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I am attempting to sneak off to Adoration at church for a quick blast of prayer.  However, Dave is tutoring on-line and the baby decided to wake up just as I put my foot into my boot.  So, I am sitting on the couch wearing my jacket, scarf and boots while waiting to hear any noises from Sarah's room that will further delay my departure.  I will give her five minutes of silence before I head out the door.

The weather is calling for freezing rain but the skies seems relatively clear at the moment.  However, when I checked the weather site there was an asterisk next to tonight's temperature of plus 10 degrees.  The asterisk denoted that the plus 10 degrees is an abnormal weather trend.  I thought it might have indicated a do not resuscitate order for all of us who experienced a cardiac event when we glanced at the temperature.  Apparently we are expecting 15 degrees on Wednesday and then a 25 degree plunge the following day.  Very strange.  No doubt the whole thing will be accompanied by extremely high winds.

Anyway, there are some ramblings.  And, now, a question.

Should I make this blog public again?  What do you think?  Are there any you's out there?

Ahhh, silence.  I can go now.

Joseph got this supper done before everybody

The above title was specifically requested and dictated by Joseph.  Alas, I have no picture of the supper as it doesn't look that appetising and, if I were to photograph it, I fear that it would look even less palatable.  However, the fact remains:  Joseph got this supper done before everybody else.  And what was the supper, you ask?  Curried-coconut lentils with basmati rice.  I used a recipe found on the modern woman's recipe book, the internet.  However, I had run out of curry (!) and cardamom, didn't want to use cayenne pepper and had no time to make the cilantro topping thingie.  I also had some left over tomato puree from last week's cabbage rolls; puree, I might add, that was pureed from the tomatoes that my mother-in-law and I canned in September.   So, really, the recipe was more like an outline to the essay that became our supper - a rough guide to insure that I balanced the cinnamon and all-spice correctly.

I don't think that I have ever written about food on this blog before.  My only mentions of food have usually been my terrible baking fails.  However, I love to cook and since Joseph's birth I have been increasingly aware of what we eat and how it is prepared.  If you are really interested you can check out the WAPF for the in-depth explanation of my cuisine-strivings, or you can check out The Nourishing Gourmet for the Coles Notes version.  Long story short:  we buy chickens and eggs from a farmer, purchase our grass-fed beef from another farmer and (gasp) drink raw milk from which I have just discovered how to make yogurt in the crock pot.  Also, I make lots and lots of stock.  And, yes, there has been a dramatic improvement in my children's teeth (despite their poor oral hygiene habits):  both in the lack of cavities as well as the straightening of teeth.

Now, if I were reading this on another blog I would look with disdain upon me and wonder why I had suddenly become an elitist foody.

That's the reason for that awful photo:  I am in pjs (Dave says that I clean up well) and grinding my front tooth which chipped during Ben's pregnancy; Joseph is eating eggs with ketchup; the kitchen is a mess; and the dog is ready and waiting in hope that the present meal might be a fail for the humans and a pass for the canine.

Nevertheless, the point is simple: this path to nutrition has taken a while and it has been a real step-by-step process that has taught me so much about myself, my family and my role as maker of the home and guardian of our children's health.  I might add that it has also been a wonderful lesson in home economics as I learn where to make the best purchases and how to stretch the food budget for six growing kids and two adults.  There have been many disasters and learning experiences along this path.

When I first heard about this way of eating (which is really nothing new, just a harking back to the way many of our farming ancestors used to eat) it was from Hannah's godmother.  I wasn't yet ready to listen and came away hearing that it was important to eat eggs.  However, after Joseph's birth, something in me changed and I was able to receive some wisdom from another good friend of ours, Phoebe the Hermit.  Yes, she really is a hermit and she really is our friend.

When Joseph was a very young baby Phoebe used to pop by the house about once a week with a delivery of eggs.  I was usually still dressed in pajamas and she would offer to sit with the kids while I showered.  I would then emerge from the bathroom and she would impart the wisdom of traditional eating to me.  I lapped it up like fresh milk.  However, I was terribly overwhelmed.  How could I possibly cook this sort of food when so little of it was available at the grocery store?  Little by little I learned about various farmers from whom I could make purchases and soon found that this way of eating was not only more nourishing but also easier than our previous way of eating.  We stock our freezer with meat in the Fall and I don't have to think about meat again for another 6-8 months.  Our milk and eggs come to the door and I have limited myself to one grocery store trip per week.  This forces me to cook from the cupboards even when the fridge looks bare.

I have also learned about soup, soup and more soup.  My mother-in-law once said to me, "Put anything in soup and your kids will eat it."  I have to agree.  While there are still some vegetables at which the kids balk, they mostly gobble up soup without checking through its contents. And, if the base is good stock, then you can rest assured that they are being solidly nourished with a variety of minerals and vitamins.  Now, there are still definitely foods at which the kids turn up their noses and, trust me, there are few meals that satisfy every last body at the table.  But, for the most part, they eat what is placed before them and are often surprised that they really liked what Mommy provided.

