The Big Bad Budget - Part II

Well the budgeting seems like it's going well. Since I wrote that post I've been trying to cut corners in groceries every way I can think of. We're buying bulk meat, beans and I'm making everything from scratch, in bulk. Aside from dinners, I've made, so far: cornbread (twice), chocolate chip tea loaf, banana bread, rice pudding (thanks for the recipe Andrea!) and one other thing I can't recall at the moment. Snack foods are pricy. I've attempted to make bread a number of times but have repeatedly failed. We have now concluded that this is likely due to using all-purpose instead of bread flour. I mean, the bread is edible, but certainly far from the dream puff loaves I was making before. Anyway, the running tally is approximately 57 dollars, and it looks like we'll make it until friday on what we've bought with that. Yay! We're not eating badly, either. Breakfast is usually a bagel with egg, or Japanese rice and egg (very good). Lunch is our dinner, since Mike works nights, and we've eaten Colcannon (an irish boiled dinner with cabbage and potatoes), pasta with veggies, risotto with salad, etc. At the moment I'm thawing a turkey which I think I should be able to stretch for at least three more days.

One of my inspirations is the hillbilly housewife, who makes everything from scratch. Her recipes are for the most part, healthy, budget friendly and foundational. I especially like her article on home made convenience foods and so-called apron evangelism For some reason all of this budget friendliness has lead me to a number of baptist wife websites. I'm not quite sure what it is about Christian wives that makes them so handy in the kitchen. I respect what they do, but I'm also kind of proud to be in the minority of secular housewives, who are still trying to eke out a way to stay at home with their babies through drinking reconstituted milk. Yep, we've switched to powdered milk. It's actually not that bad, though it tastes a little different, it's a lot less expensive and almost identical when you bake with it. And I've been baking 'round the clock. 

Hmm, well I'm tired of this blog entry for some reason. So I'm going to end it here.

Just the Right Amount of Swish: 50s fashion starts with the undies

My fingers are itching to sew. My sewing table has been changed into a change table for the moment, while our houseguest inhabits Ender's room and his change table. Still, I find myself dreaming of 50's era dresses with swishy skirts and bullet bras. What Kate Did seems to be the best (if not only) website that features bullet bras and the mini New Look corsets that nip in your waist just right, and Vogue has vintage dress patterns with just the right degree of swish. I picture myself vaccuming my split level house in heels and pearls with my frilly apron, while Ender plays docile with his wooden blocks.

But it would seem that I must wait, just a little longer, before the time will be afforded to me to make such a dress. Also, the fabric is very important and I've been unimpressed by the fabric stores I've been to in this city. Fabricland has a great selection of fabrics for crafts, or if you'd like to sew your own wedding dress, but not so much for quality dressmaking supplies. Upholstery fabrics, what with the DIY revolution, are plentiful. But where to find a quality dressmaker's crepe? I suspect I must delve in to the garment district in Chinatown, where one risks finding excellent deals or being horribly ripped off.

The right fabric is essential for the right amount of skirty swish and drape. On the Vogue website you'll see that they've actually made the pattern and photographed it with a real model. But in most of them, it's plain to see they've used the wrong fabric: the model is dressed in hideously cheap cotton broadcloth. The drape expressed in the drawing is not done justice. Also, her underwear is all wrong, her breasts melded in the circular shape that is popular now, not the bullet shape that was popular then. Her waist to shoulder ratio is practically nill. I am such a stickler for authenticity, it almost takes the fun of things. But not quite. The journey for just the right amount of swish shall be a long one.

Yes, I acknowledge that dresses in the 50s were often made of ugly broadcloth, but why oh why, dear reader, would one want to recreate the ugly part of a decade? Why not a little bit of Mary Pickford, Marilyn Monroe, and a dash of Bridgette Bardot? If we're going to go back through time, why not pick the beautiful things?

My Weekend of Ho-hum

Well folks, Ender is almost 9 months and boy does it show! Aside from being massive we're talking about fighting through feedings, screaming, kicking, biting. Sleep schedules disrupted. Tears (on both sides) shed. My little man is definitely going through something. Not sure if it's a growth spurt, new teeth, a new skill, or all three. He has been treading water in the arena of crawling for quite a while though. I suppose it's possible he may just be my mobile little guy soon enough. This change of personality has been especially difficult due to the fact that since christmas he has been so smiley and laugh-ey.

