Between Then and Now

So, we had a baby.

Ferris Alistair Bedell

He’s awesome, but oh boy did the gardens suffer. We’re down to bare minimum yard maintenance, doing only what’s absolutely necessary to keep the Homeowners Association* from writing us letters under some Adams Family Clause we missed in the by-laws.  I’m sure if they didn’t see us out chasing Zane on his bike, the neighbors would think our house is abandoned.

Gardens by Lurch
(Yes, this is actually my yard.)

Zoom.

Somehow we went from folks who thought they had no time, to actually not having any spare time.  Last year we had more time then money.  Time to garden, chop wood, make stuff.  Now we’ve got more money, but no time.  (And by more money, we’re not talking lottery winnings here.  We’re still scraping the bottom of the peanut butter jar, but now it’s less compulsory.)  It is the freelancer’s curse.

What would a normal couple do when they finally found themselves reasonably comfortable but with slightly less free time then they’d like?  Probably not what we did.  I left my top-secret government job - the one with the steady paycheck, gobs of paid vacation time and sick days, oh and HEALTH INSURANCE.  That one.  I left it.

Granted it was getting in the way of all my fun.  Now I can do things like clean the house, work on the gardens, read books.  And I can take on more freelance work!  Yes, I have joined the ranks of the scantily employed.  

So far it’s going well.  I've got some clients, I’m networking and handing out my card like a crazy person, and I even have a website that’s 3/4ths finished.  Go me!

If your life is feeling a bit stale, I highly recommend ditching all steady pay and benefits in favor of an exciting and terrifying life of adventure as a freelance graphic designer and photographer.  It’s like being a pirate, only less boats and water and more legal.  

Other things that have happened in the last two months: Kismet went to the giant meat castle in the sky, and I had a baby.

Poor Kismet.  She developed a bump on her face which turned out to be cancer.  It sucked.  (It also sucked that we found out after we had the invisible fence put in.)  The week before Ferris was born we said our goodbyes and sent her to a better place were she can eat out of the litterbox whenever she likes, roll in a large variety of dead things, and get on any couch she sees.

Kismet - Putting the Funk on the Rainbow Bridge

Then I had this critter.

Mr. Awesome Baby

He’s awesome, did I mention that?  Labor sucked, I accidentally had a natural birth.  I may fill you in on that later, but the short version is: Don’t Go Into Labor Unprepared.  (Like the Boy Scout motto, only with more ick and lady parts.)

That’s what we’ve been up to since February.  I can’t wait to see what trouble we manage to get ourselves into in the next six months.

* Actually our Homeowners Association is a group of really lovely people, and we’ve never heard boo from them except when it’s time to vote for the new board members.  And they take care of the neighborhood playground which is one of our favorite hangouts these days.

Training Pants, the Next Step in Cloth Diapering

I am actually a bit embarrassed about this.  Zane is basically potty trained.

That doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone, so for clarification: Zane goes potty both ways on the toilet. He wears training pants during the day and is diapered when he takes his nap and goes to bed. And while I am taking extra pants and “underpants” on our outings, we rarely need them.

He will ask to go when he needs to and sometimes he’ll ask to go ‘cause he’s bored or because he wants to wash his hands. He does need some supervision to make sure he doesn’t fall in while climbing up, flush 800 bazillion times, waste a ton of TP, and to keep him focused on the, um, task at hand. (And, well, to keep the tasks out of his hands, hence all the hand washing.) His wiping also leaves... something to be desired.

But for a kid who’s not yet two, I’d say this was pretty darn fantastic.

Here’s the embarrassing part: Ryan and I had nothing to do with it. Zane potty trained himself.

Sometime after his first birthday I bought a kid sized potty for the bathroom. I didn’t expect anything to come of it. We planning to start training when the kid was at least two, probably older, why rush things? But I wanted it the potty to be familiar when we did start. One less intimidating thing about this whole process.

Zane had other plans.

He sat on it and peed. I thought it was a fluke. The next night he peed and pooped. The train pulled away from the station without me.

A few weeks later he was spending all his time pants-less and had shirked the “little” potty for the big one.

Pants free is great. It’s convenient and easy. But if you want to go to Target, they prefer customers wear pants. Restaurants too, oddly enough. Three weeks ago Ryan and I decided to step in and take an active roll in this whole potty adventure. We were going to teach Zane to wear pants. Really, least we could do, right?

Step 1: Find training pants.

I thought this would be easy. I remember training pants from my childhood. They were cotton and had some extra padding at the crotch just in case you didn’t have your timing figured out. Turns out training pants are now called Pull Ups.

We didn’t use disposable diapers, we sure as hell weren't going to use disposable underpants.

Thank goodness for the Internet. We found Little Beetle Learners, and they are awesome. They’ll hold a small bladder-full, but Zane can tell he’s wet, and they’re bright and fun and cushy. (Jillian’s Drawers is also awesome, if you wanna try cloth you should check out their Try Cloth for $10 program.)

Step 2: Teach Bribe the kid to put them on.

