Monthly Archives: January 2013

Commence the heavy drinking

So, over the weekend, I started having symptoms indicative of a UTI.  I know you’re on the edge of your seat, wanting to hear more, but first, a bit of background.

My last doctor visit for a UTI occurred a bit over three years ago, just before a girls’ weekend trip to Kansas City with my mom and sisters.  After making sure that I didn’t get the antibiotic associated with tendon ruptures, I filled the prescription and dutifully started the course, taking it as prescribed with plenty of water.

Later that day, I hopped on the bus to Kansas City, looking forward to quality time with my family, which would include some fun Kansas City restaurants.  By the time our much anticipated Saturday lunch at Eden Alley rolled around, I was feeling a little off — not sick, exactly, but just uncomfortable.

As the day progressed, I realized the problem — constipation, an effect of whatever antibiotic I was taking.  By the time my mom dropped me off for the five hour return bus ride on Sunday morning, I hadn’t pooped in over twenty-four hours (NOT normal for me), and I felt completely disgusting.

Given my tendency toward motion sickness, buses are an iffy proposition for me at the best of times.  Bus ride plus constipation?  REALLY bad combination.  I had no interest whatsoever in eating the nice wrap I bought at a deli, and I barely held it together as we made our way east on I-70.  Still, I thought I would make it, but then we left the interstate and started making our way through downtown St. Louis.  The stop-and-start was just too much for me — the bus stop was so close, yet so far away.

As we sat at a stoplight within two walking blocks of Union Station,  I knew the bus would go around the block, making it more like five interminable blocks until we arrived.  Things were about to get ugly, so I grabbed my purse, abandoning the rest of my stuff in the seat, went to the front, and begged the driver to let me get off and walk the rest of the way.

The fresh, cool air and lack of bus movement nausea arrived just in time to prevent vomiting, thought I may have felt better, sooner, if  I hadn’t fought it.

Within a few days, I finished the course of antibiotics and returned to my usual, very regularly pooping self, but with a heightened wariness of antibiotics.  In the following weeks, I had a couple more [undiagnosed] UTIs (usually a rare occurrence for me, thankfully) that cleared with my home treatment of flushing things out by drinking lots and lots of water, and maybe some tea, but you really don’t need to drink anything special.

So, when the frequent, painful urination started this time around, I turned to the tap.  In the past few days, I’ve gulped gallons of water, with a bit of green tea here and there.  I found a few cranberry extract pills from three years ago (you know, only two years expired), so I’ve tossed those into the mix as well, though I’m not sure that they really do much.

Every treatment has its unwanted effects, and the downside to drinking lots of water is frequent bathroom visits, but that’s kind of the point.  While not a big deal during the day, it’s not so great for sleeping.  In any case, I think my heavy drinking is doing the trick, though I don’t think I’m in the clear yet.  I’ll give it a few more days, but I may be headed to the doctor after all.  If that happens, please remind me to avoid any bus trips.

Eats and rides

Just over a week ago, I bundled Sir into the trailer for a very cold trip to the park,  one that had me questioning my judgement and worrying about frostbite on tiny fingers.  He seemed fine with the outing, but I think he might not realize how cold he was until it was too late.  After a bit of walking and one trip down the frosty slide, I bundled him back into the trailer and hightailed it home.

Two days later, we were out again, with temperatures in the fifties — you know, normal January weather.  Sir rode in the IBert, and we biked to the coop-style farmers’ market where we buy eggs.   Of course, the warm weather came with strong southerly breezes, which asserted themselves on the way home.  Let’s just say I got a good work out.

The weekend brought a few more rides, along with much cooking.  These baked “everything” nachos were actually last Thursday’s dinner, along with some homemade guacamole: tortilla chips layered with refried beans, sauteed onion, cabbage, and sweet potato, salsa, and cheese.

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On Saturday, we hosted a small gathering for my father-in-law, and Matthew made a delicious apple crisp.  Once our guests left, I cranked it into high gear to have dinner ready by 5:30 (about the latest we can eat if we’re all going to eat together, given Sir’s bed time).  Fortunately (and miraculously), this Moroccan Lentil Soup (inspired by Stacey’s recent post) came together quickly, and Matthew worked on the bagna cauda, which we spread on bread to round out the meal.

Sunday brought another colder solo bike ride before the really cold weather hit to start the week.  Since then, I’ve been hibernating, eating leftovers, and wrangling a crazy teething monster.  Yep, Sir is cutting his two-year molars (at eighteen months, of course).  As soon as I saw the teeth under the gums, I reminded him of our deal that after he finishes teething, there is no more fussing allowed, EVER.

The monster in my kitchen

I’ve been planning to write about finding my balance with where I am in life and being in a good place, but starting about a week ago, Gabriel turned some corner into a [hopefully short-lived] developmental stage known as “Horrible.”  I’m pretty sure it manifested before his fall, but I’m not positive, and I can’t help but wonder if he knocked a few screws loose.

Anyway, he’s been very clingy and needy, making it difficult for me to get much of anything done, but it’s been particularly frustrating in the kitchen.  Turns out, it’s rather difficult to chop vegetables with a large, sharp knife, and deal with hot pans on the stove-top and in the oven, when a fussy toddler is pulling on your legs, shirt, etc.  Not to mentioned dangerous.

I gave up before I started on a couple of evenings, too sapped from dealing with him earlier in the day and anticipating his antics to even try.  Leftovers to the rescue!

At my MIL’s suggestion, I tried putting him in his booster seat with some toys while I cooked (farinata, with a side of sweet potatoes and turnip greens, if you were wondering) last night, and it went surprisingly well.

Despite my misgivings about confining him like that, he actually seemed content to be sitting in the kitchen doing his own thing, playing and babbling with very little input from me, in contrast to the frantic whining and wrapping himself around my legs of previous afternoons.

