Sourdough Crackers

In my ongoing quest to keep my sourdough starter alive, I made sourdough crackers today using this recipe. Instead of lard I used butter. My rule of thumb is that you can never have too much butter. Blending the butter into the sourdough starter was difficult, though -- I wondered if I was expected to use a mixer, or have the butter softer than room temperature. In the end I did a very haphazard job, and it turned out fine.

You're supposed to leave the dough to rise for 7 hours. Due to several delays (mostly baby-related) I didn't finish till one, and I wanted to cook them before John got home, so they only got 4 1/2 hours of rise time. To make up for it, I let them rise in the warmest place I could find -- outside! It's been in the nineties. I just put the bowl in a plastic bag. When I brought it in at 5:30, it was warm, probably twice as big, and very foamy in consistency -- full of great big air pockets. Excellent rise! My sourdough is finally alive.

With my Silpat and rolling pin (or, as my Grandma J calls it, "spousal realignment device," haha) it was way easier than I thought it would be to roll them out. Took only a minute or two with each batch. (The recipe made three batches.)

Instead of plain salt, I sprinkled them with adobo. Yum!

They were delicious and very crunchy! Just like Wheat Thins, only better. (Though John's response was, "I could have bought you crackers." He misses the point, I think.)

Herb garden

I have been wanting to grow my own food for awhile. Unfortunately, I haven't been in a position to do it, because we've always been renting. This summer, however, I'm getting a tiny bit of a start by growing herbs on our porch. It gets direct sunlight for the whole morning, and seems a great spot to grow things.

All I've got so far is basil:

I planted it just a couple weeks ago, and look how nice it looks! I discovered recently that I will have to pinch off the buds when they appear -- good to know. Other than that, I've just been watering.

I have a little room where I can plant something else. Any ideas? In the fall I want to do garlic, but I've discovered that I can't plant it now. I have tomato seeds, but that's much too big for my little planter. Maybe chives?

A spiritual take on breastfeeding

I admit it, I'm a little obsessed with the topic of breastfeeding at the moment. Probably because it is finally working out well for us. It was doing okay up to now, mostly, but there were some issues due to some (very unhelpful) lactation consultants I saw in the hospital which are now worked out, at long last. I am very proud of myself, proud of the baby, and thankful.

I've been thinking a lot lately about all that nursing my baby teaches me about the spiritual life. After all, Catholics were pioneers of breastfeeding in the 60's and 70's, when almost everyone was told to bottlefeed. They founded the La Leche League -- under the patronage of Nuestra Senora de la Leche y Buen Parto (Our Lady of Milk and Good Birth) -- to support and educate breastfeeding mothers. Now the organization isn't officially Catholic, but you can still find a lot of Catholics there. After all, Mary didn't exactly stop and shake up a bottle on the flight to Egypt!

The bible is full of references to breastfeeding. In the book of Maccabees, the heroic mother of seven martyred sons tells one of them, "Son, have pity on me, who carried you in my womb for nine months, nursed you for three years, brought you up, educated and supported you to your present age." Nursing well into toddlerhood was quite common. Then in the Gospels, the woman cries out from the crowd, "Blessed is the womb that bore you, and the breasts that you nursed!" Best of all are the metaphors:

"Oh, that you may suck fully of the milk of her comfort,

That you may nurse with delight at her abundant breasts!

For thus says the LORD:

Lo, I will spread prosperity over her like a river,

and the wealth of the nations like an overflowing torrent.

As nurslings, you shall be carried in her arms, and fondled in her lap;

As a mother comforts her son, so will I comfort you;

in Jerusalem you shall find your comfort."

Although God is usually referred to as a Father, here He compares Himself to a mother, one who comforts and nourishes us. Jerusalem is a nursing mother with plenty of milk.

This metaphor is very meaningful to me, because I truly feel that I understand God a lot better as I nurse my son. Being a mother means being, in a small way, like God. Nursing is giving of myself -- like the mother pelican who was supposed to pierce her breast to feed her young with her blood, who is an ancient symbol of Christ.

