OUCH!

I broke my toe Tuesday.

Happy Birthday to me - while jumping up from a nap to answer the doorbell, I slammed my left pinky toe into the corner of the chinchilla cage. My poor pinky toe was already upset with me - and sporting a huge blister, which popped when my toe and the chin cage met.
Let me say folks, toe wounds really, really hurt. Three days later I'm finally limping less and I must say I think the blister which ended up getting infected was/is a bigger problem than the break.

I sensed that my coach was amused from the tone of his email. Seriously, I don't blame him and if he had a good laugh, well he's in good company. Everyone I have told this tale of woe has had a side splitting laugh. I'm chalking that up to my good deed for the day(s). I gave everyone a laugh.
I've only gotten cardio in if limping has become a recognized sport. The strangest part is that I'm upset at having missed four days of quality gym time.

I remember a time when a four day gym break would have been a welcome relief. I'm wondering where along the lines this change happened? I can also say, I haven't been sleeping well at all - despite the Tylenol PM. I miss the daily sweat and it's true, it really does a) get addicting and b) affect more than your waist.

I am cleared by my Doctor, yes, I went to a Doctor over this. I got slightly freaked while checking self-treatment methods online when I read about a 54 year old man in the UK who was killed by an infected blister. He ended up with blood poisoning and had a heart attack. So I went to a Podiatrist, who complimented the Alpha Buck on his ability to tape a broken toe (he's a martial artist and has gnarly looking hobbit feet) and his assessment that neosporin and a band aid would be fine for the blister. I coughed up a $30 copay (a Podiatrist is a specialist and therefore twice the copay price of a non-specialist) to have my husband complimented, hear that advil would be fine for the pain (uh, NO, NOT REALLY STILL HURTS) and that I could return to the gym next in a week. Dr. Funnybone even cracked himself up making a joke about how a broken toe will ensure my squat form is proper since I will have no choice but to push through the heels - and stick to the bike for cardio for a while. Like I said, giving everyone around me a good laugh seems to be my random act of kindess for a while.

Vanilla

Two weeks ago I was at my mother's house flipping through an issue of Gourmet Magazine.

I stumble across a recipe for a fancy mint chocolate chip ice cream dessert and think about my husband who enjoys a good bowl of mint chip. Now, as previously stated, I'm new to wifedom and working hard to excel at the job (see, I'm not so new I don't realize it's a job). Two seconds later I hear myself asking Mom if I can borrow her ice cream machine and two-point-five seconds later I'm getting a lesson in the finer points of using said ice cream machine.

I skip off happily home, stopping at my local Trader Joe's for heavy cream, whole milk, fresh mint and some good chocolate chips. My game plan is to follow the recipe for the ice cream and add chocolate chips instead of making a chocolate covered terrine. The first obstacle shows itself right in TJ's - no fresh mint. I hit no less than six grocery/specialty/gourmet shops (the joy of the suburbs) between TJ's and home, still no mint. It would be 5 days until mint was located. Odd, since I never have trouble finding fresh mint. I should have paid attention to my intuition, but glossed over it. I'm an excellent wife and I was making my husband mint chip ice cream.

On day 5, having located the mint, I decide to improve on the recipe, I steep the mint in the heavy cream overnight - I like my mint foods extra minty.

On day 6 I came home from the gym ready to launch my small batch ice cream empire. I feel extra virtuous because I hit the weights hard at the gym and I'm an excellent wife who can work, workout and make fresh ice cream.

The recipe, which I'd read 4 or 5 times seemed a bit convoluted so I called Mom to check in on the finer points. We're busy wives, Mom and I, and no one can cut the extraneous crap out of a recipe like her. Following a 9 minute chat I have a simplified version and am ready to roll.

It's 7:30 pm and my husband wants to know how soon he can expect dessert. I throw him out of my kitchen.

By 8 pm I am cooking the custard and everything has turned a very pretty shade of mint green. But something is off, my custard isn't as thick as custard should be. I re-read recipe and decide against calling Mom. Gourmet knows their stuff and I'm sure this will thicken when we hit 170 degrees on my trusty Alton Brown approved instant read thermometer.

The custard, which is still too milky for my comfort reaches 170 degrees at 8:05 pm and I fight off the urge to let it cook a bit longer. I reason that Gourmet knows their stuff and Alton Brown has approved of my instant read thermometer, so this is all going to be ok - though I have my doubts.

