New book.

I love to read, but I do not get to do it enough. Except when I'm pregnant. Reading is the only thing that helps keep my mind off the fact that I am so sick. Sometimes I read old favorites. Sometimes I read suspense novels I can finish in one day. But this week I scoured Amazon reviews for a literary novel that, a) I had never heard of before, b) would be set in a time period I know nothing about, and c) be clean. I wrote a couple down, went to the library, and emerged with this one:


It takes place near the end of the Civil War, in an area that I know well--The Ozarks (for the unaware, that is where I lived for the first fifteen years of my life). I had no idea just how complicated and tragic the war experience was for that part of an already divided state.

My favorite books are always character-driven. Plots matter, certainly--and this book has an exciting one--but rich character development is what really endeared this book to me. The separate journeys of the two main characters, an 18-year-old young woman and a 31-year-old soldier , are Homeresque, and to quote Anna Quindlen's review "This...is a page-turner because it provides the greatest suspense a story can offer: will someone we've come to love persevere and prosper?"

Paulette Jiles is a poet. Her writing reflects this. It is beautiful, concrete, and textured.

If you're interested, read some more reviews. I rate this a very soft PG-13.

Jack experiences mistletoe.

Thankfully, it's Grandma and not some hussy from Nursery.

That's not a stuffed turkey under my shirt.

As soon as I announced our big news(!), anyone who knew me during my first pregnancy probably internally predicted that this blog would fall by the wayside until....oh, March-ish. Well, you are correct. The excuses are as expected--the only thoughts forming in my mind for the past seven weeks have been accompanied by moaning, groaning, and an overall theme of pain and suffering.

I'm trying to have a better attitude. Really.

Last week I was in Utah (See? I have other excuses). Between two twelve hour drives, an all-day wedding extravaganza, lunch at Cafe Rio, Mom's pot roast, my Mother-in-law's beef stew, and prepping for Thanksgiving, I consumed quite a bit. On Thanksgiving morning, before the real feasting began, I stepped on the scale. The needle had gone up five pounds in four days. Knowing that gaining five pounds of fat in four days is nearly physically impossible, I looked in the mirror. And there it was. A belly. The size of which I wasn't expecting for eight more weeks.

Ladies and gentlemen, my body at 11.5 weeks. Something is in there. And it's growin' somethin' fierce.

I have a post forming in my mind. Answers to all your frequently asked questions. Okay, so most haven't asked any questions--let alone frequently. I flatter myself, I guess.

We're giving thanks a few weeks in advance.

Over the course of three years (minus one month):

Five doctors have been seen,

many theories have been put forward,

literally thousands of prayers have been said,

fasts have been observed by many, many loved ones all over the country.

And a beloved grandfather who recently passed away has obviously pulled some strings.

We are thrilled to say that we've seen a miracle unfold in the Bailey family.

Meet our little macaroni. Due to arrive June 15th, 2010.

Potential for a holiday meltdown.

I didn't think this would happen for at least three more years. Here it is November 10th, and apparently I'm already behind schedule on purchasing gifts for my three year old. It appears Jack is not the only little boy who asked Santa Claus for a Lego Star Wars X-Wing Fighter. His number one request for Christmas is backordered until January 12th. I've looked everywhere, and unless I'm willing to pay double for it, we're going to have to do a lot of explaining on Christmas morning about how "sometimes Santa's wires get crossed and X-Wing Fighter translates into Darth Vader's TIE-Fighter.... But, oh, look! You also got the Battle of Endor!!! That's bigger and better...and you get EWOKS!!!"

Those sneaky kids...ask for something that sells out quickly, and your parents are guilted into buying you something flashy enough to distract you from your disappointment.

His second request of Santa is that his fingernail grows back (he lost it in a battle with the car door). I'm not even sure we're going to be able to swing that one...

What a serious business Halloween is.

If you haven't spoken with Jack in person since, oh, July, you are probably unaware that he currently prefers to go by "Anakin Luke Skywalker." If you call him Jack (or Tyrone, heaven forbid), he will sternly correct you. Cute in theory, yes. In practice, however, it has grown rather tiresome--especially since his favorite time to correct his parents is when he's getting into trouble.

Mom/Dad: Jack! What did I tell you about answering the door without your clothes on!?!
Jack (glowering): My name's not Jack! It's ANAKIN!

It is therefore no surprise who Jack chose to be for Halloween. We are just surprised how fully and masterfully he has inhabited the role.


