Inspirations from cheese in a can. joey, kelly and danny.

Here is Desmond, Danny’s cousin.  He spent the weekend with us, all the better to celebrate Danny’s birthday and contract a dread disease (cold with a side of supergrump).  Hopefully he won’t, and in my defense, his parents received a courtesy that was withheld from most of the people that came to visit this weekend:  I did warn them of the disease he might contract.  I probably should have said “almost certainly will contract” instead of “might contract,” due to the poor mucous management skills I’ve referred to before, and the resultant patina of mucous covering the interior of our home.  Combine the mucous patina with Desmond’s penchant for dangling a toy car from his mouth like a cigarette while he searches for the next cable he would like to mouth, and you have a recipe for contagion.  And while that will, for the most part, be someone else’s problem this week (welcome to the glamorous life of the stay-at-home mom, Jackson!), said someones should know that I still feel like a lump of mucous for it happening as a result of our snotty hospitality.  I hope that they will accept our humble apology and this pumpkintastic montage of pictures, in all of their Olan Mills splendor.  What, I never claimed to be a real photographer.

…another great post.  Or, just a picture of Danny and some more excuses about how tired we are.  We are so tired, etc.  Also sick still.  The main symptom of Danny’s illness today was extreme grumpiness.  Fortunately, Joey was going out for the Best Husband in the World Award and offered to work from home, so he could share in all that grumpen magic.  Naturally, I bolted for SuperTarget with my sisters, because duh.  And then after they left, the rest of the afternoon I laid around on the sofa, and Danny lounged around and enjoyed his home theater set-up in Joey’s office.  I’ll have to document that some other time, it’s quite ridiculous and adorable.

did you think i wouldn’t make it today?  because you’ve been poised at your computer all day waiting for my post, right?  while you were hovering over the refresh button, were you hoping i would, or hoping i wouldn’t? no, no, as we’ve discussed, you people have much better things to do on your weekends, and thank heaven for that.

either way, here i am.  what a weekend.  we had a great time celebrating danny’s second birthday.  i’ll get around to pictures and all that digital magic eventually.  thanks to all for the birthday wishes and love.  danny doesn’t really know anything about his internet following, but trust me, if he knew how famous he was, he’d be awkwardly wiggling his tongue at you all right now.

awkward mouth from kelly rutledge on Vimeo.

yeah so i’m here, but other than providing you with this poor-quality video of danny wiggling his tongue, i’m pretty worthless.  i have a cold that keeps on keeping on, and i passed it to danny just in time for his birthday.  he was a trooper for his party, but now he’s just a little pitiful.  sorry to anyone that typhoid danny may have infected over the weekend.  he is not great at mucous management.  see you tomorrow for another great post!

And we are busy living it up.  Here are some pictures of the beforemath.  I just made that word up.

Danny’s cousin Emmett wrestling with our entry for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Assembling his present.

Certain people will be very excited to see these.

Danny’s little sister.  That’s her name now.  It will take me some time to get used to it, bear with me.  Should I let the errant “Danny’s little brother” slip, please pardon me.  I know we had the big reveal post last week, but I still wasn’t sure, because Danny’s little sister is the most bashful baby in the history of….well…..my babies.  However, with the help of an amazingly compassionate and skillful ultrasound technician yesterday, I now can tell you with complete confidence that Danny’s little brother is, in fact, a girl.  Well, as much as you can possibly be confident with these things.

The reason we had another ultrasound yesterday was because last week, the ultrasound tech at my ob saw and did not see some areas of possible concern.  One was her face; she had it turned away and they couldn’t see her profile.  This didn’t trouble me at all, but it left a pesky unchecked box on her ultrasound report card, which troubled the midwife.  Another was her kidneys, which apparently were a little swollen (hydronephrosis if you’re into terminology and stuff).  Not necessarily a big deal, but something they weren’t thrilled to see.  Maybe something, maybe nothing.  And the last area of concern was her bowel.  There was an area of her bowel that was reflecting more sound than is normal, possibly indicating some type of obstruction.  Once again, maybe something (echogenic bowel for the terminology people), maybe nothing.  Anybody else getting nervous?  Yeah, take that and multiply it by pregnant-lady-psychotic, and that’s how I felt last week.  Though I was assured that I shouldn’t worry by the midwife, because it could all turn out to be nothing, of course I worried.  It became my very important job for the day.  And the next.  And then I calmed down a little bit and put it in a low simmer until yesterday.

