u8ashark

I remember learning about slavery and the abolitionists in grade school. I distinctly recall thinking that if I had lived back then I wouldn’t have owned slaves and that I would have been one of the abolitionists — fighting the tyranny of slavery by hiding escaped slaves for transport up north on the Underground Railroad. My teachers told me this was unrealistic and that if I lived back then I would have likely lived on a plantation and had slaves. I was very smug in thinking they were absolutely wrong.

Fast forward a couple of decades and I find out that there are more slaves in the world right now than the entire history of slavery in America, COMBINED, and what had I been doing about it? Nothing. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Just proving my teachers were right. Perhaps I didn’t own slaves myself but I was much like German citizens during the build up to W.W.II who turned a blind eye as the Jews and the homosexuals and other human ”undesirables” were robbed of their possessions and liberty ultimately their lives. As ‘good’ people are wont to do they minded their own business and let their fellow mankind perish.
There are slaves in the world! Slaves! People in bondage. We KNOW what slavery did to this country and how the repercussions are still being felt in present day race relations here in America. Slavery helped destroy our view of different races being an equal part of this human race. Slavery improperly taught one race to treat their fellow man as less than equal as well as taught others that they weren’t as valued. Slavery is evil and what it did to the hearts and minds of all of us is evil.

Enter the International Justice Mission. My husband did some work for them when we first got married and was really taken by the work they were doing in international human rights. The information kept coming to the house each month and I read the heartbreaking stories of how IJM was restoring land to widows in Africa whose land was illegally grabbed from them by greedy relatives leaving the widows and their children to die sans their only source of income, rescuing little girls, and I mean little itty bitty girls from forced work in the thriving Asian sex trade industry — particularly in Thailand and Cambodia, bringing rapists to justice in countries where drug lords and the powerful rule and the poor have no rights, freeing slaves from forced bondage and servitude in India. The list goes on an on. The people who tirelessly work for IJM are making real progress in the area of human rights but the tide of injustice is overwhelming. The little girls in Asia who are forced to be prostitutes, are often being sold into sex slavery by their own female relatives — even their own mothers who are in need of the money (as a mother, the very thought tears my heart!) These girls need our help and IJM needs our help bringing them freedom and justice. If you need a more visual representation of what they’re up against, rent the movie Born Into Brothels. You can get it from Netflix.

Every year I go through the house and decide what I’m going to donate to charity. This year I did things a little differently because I had some rather large big ticket items to give away. I decided to offer the items free, to anyone who was interested and all they had to do was make a donation, in any amount, to IJM. Once things got going I kept finding more items to give away. Household possessions paled in comparison to the potential freedom of a small child. Sure I could have a second television set, but wouldn’t it be better for me to only own one TV and give the other away so that some baby child would no longer have to know the horrors of being forced to cater to sex tourists? The decision became so simple. The total amount we raised, as I promised everyone I’d post, is $315.00. It’s not an earth shattering amount but it will still help. Every bit will help.

Now I really don’t care what you think of me or my desire to donate to this human rights organization. I’m not posting this so that you’ll think better of me and list me as a ‘good person.’ I’m writing this because I know that if you read this then maybe, just maybe your heart will be moved to desire the freedom of these little girls or justice for the widow or renewal for the oppressed or judgment for the perpetrator. Maybe, just maybe you’ll be moved to support IJM too. This is my desire.

For further information, please visit www.IJM.org.

My husband and I used to get together with a group of friends once a month for a potluck dinner — everyone taking turns bringing the vegetable or the bread or the wine or the fourty dollars of entree meat, everyone that is except me. “Just bring your salad,” they always said. They never had to say which one — we all KNEW which one they meant.

You see I make this salad that is absolutely lovely with sweetened, dried cranberries and caramelized nuts and homemade salad dressing and baked goat cheese. While others took turns with other culinary delights, I always made my salad. Always, until last week, that is. You see, it’s a spinach salad, a thou-shalt-not-consume-without-the-threat-of-death fresh spinach salad, a made-people-in-more-than-twentyfive-different-states-sick spinach salad. A sure-to-induce-kidney-failure spinach salad, an already-killed-two-small-children spinach salad. (Not my salad or my children but the spinach I would use to make my salad.) My salad that everyone says is “to die for” now really IS to die for.

It was so sad to realize many items I routinely keep on hand in my pantry are now useless. The ingredients I use to caramelize the nuts so they have that sweet, crunchy exterior, the bag of dried fruit I sprinkle on top, the ingredients for my homemade salad dressing — all useless to me now unless I’m considering homicidal actions . . . and I’M NOT. I was further sad to realize that I no longer had a wonderful recipe to entice my future picky eater into consuming the universally hated children’s vegetable. YOUR child won’t eat spinach? MINE does. Now babygirl has an iron clad excuse not to eat her leafy greens. I won’t eat THAT! Spinach can KILL ya, mom. I was even sadder (if possible) to realize my yummy salad was the reason that I MYSELF would eat spinach. Oh, hell. I’m going to have to break down and take my calcium and iron pills now. It’s only been a week but I sure do miss that salad.

Dear Nugget,

Today you turn nine months old which means you’ve been “outside” as long as you’ve been “inside.” Yes, Nugget, you’ve doubled your existence. Good for you. Momma is sitting here trying to decide which half of your existence was the harder one. Was it the first half where momma couldn’t sleep at night, and was uncontrollably drowsy during the day, and was constantly outgrowing her clothes or was it the second half where you won’t let momma sleep at night, making her uncontrollably drowsy during the day, and she’s constantly changing her clothes so she won’t be wearing your spitup. It’s a tossup, kiddo.