He's not even four years old yet. Help.

See if you can come up with a better caption.

"I'm a baseball writer for a major East Coast newspaper."

A boy and his peach.

Pumpkin puree gets a makeover.

Rachel Ray. Many love her. Many loathe her. Food snobs in particular loathe her (no formal training, "EVOO", her cookware line is subpar, blah, blah, blah). Am I a food snob? No. I don't have the qualifications or the patience to be a food snob. My specialty as a youth was a bowl full of Cheez-Its every day after school. "As a youth?" you may ask. And I would answer, "Mmmm...Cheez-Its."

For the unitiated, RR has developed some amazing recipes. For the haters out there, set aside your bias and recognize that good food is good food--regardless of the source.

That being said, I cannot get enough of winter squash. And while usually relegated to sweet treats, pumpkin puree is amazing in savory dishes. Here's an interesting combination: pumpkin, italian sausage, sage, and pasta. Oh, and cream.

I first made this about four years ago. I've wooed a picky brother, a RR hater, and I still woo my husband every time I make this.

Enjoy!

Pasta with Pumpkin and Sausage

Adapted from Rachel Ray
Makes 6 servings (she says 4, but holy cow those are huge servings--and The Bailey Three are pretty high-octane)

Ingredients

• 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil, plus 1 tablespoon
• 1 pound bulk sweet Italian sausage*
• 4 cloves garlic, cracked and chopped
• 1 medium onion, finely chopped
• 1 bay leaf, fresh or dried
• 4 to 6 sprigs sage leaves, cut into chiffonade, about 2 tablespoons**
• 2 cups chicken stock
• 1 cup canned pumpkin***
• 1/2 cup (3 turns around the pan) heavy cream****
• 1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
• Coarse salt and black pepper
• 1 pound penne rigate, cooked to al dente*****
• Parmesan or Romano, for grating

Directions

Heat a large, deep nonstick skillet over medium high heat. Add 1 tablespoon of olive oil to the pan and brown the sausage in it. Transfer sausage to paper towel lined plate. Drain fat from skillet and return pan to the stove. Add the remaining tablespoon oil, and then the garlic and onion. Saute 3 to 5 minutes until the onions are tender.

Add bay leaf, sage, and 1 cup of stock to the pan. Simmer vigorously for about 2 minutes. Add remaining stock and pumpkin and stir to combine, stirring sauce until it comes to a bubble. Return sausage to pan, reduce heat, and stir in cream. Season the sauce with the cinnamon and nutmeg, and salt and pepper, to taste. Simmer mixture 5 to 10 minutes to thicken sauce.

Return drained pasta to the pot you cooked it in. Remove the bay leaf from sauce and pour the sausage pumpkin sauce over pasta. Combine sauce and pasta and toss over low heat for 1 minute. Garnish the pasta with lots of grated cheese.

* I usually use turkey sausage--it's a little leaner.
**Can use dried ground sage--keep it to 1/2 t if you're unsure about sage, 1 t if you know you're a fan.
***Make sure it's straight-up pumpkin puree. Not pumpkin pie mix.
****I used half-and-half last night, because that's all I had. I don't think it suffered for the slight reduction in fat.
*****Because I always use whole wheat pasta, and because whole wheat pasta usually comes in 3/4# packages, I usually don't use a full pound of pasta. But that's okay, it just means a slightly saucier dish, which I prefer. And it still serves six hearty portions.

Can do.

I've been focusing too much on what I can't do lately. I can't take a nap whenever I please. I can't use the computer without a little body climbing all over me. I can't talk on the phone without that same little body throwing a tantrum because I'm talking on the phone and not to him. I can't ever read a book without feeling guilty that I'm not doing something else. I can't go out for a nice peaceful dinner with my husband unless I add $20 for a babysitter and a 45-minute drive to a half-decent restaurant. And I can't find much to cure my extreme boredom.

There are things I can do though. I need to focus my attention on these blessings. I just have one child, so I can focus all my attention on him. I can travel without a stroller, diaper bag, and extra wipes. I can cuddle with him whenever and wherever I want. I can stay at home with him instead of constantly worrying about leaving him somewhere else. I can cook whatever I want because I have all day to do it. I can board the airplane first.

