My Name is Mommy

Ten Honest Things and crisis over.

I get really friggin' pissy when I am not feeling well.  I guess one of the few good things about my bad temper is that it never lasts very long.  I get mad, blow up and then it's over.  I don't have a low setting and I don't carry grudges.  What you see is what you get.  Dean and I *talked*.  More on that later, maybe.

For now, Fiona has tagged me.

Thank you Ms. Fiona for the honor. *ahem*

Rules?!? Put 10 honest things about yourself in writing then tag 10 more hapless miscreants.

1.  (In keeping with the vibratory theme...) One of the most akward and embarrassing moments of my life was when my mom caught me masturbating in bed when I was like 12.  I can still remember her shreiking "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" from the dooorway.  If that won't scar you for life...

2.  That whole thing about girls going lesbian when locked away in an all-girls boarding school during their prime hormonal years- totally true, I can personally attest to the fact. (I guess the inferred honest thing here is that yes, even though I like boys, prefer them even, a girl will do in a pinch for me).

3.  I love hostess products.  Anything with a cream-filled center is my friend.

4.  My favorite food is pizza, but only when I make it from scratch.

5.  I love roses, even though it is such a cliche, but only the beautiful, fragrant old-fashioned kind that I grow in my yard.  My favorite cut flower is a peony and I didn't know that until I was 24.

6.  If I could do it over again knowing what I know now- hell yeah I would.

7.  I'm not sure  that my husband is the love of my life. That is not a good thing to not be sure of.  Of course, once you have kids with someone you are inexorably tied to them forever.  It's just after 1.8 decades together, I'm not sure what is love, friendship,  comfort, obligation, or just plain old inertia.  I know that I love him- I mean, I would die if anything happened to him or if he wasn't in my life... it's just... yeah.

8. Cooking is the new eating.  When I went to the doctor's the other day, I couldn't believe it- I've lost 16 lbs since I went last time which surprises me because I've been making enough food to feed a football team of late.  I guess I've gone from comfort eating to comfort cooking.

9. I like playing Webkinz almost as much as my 5 year old and 8 year old do.

10. I have far too many guilty pleasures: watching House and Grey's Anatomy, rereading the Twilight series books, singing along with High School Musical and Camp Rock songs with Avery, eating crappy, greasy chinese fast food, running to cheesy dance music a la Cascada... the list goes on. And on.

Tagging ten people might be difficult... I'll try.  You'll get the notice.  Beware.

Muahahahaha.

Fight club.

Dean and I had a fight this morning.  Holy shit.  We never fight.  I mean *never*.  Like, we never get worked up about anything toward one another enough to actually have it out- generally.  But this morning, I woke up feeling like I'd been run over by a school bus- my shoulders are aching so  hard I can't even lift my arms- gotta be the iron since I did not do eight hours of exercise yesterday, fall off a horse, and, um, get hit by a bus.  So, not feeling great and I come out to Dean disciplining Avery whilst playing Wii.  He had this horrible snarl on his face yelled "Get out of here!!" and leapt at her, stomping in front of her, in a totally I'm-going-to-physically-intimidate-you and reinforce that throwing a physical, stomping-kicking-door-slamming tantrum is what you do when you're mad.

I was so pissed I wanted to hit him.  I work SO hard to counteract these exact type of behaviors in my kids.  So, when I said something from the doorway, he totally jumped because he was surprised I was there and I knew then- this is why Ave has been do exactly that: stomping, kicking, hitting, slamming doors, screaming when she gets mad.  I walked over to him, took the Wii controller away and ttold him HE needed to GET OUT.

I don't even know what to do.  He obviously has been doing this when I am not around so he KNOWS that it isn't the proper way to discipline.

The thing is, that if I ever saw anyone treat my girls like that- I swear I'd kill them.  Or at least beat them within an inch of their life.  This is how my step-dad used to treat me- physically intimidating me, yelling at me an inch away from my face.  Sure, we get along great but when I was a kid, I always had this smouldering rage inside me, burning resentment- and pretty sure it had alot to do with that sort of treatment.  It is the last thing I'd want to impose on my children and I already see it in Viola- she starts crying in frustration the second Dean tries to help her with anything or outright criticises her.  And Avery with the over-the-top-drama tantrums of late...

I can't even talk to him right now or I might get dragged in for spousal assault and battery.

What do I do?   I guess when Dean and I were first dating and he said "I'm not sure I'm ready to have a girlfriend", maybe I should have listened a little harder.

Mommy's feet are *really* *really* tired.

Ms. Sadie keeps her vibrator in the same place I do.  It seems like the natural place to keep ones love machine. (Um. Er, no honey, you cannot borrow my "foot massager"- I don't want anyone's foot fungus going anywhere near my you-know-what).

The nice old lady across the street just came by to ask how many of the cars parked across the street(on her side) are ours. NONE. That's how many.  Yeah, how I know we are now the most ghetto house on the block.  Kendyl DID have to go and get herself a corvette.  That's not helping our image.  Oh well. 

The lady across the street will be happy when I get to work on the yard (when this iron kicks in).  Her scrutiny makes me want to tether one of the horses out there to eat the weeds and make some big-ass ponypiles.  Now that would be sweet.  Of course, in the meantime, maybe she should get herself a foot massager.

Ew.  I so did not need that mental image.

Vi is sleeping.  I took Ave out this afternoon to rent movies and get chinese food.  Then we ended up going to the Halllmark store to look at Webkinz and the bookstore to browse.  We didn't find even one book worthy of purchase.  The bookstore seemed oddly empty of customers.  It's strange- I used to be a constant fixture at our Barnes and Ignoble but then I just stopped going.  I guess that coincided with getting off the Starbucks.  But it was weird being there today and seeing it so empty. 

