MiCasaLoca

Monsoon Diary and Asafoetida Powder

In grade school, I was, for a short time, a fiction addict.  I jumped from mystery  to romance to science fiction.  For the rest of my short 29 years of life, I have absorbed book after book of anything non-fiction, not counting children books. 

I have always been a fan of travel journals, but haven't really taken the time to read any in the last year.  In fact, while I was at the library the other day, I wasn't looking to read Shoba Narayan's Monsoon Diary -she sort of just sat there on a shelf next to the recipe section.  I was half heartily looking through that section, hoping to find something to peak my interest-as of late, I haven't really been too hungry for anything.  When I saw Monsoon Diary, I picked it up and began reading the chapter titled, "Baby Brother Arrives"...something that will happen to Mari in a couple of months...and I was HOOKED! Her flow of writing and her descriptions were enchanting.  The only downside to the book is towards the end when I almost have the feeling that she is rushing to a close as there are less vivid memories and just description after description of food.  This was a change from her humorous description of life in India as a child...so maybe the style never changed, just the context, and thus, my interest. 

I carried Monsoon Diary into a small Indian grocery store in Langley Park, MD.  I had dabbled with Indian cooking techniques in the past, but the recipes always seemed a bit daunting.  I loved how I could eat the spicy Indian food as there was always something cool waiting to help my tongue if need be-unlike Mexican or Thai.  I had been to the store in the past, but only to look-or to buy staples, like boxes of Dosai mixes and red lentils.  This time I felt adventurous and showed the two men the recipes, picked out the ingredients, and came home jubilant about my purchases.  John wasn't here to tease me, of course, which added to my pride of accepting the challenge.  Then the smell hit me.  One of the items that I had bought severely disagreed with my nose.  Was it the sooji?  Certainly the smell seemed to come from the bag.  I removed the bag from the group of items and locked it in the kitchen.  After a bit, I realized it wasn't that particular item...but the curry leaves bag suspiciously smelled like the offensive smell...so I moved it as well.  Yet, every time I came near the pile of remaining items, the smell hit me.  It was almost as bad as the garlic smell that turned my stomach when I was pregnant with Mari. I had loved garlic in 1997 and was thrilled when I realized we lived 45 minutes away from the Garlic Capita of the World...until I was pregnant and the smell was so bad that I welcomed anything over it, including gopher corpses that John hid from me (terrible gophers just decided to die on our front lawn).  Was it the same now with this smell?  Finally I pinpointed it...a ?spice that I had bought was emitting the smell.  It's called asafoetida and I have no idea what it is!  So, naturally, I googled it.   

What a relief!  It's not my pregnancy that has caused my nose to shrink away from the bottle.  The very first sentence in encyclopedia of spices states that asafoetida literally means 'resin stinking'--yeah me!  See me do the pregnancy dance!  It's not my pregnant nose, it's just stinky!  And yet, a spice that is so stinky probably makes the dish!  Amazing. I  continue to read...maybe the stuff would be good for the FBI to use to capture criminals.  It's onion and garlic scents are one of the reasons why it's used...and now that I can label the offensive smell, I think...

"That does smell like a combination of garlic and onion."   And suddenly it doesn't smell so bad.  Funny how our brain and nose work.

Reasons to use it in spite of it's terrible smell (instead of using real onion and garlic):

• "often (used) to prevent flatulence"-this is truly a bonus, especially if I am on a crowded bus touring South India!
• " also prescribed for respiratory conditions like asthma, bronchitis and whooping cough"-I should buy a bottle for my sister.
• "In several European countries a small piece of the resin would be tied on a string and hung around childrens necks to protect from disease"-aka, HOW TO KEEP MARI FROM EVER HAVING A DATE
• "The shock of the sulfurous smell was once thought to calm hysteria"- No kidding, I would definitely pretend to be WELL if I had to smell that stuff!
• "...in the days of the American Wild West it was included in a mixture with other strong spices as a cure for alcoholism"-  I am very sorry for anyone who drank that mixture!  That would make me run to alcohol!

(These quotes came from epicentre)

Laura, our dog(s) trainer -not the same person as Laura, my mother-in-law- came over and I asked her if she thought the smell was offensive.  After all, she works with a lot of people, a lot of dogs, and probably, a lot of smelly houses...and she doesn't have a pregnant nose.  She agreed that it was quite strong and suggested I use it sparingly.  Surprisingly, she was able to work in the same room with it whereas I have decided that once I shut off my computer, the white bottle that has been sitting by me for the last half hour will be sealed into a plastic bag and labeled, "DANGER-DO NOT OPEN UNTIL MARI'S 15TH BIRTHDAY, THEN TIE AROUND NECK."

I'm only kidding.   

Oddities of pregnancy, continuation

Last night (Monday) I was not able to find out if Mari was still afraid of the hidden ghosts lurking in the house.  After we arrived home, I proceeded to play one game of Clue and then do absolutely nothing during a span of 4 hours.  I ate some Valentine chocolate that John gave me before he left and I fed Mari a microwave dinner.  That was the extent to my level of activity that I could muster.  By 8 I was in bed, Mari alongside-as I had no energy to do otherwise-and I slept until 7 this morning.  This morning I was confronted with the fruit of my zombieness:  1 mountain of clean clothes to fold, 1 large pile of dishes, and 1 stack of papers to handle.  This task of tasks would ordinarily be fine, but instead of having newfound energy after an 11 hour nap, I was breathing hard just by walking up the stairs-without the laundry basket in my hand.  I know the theories: 

• Get some exercise; it will help your fatigue.  If I take the time to exercise, the veggies that I need to chop in the fridge will rot and my daughter will have nothing to wear for class. 

