms is not reading properly and is causing the shut down. Problem is rewiring now. We had used some existing wires that were poking out of the wall before, but it's buried behind drywall and other structural elements so it's not feasible to run a new wire in the same location. I'm trying to convince PB that we need to move the remote to a new location that has a shaft that runs directly down into the basement. The problem with that, is the holes that we will need to poke through the drywall in order to run the wires down and possibly even drill a larger hole to send the wire through as there is some particle board flooring that is still in the way. His issue, the repairs of the drywall. He's not a drywaller - however, it happens to be one of the skills I have learned and has been very handy to have, being a pilot's wife and all. He doesn't want to create any unnecessary work for me considering how much work I have to do now, on top of taking care of Corwin.

Tomorrow he may tackle the electrical (which thankfully I don't have to tinker with because I'm not crazy about an electricians "hat") and that may mean the knocking of some holes in our drywall. I may be cursing later about the patching, sanding, patching and sanding again and then painting to repair the damage but if I have hot water consistently afterwards, it'll be all worth it.

Some things I'll just never understand

When I was in the eighth grade I was assigned to write an essay based on the quote, "those who can not learn about history are doomed to repeat it". While doing my research for the essay, I was introduced to the atrocities of the Holocaust and from then on found myself always intrigued by the subject.

While I was backpacking through Europe as a university student, I visited a friend who lived in Germany. She was Taiwanese like me but raised in Germany. She asked what I'd like to see and among my list was seeing the concentration camp in Dachau.

There was a strange calm and eerieness at Dachau, with only the sound of the gravel crunching under our feet, as we walked through the camp where the barracks used to be. I had a strange lump in my throat the entire time as I walked through the memorial site. It was hard to fathom that I was actually standing on the same ground that the Holocaust victims stood, worked, hoped, starved, tortured and executed. All the images I had seen in the books and everything I had read did not really prepare me for the emotions I felt - both nauseous and also a sense of duty to pay my respects and honour those who had suffered and died at the hands of the Nazis.

Later that evening, I asked my friend if they studied the war in school and how it was interpreted. She simply told me that her generation of Germans had a hard time being proud of their country and being German. Such irony, considering it was the pride of Hitler and being the greatest nation and race in the world that now caused them to feel such great shame.

A few years ago, I went to Poland to visit my mother in law with PB. While we were there, I asked PB if we could go to Auschwitz. He knew my interest in the Holocaust and while he couldn't really understand why I was so fascinated by it, indulged me and we took a day trip. Auschwitz was a whole different experience because there were so many more remains of the camp. A room full of human hair that the Germans collected from women to sell and then make fabric; another room piled up to the top filled with shoes, and yet another with suitcases - all testament of the people who passed through the gates and most likely never left the grounds. There was also a 5'x5'x5' cube of left over cans of Zyclone B, the gas which they used to exterminate the victims. It was here that I also learned more about Dr. Mengele and other "doctors" and their shocking medical experimentation on inmates. It also amazed me to see the mass amounts of paper documentation that the Nazis kept. It has long been ridiculed at how good the Germans were at documenting everything, and here they had all the evidence in writing that would convict them of the most atrocious crimes.

We also went to Birkenau, also known as Auschwitz II, that was really the epicentre of mass death. The gates to Birkenau didn't even have the traditional ruse of "Arbeit Macht Frei" (Work makes (one) free) as it was used exclusively as an extermination camp. The Nazis tried to destroy the camp and successfully did so with much of it, but enough remains to tell a very grim and horrific story. It was a somber day but it left me grateful for all the things I do have in life.

My mother in law also shared a story about her older brother during the war. He was 13 or so and friends of the family had managed to get him a job at a factory making something for Germans (she couldn't remember what) rather than being sent to a work camp. He became part of the Polish Resistance. One day while he was walking to work with a group of fellow workers he was also smuggling some ammunition in his pocket. They were stopped en route by Nazis for a random inspection. They were all ordered to show their papers and all their possessions. While the other men hid him from the Nazis, he slipped the bullets into his thermos of coffee. The Nazis made their way to him and asked him what was in his thermos. He replied that it was coffee for his breakfast. They demanded that he show them what was in the thermos, so he carefully poured some coffee out. Luckily, the shells didn't pour out nor did they make enough sound to cause any further questioning and he was released to go with the rest of the men to work.

Before going to bed last night I took a quick peak at Reuter's list of top stories and came across this headline : "Iran President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad proud of Holocaust denial." I know there are some who deny that the Holocaust ever existed, but I just can't seem to wrap my head around it. With all the proof that is in existence, documentation, real accounts from survivors and those who liberated the camps, and the physical evidence alone, it is mind boggling that there are ignorant idiots who spiel such garbage. I actually researched some sites and message boards that are dedicated to those who don't believe in the Holocaust or the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I was absolutely shocked at how they interpret what is proof of these events. I was surprised that there wasn't a site that negates the African slave trading, although I'm sure there is somewhere and I just couldn't find it.

As a believer that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, it truly scares me as to what Ahmadinejad and other crazy militant leaders could attempt in terms of annihilating a country or race. I am just grateful that civilized and educated nations are much more aware and proactive and hopefully will never let anything like the Holocaust happen again, although, Rwanda, Bosnia and Darfur seem to refute that.

A small note

Just a small note for this evening - just to make sure that I do write something every day. I had an evening out sans child with some friends from my 'web board'. We were out for all you can eat sushi and had a fabulous time.

Corwin was screaming when I left, aghast that his mother would leave him right before his bedtime, but his dad seemed to manage and both were asleep when I got in. Corwin woke up almost immediately though and wanted mom right away. Just got him back down asleep and it's 11:40pm and I'm exhausted and need to go to bed.

The ride.

I have a thing for men in uniform and motorcycles and lucky for me, PB has both! He had a BMW bike when he was living in NY and one time he even rode 3 hours to Rhode Island to see me when we were dating. Once we moved back to Toronto, he decided to sell his bike rather than bring it here. A few years later, I told him how much I liked having the bike. He seemed rather surprised. Most women don't approve of their husbands on motorcycles unless they are into bikes too. I don't have any desire to ride my own bike, I just want to ride with him. He finds this notion rather bizarre too, as most women who enjoy riding, also would prefer to have the control of the bike themselves, but not me. I'm an old fashioned girl who likes to hang on to her man from the back of a bike.

