Recipe: Taco Soup

Well, I'm still pregnant! The hospital is at least 2 days behind on inductions, and my OBGYN doesn't appear too concerned since all he did was have me come in for an NST on Friday and told me to schedule another NST for Monday if I hadn't heard from the hospital by then. I'm still praying I go into labor on my own before then, but it's not looking very promising at the moment.

Since I had planned to be in the hospital and then home with a newborn this weekend, I didn't plan any meals. That led to quesadillas for dinner on Thursday and inviting ourselves for dinner at my parents' on Friday. Today, in an attempt to keep busy and not go completely mad from being in limbo, I did quite a bit of cooking. Aside from my usual eggs for breakfast, I made muffins for The Husband and the girls (with the added bonus of heating the house since my antique stove works better than our central heating unit) and decided to make soup for dinner since it's been so grey and cloudy here lately...perfect soup weather.

I love making soup. It's a fabulous way to stretch our food and, really, is there anything better than a hot bowl of soup on a cold, cloudy day?

Tonight, I made taco soup. I've made versions in the past that were so-so, but this version is my favorite. It is slightly spicy, chunky, and very comforting. I actually prefer to make it as a vegetarian dish, but since The Husband has been in kind of a grouchy mood lately, I decided to placate him with beef.

Doesn't that look scrumptious?

Ingredients:


1 lb ground beef or turkey (optional)
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 (15 oz) can diced tomatoes with green chiles
1 (15 oz) can chili beans (you may substitute pinto beans if you can't find chili beans)
1 (15 oz) can dark kidney beans
1 (15 oz) can black beans
1 (29 oz) can hominy
1 (4 oz) can diced green chiles
1 packet taco seasoning (or you can use my recipe)
1 qt vegetable broth
Sour cream, shredded cheddar cheese, and tortilla chips for serving

In a large stock pot or Dutch oven, brown meat with onion, salt and pepper. If you are omitting the meat, just cook your onion in a bit of olive oil until it's translucent.

While meat is browning, open all of your cans and mix up your taco seasoning. Using a colander, drain and rinse the kidney beans, black beans, and hominy.

Once meat has browned, drain off excess grease, add the rest of the ingredients, and stir to combine.

Bring soup to a boil, stir, and reduce heat. Allow contents to simmer for 30-45 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Serve the soup topped with sour cream, cheese, and tortilla chips.

Taco Seasoning:
1 Tbsp chili powder
1 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp onion powder
1/4 tsp crushed red pepper flakes
1/4 tsp dried oregano
1/4 tsp paprika
1 1/2 tsp cumin
1 tsp sea salt
1 tsp black pepper
1/2 tsp cayenne
*This taco seasoning has replaced all of the msg-laden store bought packets that used to overflow my spice cabinet (we eat a lot of taco salad), and tastes SO MUCH BETTER than any brand I've tried.

One of my favorite parts of this dinner is that there are enough leftovers for lunch tomorrow. Although, I can't promise that BabyA and I won't eat it for breakfast instead.

Nearing the End

I'm not even through the labor and delivery portion of this pregnancy, and I am already feeling like my body failed me.

This was not supposed to happen. This birth was supposed to be the culmination of my months of research, of inspiration. It was supposed to be my chance to take back my birth and to make up for the incredible lack of knowledge that led to such an unsatisfying birth experience with BabyA. Now, I almost find myself wanting to return to my blissful ignorance. At least going into my induction with BabyA, I was more excited than apprehensive.

I feel let down. By myself, my body, and the medical community. I feel like I shortsighted things, that I should have been more thorough in my research when I was first diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes. I failed myself because I didn't think that I would end up on insulin. My body failed in so many ways, but the most devastating of them were the actual diagnosis of GD followed by the need for insulin because, though I could control my glucose levels with diet during my waking hours, my body failed to control them at night. Most of all, though, I feel let down by the medical community. I spent hours researching everything I could find about GD and possible outcomes. What I discovered is that, while I found enough information to make a confident decision about denying induction without insulin dependence, the information on insulin dependent GD deliveries is very minimal. The information I did find just lumped all Type I/II and GD pregnancies/deliveries together with very little separation.

So here I sit. According to an ultrasound at around 8 weeks gestation, I am currently halfway through my 38th week of pregnancy, and I'm holding a slip that says my induction is scheduled for Thursday morning. While I know that I am capable of refusing the induction, I am not sure that I should because my research is inconclusive and the last thing I want to do is harm my baby because I chose to value my birth experience over his safety. I also haven't had great results on my urinalysis (I'm spilling a lot of ketones in my urine), and my blood pressure has been elevated during my last 2 visits.

