I cannot say enough how much I like love crawfish bisque.  It may well be my all-time favorite dish.  Growing up, my mother never made it, not once.  The first time I had it was at my best friend’s aunt’s.  That bowl set the bar very high.  My grandmother would make it every couple of years.  Maybe.  Sometimes less.  The reason you see it so infrequently is that, done correctly, it takes a lot of time.  All together, it probably takes a full day to prepare.

First, you need to boil crawfish.  Then pick them.  Then clean the heads.  Cleaning the heads is the worst part of preparing this dish to me.  Not because it is as gross as it sounds (it isn’t much more weird than peeling the tails) but because you have to snip off the noses of the crawfish.  This rips my fingers to shreds.  Here’s what four look like cleaned and ready to be stuffed:

Only 146 more to go.  Yes, the recipe I use (from Marcelle Bienvenu’s “Who’s Your Mama, Are You Catholic and Can You Make A Roux? A Family Album Cookbook” –great title, eh?) calls for 150 stuffed heads.  That’s a lot of heads!  Now, the next step is to stuff said heads.  To do that, you chop bell peppers, celery, onions, garlic, and crawfish tails and mix that together with stale french bread crumbs.  You then mix in more tails you did not chop and saute in oil with lots of salt, black pepper and cayenne pepper.

Cooling crawfish head stuffing.

Let the mixture cool.  Then stuff the heads and roll them in a mixture of seasoned and plain breadcrumbs.  They will look like this:

Bake them until golden brown in a 375° oven (about 20 minutes).  At this stage, go crack a beer.  And give yourself a high mark for Effort.  You have come far and done well.  You are clearly at the point of no return and the rest, as they say, is a cakewalk.

Okay.  Now, the recipe calls for sauteing more crawfish tails (the recipe calls for a total of four pounds of crawfish tails) with salt, cayenne pepper and paprika.  The recipe suggests 1 tablespoon of cayenne.  That will blow my mouth apart.  We used 1/2 tablespoon this time, and that seems juuust right.  Then you add warm water and roux to the pot.  Well, damn. If I hadn’t read ahead, I’d have been in a pinch because I make roux and don’t buy it.  So before I get going on this step, I make that roux first so that I can add it without having to take my cooking pot off the stove.

Pontchartrain Pete doing the work of the sous chef.

In yet another pot, saute green peppers, onions and celery until they are tender then add them to the main pot along with more water.  Cook vigorously for 2 minutes.  Add more water and cook for 15 minutes at a lower heat.  Then add green onions and parsley and let cook 10 minutes more.  Use this time to also cook a pot of rice.  Your hard work will be rewarded with a lush pot of this:

Everyone you know, and some you don’t, will invite themselves over for dinner.  Seriously.  It IS that good.

And the best thing is that this is one of those dishes that tastes better the next day after the flavors have had time to meld and relax.  So leftovers are as decadent, if not more so, than the first eating.

Bon appetit!

Hodding Carter, who was a progressive journalist and author, and fellow Louisianian, is credited for saying, “[t]here are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One is roots; the other, wings.”

On the first anniversary of Sun’s birthday, I keep thinking to myself, “Roots and wings.” This year has gone by awfully fast. I have taken a lot of pictures, maintained her baby book, kept this blog, and kept a journal entitled, “The Story of You” for Sun when she gets older telling her of her “firsts”—her first trip to the park, the zoo, her first flight, her meeting her family members, her teeth coming in, her immunizations, her CT scan, her hemangioma treatment, her first Mardi Gras parade, her first Jazz Fest, her first night away from home—all the details of her life that I think she’ll find of interest when she is older.

But through it all, I am aware of my job, my goal: To raise Sun to leave me. To fly away with her wings. And to give her a foundation, roots, to ground her as she makes her own way in the world when the time is right.

How hard it is to be a parent, to give such love so freely, so willingly, to someone we KNOW we will “push” out of the nest. If the quickness of this one year is any indication, Sun will be out of my nest in hardly any time at all. My time with her is short and I need to make the most of it.