Medically speaking, there are many reasons why I feel so very emotional about nursing. The two main hormones in a breastfeeding mother, prolactin and oxytocin, are strongly mood-altering. Prolactin governs the production of milk. It produces nurturing feelings in the mother; in fact, prolactin injected into a male rooster will cause him to gather chicks under his wings like a mother hen does. It also has a great balancing effect on the moods, making the mother feel calmer. When I was pregnant, if John said the wrong thing, I was all over him. I would tell him exactly how he was wrong, and sometimes I would cry. Now, I can have a baby screaming in my ear at the moment when he says the offensive sentence, and it really doesn't bother me the same way. I'm annoyed, but I generally shut my mouth and let it go. Prolactin actually makes it easier for me to be patient! A very necessary virtue for the mother of an infant. Another handy effect is lighter sleep -- you can be roused more easily and fall back asleep more easily. Believe me, I need that!

The second hormone, oxytocin, is responsible for (among other things) milk let-down. Once the baby's been nursing for a couple of seconds, oxytocin is released and milk rushes down for the baby. Oxytocin is popularly called the "bonding hormone" because it promotes a feeling of intense love and happiness. (It is also released during labor and sexual intercourse.) I'm not sure scientists yet know exactly how it affects the brain in order to "imprint" the person you're with as the person you're bonded to -- but it does act in this way. John often laughs at me as I stare down at the baby while he's nursing and start gushing about how wonderful he is. "Look at him," I'll say. "Look at the way he's looking up at me! Look at his little fingers! Look at his eyes! Don't you just love him? Don't you?"

I think these two hormones are absolutely necessary for navigating the hard job that is motherhood. I just don't know how bottlefeeding mothers manage.

Breast milk is naturally adaptive. When the baby is first born, he is fed with colostrum, the thick yellow milk that's full of antibodies. After a few days (signaled by the delivery of the placenta) this turns to true milk. This milk undergoes slight changes as the baby matures. Milk made at nighttime also contains chemicals that induce sleepiness. Milk at the beginning of a feed (foremilk) is more watery and thirst-quenching, while milk at the end of a feeding (hindmilk) is fattier and more filling.

The amount is also adaptive. When the milk first comes in a few days after birth, there is an almost limitless amount -- way more than the baby needs. But by about six weeks, the supply regulates so that it's just the amount baby needs. Whenever the baby goes through a growth spurt and needs more to eat, he nurses more frequently (well, almost constantly). After a day or two, the milk supply increases in response to his needs. When the baby begins to wean, eating more solid food, the milk supply decreases. There is always just the amount the baby needs.

With time, the mother's body becomes so responsive to the baby's needs that her milk will begin to let down when the baby cries -- or even before! It always astounded me the way my mother used to say, "The baby must be hungry -- my milk's coming in," and then a moment later, he would wake up and cry. I'm still not quite sure how that works!

Since prolactin represses fertility, a woman will rarely become pregnant while her baby is still nursing exclusively. The longer and more frequently he nurses, the longer the infertility will last -- so a "difficult" baby will end up with more time as the youngest child than an "easy" baby will. Again, it adapts to the baby's needs.

In order for this perfect attunement to happen, the mother and baby should be virtually inseparable. Separation will throw off the balance. When the balance is thrown off, the usual suggestion is to bring the baby very close -- to spend as much time as possible with the baby right against your skin. Often this is enough to increase the milk supply to fit the baby's needs. I have only been without the baby once since he was born: for a bit over an hour, to get my hair cut. I decided John and the baby could stay home, since I was only going to be two blocks away and could rush home (with my hair half cut!) to take care of him. I spent the entire time thinking about the baby and worrying about him. I was so glad to rush back home and scoop him up into my arms again! A nursing mother and child are sometimes referred to as the "mother-baby dyad" because they are like a single unit in their inseparability.

