Where Are Those Mormon Missionaries When You Need Them?

Turns out babies are finicky eaters. What they like to eat one day might be completely eschewed the next. The lasagna continues to be a hit, plus cut-up mini raviolis. Peaches, which were coveted with a baby-like intensity I had not seen since the introduction of Cheerios, are now promptly thrown onto the floor or pushed away. The previously adored blueberry waffles have fallen by the high-chair wayside as well. They loved the waffles two days ago. This morning and last, not so much. Nicole insisted it is because the first time I made them, I slathered on about twelve tablespoons of butter. The second time Nicole made the waffles and she brushed on barely a hint of butter. More like the innuendo of butter.

Topping the hot list this weekend, courtesy of Mommy (the other one), is grilled cheese. The girls split a grilled cheddar cheese sandwich for lunch and ate with gusto. It was repeated for lunch on Sunday and it was still eaten with gusto. They also ate rotini with broccoli and loved that. But I bet if I give them broccoli tomorrow they will spit it right back out. Sometimes I think they like something and then when I take them out of their chairs, there are cupfuls of little bits of food. Such is the capricious nature of babies. We’ll see.

Kitchen scissors are my baby-feeding best friend. I learned this technique watching my friend Jen feed her twins. She pulled out some cheese and snipped it into baby-friendly bites with speed and ease. It is so much easier than using a knife and cutting board. I snip everything. I snip toast into bite-sized pieces. Their waffles, the few times that I have made them. I snip strips of mozzarella cheese into cubes. I snipped their chicken cutlet on Sunday night. It makes life so much easier.

I am also trying to just give them whatever we are eating. Meaning, I am not making special little pureed meals for them that much anymore. I have stopped checking to see when babies are “allowed” to eat something and just trust my instinct instead. I won’t give them nuts or honey but pretty much anything else (that is, other than the dulce de leche fake-sugared Jello pudding crap that I eat and such) is fair game. My doctor approved, and that is good enough for me. The other night I made macaroni and cheese with broccoli and that will be their lunch tomorrow. It is all homemade so I know the ingredients, and I can cut it all up with the scissors.

By the way, the dulce de leche fake-sugared Jello pudding crap is delicious. It is my new ice cream bar, which I used to eat every night, which fell by my arm chair wayside. Since the Jello is made with Splenda it has like no calories. I could eat all six little cups and it would still not qualify as a caloric binge. Not that I am trying to binge.

This weekend I took a gym-day break. This was a big, big step for me because normally my train of thought is “Oh well, I missed a day so I might as well stop going for the month. Or more.” I am so all-or-nothing and such a (failed) perfectionist. I said that I am going to start taking one day off a week, and I am trying to stick to that. That seems sane. Six days of gym, one day of rest. So I took off Saturday and went on Sunday. And then Monday, back to the 5:00 a.m. grind, hopefully. It is so hard mustering up the energy but when I am on the treadmill I am glad I made the effort.

There are a coupe of great articles about recurrent miscarriages and the causes of repeated stillbirths in the New York Times. There in the Health section. And in the Home & Garden section, check out “A House Not for Mere Mortals.: That is the most bizarre/provocative house I have ever seen. I can’t even begin to describe, except to say there are poles all over the house to grab if you lose your balance.

I am reading a book about Mormonism and it is fascinating! (the book and the religion.) Now I wish one of those missionaries would come and knock on my door. In the book (Under The Banner of Heaven) the author (Jon Krakauer, an amazing writer) makes the point that one can’t intellectually argue about the veracity or lack thereof of any religion since it is all based on faith, which, by its very definition, means not being able to prove. So what the Mormoms believe or Wiccans or Catholics or Jews or Scientologists or the scripture-quoting homeless man or anyone believes is not more or less preposterous than the next religion. With that in mind, it makes it easier to sift through these religions and find the good, the tragedy and the hope. I am not a religious person in any traditional-religion sort of way, but the older I get the more interested I am in learning about all of this. I wish I were more spiritual, I really do. I wish I belonged to a religion and had a church. Thing is most religions would espouse crap about how Nicole and I are sinners and that is exactly the sort of crap I don’t need my babies learning.

The poll, that was so interesting. Thanks to all who voted. 69 percent are doing it three times a month or less. Almost 80 percent four times a month for less. And the brave 20 percent at five times a month or more. Go, you sexual Olympiads. But I guess everyone else reading this can interpret that just as well as I did. I have no special insight other than my wondering of if the 20 percenters are in boy/girl relationships. Women in general just tend to not be so prolific, for lack of a better word. Hard-core cuddling and talks, yes. Quickies, not so much.

Pictured above, Leif and Skye and Avery. They came over on Friday. Leif has a big-boy haircut, but I miss his bowl cut so much. They are in bathing suits because they had swimming lessons. Leif said the first time he jumped in the water without swim fins, he was scared. The second time, he was less scared. And the third time he was even less scared. It was so cute, the way he told it, in that typical five-year-old way where all the details are shared, each and every one of them, using his whole body to tell the story. I am glad they are taking swimming lessons because I don’t want them to be like me, an adult who is afraid of the water. And yes, I lived on a boat but was afraid of water. Growing up, I doggy-paddled in pools and the ocean like I was being chased by a shark and to this day can’t swim in lakes, thanks to a scary near-miss with a snapping turtle. I can’t tell you the last time I have been in open water.