Yesterday was the ultrasound with the fetal diagnostic specialist.  We planned for Joey to go with me, even though it meant his absence at work on the launch date of a project he’s been working on for weeks.  Danny has “school” on Thursdays, so he was all taken care of.  Until he woke up coughing and slightly feverish from the cold that I gave him, making it clear that he wouldn’t be going to school.  So he went with us.  And since the waiting room was about 6 inches square and filled with 5 pregnant women and their support groups, he was promptly invited to wait on a bench down the hall with his father.

So Joey was there and not there, and I was alone and not alone.  Actually, if we count the fantastic (and also pregnant) ultrasound technician, I definitely was not alone.  I assumed that she would refuse to tell me anything relevant, as ultrasound technicians sometimes do.  Not this one.  She asked why I had been sent there, and as she worked, she showed me the baby’s profile (which is fine), and her kidneys (which are fine), and her bowel (which is fine….ish…..well, stay tuned on that one).  And, bonus, she kept gently nudging the supremely modest Miss Rutledge until she could get a view of her “area.”  This child keeps her ankles crossed, sitting on her feet, with her hand between her knees.  And her face turned away.  How Victorian.  Anyway, as all of these boxes of concern were unchecked, I started to cry a little.  She asked if I was okay and handed me a tissue.  Oh, I kind of love LaShon the angelic sonographer.  As I left the room, I told her I would hug her but I didn’t want to give her my cold.  She stood up and hugged me anyway.

So I trotted down the hall to tell Joey that our baby is fine, fine, and fine, and definitely a girl.  And that I have to go back and wait for the doctor to tell me all this.  When I did talk to the doctor, he agreed almost entirely with LaShon, with one tiny reservation about the echogenic bowel.  He said 90% of him felt that her bowel was normal and nothing to worry about.  To which I replied, “But 10% of you wants me to come back in a month.”  Bingo.  And there you have it.  That is everything I know about the littlest Rutledge.  And thanks to you all for all your name suggestions.  At the moment, the frontrunner is Kanundrum Archepelago (thanks, Frank and Becky).  What do you think?

Here’s our boy, playing chase with the dogs.  It is a very good thing when they are mutually useful.  After only three hours or so of this, they are all too tired to even be annoying.  This is the most useful I’ve seen the dogs since…..ah…..well I guess since they took care of the bowl of cereal Danny dumped on the rug this morning.  Okay, so they’re useful a lot.  I guess as long as we have humans that slop food around the house (and I think that’s going to be a while…Joey’s not even 30 yet), they’ll earn their keep.  But for now, it’s a good thing for their sakes that they’re still faster and smarter than Danny; it might get ugly if he actually caught them with that stick he’s wielding.  And no way are we taking them to the vet….I’ll just buy a better vacuum if it comes down to that.  Mostly kidding.  If one of their legs fell of or something, I’d let Joey take them.

Danny chasing dogs from kelly rutledge on Vimeo.

The weather has been behaving appropriately lately, which is a little inappropriate for our area. It’s been clear and cool, with brisk breezes, blue skies, and beautiful leaves, with the occasional overcast day. These overcast days are my favorite, because they provide the perfect backdrop to better enjoy your soup (or hot tea or ridiculously expensive coffee or homemade cocoa, all of which I’ve been loving lately). I hate sweating while I eat or drink, so I look forward to cooler temperatures to indulge in these warming favorites.

