I Can't Do It Myself Experiment #2: Homemade Amish Cottage Cheese

Community. It's been a concept on my mind for the past couple years. In the last several months, as I have realized how much I can't do myself, it's been suffocating me, weaseling its way into nearly every thought. What is community? What is my community? Do I even have a community? Is community defined by geographic location? Or is community defined by ideals and values and shared interests? Or is it both? Can it be both?

Growing up in the wind tunnel prairie town of Watertown, South Dakota, I was obsessed with trees. No, not forests. Those don't actually exist in South Dakota until you run into the Black Hills National Forest (and by then you're almost not in South Dakota anymore). The closest we get to "forests" are these odd looking things called "shelterbelts" or "windbreaks," unnatural looking, eerily linear groups of trees started back in 1934 to protect animals, people and crops from the extreme wind and snow and the extensive soil erosion exacerbating the Dust Bowl.  They rudely punctuate the smooth flowing plains, looking a lot like someone tried to bury a gigantic comb, teeth side up, and quit halfway through.

I was always a bit unnerved by shelterbelts. The trees seemed so...indistinguishable. To my young, restless and recklessly independent mind, they were a metaphor for growing up in big-town South Dakota [FYI: Watertown (population 20,000) was NOT a small town; that was Bonesteel (population 280)]. While I loved growing up in Watertown for so many reasons, I always felt trapped in what I felt was stifling homogeneity.

Experiment #16: Reusable "Paper" Towels, Fancy Cups and Messy Clothes

Practicing Imperfection

So this isn't one of my typical experiment posts. But I'm having one of those days...one of those months. Where I feel the weight of my responsibilities acutely, piercingly. There is a constant sense that regardless how carefully I consider things, how much I seek and pray and listen, how much I research, analyze and discuss, that someone important will disapprove. Someone whose opinion matters will think I have miscalculated, misjudged, messed up.

Someone will misunderstand me. Someone will think I am incompetent.

I have a fervent need to understand others and be understood. This intense need drives me to ask lots of pointed and direct questions and has managed to cause both the majority of conflicts and resolutions in my life. Consequently, it really bothers me if someone has been hurt by me or thinks poorly of me (or if I even think they might be hurt by or think poorly of me) because they misunderstood something I said or did. I have even been known to get out of bed at 3am to compose an email of explanation and apology to an offended party.

While this may seem like an excellent quality, much of that intense need to clear up misunderstanding is that I am afraid to be thought incompetent. I need people to know that I didn't intend to hurt them. I need them to know I have thought through and researched my decisions. This unrealistic need affects what I am willing to share. For example, "Christian" has come to be associated with so many things unrelated to what I live, I have a particularly hard time discussing my faith without first providing sufficient context. I just need people to understand, if not support, my decisions.

But if I'm really gut-level honest, it's not the fear of being thought incompetent that drives much of what I do, but the fear of actually being found incompetent.

Because then someone will know I am actually incompetent. 

Experiment #15: Snowbet - How we enjoyed this crazy winter

While I probably should be, I am not the least bit annoyed that the relevance of this blog post will be nearing nil in the next two days. But, as we are slated to get another inch of sloppy snow tonight, I thought this would be an appropriate post. Hopefully for the last time this season!

As Nora stepped into the 31 degree sunny warmth today, puffs of breath just barely visible as she exhaled, she exclaimed, "Ahhh...I love summer."

Yes. I remember the first "warm" days in college. There would be pasty white legs sporting shorts and lounging on blankets amongst the shrinking snow piles. Today, Madeline ran to pick up Nora from school wearing her sundress with some grudgingly clad leggings underneath. It was 42 degrees. I'm still baffled daily by the ridiculous similarities between college kids and actual kids.

Growing up in South Dakota, my winter (and large chunks of fall and spring) activities were built around cracked, dry hands, below zero temps, constant biting winds, traveling with winter survival kits in the car and shrinking snow piles into May. I even remember it snowing one year during homecoming in September, the swirling snowflakes gently landing on my nearly frozen fingers, which were sluggishly attempting to squeak the fight song out of my flute.

