A Tale of Two Twerps

Last Thursday morning was a day like any other.  I woke up, struggled to get the Big Yam ready to go to daycare, went to pee before leaving the house, and then noticed something...odd...in my drawers.  I paged my midwife and she said that I should go and get checked out.  She asked if I was supposed to go to Sunnybrook or my TEGH.

FUNNY YOU SHOULD ASK, MIDWIFE.  Why, just the DAY BEFORE, I had met with my regular OB (not the Sunnybrook one) and had inquired of her, "So, on the off-chance I go into labour in the new few weeks, do I go to Sunnybrook or TEGH?" She very blithely responded, "Oh, you're at 32 weeks, so we [TEGH] would keep you. But I don't think you'll be going early.  You know, everyone says twins come early, but all my twins go to term." FORESHADOWING ALERT!

Earlier last week, I had also asked my friend at work, G, "What do Braxton Hicks feel like?" because I had been feeling a tightening in my belly that wasn't uncomfortable, but was definitely a something.  On Wednesday, I stopped at the fish store to scope out their soft shelled crabs and walked TWO AND A HALF KILOMETRES home, moving verrrrrrry slowly, because my gut was belly was so tight.  FORESHADOWING ALERT!

So I went to TEGH and was admitted to maternal triage.  They hooked me up to a bunch of different monitors, and lo and behold, I was having contractions every 5 minutes.  The OB on duty came and took a look at me, and said, well, this is early, we'll see if we can keep you steady at this rate for 24 hours, but you won't be going back to work.  Me: "Today?" Her: "Uhhh, no, until these babies are born."  Me: "But I sit all day at work," Her: "Well, you'll be on bed rest."  Me: "But I can still go for walks and stuff right?" Dotytron (who had come to be with me on his way to work) and her, in unison: "YOU'RE NOT LISTENING. BED REST MEANS DOING NOTHING, BECAUSE WE WANT THESE BABIES IN AS LONG AS POSSIBLE."  Me: "I don't think I'm processing this well."

Then she checked me and clucked in regret, "Oh, you're not going anywhere, you're 2-3cm dilated.  We'll hope that we can keep these babies in you for the next 24 hours, but you're here."  So I called my midwife who said that I was basically in TEGH jail.  The roomie also said that they would set a series of goals for me - like, if I make it through the next 24 hours, then they'd hope for 48, then maybe a week, then maybe two weeks.  Either way, I wouldn't be allowed to go home, in case I delivered there.

I got the whole epidural lecture again - and this OB's hands were BIG.  The Dotytron after the fact was like, Dr. M is pure rural animal birthing styles.  She just looks like her natural environment is birthing cows on a farm.  I said I would think about it.  I got moved to a labour and delivery room, and my midwife told me to page her when I reached 5-6 cm dilation.  My contractions were coming every 4 minutes, but on the pain scale of 1-10, I was like, they were maybe a 1 or 2?  Maybe?  So I hung out with the Dotytron and wrapped things up at work, emailed my manager, etc., etc.,

It came time to make the epidural decision.  I didn't want to have one.  I was in active labour at that point - 5-6 cm dilated and again, not really feeling the contractions at all.  I called my midwife and was like, "Hey S! What's up?" And she was like, "Don't ask what's up with me!  What's up with you?"  Me: "Well, I am 5-6 cm dilated and you wanted me to call you?"  Her: "You're in active labour and you're asking me how I'm doing? You are crazy."

The anesthetist came and talked to me and gave me the whole "informed consent" talk about the procedure, outlining how it's done and the risks.  This was probably the 2nd most freaked out point of this whole birth story.  I was FREAKED.  Um, nicking a nerve and then me having a splitting headache for 6 weeks?  Potential (I mean, 1 in 4 million, but still!) paralysis?  Not my bag, sons.  I think the issue is that by the time most women want the epidural, they're like the woman down the hall, who was apparently SCREAMING for one.  They don't care about the risks..  The fact that I was listening calmly wasn't doing me any favours.  I was pretty scared.  The anesthetist was also like, it would be more preferable if you could feel the contractions more, so that we would be able to know for sure the epidural was working, but what can you do?  My pain tolerance/threshold is what it is.  I ended up getting one because the high change of an emergency section for Twin B meant that it would have been getting knocked out, general anesthesia styles if it came to that, which is less ideal than if they can just bump up the meds and I'm conscious.

The midwife shows up (in a birthing support capacity) and the Roomie showed up (in an awesome friend/birthing support capacity) and then I kind of laboured until around midnight.  The OB came and checked me and said that I was around 8-9cm dilated, but she didn't want to stretch me to 10cm dilation because if I didn't hit 10 naturally, there was a chance that I would close up again for Twin B and then we'd have to wait, which is less ideal.  In the course of checking me, she broke my water and got doused, and then it was GO TIME.  They wheeled me into the OR.

I pushed maybe 3 times, but twerp A made his way out on his own, basically.  He started crying right away and then the pediatrician and her team took him away to do the Apgar-y stuff.  Then it was B's turn.  Unfortunately, in the course of getting A, the OB had broken B's water sac.  The way the midwife explained it is that it's harder to grab a hold of the babies if the water breaks, because you don't have the air/water balloon to help you move them around and figure out what you're grabbing.  It's also jarring for the baby...the Roomie likened it to getting your head pushed under water repeatedly.  So you can take a breath, but then you're struggling and it's stressful. The next five minutes were intense.  Dr. M was ELBOW DEEP in my nethers and was like, "I can't get the feet, that's a hand, no, I can't reach the feet, call the anesthetist, we've got to section."  The whole room got really quiet and intense and I was scared and I know the Dotytron was scared.  The anesthetist was basically walking in with the syringes all prepped when Dr. M said, "I've got the feet!" and pulled B out by his legs.  He was obviously kind of shocked and scored really low on his initial Apgar.  They kind of showed him to me and then whisked him away.

And that, was that.  The midwife, the Roomie, and I stayed in the OR and checked out my placenta (which was pretty cool, if you're into that kind of thing - you could see the dividing membrane between the two amniotic sacs!) and the Dotytron went to the NICU to be with the twerps and check them out.

We named them the next day, after going to the NICU and taking a good, long look at them.  That's Lennox on the left and Quincy on the right.

Look at Q vamping for the camera!  So cute!  L got banged up on the way out. 

  

We are totally, completely, utterly in love.  Guys, I have THREE sons, now.  

Fin.

Baking Bread...

in my sandals.  Full on cankles in effect.  My feet looks like the tree stumps of an elderly Portuguese woman in a house dress and head kerchief walking haltingly up and down the sidewalk with suspicious eyes.  At this point, the twerps' combined weight is more than what the Big Yam weighed when he emerged from betwixt my loins.  AND I STILL HAVE ALMOST FIVE WEEKS TO GO.

Oy vey.  Scratch the lowest gestational moment recounted Wednesday.  Each day allows me to plumb new depths.  To wit: on Wednesday night, I turned to the Dotytron and lifted up my (read: his) shirt (and not a shirt from recent times, when t-shirts have tended towards the more slim cut for men - a t-shirt leftover from the late 90s ravey XXL boxy hip hop days), exposing my belly, and feeling gingerly below the roughly equatorial line implied by my belly button to inquire, "Is that a hernia or a stretch mark?"  (Jury is still out, for the record).

