I saw the hand surgeon today.  He spent a good, long time with me, answering questions and manipulating my wrists in different ways.  He did say my left wrist felt different than my right, and noted my puffiness in the joint.  However, he’s not convinced I have a TFCC tear.

I was right when I said I think I have a negative ulnar variance, however, he says he believes it happened when I broke my wrist as a child and the bone didn’t grow correctly.  Because the ulna is shorter, it’s less likely the TFCC will tear, as a positive variance, when the ulna is longer than the radius, can poke through the thin membrane of the ligament.  However, he didn’t rule it out completely, because it’s altogether possible I tore my TFCC YEARS ago, and it has since degenerated, or has torn again due to my mysterious trauma in December of pushing myself up off the couch.

He wasn’t convinced any of my other ligaments holding the wrist bones together were torn either, as I didn’t yell and scream in pain while he was manipulating the joint.  It was uncomfortable, and I told him there was a dull ache, but nothing sharp and breath-taking.

He still wants the MRI, though, as that will definitively prove or rule out any ligament tears.  They will shoot my wrist up with contrast dye in a few key compartments and if the dye leaks out of these compartments, then a tear is present.  Of course, as with all health care red tape, I need to have the MRI approved by my insurance before I can get it done.

In the meantime, because my mother has Rheumatoid Arthritis, he ordered a blood test to rule that out as well.  Normally, RA manifests over time, but there are cases where a sudden onset of symptoms can flare up with no warning.  And due to the fact my wrist is a bit swollen with fluid, he wants to rule that out as well.  I was able to get my blood drawn before I left the hospital, so that was good.  Still won’t have the results for that for a few days.

Hopefully my insurance won’t deny my MRI.  How much would that suck?!

But even the ladies in the lab drawing my blood were singing my doctor’s praises, along with my physical therapist.  The guy was very nice, he listened to my questions and wasn’t in a rush.  I really like him.  And he’s moving his office closer to Hillsboro; bonus! 

At this point, though, I’m rooting for a ligament tear over the arthritis.  If it’s something that can be fixed with a suture as opposed to, “Sorry lady, you’re f**ked.”, then I’m all for it!

In the meantime, I’ve gotta hurry up and wait.  Again.

Wrist Saga, Chapter Eleventy.

~~Becka

After weeks of pain, my Doc is confident my pain is due to a tear in my TFCC, better known as the Triangular Fibrocartilage Complex.  It’s a collection of ligaments and cartilage on the outside of your wrist that allows for mobility of the joint and helps hold everything together.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tM_O2cnlgh8

I had a bit of swelling along with bouts of going numb in my pinkie and ring finger that would sometimes go up my arm like someone smacked my funny bone.  So just to be safe, the Doc sent my to a neurologist to see if I had Ulnar nerve entrapment.  But my test was normal.

So my ortho did one more test with me after I told him exactly where the pain was.  He grabbed my ulna and radius and moved them back and forth, opposite of each other.  OMG what a weird combination of strange, creepy and tickly.  I could feel the weakness in there.  He did it to my right wrist and everything felt fine.  That cinched the diagnosis for him.

He told me I had two options.  One is to get a full arm cast for four weeks followed by physical therapy afterward.  The other was to go to the hand surgeon, get a painful dye injected into my wrist to see where the tear was on an MRI–then get casted for four weeks followed by physical therapy.  LOL  Well, since I didn’t want to go any longer without what seemed to be the only form of treatment, I decided to get a cast.  Talk about a shock!  I totally wasn’t expecting that.

So as you can see, I decided to have fun with it.  I got the pink, and the lady was nice enough to give me spray-on glitter!  Figured the only way to stay positive with a full arm cast where my arm is bent for 4 weeks on top of a small baby, 4 other kids and a house to take care of (not to mention my writing) was to have a little levity with the situation.

Now we’ve got to get used to the adjustment.  When I broke my wrist as a kid, I had a full cast for 4 weeks then too.  I remember getting it off and not being able to fully extend my arm for maybe a week after that.  It was painful.  I also remember the pain of bending my wrist for the first time.  Doc said, “Yeah, you’re not 13 any more.”  Hence the PT I’ll need.  **shudder**  But it’s not just because of the cast, the PT is also to help the TFCC strengthen and regain mobility.  Not looking forward to that.

I’m hoping this mode of treatment works.  The only other treatment is surgery to suture the tear.  Now, it’s an out patient procedure, but it still hurts like hell and can take weeks/months to recover from.  DO NOT WANT!

So, that’s the news from this end.  No writing for me for awhile.

How did I injure myself, you ask?  Well, I don’t really know.  It’s been hurting since early December.  The only thing I can think of is when I pushed myself off my couch three or four different times and felt something in my wrist like someone plucking on a guitar string.  It didn’t hurt at the time, just felt odd.  Shortly thereafter my pain began.  That may or may not be how it happened, but it probably was.