• Eat right.  How more right can I eat?  Most of what I eat, minus the chocolate, are raw veggies, fresh fruit, and protein-filled items.  When I count what I eat, I am hitting 90grams of protein a day, 130% calcium, and 110% iron.
• Drink water-it fights fatigue.  How much more water can I drink?  I surpassed the 64 oz requirement 4 months ago.

I don’t want to sound like I am complaining…because, really, I’m not.  I just have the “sleeping disease” right now.  There’s so much that I need to do…and so much that I want to do, but it will have to wait until after this zombie stage.  Here again I question how a woman near my age survives her pregnancy in a third world country when she has two or three little ones, no dishwasher or washing machine, and has to dig up ostrich eggs to find stored water to drink.

Musing of a Bewildered Mother

Last night IT started again; Mari’s fear returned.  I thought it had disappeared as it left our house the night John came home on Thursday; Mari’s fear of going upstairs lasted for about 10 minutes before she forgot about being scared and even slept in her own bed.  The following night she even told me I didn’t have to leave the light on in the bathroom for her, and by Saturday night there was no mention of ghosts or creepy things.  Then Sunday John left for another trip and the demons came out again.  They were everywhere.  Mari was jumpy; while listening to Adventures in Odyssey, a Christian based radio show, she jumped twice.  She couldn’t walk around the corner and down the hall 10 feet from where I was standing to put her shoes in her room without crying and screaming over how scared she was.  I told her I was through with her charades,

“What’s a charade, Mommy?”

I told her that I was finished with her manipulations.  She didn’t ask what that word meant.  Of course, there was nothing left to do but go to bed early and have her sit next to me.  I felt manipulated and used.  How was it that suddenly her fear had returned the moment John left?  Is it that she has the view that I am so helpless that I couldn’t protect her from unseen goblins-but Daddy could?  Realistically, I knew that the more I talked about her fear, the more attention I would give her in the wrong direction.  But at 10 at night while I am sitting in bed reading (and she keeps trying to talk to me), I begin to think of all the remaining trips that are waiting to happen.  And how I am not looking forward to night after night of Mari being crippled by fear and literally, having to walk her up to her room holding her hand the whole way.  Because, that is literally what I had to do last night…except, I didn’t hold her hand-instead, she held onto my sweater.

Realistically, I know her fears have something to do with the new baby coming.  Or it’s just her age; at eight, there might not be a fear of clowns, but when the lights are out, the imagination of an eight year old can really start working overtime.  I don’t know if a therapist would be a good idea; it might just complicate matters.  After an hours walk today and a lot of housekeeping, maybe Mari will be too tired to be afraid and forget about the whole thing.

Bad Mommy

I’m back!  Blogging takes time and it’s been awhile since I have had time.  But, in part, it’s fair to say the only place in the house to pop on the net is in the most uncomfortable spot-the dining room table.  I would like to dedicate more time to research on the site, www.scbwi.org, as well as familiarize myself with the Writer’s center in Bethesda, MD, but it’s just too damned difficult to sit for a very long stretch of time on straight-back wicker chairs.  So until I slow down and figure out where the phone line extension is, I will be doomed to short blogs.  This is probably healthy for other people who sit and read them…less strain on the neck, more time for exercise, etc.

Alas, I am a bad mother.  I let my daughter watch a scary movie and have been paying for it ever since.  I didn’t consider it a scary movie as we sat watching it, but later as I reanalyzed the scenes, I could see how it would be considered a very scary movie to a near 8 year old.  How careless and stupid could I be?  Of course, Mari is selectively scared.  If she is to go into her room at night to play with her toys, then she’s fine, but dear God help her if she has to go in there to put her pajamas on to get ready for bed!  She’s full of tears, trembling, and red faced.  She’s okay going to the bathroom, unless its’ to brush her teeth…then she’s so scared that she cries as she sits on the stairs-and would rather have a spatula whap on her behind than to face the “scary” bathroom. We watched the movie on Saturday morning, but the fear of being anywhere when she has to be didn’t set in until Sunday night, at about the same time that it was time to get ready to go to bed.  Coincidence?  Well, two can play at this game.    Ah…yes, it could truly be that she is only scared when it’s time for bed.  Or, maybe she needs to be by my side day and night, right next to me until this fear evaporates entirely.

Last night as I lay in bed reading the same sentence for the 5^th time in a row, I debated on stopping Mari from talking to me yet again.  It was 10 and she was in my bed awake because she was so scared she couldn’t even try to fall asleep in my bed until I was there. In fact, she said she was so scared; she didn’t want to be upstairs without me.  I think we are going to start folding laundry again in the den while watching the Catholic channel at night.  Maybe my activities are just so damned exciting that she doesn’t want to go to bed…and what a perfect opportunity to manipulate Mommy than to make her feel guilty for THAT MOVIE.  Well, one thing that I learned from my Mari lesson:  even if she begs and begs and tries to tell me that she will be fine, like she did when we began to watch the movie, listen to my instincts and don’t give in.  I try to allow Mari to try new things, to not limit her, to let her explore…but I am also very strict about certain activities and this time I failed miserably.  As she begged me that day to allow her to watch the movie, I had no idea how much of a mess it would create for our week.  I can only hope that by keeping her by my side 24 hours-and where she will have to wait for me to go upstairs with her to get a book, her charade will end, assuming that is exactly that—a charade.  If not, I suppose the next step would to look for a good therapist.