PB found an old BMW, vintage in fact (1973) available from a woman in Sudbury. We decided to buy it. It was in fairly good condition as it had only 2 previous owners and most of it was still original. We had it for a few years and then PB decided that it was time he started to work on it and restore it a bit. So he's been taking different portions of it apart and putting it back together again slowly. I think it's still something he seems to enjoy, despite some of the frustrations along the way. There are definitely some quirky things about the bike. I recall him trying to put a tire back on the rims and in his manual, it seemed really easy, just a matter of snapping it back in place. Meanwhile, a sweat drenched t-shirt later and 4 hours of cursing, PB came inside to ask if I might assist him. With the two of us, it seemed virtually impossible and the manual definitely inferred that only one person was required to do it, even on the side of the road if necessary. PB eventually got it on himself but not without a great deal of difficulty and some minor injuries.

This year, PB has been quite busy with helping me with the baby, then going to training for a 400 series of the 747 for a month or two and then going back through training to be a captain again and trying to stay on top of all the household chores he's responsible for. The bike had been taken apart as he was getting the cylinders restored and it sat in my mother's garage for the better part of the summer, unrideable.

PB has finally gotten some time to work on it and finally put it all together. Today was the first day, in at least a year and a half (maybe more), that I got to ride with him. We left Corwin with Grandma and off we went driving through the countryside. It was the perfect day - beautiful and sunny, but not too warm so wearing leather and a helmet wouldn't be unbearable. I clung onto him as we took winding roads, passed corn fields, plenty of wild flowers, ponds, creeks and plenty of other bikers also enjoying the perfect day for a ride.

I was also reminded of a very fond memory. PB and I took his bike in NY when we went shopping for our wedding bands. We had to go to Manhattan and New Jersey so he thought taking the bike would make more sense than using public transit. It was the first time I had been on the bike in NY and I loved weaving in and out of traffic with him. It really was a bit of a childish thrill as I held onto him tightly. We've come such a long way since then, married now for 9 years and even have a baby. However, being on the bike today, and clinging onto him reminded me of how much things haven't changed - that I still love being with him as much as I did the day we went to look for our wedding bands.

Vaccinations

I belong to a web board or online forum. It's predominantly women, save for I believe 2 men. I joined last year through a friend of mine from high school, shortly after I got pregnant. She had been on it for a while and raved about the practical parenting advice available. Since it was my first pregnancy I thought it would be a good idea.

The board itself has many topic areas, not just parenting. Everything, from mindless chatter about current events or silly random things, to house and home topics, cookery, relationships, pets, media and entertainment, crafting etc.... is covered. There is also a debates section which usually results in some sort of drama. One of the latest topics was over the H1N1 vaccination and whether or not members were planning on getting it.

PB and I strongly believe in vaccinations. Although there are some studies that show vaccinations may cause autism, it hasn't been proven conclusively and therefore, PB and I will make sure Corwin gets all of his vaccinations.

Part of the arguments on the board were from the pregnant women who were concerned about the potential side effects that the H1N1 vaccine could cause to their unborn child. If I was pregnant I'd be getting the vaccination as pregnant women are considered in one of the highest risk categories. When asked why, I merely explained that the possible consequence of not having the shot was not only miscarrying my unborn child but also dying myself. This would be unacceptable as I have no intention of widowing PB or leaving Corwin without a mother, especially if it is preventable. Others argued that vaccines aren't 100% effective.

I know this better than most people realize. Back in 2005, PB came home from work and within a day or two was complaining of a fever. He thought that he had developed an infection from a cut in his mouth so we went to our family doctor and got some antibiotics for him. Within a day or two, the fever was monumentally worse and PB was in bed all day - something he very rarely willingly does when he's sick. He had no other symptoms except for the fever. Everyone we spoke to said it was most likely something viral. We waited a few more days and he broke into a rash all over his upper body and on his thighs. Back to the doctor we went. "It's got to be something viral," he said and sent us home. His fever never went below 40C unless he was on Tylenol or Advil and he was shivering violently right before he was due for his next dosage. I kept telling him that something else was horribly wrong. We did extensive research on the internet and came up with all sorts of things but nothing seemed logical or definitive.

Finally I convinced him that I should take him to see Dr. Keystone, the tropical disease specialist at Toronto General who also ran the Travel clinic. We had seen Dr. Keystone before to get PB completely vaccinated for everything possible that he could come across while he was away at work. Traveling around the world, many times in third world countries, we wanted to make sure PB was prepared for anything. Dr. Keystone had said that if PB ever came down with anything odd to give him a call. This was certainly time for that.

Dr. Keystone saw us immediately and within minutes of taking some history diagnosed PB with typhoid. Strangely enough, PB was vaccinated for typhoid, but we learned that it was only 70% effective. They took some blood samples and within a few days confirmed that PB did in fact have typhoid. PB started taking a stronger antibiotic and within a few days his fever finally waned and although he was weakened he was better. Shortly after, PB developed a pulmonary embolism as a result of his being in bed from the fever for so long. PB was out of work for approximately 5 months in total in trying to treat everything and then get his medical to prove to the FAA that he was indeed safe to fly again. I totally understand that vaccinations are not 100% effective.

However, as a member of society I also feel that if it's in my power to stop spreading preventable diseases by vaccinations I will certainly do so. I can't say I'll do it without asking questions for new vaccinations, but certainly for vaccines that have been around for quite some time, I'll take my chances on the lack of 100% effectiveness and protect my family.

Farmer's Markets

There is something very pleasurable about going to an open farmer's market, even if it is in the parking lot of the Oshawa Centre. I started going a few years ago on a quest to find heirloom tomatoes. My first tasting of heirloom tomatoes was in California back in 1999 and since then, I've always looked for them.

After trying out several farmer's markets, I found one lady, Maria, who had them. She had a stall at three different farmer's markets - one on Wednesday, Friday and then Sunday. The first year, I would follow her around to the market and pick up heirloom tomatoes. I was quickly recognized and known as her fanatical heirloom tomato customer. The following year, I started going to the farmer's market in Oshawa every Friday to pick up my heirloom tomatoes and other assorted produce.

