The Lazy Cannery

I've decided that if I were to write a craft blog it would have to be called "Lazy Suzan's Craft World of Wonders" mostly because I am the most lazy creative person you will probably ever meet. If I'm really fired up about something I'll do a great job on it. I have a real love affair with good quality. But I am also a realist and I can physically feel the meter in my body that keeps track of energy dipping and swaying throughout my days. I have to measure the location of the meter with the job at hand. If the energy is there then Yes!! We will do our very best to put out an A++++ product. If not, and I absolutely HAVE to do it, then you're gonna take what you can get.

There are some projects, like canning, that I hate. But I also have this little glitch in my matrix that was placed there by my parents when I was a child that says - YOU WILL WASTE NO FOOD! So if I have a bumper crop of zucchini, like two years ago, you can bet we're going to have 25o jars of cinnamon pickles to hand out at Christmas. (Mmm.. cinnamon pickles... :)

That said, I've found a happy medium with my food demons and my canning woes. I only can what I don't have to boil forever in a hot bath. I don't usually write blog tips or tricks, but I'm writing this post because one of my dearest friends in the whole wide world, who grew up Mormon, in Idaho, (by default this means she should know all the handy, crafty short cuts ever created) but also lives in the gigantically crafty state of Utah now and is a canning goddess herself, did not know that you don't have to boil the crap out of everything in order for it to be sealed safely for the five - ten year plan.

What? You didn't know either? Well it's your lucky day! Because I had ten million apples going bad in my kitchen today and my kids were sick of fresh apple cider so I decided we should just can up some apple sauce the Lazy Suzan way... Here it is...

First thing we do is prepare the food in question. This method works for just about everything, fruit or veggie-wise, but not for meat or anything else that has to be pressure cooked. Also, this method does not work well if you want those pretty whole fruits or veggies in a jar. It is only to be used with foods that you chop into oblivion and then cook the crap out of for at least one day on the stove, like salsa, jam, chutney, vegetarian spaghetti sauce, pickles, etc. Consequently you might just want some high heat welding gloves while you're handling the final product.

So for apple sauce I peal and core the cuties and chop them into my shiny silver pot. But this time I got even lazier and half way through the case I started just pulling the core out and throwing them through my juicer, then I threw the pulp and juice in the pot together and stirred it up. (I gave myself an especially hearty back pat for having saved all those lovely peals from my picky chickens who don't appreciate all the vitamins and nutrients I'm giving them.) Then I throw in some cinnamon and because I'm a Nazi about sugar I leave it at that. I never add sugar to my home canned goods (unless it's cinnamon pickles... yum!!!) I think fruit should taste like God made it. Not like it came from Denny's jam and syrup tray. If God missed a step and your peaches taste like lemons, try adding a super ripe pineapple to sweeten it up or some stevia.. yummo! Sugar is so 1989. Anyway.. next steps...

Just before I'm done simmering the pot for the day I throw my canning jars in the dish washer and my lids and rings in a pot of hot water simmering on the stove. When the dish washer is done I load the hot, clean jars one by one with apple sauce, wipe the rims clean and the lid dry, and then seal with a lid and ring using a thick dry towel to get it on as tight as possible without burning the begeezus out of my hands.

Now here's Great-grandma's big trick: Turn your jars upside down on a dish towel and don't touch them for a couple of hours while they cool. The heat from the super hot over cooked food will lay there on that gummy glued lid and seal it up tighter than.. well.. (fill in your own favorite analogy here.)

Once the jars are cool, turn them right side up and test the tops. If any of them pop when you press on them then you are, unfortunately, going to have to boil them for about 20 min in a hot water bath to get them sealed up tight. Either that or eat it as a midnight snack (cinnamon pickles!!!! Yum) But most of the time I have total success with this method and nothing ever pops on me.

Good luck canning all you lazy ladies out there! So far we've been botulism free for about 4 generations of canners so you should be fine too. Just don't turn me into the FDA or anything ok?

It's that time of year...

