Tag Archives: my family

When Will I Stop Worrying that My Son Will Die?

A few months ago, when Paul started to sleep through the night, I’d wake up in the morning terrified that I’d find him dead in his crib from SIDS.

At his eight-month checkup, I was told to stop feeding him pureed food: mix chunky/mashed foods so he learns how to chew. Now I feed him his meal, terrified that he’s going to choke on his food and die, right before my eyes.

He’s becoming mobile now, and I’m realizing that the next step will be terror that in the two minutes I turn around, he’ll put his finger in an outlet and die from electrocution (even with outlet covers…). Or fall down the stairs and die. Or grab at something that I didn’t mean to leave out and choke on it and die. Or cut himself on something sharp I thought I’d put away and bleed to death. Or…

I could go on. All these terrors keep recurring in my mind.

Someone responded back in December that these fears aren’t from the spirit and I shouldn’t worry. But really, they are all very possible. And if he dies because of something I did or didn’t do, I could not live with myself.

When will I stop worrying that my son will die? Or will I always worry?

Six Word Memoirs

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Can you write your memoir in six words?

Here are my attempts:

Redheaded girl married then birthed redheads.

Learned to read, Reid-ed, still reading.

[or, if you prefer]

Learned to read, Reid-ed, still Reid-ing.

What is yours?

Procrastination

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“Let’s go to lunch next week instead of this week.” I say to my friend. “Or we could go the week after that if it’s better.”
Why don’t we invite our visiting teaching sisters for lunch next month? This month is so busy.”
“Oh, I’ll read that book later,” I tell myself. “I can always renew it.”
“I’ll do a major pantry clean out next month,” I tell myself.
“We’ll go to the temple next Saturday.”
“I’ll take my Sunday School class members treats next week.”
“We can always see New Zealand on the next family vacation. Let’s just take a short trip this time.”
“No, we’ll go see Tasmania next month. Let’s stay home this weekend.”

And then we get a call: We want you to come to a new assignment in three weeks. In New Jersey. Nothing for certain yet, but will you plan for it?

Obviously, three weeks is impossible for an international move. But all of a sudden, the next weeks are limited; the next months are gone.

Last June, we entered Australia on a three-year visa. The project’s paperwork said through “September 2008,” but we hoped for two full years. I figured I’d have a walking and talking little boy. I figured we’d have visited all of Victoria and parts of Tasmania and New Zealand and maybe Sydney and the Gold Coast and maybe Ayers Rock. I figured our savings account would have grown (although those two dreams don’t really follow, a girl can dream!). I figured the housing market wasn’t going to tank and that the dollar would be worth a little more when we transferred our money back. I figured I had more time before I had to move my home across the globe again. I figured I could enjoy being cozy in our new home.

Of course, I am excited to be near family again, within a four-hour flight of both sets of my baby’s grandparents and all of my baby’s aunts and uncles. I’m excited to be able to get more variety in terms of consumer goods. I’m excited that things will cost less (relatively). I’m excited to choose a new car for myself. I’m excited to re-enter summer. I’m excited I might be able to go to my friend’s wedding in August. I’m excited that my family might actually call me when my phone number isn’t international. I’m excited that I don’t have to wonder how long we’ll be here (things have been a question mark for a few months).

But now I realize I have to start all over again: the third home and the third ward and the third search for friends in two years of marriage.

I’m realizing now that I shouldn’t have procrastinated being a friend. I shouldn’t have procrastinated making home cozy for my family. The end can, and does, come at any time.

What are you procrastinating? What “end” do you dread (and/or hope for at the same time)?

The True and Unknown Story of James and Margaret

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The story of James and Margaret touched me deeply when I first heard it. What happened to Margaret? I wanted to find her. Since today it is Grandma’s birthday in the USA, I thought I’d post about them again.

Before I began the research for this family, I found that James M. has been sealed to Margaret and to his three children. We think we know Margaret’s parents and James’ parents. They’ve all been sealed, and James has been sealed to his brothers. Now we need to go back a generation.