Time to go rest.  Ave and I are going to watch Camp Rock- whew!!

Mommy goes to the doctor.

I had an appointment at 8am at the hematologist- of course I got there and they said that my appointment had been YESTERDAY... I am such a pillowcase these days.  But now I have an excuse.  Went over the results of my bloodwork from earlier this week and I am pretty anemic- so anemic, in fact, that the doctor gave me an iron infusion on the spot.  So that's a good thing.  His new plan is that I'm going to come in for infusions monthly and we'll just stay on top of the anemia then.  I like that plan as opposed to the "Let's wait until Amy can't walk up a flight of stairs without having a heart attack then put her in the hospital for a day and give her the nasty iron that makes her break out in hives and run 105 fever" plan.

This iron infusion I got today will likely not give me as much of a boost but I can get multiple infusions and it will have fewer side effects.  It was just nice they could do it right there in the office and I didn't have to go in to the hospital.  Now I am snuggled up in my robe and going to rest and try to fend off the body aches with a funny movie.  No school for me today- I don't want to get up there and then find out I feel too crappy to drive myself home and have all the ensuing drama.

I wonder how long it will take for the ice cravings to dissipate.  Right now I have cups and cups of ice chips stacked in the freezer for convenience.  Thank god for the ice grinder.

Oop.  Here come the chills.  I'm going to go find my bed.

Uh. Hmm. Oh.

I'm bored.  I logged into Webkinz and watered my garden.  I've baked.  An apple cake and a loaf of bread.  Dean is still here so I made him espresso. Twice. 

I went out to the ranch and met my shoer.  I held Foxy.  Apollo actually ran away from me- but then he gave in pretty quickly.  He doesn't usually do that to me, must've been biding his time while Foxy was getting trimmed.  It's funny because I could tell he was worked up, scared even.  He gave me one of those big "I'm terrified!" eye rolls.  It's not like the stupid horse hasn't had his feet done every 6-8 weeks since he was 2.   Foxy, of course, had to see  just how much weight she could lean on the shoer.  Then I swear she was drifting off in the middle.  While Apollo was getting his hooves done, Foxy had to see what all the shoeing equipment was all about.  That girl is the most curious horse ever.  Anything left near the gate, she'll get her teeth into and pull into the paddock to play with it.  When she started getting too nosy with what was going  on with Apollo, I shooed her away and she took off with the biggest bronc buck I've ever seen out of her.

Bad horsie.

Mmmm... or what to do with leftover apples.

I didn't know you could have leftover apples.  I mean apples are a singular fruit that can be eaten alone or in conjunction with a snack or meal, right?  But no, you can have leftover apples.  This phenomenon occurs when your two kids won't eat said apples because they taste "weird".

So what to do? Throw them away?  Feed them to the guinea pigs?  That just seems downright wasteful.  And let me tell ya, if my kids won't eat 'em, I probably won't either. Heh.

No, instead, slice 'em, dice 'em, mix them with copious amounts of sugar, raisins, nuts, flour and throw in a couple of eggs, baking soda, salt and some cinnamon... bake at 350 for an hour then eat hot out of the oven.

Apple cake... yum.

(See, told you I liked Thursdays)

Thursday

Thursdays are my new favorite day.  No, really.  Today is spectacular but just in general,, Thursdays are great.  Once the kids are out the door, I don't have to pick one of them up until 3:30.  It's just nice to have several contiguous hours to do *whatever*.  Not only that, but I know I am a stone's throw away from Friday when Ave will get out early and we'll do our Friday routine of going to the movie store, getting some authentico Chinese food (we love eating seasame balls that are still warm) and coming home to snuggle up and watch a movie until it is time to get Vi at 2:45.  Then the weekend begins.

I don't have school on Thursdays which is nice.  I like school but I also like having a break from it on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

On Thursdays, Dean and I usually sit side-by-side at the counter for a couple of hours.  I write or e-mail or read blogs while he works.  We occasionally chat.  It's nice.

And today, the after-school plan is to get Ave and then pick Vi up after play practice and go straight out to the horses until it gets dark.  We'll swing by the bookstolre on the way home and get some chapter books for the kids to read- and maybe I'll find something to spend part of my Christmas gift card on... Then we'll come home all chilly and tired and I'll throw the kids in the tub while the chicken and broccoli casserole I made today is baking in the oven.  Who knows, maybe we'll even bake another cake tonight.  We'll eat and snuggle up in bed together and then... tomorrow will be Friday.  Woo hoo!!

Flying.

I feel as if my feet have barely touched the ground today.  The weather is beautiful... it was a good morning with the girls... it was a fantastic morning at school...  I know, it's  all in my head.  That's okay.  Sometimess even the mundane feels good- went to buy some  printer ink and felt quite a bit of satisfaction installing the new little cartridge- picked up a slip for blood work for my doctor's appointment on Friday. 

We baked a cake the other night.  I used a little trick I mearned from my grandmother- oiling and dusting the pans with flour and then banging them together to coat them evenly and get the extra flour out.  When the cake came out of the oven and cooled a bit, both layers popped right out of the pan-- perfect.

And then we ate the cake.

All of it.

Viola wants to make another cake now. Heh.

She got to decorate this one with sprinkles.  And of course, I got out my ancient sandwich glass cake stand so we could properly display her masterpiece.