It feels like the last six months have flown by in a huge whirl wind. I can't believe it's already time for Christmas. I realized about two weeks ago that I had 6 days to get my family ready to head out west for Thanksgiving and George's baby blessing. For some reason I felt like I had to get Christmas done as well. So I'm sitting here checking off my list and realizing that all I have left to do is decorate that house. That's right folks. I panicked and finished Christmas shopping in record time! I even ordered cards. Of course it helps that we only get the kids a few things. A good friend of mine told me about a tradition at her house. They buy their kids each something they want, something they need, something to wear and something to read. It sort of helps me keep track of what everyone is getting so we don't end up in a panic on Christmas Eve because one little girl has fifteen gifts and the other kids only have three (this has happened before... not because I love one more than the other.. I just have more similar tastes with one than I do with the others!)I even ordered Christmas cards. And I thought it might be fun to ruin the surprise.. here's a digital sneak peak..

Photo Card

View the entire collection of cards.

I plan on writing up a little bit about our trip out west in the next post. We have many folks to thank and fun stories to share. Life is good.

May your days be merry and bright!
Love,
me

Labor & Delivery

I've been thinking a lot about the term Labor & Delivery. It might sound stupid, but it's so appropriate! I'd never thought about it before. Last Sunday night I had plenty of time to do just that... think about every single random thing I'd never thought of before while waiting for our baby to drop down and pop out.

This whole pregnancy has been weird and difficult and filled with all kinds of surprises. For the first time I found myself under doctor's orders NOT to exercise. With all the other babies I'd tried so hard to stay active and in shape, to not gain a ton of weight. Not like it helped any, but it was something I could do. This time I felt like a hot house flower. I couldn't even go for walks for fear of passing out and my pelvis popping open and Armageddon coming down upon us. So it was a long 9 months to say the least.

That's why once I hit 37 weeks and got my trusty email from BabyCenter (the psychic baby know everything website) telling me that my bun was done cooking and safe to come out, I started doing everything I could think of to get the ball rolling. The ball being me. I was huge and round and ready to burst for those of you who didn't get to laugh and shake your head at me in person as I expanded.

All my efforts of the week paid off. Sunday afternoon I was awakened from my nap by a rather large, ground moving contraction. I didn't think much of it until the next one came, and then the next one, and another. "Honey!" I yelled from the bedroom..."You might want to download that contraction timing app thingy!"

I figured since Maggie and Lydia both took a couple of days (with Maggie it was weeks) of nightly contractions to get things going there was no big rush. But then Dan informed me that these puppies were three minutes apart and a good 45 seconds to a minute long. We called the midwife.. she said come on in and away we went!

Flash forward at least five hours. Contractions are dying down, I'm dozing off, the baby hasn't dropped and if I hadn't been hooked up to about fifteen bags of antibiotics I would have gone home. However, I knew that if I went home I'd most likely cry all night and end up having the baby in the bathroom on accident, so we stayed. And they talked me into trying out a little drug called pitocin.

Now all my other babies have come relatively fast. I've never had time for drugs or choices of any kind. It was just get to where someone who knows what they are doing can catch this little person and clean them up for me! So this was all new. I'd been in labor off and on all night, they were offering me all these choices, the nurse hated my guts because I wouldn't just go ahead and have the stinking baby!! (Serious.. I could see it in her face every time she came in to drug me up) and I was so tired.

But here's where it gets exciting. I went ahead and told them to give me a half dose of pitocin but not an epidural because I have a thing about needles in my back. I'd rather feel every pain of labor (or so I thought) than have a needle jammed in my spine that may or may not deaden me from the waste down and leave me numb and twitching for life. (I know..drama.) I could tell they thought I was stupid for wanting half a dose, but I'm pretty good with drugs, I usually only need a half dose of what normal people take. And this was no different. I started having contractions again, but only when I laid down. And the baby hadn't dropped yet. So we started walking the halls, marching, doing squats. Everything I could think of that might make the little sucker drop. The contractions would stop then I'd lay back down and they'd start again. About 4 am I was so exhausted I was sleeping through the contractions and dreaming I was being speared by restless natives, or some such, until a rather large one hit me and woke me. Then I felt a *gush* "YES!!!" I hollered and woke Dan up "My water broke!"

Now it was a small gush, but I thought.. hey! Baby's head probably stopped it up and if I get up and move around the rest of the ten gallons I've been carrying around will fly out and we'll have a baby before sunrise! I sat up and edged off the bed.. GUSH! Another one! Still small, but exciting! We called the nurse, she got out her little tester papers and dipped it in the gush and said: "Uh.. yah... uh... I'm pretty sure that's amniotic fluid. Sure! Let's go ahead and call the midwife." who was sleeping in the other room.

