Happy New Year

Toeing the Line

A few months ago we started hanging our laundry to dry. I don't know what else to say about that. Yes, we should have started sooner but I have a problem with crunchy clothing. I CAN NOT STAND IT.

Can't stand it the way people hate nails on a chalk board or Ryan hates the smell of cat food. Crunchy, stiff clothes make me grumpy and vaguely nauseated. I'm getting grumpy right now just thinking about it.

There were other obstacles too - like our Homeowners Association. Oh yes, the Suburban Farm is in a neighborhood with a Homeowners Association. I know what you're saying. "But!?! You keep CHICKENS!!?!" We do keep chickens. We carefully researched our zoning restrictions and our property deed and the deed has some room for interpretation. It's creative interpretation and if we ended up in court I'm sure we wouldn't win, but it's enough to keep my conscious clear. Outdoor laundry lines, however, are forebidden. Clear as day, black and white, "Thou shall not hang your laundry (or rugs (and it does say rugs)) outside no matter what."

I'm sure we could challenge it. Our Association is pretty flexible and easy going and it's run by a group of reasonable folks in neighborhood full of reasonable folks. But, you see, we keep chickens and by certain interpretations of the deed restrictions we really shouldn't have chickens in our backyard. So, I'm not sure we should go rocking the boat. Just in case, you know, the whole chicken thing comes up.

This means we've had to get creative about hanging our clothing inside. We started with an accordion rack, which I really like. It holds a load of Zane's clothing (it's all small stuff) or a load of unmentionables (aka underwear and bras, I know I just mentioned it, but I like the word unmentionables.)

We added a (total piece of crap) retractable line rack over the tub in the bathroom, which can sort of hold a whole load of diapers, if you're very careful when you hang them and don't breathe much. It can't take anything heavier than a slightly damp tissue and there's no air circulation so actually hanging a load of grown up sized threads is out of the question.


There really isn't anyplace else to put a drying rack or line in our house. Someday when Ryan builds the laundry room there will be some space, but until then we've hacked this solution.


Chairs, hangers, and sticks on the back porch.

It works surprisingly well. There's plenty of air circulation and the rig can bear the weight of several pairs of wet jeans along with the rest of a grown up load of laundry. If we need to hang a blanket or rug we can use the same sticks set on open closet doors. Perfect, temporary, can quickly be disassembled for storage, and as a bonus the clothing just needs to be migrated into closets when it's dry.

Much to my surprise very little of my clothing ends up crunchy. Some of Ryan's and Zane's do, but they don't mind and Ryan says that they soften up after 10 minutes of wearing them. The diapers line dry perfectly. I still machine dry some blankets, towels, and my pants, but out of the 7 loads of laundry we do a week we only do 1 dryer load. All this will help the dryer and our clothing last longer, it's easier on our electric bill, and I can wear my "dirty hippie" badge with honor and pride now.

Handmade Pledge

Every fall when the pumpkins and black witch hats come out I start thinking about the holidays. Not Halloween, The Holidays. You know the season where gifts are given, cookies show up everywhere, and regardless of our personal religious affiliations, we all wish for snow.Facebook becomes a relentless stream of "I totally saw Christmas Trees in Target! Can you believe it!?!" "Totally, I saw Santas out over at the mall! WTF, dudes?" Because I don't want stuff thrown at me I don't say, "Of course, the holidays are only TWO MONTHS AWAY!"

I blame it on the theatre. At this point in the season rehearsals for your holiday show are underway, sets are being built, and you already have a work schedule set for the front of house people to come decorate the 80 foot Christmas tree in the lobby. If you don't have your holiday battle plan well drafted by now, you're up fecal creek without so much as a tongue depressor.

Unlike the theatre, at the Suburban Farm the holidays are about one thing, PRESENTS. (Ok, so that's not true, but presents do play a leading role in our holiday planning. The supporting role is played by FOOD.) I love to give presents. Love love love. I'm one of those people who sees something in a store in March and says, "That will be perfect for X for Christmas." I gave my baby sister a set of kitchen shears for her birthday that I bought the day after her birthday the year before. Yes, I am that crazy.

Some how in spite of the small stockpile of perfect gifts this year Ryan and I chose to take the Handmade Pledge. This year we pledge that all our gifts will be handmade (or upcycled). There are several reasons for the pledge. It's better for the environment. We've been finding that life with a baby is more expensive then we thought and we already have gallons of booze in the pantry ready to be drunk. I just rediscovered my Knifty Knitters and I'm obsessed with all the yarn I can buy on eBay. (Even if I can only make scarves.) And then there's Etsy.