One important note:  when we are out and about I allow them to eat at places like MacDonald's; they eat Kraft Dinner with babysitters and they still get hotdogs on occasion.   Yes, Mom, so does Dave.  My approach to food is a bit like our approach to school:  they are in the world but not of it;)  I hope that I can provide a good base on which to grow their bodies and their understanding of food so that they can one day make good choices.  This, after all, is what my mother did for me and my sisters.

And that brings us back round to tonight.  I prepared those lentils thinking that Joseph would be sitting at the table long after the rest of the crew had cleaned up their places.  But, by the grace of a very good God, Joseph decided that he would dig into this meal without his usual histrionics.  Then he looked up from his plate with wide eyes and said, "Wow, this is really good.  Could you put it in my lunch tomorrow?"  I picked myself up off the floor in wonder.  "Mom, write on a piece of paper:  Joseph got this supper done before everybody else."

So, here's the recipe:

4 cups soaked lentils (Soak in warm water with 2 tbsp of whey, vinegar or yogurt for 7 hours.  This is easy:  you just have to remember to do it in the morning.  Planning is key.)

Puree one onion, 2 garlic cloves and one inch of ginger root.  Saute this in coconut oil.

Add 1-2 cups of tomato sauce or puree or canned tomatoes.

Spices:

1/2 tsp turmeric
1/4 tsp all-spice
1/2 tsp cinnamon

(I think that was it.  The original recipe called for dry mustard, cardamom and curry as well)

1 can of coconut milk

Add some sliced carrots

Bring to a boil, reduce to simmer and cover until carrot is soft.

Serve with rice.  Awesome.

Life

I couldn't find a photo of the front room as it used to be; but, here are three photos (slightly over-exposed) of what it is now.  And, the best part, the only thing that we bought in order to 'renovate' this room was paint.  We liked the paint so much that we painted the top half of the hall and two bedrooms in the same shade.

We, well mostly Dave, redid this room throughout the month of July when Sarah was still just a wee babe.  My contribution was the painting of trim and doors, in between nursing the baby.  If you remember correctly, there used to be brown paint on those walls, burgundy accents around the fireplace and pinkish carpet on the floor.  When we ripped up the 20 year old carpet we found hills of fine dust and dirt as well as hardened plaster from the genius who sprayed the 'popcorn' on the ceiling.  Thank you, genius.   Seeing as our funds are very limited we knew that replacing the flooring was not an option.  However, the carpet was no longer viable:  there are only so many bodily fluids which such a textile can survive.  Thus, after much googling, we opted to paint the plywood.  Painting became sanding and filling holes when we discovered the hardened plaster.  I guess that the original contractor never banked  on a future owner opting for a plywood look.  We did the same with the bedroom hallway as well as two of the bedrooms.   I can't tell you how happy I am with these floors.  The clean up is easy and the assurance that, unlike the carpet, the plywood is not harbouring unknown life forms is easy on the mind.

Those of you who are very astute might wonder what we are sitting on now that the green couch and pink Lazy Boy are no longer in the great room.  Well, this whole redo was occasioned by Dave's parents giving us a sectional leather couch shortly after Sarah's birth.  What a gift!  I know.  I was so overwhelmed by the price tag that I felt like covering it with a sheet for its first few weeks with us.  However, the arrival of the couch set into motion a whole series of renovation events for which my poor back paid sorely.  And to conclude?  I never really knew what to do with the front room.  I mean, really, two living rooms?  Consequently, the front room has been a storage facility, an office, a bedroom, a toy room and now an adult living room/office.  And, with six kids running around, I am finally thankful for a room that I once thought was useless.

Two of the six kids.  Sarah wears that expression a lot, a sort of resignation mixed with exasperation and boredom.  Or maybe I'm just projecting...

Isaac with his golden crown which, haircut by haircut, is slowly darkening.  Good bye, blondie.  Mommy, dry your tears.

Hannah's sheer joy at the arrival of a sister.  And Mr. Husky shoved into the photo by Benjamin.

A very normal scene.  We even have fake babies.  Because real ones aren't enough.

I love this shot:  completely unintentional but somehow captures our life.

Sarah in her chair with a very Sarah look.

And an even better Sarah look.  For those of you who recall Ben as a baby, she most closely resembles him except that she is lighter in coloring.

And this?  An accurate portrayal of life at our house.  Welcome.

The missing tile: what's yours?

The other day I was watching this at Prager University.  If you can't spare the five minutes to watch it then I will quickly summarise the missing tile syndrome.  If one were to look at a ceiling and notice that one tile was missing, it would become practically impossible to stare at that missing tile.  One would focus on the imperfection and, if possible, replace the tile.  This demand for perfection is achievable when it comes to ceilings; however, when it comes to one's own life, the demand for perfection is both out of reach and damaging.  Nevertheless, the illusive nature of perfection doesn't keep us from trying to achieve it, often to our own detriment.  Prager questions us by asking what the missing tile is in our lives.  What imperfection, lack of achievement or failing do we focus on in our lives that prevents us from seeing the rest of our 'ceiling' in the correct light?

