Sunday, October 24, 2010

Try A New Recipe Each Month: Herbed Potato Soup

Last night I had a few taters that needed to get used right away. And since we have officially entered Soup Season (what I prefer to call Fall), I've been making a lot of soup. I have a great cheesy-potato soup recipe, but thought I'd use the opportunity to try a new recipe and one that was slightly healthier (my sweet husband J is on a new eating plan--not a diet--and has lost 17 lbs! I'm so proud and am trying to support him however I can).

So, Herbed Potato Soup it was. Can you say dee-lish? I like soup at lot. There are few soups I don't like. But this was a-mazing!! Even my JL, who, mind you, doesn't like soup and doesn't like white potatoes, asked me if I could please put some of this in her thermos for lunch at school. What?!? Yes, that is how good this soup is, making a six-year-old who hates potatoes and soup ask for it a second time.

Never one to follow directions very well, I made a few modifications. I used broth rather than water to cook the potatoes, added a few carrots (and would have added celery if it had been in the house), and added some garlic. I used smart balance to saute the onions and used skim milk to make it a little healthier. And of course, I made it gluten-free by substituting half as much corn starch for the flour (whisked into the cold milk).

Try it! Let me know what you think!

Friday, October 1, 2010


Lately I've been thinking about euphemisms and the way we use them. I've been thinking about how they serve us and also how they do us a disservice. I've been listening to my kids as they talk & they never feel a need to disguise what it is they are trying to communicate. I, however, often do.

There's a particular euphemism that has gotten this thought train rolling.

I lost the baby.

I've said this phrase countless times over the last nine weeks. I lost the baby. And one day, it hit me--it makes me really angry that this is the polite way to say what's happened to me. As though I accidentally misplaced him. Or left him somewhere I ought not have. Or wasn't keeping track of him.

In reality, I did everything I could to do my best for my child. I wasn't careless or reckless. I took my vitamins, went to prenatal appointments, didn't drink or smoke, exercised, ate as well as I could through the constant nausea, listened to my body. I wasn't irresponsible. I wasn't careless. And, yet, my baby died.

It frustrates me that I can't just call it like it is: my son died. Despite my best efforts, my baby is gone.

During this whole experience, I've found myself feeling ashamed when I have to break the news to someone. I feel as though I have to manage their reaction, be aware of how this might hurt them. And I can't help but wonder if this euphemism is partly to blame, by putting the liability on me... I lost the baby. I just really wish it were acceptable for me to simply say, "my baby died," and not have to worry about how it is received.

Because this is tough enough without having to take on the responsibility this euphemism saddles me with.