I went down to my mom's farm this weekend, and though I had plans to go visit friends with the baby and do ten million other things I can now no longer remember, Ender basically whimpered through the whole trip. We cut the trip short by a night, driving home in absolutely terrible foggy/snowy/rainy weather. Arguments were had between Mike and I that I'm not proud of. However, I'm not entirely sure I can be blamed due to my intense state of sleep deprivation. Once we got home, Ender had a nice big poop and was back to his normal gurgly and happy self. I have no idea what was going on there, but I am preparing myself for another night of screaming bloody hell. That way I will have bolstered the walls of my sanity.

So all in all, my weekend was very ho-hum, and a lot more work than I intended it to be. I didn't really get to relax, and I feel like I've aged about five years.

For dinner tonight I made risotto. Risotto is italian rice. Gooey, glutenous rice. I never really liked it before, but lately it has just become THE comfort food for me. I was buying it in the pre-made kraft-dinner-esque packages for a while, but tonight was my first stab at it from scratch. A third of a bottle of vermouth later, it turned out fantastic. It's actually the perfect food to make for me, because I always eff up rice because I keep checking on it, ruining the steam seal. Risotto however, is just constantly adding (broth, wine, vermouth, water, you name it) and stirring. It made me happy. My risotto was kickass.

The boys (Mike and our houseguest) were kicked out of the house to a bar, by me, an hour ago. Because Mike works evenings, Ender has become used to falling asleep on his mommy with no distractions aside from the sound of me typing and Jazz FM. I figure my hubbie deserves a little bar time anyway. My secret to a good marriage: Know when to kick your husband out for 'man time' with his friends. Even if he doesn't want to, it's good for his soul. And what is being a wife and mother, if not knowing best.

Final note: I am going to the gym this week coming up. If I do not go, everyone who reads this blog has full and complete rights to give me crap about it!

On Cosleeping and Bedsharing (and why I think it's a-ok)

I've been really frustrated lately. And no, it's not because of cosleeping. Rather, it's the misunderstanding that exists on cosleeping. So I'm here to clear up a few things. I'm a little tired of people giving me empathetic pats on the shoulder when I say Ender sleeps in bed with us. No, it's no bed of roses. Yes, sometimes Mike and I find ourselves squished on one side with Ender gloriously sprawled on the other. But it was a choice, and one that I am very happy with and am willing to defend. I'm going to give you my take on it, which because this is a blog, I refuse to qualify with sources. You'll just have to believe me that I've read a lot on the subject.

First of all, the idea of training our babies to sleep independently is a relatively new one. Cribs as we know them today started appearing en masse in the victorian era. This was in response to the belief that it was genteel not to know anything about the going ons of your children. Some women would fake it, others would actually avoid their kids. Some believe this is due to Queen Victoria, who was quite publicly disinterested in children generally, and her own children specifically. Before this, bed sharing, aka 'family bed' was the norm. If there was no space in mom and dad's bed, then the kids would go into bed with siblings. Protestants, with their sexual moralizing and beliefs about corporeal punishment, saw a separate bed for a baby as a good idea. It would foster the strength and independence that they valued. It should be noted during this period of time that toddlers were having their gums excised (sliced open) and many died of sepsis, and people suffering from depression were locked into lunatic asylums and hosed down with water on a regular basis as part of treatment. It wasn't the forerunning times for medicine, let alone child psychology.

So, with the seperate accomodations came long nights of crying and clingy children. This was alright though, because most Victorian homes had at least one servant, who could stay up with the kid and be exhausted in the morning. I'm sure if it was the servant's choice, the child would be in bed with them and there are accounts of this occuring. As was common with the time, the moralized practice was bolstered with pseudo science, Ms. Beeton, in her tome on household management was quite authorative on the subject, claiming it was unhealthful for a mother to sleep with her babe, who would suck her dry like a "little vampire".

While crib sleeping has dragged on as a cultural norm, medical research has been unclear on whether crib sleeping is safer than bed sharing. While the APA says cosleeping is a good idea, this is technically only having the crib in the same room as you (ie. not in a nursery). For those who oppose bed sharing, the data is quite clear: cases of SIDS are frequently caused by bedsharing. People in beds that are too small, who are under the influence of drugs or alcohol, who smoke, who formula feed, or who are obese are at particular risk. Proponents of bed sharing however, have astoundingly more evidence.