Eventually, I plan to let him help more in the kitchen, but we’re not quite there yet.  Last week, I experimented with helping him stand on a chair and sift flour and stir the dry ingredients for raw apple cake.

It went well — flour more or less stayed in the bowl, he didn’t fall of the chair and crack his head on the tile flour, and he seemed to enjoy helping.  However, it required very close and constant supervision on my part, definitely not something I have time for every night.

If any of you have suggestions for occupying young toddlers while cooking and/or safe ways (easy and not TOO messy would be great, also) to involve toddlers in the kitchen, I’d love to  hear them.

Bloody onions!

A few weeks ago, Matthew started onions and leeks in flats, and they’ve been happily growing under the grow lights in the basement.  However, the lack of real sunlight and fresh air led to some mold growth on the top of the soil, so with outside temperatures in the 50s, he planned to get them outside for some good old-fashioned UV light.

I decided to help with this on Tuesday, so mid-morning, after Gabriel and I returned from the gym/kids’ room, we headed to the basement.  With no way to carry the seedling flat and a baby at the same time (well, there would have been a way, but it would have required going upstairs for the Ergo carrier), I opted for the “set Sir down in the basement with a toy, grab a seed tray, and dash outside and right back in before he could get into any trouble” option.

Now, while Sir’s usual stair method involves both hands and feet, he has recently started experimenting with standing up and holding a railing and/or adult’s hand.  With the hands and feet method, he navigates stairs pretty well over ninety percent of the time, but we [almost] always spot him from below, because he is given to slipping every now and then.

Anyway, when I opened the side door that leads to the stairs down to the basement, Sir was on the second or third step (from the bottom), coming to see me.  He had been using the original [safe(r)] method, but right about the time I entered, he stood up straight on the step, all, “Look, Ma, no hands.”

After that, I’m not quite sure what happened — either he just lost his balance on his own, or I may, in my slight alarm at his position, have made a sudden move that led to the tumble.  Either way, the final result was a two or three step fall, ending on the concrete basement floor.  Not good.

I picked him up and checked his head, which seemed fine, and then attempted to check for equal and reactive pupils, when I noticed a decent bit of blood on both of us.  For a minute, I couldn’t determine the source of the blood.  I ruled out mouth (which was the culprit in a previous fall), head, and ears before discovering a good sized gash on his chin, right along his jaw bone.

I called Matthew for a phone consult on the use of steri-strips, which I applied with little success, contending with a crying, upset baby and a chin soaked with blood and drool.  With lunch and nap time fast approaching, I cleaned things up a bit more and slapped a bandage over the steri-strips.

We suspected that, especially with the location, the injury would need more than our first aid attempts, so I called and left a message for our pediatrician’s phone nurse.  Since the bleeding was more or less under control and Gabriel calmed down and ate lunch as usual, I decided to go ahead with his nap while waiting for the nurse’s return call.

The nurse suggested coming in to the office to see if they could glue the gash, cautioning that if the doctor determined that glue wouldn’t work, we would have to head to the ER for stitches anyway.  With the possibility of avoiding a much higher copay and the ER gauntlet, I took their last available appointment for the afternoon.

Long story short (well, still fairly long, but a bit shorter), the doctor used the glue-bond stuff, covered with a big, waterproof bandage to protect it from drool (because the glue needs to stay dry for the first 48 hours).  I admit to being dubious that it would hold, but now, over 48 hours later, it looks like we got off easy.

Still, the $25 doctor visit copay, not to mention the pain, tears, and angst (and the risk of a more serious injury) added significantly to the cost of this onion crop.  Needless to say, I’ve learned my lesson about leaving a toddler unattended, even for “just a second” — the onions weren’t worth the blood!

Makeshift root cellar

A root cellar ranks high on our garden-related wish list.  A well-designed root cellar would maintain temperatures and humidity ideal for storing much of the food we harvest in the summer and early fall and eat throughout the winter, including potatoes, onions, sweet potatoes, cabbage, carrots, and squash.

Until we have a place of our own to garden and implement an “official” root cellar, we’re working with what we’ve got.  Until this year, that mainly involved basements — at Matthew’s mom’s house and at our apartment.  However, due to heat bleed-off from furnaces and duct work, most basements are actually warmer than ideal for root cellaring, and ours, with two (and in previous years, four) furnaces and duct work for two (or four) units is certainly no exception.

Once cold weather settled in for the season, we realized that the coldest place in our apartment was the front stairwell, just inside the front door.  We put a thermometer down there and discovered temperatures in the mid-50s (versus the 60-some-degree basement).

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While it’s not the most elegant storage solution, the space we’re using is more or less behind the door, so it’s out of the way.

The crate is full of potatoes, covered to prevent light damage.  It’s important to go through and de-eye the potatoes every couple of weeks.  We’ve had some that store better than others, but even the ones with rather shriveled skins taste good, they’re just a bit more work to clean.

The sweet potatoes at our place are a few steps up, in paper bags, though the bulk of our harvest of sweet potatoes and squash is still out at my MIL’s.

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We bought a bushel (about 50 pounds) of organic apples on our way to Iowa for Thanksgiving.  While they would keep better at cooler temps (like in the super-insulated straw bale building at the orchard), this was an okay compromise — there was no way we could fit them in the refrigerator.  Gabriel will often walk in the door, pick up an apple from the box, and take a bite, clearly indicating what he would like for a snack.

We’ve eaten or dried many of the apples.  The remaining apples have good flavor, but the texture is definitely best for cooking or drying at this point.

When we discovered our uninvited guests (of which we just found another a few days ago, argh!), I feared that they would be all too happy to invade our “root cellar,” but that hasn’t been the case (knock on wood).