How to love fat

I've been itching to make butter ever since my sister in law posted about it a few weeks ago.  So we picked up some fresh cream from our cow share and were surprised at how simple the process was.

All I did was poor it into the food processor, add a bit of salt and press "on".

In less than 10 minutes I heard a sloshing sound and saw it had separated.

I poured off the liquid (buttermilk) and saved it for baking or pancakes.

Then pressed the remaining solids into a few butter jars.

Of course we spread it on warm toast right away.  And here we are only a few days later and we are already halfway through it all (maybe because I've caught a few fingers in it eating it straight?)

It is kind of funny how afraid I use to be of butter, or any fat for that matter.  But now I am in a season where fats (the good ones) are an essential part of my diet.  I'm in no place to articulate the "why's" but after reading Weston Price's Nutrition and Physical Degeneration I was convinced that I my body (and my children's) could benefit from more nutrient dense food.  And I love that one of the ways in which we do that is through butter and full fat dairy products!

In addition to butter I have been consistent in taking fish oil.  This is not as yummy as butter and actually a bit expensive but I do it as an investment in my long term health.  Not all my children will take this willing, they prefer other brands that are flavored, but George and Henry would drink this (the fermented one) straight from the bottle if I allowed them to, probably because I've been taking this since they were both very young and throughout my pregnancies.  I admit it was very hard for me to swallow at first but after a few years it is starting to taste good to me too!  They do make cinnamon and chocolate flavored variations but I prefer my fermented fish oil as is.

Now this brings me to a few more thoughts on fat.  I was changing in front of the mirror the other day and felt the corners of my mouth start to turn down to a frown, I heard the old crazy voice that existed even before I was a teenager say......"you are fat"!  The pattern is all too familiar.......it opens the door to feelings of disgust and in turn triggers the action of physically abusing myself in the form of depriving myself of food, or over exercising, or both.  

This time I fought back violently with the thought..... I am not fat, I am me.  Sure I have a bit of excess flesh after having my eighth baby but that flesh is there to serve me, it provides soft cushion to cuddle a squishy newborn and it is the very reserve that nourishes my baby, protecting me from further physical depletion.  

Why is it that we are so crazy as new mother's to "get back to normal" physically?  Maybe the "normal" I am trying to get back into (size 2 skinny jeans) is not even normal at all, maybe I am already "normal" right now and what I'm trying to get back into is "crazy". 

This may sound all too personal but it feels good to process, even if it is in front of an unknown audience.  And even if my only audience was my two little daughters I would shout it out to them from the depths of my heart and up top the high roof of our old barn because this battle is so unserving to the beautiful and powerful women it plagues.  Oh how I wish someone would have declared it to me at a much younger age, from their heart, that I was beautiful, that all women are beautiful, no matter what the shape, size or form.   

So still standing there half dressed in front of the mirror my thought process continued, it turned from beating myself up over excess flesh to the chuckling thought...."my body looks like a renaissance painting........I am a masterpiece".  What a refreshing thought, I then looked up at my pregnant belly cast and thought of all the amazing things my body was capable of, including growing a baby and giving birth.  

Our bodies are a gift no matter what the shape or size, and our worth is not dependent upon the variables of our physical form.  I can't believe it has taken me so many years to understand this truth but I do look forward to the freedom it will allow in living it.  Because the truth is this is a battle I faced even wearing size 2 jeans.

Now that doesn't mean I'll be stuffing my face with cookies and fast food because that is just another form of physical abuse.  But I will certainly eat when I am hungry and love the food that I eat, butter on my bread, whole milk in my cereal and liberal amounts of olive oil on my veggies.  And simply love being me, in any physical form, however that may look, today.          

2012 Pinewood Derby

So the Pinewood Derby crept up on us in the midst of all our lovely days of doing nothing.  I pretty much dropped the ball on all that was required of me that day including some brownies that were flopped.  In my fog I nodded to James that he could use avocado oil for baking - they were also neglected in the oven, not burned but over cooked enough that we could barely get a knife through them. So they did not make it to their spot on the refreshment table.  I already posted a pretty lengthy facebook update about it that evening but thought it might be fun to have a record of it here as well.

The cars were barely completed in time and both were still sticky in hand with paint and glue on the ride over (good thing it is a 25 minute ride).   William is a Webelo but I have yet to sew on his Wolf and Bear badge, same for Peter he's still waiting for his Bobcat badge.  At least we found the shirts!

