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Late 30s going on 70

A cloudy sky with a small hole of bright blue

It finally feels like fall here, it was about 48F when I took the kids to school and daycare. Enjoyed getting dressed for that sort of weather, not so much sunscreen and sweat. And my ears don’t hurt in the wind anymore thanks to the hydroxychloroquine, turns out that was Raynaud’s. But the joint pain is much more obvious with the cold. That might improve over time, but this is my now.

Late-30s going on 70. I’ve been taking a lot of comfort in Ursula Le Guin’s writing, as usual, but her writing on aging and the fallibility of the body is particularly resonant.

The pain in my feet, knees, and hips was enough the other day that it suddenly dawned on me. Do I need a cane? Maybe I need a cane. Let’s get a cane. I found a secondhand one online from some estate sale in California and sawed it down to size. I won’t need it often, but there’s something about having something that I picked, that someone else previously found useful, that I modified just for me, that makes life-changing pain a little more visible when it’s not that obvious, pain that I can’t explain to acquaintances, friends, strangers, without bursting in to tears. Having something to hold, to lean on, to signify “hey, maybe let me take that bus seat if that’s alright”, is really comforting.

I’m hoping that visual signifiers will also help with the kids. That’s the hardest, most sorrowful part. Reminding him that I have “inside boo-boos” when he wants to play bath monsters, “I know mommy”, running to ask daddy instead. Her looking at me carefully with her big blue eyes saying “oo okayee?” when I wince after she jumps in to my lap. Yes, I’m okay my love. I’m not, but I’m okay enough.

My dad has dealt with chronic pain for years. I had no idea how much it drains the soul. I’m sorry.

It’s not all bad. Like I said, my ears don’t hurt in the cold now. Though everything else does, how’s that for a tradeoff. I can have dairy again, the lactose intolerance was a part of it all. And my highest and lowest notes are back with zero effort on my part, which was truly a shock.

So many things to be thankful for (insurance, savings, time, Sam, friends, family, neighbors, modern medicine, our walkable neighborhood, a good rheumatologist). And Carole King. How had I not listened to “Tapestry” in full before. What an unbelievable album. I put it on in a particularly low moment after I stumbled across a video of Aretha Franklin singing “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman” at the 38th Kennedy Center Honors gala. Every song on there is fantastic, but I was full of tears after the first line of “Beautiful”.

“You got to get up every morning with a smile on your face / and show the world all the love in your heart.”

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The self on standby

The self has been on standby recently. My unread emails badge is something to behold, the blog is looking cobwebby, the unread books are piling up, the knee is misbehaving. Need to get proactive about this, but also want to be gentle and forgiving while the kids are so young and sleep so ephemeral. Sweet autopilot.

Maybe a little light meditation to kickstart things? How to begin.

I’m sorry to those friends waiting on replies, you’re not forgotten, just on too long a hold while I work on the bags under my eyes.

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“Don’t want a song”

I put BB to bed last night for the first time in a little while and asked him what song he wanted me to sing, as usual. He said, “I don’t want a song.” A little bit of me died.

I think it’s because I don’t get to put him to bed often due to feeding AB. It’s kind of like holding him in my arms too, I couldn’t pick him up for most of the time I was pregnant with AB and then now, he doesn’t want to be picked up. Just the first of many letting go-s.

Edit 26 February 2025: Last night, I was singing all sorts of nonsense to AB while putting her to bed. BB overheard me and asked why she gets lots of songs. I told him I thought he didn’t like it. So maybe the secret is a little good old fashioned jealousy, then I’ll get to sing to him again.

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Hello again

Red dragonfly on a wooden rail in the sun

It’s been a while! My site has fallen majorly by the wayside which both feels appropriate (see first point below) and makes me a bit sad. There’s a lot I’ve already forgotten. I want to analyze a bit more why I haven’t been posting… but that’s something I need to think a bit more about first.

A few notes to catch up on major points, and then hopefully back to posting semi-regularly.

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Manifesting cake

All of the birthdays in our little family fall within a 15 day period in the middle of the summer. There was a lot of cake around for nearly a month. And then we went to the UK to visit family who kindly wanted to celebrate all of our birthdays, so we did it all over again.