I had a tough morning with the Big Yam, yesterday.  He wasn't being a team player, per se.  Each morning consists of longer and more fraught episodes of what the Dotytron calls "reverse rape" (where you're struggling to get your child INTO clothes), and then endless combinations of threats/taking things away/time outs in order to achieve the most cursory tooth brushing and potty going so that we can get out the door.  Thursday morning was pretty terrible and resulted in the Big Yam asking me, when we finally got outside and I was unfolding the umbrella stroller, "Mama, are you still mad at me?"  At which point, I felt like the most horrible person on the planet.  Like, way worse than the Hitler-lookalike tea-kettle must feel, being an inanimate object that's now inextricably linked to one of history's greatest villains:

Ugh.  I felt SO guilty.  At the time, I put the stroller aside, sat down, took him onto my lap, and explained that I wasn't mad, and that it's hard for me when he's not being a team player.  We talked about what he needs to do in the morning and how we all have to go to work, and we talked about how he would try better tomorrow.  We ended with lots of kisses and hugs, but the Big Yam's question reverberated with me all day. We had a better night that night, but it still sticks with me.  I wasn't my "best self" with him yesterday morning, as Oprah would say (remember Oprah? I don't!)

Another parenting-related issue that I'm grappling with - the whole, if you give your kid one thing in front of other kids, then you have to have enough for all of them, scenario.  To wit: on Wednesday night, as we were winding down from the post-dinner outside play, I offered the Big Yam one of my homemade popsicles as a "special treat" (it's a banana-mango-coconut one).  I brought it out, and these two kids were immediately all up in my grill asking, "What's that?" and "Can I have one?" and I was all like, "Errr..." because I only had 1 other one in the freezer and quite frankly, I wanted it for myself.  But I wasn't sure what the politics/ethics were behind the issue so I put it to the masses on Facebook.  

The responses were mixed - 

"Screw the other kids"

"You don't want to be that lady"

"You can't offer kids food without asking their parents first because of allergies, etc."

"If the kids are playing at YOUR house then yes, you have to have one for everyone, but if it's just a street free-for-all, then no."

and so on and so forth.  

To be honest, I hadn't even considered the allergies dimension of the whole issue - my concerns were wholly (and selfishly) predicated on not wanting to waste my homemade popsicles on the neighbourhood kids, just because they happen to be enjoying public space at the same time as my kid.  And also: the logistics of having to make 10 popsicles each time.  

One of my neighbours weighed in and said that yes, I should have enough for everyone.  And that if her daughter gets a treat and there isn't enough for everyone, she has that treat inside before going out to play.  This to me, seems slightly ludicrous and a sign of the extreme lengths modern, urban, liberal parenting has gone to in the name of "fairness" and "sharing."  

Here are my issues:

1) When the other kids get popsicles, they're like, those frozen, ready-made Mott's juice ones or like, Kisko kids.  Often times, I don't let the Big Yam have one of those, because quite frankly, I consider them disgusting, and I limit his sugar to "special treats."  I don't think it's a big deal for him to experience NOT getting something when "everyone else" is.  To me, that's life in a world with unequally distributed resources.  As I've said before, there's lots of stuff that we have regularly (dessert, alcohol, etc.) that he doesn't get.  That's just life.

2) There's a difference between those popsicles and my popsicles - the labour that goes into mine is more and I don't see why I can't distribute the fruits of my labour as I see fit.  Also, I find it weird to have my interactions in public space policed thus.  So like, if we're eating dinner on the front stoop, we have to make sure there's enough dinner for everyone?  When the Dotytron brings his beer outside while he's watching the kids, he has to offer everyone a beer?  That makes no sense to me.  There is a line between politeness and fostering this weird sense of "everyone gets everything."  That's not the world we live in, people!  As my colleague said when I presented the situation to her: "It can't always be a potluck!"

3) I think the popsicle thing is an extension of the "Mr. Frosty" politics and tension.  Mr. Frosty is the name of the ice cream truck that comes by our street.  When Mr. Frosty comes by, there's always this like, moment when the parents are kind of eyeing each other to see who's going to cave and get something.  If nobody does, then it's easy to say to your kid, "No one is getting Mr. Frosty tonight!" If the majority are getting something, then you hit this tipping point and it seems like everyone acquiesces and gets something.  Then there are the weird, in between times, when I want a wagon wheel and the Dotytron wants his iceberg (which is a magical combination of slushy and vanilla soft serve) and we're the only ones getting and then we have to eat our treats in front of the other kids.  Frankly, I'm fine with this.  IT'S MY G-D MONEY!  I'm not going to self-police my Mr. Frosty consumption based on what other people are doing!  This isn't North Korea, for goodness' sake!  But it's definitely not behavior that you just do.  As we're buying our stuff, we are very aware for a minute or two that we're making things awkward for the other parents and their kids.

Anyway, is it a d**k move for me to give my own kid a homemade popsicle and have like a box of Mott's for the other kids?  Like, why do we have to do our popsicle eating inside on the off-chance that a neighbourhood kid is going to want one?  I don't like the selectiveness of it.  Like, if I was eating tripe stew outside, I don't have to make sure I have enough tripe stew.  It's only because kids are greedy little turds and want the "good" stuff only.  Also, for the record, I OFFERED last summer some of my homemade popsicles and the kids didn't like them.  Also, for the record, there are other times, when I've made a batch of cookies or something, that I bring out a plate of cookies for the street.  Or if everyone is hanging and we're having a snack, then I bring out crackers and cream cheese or baby carrots for everyone or whatever.  It's not like I'm ALWAYS bogarting stuff only for the Yam, it's more like when there's scarcity involved.

I also get asking the parents if their kids have allergies to make sure you don't like, inadvertently kill someone.  But am I not supposed to EVER bring out anything to share if it has nuts or whatever in them?  Isn't it the kid's responsibility to know that the world can't kow-tow to your (probably) made up food intolerances?  I think asking is totally fine to make sure you don't kill someone, but I also know parents of kids with allergies where it's like, you're demonized for having a jar of Jiffy in your home, even if it never sees the light of day.

I'm balking because I feel like it should be my prerogative.  Further, I actually think it's hella rude for some kid to be all like, "Can I have one?" I never did that as a kid.  Like, NEVER, EVER, EVER would I ask a grown-up for something they were eating or distributing.  I always waited until I was offered.  Then again, I never, ever, ever would have screamed the first name of a grown-up as a form of greeting, which I routinely get on my street.  I think the neighbour kids and neighbour parents think it's wack that I make the Big Yam refer to the adults as "Mr. So and So" or "Miss So and So" and some of them have given me the whole, "Ugh, don't call me 'Mr.' - it reminds me of my dad" line.  But I feel like adults are not my kid's peers.  I also think that it's a fine line between referring to adults by their first name and then you end up being Justin Bieber meeting the PM in a pair of denim overalls.  You can't wonder why that happens when you make kids rule the roost, guys.

Last night's dinner - roasted potato, roasted asparagus, bagna cauda, fried haloumi and poached egg salad.