I think a white cake might be in order- I just wish I could find my cake decorating kit which is, no doubt, buried in the garage somewhere.  I'd like to teach Vi how to make frosting roses and use the decorating tips. 

We always have something to celebrate around here- if it isn't something real-live authentic then it's got to be one of the stuffed animal's birthdays.

It's later than you think.

I've always been fascinated by time.  When I  was little, I loved my grandfather's watch that dangled from the end of a long golden chain.  Now, my house is full of clocks, all faithfully ticking away the moments.  When I was young, time could not pass quickly enough and now it goes too fast.

I remember being a forlorn youngster and so pensive on the passage of time, fearing I would forget the moments- that one sunset or warm breeze would run into another.  Sadly or not, they have... I cannot remember so many things that I was afraid I would forget.  Sometimes they come back to me at the end  of a long chain of associations, sometimes in a dream.  Now I know that we cannot hang on to the moments once they have passed, especially not alone.

How long have you been alive?  How long have you been together- with your spouse? with your friends? with your children? 

How  much longer will you have? How much longer will you live?

How many more years? Months? Weeks? Days?

Can you count the sunsets?  How many more moments will you have to turn your face to the sun and let the breeze blow across your face?  How many more seasons will come and go for you, smelling the jasmine at night or taking in the painful crispness of new-fallen snow? Can you count the breaths? Can you count the heartbeats?

The clock is always slow.

It is later than you think.

The chicken or the egg.

I usually ignore the Duggar posts on my blog, usually.  I do notice my hits start skyrocketing around the dates when one of the Duggar shows is aired on TLC.  Sommetimes I get threatening e-mail from Duggar camp do-gooders, usually spouting off the very predictable "blah blah God's work blah blah, blah righteous people blah blah, you're a sinner, blah blah". 

Sometimes I get much less wordy and somehow more insidious e-mail from those that are not only so-called Christian hatemongers but apparenty racist hatemongers as well.  These e-mails generally get ignored unless they spout off about how the world needs to expunge my mongrel children or something of the like-- in which case they get saved and submitted to the police.  I am happy to say that in the past several years of blogging, I have directly involved in having several racist, hate-mongering websites taken down.  It's not all that difficult-- most internet providers don't want to have any association with these folks, especially when their discussion leads toward inciting racial violence, etc..  Let me just say, I've been surprised and am a little less jaded, because constitutional rights to free speech are great and all but they only get you so far when companies won't take your business because they might be held liable for your content.

Anyhow, sometimes I get curious and start poking around in the comments on some of my Duggar posts.  I recently came across this one from Aleksa:

I'm from a family of 9, and I'm the oldest. I was sheltered from the "world" and had a mile long list of chores. We went to a public school but were always "different" than other kids (long hair and skirts). We were poor but never beggars.

During my high school years I had a teacher who felt that I was getting NO EXPOSURE to the WORLD outside of my family. That there are more things in life then Church and the Bible. I had a lot of "potential" with the world at my feet. Sadly I listened to her.I moved away in search of something exiting and new, ready to embrace the world with all my hart. 8 years later I came back home. I lost my innocence, my purity, my trust in people, my faith in God.
Years have passed and now I am married to a wonderful and hard working man who saved himself for marriage. I am back in church, my faith growing and my hart healing. Sometimes I look in to my husband's pure and honest eyes and wish that I could go back in time when I was 16 and innocent, but nothing can errace my 8 years of Worldly life experience. Now am happy to be a stay at home wife and raise our sons and daughters honest and hardworking, just like my Mother did.

Please don't wish the WORLD EXPERIENCE on any of those children.

So, first I have to say that the first thought that came to mind upon reading this was Nicki in "Big Love"- the long hair and dresses... and The Church... heh.  So, the first things that jump out at me are the basic spelling and grammar errors.  She blames her teacher for encouraging her to get out in the world- but the teacher didn't decide what to do with all that potential and the world at her feet, Aleksa decided that for herself.  And apparently, instead of doing something good for the world, she chose a route that she now disdains.  

I love how people have a bad experience "out in the world" and then blame the world or circuumstances or whatever for their own bad decisions.  I would say that maybe if Aleksa hadn't been so  sheltered, she might have had the tools to make better decisions.  It sounds like she has some preachy rhetoric I've heard elsewhere going on here: we were never beggars?  Because its okay to have nine children, live in poverty-- as long as you aren't beggars, then you are nobilified by your hardworking nature and lack of materiall goods.  Nah, I say you're still just poor.  And being poor means you have fewer means to do good in the world, as far as I'm concerned.  Being poor and having to work hard does not make you inherently honest, either.  In fact, I would hazard to guess if one were to study such things that one might find that out of poverty arises desperation and disenfranchisement which are the perfect circumstances to breed terrorists, religious fundamentalists, and criminals.  When one has nothing to lose, it is easy to let your values move to an outlier position where all sorts of bizarre behavior can occur.

To me, world experience means sitting around a table in Romania and breaking bread with strangers who have hospitably invited me into their home to share what little food they have.  It is synonymous with the Polish gentleman who came to my aid when a corrupt conductor was going to put me off the train in the middle of a cow pasture for not kicking him back a little foreigner-tax on my ticket price.  It was meeting the Hungarian woman who worked in a hotel in Austria to support herself and her young son after she watched her hussband and elder son drown in the lake outside their house in the winter. World experience was sitting around an absolutely packed room with a bunch of other people for hours of training to help kids in the Alameda County foster care system.  World experience is sitting in my speech class this quarter with students of all ages and races, each encouraging others to succeed and improve.  The world is an interesting, varied place neither good nor bad or maybe lots of both but equal somehow because it seems that our choice in how we view it is ours. 