Anyway, despite my neglect it turned out to be another exciting night of racing cars.  I stayed home with the baby but Paul was there cheering them on with Nanny and Poppy, their cousin David and all the younger siblings.  While I so enjoy assisting in the design process Paul has mastered the variables of speed.  Wiiliam once again took second while Peter was a very close third (they are still arguing over the distance "I was only a millimeter behind" - "no, you were at least a centimeter").

Here the cars are alongside the others from past years.  Most of the design inspiration has come from the Henry Ford museum and our extensive collection of matchbox cars.  Not pictured are the traditional 1/2 inch licence plates created on adobe with name, date and State.  With 6 boys now we figure we'll end up with a collection of at least 16 cars.

William's first design idea for this year's car was a Jedi star fighter but thought it would be too intricate to carve, so he settled on the streamlined winged helmet car. We were pressed for time so we skipped painting on the details and used yellow construction paper  and ModgePodge instead.

Here is Peter's car.  It has sort of a futurist body with him in driver's seat and his hen "Mendori" riding as the passenger.  He had plans to graffiti it with all sorts of symbols including pi, infinity and yin/yang.  But since we were short on time we simply glued on 3 simple stars.  You can see we didn't wait long enough for the paint to dry as it is also decorated with lots of smudgy finger prints.  But I'd say it adds to the personality of the car.

After the event Paul treated everyone to Jimmy John sandwiches.  I was already asleep by the time they got home but the boys were so excited to give the report that they ran into my room, turned on the lights and threw a wrapped Jimmy John's sandwich at me to wake me up.  Normally it irritates me to be woken up so abruptly (especially when I know I'm already heading into a night of disrupted sleep) but it was worth it to witness the triumph they were still riding, besides, nursing makes me really hungry so I gobbled down the entire sandwich before they could even get out all the details.  As trophies they each brought home a stainless steel water bottle. 

And finally, after reviewing all the photos Paul emailed me from the event I decided it was time once again to get out the hair clippers.  We just took care of that a few days ago but still in my fog I can't say the hair cuts turned out any better than the flopped brownies.  But at least hair grows and these boys aren't too fussy.......they eventually dug out all the scraps and crumbs of the brownies, consumed them with compliments and never even mentioned the missing badges from their Boy Scout uniforms.

The purpose in doing nothing

Life's been slow around here, it's been full but it's been slow.  And I'm really enjoying it.

With almost all my previous births I exerted way too much force in getting back to "normal", including squeezing myself into regular jeans prematurely and toting a newborn all around town.  Not this time, it's been a month of pj's and yoga pants with little more to do than sleep, eat and cuddle a sweet baby.

So how have we managed?  On delicious meals from friends and family, food prepared and frozen weeks in advance, boxed cereal, toast, bananas, and eggs fresh from our hens and ducks.  Paul has also played more than his regular part in the kitchen mastering omelets, apple crisp, tortilla espanola and all the dirty dishes.

I've simply been present to keep the rhythm flowing from mealtimes to playtime, go outside time and clean up and quiet times.  I've relied heavily on the older children to assist the younger ones in these processes.  The house is far from being clean, so is all the laundry, but my body has continually told me to sit, to rest and let things go...........

Including homeschool.  The older boys have continued independently on most of their subjects and have used this "vacation" to race each other once more through the Harry Potter series and now on to Lord of the Rings.  

The girls on the other hand could honestly use a lot more academic attention.  But this break from trying to teach them has allowed them the opportunity to teach me.  It has been in the soft corners of my bed that they have taught me how to watch the sun rise and snow fall.  They have shown me how to look at the moon from the eyes of a child and the significance of a lone lady bug on the window.  They have chatted about life before birth and just as care freely about life after death.  They have sung me the sweetest self composed lullabies and even offered to clean out the grim from under my nails.  I am really enjoying this time of doing nothing with my girls.   

That said, I was still a little sheepish in admitting the details of my lazy days and slow recovery to a neighbor.  But she was quick to send out an email full of support and wisdom.  The words she composed were just what I needed to hear, it is a message we rarely hear in our "get 'er done world" so I'll post it here for those who may need it just as I did.

Yes re slow recovery, I think you are just deeply needing a break after the last year and a half - so many changes, challenges, good times, triumphs.  I know it's been a wonderful, wonderful time, but hard work, good times and intense emotions wear you out just as much as their depressing counterparts.  Sometimes it doesn't catch up with you until you slow down and let it - your midwife was absolutely right to make you take a few weeks off, but I think that respite allowed your deeper need for a contemplative period to come to the surface.  I know Commander Cody says "you can't never have too much fun", but you can have too much intense activity and not enough time for your underground self to catch up.  Dr Beth prescribes lots of naps, restraining the impulse to start all the projects you've always wanted to do at once, and just drifting for a while - let the rhythm of the house, the children, the farm, Paul, the seasons, your dreams, just carry you for a while, like an otter floating on its back on the current of a river.  Sometimes more than anything else you need what my brother calls 'fire-gazing time' - your conscious self has to take some time off so that your subconscious can sort, organize, file, sift, reflect, learn, absorb, adjust.  It's a classic case of not being able to do 2 things at once. Your active self will come back online with surprising vigor when your subconscious is finished with what it needs to do - trust me.