Tonight's dinner: clam linguine with a raw kale ceasar salad.

Fin.

Prime Time of Your Life

Yesterday the Dotytron went with me to Sunnybrook and got to experience first-hand how efficient and organized maternity wards in big teaching hospitals are.  For instance!  We waited the standard 2.5 hours to be seen by an OB.  The OB we did see was not my "regular" OB (who I've interacted with once out of the three times I've been there).  The OB who was covering apparently opted not to read my chart or my file and had no idea why I was there or what the protocols were for my care.  We saw him for about 3 minutes and then he left the room.  Also, he was thoughtful enough to neglect to update my "travelling record" (which is this file I'm supposed to carry around with me on the twerps, and which I've augmented myself to make sure is a complete record).  I had to ask for it to be updated at the reception desk.  If it wasn't for the unusually chatty ultrasound technician, who assured us the doppler on Twin B was fine this time, I wouldn't have known anything.

Anyway, I have one more visit with them in 3 weeks and that will hopefully be the last time I have to be there and I can just deliver with my other OB and my midwives at my local hospital.  I did pack a hospital bag and pull out all the stuff to sterilize and reorganize the kitchen cupboards for the bottle brigade.  We're just putting the finishing touches on the twerps room and then we'll have pretty much knocked through the list.  Phew - and yay!  

This past weekend was very, very lovely.  Bamiyan on Friday was just what the Afghani doctor ordered.  That rice!!!  It's insanely, insanely delicious.  One of the more satisfying Friday Night Takeout Night iterations in recent memory:

Saturday we went to a birthday party for a special lil' lady in Kdubs.  We drove Eddie Van Halen and blew through a million litres of gas, but it was a comfy ride.  It helped that the Dotytron's issue of his professional magazine had come in so we spent a good chunk of time reading the "blue pages" (aka US Magazine for teachers) and alternating between giggling at some of them and being horrified.  A funny one was about a teacher who lived next door to a student.  The (female) student was watching a movie with her boyfriend and heard a rustling.  She went to the window and saw a naked man running away from the house.  She called the police, who arrived, saw the naked man on the property, and the naked man bolted back to his house and was apprehended.  Naked man was the teacher!!!  He claimed he had been sitting in the hot tub and heard a disturbance and came to help but neglected to grab a towel or his trunks.  The police charges against him were dropped, but I think he was fired from the school board he taught in.  LOL!!!  

Then another teacher was accused of using the internet and Facebook to lure a young (elementary aged) student for sexual purposes.  GROSS.  He had his teaching certificate revoked, of course, but the criminal charges were like, 3 months of house arrest and 1 year probation.  SICK.  How the heck does that work?  On Saturday night we had dinner at JJ & S's house.  Discerning Coyote and his gf were there too and we had a long discussion about the death penalty.  The Dotytron was saying that he was fine with killing recidivist pederasts, whereas S was fine with paying their airfare to a desert island.  Everyone but the Dotytron was against the death penalty.  I thought that I could do it but the only way I could kill someone was to get into a car with them and then roll out when the carbon monoxide started to build up.  Ha.  I'm also against the death penalty though, for the record.

Following that discussion and on a recommendation from JJ, we watched Werner Herzog's Into the Abyss: A Tale of Life, A Tale of Death, which is about the aftermath of a 2001 triple homicide but more ostensibly is about the death penalty in general.  Herzog interviews the two convicted of the crime (one of whom is sentenced to the death penalty) as well as the victim's family, a prison chaplain, and other people associated with that particular case.  It's pretty harrowing and depressing and (for me) reinforces my opinion that we shouldn't have state sanctioned murder.  That being said, even though Herzog's fingerprints and editorial viewpoint are all over the film, the film does try to give a forum for those affected by the crime.  What came across above and beyond that for me, is what an extraordinary individual Werner Herzog is.  He is incredibly gifted.  He's truly operating on a higher mode of existence than you or I.  His ability to ask the right questions and to be so neutral towards his subjects is astounding.  He's just so zen.  He allows the world to wash over him in a very pure way.  It's a fascinating state to be in and it makes him an extraordinarily gifted documentary filmmaker.  He's so bada**.

On a lighter note, our dinner at JJ & S's was outstanding.  We had prime rib, I made roasted garlic mash, we had broccoli salad, yorkshire puddings, and a red wine reduction:

Then, because things always get that way when this crew hangs out...we ended up with three desserts (!).  Discerning Coyote and gf brought this bee sting cake (in German, Bienenstich) which is a yeasted cake split and filled with pastry cream and topped with a sticky almond honey topping.  Then JJ & S made this triple chocolate fudge cake.  And I made Thomas Keller Oreos.  BUCKTOWN.  

On Sunday we had Ehmdo over and I made those black bean and spelt burgers with an avocado ranch, that red pepper and feta dip, and my beloved Greek salad:

I also made a rhubarb crisp pie that was near-perfect.  No strawberries, just pure, unadulterated, lightly sweetened rhubarb.  So good.

Monday night's dinner was slow cooker chicken tinga tostadas with lettuce, guacamole, sour cream, and purchased salsa.  I need to concentrate the flavour of the chicken tingas some more.  It was a little weak.

Last night's dinner was buffalo shrimp sandwiches on buttered, toasted hamburger buns with more guacamole.  So tasty.

In other news, I somehow gained 7lbs between last week and this week.  RUH-ROH.  To be honest, I know EXACTLY how it happens.  I start off with an on-the-record day with My Fitness Pal.  Last night, I had a big piece of that triple chocolate fudge cake and a glass of milk (on the record).  Then things went sideways.  And by "sideways" I mean, I then ate a slice of rhubarb pie with an equal volume of whipped cream (off the record), and then I took my piping bag of leftover TKO filling and made these weird Frankenstein oreos by splotching the filling on top of graham crackers and Mr. Christie chocolate wafer cookies (totally off the record).  I concluded the evening by rolling around on the couch and crying about what a whale of a tale I was and trying to make the Dotytron the person responsible for my lack of self-control.  It was me in fine form, folks.

Definitely one of my prouder gestational moments.  Then, probably due to my excesses, I woke up at 2am and couldn't get back to sleep until 3:30am, whereupon I decided to apply myself to looking for a kimono robe on Etsy, because I've decided that it's important for me to have a kimono robe before giving birth - the idea being that I can swan around a hospital and the twerps will have easy access to my chesticular region for skin to skin and feeding, but that I can still feel kind of glam in a Grey Gardens-y kind of way (?)  My priorities are mad jacked up right now, sons.

I had to stay at work late tonight so I called home to see what the Dotytron was making for dinner.  Classic Dotytron dinner - hot dogs and KD. I can hear the Big Yam in the background, chirping something about dinner and then the Dotytron is like, "We're having hot dogs."  And the Big Yam goes, "But HOWWWWWW" and the Dotytron goes, "I don't know! They're in the pan!" So I asked him to make some for me and the Dotytron says, "I'll make you two hot dogs when you get home" and the Big Yam says, "I want five!" Which is all to say that hot dog consumption genetics run strong in my bloodline, apparently.

Fin.