We can choose to look on our experieences and highlight the negative, fill our lives with context that makes us feel bad about where we've been and what we've done, accept what we have and put our head down to what we are capable of... Or we can say "screw that" and start doing whatever we can to make things better, makke the world better, make our lives happier and more meaningful, open our eyes to what we can do as individuals and when we throw our lot in with others to create beauty, good, connection... whatever we want...

Someone once told me that the desire for change can be a powerful bond and it can be difficult to look past that to see differences beyond that- I think this is also true for those who have negative notions of "world experience".  We can get so stuck on bonding over the bad things that have happened in our lives that we don't get past that to highlight the good.  And that, that is a shame.

I hope my children experience the world- in all its goodness and glory, then see what needs to be done and throw in their lot with others to get it done so that it can be a better place.  If we stop dreaming that the world can be a better place, then it never will be-- and wouldn't it be fantastic to die 40 years from now knowing that the world is a brighter, safer, happier place than it is now?

A day of rest.

Dean left in time to catch the shuttle this morning... and left me here with two sick kids.  Ave was projectile vomiting last night and Vi's had this sore throat, cough, headachy congestion thing for a few days and it seems to be coming to a head. 

So, no school for me or for them today... no play practice... nope, it's resting time.  Of course, Ave is all chipper this morning and wolfed down toast and a bowl of rice krispies.  But, I just can't be okay with the idea of another parent  sending their kid to school who had thrown up less than 24 hours earlier, so I probably shouldn't do it either.  Murphy's law would state that if I sent Ave to school, I'd have to go get her early anyway and she would probably puke all over my car as I drove her home.

Why tempt the fates?  We'll just be here, me, the girls, the snot and vomit... reading about what lives in the rainforest and watching and rewatching Anne Hathaway and Amanda Byrnes movies. 

I've decided that my new endeavor is to learn to cook some Indian dishes.  I'm going to start easy with raita and biryani but who knows... maybe this summer I'll build my own tandoori oven out of a clay planter in the backyard.  Lucky for me, I live in a very diverse area and have access to Indian grocery stores nearby. 

The monopoly board is calling and I must answer while everyone feels like being upright.

Waiting for the rain to pass.

Love:

 

Viola made her first tuna casserole today for this evening's dinner.  She did the entire thing on her own except extracting the can lids from the cans as I am paranoia-mommy and think she's going to cut one of her fingers off on a can lid.

 

Ave is currently napping in our bed.  When I went in to check on her, I snuggled with her for a bit and she put her little arms around my neck.  I still see the little girl in her, flashes as she is growing into this big girl... my young lady that is anything but a lady.  She is such a scamp.

 

Dean is helping Vi play an online version of Boggle, right now, on the Webkinz site.  They take their games far too seriously as I can hear them arguing.

 

This is my Dad when he was down here at Thanksgiving.  I miss him right now.  Sometimes I really wish we still lived across the street from them, went over to have coffee every morning at 6am- either still in my pajamas or in my scrubs, rolling in from night shift at the hospital.

 

My sister, Auntie Natalie... ugh.  I miss this girl... but we talked yesterday and she's coming up soon- maybe in February.  I can't wait for her to come- it will be good times.

 

I miss my Mama, too.  She may drive me nuts.  But I miss her.  I miss my whole family.  I don;t even have any recent pics of Erica.

Hoo boy, Ave woke up from her nap and is spewing vomit.  Looks like we have another round of gastroenteritis.  So far, not in the bed....

Hoo boy.

Weekend musing.

Sunday.  The weeks are just flying by now.  That happens, I'm told, as you get older- time passes more and more quickly.  It just seems the weekends pass us by in a flash.  Now that I'm NOT working, I am looking forward to weekends even more than before.  I'm not sure what that is about except maybe there is some relief in having Dean around and sharing some of the responsibilities with him instead of just being left on my own with school and the girls.

Don't get me wrong, because I am enjoying school and I love the fact that my girls are not in childcare (LOVE!) because I'm there everyday to pick them up and hear about their days before they forget or get embroiled in homework other activities.  And I enjoy things about being a mother that I never really thought I would.  I LOVE helping the girls with homework.  I get the sense that this is the bain of many parent's  lives but I find it really satisfying to work through the frustrations and difficulties.  I love the morning routine- getting so much done before 8am feels good: seeing everyone fed, faces washed, teeth brushed, hair done, properly dressed, shod, coated and out the door with homemade lunches made with love in hand.  I love cooking for my family, love teaching my girls to cook.  I mean, I popped out a couple babies (er, okay, the had to be cut, screaming, from my body- I must have a really comfy uterus or something, maybe they were serving mai tais poolside in there or something) and suddenly my cooking gene turns on.  I was always happy to let my mom do the cooking before- now it's a compulsion.  Must feed... everyone...

Ave and I made crepes this morning.  She cracked the eggs- not ONE shell in the bowl! We played music, danced, sang and whisked.  I just finished sucking up the powdered sugar and flour from the floor that got everywhere.  Life is messy, for sure, and I wouldn't trade one minute for the cleanest kitchen on earth.  No worries there, but I'm just saying.  Now I am cooking the rest of the crepe batter up and blogging and feeling like it is going to be a pretty fantastic day.   I got to use my new dredge, filled with powdered sugar, to sprinkle the crepes with a fine, even dusting.