A couple years ago, Nick and I decided to make a concerted effort to not complain about the weather. We are trying to cultivate an overall attitude of gratitude for what we have rather than fixating on the imperfections in life. So we figured the best way to start is with the weather...you can't control it anyway. In most of the places we have lived, the weather is only ideal for a month or two a year, so we can either spend 10 months lamenting the imperfect weather or find ways to enjoy it. I even made a resolution to spend time outside every single day, which, I'm proud to say, up until this winter, I have mostly kept.

I Can't Do It Myself Experiment #1: Family Cleaning Night and Indoor Slip and Slide!

Cookie Dough Eating after Family Cleaning Night

I have noticed a trend in my blogging. Have you?

It's here. And here. And here. Oh, and here, here, and here.

I say I am going to write consistently. And then...silence.

This has been a lifelong trend. Excitedly, enthusiastically overcommitting. I get involved in too many things all at the same time, then fail colossally. Recently, in my quest to be more intentional, I have started to examine this trend so that I can intentionally target the problem.

Part of the problem is just me. I have ADHD. Yes, surprising, I know. Passionately jumping into projects without a single thought of how they will be completed is a classic symptom.

But over the years I have become aware of this tendency and have gotten much better at stopping, thinking, then committing. I don't think that committing to writing two or even four blog posts a month is unrealistic for me. So I can't blame it all on the ADHD. I think an even larger part of it is this tiny little bit of controlling, obsessive-compulsive personality streak that, thanks to the strong-willed stubbornness I got from my dad, manifests as a resistance to asking for and accepting help.

Interestingly, I wasn't diagnosed with ADHD until after my freshman year of college, much, much later than most. The psychiatrist said that I was able to be successful for so long where other ADHDers were not was partly due to my extremely organized, routine-oriented, engaged and concerned mother and the beensy bit of her personality I inherited. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mom. Without you, I would still be writing my college application essays.

While I hate schedules, forget to fill Madeline's milk seconds after saying I will, can change my plans with zero notice, read 8 books at the same time, and never follow recipes (or directions) exactly, this little bit of OCD allows me to mostly function like a responsible adult. With the expenditure of lots of mental energy (and a smartphone that bleeps at me), I can maintain appointments, give my kids their medicine, keep appropriate amounts of food in the house and remember to pay bills. However, these OCD tendencies also manifest in really weird ways that are getting weirder the older I get:

Experiment #13: Homemade powdered sugar

Routine and organization do NOT come naturally to me (stop laughing, Dad).

Somehow (magic?) my professional life is really scarily organized and planned and detailed. But most of the rest of the time, my modus operandi is:

Why plan? Just improvise! It will probably be good enough. It may even be better than if you had planned.

I like to tell Nick that this is called being spontaneous, but we both know the truth. It's just too much work for me to get my brain in the right mindset to plan ahead (translation: I'm lazy).

Some (ok, most) times, my attempts are colossal failures. But then I hit the jackpot and my "spontaneity" is validated. A shining example happened whilst making the candy I described in my last post.

The facts:
It was 4:57pm and I was halfway through a recipe for candy hearts that needed to be made for Nora's Valentine's Day party the following morning. No dinner cooking (was dinner even planned? nope.). Three hungry kids who were sneaking tastes of aforementioned candy in process. I walked over and opened the container holding our powdered sugar, only to realize that instead of the 2lbs of powdered sugar required, there was a scant 3/4 lb staring sassily up at me. What to do?

Option 1: Panic, abandon the project, leaving child in distressed puddle of tears on the floor & me with the inevitable task of creating valentines at 11pm.

Option 2: Call a friend and hope they are home and have 1.25 pounds of powdered sugar just sitting around. If they do, bundle up three hungry, sticky kids and shlep them over to gather the powdered sugar.

Option 3: Google "homemade powdered sugar" and hope.

I took my chances on Option 3.