I am working on self induction, and desperately trying to hold on to positivity, but I'm tired. On the way home from my parents' house tonight, with BabyA snoring in the back seat, I found myself begging God to let me have this baby on my own. Up until tonight, I'd been really good about asking for things to happen the way He planned. I was clinging to the thought that His plan had to be for me to give birth the way He designed.

If I'm wrong, and I end up with another induction, I am sure there's a bigger purpose. I know it is all part of the plan. But right now, I'm anxious and depressed.

Trick or Treat!

I've been MIA for a couple weeks, trying to give my finger time to heal and dealing with a sick kiddo.

My finger's in that awkward stage where it's scabbed over and healing, but still hurts like crazy if I accidentally use it for something like typing or attempting to catch a running toddler.

I'm also having to use all of my extra energy in the form of self-restraint to keep from eating rather large amounts of the candy my girls got while trick or treating on Halloween.

It was BabyA's first time trick or treating (last year, she was only 6 months old, The Husband was working, and Princess was with her bio mom, so BabyA and I went to a trunk or treat at my in laws' church). Since we live in a pretty bad area, we decided to take the girls to my parents' neighborhood to trick or treat. Before they donned costumes and headed out, though, my mom made a fun Halloween-themed dinner, thanks to her recently acquired Pinterest account.

The Husband and I as Batman and Catwoman

I was in serious pain all Halloween day. I spent my morning doing as little as possible because I felt like my pelvis was going to break in half at any moment. I did manage to pick up Princess from school at the appropriate time (I really hate alternate schedule days) and help her with her homework, but the pain continued throughout the afternoon and into the evening.

I'm a tiny bit stubborn, though, and I was not going to miss out on BabyA's first trick or treat experience. Especially not when she actually started saying "trick or treat" a few minutes before we headed off into the neighborhood.

All dressed up and ready to go (with Auntie C as a zombie farmer)

My parents' neighborhood doesn't have normal blocks, so I have to estimate that we walked about 4 blocks and went to maybe a dozen houses.

By the time we got back to my parents' house, I could barely get my feet onto the ottoman after I all but fell onto the couch. The next day, I was still tearing up while doing things like getting in and out of the car. The pain, of course, did wonders for my blood pressure when I saw my OBGYN the morning after Halloween.

Overall, it was a fun night. I was never allowed to trick or treat as a child, so I like to live vicariously through my children (one of the reasons I'm so glad BabyA is a redhead). My parents spent most of my life staunchly anti-Halloween, and we celebrated by eating candy and watching Star Wars with our porch light turned off. Occasionally, we'd go to church carnivals/harvest festivals. When my parents decided that Halloween is only as evil as you make it, I was an adult. I took my sisters trick or treating while my mom stayed and passed out candy.

Thankfully, BabyA was more interested in helping to answer the door and pass out candy to other kids once we got back to my parents' house than she was in trying to eat her own candy. We gave her one of the lollipops my mom was passing out, and she was content. As long as her candy is kept out of sight and Princess doesn't eat it in front of her, we should be able to keep her from eating very much until The Husband can devour it.

I don't want my children to have the same hang ups about food that I've always had, so I really want to teach them moderation. It's easier with Princess because she doesn't have much of a sweet tooth and is perfectly happy with 2 pieces of candy after homework and dinner are done. BabyA has her daddy's sweet tooth and is obsessed with chocolate. I usually just give her a piece of my super dark, 80% cacao chocolate bars, and she's content...but lately she wants what sissy is having. Still, I won't be doing the Switch Witch, or buying candy back from my kids, or even sending it to the troops. No judgement is meant towards anyone who does choose to do those things, but I personally won't be doing it. My children are otherwise healthy, active, and well behaved. For those reasons, I think that a little extra sugar one day a year won't kill them. Once Halloween is over, the candy is rationed and they get 1-2 pieces a night until the candy is gone or they forget about it (I still have Easter candy in the candy jar on my fridge because they do forget).

Our Superhero family at the local pumpkin patch

BabyA insisted on "carrying" her own pumpkin

The Post That's Not for the Faint of Heart or Weak of Stomach

This week has easily been one of the most eventful of my life.

On Friday night, while in the process of trying to create a low-carb version of loaded baked potato soup, I had an accident. It was an accident that necessitated a trip to the Urgent Care and resulted in my current attempts to become at least partially right handed.