I guess having breakfast together and the crepes got me to thinking about Paris.  Dean and I spent a couple of weeks there and it was that trip that inspired me to go to school in Germany and find a position with a family there before Dean and I were married.

Paris was amazing.  That was a fantastic time in our lives.  We went straight from the airport to our hotel to the Louvre.  I remember we almost fell asleep sitting on a bench, back to back, looking at a painting that took up an entire wall.  It seems like a bad time to travel with all the unrest in the world and the economy being in the shitter-- but damn, if those frequent flier miles  aren't burning a hole in my pocket...

So, today, I have books in the garage to box up, clothes to take to the Goodwill and neurobiology to study.  I have that test to take for speech, a bathroom to clean and Christmas stuff that needs to bee neatly stacked away in the attic for next year.  I'm scared to even go back up to the attic for fear I may be trapped up there organizing for some time.  I think I will set the timer and invite the girls up for a tea party.  Or, it looks like the sun is shining- maybe it's time for a ride or... a hike.  I haven't seen a waterfall in a long time.  It would be nice to see a waterfall.

What happened to all the funny parts?

God.  What a drudgery of a blog this is.  I used to be a happy, funny person... what the hell happened to that?

Okay, a little story to liven things up around here (hmmm, yeah, the black in the bedroom just isn't working for me, let's try painting it PINK!)

We got Ave a Flip for Christmas.  This is a little handheld video camera that plugs directly into the usb port.  It's great for taking quick little videos of family life or in Ave's case, five thousand renditions of her dancing while she sings songs from High School Musical or uh, MY FAVORITE, the National Anthem.  For being five years old, I couldn't believe how fast she figured that thing out and I'm already imagining her accepting the Oscar for her filmography someday.  No, no, that's all wrong- as much as she enjoys being behind the camera(which she gets from me) she loves even more being in the spotlight(she also gets that from me).  Best Actress in a Dramatic Role. 

Anyhow, fast forward to the other day when I hear suspicious quiet coming from wherever the girls are.  When I can't hear where my girls are- I know they are up to no good.  Then I heard quiet giggling coming from the bathroom. 

Now, this may seem like something that would instantly alarm most parents but I have a rule- if the girls want to talk potty talk they can- they just have to do it in the bathroom.  This is my compromise between freudianly-stunting their growth by disallowing any mention of butts, pee or poo and going all hippie-microbiologist-mom and getting out my life size model of the human rectum and explaining to them where those big brown babies really do come from.  So, the girls are allowed to say whatever they want in the privacy of our HOME bathroom.  But for some reason, my motherly intuition was going off like fire alarm so I busted out the wire key and popped the push-button lock on the bathroom to bust in on my girls...

...Filming themselves going pee with the flip.  And let me tell you, I have never snatched up a digital recorder and hit the delete button faster in my life.  Ave did some great work there.  Her footage of cows at the park the other day might have been blurry, but not this, not all up close and personal.  I didn't even know the thing could go macro like that.

Kids.  Goddamn kids.  How do you explain to your 5 year old and 8 year old that someone would love to get their hands on video like that?  And how do you explain why? How do you explain that any judge in his or her reasonable mind upon seeing a video like that would ship these two kids out to foster care before I could even explain that I wasn't running my own homegrown child porn ring.  Kids.  Kids are dangerous.  You want to protect them but you also want to instill some sense into them, some fear so they don't do stupid shit that will get them killed or maybe worse, put into foster care.  You also don't want to spend the next 25 years in jail for a crime you didn't commit.

So, for now... mommy is in charge of the Flip.  Mommy will do all the recording with the Flip.  Of course, the hard part was harshing their giggles.  I wish I could have laughed, but I'm the mom now, of course.

Truth, love and how it all hurts.

Victim.  Yeah, I hate that word.  And I know I have been complaining alot. 

I'm not a victim, though.  If I get on a plane and it crashes, I'm not going to spend my last minutes bitching at the pilot.  I like to think I will enjoy the view and think of Dean and the girls.

The thing is that we live in the world.  And just like we put seatbelts and airbags in cars, we try to find ways to make this very dangerous world a little safer, more liveable.  If every day were our last day we'd live differently, we'd fly balls out into everything with no regard for tomorrow becaause tomorrow wouldn't matter.  But part of the deal with living is the expectation of tomorrow.  And that requires a bit more  care.

The most hurt I have experienced was as a child and as children do, I learned.  You put your hand down on a burner when you are two and very likely you don't do it again.  Who wasn't watching you?  Who left the stove on?  Victim or not?  No, we call it a learning experience and it hurts like hell.

And I know what my capacity for pain is because I have experienced immense joy.  I have held my chiildren in my arms after they were born, when they were new and innocent and the world hadn't touched them yet and they were just bundles of pure potential.  If you've had children and allowed yourself to be present with them- then you know this joy and as much as you know it, you know that letting that joy into your life also opens you to the greatest potential for pain and sorrow that a human being can endure.  I can only hope and pray that I never have to experience that pain. 

And when you love someone immensely, allow them in or maybe even more importantly, allow yourself to extend and connect, especially when you have not done so before, it is a risk.  I've taken that risk.  Right.  I took it.  Accepted it.  And maybe it is wrong to blame anyone but myself, give my power away, blah blah blah.  But it is where I am right now because it hurts.  It just hurts.  That's all.  When we hurt we lash out and we try to protect ourselves.  I'm not in the place where I want to be all big and strong and powerful and say how tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all and that I accept full responsibility for where I have steered this ship of my life.  No, right now, I have no sail and even if I did, the wind is blowing from all directions, and this ship seemed alot bigger when I wasn't out on open water.