Experiment #12: Homemade Conversation Hearts

Our "conversation" Japanese flower blossoms

Well, hello again. I thought with the pending holiday that it would be a good time to start my virtual conversation up again with my aptly chosen DIY project. Clever me.

So with that, Happy almost-Valentine’s Day! I almost made this post in enough time to be useful on the holiday. As I don't yet have Christmas cards out from 2011, I consider this an vast improvement. 

And Happy Labor Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years, for that matter. Since that’s how long it’s been since I last posted. Good grief.

No excuses. I’ve just been attempting to rediscover some form of balance in my life again. And put a lot of miles on the car. A lot. We managed to travel close to 8000 miles through 9 states on several amazing (but not relaxing) trips to visit friends and family. All five of us. Three carseats. In a Toyota Camry. Oh yeah. But that’s another story for another time.

Today, we’re talking about talking. And candy.

Over the past year I have fallen back in love with Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women. Much like The Cosby Show, Little Women has a whole new level of awesomeness when you revisit it as a parent. Hilarious anecdotes disguised as fiction along with brilliant nuggets of timeless wisdom that previously flitted way, way over my head. And FYI, I’m fairly positive that Cliff Huxtable’s character was based almost entirely on my dad. It’s kind of eerie, actually. But I digress.

Living through a Microscope: Experiment #11 - Delicious bits of simple energy (Homemade Larabars & Energy Bites)

Butterfly Bush Flower

If you had asked me a few nights ago (or about a month ago) if I loved having kids, I may have thrown something sharp and heavy in the general direction of your head. Or something wiggly and squishy. Something that looked like a toddler. A toddler who woke up every 90 minutes screaming for her “taggie” that was hiding somewhere in the midst of the chaos that is our house.

But, on most days, I will be able to answer without the use of projectiles. Sure, as I sit in the bathroom with four fists pounding on the door and 2 squeaky voices screaming, “Mama! Mama! Mama!” I wish I could be like Tracy Jordan in 30 Rock and have a standing semiweekly hotel reservation for one hour to be able “to poop in peace!” Sure, it’s frustrating that 8 of my waking hours are spent sitting on the bathroom floor waiting for someone to poop, wiping someone’s poop or spraying someone’s poop off a diaper. Sure, it would be nice if the only poop I had to wipe was my own.  (Can you tell that Madeline is potty training and my world seems full of poop?)

Just one of those days...Experiment #9: Homemade Whipped Cream

For a year, starting when Nora was 15 months, I worked and Nick stayed home. I worked long hours. I had a 20-50 minute commute (depending on traffic) one way. Many days I left before Nora woke and returned after she was asleep. Then I'd come home and do more work.

It was a fulfilling job, but it was horrendously stressful and, to be honest, I remember very little of Nora from that year. I missed it when she spoke her first sentence. I missed going to her first music class and when she learned to do a summersault. I missed spending time with her. Her incessant talking. Her need to be touched. I even missed having to rock her to sleep. It was a huge relief when we moved to Iowa and I could do my work entirely from home.

But on days like today, I long for the ability to just leave the kids in someone else's care and go disappear for a few (or many) hours into my very own work world.

As I look back on the day, it seemed innocent enough. Just a series of slightly annoying events that slowly accumulated into a giant ball of stressed-out Kristin.

Experiment #5: Shampoo and Conditioner

The no-'poo family. Look at those luscious locks!

**March 2014 Update!**
As I have noted in a more recent post, I have discontinued use of this particular recipe. After the birth of my third child, it made my scalp and hair WAY too dry, itchy and uncomfortable. I have done some very preliminary research and have come across a plethora of posts (although I have yet to verify the info, it seems to make a lot of sense and fits well with what happened to me) that discuss the damage that rapidly and repeatedly dramatically changing the pH of your hair follicles can do. So I am on the hunt for a "pH balanced" (a.k.a. one that is a similar pH to my scalp) DIY shampoo, because even the commercial shampoos are drying me out (stupid hormones!). That doesn't mean that this won't work for your hair. I know that it works for many. It has just stopped working for me.  I have "heard" that combining aloe and coconut milk works well, so that's first on the docket. I will update in a few months. In the meantime, if anyone has found something that works well, feel free to drop me a message in the box on the right or leave a comment. Thanks!