Her hesitation and the fact that it was dark in the room when she read the results should have been a big flashing red light. The girl wanted me out of there after all.

Flash forward again, because after that all that happened it was just more of the same. Heavy contractions and then nothing for a long time. So so so annoying!!! By morning I was so fed up and exhausted I couldn't wait for a change of plans. I honestly would have gone home and had my baby in the bathroom on accident at this point except that everyone thought my water had broken so they didn't want to send me home. Things just weren't going the way they usually did for me. With all the other babies, once my water broke it was a like a NASCAR race. Lydia was two and a half hours, Maggie was an hour and a half. What was taking so long? And I didn't feel right. I just didn't feel like I was where they said I was.

Finally.. shift change. New nurse!! And bless her heart, after spending a few hours monitoring me she and I sat down and had a heart to heart. Sloppy Joe Nurse (I've changed names to protect the actual people) from the night before had just shoved the messy chucks from my water breaking under my bed. I got to looking at them. They were bright yellow... yellow?? Amniotic fluid is not yellow unless there is something really wrong. I pointed this out to Angel From Heaven Nurse and she agreed with me. My water hadn't broken. I just wet the bed.

Nice, I know. But Labor & Delivery is like that. It's messy and confusing and so, so gross. I can't beleive people do it with their kids watching. Talk about scarred for life. But I'm not here to judge. Back to the story...

So that's when the crew got together and decided it was time to get things going. For whatever reason they'd been hesitant to break my water the night before, they didn't even tell me what they were doing now. New midwife came in and pulled out the big long water breaker thingy and I was like.. "whoa! what is that?" "Oh," she replied matter of factly, "we're going to break your water."

I love it when they just jump in and do things without telling you or asking you or preparing you. Like the night before when they came in and hung a bunch of new bags of crap on my IV pole. "What is that?" I asked. "Pain killers and stuff to knock you out." "No thanks," I said.. I know, and they don't know, that that stuff makes me vomit and I was having none of that. Still, they thought I was crazy. Why don't they trust that we know our own bodies? I am perfectly fine missing sleep and breathing through contractions. I'd rather do that than barf my way through contractions.

Once again.. back to the story. Nurse gets a little towel and midwife gets ready to burst the bubble. I started to say something along the lines of, we might need a bigger towel, but it was too late... and once again.. for the fourth time in my life I hear a chorus of: "WHOA! That's a lot of water!!!" I'm just thanking the Lord above that none of those four times was on the subway like in all my nightmares. And it was a lot of water, and I knew it was only the tip of the ice burg.

"We need a bigger towel" I finally got out just as *GUSH!!* the real water works started going. About three more huge gushes, people sticking their heads in to see all the water coming out of the girl who just won't give birth, and a quick sheet change, I sit back on the bed, ask them nicely to turn off the pitocin now, which they didn't want to do in case I stopped contracting again. But they agreed to cut it in half. Looking back now, I should have stuck to my guns and made them turn it off. Turns out I had been on twice the normal dose for a person being induced. Awesome huh? the one drug that doesn't effect me, or so we thought. I am guessing I was just so water logged it was like squishing a water bed around and wasn't doing much good at all. Except now with the water gone, they agreed to cut the dose in half and then everyone left.

That's right. EVERYONE LEFT! It was me and Dan all alone and the first big mother of all baby squeezing contractions hit. This was it.. he was coming. I felt him drop and about four big contractions on top of each other I knew it was time to push, only it was still just me and Dan. WTW? (as my kids say.. what the what?!) Where the freak was everyone? I kept telling them that things would go fast once they broke my water. They obviously didn't believe me, but who could blame them. I'd been hanging out there all night and all day like a regular person in labor, not Speedy Gonzales I'd been bragging myself up to be. The midwife actually went BACK TO HER OFFICE! I found that out later and seriously did a forehead slap. We called up Nurse Sent From Heaven and she took one look and rallied the troops. Finally! I had a room full of people and big lights and instruments of torture ready and waiting and here's where I really felt like I could do my thing and have a good delivery, only it was totally out of control.