I  know that complaining isn't good for my kids- that's why I do most of it here on my blog and to my friends on occasion.  I think my girls deserve to know that life isn't always blue skies and billowing white sails on calm waters, else they will be unprepared because the world will always be a dangerous place to those who love, for those who care.  And that redeems  me because if nothing else, I am teaching my girls to love and to care-- even if it sometimes means being sad and angry, being blameful and feeling powerless.  I am here because I loved and because I cared- nothing more to it than that.

The day will come when I will be better, stronger for this.  But right now, I am in that broken down part before the rebuilding and strengthening comes.  That's all.

Solitude

This mornning, after I wrote the previous post, I happened across a book that hadn't been shelved.  It was a Christmas gift.  It's called "Solitude" by Robert Krull and is his memoirs from a year alone in the Patagonia wilderness.  I opened to the first chapter and read:

"There are times when life seems to snatch us up and carry us toward and unknown destination.  We hear something calling from deep within and suspect that if we don't respond, we will wither into a hollow shell."

That resonated with me... so strongly, in fact, that I carried it around with me the entire day.  I feel that maybe I have already begun to wither.  Maybe it's too late.  I hope not. 

I was talking to a good friend of mine.  She says my heart was broken.  She says that I did what I never do- let someone in... and then my heart got broken.  And I need to grieve that.  True.  Very true.  I have always had a thick, hard shell- but this person convinced me that it would be worth it to open myself, that this friendship would always be there.  Another lesson.  You can't really trust anyone.  I knew.  I did it anyway and look at me now- broken hearted?  Maybe.  Or maybe just broken.

And I hate that I was right.  I really wanted to be wrong.  I really wanted to believe that I could open myself to someone entirely and that it wouldn't end like every other person I loved and trusted- in abandonment.  Listen to me feeling sorry for myself, but I feel I have a legitimate case.  And I'm angry.  I feel tricked.  I feel like I was duped.  Friends may say that they will always be there but it is a lie- no one can promise that.

Hang in there, this might be a doozie.

So.  So.  This is difficult.  It is 5:45am.  Dean woke me a bit ago because, you know how we were going to clean the garage and put a bunch of stuff out for the large item pick up scheduled for today, the 21st?  Never happened.  Why?  I don't know.  Not exactly.  Except that I have been indulging in a major depressive episode the likes of which I have never experienced before.  And Dean has been playing Wii for the almost-month now that it has been in the house and I am about ready to throw the thing through the window.

My last bastion of sanity is that I've been able to drudge up enough energy to go to class, t cook with and read to my girls and I've somehow managed to clean the house for the most part- despite the garage and my cluttered-but-hidden bedroom.

But I don't know what to do.  I feel like I am spinning off my axis.  And I wonder, is this genetic? Is this a "gift" that will be passed down to my girls?  The thought of it is unbearable but almost  worse... am I like this because I had a mother who acted like this and I have no coping mechanisms?  And now I am behaving similarly in front of my own girls?

And the worst part is that I can't put my finger on what is wrong.  Dean and I, while noot the lovebirds of the year, have been talking and amicable- ne'er a fight in this house except between Avery and Viola.  Sure, I'm unemployed but I've ramped down the household expenses and we've got a bit of a stop-gap there- I feel like if we got into financial trouble we'd have support of family and friends and worse case scenario is that we sell our house and that isn't even looking like something I have to think about now.

So what is it?  I mean I suppose it hasn't been so long since I've lost my job that I had for so many years- but that was, I thought, something I wanted in order to pursue further education and a career change.  Obviously, the marriage has been under a great deal of upheaval over the past year but I dare say that it hasn't made things better in alot of ways.

What does that leave? Me unable to cope with the everyday shit?  Me, crazy? I don't  know..  I do know that I have this crazy deep well of love and passion in me- desire.  I want to be in the world, affect change, be a force.  And here I sit and wither.  And I don't know why or what is wrong with me that I cannnot seem to tap what I know is there, what has always gotten me through before... When things have been bad in the past, I've made change happen in my life, flipped the whole damn thing up and sent all the pieces flying everywhere and things always landed in a better spot.  And now I feel like I am here in my gilded cage.  I don't know what is real and what isn't, I feel like I've lost my ability to trust myself, lost my trust that I will land on my feet.

And maybe it is just my screwed up brain chemistry- does that make it any better?  I don't know.  I really don't know.

On my mind...

I sang 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover to Vi in the car the other day after picking her up from school.  She thought it was hilarious and that I was rhyming on the fly, I suppose.  I didn't bother trying to set her straight...

Ave has a hacking little cough and has been sleeping alot so she might be keeping me company tomorrow.  Good thing I don't have class, as it is Tuesday.

We've got food coming out our ears between the ribollita, the pastitsio, a pile of Nathan's hotdogs I was possessed to buy, etc.. I'm making beef stew tomorrow, we'll really be bursting at the seams then.  It feels good to have a fridge full of leftovers.  My hands are dry to cracking and my nails look like shit.  When I cook, all that hand-washing and dish-washing really do my hands in.

I've GOT to go to the doctor.  Dean threw down the gauntlet today about it, so I'll make an appointment tomorrow and get over for a blood draw.  Ugh.  I just hate those damn iron infusions.  He's right, but still. UGH!

A slow day today.  Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Soup's on!

