Friday Fragments - January 3, 2012

Okay, everyone bellyaching about the loss of winter?  Denver is currently getting pummeled.  Quit yer bitchin' and appreciate the pleasantness.  I have never heard so much negativity around something so beautiful.  How about a few doses of gratitude?  Savor what you've been given instead of worrying about when it will stop.  Anyone who can bitch about a beautiful, sunny day is not capable of being happy.

It is a glorioius day and I love it.

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Yesterday I met with my son's English teacher.  It's a little late in the school year to be holding a parent-teacher conference, but hopefully early enough in the semester.  He's just not grasping certain concepts so in order to be a better tutor I had to find out what she's presenting in class, how she tests and where to find more information.  It was a productive meeting and now she knows I'm on board with getting this kid through her class. 

And while he's bombing English, he just signed up for Honors Geometry.  There is not a chance in hell that I will be able to help him in that class.  I remember telling his brother and sister when they maxed out my knowledge and would have to seek tutors for any assistance.  The look on their faces was priceless - I really DON'T know everything.

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Dear Daughter,
Beware of your 45th year.  That is when hormones will start to kick your ass.  Sleepless nights, random sweating, weird periods, bursts of energy, complete lack of energy, grogginess.  I think forgetfulness is a symptom, but I've been suffering that my entire life so I don't notice.  People are telling me this will last at least five years.  Yippee.  Oh, and gray hair.  You do know you're doomed to a life of coloring or else changing into a silverback?
You've been warned,
Crazy Cat Lady In The Making

******

Yeah, I actually had to leave work because I was so groggy.  Honestly, it hasn't been too terrible, but the sporadic nature of symptoms is annoying.  I wish I could find the triggers or patterns so I could at least have a little preparation or be able to say to myself "aha, hormones going insane, time to lie down."

******

I still haven't made a pie like I keep nagging myself to do.  No, I went the easier route by making a Pineapple Upside-Down Cake.  I swear this is easy-smeasy.  After baking several where you make the cake batter from scratch and not really liking the cake itself (I mean come on, shouldn't the cake be delicious before you add all the gooey stuff?) I found an easier solution. 

So here is my secret to fabulous Pineapple Upside-Down Cake
LEMON cake mix - any brand.  You'll also need 1 can of pineapple rings and 1 can of pineapple tidbits (in natural juices not syrup), brown sugar, and whatever stuff the mix requires like oil and eggs.

Start off by spreading an even layer of brown sugar on the bottom of your pan (the springform pans are awesome, but when I'm super lazy I use a 9x13 and just don't flip it out of the dish at the end... which is a lie because I have flipped a 9x13 onto a platter and then slid it back into the dish with the pineapple slices face up).

No, I did not melt butter or spray the pan.  Just an even layer of brown sugar, not so thin you can see the pan, but not too thick that you have to pat it down.  It might be 2 cups, maybe less, clearly I just open the bag and start shaking it out.  Since there's no goo in the pan you can scoop out any excess.

Drain the juice from the slices and tidbits into a cup because you're going to need it later.

Arrange the slices into a pretty design on the brown sugar.  If you have maricino cherries you can pop them into the picture too.  I don't because I never have them on hand.

You're ready to mix the cake.  Replace the water with the drained pineapple juice.  Go a little lighter than it says because there is still a ton of juice in the pineapple pieces.  Add the eggs and oil as specified on the box.  Once your cake batter is free of major blobs stir in the pineapple tidbits.  Do not use "chunks" because they are just too large.

Pour it in the prepared pan and cook according to the directions.  Once you hear the timer, turn off the oven, but leave the cake in there.  It's still too jiggly in the middle.  I keep telling myself I should put foil on the cake to get that center fully baked without burning the edges, but I always forget.

This is a very moist cake (even when I burn the edges) and the lemon cake mix is a perfect blend with the pineapple.

February 22, 1988

There are dates in your life that will forever carry a certain significance. Of course, there is my birthday which I believe should be treated like a national holiday. July 28. Learn it, live it, love it, gimme lots of great chit. There was the day I got married. Even though I divorced the bastard, the wedding anniversary remains nostalgic. And the birthday of each of my kids always makes me a little weapy as I see how much they've grown over the years.

And then there is their due dates.