I amputated part of a finger.

Yeah, you read that correctly. Amputated. As in, I am missing a rather decent size chunk of my left index finger (I also managed to gouge my thumb along its entire length). You may also read this as: I am never using a mandolin slicer again. EVER.

I am beyond grateful that The Husband and Princess were home to help gather BabyA, wrap my gushing finger (I do not handle blood well if it belongs to me or my children), and drive me to Urgent Care after dropping the girls off at my parents' house. Amazingly, though I lost vision a few times and felt nauseated, I didn't actually pass out until I'd made it through triage and was sitting in a procedure room, waiting on the doctor.

God love The Husband. When I was attempting to keep pressure on my appendages while simultaneously directing Princess in the care and car-loading of BabyA, I turned to find him handing me a tiny tea cup full of ice. Being in shock, I didn't question it, and I'm glad I was sitting down and safely buckled into his truck before he told me that the cup contained the portion of my finger that had been removed. Just in case. I almost passed out when I saw it.

To ease your anticipation, let me just tell you now that, though the doctor was excited to see the fingertip, she made no attempt at reattaching it since the bone was (mercifully) still in tact. Though it was visible, and I could feel the doctor grab it with the clamps while she was tying off my severed blood vessels.

Notice the aftercare paperwork says "Fingertip amputation is a common injury." Somehow, I have a feeling this is not the truth.

I was given prescriptions for narcotics and antibiotics, and advised (I'm sure my face clearly said I would not be taking the pain medication) that the pain meds would not hurt Minion. While the pain was certainly not fun, I opted to take some Tylenol at night and avoid the narcotics altogether. I don't even like taking those types of things when I'm not pregnant. Besides, I needed my full faculties in order to be able to manage BabyA with limited use of my dominant hand. I also had to return to Urgent Care every other day to have my bandages changed and make sure the same doctor was keeping an eye on the healing process because there was a chance I'd have to see a surgeon.

It's now been five days, and my thumb is healing nicely. The doctor says my finger is, too, and I'm taking her word for it. I'm certainly the hit of the Urgent Care every time I go in (thankfully, I'm being trusted to care for my wounds at home for a week now instead of returning to Urgent Care every two days for care), and The Husband and my younger brother have had a lot of fun sharing the gruesome pictures. I can't say I don't enjoy some of the reactions I get when I show people pictures of my finger. As the doctor said on Friday night when she saw my thumb, "that's just not very interesting." Ironically, the cut on my thumb has been more constantly painful than my finger, and has made my life more difficult than the loss of my finger.

The swelling still hasn't completely subsided in my left hand, and I have numbness/tingling at the base of the injured finger. I am still basically useless when it comes to anything requiring fine motor skills. I've spent most of the week at my parents' house because changing BabyA's diaper is outside my ability unless she decides to cooperate (which is less than once a day, usually). I also had to switch to *gasp* disposables because I can't snap my cloth diapers with my fingers bandaged, and can't risk getting poop in my bandages while attempting to clean poop out of my diapers.

Tomorrow is going to be my first attempt at staying home since the accident. The Husband technically has the day off, but he just got done working 70ish hours in the past 5 days, and Thursdays are usually his "catch up on sleep" days.

Wish me luck...and keep your fingers crossed that BabyA doesn't decide to try and remove my bandage by force (again).

Bandage-free pictures after the jump...

MommyCon and The Babywearing World Record

On Sunday, BabyA and I attended MommyCon Los Angeles and the Babywearing World Record. I'm not even sure that I can explain in words how excited I was to have the opportunity to attend a MommyCon event after BabyA and I both got sick the week before MommyCon Las Vegas and missed out on the trip.

I saved every bit that I could, and literally counted the pennies in my change jar (the change jar that was formerly a "tattoo savings" fund) to make sure I'd have money to make it there and back. Alas, I didn't have money for a VIP ticket, but I was still excited to have the opportunity to meet some of the "celebrities" in the natural parenting world and spend the day with some of my good friends and their babies.

I was also excited to wear BabyA in our Beco Soleil. Without launching into a huge soliloquy on how much I adore that carrier, let me just say that I was incredibly surprised at how long I was able to wear BabyA comfortably, despite my already sore back, hips, and pelvis. It's wonderful and I highly recommend it.

The trip to Los Angeles is a tricky one. Typically, barring too much traffic, it can be made in about 2 hours. However, I've been in situations where it has taken well over 4. We had an SUV full of 2 toddlers, 1 infant, and 3 mommies. One of the toddlers decided that she hated her carseat before we even left the driveway, and the other decided she was going to be angry at her friend for crying so much. Thankfully, they both eventually fell asleep, and we had a relatively uneventful trip down.

