Indian Inspired Dinner, Part deux

This week has been a busy one, but then again, which one isn't?  Just wrapped up Week 2 of my Fall term and doing quite well so far.  Charlotte has had some creepy crud come back up and I feel like she's never going to be completely well again.  Eli, well, he's Eli.  I love that kid more than I could ever put into words but, to put it nicely, he drives me up a fucking wall.

I made a great, quick, Indian inspired dinner a few nights ago, one of the recipes I already posted.  I did not have time to get the others up that night, so here they are!

"Grilled" Okra

I love okra in some of its forms:  pickled, fried, roasted, or grilled are the only ways that really do it for me.  Every now and then I pick up okra at the store and then come home wondering what in the world I'm going to do with it.  I wanted roasted okra, but my oven was taken up by brownies and curried tofu pockets.  What's a girl to do??

Well, I pulled out the amazing Cuisinart Griddler that my husband purchased for me last Christmas and I did not start using until about 3 months ago.

1 lb. okra
1.5 Tbs. olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

I put the okra in a gallon sized ziploc bag and added the remaining ingredients, like this:

Give it a couple of good tosses around to coat all the pieces.  I added about 1/2 a lb. to the griddler at a time.

Cook on high heat for about 10 minutes and they'll come out looking like this:

It's definitely not roasted okra and still retains a little of the inner sliminess, so if you aren't  a fan of okra because of that, you may want to try roasting in the oven instead.  For a quick and easy side dish, however, these were great!

I also cooked an Indian spiced collar green dish, mainly because I like lots of green foods on my plate  but also because I had half of a large bag of collards in my freezer

1 lb. frozen chopped collard greens

2 medium onions, chopped

2 cloves garlic, minced

1  c. vegetable broth

1 Tbs. coconut oil

1 1/2 tsp. Garam Masala

1 tsp. salt

1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes

Heat the coconut oil over medium-high heat and add onions; cook about 3 minutes.  Add garlic, red pepper flakes, and garam masala and cook for about a minute more.  It should look like this:

Add  the frozen collards, vegetable broth and salt to taste.  If you're using frozen collards, the addition of the broth after adding the collards will help loosen up the frozen clumps.  I used a wooden spoon to break apart the rest.  Cook on medium-high for about 5 minutes, then reduce to low and simmer for 5 more.

I love that spoon!

Both of these sides can be prepared while the curried tofu pockets are in the oven, making this a super quick weeknight meal to throw together before the inhabitants of the house start to revolt.

Of course, what's a blog post without the gratuitous Tootie shot?  Eating, of course

Curried Tofu Pocket Sandwiches!

I crave Indian food 5 out of 7 days per week.  The closest Indian restaurant (actually, that would be the closest 5 Indian restaurants as most in town are clustered within a 1 mile radius of each other) is about 22 miles away from home, making it unlikely that I can eat there 5 days per week.  I'm happy when I get to go once per week; the reality is I make it once every 2-3 weeks.  So what's a girl to do when she needs some spice in her life and it's so far away?  Make her own.  Duh.

I love to cook.  Anyone who knows me loves that.  I like challenging dishes.  Dishes with a million ingredients.  Dishes that require weird kitchen gadgets to make.  I'm kind of ashamed to admit that I sometimes spend over 2 hours cooking dinner, but that's the price you pay when most of your food is cooked from scratch.  Tonight was NOT one of those nights.

Sometimes, you need a quick meal, reminiscent of flavor cravings, but without all the hassle.  That's where tonight's meal comes in.  I managed to capture the taste of Indian food without spending more than 45 minutes from start to finish AND without doing a single authentic thing to this meal.  Ha!  At least it tasted like something closely resembling Indian food, enough to trick my gut into believing that I had just gorged at my favorite buffet (Hey Flavors!)

Tonight's meal consisted of:

Curried tofu pockets, grilled okra, Indian spiced collard greens

 Since you're so nice, I'll share a recipe along with pictures to help wrap your dome around it all.