I began to think about my own missing tiles.  Among other 'failings', I tend to focus on some big tiles like my frequent inability to sleep well (either at night or during the day) and a default zone of hypochondria.  One of my more laughable missing tiles is my almost daily inability to provide my school-attending children with a good lunch.  I go to bed at night thinking about the unmade lunches and, when I manage to create a good midday meal, I immediately wonder how I can keep it up.  Crazy, eh?  When I realised that school lunches were a missing tile I wondered how I could remedy this situation.  Surprisingly the answer came very quickly when I realised that I provide nutrient-dense (how's that for a catch word?) breakfasts and suppers and, thus, if I just look at school lunch as a snack then I will quit the needless worry.  Ba da bing ba da boom.  Good-bye, school lunches.

Of course, I do realise that my worry over something as silly as a school lunch is telling of an overall state of anxiety.  So, I began to wonder about the bigger missing tiles and I realised that there is one tile in my life that colours almost all other aspects of my mothering.  Until I began to think about it as just one tile in the ceiling of my life, I hadn't truly understood how pervasive its absence actually was.  This tile is the fact that I don't homeschool.

Now, I know that some of you might be thinking, what is this woman talking about?  Who in the world homeschools?  Well, in this part of the world, it seems that the mark of a good Catholic mother is her ability to homeschool, usually while popping out children at an astonishing rate.  In fact, homeschooling is often held up as the ideal for family life and the panacea for all societal ills.  As I pondered this tile, I realised that I operate as if the kids being in school is evidence of my failure as a mother.  When people stop me in the grocery store and wonder at how I can possibly mother six children I always want to answer, "But I don't homeschool."  Furthermore, I send my kids to school as if their education is not only second-rate but also a symptom of their mother's inability to measure up to all those women who can both nurse a baby and teach their children to read.

Being able to see homeschooling and its absence in our lives as a missing tile allowed me to gain some perspective.  To begin, homeschooling is just one tile in a very big ceiling.  The other thing is that homeschooling is a vocation, a calling:  not all of us are asked to do it.  I have always understood this with my head but I think that I felt that the fact that I was not called to homeschooling was solely based on the fact that I couldn't do it.  This is simply not true.  Our kids are called to be in school at this time and we are incredibly blessed that their father is there with them.  They are receiving a good education and any holes within that education can usually be remedied by either Dave or me.  We don't not homeschool just because I am lacking in some essential skill.  No, our children go to school because that is where they are called to be at this time in their lives.  If, at some point, they are called to be at home, then I will somehow be able to be their teacher.  God only equips the called.

And, that's more than just OK.  It is blessed and it is graced and it is our duty of the moment.  And, if that is the truth, then it really isn't a missing tile, is it?

Select Shots

A little bit like the blind leading the blind, eh?  Except that in this case it is the barely-feeding-myself leading the completely inept.  I have a video of this, which would take blogger days to load, so you will have to be happy with a still life.  The video is very cute, though, especially when Isaac removes his pacifier in order to eat from the plate himself.  And, look, do you see it?  I made a craft.  If I had an arrow I would point it at that snowflake hanging to the left of Sarah's head and mark exclamation points all over the photo.

A little late for a photo of the Christmas concert.  I found this one on the camera (after I finally recharged the battery) and couldn't resist posting little Joseph in his first stage appearance.  Clearly he had found me amongst the sea of parents and was able to smile for the family camera.  Third from the left, shirt and tie.

Christmas concert photos are never very good, are they?  But, for the record, there is Ben and his main squeeze, Cecelia, debuting as St. Joseph and Our Lady.  Silent roles.

Couldn't resist snapping this shot of Sarah the other night as she slept for the first time in a crib.  She has, up until this point, been in a playpen next to our bed.  I shuffled some kids around and found a place for her in the crib that we bought ten years ago for the twins.  It was used at the time, it is now well-used.

The nights are cold and even colder when one can't turn on the furnace for fear of running out of heating fuel because the tank is going to be replaced next Tuesday and needs to run down to empty and the gauge already says empty despite the fact that the oil-company lady says that gauges are notoriously inaccurate.  Take a breath.  At least we have a woodstove.

Does anyone else feel like January and February stretch out before one's self like a great white expanse of waiting for spring?  I need vitamin D in something other than oral form.  These two months of winter are the most trying of the year for me and I literally find myself gritting my teeth and bearing down with the hope that my mental efforts might just stave off depression and bring on more daylight hours.  There is nothing so unrelieved as the loneliness of the stay-at-home mother during the frigid months of a Canadian winter.

Well, actually, there are plenty of situations that are far worse; I was just going for dramatic effect.  In fact, my 85 year old Polish neighbour (who practically begs for a visit to relieve her loneliness) told me when I met her at the grocery store that, as a ten year old girl, she and her family were given one hour's notice to gather their things before being put into a cattle car and shipped to Siberia by the Russians where they lived for 4 years.  I promised to visit her on a regular basis and I will bring the twins to snack on Polish chocolate and oral history.  See, there is plenty to relieve the white landscape of a Canadian winter:  tales of Siberia.