Today I’m dropping off meals for two friends that recently had babies, and I couldn’t help but revisit one of my favorites for this purpose: Hoppin’ John Soup. You’re going to think I only cook what my sister tells me to, because I got this recipe from her, too. And I guess you’d be right. She doesn’t much bake though, so I come by all that stuff on my own. As soon as I can get a picture of something interesting I baked, I’ll post a recipe of that, too.

Anyway, this soup is perfect in its simplicity, heartiness, and utter ease to prepare. I’m really taking one for the team giving up my secret here….I can’t even count how many people I’ve made this for in the last year, and if they stumble by here, now they’ll know that I’m a Cheating McCheaterson. But because November is not even halfway over, and I’m running out of stuff to post already, sacrifices must be made. So, here is the recipe for the easiest soup ever (if you have something easier, I fully expect you to fill me in on that.)

Hoppin’ John Soup (modified from this recipe at allrecipes.com)

INGREDIENTS
* 1 pound sage pork sausage (I use half turkey sausage when I can)
* 1 (6 ounce) package uncooked long grain and wild rice mix, with seasoning packet
* 2 (15 ounce) cans black-eyed peas, drained
* 2 (14.5 ounce) cans diced tomatoes, with liquid (for some spice, sub one can with Ro-Tel)
* 1 quart (32 oz) chicken broth (or stock)
* 1 cup water (Hey, guess what? I forgot the water last night. Still good.)
* salt to taste

DIRECTIONS
1. Crumble sausage into a soup pot over medium heat and cook until evenly brown. Drain if you insist. (I think the drippings are the best part.)
2. Add the rice mix with seasoning packet, stir together, and cook for 4-5 minutes, allowing the rice to brown a little and/or soak up the fat from the sausage. Mmmm fat. Add the black-eyed peas, tomatoes, broth and water. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, cover and simmer 20 minutes, or until rice is tender. Season to taste with salt (I usually find there to be plenty of salt from the sausage, beans, and stock).

It’s been a week….has everyone calmed down a little bit now? Good. Because I have something I want to say about the election. I considered avoiding this post altogether because I am very pointedly non-confrontational, and conflict makes me nervous. I am a peacemaker, sometimes too much so. I couldn’t let this one go, though, not when I have committed to posting every day this month, this month is November, this year is an election year, and an election like we’ve never seen has just happened. So damn the torpedoes, here’s my two cents. However, before that: a thank you to all veterans and their families for their sacrifices to protect our country. Your service does not go unnoticed; you are appreciated. Thank you.

Now: all politics aside (as if that’s possible….but try and work with me), what happened last week is an event that I would have bet money that I would not see in my lifetime. When I heard that Barack Obama was a serious contender for the Democratic nomination, my reaction honestly was: “It will never happen.” I underestimated my country, and overestimated the power of racism. So I am pleasantly surprised, and I submit that I would be feeling this same pleasant surprise even if the President-elect was now Alan Keyes (an uberconservative African-American politican). Okay, maybe not the exact same pleasant surprise, but my point is that there is something bigger than politics to notice here.

So this surprise that I feel is the happy part. Millions and millions of parents can now say to their children, with more confidence than before: “You can do anything.” It’s one thing to pass along that platitude and not be sure that you’re doing your kid a favor, and fear that maybe you’re instilling naivete where perhaps a dose of realism would better serve the child. But for parents to believe it as they say it must be such an amazing feeling….to have an example like the President-elect of the United States to point to and assure their children that their biggest dreams are possible, regardless of their skin color or parentage. And for children to grow up taking it for granted that this is the way our country works, is an amazing thing. Yes, this pleases me so much.