I appreciated the kid-friendly set up of the event. On the rare occasions that BabyA did want down, I didn't have to worry about her running too far since the entire event was contained in one large room, and there were security personnel posted at the open doors. However, having the vendors in the same room as the speakers posed several problems for those of us trying to hear the speakers.

My biggest complaint about the entire day is that there was no specified "break" in the agenda. Because of the pregnancy and gestational diabetes, I try to stay on a decent schedule with regards to meals, and the food options inside the convention center were expensive and not ideal. Because we didn't want to miss any of the speakers, our small group made a mad dash for the food court area (leaving before The Leaky Boob was finished speaking and getting back well after Birth Without Fear had started). For an event that caters to mothers, I was slightly irritated with the apparent disorganization and lack of time to enjoy the speakers while tending to my needs and the needs of my child.

Frankly, I expected a little less chaos and more organization from an event that has been running for nearly a year and has held conferences in several locations across the country. There was a lot of non and miscommunication with regard to the Babywearing World Record and many of us were very confused at what actually took place.

The major highlights of my day were meeting some of the people whose work has inspired me. Jessica The Leaky Boob and January of Birth Without Fear are two big inspirations of mine, and I was thrilled to finally meet them in person. They are both really as sweet and awesome as they seem online. I am really hoping the BWF Conference does so well in Texas this year that they start holding it in different locations (preferably somewhere in Southern California!).

A few of my favorite mommies and babies (plus BabyA and me) posing with January from Birth Without Fear

Soup Weather on My Mind

I am trying really hard to stay on this blasted diet, even though it means I am cutting out almost all starches in an attempt to keep my blood sugar in the range that's approved by my OBGYN. I see him again on Monday, and I know he's going to be irritated that I have about a week of missing tests because I kept forgetting in between everything that happens when you have a LIFE (not to mention a toddler).

Tonight, I made beef and vegetable soup. I really wanted beef and barley, but I put half of the beef I bought in a freezer bag so I can make beef and barley soup once I'm cleared to eat grain again. In related news...only 8 more weeks! According to my handy pregnancy app, only 55 more days!

Anyway, the weather here has been seriously bipolar. We had a few days of really nice temperatures, but have since been fluctuating between "almost hot" and "almost chilly." It's done a real number on my sinuses, and BabyA and I have been walking balls of mucus every morning for the past week or so. To the casual listener, I'm sure our combined morning sneezing and hacking would indicate that we're dying of some awful disease. The sinus pressure makes me feel like a steaming pile of dog poo all day, so I've been trying to eat as much spicy food as possible (which isn't really a hardship since I crave spicy things while I'm pregnant anyway).

The cooler temperatures made me long for soup. Of course, the day I finally have everything I need and the time to make soup, the temperature is back to 90 and I'm cursing the fact that I live in a valley where autumn is basically nonexistent.

Tonight's dinner was the result of a craving and nicely embodied my desire to flip the bird to this awful central California weather. Plus, it was only 82 today.

Of course, I had almost none of the ingredients I needed to make the soup I wanted, so I carted my butt to Von's (I hate shopping at Von's) after going to the bank, cloth diaper store, and hair dresser. After taking advantage of the better quality produce and clearance meat (I refuse to buy full price meat at Von's), I headed home where I was greeted by an energetic BabyA who wanted to "brooos" my hair with her soft bristled brush (hello, frizz!) and a sullen The Husband who had been surviving without Internet for approximately an hour and a half. Trust me when I say that things only deteriorated in the following hours before the AT&T service guy showed up to fix our Internet.

While The Husband was trying to figure out the meaning of life without online games or Netflix and BabyA and Princess were facing a similar quandary (the Internet died in the middle of BabyA's viewing of "Stitch," her favorite movie, on Netflix), I started dinner and told the girls to *gasp* play with some of the thousands of dollars of toys that are in their bedroom.

I don't have a recipe for beef stew. I'm sure there's one someplace in my collection of cookbooks, but it's one of those things that lends itself nicely to being "thrown together." Of course, when you're in my kitchen on any given weeknight, chances are I'm just throwing things together and hoping they taste good.

I started with some beef stew meat. I typically buy a larger piece of meat and cut it myself, but the 3 lb package was on sale, and I knew I could get at least 2 dinners out of it. Side note: I always cut the pre-cut chunks a little smaller and more uniform so that it stretches a little farther.