The custard gets put into an ice bath at 8:07 pm and following Gourmet's recipe would be ready to churn in 20 minutes. I keep my Alton Brown approved thermometer in the cream mixture, just as Gourmet tells me to do. At 8:27 pm on-the-dot my custard has cooled to a pleasant 102 degrees and I remember Mom's parting words from our earlier conversation " blah, blah something... let the custard cool before you churn it, you'll have an easier time the colder it is...blah, blah something... call me if you need help... blah, blah something... love you...'bye"

It will churn easier the colder it is...the colder it is...THE COLDER IT IS! This statement would prove to haunt me for the next two days.

I debated calling Mom back to ask if 102 degrees was cold enough, BUT, I had Gourmet and Alton Brown's thermometer on my side. So, I pour the custard into the ice cream machine and get ready to churn for 30 minutes as prescribed. At 9:06 pm the ice cream should be done churning and I pour the runny, gloopy, mess which doesn't resemble the "...consistency of soft serve, but colder..." Mom described and determined that this will work out because I followed Gourmet's recipe, even though I never follow recipes because I don't use them, ever. But, I reason, I am a very good wife and this dessert will WOW my husband.

8 pm the next night the mint chocolate chip has frozen and my husband, about to be WOWED, eats his ice cream. The (brave) Alpha Buck eats, nods his head in approval and offers me a spoonful, as he chokes out "it's good". I eat this offered spoonful and blurt out "this sucks" well, because it did. It wasn't minty enough, not enough chocolate and the worst part - I knew it was doomed 7 days ago when I couldn't find the mint.

At 8:08 pm I learn that my husband likes mint chocolate chip, but his favorite ice cream flavor is vanilla. The following conversation ensues:

Me: "Vanilla? Vanilla is your favorite? I thought mint chip was your favorite?"
Him: "Sweetie, Vanilla is my favorite ice cream. I even voted for it when Haagen Daas had that contest a few years ago. And I won."
Me; "Really? What did you win?"
Him: "Vanilla won - it was the best flavor."

Later, Mom happened to call. I told her the tale and ended, feeling sad like a wifely failure with the factoid that he loves vanilla best.

She perked right up and told me she had the best recipe for vanilla ice cream - cream, milk, couple eggs and vanilla. Of course, she never measures (and neither do I, except when following Gourmet magazine) so she couldn't tell me how much of anything because she wasn't sure. She tells me to keep the cream to milk ratio at roughly 2:1, but ended with the standard line of all cooks in my family "... just use what you've got..." I asked how long to churn and she replied "Oh, when it looks like a half-gallon of Breyer's that you left on the counter too long, stop."

Since I still had milk and cream and always have eggs and vanilla, I whipped up a batch. I didn't measure anything. I added more vanilla when I couldn't smell it when the custard came to a boil. I sat it in an ice bath for a few hours - because 50 degrees is cold enough (NOT 102). For the record, it took custard cooled to 50 degrees 70 minutes to look like good ice cream that had melted.

I can't tell you how it tasted, the alpha buck got home early from work last night and ate it all for dinner.

I'm just a girl.

You may want to brew a fresh pot of coffee or tea; this particular post may take a while. As they would say in Spamalot, there comes a time in every blog when the blogger makes their mission statement known. Of course, in Spamalot, they’d sing it and it’d be much funnier and, ah well, you get my point.

I first started reading blogs (and quickly became hooked) back in late 2005 after finding myself in the midst of a personal crisis. After righting myself (it took a couple days) I did what I always do in a crisis: research.

Since my particular crisis was related to fertility, I quickly began research on three topics: infertility and IVF, adoption and what I like to call holistic whole self health care (think organic produce, prevention, balance and for reclaiming your power as a woman, no one beats a midwife).

The funny part was, as I began the long and arduous task of learning all I could about three topics I previously knew nothing about, I soon realized most links on these topics led to blogs. Much to my own shock, I quickly became enthralled with the sheer honesty of the posts. I have quite the list of favorites, not all of which have been installed to the left, yet. Quickly, I developed this wonderful circle of friends: women struggling with infertility (the if blogs I read are all written in first person by women), wives and husbands waiting for their international adoption dossiers to be matched to their precious baby(ies) (these blogs are largely written by the moms-to-be, but the feelings and experiences of the dads-to-be are related, too), and learning from midwives, nurses and a doc or two how to make myself as healthy and strong as possible, inside and out – and to embrace the power of a woman’s body.

I am not at all ashamed to say I’ve wept big, fat tears of joy and sorrow through countless posts and I no longer travel without a laptop – staying connected matters. I feel I’ve met incredible women, none of whom has ever portrayed herself as ‘an expert’ or ‘better than someone else’. Ordinary people who aren’t afraid to be real and share their stories; educating others in the process. I learned a huge amount (and still continue to learn) from these honest posts and associated links; that knowledge is priceless.