Okay, so how does this function as a metaphor for God? Well, think about how close God is to us -- as close as a nursing mother, who simply won't leave her baby for a minute in the hands of a stranger. When we cry out, we don't have to wail and wail for help, like a baby left far away in a crib -- no, God has heard us before we even cry, and rushes to us with overflowing mercy. It isn't a burden for God to attend to our needs, but a joy.

The best verse of all on this topic is this: "Can a mother forget her infant, be without tenderness for the child of her womb? Even should she forget, I will never forget you." As a mother, staying as close to my child as I do, I realize how utterly ridiculous is the notion that I could forget my baby. It's like saying, "I forgot to put on my feet this morning," or, "Oh, I have to run back and grab my arm." Even if I was separated from him for awhile, my overfull breasts would make me remember. If it's been too long since he's nursed, they actually become painful, and I hover over the crib, thinking, "Wake up! Wake up! I want to feed you!" Isn't that how God is when we fail to pray to Him? He tells us, "Wake up! Pray! Ask Me for something! I am so overflowing with graces for you, it hurts!"

Yes, when I nurse my baby, I feel like I understand God better. I identify with Mary, and with Jesus on the cross. It is such a joy to me to pour myself out completely for my son. Instinct makes this virtue come easily to me. I know it won't always be this way -- but I hope I always remember it.

Letters to my past self

Someone whose blog I read had the idea of writing letters to one's past self. I wrote a LONG letter to the 15-year-old me but decided not to publish it because it would require so much explanation. So, instead, I'm writing a few short letters to myself at different ages.

Dear nine-year-old Sheila,

You are so desperate to go to "real school." Really, it's not that great. Just remember that the people there aren't better than you, so trying to be just like them is silly. Be yourself. For all you or I know, they would like your real self.

Love,

Twenty-four-year-old Sheila

Dear twelve-year-old Sheila,

Without my advice of the previous letter, you have spent three years trying to be like everyone else. Of course you're failing miserably, because you aren't (and never will be) like the other eggs in the carton. That's okay though -- who you are is pretty great. Try not to be so shattered when other people -- those who sit next to you, or your teacher -- don't appreciate you. They don't even know you, so it doesn't really matter what they think! You do have a few friends, so listen to them and not to the others. Oh, and the friend who is friends with you one day so you will help her with her homework, and totally ditches you the next day? She's not a real friend; don't waste your time trying to get her to stick around.

The chin-length haircut is awful; you never should have done it. Soon you'll get a pixie cut, and it will look awesome, but you put it off way too long. Oh, and the braces? Don't complain about them, they'll end up (mostly) being worth it.

Love,

Twenty-four-year-old Sheila

Dear fourteen-year-old Sheila,

Don't go to boarding school. Just don't. You think your life is going so much better because you're planning to go there. Actually, it's going better because you're older and becoming a more thoughtful and considerate person. Even now I know you have some doubts, and you're wondering whether things might be much better if you didn't go. Trust those thoughts.

However, I know you don't have the benefit of this advice, but don't worry. After several very hard years, everything really will be okay again.

Love,

Twenty-four-year-old Sheila

Dear sixteen-year-old Sheila,

You just got kicked out of boarding school. No one will tell you why. But it doesn't matter. Just know that it wasn't God rejecting you because you weren't good enough for Him -- it was God rescuing you from a place that would have been very bad for you, if you'd stayed. He has way better things in mind for you for the future.

Right now you are in a black hole of depression. It would help to talk about it, but I know you won't until it's all over anyway. But there is one person who will save you: your baby brother. Loving him heals so many wounds. One day next spring, you will look at the flowers and the green grass and suddenly realize that you can see the light again. It will happen, believe me. And you and that baby brother of yours will be especially close forever.

Love,

Twenty-four-year old Sheila

Dear eighteen-year-old Sheila,

You're about to go to college. How excited you are! Your theme song goes, "When I leave, I don't know what I'm hoping to find, and when I leave, I don't know what I'm leaving behind." It's true. You have no idea how many changes this will bring to you -- but you feel they'll be big. You're right. You will grow up here. You will make real friends -- not like the grade-school friends whom you never spoke to again. And the biggest change of your life begins here.

