Savagemama
Column: Savagemama
Puree, Liquify, Squish: Making Baby’s FoodI never thought I’d be one of those people who made my baby’s food. I always figured some company had perfected recipes and processes and that I as a consumer would benefit from their years of research and trial and error. So when Eliza started eating solid foods we bought jars off the shelf of our local grocery store. It went on like this for a month or so, grocery bags with jangling jars inside. There is a sign in one of our local grocery stores that reads, "organic doesn't mean clean," and in the case of organic baby food I would argue organic doesn't mean tasty either. After a while, I noticed that most of this food was pretty bland, even for baby food. So we steamed some carrots one day, put them in the blender and within a few tries, came up with a creamy, sweet, electric-orange meal. We've been making her food ever since. [more]
Column: Savagemama
Getting Back My GameThere’s a Lucinda Williams song that goes something like “I think I lost it, let me know if you run across it.” That’s how I’ve been feeling lately about my own game. It’s missing, on vacation to somewhere warm and sandy and, I’m convinced, may never return again.
I’m afraid I’m turning in to that woman. That woman who walks around just plain dirty with a just plain dirty baby in tow. That woman who trades hip and sexy for fashion-tragic comfort. That woman, as we say in the South, who has “just let herself go.”
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Savagemama
The Baby Is Eating Dirt, It’s a Lovely ThingLast week we planted carrots and greens. I sat Eliza in the dirt and moved quickly making rows in the soil I’d turned the week before. As I sprinkled seeds, Eliza grunted to be picked up.
“Just one more row,” I told her over my shoulder.
Her grunts turned to whines then to cries. It took us all day to plant one bed. Saturday we planted potatoes and onions. In the middle of planning the potato patch I turned to look and Eliza had a handful of dirt in her mouth.
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Column: Savagemama
Mama: Tune Out the Naysayers, Trust Your Gut“Trust your instinct,” a friend said.
It’s such a simple concept and one that we new mothers often forget. We’re inundated by advice – some well meaning, some not so much – and we want more than anything to do it right, to make sure our children are OK. And the fear and guilt that come from the newness of this endeavor make us vulnerable even to concepts that seem foreign, concepts that go against everything our gut is telling us.
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Column: Savagemama
How a Baby can Turn the Family Dog Into, Well, a DogLast summer Eliza was born and our poor dog Imogene has had to take a back seat both in terms of time and affection. I tell her to be quiet when the baby is sleeping, I won’t let her lay on the rug because she gets muddy paw prints on the baby’s blanket. Dinnertime is no longer the begging free-for-all it used to be, I usually tell Imogene to get out of the kitchen because she is just one more thing in my way. She stays outside most days now; she sleeps in the laundry room instead of our room. We’ve even talked about having her sleep in the garage.
Imogene’s status has shifted without any of us meaning for it to happen. She’s still the baby dog but there’s new angel-faced girl in the house. Lately it seems as though we’re treating Imogene differently. We’re treating her like a dog not the go-everywhere-we-go companion she’s always been and somehow that’s strange.
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Column: Savagemama
Baby = Pumpkin or Punk?Someone told me once that there would be a day when there would be nothing I could do to ease my baby’s suffering whether it be because she was colicky or teething or just a little off. I honestly didn’t believe it but today was that day. I have never felt so inept. [more]
Column: Savagemama
Is Motherhood Leading me to the Church Door? Really?Lately, my grandmother seems extra interested in our spiritual path. I don’t pretend that she’s out to save my soul and saving Seth’s soul has been a little harder then she bargained for but Eliza’s soul is a different story.
As Easter approached this year she slipped sly comments into conversation before finally asking, “You gonna take that baby to church?”
And the strange thing was, I was actually considering it.
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Column: Savagemama
Rural Life with Baby and My Neighbor’s CowsWe live on five acres south of Arlee, five acres of postcard mountain views, swaying yellow grass and, more often than not, a handful of our neighbor’s 200 or so head of cattle. These creatures have 155 other acres on which to roam and poop and make baby cows but where do they really want to do all of these activities? You guessed it. Our five-acre island. At eight months old, Eliza is becoming quite the cow hand. [more]
Column: Savagemama
Staying at Home, Taking Care of Baby and Identity CrisisIn our culture, a stay-at-home mom is someone who spends her days shopping at Target (in a not-so-sexy jogging suit nonetheless) and watching Oprah. This stereotype, while grossly unfair, is one I’ve bought into even without knowing it. It’s more than a little embarrassing to admit but I realize I’ve been less than kind over the years in my judgment of stay-at-home moms. This little identity crisis I’ve been having of late has forced me to confront my biases and realize that a woman can be smart and sexy and stay at home with her kids. [more]
Column: Savagemama
Cottonwoods, Magnolias, Sage and Redefining HomeThis last month my little girl has done some traveling, first to see her grandparents in the South then to my husband’s childhood home in the high desert of Central Oregon. Without really meaning to we’ve found ourselves taking her to all of the places we carry with us even though we barely know we do.
Taking Eliza to the South was like placing the last piece of a puzzle and allowed me to bring her home to Montana feeling much closer to where I grew up. She will not know the South as her own but she’ll know it as me just as I know the scent of sage and juniper as Seth. She’s helping me reconfigure home. And somehow that is comforting.
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