I made Ribollita tonight.  Once again I feel like bragging for getting my kids to eat a considerable amount of kale simply by masking it in a yummy "bread soup".  Sadly enough, while we had two very edible loaves of sourdough bread along with our soup tonight- they did not rise nearly as much as I'd hoped.  When I slit the tops of the loaves and brushed them with cream, I was expecting beautifully poofy and brown loaves, bursting at the seam as it were.  No such luck.  They were a bit on the flat and dense side. Maybe I didn't let my yeasties propogate long enough.  Maybe I diluted the starter a bit too much.  I don't know. 

I'm going to start a new starter and see if I get better results.  Still, the bread WAS crusty on the outside and chewy on the inside and went perfectly with my soup.  The kids asked for seconds of both soup and bread, so I know I wasn't a total failure.

I'm tired now.  I'm going to bed.  Beef stew tomorrow- or, uh, maybe lasagne- we'll have to see how much torture I'm up for.  I'm wishing right now I had some more of those fresh raspberries and could throw together a crisp- because THAT was phenomenal.  Alas, bread and soup for us tonight.  *sigh*

Starting the day on a sour note.

The previous post was a work in progress and awaiting me when I woke at 4am this morning because I had fallen asleep with a huge cup of ice chips in hand which I had then proceeded to up-end all over my comforters and blankets during my sleep.  Hell, at least it wasn't a bottle of wine which would have made quite the mess indeed.

Anyhow, I got up, stripped the top covers off the bed and quickly threw another comforter over Dean and Ave befoore they started to wonder where the rest of the bed had gone.  I started the laundry and since we're talking a down-allternative comforter(king sized), duvet cover for said comforter and then two down blankets(and ha ha, no I don't live on the Northern Slope-I just get cold easily)- essentials go in first.  While I was waiting to get the D-A comforter into the dryer, I threw a loaf of bread together and then I was committed to the 80 minutes covering rise and bake and flipping the loaf over in my rice-cooker-cum-bread-machine. 

Dean woke me up this morning at 8:30 but his minstrations were interrupted by a flying ball of hair and excitement otherwise called Ave around here.  I had been dreaming about eggs but innstead we ate hot, crusty bread with butter and homemade strawberry jam and then there was a leftover crepe a piece from yesterday's quadruple batch.  We're using that sack of flour up rather rapidly.  I had proofed my sourdough starter yesterday- setting it out on the counter and feeding it a cup of flour and warm water after letting it out of its jar and into a larger bowl.

I used two cups of this spoge this morning, adding salt and oil  and a bit of flour at a time until I had a nice ball of sourdough which is just now resting in a slightly warm oven.  I hope it rises.   Please let it rise or I'm going to feel like an idiot for having nurtured my little  jar of starter along so lovingly.

I'm going to go back to bed for a little bit and then see if I can start making a little headway on the garage.  And when that gets frustrating, hopefully I'll have a doubled-in-size ball of dough to punch the crap out of.

Sour enough for ya?

Stormy Weather...

We've had anything but this past week or two.  It has been frighteningly spring-like: warm, sunny- at times almost balmy.  And yes, it does scare me a bit.  Doesn't Mother Earth: Nor Cal Division know that it is still only January?

I've been experiencing the stormy weather, even though it's been clear skies above.  I don't know what it is- sure, maybe I'm anemic- but I've been so sluggish and unmotivated its hard to believe it is JUST the anemia.  Me going on a cleaning spree lately has been clearing a path from the front door to my bed.

I am overwhelmed.  Every day we have piles of junk mail.  Every day the girls bring home piles of paperwork, flyers, artwork and school papers.  Things come in packages, wrapped in bubblewrap, paper, tape, bags of air(a la Amazon.com)- a box inside a box inside a box wrapped tightly with plastic to a piece of cardboard.  Every day I vacuum and empty the vacuum cleaner, piles and piles of dust and lint and bits and pieces of god-only-knows-what. 

The girls have a closet full of clothes and wear only a few outfits but don't want to give anything up because they might wear it, you know, someday.  I have a closet full of clothes from my previous life which involves skirt suits and pantyhose and high heels.  My closet floor is stacked hich with shoe boxes of shoes: silver platform sandals, gold spiky-heeled, peep-toed sandals, Stuart Weisman 4-inch platform pumps, velvety suede brown wedges with a bow perched over the smallest peep-of-a-peep-toe, practical Taryn Rose slingbacks perfect for trade shows, my Miz Mooz flying shoes quaint with a round toe and a mary jane strap, delicate satin pumps with a satin bow from a corporate Christmas party, wooden platform peep-toed wedge sandals, the easy-last-second choice plain black round toed pumps with a flash of gold on the inside of the heel and a cut-away instep...  and my clothes- sweaters in blues and browns, black and pink, high waisted plaid skirt, a long flowing black peasant skirt, a throwback 40's skirt and top out of fine guauge washable wool knit, BCBG halter tops, cashmere sleeveless hoodies, an assortment of comfy mini dresses and tunics, wide leg jeans, skinny jeans, my Sevens, my workhorse Michael Kors skirts, airy skirts from Max Studio out of blue and white brocade and a silk flower pattern in reds and greens, a backless Georgiou dress in an amethyst purple I couldn't resist... so many clothes picked for client dinners, wine tastings, team meetings and all seem so useless in my new life as stay-at-home-mom and part-time college student.

Dvds accumulated from I-don't-know-where or "this movie club sounds like a good deal" or even worse "what? we haven't returned Alice in Wonderland to Blockbuster that we checked out in 2003??"   

My beautiful kitchen with built in ice maker, wine cellar, double ovens, induction cooktop, industrial hood, the ginormous refrigerator, the refrigerator in the garage, the chest freezer, the kitchenaid mixed, the ice grinder, the espresso machine, the toaster oven, the rice cooker cum bread maker, the regular rice cooker, the cuisinart foiod processor.