I really enjoy walking around, looking at all the fruits and vegetables that our local farmers have grown. It's so much nicer than wheeling a shopping cart around a supermarket. I love talking to them, exchanging recipes and tidbits about various foods. I love that our fruit purveyor tells me all about the different varietals of the peaches, pears and plums that they have and what makes them unique. In a supermarket, the varietal is never known - it just says "Ontario Peach". I am particular that I only like freestones and that is never even listed at the supermarket.

I also like that everything is so fresh. Strawberries picked at sunrise that morning - bursting with flavour, aromatic as a strawberry should be and as shiny as in a magazine photo; tomatoes, with a heavy scent of the vines they are grown from; corn, crisp and firm with just a hint of dew from the morning when they were harvested; zucchini - more than a foot long and thicker than my fist. I also savour the items that I can't normally get from the supermarket, fava beans in the shell, fresh peas - still in their pods, fresh dill weed, bunches of basil as big as a flower bouquet, yellow and orange beets and garlic not from China. The apple selection during the fall is impressive with Royal Galas, Cortlands, Crispin, Jonagold, Honeycrisp, Paula Red, Northern Spy, Macintosh and many more.

Last year I was pregnant when I was going to the market. In fact, I didn't make it to the last week they were open because I was in the hospital giving birth. There is a nice personable feeling of getting to know these purveyors and them being interested in us. Many of them were guessing the sex of the baby and this year we got to introduce Corwin to our favourite farmers. It's a lot easier to shop this year, especially having Corwin in his stroller. We no longer have to lug around our heavy bags, laden with fresh fruits and vegetables. Everything just gets put into his undercarriage basket. Although he doesn't really understand what I'm saying yet, I enjoy pointing out different items and telling him what they are. When PB comes home, the trip to the farmer's market is a mandatory family affair. PB likes going, as the smells remind him of his childhood in Poland at his aunt and uncle's farm. He also likes being able to pick and choose what I'll be making him for lunch, after we get home from the market. His favourite is a heirloom tomato salad with basil, plenty of red onions, fleur de sel (that I picked in France a few years ago) and a drizzling of good olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Something so simple yet is the ultimate summer salad.

Corwin has also had his fair share of market goodies this year. Fresh musk melon, peaches, blueberries, zucchini, eggplant, summer squash, roasted red peppers and parsnips. He's got a basket of pears from todays excursion waiting for him, as well as some Gala apples. Sadly he'll have to wait until next year to sample the mouthwatering strawberries, but there is a basket and two bunches of fresh rhubarb waiting to be made into a pie for PB.

Is this sleep hell?

What I wouldn't give right now for a baby that could talk and just tell us what the problem is and why he can't fall asleep. I am just so grateful that PB is home and that there is someone else that can deal with the incessant crying, screaming, burbling etc...

We've been toying around with the idea of sleep training, but the cry it out option, at least the Ferber method which suggests going in and soothing in increments that increase would unlikely work with Corwin. He seems to be the type of child that would get himself more worked up, to the point of vomiting (I've heard in some) rather than exhaust himself, give up and go to sleep. The Sears method suggests co-sleeping, which we are, but I'd rather not go to bed every night at 8pm when he does. Does this mean that I'm doomed to rocking and soothing him until he's old enough to talk and tell us what the problem is? That day could not come sooner.

If it's teething, I can imagine it is quite uncomfortable but it's odd that it only gets really bad at night. He's not too hot or too cold. He's not gassy. He's not crying because he's got a wet diaper. So what is it? It's frustrating to see him obviously unhappy about something but has no way of communicating it except through crying. What's even more exasperating, when we finally get him to fall asleep, he doesn't sleep for longer than an hour and then we have to start all over again. Again, very grateful that PB is home right now, because this is all getting old really quickly. He's now been crying for the past 45 min. with PB by his side trying to soothe and get him to fall asleep.

Sleep issues are one of the most common problems for parents. I suppose I should count myself very lucky as Corwin is such a good natured baby for the whole day and not colicky like some other babies are. This sleep hell just makes for a really long day and I'm really sympathetic to why parents always look so tired now. I'm looking forward to the day when we can say "Remember when...."

Excuses, excuses...

I don't have too much time to write tonight. We had some friends over for dinner and Corwin has been an absolute bugger tonight and not wanting to go to sleep. I don't know if he's cutting some new teeth or something but it's been particularly bad and PB and I have been tag teaming all night with our guests.

I didn't want to not write anything though as I've been soooo good about writing every day. So, that's it for tonight. Something new for tomorrow night for sure!

Alternatives killed the video store.

It's sad to admit, but my favourite job, and probably the one that I had the longest, was working as a clerk at a video store. It was a franchise operation located 5 mins. from my house. I loved it there. I got free movies all the time, the staff was fun (I became friends with my BFF there), clients were great and friendly and it was super convenient located so close to home.

Back then, when a new release movie came out on VHS, it retailed for $80-100 depending on the title. It would take numerous rentals of $5 a pop to even start breaking even on a single copy. Before I started working there, I had no idea that movies could be so costly.

Shortly after I started there, Blockbusters started popping up in the GTA and started to take away some business. They were trying to monopolize video rentals and the smaller chains, franchises and mom and pops began to fade away.

I just read in the news today that Blockbuster is losing money and they are being forced to close hundreds of their stores. With all of the alternate options today of renting a movie or obtaining a movie, it was bound to happen. Even the concept of a "video store" is archaic, as they don't even rent videos anymore and no one calls them "DVD stores". New releases of DVDs are also much cheaper than the original VHS movies. For $30 or less most of the new releases can be bought by the consumer directly.

I was a Blockbuster customer up until recently. Their marketing scheme of 'no late charges' was great because I no longer had the pressure of getting the movie back within a day or two. If I had a chance to watch it I did, but if I didn't and let it slide a few days I wouldn't be penalized. From a consumer's perspective this was genius, but from a business perspective, suicidal. Shortly after they came out with this idea, they launched a new campaign that rewarded customers for bringing back their movies earlier than the due date. Then most recently, as I'm sure their rentals were dwindling rapidly as they didn't have stock on the shelves, they rescinded these offers. They changed all their pricing to reflect multi-day rentals, but the catch was, the customer had to commit to the number days upon rental. For someone with a newborn and having no idea as to when I'd really get a chance to watch a whole movie, this option was not appealing and so I stopped renting. I'm sure other customers also were unhappy having been given a freedom and then having it snatched away. As a business owner, I get it; the point of operating a profitable business is making money, but I certainly hope the brainiac that approved the no late charges idea is working at a non-profit organization now.