I admit it. We were soooo smug behind other parents' backs. Our kid didn’t need bribes to go to the toilet. I never had to rummage through my purse in vain hope there was a forgotten lolly-pop in the bottom so the kid would go potty while we were visiting Grandma. Aren't we special.

At least we thought we were.

Given the choice Zane would rather go ultra commando then put the effort into trying to dress himself. So we busted out the gummy worms. Honestly, I don’t blame him, there are some days I wish I’d get a treat for bothering to dress myself.

We didn’t have to bribe him more then a handful of times, which is good, and now the critter can put on his big boy underpants all by himself. 3 times out of 5 they’re even on frontwards.

That was all it took. Zane now wears pants all the time (ok, most of the time, he still gets a fair bit of nakedy time on the weekends) and is even waking up from some of his (diapered) naps totally dry.

Don’t worry though, I bet the next one won’t potty train until they’re 5.

We Ordered Plants

We got a lot accomplished this weekend. Along with a quick trip to the Living Museum, and finishing four hundred loads of laundry, we ordered plants. We kept it pretty simple this year. We ordered two replacement apple trees (all three of ours were girdled by voles) from Vintage Virginia Apples. This time around we picked up a Shockley, which is a very tasty apple, and an Albemarle Pippin.

The Albemarle Pippin is a neat apple with a history. According to the Vintage Virgina Apple folks it was introduced to Albemarle County by Col. Thomas Walker who brought the apple back from the battle of Brandywine in 1777. Though the 18th century it was widely grown and was known to be cultivated by both Washington and Jefferson (the second should be no surprise, that dude tried to grow EVERYTHING.) In 1838 Queen Victoria was presented with a basket of the apples and it was such a hit that Parliament waved the duty on importing the variety which made it an important export for us. After World War I Parliament levied duties gain, and the Pippin became less popular. It is still grown commerically, but mostly for cider not as an eating apple.

We also picked up four current bushes (two white and two red), a replacement cherry tree (we lost it’s predecessor to voles as well), more strawberry plants, two yellow raspberry bushes, some wild carrot plants and coreopsis for the butterfly garden, a dwarf pomegranate (we’ve managed to keep the key lime alive, so we’re risking it), and some assorted pretty things to fill in a few holes.

We’ll use up the seed we have on hand for tomatos, peppers, various root veg, herbs, and viney plants and supplement a bit from the nurseries in the spring.

Not the most exciting weekend for most people, but hey! I got the laundry done and I don’t have to worry about the gardens for another whole month!

Plants and Seeds of a Different Sort

Remember when this used to be a gardening blog?  Ok, it was never a full gardening blog, but most of what we talked about was plants.  What we were planting, what we wanted to plant, when we'd plant it, how and where we planted it.  We talked about our grand planting plans for the future...  Then we had Zane.  And now we're considering paving over the backyard so we wouldn't have to mow the Creeping Charlie every other week.

Zane is the sunshine in our lives, the source of genuine laughter every day, a person full of surprises and wonder, and the giant vortex into which all our time is sucked.  Seriously, ALL our time.  We're getting ready to leave the house, all we have to do is put on our coats.  An hour and a half later we're sitting in the car and I'm wondering how in the heck it takes AN HOUR AND A HALF for three people to put on coats. AN HOUR AND A HALF.

We did plant stuff last year, it didn't do well under the extreme neglect we provided for it.  It was Plant Thunderdome in the raised beds.  Plants vs. Weeds.  Two plants enter, one plant leaves- and spreads it's horrible self all over the rest of the property.  (I'll give you two guesses which won, and the first doesn't count. Hint: it wasn't Mad Max.)  To heighten the excitement we refused to water anything.  By the end of the summer our house looked like the Adams Family had taken residence. 

This year it will be different.  Maybe.  Possibly.  We're hoping to put in irrigation to help with the watering, but, ummm, we planted a seed of a different sort.  Sometime around July 4 we're having another kid.

The gardens are totally screwed.

Chesapeake (Cownose) Ray

It started with a documentary.  Ryan and I find ourselves getting into a lot of trouble when we watch documentaries.  It's probably a good thing the cable hasn't been hooked into the television for the past 8 months, otherwise we'd be living on a steady diet of Discovery and National Geo plotting our new lives on a island, hunting iguanas, running from mosquitoes and drinking distilled mango juice.

It was this documentary.



The short version: it's a four letter word.  The slightly longer version: there's almost no food left in the ocean, we killed it all.  We ate some of it, but not as much as you would think. 

Near the end they mention one side effect of over-fishing, in the Chesapeake Bay there is an over abundance of cownose rays.  We've killed all their predators (read sharks) and now between May and October the schools migrate into the bay and decimate the oyster population (they also get the clams and other invertebrates).  By some accounts the schools are so thick you can walk over them.

Virginia is trying to change that by convincing the top predator that cownose rays are food.  There is a small marketing campaign rebranding the ray the Chesapeake Ray.  Hey, it worked for squid (aka calamari) and the Patagonian toothfish (aka Chilean sea bass).  The state has also hired high-end chefs to create recipes, handed out ray meat to restaurants, and hosted cooking demonstrations.