I think that during a natural child birth with a fist baby you have no clue what you are doing. It's all shock and awe. With the second baby, I thought I knew what to do but I made mistakes. With the third baby.. it was awesome. It hurts, don't get me wrong, but you know where you are and what to do and if all is well, it's a great experience. This was just wrong. Everything was too intense. I couldn't get into my yoga moma pushing groove. Everything hurt too much, I couldn't focus, so I just fixed my mind on my baby and didn't stop pushing to breathe or anything until he was out. During the course of what seemed like at least a year, but was probably five minutes tops, my face and entire left side of my body went numb, I heard a very loud pop (my pelvis separating) and I was sure my baby had two heads when his shoulder got hung up and I had to push the little line backer out for a second time.

I was seriously disappointed in myself a few minutes later when I realized I was in so much pain that I didn't even think about the baby. I had no idea where he was or where I was or that he had trouble breathing. I tried to tell them something was wrong but they were busy cleaning things up, collecting cord blood, etc. etc. Finally, I caught my breath and was able to tell them my hips were separated and would they PLEASE TURN OFF THE BLOODY PITOCIN NOW! The answer? No. I needed two more bags to clamp down my uterus.

What the what?!

Anyway. Long story short. He was born an hour after they popped me. The midwife made it back just in time. And they really are good folks down there at Wake Med Cary. They did a good job. It was just the standard patient/caregiver relationship issues that got in the way. After all was said and done and Baby George was breathing well and I was finally in a position that I could stand and the pitocin was FINALLY turned off. All was right in the world. He was here safe and sound and that's all that matters.

I'm fairly certain that none of my other pregnancies or labors consisted of quite that much labor. And the deliveries have never been so bitter sweet. The whole idea of delivery is a beautiful one to me. Being delivered from pain and fear... I know there are many scriptures centered around the idea of letting Christ deliver us from the burdens of our life. I have to admit. There were many prayers said over the course of the 14 days it felt like I was in that hospital, both for L&D and recovery. And they were all answered with a sweet feeling of peace and a calming assurance that all would be well. And it was. That doesn't mean that it won't be painful or scary or go as you've planned, but all is well when we turn to the Lord and put our faith in him.

Some of you chuckle under your breath at the name George. But we named him after his father, Daniel George Holt. Who is the best husband and father I could have ever wished for. And he in turn is named after his father, George Wilson Holt. A finer man, and better example of love and kindness, I have never met. I can see where my sweet husband learned to be the good man he is. George is a good, strong, traditional name from a good family of good men and I hope that he can appreciate it and be proud of that as he grows into his name.

Dan chose Aaron as his middle name. I figured after bossing him around on the other three kids and their names I'd let him have this one with no argument. (You're welcome!) But it turned out to be an excellent choice. Aaron is often the younger brother in the scriptures. Teaching and supporting his siblings and those around him. A good example of strong faith and patience. I hope that our little George Aaron is patient and strong, although I'm sure he'll be a pest long before that :) That's what little brother's are for right?

And so we finish one segment of labor and delivery only to start on an entirely new one. One that happens daily. Working with my kids every day, whether teaching them or playing with them or disciplining them, it is all definitely labor. And each morning that starts anew when their happy little faces poke into mine and their arms wrap around me and ask me how my dreams were, I feel like I am delivered from the mistakes of the past and can start afresh. What a blessing :)

Tiny Miracles

I was mostly joking in my last post when I stated the rules for handling of wild/dead animals at our house. I should have known better. Lydia came to me yesterday with huge eyes and a plea for me to come right away to the deck. She had found a tiny bird sitting at our back door. It was obviously not in good shape, laying on it's side and having a very hard time breathing. My first thought was that this was a little gift from our friend Jolly the Neighborhood Cat. (Who decided we serve the best vittles and has become a permanent fixture in the back yard.) We crouched around the bird and everyone took turns sort of poking it before I finished my assessment and decided the least we could do was bring it inside to die a warm and comfortable death. It was, after all, cold and rainy outside and I've seen what Jolly does to the squirrels, I couldn't let her finish off this dear little bird.

Despite my horrific allergies, I've spent a lot of time with animals in my life. Many people are surprised to hear this because I am allergic to everything under the sun, but it wasn't always this way. There was a time when I slept with my cat and let my dog lick my arm affectionately. These days if a dog licks me I break out in blisters and cats anywhere near my face, clothing or house will swell my airways shut faster than you can shake a stick at a snake. But I also have a huge soft spot for all things nonverbal and fuzzy. So I scooped the little sucker up and put it in a little bucket with a little dish towel and we set it in a corner of the sun room so that it could be near plants and the sun, should it choose to show it's face.