Love,

Twenty-four-year-old Sheila

Dear nineteen-year-old Sheila,

Give John time. Stop freaking out. All shall be well.

Love,

Twenty-four-year-old Sheila

Dear twenty-two-year-old Sheila,

Good for you, you graduated from college! I know you really wish you could stay. But have no fear--life will only get better. This one year out from college will be rough, though. You'll be a bit lonely. But teaching is a great job, you have some good friends, and you've got the grit to push through the stress and the tiredness.

I know you think you know what you're doing as far as teaching goes. But you don't. When the kids behave well for a week, you'll think it's safe to be nice to them. But don't do it. Be strict. You can't let up on them for a minute, because they'll take advantage, you'll come back down on them hard, and then they'll resent you because they thought you were "nice." Don't get drawn into arguments--send all the kids who talk back straight to the office. You haven't got time for that. Also, keep better records.

Love,

Twenty-four-year-old Sheila

Dear twenty-three-year-old Sheila,

In three weeks, you'll be marrying the man of your dreams. Frankly, you're terrified. You're sure you've been deluding yourself all this time, and that marriage won't really make either of you happy. But it will. This is going to be one of the harder years of your life, but you will be very happy. Despite sickness, tiredness, busy-ness, opposite schedules, and seesawing emotions, or perhaps because of all these things, you will be drawn closer and closer to your new husband, and the closer you get, the more you will love him.

The only advice I have for you is to relax. Every time something goes wrong, you panic and leap to the worst possible conclusion. Your first married fight, you are convinced is the beginning of the end of your marriage -- but it isn't. You two are both learning, so when something goes wrong or doesn't go right on the first try, just laugh it off and try again. You'll figure each other out. I know you think you know him now -- but you still have a lot of learning to do. Just enjoy the learning process, and when you get confused or discouraged about it, turn to him as your best friend.

Love,

Twenty-four-year-old Sheila

Now if I could really send letters back to the past, they'd be way more detailed. I feel I could save myself so much grief if I could change decisions I've made, knowing about them what I do now. Only, as every time travel movie ever will tell you, when you try to change the past, you mess up the present. If I hadn't suffered all the things I have suffered, would I be who I am? Probably not, so in the end, I'm thankful I can't send them. I'll just take one piece of advice that came up in almost every letter: don't stress, don't worry, don't be afraid -- it will all turn out all right. It always has so far, so I'll try to trust that it always will.

Marko gets less easy and more fun

He's eleven weeks old already. How the time has flown! My mom told me that from 3 weeks till 6-12 weeks, babies are the hardest. I don't believe it. It's been very easy up to now, but now that he's getting more interactive, he's getting more difficult. In the old days, if I wanted to do something, I could lay him down on the floor and he would be so entranced with kicking his legs he didn't care. Now kicking his legs does not hold the same charm -- he wants to see new things, he wants me to watch him, he wants to get around (and is frustrated that he can't on his own), and he is getting very good at making those wants known.

Of course, we knew it would be like this. John and I agreed some time ago that, while he is an easy baby, he will be quite a handful later, once he learns to crawl. He's very good-natured and good-tempered, but he is also interested in everything. He wants to discover things and to get around. Snuggling simply does not cut it for him. Hold him with his head on your shoulder and immediately that little head pops up to look around. I tried and tried to rock him down for a nap yesterday and just couldn't get him to hold still enough to sleep! Even when he was nursing (which used to be the magic knock-out drug) his little legs were kicking and his arms were flailing. That kid has energy!

Up till last week or so, he hardly ever cried. Now he's discovered crying-as-communication, and gives a loud, angry cry when I do something he doesn't want -- like offering nursing when he is not hungry or putting him down on the floor when he wants to be in his bouncy seat. On the upside, at least I know what he wants. I'm not dealing with a passive lump of wiggles anymore; I'm dealing with an interactive kid who has wants as well as needs. On the downside, I do not much like being yelled at by my own child -- and I have no delusions that this is going to go away anytime soon!

