New Year's Eve traditions

Each Christmas, I save the cards from close friends and family and pack them with the decorations. Every new Year's Eve, as I start packing away the decorations, I pull out cards from previous years and go through them. 

The front of the card doesn't matter, it's what's inside.  Handwriting. Personal notes and well-wishes. Signatures. 

I have dozens of cards from friends and family who have since passed away: My Mom, My bio-Dad, My friends Dale, Albert, Linda & Ray, others. It's so bittersweet, and a small way I can honor the people who have made such an impact in my life.

What Up, there, Fruitcake?

Just look at this unholy mess of... gah!

I hate fruitcake.

I hate everything about that cumbersome-to-chew dry brick and I question its edibility.

I hate the little nasty fossilized-yet-inexplicably-gooey citron pellets. And while we're at it, let's add all the busted walnut dust and chunks that collect at the bottom of the container. Give people a tooth-breaking jolt during dessert. It'll be a hoot. And what's with the orange and lemon rinds? Really?  We didn't have enough annoying crap jammed into this crap ingot? We had to include fruit skin? No amount of rum can salvage that.

And yet...

And yet, one of the holiday recipes I cherish and make every year, is a cake.,.  into the batter of this cake I willingly place significant quantities of fruit. It is one of my Mom's traditions that I keep alive. (Miss you, mom.) It's not a fruitcake per se.

It's my homemade birthday cake of choice. It is simple, unusual, and has wide appeal. Have it for breakfast. Sprinkle the top with a little confectioner's sugar, serve with tea or coffee or tequila shots... it doesn't matter.

If I make one to bring to dinner party, I come prepared with a speech on how, despite the fact that this happens to be comprised of about 80% fruit, do not be misled. This cake, I assure you, is no fruitcake.

It is, rather, a moist and delicious cake... riddled with juicy fruit... It's really more of a OK FINE IT'S A FRUITCAKE. This is not your mama's fruitcake.  It's MY mama's fruitcake. And it's awesome.

Preheat the oven to 325.
Mix these bad boys in a bowl:

• 1 large can of fruit cocktail (include the liquid)*
• 2 cups of sugar
• 3 eggs
• 3 cups of sifted flour
• 1 tsp. salt
• 1 tsp. cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp cardamom
• 1 1/2 cups of raisins
• 1 1/2 cup of pecans (optional)
• a shot of rum, or cognac, or whiskey, or other dark liquor. 

Pour it into a bundt or angel food cake pan that's been buttered and dusted.
Bake it for 2 hours. That is not a typo. Two hours.,
Eat the fruitcake. You are what you eat.

Fruitcake.

EDIT for Kelly:
Q: What, exactly is a large can?
A: I use either 2 normal sized cans or the HUGE can. 
Q: Can you be a little more specific?
A. Nope.

The Stupid Muffins, variant: Chocolate, Breakfast

Let's say it's finally cold enough to turn on the oven (Which, in the blizzard southwest, it currently is). 

photo by Don Michael Watenpaugh, 12/27/15 Edgewood, NM
originally published on KOAT.com

And, for the sake of argument and completely hypothetically, let's pretend your picky-eater son is wanting breakfast and expressing it by repeatedly turning down every presented option while insisting that he is, and I quote, "literally starving!"   Maybe it goes something like this.  Hypothetically.

     I'm HUNG-GREEEEEEEEEEEE (hands at throat, eyes rolling up into back of head, tongue poking out the side)  

     Do you want eggs?

     No.

     French Toast? Pancakes?

     No.

     Cereal? Bagel?

     (dramatic pause...)  Noooooooo! So Hungry! But not hungry for that!

     Ok, What are you hungry for?

      (hands drop from throat) Maybe how about candy?

     Yeah, not gonna happen, sweetcheeks.  Apples and peanut butter?

     (hands snap back to throat) Noooooo!  So Hungry!

     Ok, go grab the kindle and let's look for something to make

And let's say you stumble upon a recipe for chocolate breakfast muffins that has your formally dying-from-hunger son marching around the living room like a professional half-time band leader, chanting Muf-fins! Muf-fins! Muf-fins!  You know, hypothetically. Here's what you might want to do in that situation: 

You make 

the stupid muffins. 

Preheat the oven to 350.  By the way, this is a fantastic way to warm up the kitchen floor on cold mornings for those of us too lazy to go put on socks.