And so I have tried to focus on these things, and not to be disheartened at the reluctance of some to acknowledge the historical import of this moment. Not to mention their rush to purchase firearms, disown family members based on their vote, or herald the Apocalypse and/or imminent collapse of our society. For those people, I just wish that they would redirect just a little, and allow themselves to see the positive in this situation. And I know that it is possible for people of different political preferences to do this, because I watched my sister Danyelle do it. Though she is one of the most conservative people I know, on the day after the election she handled herself with as much grace as John McCain displayed in his concession speech, even celebrating with people she met in the grocery store when she saw on their faces what this moment meant to them. And then, my sister-in-law twice removed, Jenn, posted this on her blog yesterday, reminding us that in addition to his African-American heritage, Barack Obama is as Irish as JFK, and that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay. If you, too, have something you want to say, please feel free to comment. Of course, respectful disagreement is welcome, but please try not to say anything ugly, y’all. It would hurt my feelings.

I think I twittered a while back about this situation I have. In a word, the situation is Wurdle. Wurdle is best described as Boggle for the IPhone. Or, in my case, the ITouch. Those of you who are super tech-savvy are saying to yourselves right now: “It is NOT an ITouch. It is an IPod Touch.” And you’re right…..a little uptight perhaps, but you’re right. However, because my husband said the same thing to me in a rather condescending manner, for me, it is and always shall be the ITouch. Really though, I usually just call it Wurdle, because that is the only purpose for which I am interested in this device.

Oddly, I never much got into the whole Boggle thing. You know, it’s that game where there are dice with letters on them, and you shake them up. Then you write down all the words you can think of built from adjacent letters. I know it is possible to achieve great heights in the sport of Boggle, a la Peggy Hill, but I dunno, I just never got into it. As soon as Joey found this application, though, he knew that I would love it. And I do. Very much. I find it so relaxing to play. It represents three-minute increments of immersion in something other than my immediate surroundings, which usually prominently feature a carpet of toys, dirty laundry, and needful creatures. Sometimes I can put together amazing words, like “frenetic” and “quietude”, and sometimes I can make a hundred tiny words. Often I do neither, but I can fail miserably ten times before I get mad enough to quit. Because I just know that next time, it’s going to be an exquisite board of perfectly arranged, immaculately useful letters.

Yeah, see what I mean? I have a little situation. Here’s the good news and the bad news: Wurdle is only available when Joey is here AND not using it himself AND feeling generous with his precious. So really, it’s a self-limiting addiction. The object of my addiction makes its home in someone else’s pants. I can’t partake without someone else knowing, and I can’t indulge when I’m alone. In fact, I have to ask permission, really. It goes like this: “Can I play Wurdle?” Or, if it’s really bad, just a very serious look and “WURDLE.” Rarely am I denied. Because sharing does not come naturally for Joey (it’s something he must actively work on), more than once he has said: “I’m going to buy you your own IPod Touch so you’ll leave mine alone.” I flatly reject this offer because A) I’m a cheap bastard, B) we can’t afford for us BOTH to be addicted to electronics and C) I maybe couldn’t control myself. And there would be Danny and his little (probably female) brother, hungry and wrestling in a pile of their own products as their mother frantically tries to concoct a nine-letter word. (Oh, “frantically” would be an awesome word.)

Mainly because I asked for it, I’ve been tagged by my friend Janelle to list ten things I love that start with the letter T.  After seven straight days of bringing you the quality content you’re accustomed to here at easycheese, today marks the first nablopomo fluff post.  It was bound to happen.  Anyway, nobody really reads this on the weekend anyway, because fortunately, y’all have much better things to do.  Which leaves me to fluff to my heart’s content.  Wow, I wish I didn’t know the other definition of the word fluffer.  If you don’t know what I’m talking about, promise me you won’t look it up on UrbanDictionary.  (Oh, Danyelle, what will you do….what WILL you do?)

1. Television.
2. pTerodactyls. Yeah, you’re right. Send a letter to the editor.
3. Ten.
4. Toast.
5. Tests. Seriously, no kidding. One test paid for my entire undergraduate degree.
6. Tivo. Totally separate from televison.
7. Tapdancing. One day I will learn how.
8. Tacos.
9. Toddlers.
10. Toyotas.

If you feel you would like to be tagged for this, let me know, and I’ll give you a letter. Probably not even Q.