In doing some very preliminary research, I’ve found holes in this romantic story: I don’t think this story is actually true, and I don’t think we have the children of James and Margaret correct. Here are some things I’ve found and the questions that are raised. If any of you know anything about family history research, I’d love pointers of where to go next.

Tradition shows James M. and Margaret being married in 1867. The marriage certificate I found places their marriage in January 1869. This is the one Grandma and my mom believe is theirs, and the parents listed as witnesses are those James and Margaret have been sealed to.
James D. claims his own birth as June 1866. This is what he claimed on the 1900 Indiana Patoka census. I don’t think he’d mis-claim his own birth year when he was more than 30 years old. This birth year seems odd given his parent’s marriage date, either the certificate year of 1869 or the traditional year of 1867.
In an 1871 U.K. census, I find James and Margaret listed with James Delany, a nephew. I believe this is our James M. and Margaret because it is in the district their wedding occurred in. Also, on the census, James M. is listed as a brick labourer, which is what we know his occupation was in England. This raises many questions. First, where is Margaret Ann, who was supposedly born in 1869? Also, if James D. is James Delany, and he is a nephew, then we’ve sealed him to the wrong parents! Who are his parents? Grandma Benac doesn’t recall Uncle Jim being anything but James M.’s son, but since he was already living with James and Margaret in 1871, maybe something happened to his parents before then and he was adopted at a very young age.
I found a 1881 census that lists James M., Martin (James’ brother), and Margaret Ann. I believe these are the correct ancestors, given the district they are found in and their ages and occupations. However, Edwin and Margaret are not to be found on that census, and neither is James D./James Delany. Supposedly, then, Edwin and Margaret already left for America. When did they arrive in America? I have been unable to find them on any ship manifest between 1880 and 1885. Did they make it to America? And where is James D./James Delany? If he’s been adopted, would he still be at home as a 15-year-old boy? Where did he go?
I found the 1885 ship manifest from England to New York which lists James Simmons (42), Martin Simmons (46), Margaret Ann Simmons (17), and James Simmons (19). So, by the time they were coming to America, four years after that last census, James D. was already “adopted” into the Simmons’ family and had taken on him their surname. Where did his family go? Who were his family? And why did James M. wait four years before coming after Margaret and Edwin?
James D. married late in life. He and his wife, Neicie, were unable to have children. They adopted a boy they named Logan, which was James M.’s mother’s maiden surname. Was James D. related via James M.’s family? On which side, Margaret or James, was he a nephew, as was indicated in the 1871 census?

I need to find James D.: when he was born, who his parents were, where his parents went. I don’t know where to begin. There is so much unanswered, and the search function on Ancestry.com is not the easiest to manipulate. U.K. records are not digital — only the indexes are. So I suspect I’ll have to order the records when I’m sure I have the right one. And how can I be sure? I can’t.

Here’s what I am sure of: there is more to this family than I thought. The most important thing will be finding the right parents so our family can be sealed to their right parents.

The Romance of James and Margaret Simon (Simons/Simmons)

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I started a Benac family history project a year and a half ago. Then I got distracted by a big box of Sorenson Family History. While I remained in Chicago, I scanned the Sorenson family history stories. I am grateful I could get those stories into an electronic format. All of the baptisms and sealings have been done for the Sorenson side, back for a long time.

Lately, I keep thinking about the Benac family history project I started a year and a half ago. I know I need to work on it. I keep feeling the promptings of the Spirit urging me into action. I’m beginning again. Since it is Grandma Benac’s birthday today (it’s already April 14 in Australia), I thought I’d post about this couple in her honor.

I’ll begin telling you the family folklore. In another post, I’ll tell you what I’ve discovered.

James M. Simons (Simmons/Simon) and Margaret were both Irish Catholics, married in the 1860s in England. They had three children: James D., Margaret Ann, and Edwin. James M. was a bricklayer. When Edwin was quite young, the family decided to immigrate to New York City. Margaret had been offered a job working with her sister at a home of a well-to-do woman. She would be the housekeeper for this woman.