However, good news!  Champagne Books just bought BLACK ANGEL!  That’s my fantasy novella about the hero with obsidian black skin and wings!  I love that story and will be proud to see it with Champagne!  Woohoo! 

~~Becka

When I was 13 years old, I was riding home from school on my bike.  I had a book in my right hand because I didn’t have a backpack.  Then I hit a patch of gravel.  Couldn’t stop the front wheel of the bike from jack-knifing and down I went, breaking my fall with my left hand.

Of course, that fall resulted in a multiple fracture.  I’d broken three bones in my wrist and hand.  The bone in your hand that goes to your thumb, one of the larger bones in your arm (not sure if it was the ulna or the radius) and one of the many little bones in the wrist itself.  Doc said I must have hyper-extended it.

All these years later, I’ve had problems with it.  My thumb especially.  I can’t straighten it fully like I can with my other thumb.  And it aches so much during cold weather.

Last month, my wrist really started hurting.  I thought huh, weird.  Maybe I’d strained it somehow, but it wouldn’t go away.  When I was wrapping Christmas gifts, it really started to hurt, and one day when I was mopping with my twist-head mop, I thought I was going to die.  That’s when I knew I should get a wrist brace.  So my hubby got me one and it felt wonderful, but the pain wasn’t going away.

To make a long story short (too late) I made an appt. with an orthopedic surgeon.  Saw him today and got some x-rays done.  Good news is, there is nothing wrong with my bones.  Bad news is, thus begins the hypothesizing on what it could be.

I’d done some research online and latched onto something called TFCC, where the “triangle” of ligaments in your wrist gets a tear, making for pain along the outside of your wrist, the ulnar side, the side with your little fingers.  It hurts when you rotate your wrist, even for mundane things like turning a doorknob or starting a car.  And forget about holding that gallon of milk.  Well, my pain wasn’t exactly like that.  The sharp pains came every now and then, but mostly, it just ached, up the ulnar side of my arm and along my little and ring finger of my left hand.

Doctor spent about 20 minutes with me doing different wrist tests, and he asked if it was tender to the touch.  I told him yeah, but deep down, like it was underneath something.  So he dug on down in there, and yup, he found it!  He asked if my hand/arm had ever gotten numb.  I told him not all the time, but it sometimes has that weird, dull sensation after you hit your funny bone when it aches.

Then, he bent my arm and did a few more tests, then informed me he thinks it might be my ulnar nerve.  You see, when he bent my wrist, he hit my ulnar nerve at my elbow (where you hit your funny bone) and I didn’t have a reaction.  No reflex.  Well, hardly one.  I barely felt pins and needles in my pinky.  So, he thinks I have a pinched or compressed nerve in there.  Which makes sense, since it’s not sharp pain, but more like a dull ache that buzzes.

So, next Monday, I’m going to a nerve specialist to see where the problem with this nerve is.  If it’s in the elbow itself, my ortho. surgeon can take care of it.  If it’s compressed in the wrist, I’ll have to see a hand surgeon.  Seems to me it would be weird to be in the elbow if my wrist is what’s hurting, but I’m not a doctor, and I have no idea how nerves work.

Anyway, they’re going to stick electrodes in me and send pulses into my nerves to see if the problem is elbow or wrist.  He said it’s not pleasant.  But I have every confidence I’ll live through it.  It cannot possibly be as bad as the time I had to rotate my broken wrist on the x-ray table to be perpendicular to the table.  Despite having 5 children and enduring labor pains and a broken ankle, tailbone, and big toe, I still believe that one wrist x-ray with that radiologist torturer was the most painful event in my life.  I was screaming in there, I remember that much.

However I do believe it’s in my wrist.  Things just don’t feel “right” in there to me, and even the doc was feeling my tendons and such for a few minutes with his furrowed brow.

So for now, I’ve got to wait another week and keep wearing my brace when it gets to be too much to bear.  Like right now, for instance, writing on my laptop with my arm resting on the table, further compressing that nerve.  UGH.

Well, that’s the saga.  No writing this week at all.  Might not be for a while to come.  We shall see…  I just hope it’s not really messed up in there.  Don’t want any surgery.  Especially with a nerve.  Scary stuff!  I’ll keep y’all updated.  In the meantime, I’ve got another week to get through.  Joy of joys.  :-/

~~Becka

The picture above is of myself (in the wedding dress) and one of my best friends from High School, Crystal Lynn House.  Yes, like Dr. House, but before his time.  It was taken on March 25th, 1995, the day I got married (obviously lol).  She was going to be one of my bride’s maids, but since my soon-to-be hubby only had his best man, I figured it might be weird to have two bridesmaids (my sis was Matron of Honor).  So, she showed up and gave me her support, and I have a few great pics.