After seeing the documentary and reading an article in the local paper I got inspired.  I was going to buy some Chesapeake Ray, and I was going to cook it. 

I envisioned this epic quest to locate a fishmonger who could sell it to us.  I would end up needing to hire a charter boat and I could wrangle the fish in myself, minding the hooked barb on it's tail, of course.  I would carry my catch home, a triumphant cave woman, and the twenty five pound ray would make a great thumping sound when I flipped it from my shoulder onto the counter.  It would feed my family for a month, sustainably and environmentally conscientiously.  After stopping at my local place my quest was stopped short.

Not only do they have it regularly (they catch it themselves) but they'd call me once they had some in stock.

A week later we had it.

We cooked it.

It was good.

It tastes very much like beef.  And not in the way the frogs legs or iguana tastes like chicken, it tastes like beef the way cow tastes like beef.  Salty beef, and not the best or finest cut of grass fed beef, but definitely beef.

Ryan and I skinned it, which was a pain in the ass and not our finest butchery job, and then sliced it thin.  I dumped it in a skillet with a hefty pad of butter and a good handful of capers.  (Yes, like veal piccata.)  I over cooked it a bit, but it was still tasty.  We both want to try making Ray Chili, and I think it would be good as a substitute for ground beef in any recipe.

My favorite part, it looks like butchered alien meat.  How's this for first contact?

*My dear vegetarian friends, I do promise to cut back on the graphic photos of raw meat, I simply can't help my carnivorous self.

Living Museum

Ryan, Zane, and I visited the very awesome Virginia Living Museum recently.

We took Zane to see the turtles, what little boy doesn't like turtles?

They got a lukewarm reception at best.  What about dinosaurs?  Boys like dinosaurs! Especially T-Rex!

Nope.  Not interested.  So we handed Zane the map and let him choose his own adventure.

"Hummm..."

"Hey Daddy!"

"I want to go here."

"He he."

"What's over there?

"Dead things!!! Dead things I can play with!!!"*

This looks neat.

"Heya fisy."

"Over here."

"This.  I want to see this."

"Cool." (At least I was in the right genus with the dinosaurs and turtles.)

I was ready for him to crash at any second, but he didn't stop or slow down once.  At the end of the afternoon Ryan and I were so tired from running behind him that we wrestled him into the carrier just to get a break.  He didn't argue, much.

My little critter is growing up.

*They were actually dead things.  Taxidermied tails and pelts from raccoons and opossums and such.  Aren't we the most awesomest parents EVAR?

Liver, Like From a Cow

Let’s talk about liver. Yes, LIVER. Specifically, cow livers.

We love liver. We’re eating it two or three times a month. It helps that we’ve got a local farmer who can’t unload the stuff fast enough (along with tongues, hearts, and other tasty bits) so she sells it to us for ridiculously low prices. RIDICULOUSLY low. It seems that most folks around here are under the mistaken impression that they don’t like liver.

I bet you’re under the mistaken impression that you don’t like liver.

I would bet that you actually don’t like over cooked liver. Like eggs, most cooks will keep liver on the fire until it’s nothing but a sad rubbery hunk. (Yes, you’re over cooking your eggs too, but that’s a discussion for another time.) This is wrong, wrong, wrong. Good liver is never chewy. Liver should be cooked till it is firm, but still pink in the center. It’s tender, sort of sweet, and tasty. VERY tasty.

It lacks imagination, but we make the same recipe every time. Liver with Spinach Salad, Croutons and Pine Nuts via Food and Wine. The recipe calls for calves’ liver, but using full grown cow liver hasn't caused us any trouble. I think the grass fed cow’s livers that we buy are less bitter then their corn finished cousins'. It could help that they’re “organic” too. Or it could all be in my head.  

To make this fantastic, iron and b vitamin packed, salad you first cut up your bread and stick it in the oven along with your pine nuts to toast. Pine nuts take less then 5 minutes, croutons take about 15. Don’t mix that up. Trust me. While they cook wisk together the dressing for the salad. Then comes the fun part.

Dredge the liver in some flour. Your hands will look like this.

I just lost you didn’t I.

I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. Does this make up for it?

Whew! Back to the liver. This is the tricky part. You cook it. Remember, don’t go too far. About three minutes on each side, possibly less, just under medium high heat.

You have to baby sit it a bit. This is why Ryan is in charge of the liver. I am too easily distracted by über cute toddlers holding spoons.

You then dress a TON of spinach and add in the pine nuts and croutons.

Heap the salad in bowls, add the liver, and top with some remaining dressing.

Looks tasty doesn’t it. Not like what you imagined liver to look like, right? Still a skeptic?  Zane likes it.

He likes it a lot.

* I know that I totally missed focus on just about every single one of these photos. In my defense I was very hungry and delirious from the heavenly smell of cooking livers.  I may also have had a glass of wine.