In 1881, just when the family was prepared to head for New York, James took a fall and broke his leg. Margaret would lose the job if she didn’t continue to New York City, so she took Edwin and traveled to New York without James, James D., and Margaret Ann.

In the course of time, letters were exchanged. Supposedly, James M.’s housekeeper, who liked James, wrote to Margaret that they were having an affair. Margaret accused James of this. James, in a stubborn Irish way, insisted that she come home and see for herself that it was not true. She refused to do that. When she stopped writing, James got worried and decided to come to America himself. James M. left England for New York with his older brother Martin, James D., and Margaret Ann. They headed to New York City to find Margaret and Edwin. (Tradition says his father Thomas also came and died on the voyage but there has never been any evidence of this.)

When they arrived in New York City, Margaret was nowhere to be found. The people at the house where she had been working told him she’d left. There was no forwarding address, and no sign of her or Edwin anywhere. James took his children and went with his brother Martin to Indiana, where his other brother, Patrick, lived.

His daughter Margaret Ann married Charles Edwin Wilson in 1888, bore him five children, including John William Wilson in 1891, and died in 1895. John William Wilson later had a daughter named Helen Ruth.

For the rest of James M. Simon’s life, he pursued his quest to find Margaret. He hired private detectives to search for her. All was in vain. He never found her. He died in 1927. Grandma Benac says she remembers the day of his funeral. His dog “Old Vick” lay on the porch by the front door after his death and refused to let anyone enter the house.

But what happened to his wife, his Margaret?

The Chef’s Craft in Every Kitchen?

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I have mixed feelings about Michael Ruhlman’s The Elements of Cooking: Translating the Chef’s Craft for Every Kitchen.

The Elements of Cooking is one-part opinionated essays about cooking (pages 1-50) and one-part alphabetic encyclopedia of opinionated “essential” elements to cooking. There are things I liked about both parts and other things that bordered on ridiculous. (For example, Sharpie is included in the list of essential elements to cooking. Its definition: “This brand of permanent marker is excellent for dating and labeling food; keep one in your tool drawer along with painter’s tape.” p. 215)

I didn’t realize why I was annoyed by this book until I started reading Ruhlman’s previous best-seller, The Making of a Chef. I haven’t finished that book yet. It is the story of how one is trained at the Culinary Institute of America to become a chef. Only as I read this second book do I realize what the problem is with the first book: I don’t want to be a chef. Therefore, it’s not necessary to translate the chef’s craft for my kitchen.

According to The Elements of Cooking, a chef is a leader, as in the head of a restaurant kitchen, and is firstly a good cook. A cook is what I do aspire to be. I don’t want to be a chef: I don’t want a restaurant kitchen. I want good home cooking for my home kitchen.

Because I don’t want to be a chef, some items on the alphabetic list of essential elements seem a bit ridiculous. I don’t need to learn about aspic (gelled stock), offal (innards of animals), and foie gras (duck liver). I won’t be cooking them in my kitchen. I don’t need to learn the French terms for my macaroni’s cheese sauce. I don’t need to know decorative knife cuts for cutting vegetables. I don’t need to know kitchen terms (for example, commis is a prep cook in a professional kitchen).

However, on the other hand, as a cook, some of the terms, even the French terms, may come in handy if I happen upon a recipe that uses them.

Also, as a cook I found the opinionated essays about cooking incredibly interesting. Those essays are the reason I would recommend this book to the average cook. They make me think about cooking in a different way. I plan on rereading them regularly. Ruhlman included essays on stock, sauces, salt, the egg, heat, and tools of the kitchen. I think I’ll revisit them in subsequent posts — they are very informative and, I think, discussion worthy.

One book he recommended reading is On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen, by Harold McGee. This is a scientific explanation of food, from eggs to meat and fish to plants and on. The author has degrees in science and literature so provides scientific descriptions the layman can understand. When I read it, I’ll let you know if that is true.