Etsy.

It deserves it's own line. Etsy is a GIANT craft bizarre full of all sorts of handmade glories. The site can be a bit overwhelming, so I've bookmarked a few vendors we like: Suburban Farm Favorite Esty Sellers. Keep in mind that our favorites are just microbes on the tips of the icebergs.

For our pledge, handmadeish counts. We do have a small person who takes up a disproportionate quantity of our time, so we may take a few short cuts. But the idea is there. This season we're going to be putting the Suburban Farm stamp on all our gifts, and I'm excited about it.

Baby-Led Weaning

Tomorrow Zane is headed to the Doctor's for his 6 month checkup. After the appointment Ryan will call and say, "You were right, he does weigh 80lbs." Ok, I'm exaggerating, a little bit, but the repeated heavy lifting with "Mommy's Magic Shoulder" is making me lopsided. I'm totally cut but only on one half of my upper torso. And when I say cut I mean cut, like Madonna without the scary veins kind of cut. I'd switch shoulders but the other one isn't magical. Just ask Zane, he'll tell you. Only one shoulder will do for him!

We'll also get the ok from the doctor to start introducing solids. Solids, being anything other then (that-truly repugnant-not-a-food) rice cereal they push on everyone. Whoops! Too late.

We should have held out. There's something sciencey about an open digestive system and stuff, but the critter was getting absolutely distraught at not being allowed to share our meals. He wanted food, BADLY, and there's only so much begging Ryan and I can take. (Yes, he did actually beg. He made these small grunting "gime" noises, INCESSANTLY. We have tons of practice ignoring begging here at the Suburban Farm. Believe me, you would have caved too.)

However, under no circumstances were either of us willing to sit and shovel puréed goop into his maw. We skipped the mushed up mash, and the rice slime, and the chunky dog food looking stuff in the jars and went straight to finger foods.

Genius! you say. Yes, but it's not our idea, it's Baby-Led Weaning.

The underground movement started with a paper by Gill Rapley and has become more mainstream now the book has been published: Baby-led Weaning. The idea was introduced to us by our friend Bethany, who's a pretty smart chick and used this method with her son. (Thank you Bethany!!! You have changed our lives in ways you can't imagine!)

Baby-Led Weaning in a nutshell: you let the kid feed himself.

You don't spoon anything into his mouth, you don't mash food up past all recognition, and you don't have to worry about how much he's eating. You just cut things up so they have a handle (they say chip sized, but they're British so think steak fries) and let him play. If he eats some great! If not, no big deal he's still getting all his nutrition from the boob (or can, if that's what works for you.) Eventually he'll eat more food and drink less milk, weaning himself off the white stuff altogether.

So far Zane has eaten (well, gummed and swallowed) everything from peaches and avocados to bread and pasta. His favorite foods seem to be steak (grass-fed of course) and yoghurt WHICH HE FEEDS HIMSELF, WITH HIS OWN SPOON. He eats what we eat, we don't make special meals for him. (Ok, we do cut his food special and pull stuff out of the pot before we add epic amounts of seracha sauce, but he's still mostly eating the same dinner we are.) We never have to worry about packing special food when we leave the house or what to do when we're out at a restaurant. It's fantastic.

There is a small side effect. One of the things you learn from the book is the difference between gagging and choking. Zane has not choked. Not even once. I do admit, despite the evidence to the contrary, when watching him eat I am constantly afraid at any minute he's going to turn blue. In learning to eat Zane watches us chew and swallow and does his very best to mimic our actions - this includes "Mommy's Eating Face." While I watch him happily munch his food, selecting out which bits seem tasty, in between smiles and contented sighs, he looks gravely concerned right back at me.

Urban Farm Magazine

Ryan and I were featured in Urban Farm Magazine for their premiere issue. The article is written by Cherie Langlois who interviewed us for Hobby Farm Home a while back. (I was still pregnant at the time.) It's a great piece, in a really great magazine about sustainable living:

"Urban Farm magazine's mission is to promote the benefits of self sustainability and to provide the tools with which to do it on any size property. Urban Farm reaches out to those in the city and suburbs, those who are inspired by the local food movement and who want to start raising chickens and growing food for themselves, supporting local agriculture and living more sustainably."

You can find it on newstands (web rumors have said Borders and Barnes & Noble).