In September of that same year, she got married as well, and I was her Matron of Honor.

(Forgive the crappy quality of the above picture, I took a picture of a print with my iPhone because my scanner isn’t hooked up to my computer.)

Her wedding dress was a light blue, in honor of her father who had passed away three years before.  His favorite color was blue, if I remember correctly.  He was quite the character.  LOVED westerns and cop movies, SO MUCH, that when we’d watch them on a sleep over, he’d have his GUN sitting in his lap.  lol  He was an avid Ham Radio operator, and taught Crystal much of what he knew.  His radio room was on the other side of her bedroom, and I’ll never forget hearing this while trying to fall asleep:

“N7VBK – N7 VICTOR BRAVO KILO!”

(I don’t know why the “N” was never identified whenever he said his ID. )

We used to camp out in her yard.  We used to ditch 5th period right after lunch as Seniors all the time.  We used to play on Prodigy back in the day, and even met this cool guy on some random bulletin board named Jim Goings.  He lived in California and we were in Nevada.  But that didn’t stop us (mainly me) from squealing every time we got an email from him.  (I didn’t have a computer of my own, you see.)

After he figured out a way to be with me and got up the gumption to marry me and whisk me off to Los Angeles, it was Crystal who watched out for my Dad after he had his first stroke.  She’d come by every now and again, make sure he was okay, and he was the first one she turned to when she had a dog she could no longer look after.  He took that dog in, and still has her after all these years.

We kept in touch off and on, mostly off, seen as how she never had an email she checked regularly.  Being married to a techy guy, that was kind of annoying for me, and the fact she moved a few times wasn’t the best way to keep in touch, either.  I’d get her phone number, only to have it change because she moved and I wouldn’t know until she called me.

I saw her last in 2005, right after I moved into the house I’m currently living in.  She and her husband were going to a Rolling Stones concert in Portland (I believe) and she wanted to hook up.  So she came out, met all four of my kids, saw my house, we had a great lunch, and promised to keep in touch.

Did we?  Nah.  She didn’t have an email, but she was going to get one, and as soon as she did, she would contact me.  But, alas, I didn’t hear a thing, and I had no idea where she was living.  I knew she was in Reno, but that was the extent of it.  I’d even been thinking last year that I should see if I could find her again, even if I have to find some of her family members and ask them.

But in January of this year, I got news about Crystal from mutual friend of ours in high school.  Crystal had passed away.  Not only that, she’d passed a month prior, in December.  As soon as I got over my shock and grief, I did some digging.  All her obit says in the Reno Gazette Journal was that she died of a “brief illness”.  All I can think of is she must have caught pnemonia.  She was always sickly, and had asthma pretty bad.  Whenever she got sick, SHE GOT SICK.  If that’s not the reason, I don’t know what took her.

She passed a year ago today, on December 7th, 2008.  That was the day after my baby shower for Sophie.  And for the life of me, I cannot remember what I was doing on that day.

When I went back to Nevada this summer in June for a death in my family, I had a fleeting thought of seeing if I could find her grave.  But we didn’t have time, I had my infant with me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to take the time to go on a hunt for it.  But both times I rolled through Reno, once to go to Carson City, and once leaving, I thought of her.

So today, I’m posting in honor of one of the best friends I’ve ever had, to celebrate her life on the anniversary of her death.  She’s the reason I’m with my husband.  That, in and of itself, is the best gift anyone could give.  Because he gave me a family, he gave me the ability to stay home with my kids, and he gave me the opportunity to write my books.  Everything I have has fallen into place because of Crystal House.

And so, to celebrate her, I want to share some of my favorite memories.

We used to go to our local Smith’s (a grocery store) and sit on the bench outside, just to people-watch.  It was fun, we had a lot of laughs and talks on that bench.

Our Junior year History teacher, every time he saw her in the halls, would yell out at the top of his lungs: “CRYSTAL!  HOW’S YOUR HOUSE?”

We both had our first (and last) experiences on a Ouija Board together.  Creepy!

First time I ever heard Toby Mac was when he was in DC Talk, booming JESUS FREAK! out her stereo speakers.

I used to pick her up for school all the time (I was the oldest in our friend group and the only one with a car) and we listened to Keith Green every morning.  She always laughed because she said he sounded like he was yawning when he sang.

She was so shy, but she was so cute!  All the boys loved her, and one day, while in her bathing suit to get some sun in her yard, her neighbor cried, “Lord, have mercy!”

She and I were walking past the local Domino’s Pizza, and it just so happened my future-DH worked there after he’d moved to CCNV to be with me.  When we walked in, his boss was red in the face.  I asked him what was wrong, and Jim said he’d tell me later.  Come to find out, he was whistling at us as we walked by (before we’d walked in), talking all kinds of “Look at those fine laaadaaays!” only to find out I was his employee’s girlfriend and he was EXTREMELY embarrassed.  LOL

She took three shots of tequila before walking down the aisle at her wedding.  She was so nervous!  I’m surprised she COULD walk down the aisle. 