Curried Tofu Pockets
1 package extra firm tofu, drained
1 c. frozen mixed vegetables (corn, peas, carrot, and green beans work best)
1 medium onion, chopped
1/4 c. water
2 gloves garlic, minced
1/2" piece of fresh ginger, minced
1 Tbs. coconut oil
2 tsp. curry powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes

1 lb. bakery pizza dough (I used Publix bakery pizza dough)
1 egg
1 Tbs. water

Preheat oven to 375 degrees and assemble all your goods.

Here's all the goods snuggling in close for a group shot

Heat a cast iron (or other heavy bottomed) skillet over medium high heat.  Add 1 Tbs. coconut oil.  When the oil is heated, add onion, garlic, and ginger.  Cook for about 5 minutes.

It should look like this after 5 minutes

Add 2 tsp. of curry powder, 1/2 tsp. turmeric, 1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes and cook, stirring often for one minute.

The colors!

Now it's time to crumble that big blob of soybean goodness.  Just squish it between your fingers and into the pan.  Chop up any big lumps with your spoon.  Cook this mixture for about 5 minutes and then add the 1 cup of mixed vegetables and 1/4 cup water.  Cook for about two minutes.

I always keep frozen vegetables on hand to throw something together

Let that sit and cool for a few while you play with your dough ball.

Sprinkle your work surface generously with flour and sprinkle some on the dough as well.  Use your awesome maple french rolling pin that your husband got you for Christmas...oh wait, just use whatever you have.  Wine bottles are awesome for this purpose.  Preferably empty.

Roll your dough out into a rectangle.  Something shaped like a rectangle will also do.  As you see, my rectangle turned into a circle when I cut it into 8 pieces.  That's OK!  This is a non-authentic quick dinner.  Nobody will care how ugly their pocket sandwich is as long as it tastes good.

 

Now it's time to start assembling.  I used two tablespoons of filling per dough triangle.  The baby walked in.  Here's a gratuitous Tootie shot.

She dropped the mirror five minutes later.

Don't worry about making these look good.  My dough wasn't quite big enough due to the awkward shape I ended up cutting them in.  I  marched on and got something that looked like this:

 

Mix the egg and 1 Tbs. of water and egg wash these babies!

Stop and take a moment to indulge your toddler who brought you a chicken suit and dress her in it for funny pictures.

 

Bake for 25 minutes (The sandwich pockets...don't even think about eating THAT chicken!) and they'll come out looking like this:

We ended up with 5 left over, so into a gallon sized freezer bag they went to be frozen and reheated for quick snacks or lunches later!

Racing through my senior year

School is back in session!  Call me a nerd, but I love starting a new term at school, especially when it's my second to last before graduation.  This term I am taking courses on Personality, Medical Sociology, and the Surface of the Earth.  My medical sociology class this week was pretty interesting and eye opening.  For the first week, we were tasked with reading selections that identify the discrepancies in the health care system for minorities, the under educated, and low SES individuals.  From my readings, as well as life experience, it is very clear to me that racism is both alive and well.  One of my classmates, however, disagrees.

Essentially, his thoughts on the subject are rooted in unacknowledged white privilege.  He says:

The chapter also talks about how blacks tend to have more health problems then whites, inferring that the reason is racism, which i don't agree with, i think its paranoia, because racism is really more of an American issue. Racism really is not noticed in other countries, and even in Africa, white people are the minority, and yet, their life expectancy and health problems are still less. So where is the books explanation for that? I think blacks poor health compared to whites is merely a genetic factor. Blacks tend to be taller then whites, and they tend to be more physically fit. Race just seems to have different health patterns, and it has nothing to do with racism, unless they have anxiety from their paranoia.