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Rhubarb Crisp Pie

stolen from Martha Stewart

1 9" pastry crust in a pie plate

1 3/4 lbs rhubarb, trimmed and cut into 3/4" pieces

1 cup granulated sugar

2 T. cornstarch

pinch salt

Crisp Topping

3/4 c. all purpose flour

1/3 c. packed brown sugar

3 T. granulated sugar

1/2 t. salt

6 T. cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

- Have your pie crust in the pie plate chilling in the fridge or freezer

- Preheat oven to 400F

- Stir together all the dry ingredients for the crisp topping.  Rub the butter pieces into the dry ingredients until it's all broken up into small pea-sized lumps.  Set aside

- Toss together the rhubarb, sugar, cornstarch and salt in a bowl.  Pile into pie crust.  Top with crisp topping.

- Put the pie crust on parchment lined sheet pan, put in the oven.  Immediately reduce oven temperature to 375F and bake until topping is browned and crust is golden, about 1-1 1/2 hours.

- Let cool and serve warm with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.

No, I won't.

Newest Big Yam phrase: "Will you pay me the dollars, please?" - said at random moments (e.g. last night during the tail end of dinner or during play).  I find it so funny when I'm elsewhere in the house and I can hear the Dotytron say, "No! I will not pay you the dollars!!!"  I don't really know where he got it from, but it's pretty funny, and at least he asks nicely.

The whole asking nicely thing is a bit of an issue right now.  We've stressed the asking nicely (repeating the request sans whining, saying please and thank you) thing a lot, but now he thinks that when we say no, it's because he didn't ask nicely enough.  So he'll say stuff like, "I want to ask nicely now!" and get all sad and cryface about it.  Now we have to explain that even though we really appreciate that he asked nicely, sometimes, he still doesn't get the thing he wanted.  It's a bitter pill for him to swallow.

This Tumblr called Reasons My Son is Crying (which has gone viral, justifiably) encapsulates some of the madness that is parenting.

Another Big Yam thing: for the last month or so, he'll randomly want us all to hold hands in a circle, and then pump our arms up and down while we say, "Gracias, thank you, gracias, thank you" again and again.  On Sunday morning, I was thanking him and his Baba for making a delicious waffles and sausage breakfast and I got all "teachable moment" and was like, "We should also thank the farmers who harvested the grain, and the pigs who gave us their meat for sausage, and the non-unionized slaughterhouse workers for processing the pork into sausage..." and the Big Yam looked at me for one long, grave moment and then stretched out his hands to me and the Dotytron for a round of "Gracias, thank you."  It was so funny!  It might be our new family way of saying grace.

I've been dealing with mad twerps-related dramas lately.  Basically, I was supposed to have been referred to the multiples clinic at Sunnybrook at about the 20 week mark so they could monitor me.  Then, assuming everything was fine, they would release me back to the shared care of my midwife and OB once I reached the 32 week mark.  Through a series of giant clusters, mostly related to the OBs at Sunnybrook balking that a midwife is in any way involved in my care, I still haven't been to see them yet.

When I last saw my regular OB, she was all like, "So have you been to Sunnybrook yet?" and I'm like, "Uhhh, noooooo...I thought your office was handling this," and she's all like, "You NEED to see the multiples clinic, [insert comment about how the twerps are as high risk as they come]"  Here's the thing: getting in at Sunnybrook is COMPLETELY out of my control!  At first, my midwife sent in the referral, which got rejected.  Then my OB sent in the referral, and it also got rejected (because they didn't like her sharing care with the midwife).  There's weird midwifery politics going on.

There are a few factors at work here.  1) Say I went into labour tomorrow *knocks wood a billion times*, I would just have the Dotytron take me to Sunnybrook immediately, so that's a moot point.  2) Assuming I go to term and everything is all as normal as possible with the twerps, as soon as I step foot into my regular hospital, it's a transfer of care to the OB anyway.  My midwife is just around to like, catch the baby (if the OB gives the go ahead) and provide labour support and then help me with the post-natal care (home visits and the like), so that's a moot point.  OBs don't do labour support OR post-natal care.  My type of twins means that I HAVE to be under the clinical care of an OB during delivery.  I mean, I can do what I want technically.  Like, if I wanted to be all guerilla crazy-cray about things and do a homebirth, I could do that, solo, but there's no way my midwife would touch that legal firestorm-waiting-to-happen with a 10 foot pole.

Anyway, while I've been waiting in limbo, I've decided to do what I can do, which is research the f**k out of my type of twin pregnancy.  I went on PubMed and downloaded a million articles on ultrasounds and twin pregnancies and I've been reading about twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome.  It's pretty grim, guys.  Level 5 TTTS is death (I know I'm no doctor or anything, but I feel like if level 5 is fetal death, then you don't really need a level 5, do you?  Shouldn't it only go up to 4?)  Levels 3 and 4 are pretty grim, with a high rate of fetal death of one of the twins and neurological and cardiac defects in the surviving twin.  Level 1 is okay, and just requires a tonne of monitoring.  There are two kinds of TTTS, chronic, and acute.  Chronic can pop up at any time and either hold steady or progress.  Acute happens like, all of a sudden (during labour or whatever).  Statistics on TTTS occurrence for monochorionic diamniotic pregnancies (which is what I have) range anywhere from 10-15% up to 20-30%.  Again, there's nothing I can do about it.  It either happens or it doesn't.

The only way to stay on top of it is through ultrasound monitoring followed by some kind of doppler if level 1 presents itself.  Suffice to say: all this reading made me feel like a s**t person and a s**t parent.  Like, way to NOT KNOW ANYTHING, LAGERFELD.  Here I've been more concerned about my Land of Nod order coming in on time and getting the Big Yam's room set up and there's a risk of brain damage and heart problems?  I'M THE WORST.  More importantly, the lack of information has meant that I haven't been able to adequately advocate for myself during this whole process of trying to get to Sunnybrook.  I should be getting ultrasounds every 2 weeks if level 1 TTTS presents itself, otherwise, I should be managed conservatively.  My last ultrasound was at 20 weeks.  I'm getting one this week, which is week 25.  I've consoled myself that I've only technically missed one ultrasound, then.  Also, my last ultrasound was perfectly normal ("grossly normal," even).  So there wasn't a risk of TTTS at the last one.

The latest update is that based on my ultrasound this week, we'll decide what to do from there.  My OB apparently tried to refer me AGAIN to the multiples clinic this week (Sunnybrook rejected me again).  Basically my OB is at the point where she's like, "Uhhh, do we even have to bother with the multiples clinic?"
Stage 1 TTTS is determined through the presence of oligo-polyhydramnios (where the amniotic fluid index in one sac is 5cm or less [donor twin] and greater than 24cm in the other sac [recipient twin]).  If this ultrasound shows that I'm developing stage 1 or am at stage 1, then I think I'll end up at Sunnybrook.    BLARGH.  So much to think about.  If this ultrasound comes back normal, then I'll get ultrasounds every 3 weeks to monitor for the development of TTTS, until such time as I hit twins term, which is around 32 weeks (and I'll probably be getting weekly ultrasounds at that point, to watch for intrauterine growth restriction).