Go Donate Yourself

When I got pregnant Ryan was inspired to start donating blood. Now he goes as often as he can, and has even graduated to donating double red blood cells. I've been donating blood since high school, what seemed like a good excuse to get out of gym class, became something I just did. I've had to take a break since they don't want me to donate while I'm Zane's primary nutritional source, but you'd be surprised at what else I can give away.

Cord Blood
After doing a ton of reading, it was clear that there is absolutely no reason for me to bank cord blood. Cord blood banking is expensive, and unless you have a family history of leukemia, sickle cell disease, or other genetic troubles there is absolutely no reason for you to shell out that kind of cash. But it does seem a shame to let all those stem cells go to waste.

So donate it. That's what we did.

After Zane entered the world, my very fantastic and patient OB collected the sample (x liters!) and boxed it all up in a donation kit that was provided for us. Ryan called the number on the kit and they sent a currier to pick it up. It was easy, painless, and that blood either went to help some poor child who could use it or to a lab where they will play with it to come up with new medical solutions. Either way, someone wins. Why would you bank it and spend all that money when you could actually help someone (or multiple someones)? Go here to read more.

Breast Milk
Yes, you can donate this too.

I make more then Zane needs, and now that my emergency stash in the freezer is built back up I don't mind setting some excess aside for other babies who need it.

I donate through the International Milk Bank Project. At least 25% of the milk I send them goes to help infants in Africa who are suffering from malnourishment, HIV/AIDS, and other diseases. The rest is distributed by Prolacta to premature and critically ill babies here in America. They are the only distributor of human milk formula made from 100% human milk. The funds they raise selling the pasteurized breast milk to hospitals go to further their efforts in Africa.

Donating breast milk is a bit tricky and the process to get approved and set up was long and a bit of a pain in the ass. But they try to be as helpful as they can, and walk you through every step. There are other bits of yourself you can donate too.

Bone Marrow
If you're not on the registry, you should be.

Go here (http://www.marrow.org/) and request a kit. You swab your cheek, send it back to them. You're now on the list of potential lifesavers.

Blood
It's obvious, but if you can you should donate. The Red Cross lists local collection sites.

Organs
Is that little box on your drivers license checked? As morbid as it is, you should talk to your family about what to do with your bits when you're done with them. And make sure it's in your will. Don't forget to discuss eye and tissue (aka skin, bone, and heart valves) donations. Despite the virulent urban myth, medical technicians' first priority is your health and well being. They will do absolutely everything in their power to keep you alive and well even if you're listed as an organ donor. When you do pass on, your body is treated with respect and in almost all cases an open casket funeral is possible after donation. Read up on organ donation at Donate Life America.

The Fridge is Dead, Long Live the Fridge

It's not a good night when you find yourself ordering a refridgerator over the internet at nine o'clock at night. Rather then being upset, I've chosen to view this as an opportunity to embrace the quaint American tradition of zero interest and zero payments for six months.

It seems that all new appliance purchases for the Suburban Farm go this way. We wanted to replace the fridge, but we wanted to do it when we were ready, not because the ketchup had grown fur and started crawling about the place threatening to eat the dog. The dishwasher and the hot water heater were similar stories, except they involved water leaking everywhere. (Good times.)

Thankfully the chest freezer outside was working so we moved all the frozen stuff out, and we migrated all the fridge stuff up into the freezer to keep things, with the help of a couple of bags of ice, at normal refrigerator temperature. Aside from some condiments and a freakload of breast milk, we didn't loose much food.

Loosing the milk REALLY sucked. Expressing breast milk is not the easiest or most liberating thing I've ever done. I had slowly built up a very nice stockpile, some of which was in the freezer, and I was planning on donating my excess. Since we had to tap into it so hard my stockpile has been depleted to emergency rations, and now I've got to build my pad back up before I can feel comfortable giving the excess away.

The refrigerator is nice. It's very shiny and clean and has actual drawers rather than cardboard boxes. It's even got an ice maker. (We're so uptown!) I like the freezer on the bottom since it puts the food we eat the most (produce) right at eye level. No more forgotten carrots or radishes, or at least that's my hope. We'll also save on our electric bill, since the former refrigerator was manufactured sometime in the Reagan administration (ok, it may have been as late as Bush, Sr. but that's still at least 15 years ago!)

This is just how life is. You hem and haw over buying a refrigerator for four years, and one day the universe says, "You know what! I am sooooo tired of you bitching about your refrigerator. Get over it already. It's all you talk about anymore. Blah blah blah. You're soooo boring. If you're not going to do something about it, then I'll make you do something about it. Ha!"

I wonder if we should start thinking about a new stove, a gas stove. Wouldn't that be grand...

- Gretchen