Make yourself a cup of coffee. Because nothing happens before coffee. 

Assemble your ingredients. Seriously, pull everything that you're going to use out of the cabinets and fridge to make sure they are At-The-Ready!  You don't want to get floury fingerprints over all your cabinets, do you? Or worse. You could forget to take the butter out of the freezer and then when you go to melt it in the microwave quickly because you lacked forethought, it somehow explodes and then you have to interrupt muffin making to clean a hot buttery mess from the inside of it. Hypothetically.

Assemble your accouterments.  Same reason. Minus the exploding. Be sure to pronounce that Ah-Coo-Truh-Mah. It makes a difference.*  

Dry Ingredients. sift these together in one bowl		Wet ingredients mix these in a separate bowl
2/3 cup cocoa powder		2 large eggs
2 cups flour		3/4 cup milk
1 teaspoon baking powder		1 1/4 cups light brown sugar**
1 teaspoon baking soda		2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3/4 teaspoon salt		2 teaspoons vinegar
		1/2 cup butter, melted; or 1/3 cup vegetable oil

Other ingredients - add these last
1 cup chocolate chips
1 scoop of Fiber Boost (optional)***
1/2 cup Textured Vegetable Protein (optional)***
sparkling white sugar or pearl sugar, for topping (optional)

Mix wet ingredients into dry ingredients.
Add the other ingredients. Mix some more.
Pour into muffin tin or silicon molds or whatever you got that's oven-proof and muffin-esque.
Bake for 20-25 minutes or until the toothpick you poke in the center of it comes out clean. Assuming you can find the toothpicks you hid way back in the cabinet before the muffins char to a smoky black mess, because you never use toothpicks for anything but baking these days anyway. And really, how often does THAT happen?

* It doesn't make a difference.  It just amuses me.
** Ok, smartypants. Sugar is not a wet ingredient. Fine. But trust me, it does so much better when you dissolve it with the wet ingredients before mixing with the dry

*** Face it. I am making my son chocolate muffins. For BREAKFAST. You bet your sweet asiago I am going to sneak some likeness of nutrition in there somehow.

Wrap it Up!

It's the most wonderful time of the year... 

to have no obligations,

or social commitments,

and a glass full of cheer!  *hic* 

It's the most wonderful time of the year...

I'm embracing some downtime this holiday. Just me and Q and SangDeLe With all of Q's medical and academic and occupational therapy stuff, and the substantial amount of workplace activity this year, some R&R is exactly what is needed here at Casa Pantheon. Please to report that for the first time since 2012, SangDeLe has stayed out of the hospital a full year. Now, that is reason to celebrate.  

Unfortunately, Q and I managed to get the gift that keeps on giving.

photo credit: unknown*

Oh stomach bug, Oh stomach bug!
Thou bug most vile and nasty!
Oh stomach bug, Oh stomach bug!
The air in here smells ghastly!
Your timing stinks, It's just not fair!
I need a change of underwear!
Oh stomach bug, Oh stomach bug!
Thou bug most vile and nasty!

Oh well. Q has appeared to have recovered today. And, frankly, I'm overjoyed that it's ONLY a stomach bug given his recent hospital jaunt.

I've probably got a few more days before I recover, but that's ok too. We've got nowhere to be, except tracking Santa on NORAD, wrapping up the last of the presents, and watching the storm roll in. 

Reports indicate the storm could shut down the local highways. No matter where you are this holiday weekend, please be safe and be happy. 

* I wanted to find the source of this picture. It's one of hundreds of random pics I've collected. So, I ran this image through tineye - a reverse image search. Unfortunately, I found only one match. The match was from a stock photo site, but it looks like the photo itself is no longer hosted at the site today. So... apologies to the owner of this photo, wherever you are, for my inability to credit you or support you through the appropriate channels. Great pic. .

Scars (Follow-up to That Which Doesn't Kill You)

This is a cross-post from the sensree.com blog post by the same name. I don't typically cross-post, but this one is a follow-up to my son's recent medical scare and it seemed appropriate to put it here.  

I shouldn't be surprised that a traumatic event such as abdominal surgery can trigger a regression in proprioception integration. As a result of my son's recent surgery, Q has become fearful of anything touching his torso because it is too close to his scar.  Two days after we came home from the hospital, he melts down at when we talk about washing the adhesive from the electrodes.  I just know it's going to drip on my scar! 