The OTHER complicating factor is that there's a chance that my twins aren't identical at all.  The easiest way to determine chorionicity of twins is with an ultrasound before 8 weeks.  I had my first ultrasound at 12 weeks, when it is possible that two eggs implanted and their placentas just fused together, giving the appearance of one.  There's also this thing called the twin peak sign, which indicates dichorionicity, but that also has to be picked up at a certain time.  Otherwise, we wait to until the twerps come out and inspect the placenta, or, if we REALLY cared about whether they were identical or fraternal, we could send away for genetic testing, at a cost.  Frankly, I don't care.  I just want healthy me, healthy twerps.  The thing is though, all this fretting about the potential for TTTS could all be for naught (fraternal twins can't develop TTTS).

Well, all this reading has served to simultaneously make me more freaked out AND feel better because I am now armed with knowledge and a vocabulary.  Despite what a mess this all is, I am feeling better knowing that I know more.

Tuesday night we had patty melts for dinner.  Ummmm...patty melts are LIFE.  It's basically a hamburger/grilled cheese mash-up.  The most traditional form of a patty melt is a hamburger, with caramelized onions, rye bread, and Swiss cheese.  Our rendition was a 6oz all ground-beef patty (that the Dotytron cooked PERFECTLY - look at how rosy and juicy it is inside!) that we pan-fried in butter, between slices of challah (also buttered and griddled) and aged cheddar cheese.  We instantly regretted not making 2lbs of ground beef's worth.  It is everything you want it to be - gooey, juicy, crispy, buttery.

Broiled kalbi with jap chae (with spinach, mushrooms, and carrot) on Wednesday.

Last night's dinner was spinach & artichoke melts (basically, a souped-up spinach artichoke dip sandwiched between thick-cut bread and grilled), with more dilled cucumber salad.  

I've also been working hard on this orange poppyseed cake I made with Cara Cara oranges which are THE BEST ORANGES IN THE FREE WORLD.  They're like a super-sweet cross between blood oranges and pedestrian navels.  Check it.

Fin.

Blasé

Things to never tell a hypochondriac (if you're an OB): "Your pregnancy is as high risk as they get."  Wait - what?  Thus far, my principle concerns have been related to the minivan, whether my Land of Nod order will come in time to set up the Big Yam's new room, and the fact that I look like I'm 7 months pregnant (from the front only!!!).  I have also had concerns that the global food supply is insufficient for my current needs (where, like a newborn, I'm ravenously hungry every hour on the hour) and at AYCE sushi on Saturday with my family, THEY  were concerned that I was going to Hulk-smash the f**k out of the place when our food didn't materialize on the table immediately and when our salmon sushi order was mistakenly placed as 2 pieces instead of two orders.

Which is all to say, that even though my OB is really nice and laid-back, I guess I wasn't taking the whole monochorionic-diamniotic dimension of the twerps seriously enough.  The major issue is the Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome, which happens in 30% of my type of pregnancy AND if severe and left untreated has a 60-100% morbidity rate (*knocks on wood a billion, trillion times*)  There's the issue of them sharing a placenta, and the placenta giving out.  As an aside: how crazy are placentas??? Your body like, GROWS a new organ that has a shelf life.  Then there's the risk of my cervix thinning too much and the twerps falling out of my body (or something).  Ugh.  It was definitely a bit of a wake-up call.  I guess I've been pretty blasé so far and worried about the wrong things.

I don't think there's anything I can do about it though, so there's that.  I should start seeing the multiples clinic soon and they have crazy state-of-the-art ultrasounds to make sure things are copacetic in there.  In the meantime I'll continue to preoccupy myself with the weird statistical anomaly concerns that I generally bring to the table (prolapsed cord, DIC).  Living with a midwife I tells ya - it will mess you up good.

The other thing is that I'll have to give birth in a full operating room, which is a step up from the hospital room I was in last time.  There'll be a tonne of people around.  If all goes well the OB will let the midwife deliver the first baby (provided twerp A is presenting head down) and then usually steps in for twerp B.  She said that she usually recommends an epidural, which gave me pause.  I didn't have one the first time and I'm more freaked out by that than what I remember of labour and delivery.  Induced labours with oxytocin tend to be more intense and painful than non-induced labours and since I rode out the first one okay, then I feel like I can handle it.  The recommendation for the epidural is because if twerp B is breach, then the OB has to basically fist me and pull the baby out by its' feet.  DRAMAS!  I dunno...I still am way more freaked out by the epidural (who wants a needle in their spine?!) than the whole fisting thing.  Like, after pushing a baby out, can you even feel a hand going in?  I checked my OB's hands (although she might not be there for the birth), and they're pretty delicate.  Obviously, she can't force me to do anything, but that was her recommendation.  I'll think about it (in between calculating how many Oreos I'm going to eat tonight dunked in milk, and how many I'm going to eat straight-up).

So on to the good news: we had a lovely weekend around here.  We were up in Markham on Friday evening and all of Saturday hanging with my sis and the niece and nephews and eating delicious Chinese food at Congee Queen, and AYCE sushi, and an awesome banquet dinner for my mum's birthday Saturday night. So much good food!  I made my mum a tres leches cake which went over about as well as anything I've ever made for her, which is high praise indeed as she tends to be hyper-critical.

One of my favourite moments from the weekend was pulling out an old piano book and learning a Bach minuet with the Dotytron.  We did two right hands (me treble clef and him bass clef part).  It was SO. MUCH. FUN.  Yes, we are giant nerdlingers.  You would have overheard us saying stuff like: "This is really pretty," "I know right?  I can't wait to hear it come together,"  "It's Bach - he makes statues cry," and we practised and practised until we got it down and it was SO REWARDING.  It's made me so hungry for a piano I can't even tell you.  I want one, like yesterday.  Playing a piano is like playing golf - each time you have a chance to get it perfect.  I am totally the kind of personality to get off on that kind of thing.

Sunday was a lazy day of laundry, hanging outside with the neighbourhood kidlets, yoga, and making Sunday supper.  I made us spinach and ricotta stuffed shells (the filling was extra and frozen, as was the sauce, so this was relatively painless to put together), an arugula salad with lemon juice and grated parm, and toasted Ace bakery olive bread, buttered.  So good.

Tonight for dinner I made us a mulligatawny soup with chunks of sweet potato and chicken breast, that we had topped with a squeeze of lime, some yogurt, and toasted coconut.  The Dotytron and the Big Yam bought samosas to go with.

Fin.

Where oh where

has my Boobla gone?

I actually know his whereabouts - my amazing mum has taken him for two days and he is staying up in the 'burbs with her and Big D.  My sis is coming up with her brood of hooligans Thursday night and she's going to watch the Big Yam up in the 'burbs on Friday.  Yam was super-stoked.  We were talking about it on Monday evening and he was all like, "I'm going to have a bath with Little Big Cuz, and Little Ze, and Miss Ramona..." all matter-of-fact and excited.  Kids love group baths.  Real talk.

This is the longest stretch that we've ever been without the Boobla and when we got back home after dropping him off we were already all like, "Aww, the house feels so weird without him" (it's a 20 minute drive from Markham to our house).