I also have a pretty good knowledge of animal husbandry and veterinary techniques thanks to my Dad who didn't really use the vet for much more than things that were illegal for him to do himself. Because of this I know that birds are extremely fragile and rarely ever recover from an injury or illness this severe. You can't really feed them anything very easily, they dehydrate faster than a thimble of dew on the Sahara and they are so delicate and jumpy it's hard to house or administer to them at all. Still, I wanted it to be comfortable in it's last few hours.

I explained this to the kids as we scrubbed up for lunch. I told them that it was probably going to die and that at least we gave it a nice bed and yes, they could see it in heaven when they died too some day (far, far, far in the future!) All three kids were a bit teary eyed and begged to say a prayer for the little bird along with their grilled cheese sandwiches. I gave in, we prayed for the bird and our food then ate and ran off to our other commitments for the day.

When we got home just after 6pm that night Maggie was the first to remember the birdie and run to check on it. She started screaming and crying. I thought, "oh crap, I've really screwed up this time. Baby girl saw dead little bird."

I raced up stairs to comfort her and dispose of the little body, when to my surprise I found Maggie over an "empty tomb". The bucket was on the ground, and the birdie was no where to be seen. Upon closer inspection of the bucket I saw that there was some healthy looking bird droppings on the little bed, however so my heart started to perk up. (More on discerning healthy vs. unhealthy bird droppings in another post... maybe.) A bird who can poop and leave the box is probably a bird that is going to make it.

Sure enough, the little bugger was hiding under the kitchen table. We had a little chase around the house before I cornered it and returned it to the bucket, with a lid this time. We added some soft wet rice grains and some bird seed (unwittingly donated by Bob the cranky parakeet) and the kids prayed again for the little sucker and we waited out the night. It was too cold and way too rainy and heart breaking to think of turning it lose in the dark that night.

I thought for sure it would be dead in the morning. I think I've turned into a bit of a pessimist over the past year. Disappointments in life will do that to a person. I still kept that happy little feeling from seeing the "empty tomb" though. It was heart warming to see my kids cheering and grinning because their birdie prayers had been answered. And I was surprise the little guy had made it as far as he had from where he had been. Still, my goal was to make it to the kitchen before the kids to soften the blow should there be one to soften.

Luckily, there wasn't. The bird was snuggled down with his bits around him just like he owned the place. He seemed very alert and aware and the weather had let up a bit so we decided to let him go. After all, wild animals take much better care of themselves than we can, except in very specific circumstances.

We set the bucket outside, took a few pictures and then lifted the lid. Everyone cheered as he hopped out and then flew about four feet to land by the fire pit. Enter Jolly the Neighborhood Cat. Introduce five screaming children and one frantic mother in her pj's and no shoes.

NO JOLLY NO!!!!

The screaming was probably heard all the way into Johnston County and luckily it was enough to cause Jolly the mighty huntress a moment of pause just long enough for our little birdie to escape to higher, more dense ground.

It was quite a bit of drama for our house in a short period of time. It could have turned out much, much worse, at several different points. (Imagine not finding the bird in the house until you could smell it.. ugh!!) But I re-learned a valuable lesson from the whole thing. Just because something bad is the most likely outcome doesn't mean that's the outcome that will happen. And never, never, never doubt the power of a child's prayer. Especially when it's three children bent on the same sweet desire.

Laziest Mom on Earth

I haven't blogged since October because I've been in a funk. (Uh oh.. true confession time!!) It's probably the first time in my life I've ever wished the holidays would just hurry up and get done. I lost my Christmas lights and didn't really care about getting anything for Christmas (two things I'm usually a fanatic about - my Christmas list and the lights - I know.. it's childish.) I did try to make sure the kids had a good Christmas, however. I tried to make sure they got equal doses of The Spirit and Retail. However, next year, as I say every year, we will have much more Spirit and much less Retail.

Now! For 2011!!