The girl could pack away an entire large pizza all by herself in one sitting.  I don’t know where she put it all, she was as thin as a rail and I was always so jealous of her for it!

I love you, Crystal.  I owe you so much!  Some of my favorite memories are with you, and I’ll never forget the profound impact you had on the course of my life.  The Good Lord brings friends into your life, and sometimes, He takes them away.  However, I have hope, because friends are friends forever, if the Lord’s the Lord of them.  I’ll see you again.  And I’ll pray for your daughter, for your sisters, and for the rest of your family, so they can have strength to carry on in your absence.

Always, my friend.

~~Becka

So this past week, my hubby had a pot-luck at his work.  He had the awesome idea of bringing chicken enchiladas.  But he didn’t want to bring them cold and not warm, nor did he want to make them early in the morning and bring them to work hot as they would still be cold by lunch time.  So he needed a way to keep them warm and/or warm them up.

His brilliant idea was an electric skillet.

But the one we had was old and sad.  It was this little 12″x 12″ deal, that looks like it has seen it’s fair share of world wars.  Most of the “non-stick” coating is scratched off, not to mention it just wasn’t big enough for the shindig at DH’s office.  This thing is literally a dinosaur; a gift from DH’s grandparents on the occasion of our wedding nigh 15 years ago.  It was well used, but now, we needed an upgrade.

I got out of the habit of using an electric skillet because my family is so huge and I didn’t have a big one.  My pans were good enough, as I have a jumbo iron skillet I use all the time.  But, we needed the skillet to do the enchiladas, so off to Target I go.

I found a couple in their selection of bigger skillets, one a $30, the other $60.  Seems a no brainer, right?  Quick giant skillet for a one-time pot-luck, right?  Well, I stood there and weighed my options.  The $30 was indeed the size I needed, but there was some assembly required.  The $60 one was already ready already.  It had rubber feet so it wouldn’t slide on the counter.  And it had a lid that is held down with buckles.  AND a pour spout on one of the corners.

Okay, sold!  Here it was, already nearing 8pm, and we still needed to make the enchiladas!  I don’t want to put together the fricken’ skillet with a screwdriver while browning the chicken.  But it was indeed the pour spout that ultimately sold me.  Browning beef?  No prob, merely lock the lid down and drain.  Awesome Sauce.

So I brought it home, we made the enchiladas, put them in the fridge overnight, DH took the entire skillet to work the next day, plugged it in on 300 degrees an hour before the pot-luck and voila! Perfect hot, melty enchiladas.

That night, it was so easy to clean, just wipe out with a sponge, the non-stick coating is so super-sweet.

So last night, I decided to make frozen burgers for the family.  The thing held 6 big ol’ patties from Costco with no problem, enough to feed everyone without having to do a second batch!

I’m thinking I’m in love with this thing.  It’s definitely the best $60 I’ve spent recently, and I cannot stress how happy I am I didn’t get the less expensive skillet.  With the lovely coating, the lid, the spout and the sheer size of it, this bad boy is now going to be a staple of my kitchen for many years to come.

I love it when you buy something you thought you didn’t really need and it turns into something you can no longer live without. 

Five stars from Becka, for the $60 (Okay, $59.99) 16″ electric skillet by Hamilton Beach.  Well done, guys!

http://www.hamiltonbeach.com/skillets-premiere-cookware-electric-skillet.html

~~Becka

Before I was published, I had so much fun writing.  It was the excitement of it all, the hope for a contract, the endless possibilities of what could happen if I applied myself.  The sky was the limit, the options boundless.

Submitting and actually getting into the biz can be a sobering experience.  What you thought was a perfect manuscript is returned to you with thousands of red marks from your editor.  You finally get your first honest feedback about your story that isn’t endless praise from friends and family.  And sometimes, those reviewers, especially the snarky ones, can really hurt a blossoming author.  Well, her feelings, anyway.  It’s a hard lesson to learn, to disconnect your personal feelings about your creation from the review.

But once you get accepted at a publishing house, you again feel invincible, and you write more and more.

Until, that is, writing begins to feel like a chore.

At some point, after a few years of promotion and chats and public appearances, your writing feels more like a job and less like a hobby.  You do a lot of work that doesn’t necessarily involve WRITING.  Promotion is a necessary evil to sell books, and no one is going to do it for you (unless you throw money at a publicist).

But there’s the rub.  Unless you’ve got goo-gobs of books and a massive following, you aren’t going to make much money in ePublishing.  But those popular authors did much more than promote their asses off, they wrote kick-ass stories.