So as a white woman who has lived in the south and witnessed racism around her her entire life, I'm just paranoid and it doesn't indeed exist?  Excuse me for just a second while I bang my motherfucking lily white head against the wall.  I grew up in the minority in my predominantly black town yet STILL witnessed racism  toward African-Americans on an almost daily basis.  Most neighborhoods in my hometown are completely segregated still.  The local private school serves merely to be a place of refuge for kids whose parents are afraid of black folk.  Many a conversation could be started with the phrase, "I'm not racist, but..."

Remember those long ago reports of some schools in the South having both a black and white prom queen?  We were one of them.  White parents would get so outraged that their children were in the minority that they forced school officials to set a policy that everything be equally racially divided.  I tried out for cheerleading in the 9th grade and made it.  Not because I was good, no.  I was an overweight brainiac just looking for something to do.  I made the squad, however, because I'm white.  I hear complaints about affirmative action and giving jobs to less qualified people because of their skin color and it always reminds me of making the cheerleading squad explicitly because there was a quota to be met of white students, so that the white kids whose parents didn't have enough money to send them to the all white school would have guaranteed spots in sports and positions of school leadership that they would otherwise most likely not have because the white people were the minority.  How is this at all any different than affirmative action programs that these same white townspeople so vehemently oppose?

See?  There I am being all cheerleader-y and stuff.

So my classmate also says that "Racism is really more of an American issue."  Really, bud?  Tell that to the millions of Jews who were killed during World War II.  Tell it to Australians who are happy to accept American foreign investments, but turn their noses up at potential Chinese and Middle East investors.  What about the Dalits in India?  Greece being touted as one of the most racist countries in the EU?

Racism is not a uniquely American cultural phenomenon, as my classmate implied.  Just as classism and sexism occur in most societies in some form, racism is everywhere.  To sit and say otherwise would make you a fucking moron.  I said it:  You are a fucking moron if you do not believe that racism exists worldwide, and in the United States in the form of discrimination against African Americans and other ethnic minorities by the majority group, institutional policies, educational systems, mortgage companies, and on and on.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, wish me luck for the upcoming term in which I try my hardest to not call someone a fucking moron while they are being a fucking moron.

Synthetic "real breastmilk"?? Electrolytes???

Every now and then I allow myself to work to the advantage of market research companies and take a survey that will earn me a couple of peanuts.  I came across one today that asked me many questions about having a baby in the house.  Score!  I get to qualify!- was my first thought.  I began the survey and it turns out to be from a formula company.  While I noted in the screening questions that I exclusively breastfeed and have not supplemented with formula in the almost 12 months of my daughter's life, the questions kept coming.  Here's a good one, let's evaluate it, shall we?

Introducing Similac^® Intelli-Pro Breast Milk Add-Ins - A first-of-its-kind powdered nutritional supplement containing important brain & eye nutrients, like Lutein & DHA, that can vary depending on your diet. Simply pour the powder pack into your expressed breast milk.

So let me get this straight, as usual I am being told that my breastmilk isn't good enough for my infant.  I mean, let's completely ignore the fact that IT ALREADY CONTAINS DHA AND LUTEIN so why in the world would I express my milk just for the sake of mixing more in?  I started second guessing my knowledge of these in breastmilk, but a quick glance to Kellymom.com assured me that yes, the girls are quite proficient at making everything my baby needs, including brain boosting DHA.

Introducing Similac^® Gold - a revolutionary advancement in infant nutrition to truly bring Similac^® closer than ever to breast milk. The first infant formula to include important nutrients directly from actual breast milk. For use 0-12 months.


Wowee!  Nutrients directly from breastmilk? You mean I can just mix up this powder with nutrients identical to the ones I'm making without having to go through all the trouble of breastfeeding?  I've been waiting for this day to come!  Hey Similac?  What are these "important nutrients directly from actual breast milk" and who the HELL is donating their breastmilk to make you formula?  This one is hard for me to wrap my brain around and all I can think about is where this breast milk is coming from.  Technically, milk from cows is breast milk; is it coming from cows?  Sheep?  Goat?  Women shackled up in the Similac factory trained to lactate on command and squirt breastmilk in any naysayers eye?