I know she will grow up and hate when I refer to her as my baby. I know because being the youngest of five, I have detested my parents calling me their baby girl for years. But not anymore. Now I know that when my parents look at their adult child, who they loved so tenderly when she wasn’t feeling well in the wee hours of the morning as a baby, they still see that sweet love of theirs reflected back in the face whose brow they’d wipe. I know Sun will fly away one day. But she’ll always have a piece of my heart with her. I can only hope when she does fly away, her roots keep her grounded. And connected to her parents.

Happy birthday, Sun. Momma loves you more than you will ever know until you have a child of your own.

Tonight I was on deck to get Sun down for bed.  I took her to her room to give her a bottle and rock her.  In college, I dated a guy who had a really nice rocking chair, and he told me once, “Everyone should own a rocking chair.”  A few years later, I was in a flea market and saw a rocker and coffee table that I loved.  I bought both for $75 days before I graduated from law school. Upon getting the rocker home, I realized that one of the rocker blades had been replaced; this causes the rocker to have a slight bump in its rocking.  So every time I rock in the chair, I am reminded of its imperfection.

I love rocking Sun.  Tonight, we listened to her American Lullabies CD.  This was a gift Sun received during French Quarter Fest some five weeks ago.  I love the songs on this CD and have played it every night since we got it.  I haven’t even gotten to the second CD that was also given to her that day.

Our rocking went something like this:

Saddle up your pony,

Rock, rock, bump

Sandman’s here
To guide you down the trail of dreams

Rock, rock, bump

Tumble in bed, my tired,
my little sleepyhead

Rock, rock, bump

To a Prairie Lullaby

In no time, Sun was all but asleep.  I struggled tonight to put her in her crib.  Usually, I am more than happy to have her get drowsy and settle into her crib.  But tonight, tonight I wanted to hold her forever and never have her grow up.  I thought of my grandmother rocking me as a baby, and my mother and aunt rocking me too.  And all the other mothers all over the land for generations that have rocked their babies.  I could feel the string tying us all together.  It was powerful.

So, to you mothers out there, ROCK ON!

I toss and I turn.  I twist and I twitter.  And yet I still can’t get my mind settled.  I don’t know the answer to the age old question:  What is happiness?

In my life, I have the quintessential things that would answer this question: The love of a doting husband, sweet baby girl and caring, funky extended family members.  I have a roof over my head that we own (well, the bank owns it but we are not like so many that are facing foreclosure); I have my health; I have a very flexible job that uses my talents and pays well for the time I give it.

And yet. Most days, I feel rundown.  When I am home with Sun, I feel like I should be out doing things with her–taking her to the zoo, or Gym Rompers, or strolls in the park.  Or if I stay home I should be cooking and cleaning and wearing an apron and kitten heels.  But the reality is the day passes slowly.  I do household things and run errands but it isn’t in any way stimulating (to Sun or me).

When I am at work, I think about being home.  And work files and talk to clients.  And worry about needing to do more to further my career.  My Career.  Sometimes My Career is too heavy a weight for me to carry around.  Sometimes I wish I were that research librarian I dream of being.  The one that works 9 to 5 and researches oddball things to her heart’s content.  Then clocks out and leaves it all behind her.  The one that has a great pension and awesome benefits.  And paid days off.

Joseph Story said that “[The law] is a jealous mistress, and requires a long and constant courtship. It is not to be won by trifling favors, but by lavish homage.”  I think he meant that it requires great dedication to truly hone the expertise of the law.  But in my experience, the worry that goes along with the practice of law in an ever-competitive legal environment is what has consumed me like a jealous mistress.  Just on the fringe of my mind most of the time are nagging thoughts of should I push harder, do more, go further, all in the name of My Career.

