This One’s For Miriam

A woman with a postpartum mood disorder is not always easy to spot. She can look lively and energetic, juggling three kids, swim lessons—and the demon she thinks is lurking in her bedroom trying to steal her baby.

She can make it to work every day, smile and joke and never let on that she hasn’t slept more than two hours together for a week. Even though the baby is sleeping through the night.

She can host a dinner for her in-laws and no one will ever know that she is terrified to use a knife because all she can see in her head is that knife cutting off the fingers of her babies.

She will post on Facebook how proud she is of her baby, and pictures that make her look happy and calm. And one day her mom will find her sobbing on the floor in her closet.

She might tell people that she isn’t feeling quite right, that she feels fearful or jittery, and someone will say “Oh, I felt that way after I had my baby. It happens to all of us.” She’ll smile and say “That’s right. You’re right. We just have to get past this place.” But inside, she’ll know that she just tried to ask for help and no one heard her.

She’ll remember that the next time and she won’t speak up.

If she does get help, she’ll feel so guilty. The question “Do you ever think about hurting the baby” will rip her heart into shreds. I must be a bad mother, she’ll think. Otherwise they would be able to see that the baby is the only thing keeping me here.

In the midst of all this, she will struggle to look like she has it together. Because she knows that society judges a mom by such a harsh standard. So finally, after months of waving a quiet white flag, she decides she’s had enough of being the postpartum mom. Enough of folks watching her with sharp eyes as she cares for her child. Enough of support groups and counselors. Maybe she just wants to feel healthy and sane again. So she yearns for better, hopes for better, tells everyone she feels better. They believe her, even the doctors, and they start to back off her meds.

And when it starts to tilt left again, she barely notices because she hasn’t been upright since her baby was born.

One day she gets in her car with the baby in the back and she drives 275 miles away from the people who are so relieved that she’s doing better. Then she dies a horrible, terrifying, preventable death.

And she leaves behind the one person she couldn’t live without.

I could have been Miriam, so I will speak for Miriam: Enough. It shouldn’t be this hard to be a mom. It shouldn’t be this shameful to be sick.

The time to do a better job is now.

If you or someone you know is suffering from depression, anxiety, anger or delusions after the birth of a baby–even months after the birth of a baby–call an OB/GYN or contact Postpartum Support International at www.postpartum.net.

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Let It Ride ~ Jen

I was raised to believe that everything is a game. You’re either winning, or you’re losing. There was nothing wrong with the philosophy in itself—my parents wanted us to do our best.

The problem is that I am a natural born meateater. I have a hard time turning it off. So I suck at losing. Or being wrong, which in my head for so long was the same thing.

Because I don’t like being wrong, or losing, I made sure that I knew what I was talking about. Shea will tell you that I am not often wrong. And that he owes me $110 million for all the times he’s said “I bet you a million dollars I’m right” and lost. Even Gabriel is in to me for about $30 million.

Lately I have really been thinking about this need to win. I read some books by a man who says—among other brilliant things—that our cultural obsession with winning in this country traps us in a very basic existence. Specifically, that we can never be the Christians Christ calls us to be if we are constantly ordering ourselves as above or below everyone in our lives.

We only need to orient ourselves in terms of one thing, really. Our relationship with God.

In percolating on this, I realized I need a whole new perspective. I had no idea how many times in a day I order myself in the hierarchy. I do it so naturally, it’s almost unconscious. Just yesterday, I had this conversation in my head: “I’m wearing yoga pants to pick up the kids. Again. I wore yoga pants to pick up the kids Tuesday. If I wear them today, what will the other moms think? But so-and-so wears yoga pants every day, and the same ones, I’m pretty sure. I’m not as bad as that.”

And do you know as I was typing that, I thought in my head “Well, at least I just thought it. So-and-So would have said it out loud to everyone and asked if that made her a bad mom. I’m not like that.”

Well.

Natural born meateater. It’s going to take a minute to replace the motherboard.

My goal this month is to let it ride. To shake it off. To be quiet and watch. To not need to be the one who knows or does or handles it. To not keep score. To not always try to hold the high ground, where I just find myself alone and under siege anyway. To let Shea win some of his money back.