It has been 47 days since I have used shampoo or conditioner. And yet, my hair looks and feels better. And, most importantly, I have not scared my friends away! (Just wait till the post on deodorant...)

As you may remember from my list post, making my own shampoo was number 35.

My interest in making shampoo started innocently enough. A couple days after I had decided to create this blog, I was taking a shower and noticed we were getting low on shampoo. I hate when that happens because it inevitably means a $50 trip to Target. It’s ridiculous, but I just can’t make it out of Target without spending at least $50. I’m not sure if it’s the welcoming atmosphere of the store, the barrage of items I see en route to the shampoo aisle that I realize we are out of at home (although we’ve somehow survived for months without them), or my total lack of self-control, but it happens without fail.

So I usually avoid Target like I avoid touching fish (ugh).

Experiment #4: Homemade Chocolate Mints

This has been a week of transitions.

Nick started his classes (and his long, long days away from home). Nora started her new fall preschool with all new classmates. Nora and I started "Mama and Nora preschool" on days that she is home with me. Madeline started up with nasty allergies or an annoying persistent cold. My buddy, Anna, and I started up our thrice weekly "crack of dawn" swim dates (don't ask how that went). And I started another "quick" consulting job (really, Kristin? This week?).

With half the family as confirmed "slow-to-adapters" (the jury's still out on Madeline), the week of transitions has been stressful. Lots of crabbiness. Interrupted sleep. Fit throwing. And that was just Nick and me.

As someone who thrives on change, I just don't understand. I love this time of year, with the change of weather, the change of routine, the change of scenery. Ahh...it's like a massage for my soul.

So, admittedly, I'm not the most patient person when Nick and Nora get out of sorts when things change. And sometimes I'm just downright nasty. Like this week.

So to make up for it, I wanted to do something special for Nora and Nick on their first day of new classes. Nora LOVES Junior Mints. LOVES them. So do I. They bring back memories of sitting in Watertown's dark, non-stadium seating movie theater on Christmas Day, squeaking my shoes as they stick and unstick to the floor coated with gallons of sugary beverages.

Guest Experiment: "Make" Your Own Honey

Due to unforeseen illness (is it ever foreseen?) and since my current experimentation is requiring more time than anticipated, I asked Owen to share his experiment in something that we will never be able to do at this house: beekeeping (thank you, Nick's deadly bee allergy). Owen and Emily and their two daughters (and baby #3 due today!) were some of our first friends here - Emily actually attended Madeline's birth as my doula a whole 3 weeks after meeting me! They are genuine and kind and capture one of the reasons why I love the Iowa City area (yes, I said Iowa) so much. They are this seamless and beautiful blend of urban and rural (not to mention just plain awesome people). They live in an old farmhouse on 5 acres surrounded by corn, but are active participants in the "city" community. And the majority of "city folk" here work hard to bring the farm to the city. You get to meet the farmers at the markets and coops in town and are actually invited go to the farm to see where your food is raised and grown. It's just a truly amazing and real community. So thank you, Owen, for your ongoing friendship and for sharing your foray into keeping bees.

Naturally, people ask me why I started beekeeping. They might expect that it reminds me of my childhood in some way, maybe a close neighbor that kept bees in their backyard, where I would visit the busy, humming hives on hot summer afternoons. But no, it wasn't anything romantic like that. I started beekeeping because I was curious. Kristin asked me to write a guest post for I Can Do It Myself and after reading her blog over, I think we share some common defects. I too want to do it myself, I too want to save money, and I too want to engage with my children. Who doesn't?

I first met an actual beekeeper at the Iowa City Fairgrounds during the Johnson County Fair in 2010. He had a display set up but he wasn't particularly outgoing. He looked a little wild, with a round, red beard that completely hid his mouth. He said that at one time he had sixteen hives, but these days he's down to only three. "Too much dinking around with these dang swarms." See, he doesn't want to pony up cash for new bees, as bee prices have gone up sharply in the last ten years, instead he tries to catch them in the wild.