Or can I be satisfied with my career (in lowercase) just as it is?  One that provides me the opportunity to keep my child out of daycare while still keeping my skills sharpened with a lighter load?  Will that load get too light and dry up?  Or will it permit me to pile it on in the future (date unknown) when I want to resume a fuller load?  Can I live with it being okay that I am not making the full financial use out of my legal degree?  Is it okay that I not push harder, not choose to see less of my daughter and not earn more money for the betterment of my family?

Can I accept that it’s okay to be happy that I got all of which I ever dreamed?

I was 37 when Sun was born.  I am the youngest of five children (my mother was 29 when I was born), and all four of my siblings had their respective two children when they were younger than 37.  My sister, who is just three years older than me, is a new grandmother.  My grandfather was just 50 when I was born.

What I am saying is that my family tends to have children when they are young.  The one exception to this was my father’s mother.  She was 33 when my father was born and 37 when her twins were born.  And that grandmother was always the “old” one.

Since Sun was born, I have always felt like an old mom.  I know that mostly means to me that I am more mature, more experienced, more settled, more mellow.  But superficially I worry about not connecting with Sun as she is older; about being old when she marries and has children of her own (if that is to be her path in life).

I married someone who is the oldest child in his family.  His mother is 10 years younger than my mother.  Ten years–from being born in 1940 to being born in 1950.  Can you imagine the differences in my mother and my mother-in-law?  Compare June Cleaver to Carol Brady.  Both nice and motherly but in starkly different ways, and both ways very different from my path as a mother.

I also have a sister-in-law that is a freshman in college; she just turned 20.  My MIL and my SIL are very close, more like sisters than mother/daughter.  And sometimes it annoys me but as SIL gets older, I find myself a bit jealous of their closeness.  It is nothing I will ever share with my own mother, with whom I have a good relationship.

I think about Sun and how we’ll be as she grows up.  And I have been envious of the bond my MIL and SIL share, thinking that I will miss that because I will be too old when Sun is SIL’s age.  But I am envious no more.  Why?  Because being the smart bugger that I am, I asked MIL how old she was when she had her daughter (I am not good at math).  And she told me she was 36.  “Your age,” she answered.  Well, one year off from when I had Sun, but YES, MY AGE!

Age IS what it is in your mind.  And my MIL is simply NOT OLD (she loved me just a bit more for blurting that out).  And dammit NEITHER AM I.  Nor will I be when I too am 57.  Frankly, Bring. It. On.  I have no doubt I will just be even more mellow and confident then.  And my MIL?  She’ll still be visiting regularly kicking it old school with me (and Sun)!

I have been focusing on staying positive through this holiday season.  And that should be easy since we are celebrating Sun’s first.  But as a new-parent, I already feel the pull to do more, buy more, consume more.

I have felt pressure to buy fancy clothes for Sun “for the holidays” and am constantly being asked what we’ll be getting Sun for Christmas.  The truth is, she’s not getting anything from “Santa” this year.  She’s six months old and likes to chew on the wrapped gift more than the toy inside.

And let’s face it, another toy, we do not need in our house.  And it’s easy this year to say no to it all.  Sun doesn’t speak and has no concept of Christmas and the manna from Heaven that falls from the sky on “good” kids.  Plus, she will get presents from friends and family.  How much does one six-month old really need?

But as the blogosphere is my witness, I WILL NOT become one of those parents that goes overboard with the presents.  And you know how I know I can do this?  Because it’s how I was raised.  We were not deprived in any way, but we certainly did not get everything we asked for under the tree.  And in the end, I distinctly remember feeling completely satisfied each Christmas and never like I was let down.  I recall the anticipation of it all as being exciting.  What would I get?  Would it be that doll I really wanted or a bunch of other stuff I thought I wanted when I saw it?   Somehow Santa always knew what my heart truly desired.  That, or a child likes the toy in the hand and not the toy in the bush.  Or something like that.

I have always considered myself “green” and have lapsed a bit of recent years.  But as a parent, that greenness is kicking in–there is so much waste in parenting!  The diapers, the clothes, the toys.  All used for short periods of time and then gone.  I like to reuse and recycle what I can, but the truth is that there are many items I can do without from the get go.  And, frankly, so can Sun.