I understand that not every woman is fortunate enough to have the kind of successful breastfeeding relationship that I have had with my two.  I also understand enough about society to know that many women who were told that they "did not produce enough milk" or could not otherwise breastfeed were fed a crock of shit; I don't blame these women.  When you have a formula company telling you that you can use their equally superior product, why would you suffer through the occasional plugged duct or the hassle of pumping at work?  Women are being told that their breastmilk alone is not good enough, so buy this product and add it in to make it better!  Pffffttttt!!!

Charlotte, 11 months, having what she calls her "biggums"

Unfortunately, seeing these future marketing gimmicks used to grab new moms and convince them that their product is better than breastfeeding, was not the worst news I received in the breastfeeding world this week.

Charlotte caught a short-lived stomach virus at our homeschool co-op two weeks ago and suffered through the water poops for two days before she got all better.  Two days after she finished her illness, we returned to co-op to see other children who had caught the same thing...only this time some of them were there while their children were in the middle of the sickness (I will not rant about this now...I will not rant about this now...), and she caught it again.  For 10 days, she was sick.  There was no fever, no vomiting, just diaper after diaper of some foul shit, to put it nicely.  Normally cloth users, I had to break down and buy some disposables and she went through 3 packs (of 36 diapers each!) over the course often days.  Growing concerned, I called the doctor.  I have no experience with an infant who has the runs for a week and a half and wanted to get an expert opinion on whether or not we should take her in and if not, at what point is diarrhea going on for too long?

I spoke to someone at our pediatrician's office and explained that this had been going on for ten days, but no other symptoms were present and that other children and families we know got sick as well.  Whoever I was speaking to told me that it was probably just teething...I reiterated that at least 4 other families that I knew of had the same sickness.  She replied with, "Could they be teething to?"  Oh yeah, sure.  Those teething teenagers, you know how they get...

Anyhow,  I asked what I should do or keep an eye out for over the next few days and was asked to hold while she consulted with the P.A.  This was her advice:

"You should stop breastfeeding for 24 hours and give her Gatorade instead."

My jaw hit the floor and I could not get off the phone and on Facebook fast enough to share the professional advice that I had just received.  Now, I know better.  I know that Gatorade is full of artificial sugars and colors and flavors that I want no part of for my family, let alone my infant.  What if I DIDN'T know this?  What if I was a first time mom who took this advice?  Well, I can't tell you what someone other than me would have done, but here's what it would have gone like with us:

Charlotte would scream.  She would scream and scream and scream during a time that is already stressful and painful for her.  She would scream "BIIIIGGGGUUUUUMMMMMSSSS" as loud and for as long as she would have to.  And then she would scream some more.  About four hours into not breastfeeding, I would start feeling lumpy in the bra area.  Things would get a little uncomfortable.  Mayeb I could hand express some milk but would that really do much good?  Charlotte would scream some more.  She would cry.  She would stand like an ostrich with her head between her legs, snot rolling down (or would it be up in such a position?) her face and scream.  And cry.  She might drink a few sips of Gatorade, but that's not what she wants.  When naptime rolled around, she would scream.  She would paw at my shirt and say, "Biggums mama.  Biggums.  Biggum biggum biggum.".  But I've been told not to share for 24 hours!  So I would lay there and pat her back and sing songs to her while she writhed around in pain and...you guessed it, screamed.  By the 24 hour mark, she would have slept about 4 hours total, I would be about 30 minutes away from full blown mastitis, running on zero sleep, close to having a mental breakdown, and STILL changing poopy diapers every 23 minutes. She might be content by that point, resigning herself to the fact that I wasn't sharing my biggums and instead downing Red 40 and a Sucrose-Dextrose combo guaranteed to make her bounce off the fucking walls.  But I would be miserable.  She would be getting absolutely zero nutritional benefit from her 24 hours without breastmilk.  She might be so mad at me that she decided she was done nursing.  Did I mention I would be in pain and that she would have screamed so much during that biggum-free 24 hours that not even our neighbors would get sleep?