I've been hesitant to push so soon after the surgery, but the time will come where we're going to have to work through the fear and tactile sensation in the area surrounding, not on, his abdominal scar.

I try to normalize it for him.  I show him my scars from foot surgery so many years ago.  And our dog has a similar scar from her surgery where we had her broken fixed. These help to a degree. Still, when it's just Q and the mirror, he shares with me that his scar looks scary, especially around his belly button, and he doesn't like it. We talk about Halloween, his favorite holiday, and how cool it is to have something 'scary' all year round. That didn't work as well as I hoped. 

We're planning a scar party in the spring, after he's had a chance to heal and the redness goes away.  Everyone with a scar will be invited to tell their stories. Everyone without a scar will get one drawn upon them if they like, and can pick a funny story about how they got it from a hat. We're all inclusive around here. I think it will be good. I hope so. Eventually, he's going to have to come to terms that this beautiful reminder that he's a survivor is now part and parcel of who he is. But Spring is a long time away.

While we were still in the hospital, I looked for something that might help. Q's a bookworm, so it was a no-brainer to start there. I found this book, and it arrived the weekend after we got home. Q seemed to really respond to it.

He's healing very well physically. Emotionally, it's a bit slower, but he's progressing every day. This isn't a typical sensory book, but if your sensory child has to deal with a scars from any source, this may help them figure out how to accept it.

SCARS [Paperback] 

by Susan Foley, M.D. and Regen Foley

How do you explain scars to a child? With kindness, honesty, and sensitivity. This unique book explains scars and the physical changes and emotional reactions they cause. Colorful illustrations help the journey with this difficult topic.

(Available from Amazon)

Carpe Carbum! (Bread Pudding on the fly)

It snowed today, so I caved in to the the urge to turn on the oven.  When I cook on the fly, I don't really follow a formal cooking method, BUT in the interest of sharing, I've duplicated my method as best I could. 

• Enjoy looking at the snow out the window
• Realize it's chilly in the kitchen
• Preheat oven to 350 degrees
• Gather up all those old stale bread ends that you insist on saving for just such an occasion
• Tear old bread into bite sized pieces, put them in a greased loaf pan
• Cut up some butter into small chip-sized pieces and cleverly hide them in the bread chunks like buried treasure on some pirate island
• In a bowl, mix a cup(ish) of sugar, 2 eggs, a can of evaporated milk, a tbsp(ish) of vanilla*, dash cinnamon
• Pour the liquid mix over the bread and mix it** so everything is covered and moistened
• Get distracted by something else for about 15 minutes so it can sit and soak
• Pop that bad boy in the preheated oven and forget to set the timer
• Don't leave the house. By all means, do putter around a bit but try to do so moderately close to the kitchen
• Check on it when you can smell it... probably 30-40 minutes in
• Realize it needs another 10-15 minutes. Resume puttering.
• Pull it out the oven and let it cool on the counter 
• Be pleased with yourself for making such a good culinary decision this morning
• Sometime later, melt some butter and mix it with milk, sugar, an egg, vanilla, and probably booze. 
• Pour it over the bread pudding while you sit wrapped in a fleece blanket watching Hotel Transylvania on Amazon Instant Video

It doesn't matter how many servings it makes. Nobody pays attention to that anyway.

* Real vanilla.  Not imitation vanilla.  Really, do we have to go through this every time?  Yes. Yes, I think we do. 
** With a fork. Not your fingers. What are you, an animal? Come on!

¡Eso sí que es!

This has been a year of growth and change for everyone in Casa Pantheon. Especially Q, my otherwise healthy son, who has experienced 2 major surgeries (ear and intestinal), switching schools, and the acquiring of a (pretty awesome) step-family. That's big stuff for a 7 year old.  

But the year is not yet over, and I fear that my mini-me has one more milestone to pass. One more hurdle to jump. Another in the never-ending parade of life's many potential disappointments to face.  Brace yourself, kiddo... I'm giving you socks for Christmas.

That isn't to say he's getting ONLY socks. I'm just saying that this is the first year that not every gift from mom is a super-cool-fun-time event. Sorry, kiddo. This year Mom is wrapping practical items like gloves, a car-seat tray table, and yes, socks. And some of them will be for you. And some of them will be for people less fortunate than us. People we haven't met and may never. Because there's a lot more in life that's a hell of a lot worse than not getting the toy you wanted for the holidays. As long as there is a penny to pinch, there's a penny to use to help others in need. It's never too early... or too late... to realize that.

