zucchini bread

I was curled up in flannel pajamas and a ratty yellow robe that used to be down-soft but has been worn to a threadbare state that says without words, "my owner is a lazy shut-in who likes comfort and doesn't go out much," drinking chamomile tea with a dab of honey (ignore my diabetes for the moment) eating a slice of home-made zucchini bread -- the smell of which is currently filling all three floors of my house -- and reading an interesting book. (Freakonomics, by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner, in case you're wondering. I recommend it.)

"This is the life," I was thinking. "It's cold outside, I'm warm and toasty, everything's good--"

--and then I heard the baby start to make hiccuping, whooping sounds over the baby monitor, the prelude to a full-onset crying jag, and my liver curled up into fetal position and started to whimper.

This is motherhood. The ups, the downs, the moments in between ... and when I'd let him cry it out for about 5 minutes with no end in sight, I untangled myself from my comfortable rocking chair, belted my robe, found a spot for my plate, put down my book, and went upstairs to see what was wrong this time.

Nothing, as usual. Nothing understandable by this gross giant of an oblivious parent, that is. I couldn't help but laugh a little when I saw Hobbes lying there with his mouth wide open, his eyes shiny black slits, wailing furiously about something that he absolutely couldn't communicate but was somehow all my fault.

Every time something goes near his face for any reason he opens that little mouth of his as wide as he can, in the hopes that whatever it is will somehow magically end up in it and turn out to be food. All the sushi I used to eat before pregnancy somehow manifested in him: he is part fish. The Japanese sound-effect for the open-mouthed fish goggling that snaps up food is cute. Paku. That's what we should have named him. Paku-chan.

Or Starscream. I dunno.

I came back downstairs after settling him to find that my tea had gone cold, my plate had tipped over, and I had somehow managed to lose my book.

Zucchini bread is best when it's warm and fresh. I cut myself another slice, found my book trying to mate with a John Scalzi novel by the stairs, and made new tea.

Recipe for zucchini bread, as written by my mother. Peculiarly, she can spell 'zucchini' just fine, but has difficulty with the plural form of 'egg' and the word 'vegetable.' It's a mystery.

Mix dry.
Mix wet.
Mix wet w/dry.
Pour into grease and flour loaf pan.
Bake 375 degrees 1 hour. Makes 2 loaves.