Why would I take away my child's biggest source of comfort during a long lasting illness that caused her pain?  Why would I supplement my perfectly formulate for my baby breastmilk by something made to help athletes hydrate?

A few days later, a friend's child came down with a similar illness.  They go to the same office as we and she received the same instructions from the same P.A.  I guess it's hard for me to blame just the formula companies and family unfriendly government policies and assholes who say things like "Peeing in public is natural too.  So if you can breastfeed in public, I can pee in public" when our children's own doctors are inadvertently setting women up for failure by offering such advice.

Question:  What bad advice have you been given about breastfeeding that you may have followed had you not done your own research?

What do you name a blog post about rape?

I couldn't sleep last night.  I tossed and turned and got up for a snack and did some reading and watched the baby and husband sleeping, but I couldn't sleep.  I felt incredibly anxious yesterday, with no idea why.  Then it hit me.  Yesterday was the day, 10 years ago, that I was raped by an off-duty police officer in Columbus, Mississippi.  I knew it was during this part of September, but I had blocked the date from my mind.  A quick trip to my old livejournal showed me that yesterday was the day.

September 14, 2002, I went out with a police officer whom I had met online.  He invited another of his officer buddies along and we decided to have a night on the town.  Since I was only 18 and entry requirements for many of the bars were 21 and up, they bought me an entire bottle of Jagermeister and gave me some Xanax.  We rode around and I heard them talk about all the ways they fuck people over on a daily basis.  The seized drugs that they sold for profit, the people they harass just for fun.  When the two of them decided to go to a 21 and up bar, they dropped me back off at the dorm and promised to pick me up later.  I sat in my dorm room, starting to feel the effects of the Xanax, and downed the whole bottle of Jagermeister.  Two hours later they called me and wanted to pick me up, a friend of mine joined us.  I was fucked up.  We went to a bar, The Office, and stopped at a gas station on the way.  I should have known that something was up when the guy I was meeting with's friend kept telling me how sexy I was, how he wanted to have a good birthday (he was turning 30 that night).  I brushed it off as drunkenness and we ventured on.  At the bar, he kept rubbing up against me, telling me I'm sexy, begging me to give him a happy birthday.  In my naivety, I brushed it off some more.

We closed the bar down.  The four of us headed back to one of the two's townhouse.  I started feeling sick. Everything was spinning.  I couldn't focus on anything at all and needed some dark and quiet time.  The rapist said, "Here, let me take you to lie down.  You need some rest."  I trusted that I was being looked out for.  I trusted that I was being led to a room to lie down and sober up before going home.  He took me to the room and I laid in bed, unable to move, unable to speak.  He started taking my pants off.  I said no.  I said please just let me sleep.  Please leave me alone.  Apparently asking nicely gets you nowhere.  He kept at it.  Before I knew it I was completely naked with a man I had only known for a few hours entering me.  I screamed, "Leave me alone.  No. No. No. No."  But he didn't care.  He held his hand over my mouth and continued.  I don't know how much time went by but someone barged in and saw what was going on.  They left.  They fucking left me to get raped.  I was commanded to change positions.  I complied.  When you're being raped by someone who holds such power, not to mention weapons and handcuffs, you do what they say.  I was crying.  Still screaming to stop. Please get off of me.  He picked me up, naked, and ran across the hall to another room where he put me in the closet.  I passed out and woke up to him fucking me again several hours later.  I passed out again.  This time he was asleep and I left.

When I got back to my dorm room, I didn't know what to do.  Everything felt so surreal.  Did that really just happen?  Did I really say no?  Was I making it all up or was I just forced to have sex against my will?  I cried.  And I cried and cried and cried.  I cried until someone came in and found me crying.  I couldn't decide whether I should take a shower or not.  I wanted nothing to do with him anywhere on my body.  I wanted to be clean and forget anything had happened.  I cried some more.  In the middle of my sobbing I got a phone call.