Mornings are usually the best time for me. A fresh start. Breakfast (my favorite meal of the day). And a cheerful 3-year-old. I think I like him best in the morning. Before the bath. Before the clothes. And before the intensive hair regime. He's my scrub, and he won't be hanging out with me forever. So I must focus on what I can do. Because so many people just can't.

P.S. Check this out. From one of my favorite bloggers. Someday I hope to grow up too.

Politically incorrect Halloween.

In direct contrast to my previous post regarding purple vegetables unfettered from political divide, I bring you the most racially insensitive ghosts with which to decorate your home this Halloween season:

(available at Target--though the packaging will mislead you into assuming the enclosed contents are friendly to all people)

Wielding my knives once again.

This summer was a tough one on my pots and pans. Even on my grill. They felt so neglected. So unloved. Cooking was something I could not bring myself to do very often. 103 degree weather demands you cut up a watermelon, make a sandwich, and call it dinner.

Thankfully, I'm feeling it again.

Tonight, in order to celebrate the most undeserved Nobel Peace Price recipient ever, I bring you

BARACK OBAMA VEGETABLES

That's not their real name. They're really called Morrocan Vegetables, but about four years ago Allan asked me that I make them (because they're a favorite around here), and I thought he had said "Barack Obama Vegetables". It was really funny back then, because at that point Barack Obama was still known largely as the guy who gave a pretty speech at the Democratic National Convention about purple states...or whatever. Now our little inside joke isn't so clever. Because he's, like, our president.

No matter your political leanings, these make for a hearty vegetarian dinner. I like to serve mine over quinoa, but couscous is an excellent alternative.

Moroccan Vegetables*

Serves 4 to 6

2 T butter

2 c coarsely chopped cabbage**

2 c chopped onions

1 ½ c cubed eggplant (1-inch pieces)

1 t ground turmeric

½ t ground cinnamon

½ t ground ginger

1/8 t ground allspice

1/8 t saffron threads***

2 c broth or water

1 ½ c carrot chunks (1-in)

1 ½ c cubed rutabaga (1-in)

1 c chopped tomatoes, or 1 can of drained diced tomatoes

1 bay leaf

2 c cooked or canned and drained chickpeas

½ golden or dark raisins

Prepared couscous or quinoa

1. Put on an apron. This stuff STAINS!
2. In a 6-quart pot, melt butter or margarine over medium-high heat. Add the cabbage and onions; cook, stirring, until the vegetables are softened, about 4 minutes. Add the eggplant; cook, stirring until softened, about 3 minutes.
3. Stir in the turmeric, cinnamon, ginger, allspice, and saffron until absorbed. Add the broth and bring to a boil. Add the carrots, rutabaga, tomatoes, and bay leaf; cook, covered, stirring occasionally, for 40 minutes or until vegetables are tender.
4. Add the chickpeas and raisins; cook, covered, 20 minutes longer or until stew is slightly thickened. Discard the bay leaf.
5. Serve over cooked couscous or quinoa.

---

* Original recipe appears in 1,000 Vegetarian Recipes by Carol Gelles. You must. buy. this. cookbook. I cook out of it at least once a week. You won't miss the meat. I promise.

** If you really want to pay homage to President Obama, use purple cabbage. Oh, someone stop me!!

***Saffron is expensive. For crying out loud, we're in a recession--use an extra 1/2 teaspoon of turmeric as a substitute.

Musical flashbacks.

I headed into L.A. this week to meet up with a dear friend who is gallivanting throughout Southern California while her husband attends an otolaryngology conference in San Diego (feel free to bask in how important I am because I have a friend who is married to an otolaryngologist. You may need to Google otolaryngologist to see what it means. And please don't ask me how to pronounce it). While driving home up and down and all around the Angeles National Forest, the mixture of carsickness and fatigue demanded some seriously peppy music. Something I had not listened to in a long time.

I hesitantly put in "Buffy's Mix 2000" and gave it a listen. Let me explain my hesitance.

2000-2001 really should really be referred to as "the dark years." It was my second year at BYU. Fifteen hours a week were spent at T.G.I. Friday's showing people to their tables, handing them their menus, and explaining that the Jack Daniel's burger didn't actually have any booze in it. I lived in an exceedingly less-than-desirable locale. Three of my five roommates were horrible. One of them was dating the bass player from the now-thankfully-forgotten band Orgy. Another "modeled." I was a microbiology major. My diet consisted of Life cereal, Snelgrove's cookies and cream, and my (righteous) roommate's homemade snickerdoodles. I weighed 50 pounds more than I do today. I listened to a lot of Alanis Morissette. The creepiest guy in the ward was in love with me. I resorted to dating a guy who bleached a skunk stripe into his hair and wore a tiger-striped shirt (because he wasn't as creepy as the creepiest guy in the ward).