Ruhlman’s last essay is about finesse. This is where I feel I’ve departed from his main point of his book: I’m not a chef and so I’m not hoping for “refinement” in my cooking. As a cook, I hope to provide fundamental home cooking for my family. However, I suspect Ruhlman is correct to some extent, even for my home kitchen: “The concept [of finesse] rest[s] on a conviction that paying attention to a few small details in any given preparation has an enormous impact on the finished dish and is the final gratification for the cook in his or her pursuit of excellence” (p. 46).

While I’m not looking for approval of my food as a restaurant chef or even as an amateur chef in any sense of the term “chef” and I’m not vainly pursuing excellence (perfectionist though I am), I think a reward to my efforts at cooking will be a gratifying and edible supper every night with my family, recognizing that there is always room for improvement.

I recommend Ruhlman’s book to the family cook only half-heartedly. It’s great to get you thinking about food, but only with a few tablespoons of salt.

Presto Pesto Pizza, Cookies Revisited, and Chicken Soup for the Cold

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We got back from our trip two weeks ago and I haven’t gotten into the swing of cooking new recipes each week. I’ve been relying on comfort food, like my Super-Easy Pork Chops and Macaroni and Cheese. Yesterday was a comfort food day. I spent all afternoon in the kitchen.

My husband has a sore throat and a cold, so I wanted to make some chicken soup for him. When I was looking at the supermarket for produce for the soup, I saw fresh basil, so I decided to make pesto.

Pesto is a great base for pizza, and since we can’t get decent pizza, I make it. I still miss deep-dish Chicago pizza, but this is a good second best. Making the pesto is the most time consuming part of making this pizza. Now I’ve made it, so pizza, here I come! To make a yummy pizza, I put the pesto on the store-bought pizza crust, put on some chopped sun-dried tomatoes and some fresh Roma tomatoes, put on some cheese (mozzarella, shredded Parmesan, and crumbled goat cheese, which adds a nice flavor), and maybe some other toppings (dried figs, soaked in water, taste really yummy!). Put it in the oven for the allotted time given on the store-bought pizza crust, and presto! We have pesto pizza. See below for the pesto recipe.

Then I needed to make a treat for mother’s group today, so I made the Best Chocolate Chip Cookies in the world again. They turned out better than ever! So good, in fact, that I’m going to buy cookies to take to mother’s group and keep the homemade ones for myself and for my sick husband who insists they help him feel better. (We may not stay at mother’s group anyway since my throat already has a tickle and Paul keeps sneezing and moaning.)

(By the way, I have changed the metric equivalence on the recipe: it should be 225 g of butter instead of 250 g of butter. They were much “fluffier” and not as greasy with a little bit less butter. I assume that is still equal to 1 cup of butter, but if it’s not or if your cookies seem greasy, put in less than 1 cup of butter.)

I made chicken soup, too. I didn’t put in enough chicken, but overall, the broth ended up quite yummy. The recipe I (sort of) followed said to put the following in a cheesecloth sachet: thyme, celery, parsley, black peppercorn, and bay leaf. I couldn’t find cheesecloth, so I put those things in the broth and simmered for a little while before beginning the rest of the soup. After simmering for a while, I strained out the solids and set aside the broth. I sauteed some onions, garlic, carrots, and celery, added the broth again, then threw in some potatoes and some chopped chicken. The recipe called for 6 ounces (170 g) of chicken for that much broth (about 5 litres), but it was not nearly enough chicken. Next time I’ll put in twice as much. Oh well. At least the broth was tasty! Hopefully the leftovers will help my sore throat when I come down with a cold, too. I already feel a sniffle coming on.

Here’s the pesto recipe if you want to try making pesto pizza:

Pesto Sauce

Yield:1 cup

Ingredients

2 cups fresh basil leaves, stems removed, about 2 ounces (60 g)
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons pine nuts or walnuts
1 tablespoon peeled and coarsely chopped garlic, about 3 large cloves
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1 tablespoon hot water

Directions

Rinse and pat dry the trimmed basil leaves.

Put the basil leaves in the container of a food processor or blender. Add the oil, pine nuts or walnuts, garlic, and salt and pepper. Blend to a fine texture but not a smooth puree, stopping the motor once to scrape down the sides of the blender container and to force the ingredients down to the blades.