It was him.

"So, should I be concerned about being called into my commander's office on Monday morning or is this our little secret?" he said.

"Don't worry.  It's ok"  I said.

But it wasn't ok.  It was.not.fucking.okay.

Hearing him ask me that question sparked something in me.  It removed all doubt from my mind.  I had been forced to have sex against my will.  I had been raped and used and treated like a fucking animal for some sick person's sexual gratification.

I told my friends.  16 hours had passed since it happened.  Being at a women's college came with the perks of being surrounded by supportive women.  6 of my fellow dorm residents begged and pleaded for me to go to the hospital.  Then they all went with me.

When we got to the hospital, I told them what happened.  I did not want to say who it was, but they would not proceed unless I did.  I begged them to not press charges.  I was so scared.

I was laid on a hospital bed, stripped of all of my clothes so that they could be taken as evidence.  A cold, unlubricated speculum was inserted into my vagina.  Hairs were plucked one by one.  The doctor said, "There is evidence of notable forced entry.  You have the kinds of tears we often see when a woman is forced to have sex against her will."  I was given antibiotics and told that I could not leave until a detective arrived.  12 hours later we were done.  It was 7:30 in the morning and I was scheduled to take a history exam that day.  I called my professor and let him know that I had just gotten out of the hospital and could not make it in to test.  He said I could come the next day but not to bother showing up unless i had proof.  Proof?  You want fucking proof?  You want me to PROVE TO YOU THAT I WAS RAPED not even 48 hours before?  I laid in bed and cried all day.  The next morning I went to take my test.  The smug little professor asked to see my proof.  I gave him my discharge papers.  I told him that I had been fucked against my will and that I could not believe that he was subjecting me to providing him with proof.  I sat down to take my exam.  As soon as I sat the tears started flowing.  I couldn't get my pen to write anything other than, "FUCK YOU ASSHOLE.  I HATE YOU.  FUCK YOU.  YOU'RE A FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT".  After filling my essay questions blanks with nothing but capitalized obscenities, I got up and left.  That was the last time I attended any of my classes.

I went back to my dorm and didn't leave for weeks.  I had friends get me food.  I didn't want to leave campus.  I was scared.  I was scared that everyone knew who I was.  The story had been on the news but my name was not mentioned.  I was scared that I would leave campus and be pulled over by a policeman, knowing who I was, ready to get retaliation.  I closed myself off.

When I was ready to leave for the first time, I went to Wal-Mart with some friends.  We pulled into the parking lot and the first thing I see are several police cars parked in front, blue lights flashing.  I hyperventilated.  I couldn't do it.  Get me the fuck out.

Weeks went by.  I was called in for questioning multiple times.  Each time I gave the same story.  Each time I was called a liar.  The highway patrol was in charge of the investigation, since it would be a conflict of interest to allow the police department to be.  I remember giving my testimony to one gentleman who was real gruff.  My dad was with me but I asked him to stay in the hall.  I didn't want him to hear it.  I didn't want him to have to think about his baby girl being held down and raped.  I was hurting enough.  I didn't want him to hurt, too.  After I gave my testimony, the patrolman turned off the tape recorder.  He asked me if I knew what happened to liars.  He asked me if I knew the ramifications of lying.  He asked me if I knew how I was damaging this man's life, all for the sake of wanting attention.  He told my father that I needed to see a counselor, preacher, psychiatrist, ANYONE, because I was a liar and I had problems.

Weeks went by again.  Early November rolled around and Grand Jury was in session.  I was called to give my statement.  I sat for hours, waiting my turn.  The end of the day came and I was asked to come back the following day.  I came back.  I sat for three hours.  Then I was told "your taped testimony will suffice."

