Words I still can't spell

I was a Pennsylvania state semifinalist in the Scripps Howard National Spelling Bee -- twice. In fact, that's how I met my husband, way back in the day.

But some words still elude me, such as:

• broccoli (or is it brocolli? When I write my grocery lists, I always have to write them both, then cross out the incorrect spelling!)
  
  
• Caribbean (something you'd think I'd only rarely have to spell, but still. I just don't know if it's Carribean or Caribbean.)

What are your troublesome words?

Our little alien

We had our first ultrasound yesterday and were happy to discover that we are the proud parents of a bony alien who has (as far as they can tell) a healthy heart and a full set of intact body parts. It was amazing to see our little one on the screen and watch him or her swim around to get away from the annoying pressure that the technician was putting on my belly. As much as I wanted to get a good look at the baby, I had to cheer for it that it was so skilled at evading the ultrasound.

Here are some glamour shots.

So we never got to Paris

There were a lot of things I thought I'd do before I had kids. Well, either that or I thought I'd have kids right away after getting married. As it is I'm learning to live with an entirely different reality -- one that fills me with joy and expectation but also reminds me of all the stuff we won't be able to do when our little one comes. (Stuff I probably don't need to do anyway.) All that thinking reminds me of an old song by Out of the Grey:

So we never got to Paris

Young lovers, without much
Save each other, isn't that enough
Paint the future, a little day by day
Making plans with no regard for what might come our way

This cup fills up so quickly
There's so much on our plate
Between the living and the learning
Some things must wait

So we never got to Paris
And found the café of our dreams
But our table holds a whole world of memories
No, we never went to Venice
And strolled the streets alone
But we built our worlds together and we got the best of both

There's still wonder in our eyes
But we see each other in a different light
Yet the future isn't always clear
Now the question is where do we go from here

This cup fills up so quickly
There's too much on our plate
Between the living and the dying
Some things must wait

So we never got to Paris
And found the café of our dreams
But our table holds a whole world of memories
No, we never went to Venice
And strolled the streets alone
But we built our worlds together and we got the best of both

This cup fills up so quickly
There's too much on our plate
Between the living and the dying
Some things must wait

So we never got to Paris
And found the café of our dreams
But our table holds a whole wide world of memories
No, we never went to Venice
And strolled the streets alone
But we built our worlds together and we got the best

We may never get to Paris
And find the café of our dreams
But our table still will hold a world of memories
If we never get to Venice
And roam the streets alone
We'll hold our worlds together and we'll keep the best of both

And before you think I've given up on Paris (or, in my case, Scotland, Ireland, and Scandinavia), I'm well aware that there is such a thing as grandparents who will watch the kids for a week, and there's also a wonderful time in most people's lives when they are neither old nor terribly involved with their kids: their late 40s and their 50s. So don't think I'm giving up all together; we may not have lots of stamps in our passports, but we are a loving family and we've got many more years to spend together.

Making room for food

I don’t know if I can shop at the grocery store anymore. It’s been a several-year-long process, so this supermarket aversion hasn’t come as a complete shock. But with my current lifestyle, it doesn’t make things very easy, either.

But then, ease is probably what created the supermarkets and the food industry that stocks them and our culture’s perceived need for this time-saving, cost-saving middleman. Ease needs to be shifted down a few rungs on my food priority list.

Mr. Incredible, who has a five-ingredients-or-fewer rule when it comes to bread, joins me in this quest to find and buy food that nourishes and delights—but that doesn’t completely break the bank. Which is more and more of a problem considering the way food prices are rising these days.

Nevertheless, we’re determined in our household to make time to shop for, prepare, and savor healthy, tasty food. And as much as possible, we’ll find room in our budget for good food, too.

People at work are always asking me how I manage to bring in healthy leftovers each day, when they eat out for lunch three to four days a week. My answer? Sometimes, cooking is all I get done in an evening. Meaning I don’t necessarily have their social life or keep up with the TV lineup like they do.

Take tonight, for instance: there’s red lentil and cauliflower coconut curry to prepare (the cauliflower and cabbage must be used ASAP!) and then I’ll have to get a head start on the cottage pie I’m preparing for dinner at a friend’s house tomorrow (there’s no way I’d be able to get it done tomorrow between work and the time we have to leave). Just like in college, when I would gear myself up for a late night of paper-writing, I prepare myself mentally to devote the larger portion of my evening to food. And surprising as it may seem, I rarely regret these cooking marathons. (I just have to remember to drink a lot of water and sit down while I chop these days, otherwise my pregnant back and feet will regret it tomorrow.)