He's just been so amazing lately.  Once we weaned him off the iPad (he developed an addiction during our vacation), he's just been so sweet.  We lie in our bed with him in the morning and before his bedtime and read stories and he asks to be cozy and for cuddles and for tickles.  He's really chilled out on the b***h slapping, which has been nice and he's cooled it a bit on the whining.  He doesn't eat a tonne at dinner but he's not throwing his food on the floor any more.  All of this is a healthy reminder to me that what they say about these challenging stages of parenting are true: it will pass.  It does.  It really does.  I have a notoriously low threshold for inappropriate kid behaviour and so I tend to go straight to: "he's a sociopath" and it's a good reminder for me that you just have to ride it out a couple of months and you have a totally new kid on your hands.

There is a lot of nature and a lot of nurture in there.  You can't convince me that so many things aren't culturally dependent.  This whole, "boys will be boys" malarkey is nonsense (so far).  Little Big Cuz loves light sabre battles and pretending to be Iron Man and Hulk-smashing things left, right, and centre.  He has older siblings and they watch action-y cartoons and stuff, so that's what he's around and knows.  By comparison, the Big Yam doesn't even know how to hold to a toy Nerf gun.  He holds the one at my parents' house in both hands (like the way you would hold a pita sandwich) and points it up at the sky.  Last night when we were hanging out before leaving he was doing that and kept asking for us to play with him with it.  We were like, "what do you want us to do?" and he had no idea - just kept pointing it at the ceiling.  I took him to the drop in centre on Tuesday and there was this slightly older kid just ahead of us walking the same way who was all like, "I'm a pirate!  Grrr!" and waving a plastic spoon like a sword at us and being all rambunctious and pirate-y about life.  The Big Yam like, never does that.  Which is good.  I can't handle that level of aggression.  Like seriously kid, CALM DOWN.  Now look, I'm saying this and I bet you one of the twerps is going to be all Randy Macho Man Savage and basically bite my ear off as soon as he comes screaming into this world.

Our family already has enough aggression, courtesy of me.  The other night, I was musing about how much I hate Justin Timberlake when his stupid song "Mirrors" came on in the car.  The Dotytron is all like, "You feel the same way about him as I feel about Kanye" at which point I LOST MY EVER-LOVIN' MIND and started screaming like a banshee.  I am a known Kanye apologist, but here's the thing.  Kanye is a sick producer.  Also, the worst thing people can accuse Kanye of is being a bit of a clueless megalomaniac (but that's everyone!) and of being "mean" to Taylor Swift and saying that Beyoncé's video was better (which is TRUE).  Also, Kanye West came out and said that George Bush hates black people, which is amazing.  He's just so unguarded.  Whereas Justin Timberlake is under the delusion that he's so funny, is super smug, makes boring music, AND had a video played at his wedding that made fun of homeless people.  I hate him so much.

When we dropped off the Big Yam on Tuesday we took my mum for dinner at Restoran Malaysia, this awesome, awesome Malaysian restaurant in Richmond Hill.  It is so so so good.  They only do halal meat and don't serve alcohol but it's the best Malaysian food I've had outside of Hong Kong.

We started with the appetizer platter: balacan fish patties, spring rolls, beef and chicken satay, cucumber and a peanut and sweet chili dipping sauce.

Our mains: green curry chicken (incendiary), red curry beef (really spicy), roti for dipping, and a Singapore laksa.  Not pictured: this seafood stirfry rice noodle dish with a thick egg sauce.

Technically, the food above was more than enough for the 3 of us and the Yam, but then I panic-ordered an extra dish (as is my wont).  That laksa was sooo good.  The Dotytron thought it was too fishy, but I think he's crazy.  A fiery coconut rich broth with lemongrass, ginger and yes, fish/shrimp paste notes surrounding slices of fish cake and tofu and chewy yellow noodles, it was so comforting on a cold day and the perfect amount of lip-tingling heat.  My other favorite dish was the rice noodle stir-fry.  I love fat rice noodles and these were FAT.  Like, 1" thick, with pieces of gailan and mushroom, squid and shrimp all bound in a lovely rich, thick, eggy sauce.  So tasty.  The Big Yam had one bite of the beef curry and his face crumpled in distress and he said it was "Hot!!!" so we gave him water.  Did it stop him from eating more?  No.  He is the original Spice Girl.  I think he just needed to get used to the level of heat.  I hope the twerps turn out to be Spice Girls too.

Recently it has come to my attention that there isn't enough food in the world for me.  This is distressing on multiple levels.  I am hungry all the time.  ALL THE TIME.  Like a newborn, I'm hungry every two hours.  You would think that I would be concerned at the fact that I'm gaining over a pound a week at this point and I still have nineteen weeks to go, but I am not. My new favorite pastime?  Other than talking about my food cravings to my willing and enabling cohort, Dr. Rei?  My new favorite pastime is walking away from the Dotytron and asking if it looks like I'm pregnant from behind.  For some reason, this is VERY important to me.  You have to pick your battles, I guess?  

For some reason, I clicked on these photos of Gisele, with her 3 month old daughter, rocking the same carrier I have and a teeny tiny bikini:

For the record: that's EXACTLY what I look like 3 months post partum.  

We are celebrating my mum's birthday and my little bro's belated birthday this weekend up in the 'burbs with the family.  Tomorrow is my first visit with my OB and then I have a massage booked with my RMT.  Bring the pain.  Otherwise, it's a low-key weekend.  Back to Chinese school after a three week hiatus (two weeks of which were break) and we're hosting the Roomie on Sunday for brunch and otherwise just chilling out.

Fin.

Eddie VAN Halen...

Guys, we've had Eddie VAN Halen for less than a week and already I feel like my life without Eddie VAN Halen was a pale shadow.  How did we live so long without a minivan?  This thing is, in a word, awesome.  No doubt.  On Friday I took one for the team and drove it to Costco and IKEA and it was so effortless!  I could have fit the entire inventory of both stores in there with room to spare!  Also, driving a Honda after driving the Captain - you can't even compare.  Oh, so THAT'S what it's like when brakes and gas are like, responsive to your touch.  LOL!

This past weekend was jam-packed, but a good mix of some leisure time, some chores time, some family time, and some friend visiting time.  It was pretty balanced.  

On Friday night we had our street Ladies' night, which heralded the return of El Sol's tacos to my belly.  As you may or may not remember, we were banned from El Sol  5 years ago.  Even though boycotting El Sol was the right thing to do, there hasn't been a minute that's gone by where I haven't missed those tasty, tasty tacos.  I've had a lot of Toronto tacos by this point.  El Sol's are totally different and totally delicious from the fare you get elsewhere.  And their beans and rice are top notch.  Anyway, the ladies all went to a neighbour's house and we had El Sol takeout and someone made a pavlova and I made tres leches and it was a delicious evening.