I browned my stew meat with white onions, salt and pepper, and garlic powder in my 4 quart Dutch oven. Once the meat was browned, I added a quart of beef stock and a cube of beef bouillon and brought it to a simmer. Then, I added about 1.5 Tablespoons of tomato paste.

While my beef was browning, I peeled and chopped 4 large carrots, 4 medium potatoes, 4 large ribs of celery, and half a pound of button mushrooms. I added this to the broth and beef along with 2 bay leaves and a drained can of peas.

Then, I sat on my rear end and drank ice water while my girls brought me all of the delicious plastic food they were cooking up in their bedroom.

I let the whole mess simmer on the stove for about an hour. I added worchestershire sauce, tobasco, cayenne, nutmeg, garlic powder, and a little more S&P and let it simmer for a bit longer. Then, I turned off the burner and let it sit and thicken for about 30 more minutes.

In reality, I would have served it immediately, thickening be damned, but the stinking AT&T repairman hadn't yet left, and The Husband was busy following the repairman around like a curious watchdog. I tried to tell The Husband that I didn't think the repairman was going to steal any of our worthless junk, but The Husband gets really weird about having people in the house.

The result was marvelous.

The problem with making something so good, though, is that I end up having seconds. I haven't yet tested my glucose to see if that was okay...and I'm kind of procrastinating because I'm afraid of what the carrots and potatoes might do.

Right now, however, I'm a Rhett Butler kind of mood. If you don't know what that means, please do yourself a favor and read Gone With the Wind.

Love is a Social (Media) Disease

I'm going to start this post with a confession:

I don't have anywhere close to the perfect marriage.

Now, if you're married, you're probably thinking "that's not much of a secret. No one has the perfect marriage." If you're not married, please allow me to disabuse you of the notion that you will EVER have the perfect marriage/relationship. Ain't gonna happen.

One of my favorite pictures of us Summer 2011

The Husband and I have personalities that are as ridiculously similar as they are different. He's confrontational for fun; I'm confrontational only if I am absolutely forced to be. He would rather stay home and avoid all contact with the outside world; I enjoy spending time with other people and socializing from time to time. We're both incredibly stubborn and prepared to fight tooth and nail to get our way if we feel we're in the right. We are both emotionally distant, though we each manifest that distance in different ways.

I can say without a doubt that, though I was in love before The Husband, it was nothing even close to what I feel for him. It's more than a pop song or Elizabeth Barrett Browning poem. It absolutely terrifies me on a regular basis. Some of the terror with regards to my feelings for The Husband has subsided with the birth of BabyA since I'm now also terrified of the depth of my love for her.

Maybe if I have enough children, I'll eventually do away with any fear I have in loving The Husband.

This post was not supposed to be about my fear of deep feelings, though, so allow me to get back on track.

I sometimes feel like social media is one of the worst barriers to a healthy relationship. The Husband is not a social media person. He has a deactivated Facebook account under a false name and a Twitter handle that has never been used. He created both during the early part of our relationship because he wanted to know what I was saying about him on social media. He really hates it when I talk about him.

Meanwhile, I get to see only the good parts of every relationship of every virtual friend I have. I can see every post that showcases husbands and significant others doing all of the things that I wish The Husband would do. People flaunt their supposed perfection in my face while I'm contemplating homicide because I can't physically lift the trash bag full of trash that I asked The Husband to take out...a week ago. I see husbands who do laundry and cook. I see husbands who do a lot of things that The Husband will not do (and husbands who do not do a lot of things The Husband does). 

Instead of just scrolling on, though, I start to compare. Instead of remembering that I am only seeing the perfect part of the relatinoship in question, I start to get irritated that I'm over here trying to drag a 50 lb bag of trash to the can while making sure my toddler stays out of the street and dealing with severe back and pelvic pain. 

I can usually find my way back to contentment if I give myself some time to cool off and pray, but most of the time I am perfectly happy to grumble to myself about all of the things that The Husband does/does not do that irritate me. Because I am perfect, of course, and I never do anything that would irritate him. (In case you missed it, there was an eyeroll implied there).

The reality is that I know that the relationship snippets I see aren't the whole story. I know that every relationship has issues. And I know that every individual is a work in progress and all I can do is trust God to know what He's doing in our lives. I know.

But, in the meantime, know that if I suddenly delete my Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter accounts, it's because I saw your "my hubby is the best ever" mushy status update/photo/tweet one too many times.