I'm sure in the not so distant future, 'video stores' will completely disappear and the monopoly that Blockbuster once longed for will be meaningless. I however, will always have my very fond memories of my years as a video store clerk.

Musings of a foodie

A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook that she tried Balut for the first time. Balut? What's balut you may ask, as I wondered? According to my friend Wikipedia, balut is sold as a street food in the Phillipines, that is essentially a fertilized duck egg that has a nearly developed embryo. Whaaaaaa?

We have a Korean friend who was telling us tales of a famous black pig in Jeju, located on an island on the southern tip of South Korea. The indigenous black pig is raised on human fecal matter. Lovely! It is nicknamed by the Koreans as Shit Pig. It is supposed to be the most delectable pork ever tasted - so succulent and flavourful, and yet it's something else that I think I'd pass on.

One of the strangest things I've tried was a live clam. I should note that the clam was still moving in the half shell. I was in Spain, and my uncle had taken us to a wonderful restaurant and had ordered up this appetizer. There I was, staring at this small clam, no bigger than a silver dollar, white, glistening and quivering on it's own volition. Everyone else at the table had already had theirs and yet I debated on how I would go about eating this poor little clam. I argued with myself between chewing it and putting it out of it's misery quickly, or to swallow it whole and let the stomach juices have their way with it. Which would be more humane? I imagined the little screams that would emanate from my mouth as my molars chomped down on the little creature. Imagination can sometimes be a very bad thing. I am not normally one to shirk my responsibilities, but that time, I let my stomach be the bad guy and swallowed him whole.

While I was backpacking through Europe, I came across a butcher in Paris that displayed a large selection of meats in their front window. One particular item caught my eye as it looked very much like a skinned squirrel. There was no sign on this item, as there were on the others and I racked my brain trying to think of what the word for squirrel was in French. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that they were indeed selling squirrel meat in Paris. I hadn't seen any squirrels around and surely such a common rodent was prevalent in Europe as well as North America. It was Paris after all, and surely they could find a way to cook up squirrel with a nice reduction sauce. It turns out, as I found out several days later, that the item was a rodent, but it was an uninteresting rabbit.

Speaking of which, I had a pet rabbit when I was younger. Thumper was his name. My brother and cousin used to tease me about eating hassenpfeffer. I had no clue what they were talking about, but I surmised that it was some sort of rabbit dish. I professed that I would never ever eat rabbit.... and yet I found myself in France several years ago, working in a kitchen in Cannes, and for lunch they often served rabbit to the staff. Quite tasty... similar to chicken... kind of like frog legs.

So what do my musings all mean? Other than the fact that I love food but I have limits as to what I'll venture into my mouth, the only logical explanation as to why some things are considered inedible by some cultures and delightful in another is a matter of upbringing. I never thought I'd eat snails and yet escargots are one of my favourite dishes, and I'm sure having a fancy french name makes them even better. PB on the other hand, used to play with snails and has said he will never eat any of his playmates. This is also the case for frog legs.

But it's not just a matter of strange delicacies that people have differing opinions on. There are basic things that we eat every day that some people will like and others won't. Whether it be a matter of texture, taste, smell or appearance everyone is guided by what they were brought up with, peer pressure and the cultural values about what is acceptable.

My mother in law, originating from Poland had very limited exposure to seafood. She refuses to eat shrimp (although I've seen her now sample a few around the holidays from a shrimp ring) because they remind her of little bugs, cockroaches to be exact. I remember having mounds of steamed shrimp brought to our restaurant table in Taiwan and learning how to rip off their little heads first and then peel the shell off from the legs before devouring them. I did not mention to her that I'm sure somewhere in the world people probably eat cockroaches as they do beetles, silk worms, spiders etc...

I don't like raw onions. If I eat onions, they have to be cooked and can't even be partially raw and even then I prefer to not know that I'm really eating them. PB loves onions - of all kinds. In fact, one of his favourite sandwiches is slices of a good crusty bread, slathered with butter and then topped with a heaping pile of raw sliced green onions and salted. Blech....

However, it occurred to me as I have been making all of Corwin's food (I am proud to say that he has never been served any jarred baby food nor anything manufactured that needs to be reconstituted) that it would be a great injustice for me to deprive him of anything that I don't personally like. I hear all the time about parents raising picky eaters. I am fortunate that Corwin has not disliked anything, with the exception of barley (which is ok since neither of his parents likes barley very much either), that I've offered to him. I'm sure that over time this may change, but it's very important to me that I give him things to try so that he can decide whether he likes something or not. Like all other aspects in life, I want him to be open minded and willing to try things. Does this mean that he'll try balut? Perhaps when he's older he may (I shouldn't have to be responsible for providing him every opportunity to eat strange things!) but, for now he'll have to settle for raw onions, cilantro, licorice and anything with dried orange peel.

There's heavy wetting and then there's Corwin

If someone had told me 10 years ago that I would have a child I would have told them they were delusional. If that same person also told me that I'd also be using cloth diapers with that child, I would have told them not only were they delusional but also in need of psychological help.

It turns out they were right. We didn't start off using cloth diapers, as friends who do told us in the beginning not to bother. We'd have enough on our hands adapting to a newborn without the gazillions loads of laundry that would accompany cloth diapers. We were happily using disposables, and especially since Corwin was born in the late fall, we were regularly throwing out the diapers into a garbage bin outside so the smell wasn't so noticeable.

Then summer came... well at least some warm weather. The trip to the garbage pail outside was getting more intolerable. The waft of urine and feces escaping out of the bin, combined with the copious amounts of flies, congregating at the garbage, was enough to make me start considering the idea of cloth diapers.

PB and I had discussed them while I was still pregnant and in fact, we may have even had a discussion about them while we were still debating on whether or not to have children. It is supposed to be better for babies - less chemical exposure (there has been some studies linking the use of disposable diapers and infertility and testicular cancer), less diaper rashes, better comfort (soft fleece lining vs. whatever it is that they use in disposables) and easier to potty train (I'm all for this!). This was on top of the environmental factors and PB and I are fairly green so this was also important to us.