The Dotytron, on the other hand...well, let's just say that in terms of gender parity in the Dotytron-Lagefeld household, he was a champ.  Two of the ladies' partner's were otherwise occupied so I volunteered the Dotytron to have two little girls (aged 4 and 3) over for a movie night at our house.  It turned into a pajama party, and when I came home at around 10pm, the Dotytron was like, pale.  LOL!  The Big Yam was thrilled to have his friends over, the girls were all over-stimulated, and the Dotytron didn't pace the evening well.  What was supposed to be a quiet, cozy night of movies on the couch ended up being a hot dog and Kraft Dinner/popcorn/cupcakes/running up and down the stairs every 20 minutes-fuelled bacchanalia.  He had a bit of a rough time and I owe him bigtime for being such a trooper.  We've also earned neighbourhood points though, so the next time we get to dump our kids off at someone else's house on a Friday night for a movie night.  

Saturday we hit up the Farmer's Market at the Brickworks for our beloved crepes and some waffles and a walk around looking at fishes in the pond and snails and blowing dandelions:

Then we went to my friend G's house and she hosted this cute little playdate for all the ladies crew at work with the partners and the kids.  So cute:

I started working with these girls 6 years ago - big changes in the intervening years!  Look at what we've done!  Also, look at that sweet blue-eyed baby amidst that pile of mixies!

In other news - I have EXPLODED.  No joke.  I look like I have a beach ball welded to my gut.  It's very alarming:

I feel like this dress doesn't even give the proper picture of my true girth.

Last time I saw my regular OB she said that if I make it to 37 weeks, they'll induce me then.  So that's around 1st or 2nd week of July.  I just hit 30 weeks on Sunday so around 7 more weeks to go.  EEKS!!!  STRESSBALLING!  I need to figure out what to pack in the hospital bag!  I have to start sterilizing stuff!  I have to get the rest of the gear on our list!  

I had an appointment at Sunnybrook on Tuesday and one of the twerps is starting to be weird!!!  There was evidence that he was shunting blood preferentially to the brain.  That's usually something that babies do when there are Intrauterine Growth Restriction (IUGR) issues or TTTS.  It's called the "brain-sparing" effect and basically the baby is like, "well, if I'm not getting enough, what am I going to prioritize?" and you have babies who have teeny tiny shrunken bodies and regular sized heads (if left unchecked).  Everything else checked out normal, so the report was like, "difficult to interpret given normal growing fetus" but that means I have to go back next week for another ultrasound instead of in two weeks.  NOT COOL, TWERP B, NOT COOL.  STOP BEING WEIRD IN THERE!  Even though the doctor told me not to worry (in a very brusque, uninformative fashion), I was pretty upset and left a teary message on the Dotytron's phone.  Then I sent an update email to the main interested parties (grandmothers).  My mom's response was pretty reassuring, along the lines of now that we have such sophisticated diagnostic tools, it just gives us more to worry about for no reason.  Momma D's response to the email?  "I'm eating that leftover pasta you gave me for lunch.  I love the lemon flavour.  What is it?"  LOL!!!  Pretty funny, and reminiscent of the whole, premature labour of the Big Yam/roasting pan debacle that happened when the Big Yam was born.  "I know you're having you're baby 4 weeks early and it's caught everyone by surprise...but it's still cool if you loan us your roasting pan for our turkey, right?"  

Anyway, I'm trying not to stress but it's annoying that OBs are like, the worst.  I had to call the Roomie to get the lowdown on what the results actually meant and I'm seeing my midwife tomorrow.  It's called BEDSIDE MANNER, OBs!  Learn a little something!  It's called INFORMED CHOICE!  Jeez.  

The way the Roomie explained it is that it sounds like of the 9 things they look for to assess how they're doing in there, one thing with Twerp B was off.  So they want me to come back in a week to see a) give them more time in my belly; and b) then they'll see whether next week that one thing has either resolved itself, or now, 3 things are off and they have to devise some kind of plan.

The Big Yam has been hilarious lately.  Last week he had this weird, mysterious fever for two days, with no other symptoms of sickness.  Day 1 he came back from J's and was pretty miserable - lots of whining and crying and wanting hugs.  At one point, while the Dotytron was in the process of making our weeknight dinner, the Big Yam rallied enough to point a finger at him, and say, apropos of nothing, "And remember, Baba, never give up!"  It was pretty awesome.  As far as words of encouragement from a 2 year old go, that was definitely one of the highlights.  

This week has been crazy busy and this weekend is shaping up to also be bucksauce (as per usual).  It was nice last weekend to catch up with friends and eat ice cream in the park with our buds, B & G, and feel like we did our familial duty by seeing my mum and Momma D.  

We've been killing it on the food fronts lately:

April Bloomfield's smashed chicken livers (iron intake say what!) on garlic-rubbed toast with a big-a** Greek Salad.  I love me a crunchy, cold, Greek salad when the weather is hot.

Sunday breakkie - nduja scrambled eggs with cheddar and baby arugula

Dinner with my mum: roasted leg of lamb (cooked pretty bang-on), roasted potatoes, minted peas, and roasted asparagus with bagna cauda

The orange creamsicle tart from the Baked cookbook.  It's been a while since I've made it (recipe reproduced here) that I had forgotten that the curd is very, very loose, even after a full day in the fridge.  Next time, I'm either going to up the amount of gelatin to set the curd, or do what I did this time, which is give it a good 2 hours in the freezer prior to serving.  You could also just store it in the freezer and pull it out and hour or two before you plan on serving it - it tastes best when it's icy cold and the freezer time helps to set the filling.  It really does taste like an orange creamsicle in tart form.

Dinner with Momma D: I made that spring pasta I do - in this case, farfalle with ramps, peas, mint, lemon and crème frâiche, and seared scallops.

A rosemary, pear, and cambozola tart.  Usually I avoid cambozola like the plague (it's so common!), but in this application, as on top of the steak sandwiches from last week, it works really well.

Sunday morning I spent making a million pounds of empanada filling (my own recipe - ground beef, spices, olives, hard boiled egg, chopped roasted peppers) to be stuck inside Martha Stewart's cream cheese empanada dough (with whole wheat flour subbed in).  I froze them and then they got an egg wash before being baked.  They were pretty darned tasty and worth all the work in the end.  Now we also have extras for a quick weeknight meal when the twerps arrive.  Even with doubling the dough,  I still have enough filling left over to freeze and use in the future.

Gluten free peanut butter and nutella sea salt cookies.  I'm bringing these to our friends' M & M's house tonight.  So easy!  I'll post the recipe below.

Fin.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Gluten Free Peanut Butter Cookies (with Nutella and Sea Salt)

makes around 24, 2" cookies

1 c. creamy or chunky (as long as it's not the natural stuff) peanut butter

1 egg

1 cup of sugar

1 t. baking soda

Nutella

sea salt

- preheat oven to 350F

- either beat the ingredients together vigorously by hand, or use a hand mixer like I did.  This is not a recipe that requires the brawn of a stand mixer.

- for the dough into tablespoon sized balls

- place on a lined baking sheet and bake for about 10 minutes, or until the cookies flatten out and aren't glossy any more.  

- take the tray out and using the back of a measuring spoon, make a little indent in the centre of each cookie.  Fill the indent with about a 1/4-1/2 tsp. of Nutella and then bake for an additional 2 minutes.  

- sprinkle the cookies with sea salt and let cool on the trays.  