Oh, and I bought all my clothes at Shopko.

Indeed, these were dark, dark days.

However, yesterday when I cranked those tunes, I found myself gleefully belting out all the lyrics and dancing in my seat while my son snored away in his car seat. It's funny how even the darkest days don't seem so bad in retrospect. At least that is how it is for me. Maybe there were bright spots in 2000-2001 that I just don't remember. But the music does.

Iowa throws a wedding.

I have a cousin named Laura. The best word to describe her would be fabulous. There is nothing low-key about her. Never has been--even when we were six years old.

Even though she grew up in a small Iowa town and remained in state for college, it was really no big surprise to anyone when she moved to NYC upon graduation to pursue a career as a fashion designer. She's done very well for herself--working for Tommy Hilfiger and J. Lo among others.

Laura got married a few weeks ago. Jack and I headed back to Iowa for the wedding.

Remember, she's fabulous. So nothing less than fabulous would do.




Pictures cannot do this wedding justice. Everything--absolutely everything--was perfect. Nothing chintzy, nothing out of place. As someone who can appreciate a good party, but possesses absolutely no party-throwing skills, I counted myself lucky to participate in such fabulosity.

The other days of our trip were slightly less over-the-top. For instance...

(that goat possesses an alarming amount of personality, no?)


I have spent twenty-one of my twenty-eight years in the Midwest. No wonder it feels like home.

Renewed. Refreshed. Rededicated.

September was a rough month. The roughest in recent memory. Nothing extraordinary happened. Perhaps that was why it was so difficult. After months and months of nothing extraordinary happening I felt like nothing extraordinary would ever happen to me again. I was lonely. I was sad. And I was clinging to hope.

Then October happened. October 1st always feels like a holiday to me. I turn to my fall recipes, I pull out my desperate-to-be-replaced corduroys, and I spread my autumnal quilt upon my bed. I ring in the new season by listening to George Winston's Linus and Lucy album. The opening track always stirs me from my summer slump.

With the opening weekend of my favorite month comes one of the two best weekends of the year. General Conference. Barely thirty minutes minutes ago the closing prayer of the last session was said, and my heart feels like it is about to burst at the seams.

The Lord loves me. He loves you. I know that he hears every single prayer I utter--even when in desperation I feel like my words are extending into empty space. I have a stalwart, faithful, loving family--immediate and extended. I have wonderful friends who teach me how to be generous, intelligent, and faithful. I have a spirit that yearns to grow. I am capable. I like my hair. And my ankles.

My October is going to be amazing (and not just because my parents are going to Tuscany and have promised to come home bearing gifts in the form of Italian leather sandals...). I have some clear goals forming in my mind.

One of them includes blogging regularly again. I love to write. I love to struggle over sentences and word choice. I love to sort through my thoughts and share the ones that aren't too personal with my friends and family.

Welcome, October.

Nom, nom.

It was nearly a year ago that Jack introduced the world to the pleasures of raw oats. While he would like to think he started a big movement among the toddler set, my informal surveys tell me he's still the only one who prefers to partake (ideally, mid-morning).

We have seen a bit more pickiness creep in this year. He currently has some unexplainable banana intolerance--unless the banana is smothered in peanut butter or inserted into a smoothie. And despite living in Citrus Central, oranges are not his idea of a refreshing snack--even when juiced. However, he, like the children of Lake Wobegon, is definitely above average.

But he still loves his sweets.

Yesterday morning around 7am, I pulled into the driveway--having just sweated it out (in a girlish way) at the gym. He came running out of the house, opened my car door, and made a heartfelt, hopeful request: "Mom, can you put five pounds of brown sugar on my seven grain?" (complete with five stubby fingers extended for emphasis).

Nice try, kid.

For anyone who cares (i.e. Nana and Grandma), he decided upon 1 biscuit of shredded wheat (lightly toasted, just like Grandma prefers), some raw oats, a nectarine, and milk.