I want to raise an environmentally conscious child.  And that starts at home.  And Christmas is a good start.  So although she may believe in Santa for years to come, it may not be the Santa her friends believe in.

Every Wednesday, I drive across the Mississippi River to bring Sun to my friend’s to watch her. To do this, I cross the Huey P. Long Bridge. This bridge is not for the weak. It is narrow, rickety, and shaky (especially when a train goes along it, too, in its center). My husband has driven countless times over this bridge and has no fear of it. He’s helped me feel more secure about crossing it. However, ever since that Mississippi River bridge collapsed in Minnesota, I am again white-knuckled when I cross this thing.

Each time I cross the Huey P., I think about how I’d respond if it collapsed. I keep my hand on my seatbelt button and think how I’d (1) wrestle myself free from my seat, (2) get a window open, and (3) get to the backseat to save Sun. Then I think about what if I saved myself but not her. Or her but not me. Or neither. I can hardly breath for the four minutes I am on this dang bridge.

I know it is unreasonable to think what I think. I know it is unlikely that I’d ever face such a disaster. I know things work out no matter what, and kvetching about them doesn’t change them. But I think part of this worrying comes with the territory of being a mother. I’d easily give my life to save hers. No question about it. But I hate that every Wednesday I am faced with thinking about my mortality.

I could take the Crescent City Connection (which I do take to cross back over the river and get to work), but then it’d take me over an hour to drop Sun off and get to work. I am able to not let an unreasonable fear dictate my actions. But I can’t seem to stop that fear from dictating my thoughts.

They will be working to widen this bridge soon. Presumably it will be safer. Let’s hope it alleviates my worries.

I was talking to a co-worker today when another co-worker walked up and said something to him. He asked if she had a sore throat as her voice sounded scratchy. She answered, “Yes, I think I am coming down with something.”

And at that moment I thought, “Hmmm. My breast milk would probably knock that right out. I should offer her some.” This was quite thoughtful in my mind. Breast milk is the veritable elixir of life. Baby’s tear duct is blocked? Drop a bit of breast milk in it. Sore or cracked nipples or skin? Rub a little breast milk on it. Bug bites? Ear infections? Squirt a bit of breast milk on them. It heals what ails ya!

Nonetheless, my internal conversation continued and I thought, “Good God, woman, are you mad? You can’t offer your breast milk to a co-worker. If you do, she’ll look at you weirdly and never make eye contact with you again. She’ll talk about you behind your back and not even accept a cup of coffee from you lest it be tainted. Rumors will spread and the whole office will ostracize you. You’ll need to find another job. In another city.” And I walked away in a fog missing the rest of what was said between my two co-workers.

Am I the only breastfeeding mother this has ever happened to?

Years ago, I gave my husband a paperweight that said, “What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?” This was when he was still dissatisfied with work and trying to find his soul. He has since found it.

When I told a friend I was pregnant a year ago, she reminded me of this paperweight–that I had once answered it with, “I’d be a mom.” Being a mom was the scariest thought for me for so very long. I was worried I wouldn’t be maternal enough; that I’d be too tired all the time; that I’d put my career above my child; that we’d not have enough money to afford the “good things in life” and have a child, too. My list was endless.

But the yearning to want to be a mom grew within me. And then I was told it wouldn’t happen, which, of course, finally made me see how much I wanted it. And then I got pregnant. And a whole new set of worries kicked in: I worried about my pregnancy; about how things would work out with my job; about whether my relationship with my husband would suffer; about daycare; about having an only child. My new list was endless.

And then I had Sun. And the weirdest thing in the world happened. I stopped worrying. Really. Stopped. Yeah, sure. I worry about vaccinations and Sun’s hemangioma. But that’s normal. I find that I now worry far less about work and finances and the future, “the unknown,” and my ability at being a good mother now that I am a mother than I ever did thinking about being a mother.