That was a hard lesson for me to learn in my own life.  I think we tend to over-value our conscious selves and sometimes we even think that that is all we are - the conscious part.  But that is so much less than the whole, and the subconscious part has its own imperatives.  And when it has work to do it just takes the necessary time, and you suddenly find yourself spending huge amounts of time staring out the window or looking into the fire and 'not getting anything done'.  No reason to fight it - it's the place where you consolidate gains and from which you can go in new directions, and it's as necessary to our health and sanity as sleep is.

And so below I share with you a few of my favorite gazing spots.

Now this morning I thought to hop out of bed early and surprise everyone with a huge stack of hot pancakes, I actually had energy for it.  But before I could act on it Henry had tip toed to my bedside and before I could pursuade him to come down and help me Maryanna had joined us.  She was first to spot the emerging sun and together they stood pressed up against the window announcing to me the second by second movements into the sky.  That was more satisfying than hot pancakes.  That is exactly how every Sunday should begin.

And so it has been, for the past month now.  This recovery time has been so much more than simply laying around in lounge wear, it has been a month long meditation as refreshing as a month of Sundays.  And though I have nothing to show for it, I am convinced there has been great purpose in it.

Born at Home

The decision to have a home birth was not an easy one.  Honestly it terrified me, but early on in my pregnancy I knew it was an option I needed to pursue.  

The midwife I selected, Beth Barbeau, was incredible in her ability to not only mentor me through the processing of my fears but also in preparing me physically very early on for a safe delivery.  She often reminded me the labor of giving birth starts months before labor actually sets in, and is not through until several weeks after delivery.  I was committed to take her recommendations very seriously.  

But despite my careful diet, daily exercise and rest, my body presented some concerns with blood pressure and glucose levels as I headed into the third trimester.  Beth suggested some natural remedies to stabilize the problem but gently stated that if they did not stay consistently within normal range we may need to consider a hospital birth.

This discouraged me but allowed the opportunity to consider this decision to give birth at home with more earnest prayer and deep meditation.  And the answer that was whispered to me was very clear, it was consistently the same.......

Where you put your trust there you will find your peace.

So this birth journey became a great lesson in trust.

Trust in the natural processes of my body, the innate wisdom within me and ability to give birth naturally.  Trust in angels, those physically present supporting me, my husband, my midwives, my friend Krissy, and my sister Mary........... and also the unseen angels that I cannot doubt were present.

Trust in the whisperings of a holy spirit that I knew would have prompted me in peace and not fear had there been need to change course anywhere along the way.

And mostly trust in a Heavenly Father who has granted me this experience to learn and grow, knowing that it is only when walking into the unknown and exercising our faith and trust that we are able to draw out the very divinity we have within ourselves.

This message again, where you put your trust there you will find your peace, carried me through the loneliness I felt from lack of support from family and friends, it comforted me as I waited patiently for my husband to come to peace with my decision to give birth at home, and remained with me until Charles was safely in my arms.

I am now taking this lesson beyond the birth experience, allowing it to enable more courage and confidence in all directions of life.

Because I love to talk

Paul and I enjoyed a very unromantic Valentine's outing today.  We took Charles to the pediatrician for his first visit then stopped by the local antique mall.  I suppose the antique mall could have been a bit romantic but Paul decided to stay in the van with the baby.   Maryanna and Clara were along for the outing so they followed me in to share in the joy of looking at junk.

I knew exactly what I was looking for today and found it at the first booth for $25.  It was a phone for my night stand and the fact that it was red made it a perfect Valentines gift. 

It is fun to call on a rotary phone but the real reason I purchased it is because I have the intention of freeing our bedroom from wireless devices.  I haven't read much on the subject but I also haven't been able to get it out of my mind since my midwife suggested it.  

I love to talk on the phone, so much more than texting but it probably is not a good idea to have a cell phone pressed to the ear for hours a day.   

So now that I'm using the old rotary phone for most my talking I need to learn all my favorite contact's # by heart, I don't know why that seems so impossible.  I must have had several #'s memorized in high school and college. 