Trust me, I live each day full of gratitude that he loves good food. And you don't need to warn me--I know it will all fly out the window eventually (e.g. trading lunches at school, play dates with children whose mothers secretly hate me, riding his bike to the 7-11 to buy Sour Punch Straws, Flamin' Hot Cheetos con Limon, and a Full Throttle Slurpee, etc.). But I still reserve the right to brag. You can mock me when my next child will refuse to eat anything but corn pops and pizza sauce.

Journalistic endeavors.

This morning I was engaged in a rather lengthy personal prayer. I hear movement and realize that Jack is standing right next to me. Opening my eyes, I notice a camera pointed right in my face. Jack declares, "I'm capturing you on film!"

It's reassuring to know that if the celestial wires get crossed and my prayers don't reach Heavenly Father, Jack has it all backed up on our digital camera.

And if you're wondering what exactly was captured on film, here it is:

Yeah, I know...Either Jack desperately needs to work on his photography skills, or I am really spiritual.

Glorious glutenous grains.

In late 2007--having already waited a year for my order for Jack 2.0 to come through--I started furiously researching all of my symptoms/options/paranoia/etc. My doctors were baffled, but I thought for sure that enough clever Googling would lead me to my answer.

May 2008. The gluten-free diet part 1. It really wasn't that crazy of an idea. Unexplained infertility is not an uncommon side effect. As is lethargy. And hypothyroidism. And a bunch of other symptoms that I would rather not share. I hopped on the anti-gluten bandwagon and waited...for six months. Some symptoms changed--but so did my life. Two moves in six months, a huge transition from student life to the real world, and much personal growth. Then in November (conveniently on Thanksgiving), I decided to start eating gluten again to see if I noticed a difference. I didn't. So I partook freely, despite the nagging thought that maybe it really was a problem, and I was just giving in to my womanly appetites without regard for the existence of future children...or my health.

May 2009. The gluten-free diet part two. I couldn't handle the guilt anymore. So I went gluten-free again. Two months into it, I decided that I was just making myself crazy, so I spent a lot of money to get tested. The test I chose has a rather liberal range for testing gluten intolerance. According to the laboratory's guidelines, nearly one out of three people are gluten intolerant. I researched its legimitacy, felt good about it, and waited anxiously three weeks for the results. All while dreaming of the pound cake I would make if the test came back negative.

It was negative, and boy oh boy have I been celebrating. Homemade sourdough bread (though Allan was quick to point out that real sourdough does not contain whole wheat flour...phooey.). Pasta a couple nights a week. And cookies and cream ice cream--my absolute favorite (Breyer's All Natural). I think I need to scale back a bit. My waistline will surely start protesting any day now.

But now I'm back to square one. My new doctor doesn't have a clue how to diagnose me, and I have no more paranoid hypotheses to furiously investigate on the World Wide Web. Which means...I need a new hobby. Something new to Google.

How about Weight Watchers?

Utah take two.

The pictures are in. From both trips. In no particular order.

We listened to some tunes while waiting for the plane:

We got in touch with NATURE...


By throwing ROCKS...

Over and over...

We ate a lot of food...


So much, it seems that every third picture of me involved food in my mouth...

Case in POINT:


We FLIRTED with cousins...


Stayed up way too late (we're still recovering)...

Participated in various forms of WHOLESOME recreational activities....



Posed on the couch...


Met new family members (we like the smiley ones...)


And improved our AIM

Next stop: Iowa. September 15th-20th...

Greenpeace's newest member.

There are three intriguing items sitting on a side table in my parents' bedroom. A pebble, a piece of driftwood, and a white seashell. They are reminders of a trip they took to the Oregon Coast about eight years ago. Jack was investigating them yesterday (sadly, without his trusty serpentine magnifying glass) while my mom was doing some other things. Out of the blue he started to lecture her in very disappointed tones that she should not have these in her house. He said, "The stick belongs in the water, the rock belongs in the rock pile, and the shell belongs on the beach!" Apparently, his declaration did not produce enough humble penitence on my mother's part. Jack then attacked my mother where it really hurts.

"You stole these! You are breaking Heavenly Father's RULES!!!"

This child obviously lives close to federally protected lands...we just hadn't realized how militant he has become.

Preview.

During our July trip to Utah, all the Baileys assembled for family pictures. I've only seen a few--the rest I'll get to see soon. For your enjoyment:

Jack and I take off on trip number two tomorrow morning. I'm looking forward to the cool(er) weather, a cousin's wedding, and of course seeing both families.

By request, the other eight pictures.