The cloth diapers that they have available today have come a long way from the cloth ones that PB wore. There are so many different options now - prefolds, fitted cloth and pocket diapers. We opted for the pocket diapers as they are the easiest to use and are closest to the convenience of a disposable diaper. Among the pocket diapers there are also many manufacturers, but I decided to go with a Canadian made diaper that also has the widest "pocket" for the liner (so man hands can tuck in the liner) and the liner also does not need to be pulled out manually, it tumbles out during the wash. Sounds easy right?

Then there are the liners themselves. Made out of a combination of hemp and cotton or bamboo and cotton, they are either two liners sewn together or three. These get folded into thirds and then tucked into the diaper cover making the absorbing layers now 6 or 9. There are also booster layers that can be tucked into the front or the middle (depending on if it's a boy or girl and where they wet the most) that provide an extra bit of absorbency.

I knew that Corwin was a fairly heavy wetter in disposables. His diaper would be very full in the mornings after being in it for 12 hours, but it amazed us that he never leaked through. The first night we tried the cloth, he needed changing after the first 4-5 hours, soaking through 9 layers. I added an additional liner folded in half to make it less bulky than it would be in thirds, so now he had 13 layers. He leaked by the morning. I folded the liner in thirds making it now 15 layers and still he was soaking it through and leaking. I bought a booster and put that in adding an additional 2 layers, now being at 17 and still we were getting some leakage. I folded the booster in half and put it in the front, giving his front section 19 layers of absorbency. His diaper is so full of fabric that the poor kid can't put his legs together and yet he doesn't complain and lets mommy fiddle around and figure out some combination that will result in dry pajamas and bedsheets in the morning. Finally at 19 layers we were having some success. The smell however was not pleasant. Stale urine packed in a diaper is like rubbing your face into a public toilet or urinal that has never been cleaned, or at least that's what I can imagine. It's a lovely way to wake up. All this for the sake of the environment, I can potty train him sooner, so he won't get testicular cancer and that he'll have good swimmers.

I discovered this evening that he did actually leak out of his diaper last night, as his pajamas now smelled like the public toilet. I'm at a loss and beginning to think that our only other option is to go with a disposable at night, which means that I'll have to load him up on foods rich in antioxidants, put him in boxer shorts as soon as he's potty trained, be resigned that he won't be potty trained until he's 4 and screw the environment.

Concord Grapes

PB loves concord grapes. Unfortunately, they are a varietal that is only seasonal and rarely in abundance when they are. We decided to plant two vines of concord grapes in our backyard.

Our house backs onto the Rouge Valley Conservation area. It's a lovely location, as we have a mature woodland behind our house and plenty of paths to go walking. We also have many different creatures living in the Rouge - deer, raccoons, skunks, chipmunks, squirrels, rabbits, coyotes, foxes, beavers and various birds.

While we very much enjoy sitings of wildlife thoughout the year, some of them are far more adventurous and daring as they impose themselves in our yard.

We've now had the grape vines for eight years and for the past five or so, we've had fruit, well, let's say that they have bore fruit. We have probably eaten a handful of grapes in the past five years, although we get several good clusters. We've tried everything to keep animals from eating the grapes. It's predominantly the raccoons who are feasting on them, but squirrels have been known to sample them as well.

We've tried putting mothballs around the vines, as this is supposed to deter raccoons. That year, we got maybe 2 grapes. We've also tried putting netting around the whole trellis and that year we got 1 grape. I also put tiny bags around each cluster and then secured it tightly with a twist tie, that year provided us with 5 grapes and many torn bags strewn across our lawn. One year, PB rigged an electrical wire and connected it to the trellis, complete with electrical current. I was concerned that we'd end up with fried raccoons in the morning (and how would we explain this to our neighbours?) but we didn't and that year we managed to salvage 2-3 small clusters, our greatest harvest to date! PB insists that if we were to enlist my brother to build some small gibbets and hang dead raccoons from them (with signs hanging around their necks saying "Grape Eater") that this would deter others from coming. My thoughts, A. I don't really want dead animals on our property. B. Again, explaining to the neighbours would be tricky and C. I don't think raccoons can read.

So, we're left with the electrical fencing again. We have decided on a more advanced method and have purchased some real electrical fencing, from a farming supply store. Since PB has been gone, the grape clusters are slowly ripening and changing colour. We'll need to act quickly if we are to salvage this years crop. I'm hoping that they'll ripen enough for PB to harvest before he has to leave for work again. If the fencing doesn't work this time, I'm really concerned that he'll turn to the gibbet idea again.


And as a complete aside and unrelated note... on October 7th, my best friend and I will be trekking downtown to the ROM and being two of 600 enjoying an Evening with Meryl Streep! I'm so excited! WHEEEE!!

8 years ago today PB was scheduled to go to work later that afternoon. Only a few months earlier, TWA had finally been bought by American Airlines (AA). While we were still snoozing in bed, we had received an odd phone call from his mother from Poland. She was talking about something she had seen on TV about a plane crashing into a skyscraper in New York City. We attributed it to some crazy show she had been watching and hung up and tried to go back to sleep but we were already awake. We lounged in bed, cuddling, talking and enjoying each other's company. Then we got another phone call. I can't recall who it was this time as we got several phone calls that morning asking where PB was, but that was when we were first alerted to what was really going on in New York City that morning.

PB has lived in New York since he immigrated from Poland when he was 17. He got his pilot license in Long Island and was based out of New York when he worked for TWA and for AA. He flew by the Manhattan skyline on a regular basis.

After that phone call, we quickly got dressed and went downstairs and turned on the TV only to see CNN's news footage of the crash in the first tower. Within minutes of us watching, we saw the second plane hit the second tower. My heart stopped and I felt weak and needed to sit down. We watched in disbelief and realized that the first tower was not an accident. We continued to get phone calls from friends and family all asking whether PB was at work or if he was with me. I felt very fortunate that he was home and safe and that I wasn't going crazy trying to locate him and at the same time absolutely ill that it could have been him.

For days, every time I turned on the TV, tears came pouring down my face and I had a constant lump in my throat. There was a part of me, the ostrich with the head in the sand, that wished I had been in some remote village in Africa or an island in Polynesia that didn't have access to any media, so that I wouldn't have to face such a devastating reality.