On November 13, 2002 (my birthday) I received a phone call from the district attorney.  He said that my case was no bill.  In laymen's terms, there was not enough evidence to take my case to trial.

I guess the video footage of the men buying my underage self liquor was not enough.  I guess having a witness to the crime was not enough.  I guess having every article of clothing I wore that night stripped away from me was not enough.  I guess the tears and infection I got from being forcibly fucked were not enough.  I guess his hairs, found tangled in mine were not enough.  Nothing was enough.

I applied for help from the Mississippi Victim's Compensation Act.  I was BILLED for my rape test kit and couldn't go through the psychological trauma of being forced to pay for it anymore.  My request for assistance was denied.  They could not help me because I was engaged in illegal behavior at the time I was the victim of a crime (being under 18 and drinking).

That hospital visit is still on my credit.  I won't pay it.  I've paid enough.

I lost my full academic scholarships that I had worked so hard to earn in high school, because I was too depressed and scared to return to class.  I lost my ability to go anywhere alone because I was too scared to go otherwise.  I lost the security of knowing that my body is mine, because it wasn't anymore; it was taken away from me.  I lost relationships with people because I could not get close and was too absorbed in my own issues to be able to handle anyone else's.  I lost my sense of trust in other people.

I've told my story many times, but I've never written it down.  The tenth anniversary seems an appropriate time to do it.  The images are all still there.  I can see them when I close my eyes.  I can remember the fear I felt, the inability to move while this was happening.  I shouldn't have to live with this.  No one should.

Breastfeeding IS a feminist issue

I am a feminist, I am a mother, and I choose to breastfeed my children.  These labels do not define me, but they help to explain my values and belief systems.  As a feminist/mother/breastfeeder, you can imagine my shock and disgust about the recent "incident" at American University in which Professor Adrienne Pine breastfed her daughter at work.

You would think that I would learn to NOT read the comments of blogs, Facebook posts, and news stories, as they are all too often filled with hate and vitriol, but it's like that trainwreck you just can't turn away from.  I've read people bashing this woman for bringing her child to class in the first place.  Having been a single, working parent, I understand all too well the dilemma that Prof. Pine was faced with:  lie about your child being sick and send them to daycare, take the day off and risk a write-up or other such negative reprimand, or take the child to work?  From all sources that I have read (including Pine's own account here), she chose what looked like the best option for her and her family:  take her child to work rather than risk reprimands that could affect her career.  The professor explains that when she was not wearing her baby, she was crawling on the floor or being held by her T.A. (while not the T.A.'s responsibility, she volunteered to help the professor by holding the baby).  When the baby started getting fussy, she did what any breastfeeding mother would do and started nursing her child.  Now, choosing to breastfeed her child in this instance not only helped to soothe the baby, but it also kept the baby from being a screaming disruption to the class.  So what's the fucking problem?

The problem is that Americans are not used to seeing breastfeeding as the normal way to feed a baby.  Since the introduction of formula in 1867, formula feeding has been looked at as a sort of status symbol, that is, those who can afford to do so can purchase a substance to feed their baby whereas those without that sort of luxury had to breastfeed theirs.  It is STILL seen this way in some third world countries where the benefits of breastfeeding would far outweigh the risks associated with formula feeding in an area without clean water supplies.

In America, breasts are seen as something to use to get a t-shirt from Joe Francis or beads from a drag queen on a float.  Breasts are seen as those things men can fondle and suckle on during intimate encounters with their partner (or just that girl they brought home from the club).  Breasts are those lumps on the chest that fill out and complete an ensemble ("the bigger the better, the tighter the sweater").  Breasts are those things that men lust after on the beach, strutting by in triangles tied together with string.  But using them for nourishment of your child?  Blasphemy!

I firmly believe that breasts can be both nourishment and sexual objects, but their primary objective is to nourish a child.  When did we move away from this?  When did it become okay to ask a woman to cover herself up when feeding her baby, or chastise her on the internet for breastfeeding her tot, or tweet about a woman feeding her child in a situation where she was doing the best she could?