And since we only had a few stationary phones in the house growing up I use to lay on my parents bed just like this to call my girlfriends, boyfriends and older sisters. Here I'm calling "my boyfriend" Paul out in his office trailer, because even though he is not too far out from the back door it is still amusing to hear his voice on the other end. 

Easing into it

I woke up to this photo posted onto facebook by Paul.

He was busy working late so dinner and bedtime were left solely in my hands for the first time since giving birth.  I was happy to have the simplicity of leftovers from a meal delivered the night before but the simple serving of it was disastrous (imagine screaming newborn + self served toddlers + food fight).  My mom was timely in returning a call to me in the middle of it, I begged her to admit motherhood was not easy.  She affirmed my frustration with a chuckle.

When we had eaten through the rest of the spaghetti and all the ranch dressing was wiped off the hands and out of the hair, I tucked them all in the easy way.  And that is what is pictured  above.

Easing out of the babymoon and into our normal rhythm has not been easy.  It's kind of been like the delicate dance one does when stepping into a too hot of bath, at first dip you instantly retract then try it again and again until you can comfortably keep your feet in.  That's where I am right now, I've got my feet in but not ready to fully submerge.

My bedroom has become the command center full of snacks, books, school work and toys.  By next week I hope to be knee deep in it and move the majority of the action back downstairs and maybe even
take a peak at the laundry.  

In the meantime it has been amusing to look back on the archives after Henry and George's birth here and here and realize where I'm at is actually very normal.  

Babymooning

Several weeks ago when my midwife asked me to commit to a week in bed after delivery I just laughed. "It's just not in my nature" I tried too explain......."it would be logistically impossible".  But in the end her wise counsel found sense in me and I realized all I really needed was permission to care for myself in  a way that I never allowed myself to before.

As mothers it is so easy to fall in the trap of caring for everyone but ourselves.  This trap can leave us empty with very little to offer anyone in the end.  We fool ourselves into playing the role of "Supermom" losing the best of what we have to offer in process of all the doing.  So right now after 9 months of growing a baby, I am allowing myself to just be, to do nothing else than rest in bed and fall in love with my baby.  I am now thoroughly convinced that every new mother needs a "babymoon".  

Thank you to my sister and Nanny and Poppy for caring for the other children to allow this beautiful week and thank you to Paul for waiting on me like a princess. 

If it wasn't for the regular delivery of meals in bed I would have lost all sense of time.  Paul has found his place in the kitchen and surprised me in his ability to arrange these feasts, and I suppose I have surprised him with my raging appetite barely leaving a crumb.  

I've gone through quarts of chicken broth, quarts of pregnancy tea, several cups of juice with floradix, 1/2 lb of chicken liver pate from Zingermans, a pot of lentil soup from a neighbor, a pitcher of fresh squeezed beet and carrot juice from another neighbor, cottage cheese, apples, celery with pumpkin seed butter, toast with butter, hash browns, fried ham, omelets with collards and raw cheese............ I have been very well nourished and I can already feel the difference in both myself and in little Charles.

In addition to resting and feasting I squeezed in a few netflix.  My favorite was the Saltmen of Tibet since it flowed at the same pace I've been moving all week.

Charles has a bit of jaundice so we've been taking turns sunning him in the window.  So this week has had the feel of a sunny vacation after all.  

The biggest treat for me this week was a warm herbal bath.  My midwife sells a prepared bag of herbs for the purpose of postpartum healing, included in this combination are the following: comfrey root, comfrey leaves, lavender, calendula, sea salt and a few drops of murrah essential oil.  These aid in healing bruises & tears, prevents infection and help dry out the baby's cord.  We steeped the herbs in a large pot for a few hours then strained them through a fine mesh colander right into the bath water.    

Overall it was simply soothing to both me and little Charles.  I love the way this bath woke him up to the world offering me expressions and personality beyond that of a baby only a few days old.  

The other children will soon be here.  I admit I'm starting to miss their energy and noise.  Next week may be a wild contrast to the lovely "babymmon", and though I'm in no position to be chasing them up and down the stairs there is something very comforting about being all together.  I've been pondering my strategy all week: fill my bed with kids, netflix, books, toys and snacks and I've already warned Paul to expect more than a few frantic calls out to his office trailer.

We are stepping into the unknown with another child in our care.......we may not be strong and brave adventurers who scale remote mountains but we are continually writing and living our own adventure story.  I am so happy to be doing it alongside Paul and grateful for the way he arranged this past week to help me regain both physical strength and clarity of mind.........because we all no there is no sense stepping out on to an adventure without them.