Now, B asks for cake after nearly every meal, sometimes for breakfast. Obviously we’ve been trying to phase it out, explaining that there’s none left. But there have been enough times when he’s asked for it at random moments and it has been around. So there’s no way he’s going to chance not asking for it.

This was the conversation the other day at his Nana’s table during lunch.

“KEHK??”

“No buddy, there’s no cake.”

“… Happy bur-day?”

“No buddy, there’s no cake. It’s no one’s birthday.”

“…… Happy bur-day Nana?”

“… 🤦🏻‍♂️”

It had been my birthday, Sam’s birthday, and his birthday already. But we hadn’t celebrated Nana’s yet, so it was a logical ask to be fair.

I asked him what his favorite song was yesterday, and he started singing Happy Birthday. (This was 100% a ploy for cake, his actual favorite song is “Hey Jude” because he likes to yell the NAH NAH NAH part.)

He’s still getting over jet lag since we arrived back from the UK last weekend, lots of 5:30am-ish wake-ups. This morning, he wandered sleepily out of his bedroom to go use the potty and the first thing he said was, “Bur-day?”

I’m pretty sure he thinks he can manifest cake.

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Not a baby anymore

It’s such a stereotype. But there really is a moment when suddenly they’re not a baby anymore.

You open up your phone to look for particular photo and notice it’s automatically made a memories album of your kid. So you click and watch, and realize you missed the moment, whenever that was. It’s a weird shock that seems so obvious, it’s like you didn’t get to say goodbye to a friend you always knew had to leave.

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How to make around 40 applesauce and oatmeal mini-muffins with a 1½-year-old

Ingredients
  • 1¼ c (112 g) rolled oats
  • 1¼ c (250 g) unsweetened apple sauce
  • ¼ c (50 g) sugar
  • ½ c (118 mL) milk (oat milk works too)
  • 4 T coconut oil (melted butter works too)
  • 1 t vanilla extract
  • 1 large egg
  • 1 c (130 g) whole wheat flour
  • 1 t baking powder
  • ¾ t baking soda
  • 1 t ground cinnamon
  • ¼ t salt
  • ½ c (80 g) raisins or sultanas
Equipment
  • Cooking spray or room-temp butter for greasing the muffin trays
  • Two 24-count non-stick mini-muffin trays
  • Scales or a measuring cup set
  • Measuring spoon set
  • Liquid measurement jug
  • Medium mixing bowl
  • Large mixing bowl
  • Fork
  • Spoon
  • Spatula
  • Learning tower or a sturdy step-stool for the kid to stand on
  • Aprons, ideally

Preheat the oven to 375F (190C).

While the 1½-year-old is playing with their toddler-sized soccer ball at your feet, take all of the ingredients and equipment out of the cupboards and grease the mini-muffin trays. To get started, pour the oats in to a medium sized bowl and pour the “dry” ingredients (flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt) in a bigger bowl.

Let the kid climb up on to the learning tower platform, and immediately recognize that starting with the oats was a mistake because they love oats. Try to prevent them from shoveling dry oats in to their mouth by giving them a spoon to stir with, and then realize that just compounds that mistake since they’ve recently learned how to use a spoon at dinnertime.

Switch the spoon out for your grandma’s 100% flat spatula to confuse and confound them (“…what on earth is this?”) while you measure out and pour the applesauce in to the oats. Let them lick the applesauce spoon, making them doubly excited about the mixture in the medium bowl. Remember almost too late that their Nana recently gave them a very cute apron, and manage to pull that over their head right before a glob of oats and applesauce dribbles off their chin.

Measure out and add the sugar to the oats-applesauce bowl. (That bowl is only becoming more and more exciting to the kid.). Then measure out the milk in to the jug and pour that in. Mix it up a bit to distribute the chill of the milk — because you learned last time that if you throw melted coconut oil directly on top of cold milk, it congeals in to one big lump — and then measure and add the coconut oil.

You could add the vanilla now, or you could forget it entirely because you hid the little bottle behind the fruit bowl away from cute grabby hands.