Endless promotion, minimal $$ for maximum effort, and tiring appearances where nobody shows is quite wearing on an author.  Believe me, I know.  After I had my baby Sophie, I seriously asked myself The Question.

Do I want to continue to be an author?

I had one more book contracted (KINDRED).  I’d promised my fans a fourth book to the BEAST series.  But after that?  Was it worth it anymore?  I couldn’t find time to write.  One of my daughters is struggling in school, so I had to rethink how to teach her.  On top of it all was a newborn baby.  A messy house.  Endless ironing.  Writing was just another “chore”.

But where had that spark gone?  Where was the excitement?  The almost “It’s Christmas Morning!” mentality?  When did I lose that along the way and become a jaded, cynical author?

When I examined my true feelings behind my writing, I realized that must be why I couldn’t write a word for MONTHS.  I was tired of promotion.  Tired of piddly royalty checks.  Tired of booksignings where I’m signing books for fellow authors at the signing with me.  Where were these elusive “readers”?  Sure, authors are avid readers too, I should have been thankful.  But I wasn’t.

My pride had gotten in the way, you see.  I felt I “deserved” more.

Once I had that epiphany, I realized why I wasn’t writing.  Why I no longer had the passion.  I’d allowed my pride to get in the way of my imagination, thus blocking my muse from writing anything more than a blog post, a text, or a tweet.  THIS is the reason certain authors turn into Divas.  The mentality that the world owes them for writing their stories.

Oh my Gawd, was I turning into a DIVA?!?  Not exactly, but I guess I was on that path.  So I knocked some sense into myself.

For my entire life, I’ve written stories for my own entertainment.  They were my means of escape, of traveling to exotic locales, of meeting new, exciting people.  Being in control of what happens to my characters was thrilling for me, because I knew no matter what I threw at them, they’d eventually have a happily ever after.  The emotion and the angst, THAT’S what I loved the most, not the promotion, not the appearances, not even the royalties.  If you’re good enough, your story can transcend all that material bullshit (pardon my French).

When I realized that wisdom, I let go of my pride and allowed my muse to go where she would, without inhibitions, without expectations.  Since I’ve “released” her, I’ve written two stories, finished one that had been eluding me for two years, and started another, of which I’m already fast on my way to page 100, and this all within a SIX WEEK timeframe.  For those keeping score, that’s two novellas, one short story, and one full-length novel.  I’ve scheduled in my writing time during the day, after chores and school, between 3pm and dinnertime.  Nowadays, I get frustrated when I’ve got to stop my train of thought to feed the family.  I’m constantly plotting, bouncing ideas off my crit partner (Donica Covey) and finally getting into that groove I used to be in when the “world” was new.

Writing is fun again.  Why?  Because it isn’t about the hype, the fame, the money, or the entitlement.  It’s about the STORY, something Samhain Publishing* knew all along. 

~~Becka

*”It’s All About The Story” is Samhain’s company motto. 

Five years ago, I wasn’t published, but I’d submitted a novel for publication at a small, online Inspirational publisher, By Grace Publishing (who is now defunct).  In October of 2004, I signed my very first contract, and by January of 2005, I was a published author.

Why am I telling you this?

Because I’d just had a distressing thought.  Five years ago, I had a goal, and that goal was to be with New York by now.  Everyone has those “in five years” hopes, and mine was to be with a New York publisher.  Well, here I am, still rockin’ the small publishers, not that there’s anything wrong with that.  I’ve made a name for myself, that much is true.  I’ve confused people by writing both mainstream and Inspies (back in the day).  I’ve since stopped writing those tender romances, and focused more on fantasy, westerns, and paranormals.

I have a fairly good reader base, at least, a few people beyond my immediate family.  I think most of my friends know I write books, but only a handful of my friends have read any of my books, and even then, none of them are avid fans.  Would I like them to be?  Well, sure, I suppose.  Perhaps that’s why I never talk about my writing much, because everyone I know in real life doesn’t have any more than a passing interest in what I do.

But I’m not here to cry you a river.  I’m reflecting on my five year goal, the one that hasn’t come to fruition.  So, I find myself taking stock, and asking myself what I really want with regards to writing.  I WANT to be with New York.  I WANT to KNOW my books are in stores without “hoping” I’ll randomly run into them if I’m lucky.  I want to get paid an equal compensation for the work I fricken’ put into this process.

However, does being a successful New York author jive with being a full-time mom and homeschooler of five children?  Can one woman “do it all?”

I have no idea.  But I have made a decision.  In TWENTY years from now, much less five, I don’t want to look back on my life and think, woulda, shoulda, coulda.  I don’t ever want to pass on a dream I’ve had for most of my life simply because it’s hard work, time consuming, or a little scary.  If I try and I fail, well, at least I gave it a go and I can give this small press thing all the attention I can throw at it.