Add the Parmesan cheese and water and blend just a few seconds more. Chill until served.

Serve with pasta, use as a pizza base, or spoon over broiled fish or chicken.

The Millionaire Next Door

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At my mother’s suggestion, I listened to the abridged version (144 minutes) of this book rather than the 18-hour version. In some ways, it still was too long. You get the main idea from the beginning.

Since, like most people, I wouldn’t mind being a millionaire, I found it interesting that those with million-dollar salaries (sports figures, etc.) are rarely millionaires: although they live a “high life,” they have very little “wealth.” In other words, millionaires don’t live the lifestyles we might think we’d want to live if we earned a high income.

The premise of this book is that lifestyle that makes a difference to whether or not one becomes a millionaire (one with lots of wealth), and anyone making $60,000 a year can become a millionaire by adjusting lifestyle.

Here are the common factors that millionaires (those who “successfully build wealth”) share (I’ve merged those that I think relate):

1 and 3: They live well below their means and they believe financial independence is more important than displaying social status.

Obviously, living well below one’s means is easier to do with a high income. But even with a high income, most millionaires function on a well-thought-out budget. Most millionaires also live in a house in an average neighborhood, drive a four-year-old used car, shop at Sears and Penney’s (not Saks Fifth Avenue and Nordstrom) and live unassuming lives. Most millionaires only wear suits they purchased at a discount and eat low-cost food (rather than expensive wine).

2: They allocate their time, energy, and money efficiently, in ways conducive to building wealth.

For example, they do not waste time “playing the stock market” but carefully figure out what they know about and invest in that. Here’s another example that they didn’t give but that I assume: they don’t waste their time and money with the lottery or gambling.

4: Their parents did not provide economic outpatient care (i.e., parents did not provide substantial cash gifts to their children).

Hmmm. No help from parents? Darn.

5: Their adult children are economically self-sufficient.

In other words, they know what they do to live frugally and were able to teach frugality; they’re kids don’t expect to live a high lifestyle, funded by their parents.

6 and 7: They are proficient in targeting market opportunities and they choose the right occupation.

I didn’t actually pay much attention to these sections — it was the end of two hours of listening. But obviously, some occupations have more promise than others (although I think it’s also important that one chooses an occupation that he or she enjoys).

In all, I enjoyed this reminder that a high income and winning the lottery are not guarantees to wealth: slow and steady wins the race. Maybe there is hope for the rest of us!

Reid Family Picture

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At Christmas time, we decided to have a family portrait taken. Our son was just two months old. I found a morning session (10:30, when he’s usually happy!) at a photograph studio at the mall. That morning, I agonized over what to wear and what he should wear. He looked nice and he was happy. Even my husband, who hates having his picture taken, was happy to have his picture taken that day. We left at 9:50 or so. The mall was only about 10 minutes away, so that left plenty of time.

An hour later, we were still circling the parking lot. Every isle in the parking lot at the mall was full of dozens of cars: we were all driving down each isle, looking for an empty spot. I was pulling out my hair. My husband was clenching his teeth. Only Paul was oblivious to the situation: he was asleep.

We went home.

After Christmas, I called the same photography studio and scheduled another session a few weeks away. Paul would be three months old. It would be a nice picture.

It turned out I had surgery the day before. I wasn’t feeling very smiley, so we canceled that session.

Still no family picture.

You could say, “why don’t you set up the tripod and just take it yourself?” We’ve tried that. It takes a minute per shot and you have to take dozens and dozens of shots to get a good one. They just never look right. Besides, the lighting is off in a room; a studio would look better.

We were planning on coming to the States. In my research, I found that it is half as much for a photography session at a similar mall photography studio in the US. I started making calls. But we ended up running errands just about every day in Chicago. We didn’t have time to go to a studio. We went on to Utah: we couldn’t find a recommended studio and again we didn’t have time.

What did we do? We asked my husband’s brother, Alex, to take our family portrait. And they turned out great. Thank you so much!

Without further ado, here’s the final product (with a 4-month-old Paul), courtesy Alex.

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Thoughts on womanhood and motherhood