This has been the month where you‘ve gone from stationary baby to mobile one. At the beginning of the month I could plunk you down and when I returned you’d be in exactly the same spot I left you. Now when I plunk you down you fall over onto all fours, crawl across the room, pull yourself to a standing position, and cruise around the furniture. I’m afraid that if I put you down in the garage you’ll crawl over to the car, put it in “D,” and drive the car into the wall at the end of the garage. Like momma did. Just like momma did.

You went from gagging on a quarter of a Cheerio to eating whole ones like a champ. You find that knocking them off on the floor with your baby fist is much more fun because the pup will run around your chair gobbling them up — much to your amusement. Momma knew we got that dog for a reason. At your nine-month checkup today you weighed 15 lbs. 5 oz. which puts you in the 50th percentile height wise and 12th percentile weight wise. Welcome to being momma’s child, kiddo. You can thank your momma and daddy for being a tall, thin drink of water. The boys are going to eat you up if we don’t eat you up first.

You can sit up on your own in the shopping cart and strangers often comment that you “look too small” to be sitting there. It’s adorable how you’ll hold onto the cart sides to keep your balance while momma pushes. Momma is luckily that you don’t grab things off shelves, yet. All the stores in the area were inexplicably out of your brand and size of diaper at the same time so I had to buy a bag of Huggies. This confirms for momma that she hates Huggies. Hates Huggies. Hates Huggies. Hates Huggies. How many times does momma have to write “Hates Huggies” before this entry becomes the number one answer Google returns for a “Huggies” query? They’re not as soft as the Pampers and you leak right out of them. All the time. You leak out of your Huggies. We’ve had more accidents with the Huggies this month than in your ENTIRE LIFE HISTORY with Pampers and that includes the time you pee-shat on your father. Momma wonders how Huggies remains to be a national brand. She can’t wait till the stores have your size in Pampers again. Huggies does make nice, soft wipes, though. [Update: I just checked and apparently lots of other moms "Hate Huggies" as well. I have a long way to go before this entry comes in first on Google. However one mom calling them "Leakies" made me giggle.]

You are still actively smacking your lips. Last month when we’d smack our lips at you, you would smack your lips back. This month you will try to get our attention with your eyes and when you know we’re looking you’ll smack your lips at us. When we smack our lips back at you, you get so excited and will keep it up for a while. You finally get the complicated relationship between your paci and the bottle. Spit paci out. Put bottle nipple in. Drink milk. Once when in the car your father was giving you your bottle and when you saw it, you jerked your head in the opposite direction from your paci-keeper so the ribbon tugged the paci out of your mouth for you and then still with one motion your brought your face back to the bottle with mouth wide and took your first suck. We both laughed so hard I nearly had a wreck. You entertainment center still rocks it for you and Baby Einstein is still your video pacifier.

You look absolutely adorable when you smile with your four baby teeth poking out of your baby gums. You just love it when we brush your teeth . . . yep, all four of them! You sit so patiently while we use the finger brush on your pearlies and gums and you don’t bite down on our fingers as much anymore.

This month has been pretty OK. Although you are more mobile, kiddo, it’s still a rather slow process. I have a feeling that next month you’ll be giving momma a run for her money.

Love,
Momma

WARNING: The following could possibly induce nausea in those who have an aversion to things romantic.

The man I married, in my less than humble opinion, is the best husband a woman could have. He is my best friend and my lover and my confidant and the one who always understands me and who for each day I long to pour myself into. Because even more so than when we first got married I love him dearly and completely I cooked him a very special, romantic dinner last night for no other special reason than “just because I love you.” The air sickness bags are located in the seat back pocket directly in front of you. Your seat cushion can also be used as a flotation devise.

For the salad course I served a quad colore heirloom tomato salad with mozzarella and basil tossed with a light vinaigrette.

For the appetizer course I served seared panchetta with fresh, miniature buffalo mozzarella and dollops of tomato fool. Notice the two forks. It’s the little touches that make it special, ya know.

For the main course it’s fresh-made gnocchi with a homemade garlic and tomato sauce. Simple and delish.

Please excuse the dirty looking plate. The gnocchi looked so good we both dug in and started eating before I realized I didn’t yet take a picture.

Here is the wine I served and the simple table decorations. The two white candles have unusual square sides.

The wine is one we discovered while we were still dating and this bottle is from the same year as the ones we first tasted. As proof that food can bring back powerful memories — this wine “tasted like our love.” If you’ve already filled the first air sickness bag and again feel nauseous, simply press the “attendant” button directly overhead and your flight attendant will bring you another.

Babygirl is sitting in front of her Bumbo in the kitchen. She is sitting in front of it. Her butt is on the floor next to the bumbo. She is happily sitting her butt directly on the ground NEXT to the Bumbo. She is not sitting in her Bumbo. She WAS sitting in her Bumbo. She is now not sitting in her Bumbo nor is her Bumbo where she is currently sitting. She crawled out of her Bumbo today. She got out of her Bumbo. She is not in her Bumbo.

Yes, yes, yes. Finally. After many an attempt, babygirl is crawling. It’s only four paces at a time (baby paces that is) but she’s making definite progress . . . and this time it’s forward. Not that I was really hoping she’d do it sooner; it has definitely been nice to put her down on the floor knowing she can’t really move anywhere yet. I just really wanted her to crawl before she walked — which many babies don’t do now a days. Apparently crawling helps them learn how to coordinate the right and the left hemispheres of the brain and seriously, who doesn’t want that in their child. I guess I can proudly now tell people that my child has a coordinated brain.

Time to put up those baby gates.