Having Sun has so refocused my attention! It is amazing how so very little matters when she is in my presence. I’m all Bob Marley with her: “We’ll be together with a roof right over our heads. We’ll share the same room while Ja provides the bread.” Now that I have her in my life, I have this deep sense that the rest of things will fall into place just as they should. And I have confidence that I am a very good mother indeed.

Had I known having a child, the single thing I have worried most about in my life, was going to give me the gift of peace . . . well, let’s just say I am glad I didn’t let my worries stifle me.

So what’s that thing in your life that if you knew you could not fail at, you would do it? Or, like me, what was your biggest fear that you overcame and are the better for? Post about it, link back to me and add your permalink (for the post not your general website) to my Mr. Linky and then make the rounds and visit the listed posts.  And be sure to check back here often to see posts that were added since your last visit! Read! Comment!

I have been asked how it is that I managed to talk my employer into letting me work three days a week and how my return to work is actually going.

First let me say that I didn’t really talk my employer into it. When I told them I was pregnant, I was very nervous–they probably thought I was about to give notice that I was quitting. It seems it was more of an issue to me than to them.

I was concerned about taking three months for maternity leave as well as reducing my time in the office upon my return. It was stated to me that as attorneys we have the benefit of being able to work anywhere. So for all they were concerned, I could work from home anytime. That is what they said. And I appreciated the words. But I had my doubts.

I feared that “out of sight, out of mind” would occur and if I was not in the office, I would not be contacted at home by my fellow attorneys with assignments they may have for me–that they’d opt to give it to the guy in the office next to me since he would be there. But in my office, no such guy-next-door exists. What I offer the company is a bit unique. I am certainly replaceable. But I had hope that they’d rather work with me (even if I was home or in every other day than train a newbie or learn to work with someone else). Only time would show me that my concerns were unfounded. Attorneys (and clients) SO know how to call me at home if they need my help! Seems silly now that I even worried about that.

To prepare (them and me), I made sure all of my files were up to date and organized so that anyone could pick them up and work them. I did my best to get my files in a position that three months of down time would not matter. And I reminded my office often of how long I was taking and what my schedule would be upon my return. Thus, even having Sun five weeks early, my desk was ready. I was prepared at that point that any day I could leave the office and not be back the next day.

Then I delegated like a mad-woman while on leave. During my maternity leave, I did come into the office about six times total, but checked my voice-mail and e-mail everyday; I did not post an “I’m on leave; call someone else” message on either, and I maintained the management of my files and my clients.

The bottom line, and something I learned ten years ago, is that I am an attorney all the time. There is really no such thing as “maternity leave.” In the past, I have taken calls from clients in the evenings and on weekends; I dealt with clients’ calls outside my dying grandmother’s hospital room and on the airplane on the way to my wedding. You don’t just walk away and say, “oh, someone else can handle my files today.” I am not necessarily proud of or happy about this; it is just a fact of being an attorney. However, I was very lucky that I had very accommodating co-workers during my leave that jumped in and handled the actual work at hand (my clients were very patient and cooperative, too). But if I was needed, I heeded the call. If to do nothing more than get the right attorney with the right client.

And now that I am back working, it’s the same message: I am an attorney all the time. I work three days a week in the office. I do not say that I work part time. Because that isn’t exactly true. Every day, I respond to calls and e-mail (and do more on days when I am home when it is required). But I do my best to schedule meetings and get documents out on the days I am in the office and have the aid of my secretary. Do I work less when I am home with Sun? Absolutely. But I also work harder (and a bit longer) now when I am in the office. I strive to see that my turn-around time is the same whether I am in the office five days a week or only three.

And that is the beauty of my career choice–it affords me a lot of flexibility. And I work for a company that gets that my asset is my mind and I can operate that asset anywhere. In the end, it is my choice to come to the office (more on why I don’t telecommute exclusively, Bayou Belle, soon). And it is my choice to stay home twice a week (and CS’s choice to stay home two other days a week) and keep Sun out of daycare. Because, like being an attorney, I am a mother all the time.