It's been 8 years since that traumatic day and I still get a queasy stomach, the lump in my throat and tears welling up when I see any footage or images, read stories about the families that were left behind or anything to do with that day. Ironically, PB now works for the cargo company that was the only civilian aircraft flying after everything else was grounded on 9/11. With the war on terror, PB is now regularly flying in the Middle East, flying in supplies for all the troops. It's a constant reminder of that day and how different the world is now.

Many people ask me what it's like to be married to a pilot and if I fear for his life when he goes to work. It's not like he's a police officer or a fireman as flying is very safe. I do think about it and dread the possibility that I could get a call one day that his plane has gone down, but it's not to the point of crippling me. It doesn't help that he is now flying predominantly in the Middle East but I am a positive person and I believe in always moving forward. Being a pilot's wife is my reality and whether I would rather stick my head in the sand or not, I now have even more responsibility now that I'm also a mother to a pilot's son.

An Evening with Meryl

I have an American Express card and part of the perks is occasionally getting advance tickets for various events prior to the public release date. I get an email notification when they have new events that are part of the "Front of the Line" option.

Last night, I got an email about "An Evening with Meryl Streep at the ROM". Sounded very intriguing as I am a huge, HUGE Meryl fan - not stalking type, but love her, a lot! It appears that she is going to be in town for a sit down interview with a columnist, from the Globe and Mail, to talk about her body of work, her difficulties and responsibilities with fame and the nature of celebrity today and a "lively" Q&A session. It's an evening event and seeing as how Corwin only wants me after he goes to bed at night, I didn't think that it was going to be feasible to go. However, I checked with Grandma next door, and she's willing to take him and try putting him to sleep at her house so I can go out. PB is going to be away at work. I told her that if Corwin doesn't end up sleeping and just wants to play that I'll deal with it when I get home. Meryl is worth the potential grief.

With that settled, I logged into the AMEX site to purchase tickets only to see "SOLD OUT". Whaaaaaaaat? It was only released to the Front of the Line this morning and both the VIP and general admission have been sold out. Wahhhhh!! NOOOOO!! This can't be true!

Then suddenly, it dawned on me that I have a good contact at the ROM, who is in charge of special events. I emailed him and we're now hoping that he'll be able to assist in us in getting out to see Meryl.... Networking hopefully paying off!

I'll keep you posted!

PB is not always peanut butter

I'm not on Facebook a lot, but from time to time I'll update my status. It usually coincides with my hubby going back to work. Speaking of hubby.... it's been grating on my nerves using that term to describe my beloved, as it's not usually what I call him.

My husband's name is Arthur and to be quite frank I've never liked it. We met over the Internet, for those of you who aren't familiar with the tale, and from the very beginning I've struggled with his name. Initially, I wanted to call him Peter, which is his middle name, but that didn't suit him either. I do prefer Arthur over what he prefers to be called and what his friends call him, Art. Considering that I have a degree in Fine Art, this seems kind of funny. Art reminds me of what dogs do "arf, arf" and that is not how I like to refer to him.

When we were dating, I began to call him pet names such as my hunnybunny and then a conversation about Garfield led me to call him Pooky Bear. Now, Arthur, loves to pretend he's not hearing me correctly and repeat something I've said, but completely twists it around so it's ridiculous. Pooky Bear came back to me as Pukey Bear? We bantered back and forth, me correcting him, him repeating himself, until I just gave in and said, "Ok fine, PUKEY bear it is." And ever since then, he's been my Pukey Bear aka, PB. Well, actually the a.k.as go much further, which is also his doing.

Did I mention that he's always had issue with my given name as well? From the very beginning we have not used each others names and in fact it usually sounds awkward when we do. I even tried to eliminate them in our wedding vows, but the minister put them in during the wedding anyway. I don't even recall when he started calling me Oinky, but it definitely had to do with the fact that I love food. Oinky has had many variations - Oinkster, Oinklinger, Oinky Bear, Oinkster Doinkster and then the variations diverted into other porcine names - Porkster and Porklinger. There are many more elaborate and 'colourful' variations that would not be appropriate in print.

The altering of names has been a long tradition of his. Most of his friends, if not all, have some sort of nickname. His mother has never been called mom or any variation because she too has become victim to his naming. He has also extended this to my brother who was Uncle Ken before he was ever an uncle and also Kenbow - meaning Ken the boy in Japanese. This of course has extended to our child. Corwin has been called Pizza face (on account of his bad baby acne and then eczema), Sharky and Gummer. Gummer is the only one that has withstood the test of time and now he is affectionately known as Gummer to his immediate family. I thought that perhaps once he grew teeth that Gummer would have to be called something else, but it seems to have stuck, although I have also come up with Gummy Bear to be part of the Oinky Bear, Pukey Bear trio.

Arthur is known as Pukey Bear, PB, Pukester, Pukester Dukester and Pukester Dukester aka Snooty Cheese Pants. I generally refer to him as PB in print, as it's much easier to write. From here on in, you will no longer see the term hubby, but rather my PB, and you'll know I'm not talking about missing peanut butter.

9 Happy Years

Another reality of being a pilot's wife, celebrating our wedding anniversary alone. 9 years ago today, hubby and I said our vows and declared our intentions of spending the rest of our lives together in holy matrimony. Holy or not, it's been a wonderful 9 years and I can't believe how quickly it has passed.

I remember our wedding day like it was yesterday. After some unnecessary drama from my father at the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner the night before, the morning of the wedding was calm and peaceful. I remember sitting on the floor of my bedroom with my maid of honour/best friend as if it was just any other day. We sat there giggling and remarking how unnervingly calm I actually was. We casually got ready and then made our way down to Casa Loma where I would finally marry my knight in shining armour.

The drive down to Casa Loma was interesting. I had hired a white Rolls Royce to drive myself and my attendants down. As I sat in the back, decked all in white and capped off with a tiara, onlookers commented and wondered if perhaps I was royalty and so we laughed and indulged them with a royal wave. Upon getting to Casa Loma, I was the photo subject of many tourists. It's comical to think that somewhere out there, my wedding day is part of someone's vacation photos.

Then, finally I got to see my knight - and he would see me in my dress for the first time. I walked out into the rear courtyard eager to see his impression. It was like a movie, the way he turned slowly to see me walking towards him, face bright and happy. He kissed me gently and whispered, "Your face smells funny." And with that remark about my makeup (which I normally don't wear), I knew that our life would always be honest and unpredictable.