First of all SIDS is not the same as rolling on your baby. This is suffocation. SIDS is unexplained infant death, and also happens when babies are put in cribs by themselves. Secondly, babies who sleep with their mothers rarely roll on their tummies (because this would move them away from the breast) which has been established as a contravening variable in SIDS. Synchronous breathing has been associated with bed sharing. The part of babies' brains that reminds them to breathe regularly is not fully established, and when close to their mother they are 'reminded' to breathe. Also, infants who cosleep do not go as long without nursing, which can be very helpful to working mothers whose babes refuse the bottle, and whose supply is threatened by exclusive pumping.  The 'distractable baby' also will eat better when in a state of half-sleep, which means distracted feedings during the day are less of an issue.

Now I state all of this as though I am against the crib, which I'm not. Some children will happily sleep in their crib from sunset to sunrise with nary a complaint. However, the environment which we have created where images of sleep-deprived parents walk like zombies around the house, trying to rock their seven, eight, twelve month old babes to sleep need not be the only reality.  My troubles with sleep started with trying to obey the norms that were enforced by my peers, and ended with my acceptance that my life is now baby-led. There is a certain amount of peace in that.

So, understandably it is frustrating when I am asked repeatedly 'How is the baby sleeping?'. 'Great!" I respond, truly meaning it. I don't get to sleep in, but I almost always get a minimum of 8 hours. If not, it's my own fault. 'Has he started sleeping in the crib yet?" They ask me sadly, as though I've failed in some way. I wish their was some succinct way of explaining that I haven't tried in months, that even if he would sleep in his crib, I'm not sure that I'd want him to.  I remember when he was a very young baby, and would sleep perfectly fine on his own for hours at a time, how poor my sleep was. I'd wake every hour, checking that his little hands hadn't covered his face, that he hadn't been crying and I hadn't heard. I wish I could express the reassurance that is felt when I reach out and feel his little chest rising and falling in perfect tempo.

I never intended to have a family bed. The idea seemed strange and foreign and dangerous. But then again, so did breastfeeding, and now I can't imagine being without it as the greatest parenting tool I have at my disposal.

But there is no way to explain it, no more than I could convince someone that there's not a God, or that someone could convince me that what I'm doing is wrong. It's just the way things are. So ends my rant, and my explanation.

The Big Bad Budget

Today was a rocky beginning. I woke at 5:30 being punched in the face by tiny fists. My baby boy, despite fighting sleep until 8pm last night, was up early and was having none of my attempts to get him to sleep just a little bit longer.

"Mike." I shoved my husband. Another shove. He is a heavy sleeper. I heard a muffled sound that let me know he was slightly awake.

"I need you to wake up with the baby. I know you work late but I need you to wake up with the baby just this once so that every time I wake up with him in the morning from now on, I'll know that it's not forever and that someday I'll get to sleep again." I was panicky, my voice rising in the dark. "If you do, for just one hour, I'll let you come back to bed and sleep as long as you want." I would have promised him the world at that point, because at that moment I was convinced that my sanity depended on his coparenting.

Ender cooed, grabbing my face.  I gave Mike another shove.

"As long as I want?" I nodded ferociously.

"Yes yes. Sure." He said, stumbling out of bed and I let out a sigh of relief. "Wait. I have to go pick up the bed from my parent's today." All muscles that were relaxed tightened again. Mike works the afternoon shift, meaning he gets to sleep in. If he wakes up early, he needs a nap so that he won't fall asleep at the wheel of his forklift.

So, with much remorse, he returned to bed and I pulled myself up, with the tearful conclusion that I would never sleep again. After a cup of coffee of course, I returned to my senses. But still, life as a mom, with all that work stretching before me, seemingly without end, can be a daunting one. And I, when deprived of company, food and sleep, fall back to the same obsession: The Budget.

The Budget has come and gone in our marital environment from day one. Being transient workers as we are, it is constantly changing. Our rent changes from year to year, our pay changes from month to month, and while we wouldn't have it any other way, it means it is easy to stop paying attention and overspend. It also means that every time we take a pay cut, I feel like I'm standing on the precipice of disaster. "You need to smoke less." I wheedle at Mike, picturing myself somehow cutting expenses by cooking large amounts of pasta and freezing it, or something. "Lentils!" I shout, as though this vegetarian war cry will save my bank account from its untimely overdraft.

The fact of the matter is, I haven't the first idea how to cut back expenses. I do know how to track expenses, which is usually sufficient to stop that inbetween money from disappearing. Ten dollars here and there really adds up, and I'm nothing if not an impulse spender. Occasionally we implement the 'jar system' which helps. But every time The Budget returns, I can't help but feel that I'm not doing enough. Surely there is some way to cook less expensively?! This is our largest money drain. So dear readers, I shall begin to blog, starting today, on my new journey with food. Cheap food. Hopefully still good food. No more duck pate, or creme anglais, no.