I grabbed a pamphlet about the local East Central Iowa Beekeeper's Club and asked a few questions, something about how much it takes to get into the hobby and when I should place an order. I think I got a few basic pointers, but I don't really remember. That year I tried to order a package of bees via e-mail, but I was too late for the season. "We are completely sold out of bees. You need to order in Feb or March. Phil Ebert."

Experiment #3: Puffy Fingerpaint

I love shopping with my dad.

I think I just heard an audible gasp from everyone who has ever met either my dad or me. I am pretty sure that the only time the words “love” and “shopping” are uttered together in a sentence by either of us is to say, “I love it when the stores are closed and there is no possible way I can go shopping.” I just really hate shopping and so does my dad.

 

But shopping with my dad is awesome for two reasons:

1. We have the same attention span for shopping (30 minutes max).
2. We shop by feel.

The three times I have gone shopping with my dad, he would come back to the dressing room with a small pile of clothes - none of them matching (or even distantly coordinating), but all soft, smooth or silky. I like my clothes to look good, but I really like them to feel good.

I'm just a highly tactile person.  I like to knead dough, work with clay, walk barefoot, twirl my hair, wiggle in the sand, and play in the dirt. I have apparently passed this obsession on to my daughter. So at our house, we try to do lots of "hands-on" activitites.

Tactile stimulation is more than just a way to occupy a preschooler's time. It is now being recognized as a legitimate therapeutic treatment with exceptional benefits for everyone from preemies to Alzheimer patients. Modeling letters out of clay is used as a treatment for dyslexia. It has even been suggested that since serotonin, a brain chemical linked to depression, is more present when an individual is active, even fine motor movements can improve mood and combat depression (B.L. Jacobs, Princeton University).

Experiment #2: Homemade Granola

With my husband's plunge into graduate school this past year and his constant 12+ hour days away from home, I have had to learn how to cook. I do not like to cook. Growing up, I did lots of baking with my mom. Baking is therapeutic. Relaxing. Fun.

But cooking? Ugh.

I realize now that my hefty disdain for cooking is primarily because I just never learned how to cook. I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing and have no innate cooking sense to guide me. As you might imagine, I am not very good at it. And, childish though it may seem, I do not like doing things I can't do well.

But, one cannot raise a healthy family on cheesy eggs, tuna melts and spaghetti (the three meals I "cooked" before this year). So in an attempt to remedy my complete lack of culinary knowledge, I started reading (gasp!) cookbooks and cooking magazines. Amid the tedious steps for creating perfect pastas, pizzas, peanut sauce and potstickers, I stumbled upon Bobby Flay's fantastic recipe for "mango agave granola" in Food Network magazine. My beautiful baking gem among the cooking chaos.

Therefore, in an effort to ignore the fact that I have yet to master even one cooking recipe, I am going to blog about something I get to bake.

Experiment #1: Maseca! - Making Corn Tortillas

I am initiating my blogging experimentation with the rather uninspiring tortilla. The tortilla has earned this honor because of the sheer number of tortillas consumed at our house. My husband eats them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. One package of 8 lasts about 2 days. So the choice became buy the cheapo tortillas that look the same whether they are 2 days or 2 years old, or spend a fortune on fresh ones.

Back in the day, I spent a semester living with host families and conducting research in rural Costa Rica. Amid the tropical heat, suffocating humidity and diesel buses, I fell in love with the country, the people and their homemade corn tortillas. My host mother in Guápiles (who was a single, working mother of two) always found time to pull out her bag of Maseca corn flour and make her own tortillas, over the stove, without air conditioning. Inspired by her dedication and compelled by their crack-like addictive flavor, I bought a small bag of Maseca corn flour to bring back with me to my dorm room. I imagined padding down to the dorm kitchen for midnight study breaks of warm tortillas dripping with melted cheese. Five years later, as my husband and I were packing our apartment to move across the country, I rediscovered my slumped Maseca bag, abandoned, unopened and long since expired. The dream of the homemade tortilla was lost until a couple months ago when my eyes happened to graze a bag of Maseca in the grocery store. The memory was jogged. I was intrigued. Now, almost a decade after my introduction to these delicious snacks, I am finally attempting to make my own corn tortillas. They are pretty healthy and darn tasty.