The rest of the day unfolded in typical wedding fashion. I had an ugly cry trying to get my vows out as he looked at me with such great intensity, and then finally the minister declared us married. Married... it has such a nice ring to it, no pun intended.

I look back now and I realize that this day could have been yesterday, save for the fact that we now have a child. But, in terms of our relationship, we are the same people, still very much in love and still have the same expectations and appreciation for each other as that day. His best man swore up and down that once we got married that I'd change and turn into the wicked wife that most men have, but it hasn't happened. There has been no need because we have the same respect and devotion that we had as on our wedding day. I feel very fortunate for having found my knight. Life is good....

Grandmothers

One of my fondest childhood memories is of my maternal grandmother making a traditional Taiwanese sticky rice cake (similar to mochi) mixed with ai grass. It was summer and my grandmother had come for a visit from Taiwan. Attached to one side of our house was the "patio" that referred to a screened in room, very similar to a Florida room. It was a lovely place to sit in the summer because we could enjoy being in the fresh air without worrying about insects and listen to the summer breeze rustle the leaves of the trees.

My grandmother had brought special grass from Taiwan to make these rice cakes. The cakes were normally filled with a red bean or mung bean paste. I never liked the paste but loved the chewiness and the herbal taste of the rice cakes. We were in the patio room as I watched her mix up the ingredients and knead out the sticky cakes. She made some especially for me that didn't have any of the paste. I adored my grandmother. She was everything that a grandmother should be to a child.

My mother tells me that when I was just a toddler, after a bath I had said to her that she was not as good at giving baths as my grandmother. She asked her mother what she did that would warrant such a comment from me. My grandmother simply explained that she gave me a small wash cloth and let me play with it as long as I wanted to and only then, when I was finished was my bath over. My mother, who had plenty to do, did not have the time to let me have the luxury of this play time.

Corwin is my mother's first grandchild. My mother has never been one to be particularly enamoured by young children, but we had a feeling that her grandchild would certainly be an exception. She has been smitten since the day she first held him in the hospital. My mother, who conveniently lives next door to us, has been a great help, especially with hubby going away to work. In the first few months, my mother was over at every opportunity to give me much needed rest and to cradle, rock and spend time with Corwin. We started a running joke when my mother in law also came, that the two of them would fight over who got to hold him. Corwin was never out of someone's arms.

Now that he's older and has been eating solids, she comes over every morning to feed Corwin his breakfast. I walk the dog during this time and then Corwin goes over to her house for a visit. He returns after an hour or so and spends the rest of the day with me until his dinner time. My mother comes back over then and feeds him his dinner, while I take the dog out for his evening walk. He goes back to her house after his dinner and reappears just before his bedtime. Both the dog and Corwin are always wildly excited when they hear my mother come in and the announcing of "It's Grandma!" from me.

We have a mulberry bush in the front yard. This summer, there were many days that my mother, proudly holding her grandson would be in the bush, picking berries to share with him. She'd put her straw hat on him to shield him from the sun and it would shift and slide and cover his face and when you'd lift it up, the look of glee from a berry stained face would appear.

Lately, when he comes back from Grandma's house, and I hold out my arms to take him, he turns away and clings closely to Grandma. Suddenly, I understand that life is again repeating itself, only with a different generation. When Corwin spends the day with me, much of the time I'm setting him down and letting him play on his own so I can get some daily chores done. When he's with Grandma, all the time is devoted to him and he has a constant playmate. The bath story that my mother told me now has a whole different meaning.

A few years ago, my mother told me that my grandmother had confided in her that she had a feeling that I would always remember that day we shared in the patio making the rice cakes. I now relish in the idea that Corwin will have many more memories of spending time with his grandmother than I did and that he will look back on them as fondly as I do.

Sleep training

The idea of sleep training seems absolutely ridiculous. Sleeping is one of the most natural human functions, as it allows our bodies to rest, recuperate and rejuvenate. Why then, do babies need to be trained on how to do such a simple and natural function?

A few years ago, my BFF and I went on a European cruise together. On one particular evening, as we were getting ready for dinner (dinner was served at 6pm) I told her that I wanted to take a short nap before dinner. She looked at her watch. "Now? It's 5:40." It was perfect, I told her. 20 minute nap to rejuvenate and then we'd be off to the dining room. She looked skeptical as I lay my head down on my pillow.

20 minutes later, when she woke me up, she looked at me with complete amazement. "I don't believe how quickly you can fall asleep. You were literally sleep breathing within a minute or two of laying your head down." I wish my son had inherited this ability.

By day, Corwin couldn't be an easier baby, especially for first time parents. He's very agreeable and rarely cries. When we're out, strangers are always commenting at how serious and quiet he is. At night, when we're all alone, Baby Hyde comes out. He's obviously tired as he rubs his eyes and yawns. He avidly nurses, closes his eyes and appears to be falling asleep, and yet he doesn't. An hour and a half later of writhing, screaming, sighing, babbling, crying, blowing raspberries and just testing out his lungs and how loud his voice can be, he eventually, very angelically, closes his eyes and falls asleep. That moment is absolutely blissful. So, perhaps the key is to just make his bedtime later? Ah, yes we've tried that too and that doesn't work either. By that time, he's even crankier because then he's overtired.

The gazillion of sleep training books suggest putting the baby down to bed when they are tired but still awake. I have to admit that we did this often in the beginning and Corwin always slept fine on his own. It didn't appear that Corwin would need any sleep training and that he did inherit our love of sleeping. When he turned 7 months, that's when he found his alter ego, Hyde. Conveniently, this is also the age in which sleep training can be least effective, says one book. Developmentally, they have so much going on that trying to sleep train can be futile. GREAT! So we've been waiting it out for the past few months and we have one month left before we can attempt sleep training - which I'm sure will involve many nights of tears, crying, screaming, blowing raspberries in frustration (him not us) and ear plugs all in the hopes that one day he will be able to go to bed, lay his head on his pillow and within minutes we'll hear that blissful sound of sleep breathing.

I'm going to be a slave driving mom.

I was having a conversation with my hubby before he left for work that went something like this.