Since January came along I've had a little change of heart. We found out that we are expecting baby #4 and consequently decided to simplify our lives in a major, MAJOR way. In doing so, I have taken on several large projects. (Laugh it up... I know, I know.) Said projects will make my life easier, more manageable and keep me from thinking about vomiting every five minutes or what I should eat in between those five minutes while I'm pregnant. Mostly the projects involve organizing the house and fixing up things a bit. (New windows!!! yah!!!) But there's more than that.

I've built furniture, sewed clothes, thrown out loads of garbage (IE old toys and stuff my kids will never, ever miss!), fixed things, painted things and rooms and made good use of Craig's List in order to get rid of and update our furniture and electronics. I've also spent plenty of time on FaceBook being snarky and posting big ol' - Look How Cool I Am!! - photos and plans. Etc. It's been fun. But then the compliments start rolling in.

You are so amazing!!! I can't believe all you've done TODAY! Holy cow! How do you know how to use a jig saw!? What the heck is a jig saw?! Where do you get your energy?! You are my inspiration! I wish I was as cool a mom as you are! Etc. Etc. Etc.

While I love to share the things I'm excited about, and I blush gratefully at my friend's admiration, this kind of sweet praise makes me self-conscious. It also makes me think.. holy cow.. my friends don't know me at all!

So! In an effort to seem less ambitious than I have made myself seem to be I would like to confess a few things.

1. I never mop my floors. Unless there is a stickiness involved, it is a rule. I never mop my floors.

2. I don't do windows. Unless I absolutely need to see a bird or flower or child on the other side of one. They stay messy.

3. I don't' clean the bathrooms. My husband cleans the bathrooms and is teaching the kids to help. (He's a saint! Especially now when even if I had to clean them I couldn't.)

4. My kids routinely do the dishes for me. Yes, they are too young to reach the sink, but I see it as a character building exercise.

5. I've all but given up baking and cooking in favor of cold cereal and lunch meat. The kids are thrilled about this decision. It's a win win.

6. I hate doing laundry and wouldn't do it except for the fact that I keep running out of underwear and I really, really love my washer and dryer.

7. When I do the laundry I sort mostly by person so that I can throw their clothes in the wash, then to dry, then in their basket and then in their room where they can deal with them as they see fit. Which brings me to number eight...

8. My bedroom is messier than my kid's rooms. Even with all of their toys, mine is messier.

9. I have already broken my new years resolution to shower more. In fact, I think I've showered less this year, so far than I did January last year. I'm disgusting and I'm the first one to admit it. But when you spend all day in the shed or the school room where your kids are begging you to have it be "jammie day!!" what's the point?

10. My preferred method of filing is a pile on the floor. Can't miss the pile so I never lose my stuff!

There you have it folks! So the "amazing" things I post on FaceBook are pretty much the ONLY things I do worth posting. My motto is that my house looks this way to make you feel better about your house! It's a pretty good motto I think, especially since I really love my house and my family and I think we've settled into a nice little groove. Especially the part where my husband and son do the bathrooms.

But please don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't love things to be clean. Cleanliness is next to Godliness! I adore a clean house! I love going to my friend's houses where everything is spotless and in it's place! It's a happy feeling to be clean. It's just that I have a very, very hard time with things that have to be done over and over again, generally in the same fashion, only to be undone in a few hours and the process repeated. I really just hate it. And this pretty much covers all of the above ten items.

However, I do NOT like to wear shoes in the house and I hate grit on my bare feet so I do sweep and vacuum. (There! I'm not a complete domestic loss!) Also, I did study microbiology and we will never cross the line into filth. Our goal is sanitary. No dead animals in the house, wash your hands after you show mommy that wild/dead animal you found and we do wash the chicken poop off the eggs before we give them to the neighbors. That said, I've discovered that you can be sanitary with out things being picture perfect and here we are!

Anyway, this little post was just, as I said before, to make you feel better if, by chance, you don't know what a jig saw is or how to build your own outhouse. I bet you know how to sort laundry and I bet you lovingly iron your son's Sunday shirt. (Did I mention that I gave up ironing many, many years ago?) Please look to your strengths and celebrate them on FaceBook with me. I'm pretty good with a hammer and nails and that makes me happy. What are you good at?


Lots of love,
Jenny
(no longer in a funk)


p.s. Being pregnant has nothing to do with any of this. Sad, I know. It's like this all the time! Maybe a tad bit amplified, but only a tad :)