And later that morning, when we sit wrapped in blankets, maybe sipping hot cocoa and watching a movie, we will be wealthy by all measures that truly matter. 

That which doesn't kill you

This week, I faced the very real possibility of losing my son.

It started with "my tummy hurts."  A common enough claim among small kids, usually addressed with a trip to the bathroom. I didn't think much about it. Besides, the family who watches him before and after school just had a bout with the stomach flu. This is probably just a virus that's trying to claim its next stake. The virus equivalent of a land grab, or hostile takeover of my kiddo's stomach. A few days of rest are on the horizon. 

It wasn't that. No stomach flu made it past our secure borders. And I was relieved that we had dodged the inconvenience of spending a few days home watching cartoons. But a few days later...

Did you get it?
Did you get the mustard?
Because it's spicy.
Did you get it?

"Ow, my tummy hurts." Again? Hmm. Did this start when my super-picky eater finally found a new food he likes? Bologna sandwiches, "and don't forget the spicy mustard, mom! Did you forget the spicy mustard? I can't see the spicy mustard!" Look on the other side, buddy. "Yay! Spicy mustard! I like spicy mustard, mom." I know, sweetie. I wouldn't forget it. I hoped he wasn't reacting poorly to a new food he absolutely loves. I can count the list of foods he can tolerate on my fingers.  (Thankfully, this includes broccoli. Whew!) I'd hate if we lost any options due to a food allergy or worse. Is it the bologna? The mustard? 

It wasn't. And I was relieved that we could keep our comfortable, although sometimes questionable menu of the foods my sensory kid will eat. Until Sunday night, when it returned as quickly as it faded away. And this time, it was different. 

"My tummy hurts!" My typically calm son sounded alarmed. Scared. This was new for us in the realm of tummy status reporting. Over the course of an hour, the pain seemed to come and go in waves, lasting just a few seconds... and then a seconds few more... then ten...  thirty... Ok, tonight is the night we go to urgent care and get answers on this.

It wasn't. After we got in the car and started to head to the urgent care clinic, my son started screaming much louder as the pain waxed and waned. Such sounds I never heard before, I never wanted to hear from my child or anyone's. Without hesitation, I turned toward the nearest ER instead. 

You know when a child is in serious pain. You can tell. BUt when he's asking "why?" while crying out, it's heartbreaking. That's not pain. That's torment. You don't know the true meaning of the word helpless until you bear witness to a loved one's suffering and know there is not thing one you can do to help. Ok, we're here at the hospital. At least now is the night this gets resolved.

It wasn't.  Or rather, it kinda was.  Kinda.  After 30 minutes of screaming in pain in the waiting room, we get checked in. As soon as Q hits the ER bed, he's quiet.  In a few minutes, he's fine. An hour later, he's watching cartoons and enjoying himself.  No pain for 90 minutes.

One of the nurses pops his head into my room. "I haven't heard him scream since he got back here." I smiled, I know, right? He doesn't smile. He locks eyes with me. "Kinda makes you think, doesn't it?" He slowly closes the door, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time.


Wait, what? Makes ya think? About what? That my kid is faking this? That I'M faking this? What the hell.  But there he is, my happy little kiddo, cheerfully telling the tech he's all better. So maybe it was gas. Maybe it's not the emergency I feared it was. He did get better after using the bathroom.  Maybe it was just one really bad ass gas bubble and I overreacted. Ok.  We can go home now. A little embarrassed, but I'd make the same call in the same circumstances. But don't make me feel like an idiot about it. And at least, this whole thing is finally over.

It wasn't.  