So what’s the problem with the supermarket and why can’t I just buy healthy, yummy stuff there? They do carry produce, after all.

Most of the products at the store are highly processed, something that I’m becoming more and more aware of as I read more labels, and I’m just not sure if this frankenfood is good for me. Even foods that seem fairly straightforward and pure are messed with; that is, they have additives and conditioners and dyes and preservatives (not to mention residual pesticides and antibiotics)—all kinds of things that would be absent if I prepared these foods myself at home.

Even the produce is making me wary. Grocery store tomatoes are the perfect example of produce that’s made for easy transportation and long shelf life, apparently without much thought to taste (or nutrition, actually).

There are a lot of people to blame for my supermarket frustrations: there’s me, of course—the compulsive label reader and lover of really good-tasting, fresh food. And there’s the delicious legacy of our families’ home gardens and family meals. But then there’s also Barbara Kingsolver, whose book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle has made me a believer in eating close to home, for reasons that range from nutrition to family life to economics. And this summer, Michael Pollan has caused me a great deal of irritation as I browse the supermarket shelves and see so-called health claims calling to me from foods that may not even be food, let alone healthy. His book In Defense of Food has been a daily source of discussion in our household for its critical view of what most of us has accepted as nutrition.

But this awakening has caused me more than just frustration. It’s also caused me to see my food as more than fuel. I’ve been pushed to reevaluate my priorities and decide just how much organic local potatoes and free-range eggs mean to me and the health of my family. As it turns out, they mean quite a lot; I just have to decide what to cut out of my life now in order to make room for them. And I’ve been reminded that food is more than just its nutrients. Really good food—really well prepared—constitutes a social event, an act of gratitude toward God and his creation, and a labor of love.

And when you think of it that way, suddenly the supermarket doesn’t seem so super.

-----

By the way, if you're still looking for something to read this summer, I highly recommend both of the books below.

How we spread the surprising news

A crossword for my grandma (this is her first great-grandchild)



A canister of tea for the veteran grandma (this is her fourth)









When my parents were pregnant with me, they announced it to my grandma using a mustard yellow sweatshirt that said "It's just ducky being a grandma" (in fuzzy iron-on black letters, of course -- it was 1982).




We thought it was a good enough tradition to continue.

The unexpected (but very welcome) guest

Hospitality has always been important to me. And as I’ve gotten older and a little more secure in who I am, I’ve come to enjoy unexpected guests almost more than the planned variety. As I said to my dad, after he stowed away in my in-laws’ car for the journey to Pittsburgh to surprise me with his presence, “I’m glad you didn’t tell me you were coming, because then I would have worried too much about where you would sleep and the condition of the house. This way, I can’t do anything about it; I just get to enjoy having you here.”

That was pretty much how it felt that Monday morning in April when I shakily handed the pregnancy test to Mr. Incredible. It was as if an unexpected guest—a fairly long-term one, too— was already at the door, knocking. And although there was a healthy measure of fear and surprise at this discovery, we were also relieved of the stress of planning the right time and getting everything in order to start “trying.” Because, after all, our guest had already moved in. All we could do—all we had to do—was to welcome our new tenant and enjoy the time we have to spend together.

So here we are in the middle of week 16, just about 24 more weeks to go. I will admit, this guest has made him or herself right at home in ways that are a little difficult to deal with. The special dietary restrictions and the significant increase in the amount of food we need to purchase have taken some getting used to. And the hormone-drenched environment he or she needs to thrive have left me feeling sick and tired for longer than I’d like.

But despite these inconveniences, I can’t wait to get to know this little one better—to finally see the face and hands and kicking legs of the thing that’s growing inside me. With a due date of December 19, it’s made the Christmas countdown (and, for Mr. Incredible, the countdown to the end of the fall semester) a little more to look forward to.

The early pregnancy stuff is behind us now. We’ve told our friends, family, and coworkers; I’ve packed up my regular clothes in favor of empire waists (and no waists at all); and the shock and nausea are beginning to subside. We’re settling into this stage with a surprising amount of contentment and joy, and we hope you’ll join us in our anticipation.

Coming soon: photo documentation of how we told our parents the good news.