Add the egg last (adding it last means less likelihood of raw egg making its way into their mouth), then stir the oat mixture together thoroughly. Put the bowl aside, well out of reach.

Open up the raisins and put a handful on the counter to distract the kid. Fluff the dry ingredients in the big bowl together with a fork, and then pour in a half cup of raisins.

Pour the wet ingredients in to the dry ingredients while the kid absolutely houses the rest of the raisins, and then mix it all together with the spatula until combined.

Using the spoon you abandoned earlier, fill as many of the mini-muffin cups as you can. You want them each to be almost full, maybe seven-eighths of the way there. If you have any empty cups, use the kettle that’s always sitting on the stove to pour a little bit of water in them. You do this because someone once told you it protects the tray, but you have no idea if that’s actually true.

Part way through filling the cups, get the kid down from the learning tower because they’re bored and have spotted their ball again. Try to avoid having them step in the spilled oats and flour because it will stick to their feet and track throughout the apartment. Finish up the filling, then put the trays in the oven and bake at 375F for 15 minutes. Remember as soon as you’ve put the trays in that you always mean to put them on a baking sheet since it’s easier to take them out that way, and make a mental note (again) to do it next time.

When they’re done, let them cool momentarily in the tins to “loosen up” and then remove them to a wire rack to cool completely. Accidentally forget that the kid really loves muffins (why else would you be making them in the first place?) and belatedly realize that you’ve left an actual mountain of one of their favorite things out in plain sight. Blow on one frantically while the kid shouts “MUH-IN!” until it’s cool enough to eat.

Let the rest cool completely before storing them in a gallon-sized Ziplock bag in the freezer. I can’t say how long they keep, since we never keep them all that long.

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Norovirus postmortem

We all caught norovirus. About 24 hrs of it was probably the worst time we’ve had since B was born, and the rest of the time wasn’t much better.

I won’t go in to the gory details, but here’s a few tips for future me who will inevitably catch it again (because daycare). Apparently noro rips through you so fast that your body doesn’t even have time to build any meaningful immunity. Fun.

  • Have the necessary meds on hand at all times. Once you are sick, there is zero chance you will want to or be able to go get supplies. Even if you could, you should avoid it for the sake of not spreading it any further. A friend or family member could pick stuff up for you, but this is so contagious that I’d be nervous to ask someone. We found that the most useful stuff was Pedialyte for rehydration and acetaminophen (paracetamol) for when the fever and aches kick in. Ibuprofen is way too hard on the stomach when you’re already feeling delicate. If you’re in a tough spot and don’t have the supplies, there are a lot of homemade rehydration fluid recipes online. Here are a few from the UVA Health System, and one from the NHS. Note that nausea suppressants are to be avoided apparently, the whole point is to get whatever is in there out or you’ll keep feeling bad.
  • This thing hits fast. We were first exposed to B’s symptoms in the morning, and we started our bouts in a spectacular fashion almost exactly one and a half days later. It can hit sooner or later, I would imagine that depends on the exact strain, but it’s usually 1-2 days. If you suspect that one of you has norovirus and you don’t have it yet, maybe avoid being far from home. I was at dinner with a friend 45 minutes away. I made it home just barely, but I went from feeling 100% fine and ready for some poke to “oh… OH no…” in about a split second. (Side note: I thought B had just eaten something weird. Would never have gone out if I had any inkling otherwise, both for my and my friend’s sake! Thankfully she seems to be fine, so I’m assuming (hoping) I wasn’t just blindly spreading noro that evening.)
  • Norovirus moves fast. The “active” stage (ew) was basically over after 12 hours. We both felt really bad, like bedridden-bad, for 2 days in total and then had a bit of weakness and rough appetites for maybe two days after that. It doesn’t make the worst of it any better, but at least it doesn’t last that long. They don’t really know concretely how long you can be contagious for, but the advice I’ve seen on the CDC and NHS sites seems to be that you should self-quarantine until you have been symptom-free for 2 days.
  • Totally anecdotal, but it seemed a lot worse for us than it was for B… Which I’m thankful for, but it’s not what I would expect. I asked friends about it and they had similar experiences. Make of that what you will.