Q lost his appetite. Two days later, when the symptoms returned, he stopped eating altogether. His symptoms didn't go away. Back to the emergency room. Questions, Recounting the stories. X-rays. Trying to keep my kid calm. Hey Q, your first Xray! how cool! Check it out! It's a picture of your bones...  Ma'am this part here shows an obstruction. Lorazepam for the pain, but it's not really helping. Yes, pain started Sunday. He was fine Sunday night until Tuesday. No fever. Yes he's gone to the bathroom. No he hasn't eaten. Yes he started throwing up, but with an empty stomach there's nothing much coming out. We need to consult with a pediatric surgeon at your hospital. Waiting. There is no pediatric surgeon at your hospital. We need to transfer you to UNM. Ambulance ride transfer to the pediatric ER unit downtown. Hey Q, have you ever been in an ambulance before? Me either! How cool is that! More questions. More recounting. Sonograms. Consulting telerads. Morphine.  Morphine???  Morphine. Q's Dad shows up. Awesome, dude. Thanks for being here. He needs you. Sonogram inconclusive. Probably not the appendix. CT scan. Surgical consult. An answer. Intussusception. But in the transverse part of the large intestine. "I've never seen this happen before and I've been a surgeon for 25 years." Right. Keeping up our family tradition of needing to be different, I see. Good. Can you fix it? Hopefully, this is something we can fix with just a procedure and without the need for surgery. Hopefully it is.

It wasn't.

I have been accused of being strong. I'm not. I just wait until the room is empty to let myself let go. It's cathatric to express just how not strong I am, but less so with an audience. Q is being prepped for surgery and subsequent admission. Best case.. They stretch out the intestines and undo the kink. Worse case they remove the damaged part and stitch up the good parts. Worst case... Ostomy bag for about 6 weeks while he breaks for follow up procedure. Here are the risks: Lifelong digestive problems. Nerve damage. Paralysis from the epidural. Epidural?  Epidural. 

Q is out of surgery. They removed a golf ball sized polyp from his large intestine. Benign. The surgeon showed me a picture of it on his digital camera. "This is me holding your son's large intestines outside of his body! And here is the lumpy thing that was causing the problem. Who knows how long that's been growing in there!" Wow, doc, I bet your full collection of digital albums is, uh... something. Did not need to remove any part of his intestine. Did not need to put in an ostomy bag. This could have been fatal if left untreated.

This could have been fatal if left untreated.

It wasn't.

You would think that last one would be like a weight lifted off my shoulders. No. Quite the opposite. It's the moment where you finally feel the weight of everything. This could have been fatal if left untreated. If misdiagnosed. If any number of things that could have happened, happened. 

But they didn't. If it weren't for the amazing team of pediatric ER staff, pediatric surgeons, clinical techs et al at UNM Children't Hospital, today might have been a very different day. But it wasn't. And that's an incredible thing. I owe them everything. Quite literally.

Now if you'll excuse me, I am done being strong for a little while.

Fun fact: The road to success is not paved at all.

Sometimes I get distracted by shiny objects and don't finish cooking all the recipes in A Feast of Ice and Fire. I got in over 80. That's not too shabby. And maybe one day I will pick it back up and do the other 40 or so.

But not the honey spiced locusts. Or rather, crickets.

Definitely not the crickets.

I actually bought the freeze dried crickets and planned to do this. And that's when I found other things to do instead of continuing on the AFOIAF  journey.

Sorry, incredibly abundant and cheap source of high quality protein.

Not gonna happen.


But what's the lesson here?  When the project became less about following my joy and more about doing it because I have to, I lost my motivation.

Don't get me wrong. Any of you who know me know that I rise to the occasion and do what needs to be done. That's my life. I am the mom of a wonderful boy with sensory processing challenges. I am the primary caregiver to my best friend in the world, Quinn's Uncle Sandy, who lives with us and suffers from multiple sclerosis. I am one of two Operations Directors at my organization, having worked my way up the corporate ladder over the last ten years, helping to improve processes and re-position our organization as stronger, leaner, meaner, and faster.

AFOIAF was a fun project that helped distract me from all of the "have to" of that. That is, until I faced the prospect of the crickets. Then I realized... nope.  This isn't fun anymore. I'm not eating them, I'm not making them, I'm done. I've made all the breads and soups and rabbits, and hey, one day I would still like to make the rattlesnake... if I can get my hands on the meat in a reasonable quantity. But other than that, I'm done. And you know something? That's perfectly ok.  Because I am a strange pantheon of interests, activities, hobbies, and preferences.

In the time since my last post, I've been working on my painting, crocheting, improving my public speaking skills, starting my own web business, helping a new and amazing school to grow. When you think about it, I'm still my ever-changing, learning, exploring, kinesthetic and unapologetic self. It's like I never changed at all. *grin*

But enough about me. Time to design a few more hats for banner crew and resume this strange and wonderful journey,..

...wherever it leads.