I am going to try out the idea that I don’t have to have a say. I don’t have to have a point of view. I don’t have to have an explanation or an answer. I don’t have to take every person’s idea in and sort it immediately into a pile of “brilliant”, “stupid”, “ridiculous”, “intriguing” or “foolish”. I can just let it be, since it usually has nothing to do with me, and trust that God is doing His work.

Folks who know me really well know that I will need a lot of support to make this happen. A lot of prayerful support. Maybe even a miracle. I’d be grateful if you could remember me in your thoughts.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

And Time Goes On ~ Dana

So Saturday is my birthday. And I don’t feel like having it. In fact, sitting here thinking about it, I’ve got a slightly sick feeling in my stomach. I just might vomit.

This will be the first year that I “celebrate” my birthday without my dad. How do I celebrate a year like this?

I have steered away from writing too many “my dad is gone” posts, because first of all, I don’t want to be “death lady,” and second of all, in general, I think I’m doing pretty well. I mean, I’ve cried every day since he died. That’s 141 days in a row. And I’m sure there were a few strung together before that, too. But life has continued on, and I’m fall-down grateful for it. My kids are getting bigger, and more beautiful, inside and out, by the minute. We have a beautiful home. My sweet mother, husband, cousin, brother, sister-in-law, niece, nephew, in-laws, and countless friends are standing bravely by my side, facing this with me. I’ve decorated my house for fall. I smile. I laugh.

And yet, this week, I am struggling. My birthday and then his, 13 days later. The last time we went out to dinner together was to celebrate our birthdays. And Halloween night last year was the first time that he was hospitalized… the time that we have come to call “The Beginning of the End.”

This month it will be five months that he has been gone. It doesn’t seem possible. Five months is a long time to dread every Saturday, the day that he died. Or to remember every Thursday that it was on a Thursday that he last told me that he loved me.

It’s the cruelest trick of nature that time moves on, because I don’t want to live one more day without my father. Not it a suicidal way, but in an I’m-all-done-with-this-little-game way. And that phrase “time heals all wounds” feels like complete crap. You see, with the passage of time, the gap only widens. He hasn’t hugged me in a long time. I haven’t heard his laugh. There have been no emails from him in my inbox, or hand-written notes on wolf stationery in the mail.

With the changing of the seasons I’ve had to clean out my girls’ closets. When I started, I realized that I hadn’t packed away their things from last winter yet. And as I took each sweater off the hanger, I remembered that my dad saw them wearing these little clothes: the hat that kept Mazie warm in the hospital waiting room, the dress Violet wore when he held her in the kitchen, the outfits they wore on the day of his funeral. How can I give these clothes away? Is there still a piece of him hanging on to them?

In those last days, I begged God to show Dad mercy and I am so grateful that God did. But there is a selfish part of me that just wants him back. And I know that he is with God, but doesn’t God have enough people up there in heaven? Can’t He just send my daddy back? My irrational brain argues, “Well, I know he would want to come back, and we all want him to come back, so I don’t see what the problem is.” Things just don’t work that way.

I’m realizing is that this is what grief looks like. When I was facing this loss, I knew that it would be hard. Then it got here and it’s so much worse than I ever imagined. In those first days after Dad’s death, many well-intentioned people told me things that they thought would make me feel better: “He’s in a better place. His suffering has ended. This will get easier.” But the problem with those sentiments is that they just don’t make me feel better. And truthfully, I don’t want to feel better. We live in a world where we are expected to just suck up what life gives us and go on about our business with a stiff upper lip, or to just look at the positive side of things and ignore difficult, painful emotions. And I’m mad at that. Even my therapist told me, “Six months. Things will be better in six months.” And my first thought was, “Clearly you’ve never suffered a loss.” I just want to sit in these emotions for a while. I know that I must travel through this darkness so that I can once again see the light.

So I cry when I need to, even in front of my kids. I don’t hide these emotions from them. And my sweet 2½-year-old comes and gives me a hug and says, “You’re sad for Zha-Zha?” Yes. “I miss him, too.” Yes. And sometimes she’ll say, “Gosh darn it.” Yes, Mazie, gosh darn it. He is supposed to be here.