Tonight's project: Ground chicken with spaghetti squash. It is budget friendly because I bought it already. The goal: To spend no more than one hundred dollars a week on groceries.
The major offenders: Dairy in general. We go through approximately six litres of milk a week, one pint of cream, a bar of butter and two large sticks of cheese. Bread is expensive and Mike uses a lot for his lunches. If I could effectively bake my own (I've failed at four loaves in a row, in my breadmaker no less) then that would save some cash too.

I'm optimistic, and in a better mood than I was when I woke this morning. Proactivity always helps.

In other news, we are expecting a houseguest for the month. A friend of ours who is interning at CBC radio. I'm looking forward to the company!

ponderings on feminsm

Well it would seem that my work has come to somewhat of a close, if not a break. This is probably a good thing, as Ender seems particularly needy today, perhaps in response to my absence. Usually he'll sit on his own for a few moments at least on the floor, if not for an entire half an hour, happily playing with his toys. Today, however, his face crumples immediately, turning a tomato red and begins to moan. He closes his eyes and falls on his face. Yes, on his face, dear readers. I'm not sure if he's aware that he completely loses his balance when he's upset, or if he's just so distracted by the devastating fact that he is not sitting on my lap that it makes him keel over. Either way, it's very concerning and so I've spent the entire evening catering to my tiny dictator, sipping on yerba mate tea and watching episodes of Big Love. This usually wouldn't bother me, except due to my baking and cooking binge of the last few days, there are no clean dishes. I managed to toss a few into the dishwasher but the counters remain covered.

Anyway, Big Love is about a polygamous family in Utah. I've always had a penchant for religion, as well as dress, so this set me to the costumer's manifesto which is my favourite most exhaustive source for all things clothing-related. Modest clothing, which is of it's own type and persuasion, is one of my favorites. This is probably because it is the last existing throwback to a time when women dressed in long dresses, puffy sleeves and pinafores. There's just something wonderful about it. First, it's the idea of mystery. The fact that men, rather seeing every part of you, are left to wonder. They practically waxed philosophical about women's ankles in the Victorian era. Now men hardly bat an eyelash at a boob. This is really a pity, since the female form has such enticing characteristics aside from our boobs. What about the slope of a shoulder or the slenderness of a wrist?

Also, there is a forced grace of a long skirt. A requiring of chivalry and assistance. I'm sure any dyed in the wool feminist would be upset to hear me say such things. But I defend myself with this: my feminism is about embracing my femininity, and all that it has entailed throughout the centuries. Yes, femininity now means wearing what we'd like, and doing what we'd like. But a thousand years ago, it meant wearing long skirts, and slaving over vats of bubbling hot fat to make soap for your family.

And I think that's pretty badass.

I think we need to retool our definition of a 'strong' woman. The current one seems too reactionary. It's as though all the feminists from the era of Ms. magazine and the Berkeley bra burners just got so far and then dropped everything, leaving my generation with a thoroughly outmoded and unworkable definition of strength. I would like to see strength in a woman be about enjoying the very expression of our womanhood. Why does keeping step with a man in both personal and professional arenas mean that we have succeeded? Of course, this is all fine and good if it is what is wanted by a woman, but their are practical considerations (such as being the primary biological caregiver of young children) that must be made. Why has the term 'women's work' become pejorative? What is wrong with a kind of work that women spend their time at?

All things worth considering, I think. Vive la feminismes!

Birthday Food

Birthday cake that I made for Mike today. It's angel food cake with creme anglais (had to make something so I wouldn't waste all those yolks) whipped cream, rasberries and pineapple. It was quite decadent!

In retrospect, I probably would not have used the Joy of Cooking recipe. I've heard bad things about it which I remembered after I plated the dessert. Angel food cake is very finicky, especially if you have less than fresh eggs. My mom's chickens are getting old, so there is no longer the bounty of fresh eggs in my fridge that there once was. So the cake didn't quite rise to it's full spectacle, though it was still delicious I will count it as a work in process. The creme anglais turned out perfectly though. It started to coagulate as I made it but I whisked out the clumps and continued to thicken it over medium low temperatures, and then stirred in some spiced rum and butter at the very end. It was very good and I think Miked like it. Happy birthday sweetie!