So we come to the tipping point of why I began this blog. I owe a debt and have been feeling like my time has come to start to repay, by paying forward. So I offer up my honest observations and share my own knowledge. Anyone who knows me in ‘real life’ would likely be shocked at this blog, I’m exceptionally private and don’t blab my business. But I don’t feel this is blabbing it’s sharing what I know with those who seek to listen.

So, you’re asking what I’m sharing, I imagine, and that’s a fair point. I’m sharing the parts of myself that struggle with being overweight and redefining my sense of self. I’m sharing the part of myself that is a corporate success (got anything you'd like to market?), the part of myself that is a new wife wondering how to be good in this new role, when so many of my reference points (Mom, Grandma) never had to work 60 hours a week and travel across the globe. I’m sharing the part of me who is learning not to give a shit what the bathroom scale says – and learning to care about how much weight I can squat or dead lift.

It’s a true challenge to strive to be the best incarnation of you, and the roadmaps are few and far between. I’m going to chart a map and narrate the tale and I welcome you to join.

So, when are you going to have a baby?

This weekend I am attending a family BBQ / birthday party. I will invariably be asked the following question(s):

When are you two lovebirds going to have a baby?
Have you thought about kids?
So, when are you newlyweds starting a family?
And on, and on, and on, and on... including sneaky versions of that question such as:
Oh, the Alpha Buck has such wonderful blue eyes, it would great if the kids got his eyes.
Oh, you two will make such beautiful babies.
And on, and on, and on, and on... until I consider wandering through the house praying to stumble across a shot gun so I can put myself (or better yet some nosy relatives) out of my misery.

This is my first family function 'post wedding' so my usual retort of "Ohhh, well my Mom will kill me if I get pregnant out of wedlock" is now moot and invalid. Not to mention, it was a pretty lame excuse in the first place.

(Drumroll)
So, for your amusement I submit my top ten replies to nosy maiden aunts and in-laws everywhere who ask the baby question:

• Hey, you have to give me $50 before I'll talk about my sex life.
• Well, Alpha Buck had a long dry spell before he met me, so we have a case of condoms to use up first.
• Can you spot us $250K for college?
• OH MY GOD -you'd really quit your job to babysit our child 14 hours a day so we don't have to pay for daycare. How freakin' wonderful!
  
• Did you know the world is scheduled to end in 2012? Seems senseless not to party and run up credit card debt for the next 5 years.
• We haven't consummated our marriage yet, I'm saving myself for a special occasion.
• Alpha Buck is moonlighting as a porn star, and he's gotta save it for the cameras - if you know what I mean.
• Well, I was abducted by aliens and they took all my eggs...
• We want to start trying to get pregnant - but my diaphragm is stuck and my fingers are short - think you can help me pull it out?
• I'm sorry, I missed the part where my life was your f@ckin' business.

Feel free to use as needed at your next family gathering.

ETA: The Alpha Buck and I would like to be parents someday in the future and hope that we are blessed with healthy baby(ies). However, pressure & prying from nosey relatives is the bane of my existence.

Paint Swatches....

Yesterday the Alpha Buck and I were married four weeks.

I loved my wedding. Every bride loves her wedding and says so at every opportunity and unless you've ever spent a year (more or less) of your life planning one fuckin' event you're not allowed to comment.

Just wanted to make that clear.

I concentrated on the details because the details count. I interviewed: florists, bakers, photographers, chefs. I searched for and found people who were artists. I hired these artists and honored their talents; I gave them free reign.

Yes, you read that correctly, free reign. I allowed myself to be surprised but was awestruck and humbled by the remarkable results.

Take our florist for example, a woman who is a poet with a pruning sheer. Our planning meeting was a simple, spectacular affair -I brought her some paint swatches and asked about color harmony, depth and what she thought would serve to create a festive mood. We talked at length and I was educated about color spectrum, highlights, a grounding color and the language of flowers. She quickly deduced that I was "...mostly a classic bride with a penchant for funky..." and I replied to that astute assessment in the only way that made sense. I hired her and told her to "have at it and get wild"

She wanted to seem shocked, but the devilish gleam in her eye told me the choice was inspired. I skipped out of that meeting knowing the bouquets and centerpieces would be perfect.

What happens when your kid can afford therapy?

I once heard a joke about parenting. The punchline was "When your kid can pay for their own therapy"... the question was "How do you know you were a successful parent?"

I'm not telling it properly, which is a shame, because it's quite funny. Don't you think?

If you're inclined to join the merriment, pour a fresh cup of coffee and hang around for a bit.

8-)
Gwen