That’s where I am now. I am learning to navigate this birthday week and this life without him. And it’s hard. But I am hunkering down with my family, surrounding myself with my friends. And they are faithful, sharing my pain and loving me up. They are baking me apple pies and cooking up pot roast. They are meeting us at Disneyland. They are lifting me up in prayer and holding my hand, just as good family and friends are supposed to. And thank God for them.

Fall Canning ~ Jen

In Southern California, one of the harbingers of Fall is the Santa Ana winds.

These winds blow strong and unbelievably dry for days at a time, sometimes cold, but mostly hot, hot, hot. If you are not from So Cal, you may have heard this term related to some huge, catastrophic brush fire that occurred near Los Angeles. Every Southern Californian knows to scan the horizon often on days that the Santa Anas blow.

But these winds also signal a change in the weather. Summer is over, no matter how warm the temps during the day. The nights are cooler and backyard pools no longer hold the heat. The rest of the nation is digging out their jeans and sweatshirts—and it has snowed in the Rocky Mountains—and we’re still wearing shorts. But it’s Fall for sure when those Santa Ana winds blow. And when they do, I am pulled to my kitchen by thoughts of cinnamon, apples and pumpkins.

The other day, I pulled Dana with me. Over the weekend, my family made a quick jaunt to our local apple tree mecca, Oak Glen and picked 30 lbs of apples. Oak Glen is this special place, like someone carved a piece out of Colonial Massachusetts and plopped it down in the low mountains of San Bernardino.

Braeburns at Riley's Apple Farm in Oak Glen — Braeburns at Riley’s Apple Farm in Oak Glen

In a few weeks, these trees will be a gorgeous shade of yellow

I called Dana and invited her to come over and make apple butter and apple pie filling. She’s never canned before and we both thought this would be a good time for her to see what it’s all about.

We peeled and cored and sliced. Then we did it some more. Sixty apples are a LOT of apples to face down. But we did it.

A natural hazard of cooking with organic apples: stowaways.

And since we were on such a roll, I roasted a pumpkin and made some pumpkin butter.

Six hours of cooking and canning got us six half pints of apple butter, four half pints of pumpkin butter, three half pints of applesauce, three quarts of apple pie filling and enough pumpkin puree to make muffins or bread. Whew!*

All my canning recipes were from the Ball Blue Book Guide to Preserving.

Apple Butter:

4 lbs apples

4 cups sugar (I used 2 for a lower sugar option)

2 teaspoons cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon cloves

I also added 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

Wash apples; peel, core and quarter. Combine apples and two cups of water in a pot; simmer until apples are soft. Using a food mill or food processor, process apples until they are pureed.

Combine the pureed apples, sugar and spices in pot. Cook on low until mixtures darkens and thickens (usually two hours or more). Stir about every 15 minutes to prevent burning on the bottom.

Apple Sauce:

2 1/2-3 1/2 lbs apples

Water

Sugar, 1 teaspoon cinnamon, 1/4 teaspoon cloves, 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg (optional)

Wash, peel, core and quarter apples; simmer in pot with just enough water to prevent sticking; mash apples in pot; add sugar and spices (optional); bring applesauce to a boil.

Apples for Baking:

10 to 12 lbs of apples

Ball Fresh Fruit Protector

1 cup sugar

2 cups water

1 tablespoon lemon juice

Wash, core and peel apples; cut them lengthwise into 1/2 inch slices; treat with Fresh Fruit to prevent darkening (see directions on package).

Meanwhile, combine sugar, water and lemon juice in a large pot, stirring to dissolve sugar. Bring to a boil, reduce heat. Drain apples and add to mixture. Simmer for five minutes before water processing.

Roasted Pumpkin

Take a pumpkin, any pumpkin (most recipes suggest sugar pumpkins for baking, but I have used the ones they sell for jack o’ lanterns with no problems). Cut off the stem, then cut the pumpkin in half. Clean the pulp and seeds, set aside. Place the two halves face down on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Bake in a 350 degree oven for 45 minutes.

Remove from oven and scrap flesh from inside. Puree in a food processor.

This is exactly what comes out of the can when you buy pumpkin in a store. Proceed to your favorite pumpkin recipe!