Asplode

I promise to not post excessively about gestating the twerps, but let me just say this: I HAVE EXPLODED.  I AM HUGE.  Huge!  I don't know what happened, but somehow, I went from barely showing to being as big as I was when I was 7 months pregnant.  It would be somewhat alarming, if I had room in my brain for things other than pasta carbonara and roasted leg of lamb.  Fortunately, keeping hunger headaches at bay by constant grilled cheese sandwich consumption is relegating anxieties about my increasingly Barbapapa-esque likeness to the distant ether.

We had a fairly calm weekend.  I had ladies night with the ladies on my street and we went to Lalibela for Ethiopian.  I don't dislike Ethiopian food, but I'm not the biggest fan of it either.  I absolutely loathe that they serve the injera lukewarm or outright cold.  It's not enjoyable to scoop up warm vegetables and meat with stone-cold bread.  It was overall a pretty meh experience, foodwise, but a wonderful experience, lady-neighbour bonding-wise.

We (and by "we" I mean "I") made dinner for Momma D last night which served the simultaneous goal of facilitating a visit AND allowing us to piggyback her cable so that we could watch the Oscar's red carpet. I made us roasted leg of lamb (marinated for a day and a half in rosemary, oregano, thyme, garlic, lemon zest, syrah, and olive oil), roasted tatties, a broccoflower mash, and a brussels sprouts and almond salad.

I also made us Momofuku milk bar chocolate cookies which we ate with little dishes of Tahitian vanilla bean ice cream from Ed's.  Delicious!

We sold our stroller on the weekend.  We bought it in 2010 (it's a 2009 model) from some lady who had it for a few months and kept it in pristine condition.  I think we bought it for $540 (she paid $909).  I sold it for   $475, which means that we basically paid $70 to rent a $900 stroller for 3 years.  Pretty solid ROI, if I do say so myself.  Every time I sell something on Kijiji or Craigslist, after the transaction, the Dotytron and I always turn to each other and say, "easy money" like John Connor in Terminator 2.  I always feel like I got away with something.  It's weird, I know.

We also test drove our next one.  The thing is a tank.  There's no way around it when you're going for a tandem double.  It's the City Select Baby Jogger.  It comes with a single seat as a base but then you can buy the second seat and adapter to turn it into a double.  I've seen quite a few people with twins with this stroller and I asked them about it.  It's also got some great features - better than the Uppababy in some cases.  You can lock the wheels so that they don't pivot, the brake is really smooth and accessible, and unlike a lot of the other doubles, you can buy two car seat adapters so you can use it when the bambinos are very wee.  The seats are also super-configurable.  They can face each other or you or any combination thereof.  The Dotytron is gunning for us to buy this one new with a warranty, since this will likely (haha, j/k, MOST DEFINITELY) be the last stroller we'll ever buy.  That being said, we'll probably also get a lightweight umbrella type stroller too, for travelling.

In other news: I feel like I've read A LOT lately.  So many books!  Here's a recap.

Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl is beach reading for winter - immensely readable and disposable, but with a dark undertone.  There were elements I wasn't a huge fan of: namely, the ending, but if I take a step back and don't get so emotional about it, I get what Flynn's overall goal was.  This is a book told from the alternating points of view of a ne'er-do-well overgrown child of a husband, and his game, saintly wife.  Wife goes missing and the chief suspect in her murder is the husband.  What unfolds is a character study of a marriage that has ambitions towards a commentary on our true-crime/Nancy Grace obsessed culture but is at its best when it sticks to being a compulsively breezy novel about the ultimate unhealthy codependent relationship.

While the latest Jonathan Tropper book didn't ascend to quite the same heights as This is Where I Leave You, it was still a pretty good read about yet another sad sack man who doesn't have his life together.  The tone of this one was still comic, but veered a bit more towards the melancholy (the protagonist, Silver, is dying, so yeah, I guess there's that).  I like Tropper's balance between humor and sadness, and I also like that he delves into the male psyche within the framework of the sadsack loser, which is a perspective you don't get all that often.

I was looking for a few quick reads and wanted to get some some of the YA that's being turned into movies off my list (gotta stay ahead of the zeitgeist, don't ya know).  I had read the first book in Ally Condie's Matched series a while ago (review here) and at the time, wasn't so taken with it that I wanted to continue.  It's okay, as far as near-future dystopian YA goes.  All the books kind of drag - there's a lack of action (it's like, diametrically opposed to The Hunger Games in that regard), and it centres the story around a kind of milque-toast heroine who is supposed to be relateable because she is inwardly steely though outwardly compliant and confused (as most teenagers are) and that steeliness has to be discovered over time.  For a book where there's an entire overthrow of the ruling system, the pacing is plodding at best.  Lots of internal here, not a lot of external.  The world hasn't really been well-conceptualized.  I might be experiencing anti-Mormon bias because I found out that the author went to Brigham Young University, which to me, based on my admittedly limited understanding is a fake university that churns out Mormons and probably doesn't teach evolution (or offer a science curricula).  I keep looking for Mormon under/overtones.

This is my Academic Book Club's next pick.  It is SERIOUS fiction (of the National Book Award-winning ilk) but because it is told from the perspective of a 13 year old boy, it avoided some of the trappings of high falutin' literary novels that I am lately not so into.  The story is about the brutal rape of the boy's mother.  The family is Native American and they live on a reservation in North Dakota.  The events take place in the early 1980s.  This is expertly written fiction.  I read up on Erdich and she is (rightfully, I would say from my limited exposure) considered a forebearer of the Native American Renaissance movement in American arts.  This book deftly weaves together politics, family relationships, mystery, and the coming-of-age of a boy.  It's like Stand By Me but better.  What I loved about this novel is that it again forced me to confront the gaping lacuna of my knowledge of reservation life and the experiences of Native Americans.  It is unflinching in its portrayal of the realities of life but also provides a historical, social, and legal context that underpins these realities.  The boy's father is a tribal judge with shades of Atticus Finch.  One particular moment in the book, when the father uses a food metaphor to describe the tenuous, rotten foundations of reservation law, lingers with me still.  It was punishingly good fiction.  Fiction that makes literary fiction less unappealing to a low-brow reader like myself.  

After the brutal violence of The Round House, I needed a break.  So I turned to Where'd You Go, Bernadette? which was everything I wanted and needed it to be: funny, acerbic, entertaining, and a breeze.  Bee is a gifted, precocious teen with an eccentric mum and a Microsoft whiz of a dad, going to a private school in Seattle.  Through email exchanges between characters interspersed with Bee's own musings, you get this cutting look at liberal, wealthy west-coast-isms and the times we live in, wrapped around the story of the sudden disappearance of Bee's mother, Bernadette.  It sends up all kinds of things that I love to see sent up: helicopter parents, the privileged, the west coast and its polar-fleece-swathed-elitism-masquerading-as-populism, gifted kids.  Bernadette is my kind of mum.  Pettiness born out of thwarted creativity, dismissive of small-minded people, eccentric, and a passionate champion of her daughter.  This was a fantastic novel.

The last few nights' dinners have been good, but I'm too busy shovelling food into my gaping maw to take photos.

Monday we had a seafood chowder with croutons (I love love love croutons in a chowder) and salad.  Last night we had cheese tortellini tossed with pesto and blanched broccoli and more salad.  

Fin.