Adrienne Pine explains that feeding her baby was not "some sort of radical feminist act", and maybe it wasn't, but this type of discourse encourages conversation from those on both sides of the F word fence.  We've been told as women that we can't have it all, in regards to motherhood and career, but why is that?  Why can't we have it all?  At what point in time does it stop being okay to bash women for trying to have both a career and a family?  When does that paradigm shift occur in which breastfeeding stops being seen as something to cover up and hide to do, and become as natural and commonplace as giving a bottle or pacifier while out in public?  This IS a feminist issue, it is a family issue, and it is an issue that needs to be more seriously addressed by policy makers who still believe that women should not receive paid time off when having a baby, who believe that it's okay for a woman to be fired from work because she has a sick child, and who still exempt salaried employees from being able to receive time and a space to pump milk to feed their child while they are away.

Eyes eyes baby

Neither of my children have been good sleepers as infants.  Eli would nurse all.night.long every.single.night until he was about 14 months.  Charlotte doesn't stay latched on all night, but she DOES wake every 30-45 minutes during the night to nurse.  Night time sucks, nap time sucks harder.

The kids and I go to work until 12:30 every weekday; Charlotte usually takes her first 25-45 minute nap some time while we are at the office, and her next in mid-afternoon.  Today we had the pleasure of meeting up with my husband and his brother for lunch at Pollo Tropical, thus getting home a bit later than usual.  Actually it was PERFECT timing.  Charlotte was tired enough to go to sleep without fighting it, but not overtired to the point of refusing to nap.  15 minutes of nursing and she was O-U-T.  I decided to get a little bit of work done preparing my craft room, but 20 minutes into it I was over it and wanted to join the baby for her nap.  Eli was occupied with cleaning his room so I crawled in bed  with the baby and closed my eyes for 5 minutes...5 fucking minutes.  Then, just like every day, Eli barged in the room to tell me he loves me.

You know,  I love him too.  I love him more than I could ever put into words.  But I fucking HATE the fact that the baby never gets a nap.  I mouthed "I love you" and waved my crazy mom arms and pointed my finger for him to GTFO and close the door.  Too late.  Charlotte was up.  Charlotte's a funny one.  When she wakes, you better get your party dress on because it's time to celebrate.  She stands in bed and claps her hands and says, "Heeeeeeeeeyyyyy!" followed by a barrage of kisses being blown through the air and that cute face she makes where she scrunches up her nose and smiles. I was still laying there, pretending to sleep in hopes that she would get the picture and lay back down (note:  that NEVER works yet I continue to try that tactic every single time).  Then I hear, "Eyes. Eyes. Baby."  Charlotte's a smart one, I would even say she's probably gifted, but how the hell does she know about Vanilla Ice and why is she baby rapping songs from the early 90s?  I look over and see she has picked up my glasses and is saying "eyes.  eyes."  She sees herself in the reflection and this is where the "baby" comes in.  I decide that resistance is futile, put on my party dress, and celebrate the simple beauty that is being an 11 month old with her.  That is not to say that I put on a Fuzzi Bunz and filled it up with black beans and yellow rice from Pollo Tropical, rather we sang a song, rolled around, and relieved Eli of his cleaning duties so that we could all spend a moment together, laughing and playing, in the family bed.

I did it...

I know I'm probably the last person to enter the realm of blogging, but I've made it.  HERE I AM WORLD!  I plan on using this space to detail projects and recipes, stories about my hilariously awesome kids, and the occasional political or sociocultural rant.

Today Charlotte has been with us for 11 months.  This little girl is awesome!  To be honest, it took a while to warm up to her, but we're glad we let her stick around.

Eli is 6 years and 8 months today.  Feels weird to be the parent of a close to 7 year old.  He's incredibly kind and caring, intelligent...and quite often obnoxious (but have you met his mother?).