"Do you know the kids that don't do anything a couple of doors down?" he asked me.
"Umm... which ones? The ones on our side or on the other side of the road?" I replied
"Hrmm... good point. The ones on the other side of the road. The kid who's always jumping his bike."
"Oh, yeah... what about them?"
"Well, it's about the kid on the bike. I swear he doesn't do anything around the house. The green bin and the blue recycling box are still at the curb where it was left this morning and he's just out playing with his bike. I bet it's not going to get taken in until his mom does it."
"Considering that he's around 16 or so and I've never seen him help out around the house doing anything, I'm not that surprised. The mom shovels the driveway, with no help from either of her kids (who are both teens) and the dad does the lawn in the summer every weekend when he's home from work. The kids don't do anything. That's pretty much the case for most of the kids on our street though. It's always the parents out doing the yardwork."
"That's not going to happen at our house."
"You can bet your ass it's not! I've already been pointing out to Corwin when you're out mowing the lawn that when he's older he'll be the one doing it."

So it got me thinking.... what's up with kids these days? When I was growing up, it was expected and natural for me to help out around the house. I was probably around 4 or 5 when I started to help shovel the driveway with my tiny shovel. The scooping part was no bigger than 6" or so and yet I tooled along and did my part, the best I could. I raked leaves in the fall and I always brought the garbage or recycling bins in, if they were still out when I got home. I always helped bring groceries in and when I was older I washed dishes. My brother mowed the lawn and helped my mother trim the bushes in the front of the house.

When we moved into our current house, the neighbour directly across from us was a really nice guy married to a Korean woman. It was the second marriage for both and she had 3 kids from the previous marriage. She immigrated from Korea and grew up with very little and had to work very hard for everything she had. She didn't want her kids to do the same so she didn't want them to lift a finger to do anything. Never took out the trash. Never even went to the mailbox which was just slightly to the left of their driveway. Never mowed the lawn nor did a stitch of work inside the house (these were all accounts by our neighbour who frequently complained about his wife and kids and have subsequently gotten divorced). In fact, not only did they not do anything around the house, they were leeches that demanded money for their nasty smoking habit, speeding tickets and alcohol. They seemed to fit right into the neighbourhood since we hadn't seen any other teens doing any such work either.

So, it appears that it's not really the kids at fault, but rather the parents who don't train their kids, from an early age, that this is what is expected of them. Is this just a new trend? Am I totally out of the loop and just an old fuddy duddy with old fashioned expectations? Why did this shift occur, that made a whole generation of kids the centre of the world? I don't remember parents chauffeuring their kids around to all their activities every day of the week, always putting their own needs on the back burner when I was growing up. I began to wonder if this is what children now expect and then I thought, quite frankly, I don't really care. I'm the adult here. Corwin, and if all goes well, along with our next child will have to do their fair share of work around the house from an early age. Hubby and I believe that it teaches them life skills that they'll need when they live on their own. It will also teach them responsibility and give them some sort of work ethic. I'm sure that our kids will bitch and complain because their friends may not have to do the same sort of work around the house, but hubby and I are determined and unrelenting with this facet of child rearing.

I have come to the realization that my lofty dreams of being the super cool mom are not going to materialize. I'm going to be the slave driving mom but damnit, my kids will be prepared for life down the road. I'll just have to settle for people remarking that I have "really good kids."

The strange workings of a tankless water heater.

Hubby warned me when we were dating that being a pilot's wife is not always easy. She is required, very often, to wear many hats. Today was one of them, as I'm not and have never had any inclinations to be a plumber.

We have a tankless water heater. There are many benefits to having one and I am very pleased that we made the change several years ago. I no longer run out of hot water for my 'scalding' hot showers (as hubby often remarks) and I can set the temperature to hand wash dishes at 60C (which apparently takes 5 sec. to create a serious burn - who knew?). Another benefit of having a tankless water heater is that I can also set the bath temperature for Corwin's bath and never have to worry about mixing water and checking to see if it's right.

It's also very environmental. We no longer heat up a huge tank of water and keep it warm, even though no one is using any hot water. Europeans and Asians have been using them forever and it's only becoming more popular now, in North America, as we discover all the ways of being green.

Today, my tankless water heater has failed me. We've been having a random problem with it lately, but it wasn't more than a minor nuisance. For some strange reason, it was shutting itself off - completely, meaning no hot water at all. It usually happened when I was washing dishes and I merely had to turn the remote power switch back on and my hot water came back. It wasn't predictable and didn't happen often but I did call our vendor about it. He told me that a filter needed to be cleaned out. I was thinking that I could wait for hubby to get back home from his latest sojourn at work. Alas, this was not the case.

During my shower this morning, the hot water heater shut down, not once, not twice but THREE times. This would not have been a huge problem except that we had to install the remote 50' away from the shower in our master bedroom. So there I was, freezing my ass off, running back and forth between the shower and the remote trying to finish my lather, rinse, repeat. Wasn't pretty nor pleasant. It was evident that I would not be able to wait and that I'd have to clean out this 'filter' myself.

So, while my mother watched Corwin (thankfully, she lives next door so it's quite convenient) I ventured into the basement to tackle the job. I had the manual with me and it seemed easy enough. After many tries and a quick call to Dubai to check with hubby if there was a trick to shutting of the water valves, I shut it down and pulled the filter out.

The man had told me that it would probably be filled with dirt and sediment - um.... no, not really. In fact, the whole thing looked pretty damn clean to me. Nevertheless, this is what I was told to do and that it would rectify the problem. I cleaned it out with a toothbrush and put the now cleaned (albeit not noticeably) filter back in.

The water heater has been running normally now and hasn't shut off again, but it was random, so only time will tell if the problem has really been fixed. I'm normally a very optimistic person - in this case I'm expecting to be making a call to the vendor again to get some more troubleshooting advice. The plumber hat I'm sure will be returning in the near future.

Later that evening:

The hat is back....argh!!

Why the blog?

To be totally honest, I'm not sure what possessed me to start up this blog today. I just kept thinking about it all day and finally, after having to drug the kid with Tempra, as he's got two new teeth coming in and the homeopathic stuff IS NOT working, I just set it up.

I've been wanting to get back into writing and this seemed like a perfect way to start. I've never been a blog follower and I really don't know that much about it, except that it's an outlet for people to express themselves. So, here I am about to embark on a new web adventure of sharing my life, for better or worse, with whomever (whoever? See? I do need the practice!) wants to read about it. If nothing else, I will get a chance to write on a regular basis again.