Just as Nasty as you Remembered it...

It hasn't happened in years.  Though I have been prepared for it, I haven't had to actually MAKE any powdered milk.  Then, through a series of events, I was left without a choice; there was no way to fill up on milk, and go to all of my appointments, AND have something for Sam's nap.  So I made some.

Using my ingenious knowledge of quarts and gallons, I swished out the last of the dregs of our last gallon of milk, set aside the bottle *taps forehead*, and then poured 3 cups of powdered milk into one hot quart of water and mixed thoroughly with a whisk.  It had an odd bubbly familiarity.  Familiar because my mom had done it before.  Odder yet because it definitely had the appearance of milk.

"Maybe powdered milk in the new millennium is better than what my mom had..." I thought to myself.  I continued to REALLY mix, convincing myself that the warm water was getting out ALL of the nasty clumps that would betray it's humble powdered beginnings.  Added 3 more quarts of freezing cold water, and stuck it in the fridge.  It LOOKED just like the last gallon of milk!  SUCCESS!!

Since then, I have been cheerfully substituting it in my cooking, in Sam's bottle, and leaving it out for the kids.  And the gallon is nearly out.  I decided to, tentatively, take a little sip.  It has chilled overnight, it looks like milk, and Sam took it for the second time in a row with no complaints.  This bodes well!

OH MY DISGUSTING!!!!!! It was not only AS bad as I remembered it - IT WAS WORSE! My brain had convinced myself that it couldn't be as bad as it had been.  It was SOOOO nasty tasting, and I wasn't prepared for the after shock gag, either.  If I had had ANY food in my stomach, it would have been all over the floor.

Some people say they love it, and that if the milk is properly chilled you can't even tell the difference.  Let me tell you friends, IT IS A LIE!  It's the same lie that Diet Soda drinkers tell their fat friends, "Ohhhhh, you get used to it, until you don't notice it anymore..." Lies, all lies!!!  If you are one of these, and can so deaden your taste-buds to not notice, then PLEASE!  Come over and have some powdered milk!  We have lots! I'm sure you won't be able to tell the difference!  If you can voluntarily drink diet soda AND powdered milk, hell! you could probably get used to guzzling TURPENTINE!

But as for me, we will have the good stuff thank you very much!  You can keep your diet, your powdered, and your turpentine. Now excuse me while I go drag my tongue along the carpet to get rid of this nasty taste in my mouth!!!  EHhhhwwww. BLECH!

A Little Ireland for St. Pattys Day...

Happy St. Patrick's Day my Blogging friends! Guess what!? My sister had her baby! Ireland Gayle. In Boston. How appropriate is THIS!? I'm just excited because her quilt from Aunt Katrina arrived only shortly before she did. My sister and I seem to have some sort of genetic sympathy where our kids tend to be about a month apart. This time, they will be EXACTLY a month apart. Sam and Liesel are 22 days apart. Soon, we will both have newborns to cuddle, as well as a 2yr old's birthday party to plan.

While babies are truly fun, I really had to scramble to get this quilt ready, and the more kids I have, the more I realize that I just need to give up this hobby! But I'm glad that she could get one, just like all of her cousins. The swirly swirly quilting is called "McTavishing" and I love the effect, and the Irish-y name of it. Debbie Lee is my quilter, and she has.... oh 8 kids to care for including one that is going on a mission soon. She. Is. Amazing. And I love her work! The fabrics are reproductions from the 30's, and the design is just a modified 1/2 square, set on point, to look like an hour glass.

As my own kids are growing up, it seems like time is all warped - where the days are like weeks and the weeks are like days. There is so much to get through in a day, and yet, all those days pile up and suddenly you are hurdling year after year! So, this quilt is just a little reminder that time goes by so fast with little ones, who turn into big ones. I edged it in green and hoped that it would add a bit o' the emerald to pay tribute to the wee bonny lass, Ireland. Welcome welcome!


For better details, click on the photos....

P.S. Yes, I DO know that the quote I put on the quilt label by Jim Croce was written in a song about a couple, and not a baby, but it seems to fit just as well here as there...

Please Don't Ask....

Belly Shots. I don't want to do them. Please don't ask me. It's not that I am denying the wonders of pregnancy, or hiding in shame. It's like wearing hot pink lipstick, some people just can't carry it off without looking like a Vegas street walker. I just can't carry it off - gracefully.

Am I opposed to them? No. Some women, like the one pictured here, enjoy their first photo shoot with ample cleavage. They have skinny little arms and grow a mini basketball in their tummy that is nearly universally deemed "cute." No stretchmarks, furry or lined bellies, or red veiny road-map-like nasty things cover their tum. And good for them. *sarcastic "thumbs up"*

Somehow, the fat stays off their face and sticks straight onto the baby, they look great in spandex which reveal their precious bump, and it resembles a bouncy ball more than, say, a tripled batch of white, pasty, bread dough. Their children exit like the plant from Mary Poppin's carpet bag, leaving no evidence behind that they were ever gestating. Whoopedeedo for you.

I - on the other hand - don't get pregnant this way. I get pregnant in a way that resembles Jabba the Hutt. Pregnant all over. Big face, fat butt. When I see photos of myself, it isn't a "Awww, remember when?!" It is very literally a "WHAAAH!!! GAAAH! Who took this?! Lets destroy it before someone is traumatized for life..."

So, at least for endearing belly shots, please understand that it's just... not for me. Also, just so you know, pregnancy for me is not a fun, tummy-bearing adventure. I ache, I barf, I retain the Atlantic Ocean in fluid, and feel ridiculously tired and cranky. Right now, even as I write, I am at that stage of pregnancy where my arm starts to puff up like a Cabbage Patch doll, and I've just about lost all indications that I ever had ankle bones.

To this end, I have a particular hatred for those that love pregnancy. If you deem it "the best you've ever felt in your entire life!" and "would do it 100 times if I could!" I currently want to rip your face off with my bare hands.

So, please, no cameras, no request, and no stories of how you loved every minute of your pregnancy. Give me a year, and I might - eventually - even admire your professional cute bump photos. But for now, just keep a safe distance, and don't ask. Forewarned is forearmed. Or else, in the words of the great Jabba the Hutt(loosely translated from Huttenese): "There will be no bargain, young Jedi. I shall enjoy watching you die."