Pumpkin Butter (courtesy of www.eatingbirdfood.com)

5 cups fresh pumpkin puree (or 1 29 ounce + 1 15 ounce can of pumpkin puree)
1 cup brown sugar (or sucanat)
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon allspice
Pinch of sea salt

Preparation:

Combine all ingredients in a crock pot/slow cooker and stir to mix well.
Set on low heat and cover loosely, leaving a little space for the steam to escape so the mixture can reduce and thicken.
Cook for about 6 hours. The pumpkin butter should have cooked down and thickened. If it’s not as thick as you would like it, just take the lid completely off and let it cook for another 30-45 minutes.
Let cool, remove from crock pot and put pumpkin butter into jars or airtight containers.The pumpkin butter will last a week or so in the fridge, but you can also freezer preserve it by storing it freezer safe containers (or jars).

* I am not a canning expert. If you are interested in canning, please visit www.freshpreservingstore.com for products and guides, or www.foodinjars.com for recipes and how-to. Also, turns out it’s not safe to water process pumpkin butter at home, because of the chemistry.

Welcome Autumn! ~ Dana

Well, it’s official. Autumn is finally here! And no, I don’t mean just the arrival of the Pumpkin Spice Latte at Starbucks (although that is quickly becoming one of my favorite things of autumn!).

I’ve always loved autumn, and when I moved to Austria, I fell in love with it even more. The changing of the seasons is visible everywhere there. The local restaurants begin to change their menus to represent the seasonal fare. My favorite restaurant in our town had something called Wild Woche or Wild Week in which they slow-roasted venison, wild boar, wild hare, all of which had been caught in our forest, and served them up in wonderful, hearty sauces, with earthy root vegetables, all meant to fatten the townspeople up, steeling us against the harsh winter that was sure to come.

But more than the beautiful colors, the comfort food, the inviting scents, there’s just something different in the air once autumn comes. I’ve always felt it, that magic electricity. It’s like in Mary Poppins when Burt sings “Winds in the East, mist comin’ in, like somethin’ is brewin’, about to begin!”

This past Sunday was the Autumnal Equinox, a time of equal light and equal darkness. The balance has tipped and we descend into darkness. This happens not only literally as the nights are now longer than the days, but for many people, it happens in a spiritual sense as well.

The bright warm days of summer, which beckon us outdoors to the beach, the mountains, or even just the backyard, are over. As the temperatures cool, we turn our focus inside, many of us decorating for fall and burning pumpkin-scented candles. Our tendency, when things get dark, it to turn on more light, to fill our already busy schedules with even more things.

But I invite you this autumn to take some time in the darkness, to sit quietly with your soul and take stock of what you have done this year. How have you grown? What seeds did you sow in the spring and tend in the summer that are now coming to harvest? How can you prepare yourself for the craziness that the holiday season can bring on?

Pull out your favorite snuggly sweater or blanket. Get some pumpkins to put on your front porch. Put some gourds on your mantle. Make some of your favorite comfort foods. And if you want a new favorite fall recipe, I’m sharing my very best one with you, A Kitchen Witch’s Pumpkin Spice Bread. And have a glorious autumn, everyone!

A Kitchen Witch’s Pumpkin Spice Bread

Ingredients:

2 cups pureed pumpkin (fresh roasted or canned)

3 cups sugar

1 cup water

1 cup vegetable oil

4 eggs

3 1/3 cups flour

2 teaspoons baking soda

2 teaspoons cinnamon

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon nutmeg

¾ teaspoon ground cloves

Instructions:

Heat oven to 350 degrees F. In a large mixing bowl, combine pumpkin, sugar, water, vegetable oil, and eggs. Beat until well mixed. Measure flour, baking soda, cinnamon, salt, baking powder, nutmeg, and ground cloves into a separate bowl, and stir until combined. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the pumpkin mixture, beating until smooth.

Grease two 9×5 inch loaf pans and dust with flour. Evenly divide the batter between the two pans. Bake for 60-70 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool 10-15 minutes then remove from pans by inverting them onto a rack and tapping the bottoms. Slice and serve plain, buttered, or with cream cheese.

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