Goal: To make 8 homemade corn tortillas (4 servings)

Time to Completion: 20 minutes, including setup and cleanup. Time is less if you have a larger pan. Each additional tortilla adds between 30 seconds and 2 minutes. 

Cost Comparison: 
1 package of 8 corn tortillas cost $1.75 - $4.50. That's $0.22 - $0.56 per tortilla.
 8 homemade Maseca corn tortillas cost $0.22. That's under $0.03 per tortilla. One 4.4 lb bag of Maseca flour costs approximately $3.60 and makes 132 tortillas. 

Tortilla making is mostly kid-compatible (except for the cooking part) for kids 2 years and older and allows for only minimal, if any, multitasking.

Equipment:

Large mixing bowl

Rolling pin (or if you are fancy shmancy, a tortilla press)

Plastic wrap
Measuring cups and spoons
A fork for mixing
A damp towel or paper towel

At least a 10 inch frypan of some sort. I use an enameled cast iron frypan similar to this one.

Stove or some hot, cooking surface

1 cup of Maseca corn flour
2/3 cup + 3 tablespoons of water

1/8 tsp salt

¼ lime (optional – add a few cents to the total cost)
        
Directions:
For the most part, I followed the directions on the back of the bag. Turn on your burner (I set it between the 6 and 7 - medium high) and, if you are using a cast iron pan, put your pan on to heat up. I found out the hard way that you cannot put the tortillas on my pan until it is hot enough or they will stick and burn.

Preparation is the perfect time to involve kids, especially tactile ones. Dump all the ingredients (except the 3 tbsp of water) into the mixing bowl and mix together with the fork. The flour should form little crumbly balls. If you still have powdery flour along the sides, add the extra 3 tbsp of water. If you want, you can add the water one tbsp at a time as indicated on the bag. I have found that in the multitude of times I have made the tortillas, the 3 tbsp is a perfect extra amount of water, even if I am making more than 8 tortillas. I am not sure why, but there you go. I add lime juice to mine, because I love the flavor. If you forgo the lime, you may need extra water.

Then you (or your eager mini-chefs) can smoosh the dough together and knead it until it sticks into one big blob. To make 8 tortillas, I break the blob in half, each half in half again, and again until you get 8 relatively even blobs. Roll the blobs in to balls and put them in the bottom of your mixing bowl and cover the balls with a scantly damp towel. NOTE: Here is where you can modify the moisture of the dough. If your dough is too crumbly, place them under a more damp towel for a few minutes. If they get too wet, take the towel off and let them air dry for a bit. I learned the hard way that having tortillas too damp makes them stick to the pan and too dry makes them crumble when you eat them.

Place a ball in a long sheet of plastic wrap and fold the plastic over. Smoosh the ball down with your hand to make it pancake-like then roll with a rolling pin until it is about 1/16 inch thick, or about the thickness of a DVD. If you get it too thick, it will be less pliable when eating it. They aren't beautifully round without a tortilla press, but they taste just the same.

Carefully pull the flattened dough off the plastic wrap and put it on an ungreased pan for around 50 seconds. My tortillas just start to curl up on the edges and sometimes slide easily on the pan when done. Then flip the tortilla over and cook for 45 seconds on the second side. You may have to adjust the time as you go. Usually by the end, I am cooking them for less time. Mine usually have very light golden spots on them. You can even wash out the bowl and wipe down the counter while your tortillas are cooking.

They are most pliable when warm, but are great cold, too. You can keep them in a sealed container or bag for a week in the fridge. Ours never last more than two days. In fact, they were gone before I could get a finished product picture.