Therefore, I’ve decided my next full length novel will be going to New York.  I’ll probably be sending it to an agent, as I want to write the way *I* write and see if they can fit it somewhere, rather than trying to adhere to a specific publishing house’s rules.  This process is going to take awhile, as it takes a few weeks for an agent to respond to a query, then it takes a few more weeks after they request a partial, then a few MORE weeks IF they request the full manuscript.  From there, they shop it around, which takes more weeks, and once it’s sold, it can take months before it’s actually published.  This is going to be a long process.

I’m going to give it a good two years.  I can write a book, submit it, and find out about publication within that time frame.  In FIVE years, I want to have more than one book in New York.

And in that TWENTY year scenario I mentioned above, I want to be able to look back and be thankful I decided to finally kick my ass in gear and get the lead out.  No  more excuses.  I’m ready for the big leagues.  Bring it on.

~~Becka

As you may or may not know, if you follow me on Twitter (and why wouldn’t you, may I ask?? http://www.twitter.com/rebeccagoings), I’ve started making homemade baby food for my baby daughter Sophie.

It’s kind of weird I never thought to do this with any of my other five kids.  Perhaps being “older” I now have the perspective of being “wiser” as well, who knows.  In those early days, I longed for ease, and the easy thing was to go grab a jar off the shelf and dig in.  Who wants to be slaving away in the kitchen making baby food all day long?

But as I got older, I’d tried my hand at making jams and canning, which turned out to be quite fun.  After I had Sophie, I wondered if making baby food could be as fun.  So I began to look into it.  Seriously, people, it’s NOT hard, not at all, nor is it really “time consuming.”

In fact, (if you followed me on Twitter you’d know) I’ve started a You Tube vlog, and two of my videos are about how to make baby food.  (Vlog addy: http://www.youtube.com/user/beckabecks – check back, as I’m hoping to get some more vids posted soon.)

Basically, if you have a blender or a food processor and know how to bake potatoes or steam veggies, you can make your own baby food.  It’s so easy because young babies don’t get spices until they’re between 8-10 months old anyhow.  You’re simply cooking the fruit/veggies and pureeing them, then freezing them for later.

Bananas and avocados don’t need any cooking, as they’re soft enough as it is (I know! You can give your kid an avocado. Who knew?? I sure didn’t before I started this endeavor).  If you are leery about cooking veggies, start with these two.  Throw them into your food processor and whirl away.  Now, you do want to puree them for a few minutes to make sure you get all the chunks, as a first foods eater can’t have chunks.  If your baby is older, you don’t have to worry about the chunks so much.

Don’t worry about the avocados and their penchant to turn brown.  They won’t lose their flavor.  If it grosses you out, put only a miniscule amount of lemon or lime juice in it.  Citrus doesn’t agree with baby until they’re older.  A little spritz of the juice won’t hurt, but never feed an infant straight orange or citrus juice without first asking your doctor.  Recommended age for that is around one year old due to the acidity.

Once you’re done with the puree, spoon the mixture into ice cube trays, cover, and freeze for about 24 hours.  If you want to feed the baby immediately, you can refrigerate a portion.  The ice cube trays are genius, because each cup is about an ounce of baby food.  So one or two cubes and you know how much your baby is eating.

The beauty of bananas and avocado is they don’t need any water to puree them, either.

Some other veggies, however, need some water to get that baby food consistency.  Sweet potatoes is one.  Prick ‘em with a fork, cover them in foil, and throw them in the oven for an hour like you would baked potatoes.  When they’re nice and soft, cut them open and spoon out the “meat”, don’t use the skin.  Puree with a little bit of water for about 3 to 5 minutes to get rid of chunks, and repeat with the ice cube trick.  Once they’re frozen, just pop them out of the trays and put them in Ziploc baggies.  Be sure to label what it is and the date, because some foods can look the same as others in your freezer.  You might want to run some hot water over the bottom of the trays and use a spoon to pop out the food.  They’re not as dense as water ice and won’t crack out of the tray easily.

You don’t want to water-bath can or pressure can your baby food, because young infants are more prone to botulism, I’ve learned.  Their guts aren’t developed enough yet to fight off any bad bacterium that may or may not infect your food.  Freezing, therefore, is the best option.

Making the green beans was fun, as I had a bag of frozen beans that could be steamed all at once in the microwave (it was a special steaming bag.)  So, I pulled it from the freezer, threw it in the microwave, cooked it in the bag, then poured the contents into my food processor with a little water and pureed for a few minutes.  Easy peasy.  The beans, however, won’t get to be a fine puree like storebought beans, because Gerber has more of a straining system than we at home have.  So green beans should probably be given to a baby whose used to eating little lumpies.

Pears are easy.  Peal them like potatoes, cut them into chunks and steam on the stove for about five minutes.  Puree & freeze.