He's also a stubborn little guy. You may think he would forget things quickly, but he doesn't. Up till last week he was using this little plastic shield to nurse. (Oh how I hated the thing! They gave it to me in the hospital without telling me of all the trouble it was going to cause.) I tried and tried to get him to nurse without it, and he adamantly refused. Wouldn't do it. Wouldn't even try. Then one day last week, he started refusing the shield. Wouldn't nurse with it. Wasn't too good at nursing without it, but absolutely wouldn't give up. It was quite a struggle for a couple days, as we had to kind of re-learn the whole nursing thing, but we succeeded, and it was entirely due to his stubbornness! I couldn't have gotten him to do it unless he had first made up his own mind to do it.

He's very talkative when he knows he's got your attention. And he'll get pretty annoyed if you stop paying attention to what he's got to say! However, that doesn't happen often because his babbles and smiles are so utterly adorable it's hard to pay attention to anything else anyway.

He likes to be tickled. He likes to go outside, even if it's a scorcher out. If he's in a good mood, he likes his carseat, but if he's sleepy or grumpy, forget about it. He likes his dad, I think better than me. (But that's okay.) He likes strangers. He loves his bath. He wants to put his face underwater and to eat the washcloth. He likes to look in the mirror. He likes to be carried around, but he absolutely must be able to see what's going on.

He still isn't into toys. He's good in church, even though he no longer sleeps the whole time. He drools a lot. He's 24 inches long and weighs a ton -- I don't know how much, but he's definitely gaining. He's grown out of his newborn clothes and mostly wears 3-6 month clothes. He has (as he always has had) an insanely expressive face. He can raise one eyebrow. He looks more like his dad every day.

I call him Marko because he seems too little for a big, grown-up name like Mark. No one else seems to have this problem though. And yet 90% of the time he goes by endearments anyway: little man, little guy, buddy, little mister, baby-san, man-boy, young one.

He requires a lot more of me than he used to. Gone are the days where I could just park on the couch and nurse him all day. But I wouldn't trade it. He is so much fun these days, and I love to watch him grow.

Holy fear

I read a news story last night that absolutely horrified me. I'm not going to tell you about it because I don't want to think about it any more, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to know anyway. At any rate, I know for sure it wouldn't have been so scary to me a year ago. But now, I read about something awful and I look down at my beautiful little boy, sleeping so peacefully, and I feel terrified. No one will ever hurt my baby! I promise myself.

I think I have heard of this feeling described as "passionate protectiveness," or something like that. It describes how I feel pretty well. I hold him tight and I know that I would not, and will not, allow anything to happen to him. If anyone bursts his balloon or knocks over his sand castle, if anyone spills his milk or breaks his heart, they will have me to reckon with.

Maybe there will come a day when he doesn't want me to protect him anymore. That would be terribly difficult. Until then, though, he's got himself a mama bear who will look out for him.

I still fear, though. I'm afraid I will not be enough to protect him from this evil, evil world we live in. (It never seemed this evil before I was a mother.) Yet I know the world he lives in is different from the world I hear about on the news. His world is safer, because I have already given him so much. I gave him a loving and loyal father, one I married so he would always be assured of both of us. Together we gave him a home that is always safe. We keep him close to us. We don't hand him off to a million and one people we don't trust. He will never be lacking for love. He has his father's arms and his mother's breast always there for him. He has a large, loving extended family that thinks the world of him. He has amazing godparents to count on when he needs them. He has all of his parents' close and trustworthy friends who will stick up for him.

Someday he will have to face more of this big, bad world on his own. But it will be in his own time, when he is ready. His childhood won't be taken away from him or hurried along. When he steps out into the world on his own, he will be strong and confident, because he has been loved so well.

I believe this, and that's how I ever sleep at night.

Mark discusses current events