Yesterday was the due date of my first child. I don't quite get why I, and probably every other woman on the face of the earth, clings so dearly to that date. That arbitrary date, practically picked out of thin air, based on when you recall the last day of your menstrual cycle. I was told in June that I was due to deliver around... AROUND... February 22. And I held to that date like it was etched in gold.

Any woman who has carried past their 35th week of pregnancy can tell you, by that time you are DONE being pregnant. All the novelty is gone, the glowing doesn't matter, and your ankles swell. Like a prisoner in a dungeon you tick off the days until your release. The day you can stop wearing "fat clothes". The day toes stop testing the plyability of your bladder and your spleen can be pried off your spine.

Two weeks before the due date a new mentality sweeps over the expectant mother - "any time now." Bags are checked and rechecked. Meals are prepared and frozen. The house is kept incredibly clean and the car never has less than a half tank of gas.

And so we waited.

And waited.

February 22, 1988 arrived and still no baby, but surely Little Bart would be in our arms within a matter of hours.

February 23 arrived and still no baby. Mom and my husband took me out to eat. As we waited for our seat, a pair of elderly women gawked at my protuding belly and observed "honey, you've dropped!"

WHAT THE HELL? How does anyone get off telling an absolute stranger the medical state of her pregnancy? Wisely the old chicks kept their hands to themselves. I was to the point that if one more person reached out to touch me I was gunna rip their arm out! I had already had enough stranger hands pet my belly, including some really creepy guy at the mall that practically gave me an exam reserved for my gyno.

So then they ask when I was due. Rather blandly, I replied "yesterday."

I swear their eyes darted in all directions as they mentally went through a checklist for boiling water, clean sheets and scissors in case they had to do an emergency delivery right there in the middle of the restaurant.

No, no, this baby was firmly holding onto my intestines and not about to come out any time soon.

Eight days had passed since my due date. OVER a week. I was seriously looking at being induced or having a C-section - neither of which was high on my wish list.

Go look at a 1988 calendar. It happened to be leap year.

Somehow I skimmed past February 29th and started the first signs of labor on March 1st. So this was it. I had a doctor appointment in the morning which was rather pointless as I was told the signs and symptoms of labor and when to go to the hospital. To kill a little time I strolled through a department store. A baby seat caught my eye and I picked it up and tried to adjust the handle. But the damn thing would not budge. GRRRRRRRRR. Yes, this is exactly what a woman holding a baby in one arm needs, a contraption that requires fourteen hands to dislodge. I couldn't get that thing out of my hands fast enough.

Okay, I tossed it back into the display.

And then every single employee surrounded me asking if I needed any help. No. I needed help five minutes ago as I was investigating this death trap, but now I'm not interested. Your security cameras would serve better as customer service cameras so you can ward off potentially upset customers who shouldn't touch your GD precious displays of unuseful baby gear.

And then I got in the car and balled my eyes out.

I never cry.

Ever.

Hormones are hell.

And the day drug on. And on. Finally that night when my contractions were five minutes apart I promptly went to the hospital where I was told that I wasn't in full labor and I should walk around for awhile to encourage the progression. After several hours of pointless walking I was told to go home, only to return when the contractions are "really bad."

TEN PM the following night, on March 2nd, I delivered my daughter. NINE DAYS after her due date.

I resent February 22nd.

Likewise, I detest June 10th. My second child was due the following year on June 10th. Again I pegged my hopes and dreams on that special day. And again the due date came and went with no baby. And again I ticked off the days and hours and minutes until this lump would no longer do his slow motion stretch inside my ribcage. This child was a little more prompt than his sister as he arrived SEVEN days late.

Their brother, on the other hand, had completely different plans and decided to grace us with his presence three weeks early.

I think giving due dates to pregnant women should be outlawed. Never has a child arrived on their designated due date. Well, okay, I'm sure a few oddball babies do what is expected of them, but they turn out to be freaks living in their mothers' basements after the age of 25. The rest of the world is populated by babies who arrive according to their own internal clocks, not some date picked off a postcard wheel carried by every obstetric doctor, nurse and hallway flunkie.

And if you don't want your head to be ripped off my some hormone enraged woman DO NOT ask when her due date is, or speculate that she's been pregnant FOREVER. Or worse yet, that the baby is setting up house keeping and is NEVER coming out.

Have I ever told you how much I hate February 22nd?