Apples, do the same, however, you’ll probably have to steam them for a little longer as they’re not as soft as pears.  You can also bake apples in a dish with some water in it, then puree with some of the reserved baking water.

Making baby food is great in more ways than one.  First of all, you know exactly what you’re giving your baby.  JUST sweet potatoes.  JUST pears.  No preservatives or added flavoring.  Second, it’s cheaper.  Gerber charges between $.50 to $.65 cents for a two ounce jar.  Compare that to my $.06 an ounce for bananas ($.12 for two ounces).  $.11 an ounce for green beans ($.22 for two ounces).  Over time, that adds up.  And two large sweet potatoes makes 30 ounces of food!  Not to mention the fact you’re not making any more trash than you need to.  Sure, you can recycle plastic or glass baby food jars, but it’s less work for all of us if you make your own baby food.  And, your pantry space doesn’t need to be taken over by jars and jars of food–a big issue for me since I’m already hurting for shelf space after a grocery run due to my ginormous family.

All in all, this was the route I decided to go.  Sure, I’m a stay-at-home mom with some “time” on my hands, but anyone can make baby food, even if you take time out of a Sat. or Sun. or even while you’re making dinner for the rest of your family during the week.  A little effort goes a long way.  With minimal effort, my freezer is now full of bananas, pears, sweet potatoes, green beans, avocados, acorn squash and applesauce.  And the cool thing is, if I want to mix and match flavors, the sky’s the limit, really.  Just defrost some different flavors together and mix ‘em up.  Your baby will LOVE it, if my baby is any example.  And the wonderful aromas in your kitchen will only reinforce what a great idea it is to make your own baby food at home.

It’s just gotta taste 1,000,000 times better than that processed store-bought baby food!

~~Becka

(who confesses to having 4 jars of store-bought baby food on the shelf only for when we go out and about and I don’t want to worry about defrosting ice-cube foods in public… )

This past week has been a beautiful week here in Oregon with temperatures in the high 70’s and bright, clear skies.  It’s about this time when we let our cats out, as they’ve had cabin fever all winter and spring.  Our cats usually don’t wander too far from home.  In fact, of our three cats, we only have one who has wanderlust.  Amazingly, though, he hasn’t wandered too far away since the one time he ended up in another neighborhood and some Good Samaritans called us to come get him.  Heh.

Well, the cat still hasn’t wandered far, however, he did happen upon a nest of scrub jays.  I don’t know where it was, although our neighbors say it was in their tree.  But I never saw the nest.  What did happen was a little traumatic, though.  My kitty grabbed one of the baby scrub jays and brought it back into the house.  Alive.

My kids were yelling for me because they heard some screaming chirps and didn’t know what was going on.  I went downstairs only to find the cat toying with a baby bird that didn’t know how to unfurl its own wings yet.  It still had it’s grey feathers, but was just beginning to grow it’s blue ones.

After chasing the cat through the house (because he’d grabbed it again and took off), I picked it up and examined it for wounds.  It wasn’t bleeding, and didn’t cry out when I moved it’s wings or legs, but finding it’s nest and putting it back was pretty much impossible at that point.  I had no idea where it was, and even so, my cat now knew the location.

And to make matters worse, when I went outside to look for the nest, my damn cat scooted by me despite my kicking to keep him in the house.  I suppose juggling an injured bird and the back door is a situation a determined cat can take advantage of.  After searching for the cat and the nest to no avail, he came back a few minutes later – with another baby bird in his mouth, the bastard!

The second little bird was dead, the poor thing. 

After yelling at and smacking my cat, I kept thinking to myself, what am I going to do now with the poor little bird I was holding?  I mean, the thing was pathetic, opening it’s little beak as if I were it’s Mama giving it food.  I scoured the back and front yards for a place to put it where it wouldn’t get found by my dog or cats, but that “place” was not to be found.  I laid it in a crook in a tree just on the other side of our backyard fence, but I still didn’t feel good about it.

Going back inside, I felt more and more guilty just leaving it out there.  Despite it’s injuries, it was going to die anyway, whether by getting found by an animal, or just starving without it’s mother.  As I was doing dishes, that little voice in my head kept on nagging… “Just call the vet! What could it hurt? See what they say.”

FINE!  If it will let me feel better, I’ll call the danged vet.  They suggested I call the Audubon Society, as they don’t take random birds.  I look it up online and give them a call.  Sure, they’ll take the bird!  And I don’t even have to pay a fee or anything – they just ask for donations.

Unfortunately, they’re 15 miles away, and it’s already 3:45pm, people are getting ready to come home from work and I know by the time I get home I’ll have to hurry up and make dinner.  Well, I’ve already wasted most of the afternoon looking for the nest, and I figure I’ve come this far with the little thing, I should get it the help it needs.  And despite the pain in the butt, it’s a good lesson for the kids to learn.

You see, in my mind, I can’t profess to live what I believe if I don’t help out the baby bird.  Sure, some could argue to let nature take its course, but all I could think about was my Bible verses…  “His eye is on the sparrow” and whatnot, meaning, God watches over every creature of His creation and they all are important to Him.  Who am I to decide if that bird should die in my backyard?

So, I pack up all the kids and take a drive to the Wildlife Care Center with the birdy all snug in some crocheted dishtowels.  Once we get there, they take my info and take the bird, dishtowels and all, giving me a number just in case I wanted to check on the little guy later on.

I decided to call them today to see how he was doing.  He survived the weekend, but unfortunately, he died early this morning.    You might think all I did for the little bird was in vain, but I don’t believe that.  I made the decision to help the little guy, and the people at the Audubon Society were more than happy to help him out as well.  But his injuries were too extensive in the long run, and ultimately, it was the Good Lord who decided to take him, not my lack of intervention.

Sure, maybe I did “waste my time” in trying to save a little bird who would have died anyway.  But I taught my kids a valuable lesson; that we should take care of God’s creation, no matter how insignificant (a common scrub jay) they may be.  A life is a life and it’s our responsibility to help out if we can.  Hopefully, they’ll take from this experience to be kind to animals and be good stewards of nature.

Godspeed, little Jay.  May you be flying the skies of Glory!

~~Becka

Wildlife Care Center

503-292-0304

www.audubonportland.org

urbanwildlife@audubonportland.org

I don’t know what it is with me, folks.  But just a few years ago, things were different.  I used to love the sage spectrum of green, and searched for earthy tones in my every day items, from clothing to purses to make-up, you name it.  But something happened to me that has made me stop and think for a moment, and ponder just what the heck changed.

I’m talking, of course, about my favorite color.

Ask me a few years ago, I would have said sage-y green, as I’ve stated above.  It’d been my favorite color for YEARS, since I was in school, at least.  But now, my color of choice is……wait for it…..

….pink.

Oh yeah, I know.  Honestly I do.

I remember going to my grandmother’s funeral and feeling guilty over a thought I had.  My mother had made mention the flowers were gorgeous because grandma’s favorite color was pink.  I thought to myself, “Eww.  Sorry, Grandma, but eww.”  Maybe it was the pink polyester pants she always wore that turned me off to the idea of pink, who knows.  But whatever the reason, I just remember that thought.

Now, a handful of years later, an evolution has occured.  Some kind of chemical imbalance has intoxicated my brain, because what I used to despise I now adore.  What once was forbidden is now sacred.

I love hot pink, cotton candy pink, light pink, dark pink, and even the lavender-y pink.  I go out of my way to find everything in pink now.  It sickens me, yet I still perservere.  To date, I have a pink purse, pink fleece jacket from Land’s End, pink gloves and hat (also from Land’s End to match the jacket), pink-lined wallet, a pink poncho, pink shirts, pink socks, pink nail polish, just ordered some pink make-up (very light pink with lavender tones as shadows), and find myself looking longingly at pink sapphire jewelry.  I’m almost to the point of asking the guy who makes my coffee at Dutch Brothers to give me the pink fricken’ straw.

I. Have. A. Problem.

What is the deal?  Seriously I have no clue.  A few years ago at my grandma’s funeral, I did have my three oldest girls, but even then I wasn’t into the pink.  Not even when we painted their room to be all perfectly princess-y.

You know what it is?  I think it was Sophie.  My love for all things pink evolved throughout my pregnancy with her.  She gave me….   Pink Pregnancy Poisoning.  I don’t think there’s a cure.  I haven’t been pregnant for months, yet my passion for pink persists.  (What is with all the alliteration?? *Okay, so I DID bust out the online Thesaurus, I admit.)

Now I do have to say I’m not a total pink whore.  No, there are some shades that are still of the devil.  Like that awful peachy pink.  Or neon pink.  (Neon pink and hot pink are not the same color, although they do walk a fine line – I like it bright but not loud – make sense?)

If I had to pick my favorite shade, I’d probably say the cotton candy pink which is a lighter shade than say throwing together some red and white.  But honestly, folks, it has become an obsession.  I’ve noticed it, my friends are starting to notice it, and my girls think it’s the most awesome thing Mommy loves “their color”.

Every time I look at something I literally have the thought, “Oh, that would be better with a splash of pink.”  I kid you not, I’ve thought about all kinds of fashion accessories from earrings to shoes.  Doesn’t have to be ALL pink, but just a bit.  A hint or a small part.  Maybe to bring something whimsical to it.  Heck, even this website has pink everywhere! 

I’m drowning in pink, folks.  And I don’t wanna be saved!

~~Becka, whose second favorite color is a light lavender

What happened to the sage-y green?!?