Oh, and lets not forget my thousands of books which have overflowed their six foot shelves and are now double stacked on top to our eight foot bedroom ceiling- looming over us.  Cozy, but still looming.

Part of me wants to step into a magazine, into one of those houses where everything is white and bare and billowing and soft.  Simple, clean.  Austere.  No mess.  I think I get why some people are compulsive cleaners- if things around you can just be tidy enough, if everything can just be perfectly clean and neat, if everything can be in its place-- then all those things  inside that one doesn't know what to do with might magically fall into place.  A place for everything and everything in its place- even love, even fear, even anger and sadness. 

If you look at my house right now- the family room is clean- maybe not organized as in: I went through all the art supplies and dvds and got rid of the things we don't need or use- but it is dusted and vacuumed and the table in there has space for the kids to do homework and artwork and they can find their scissors and pencils.  The living room is clean bordering on bare- two couches, two arm chairs,  a side table with a lamp on it and bookshelves which have yet to be filled.  Of course, this is also the home of the Wii, so not much else happens in here.  Finally, the kitchen and dining room are clean, as in scrubbed from top to bottom.  In the past 24 hours I've made crepes, a very complicated Pastitsio with the help of the girls, a loaf of bread and proofed my sourdough sponge.  Yes, I've been... cooking.  This is how I self-soothe, this is how I connect with the girls, this is where Dean and I have most of our discussions.  The girls room is relatively clean- I stuck the vacuum cleaner extension under the bed and closed my eyes and whatever happened next is between the vacuum and God.  But their clothes are picked up, mostly, shoes in their "shoe baskets", coats, sweaters and backpacks hung on their respective racks, their books put away, and since my rather odd children aren't into toys- there aren't so many toys to be put away but what we do have is and their room has had a good vacuuming/dusting fairly regularly.

Our bedroom looks like a bad scene from a disaster movie.  The garage looks more like a storage facility than a place where one might drive one's cars and park them.  The heap in the center has gotten high enough that I'm afraid to let the kids go out there for fear they might be buried alive.  What's out there?  A myriad of cookbooks, building supplies, photography equipment, leftover cabinets from the foray to Ohio last-last year, books, did I mention more books? Art supplies, boxes of horse supplies, old ice skates, more building supplies, an air compressor, nail guns, circular saws, chop saws...  Yes, the garage is a dangerous place.  Sometimes whhen I look out there I wish we hadn't remodelled just for the sake of the fact I wouldn't have to go through all that crap.  Egads.

I'm rambling now, I know.  You don't really want to know what is in my garage.  It's those hidden cluttered spaces I hate, though.  I don't like the hall closet or the front closet or the garage.  I like my bedroom but that's just because it's tolerable and I like any place I get to sleep.  Why are the dark corners the hardest to face and clean out?  What is up with that?  I know that my living space is a metaphor for my life somehow- I'm functional but if you open the closet doors or the garage, I could be lost in there for weeks.  And in the meantime, just knowing they are there is... unsettling.  Is it an excuse?  I don't know.

I feel like I have so much baggage, so much holding me down.  And yet- can I move along clothes and shoes that maybe I'll need again in the near future?  Because, honestly, I don't know what the future holds beyond maybe the next couple of months.  It's difficult not  to feel weighted down by stuff and the influx of information.... constant things to be taken care of on top of the daily functions of running the family and the chore of keeping myself alive and going.

I feel a big purge coming- not sure when or even how- but something's gotta give, and soon.  It's maybe as much about my internal landscape as my external environment. 

Anyone need a nail gun?

Ugh.

Got up this morning and showered, dressed, got Ave into her uniform, helped make lunches... I took Vi to school, Dean took Ave and then I headed out to school.

Class was... good.  I love being in the classroom.  It annoys the crap out of me, seeing 18 and 18 year old kids, though, who take their education so much for granted- send text messages during class time, are clearly unprepared...  *gasp* I know, I have become one of THEM- a *grown up*.  But really, come on, I love to learn and would and will probably take classes for the rest of my life regardless of whether I need them to get me somewhere or not.  Even more than the slackers, I dislike the hand-waving, goody-two-shoes who are always asking the pointed "aren't-I-so-smart?" questions.  I go to class to hear the professors  talk, not be taken down some side path by Lulu Lookatme who did an intership over the summer and is oh-so-smart she's just DYING to know some absolutely useless bit of information about something we're not even discussing.  Okay,  but aside from the annoying people, there are usually as many interesting characters in a class.  There was the fair-skinned blue-eyed girl that gave a long speech today on meditation and yogis (she had a cool turban on her head).  There was the older woman who got really into her speech on child molestation and children in the system.  Neurobiology was interesting(to me, at least) and I'm hoping by the number of other students who were either snoring or drooling during class that we're going to be graded on a curve.

The afternoon proved to be rather boring with me being taxi-mom and driving Vi back and forth to play practice, picking up Ave, etc..

Still not 100% myself so I think I'll watch a movie with my honey and hit the hay.  Hopefully, tomorrow will be a 100% back to normal.  As soon as I'm better, I'm gettin' me some iron- and lots of it!  Then I can emerge from my sluggified state- I hope.

Scared

I'm going to be vulnerable.  Nobody laugh or I'll open a can oof whupass on you.  I'm sick.  I didn't realize it until about 10 o'clock this morning when it dawned on me there was absolutely no energy in my body for me to get up and go to class. 

Oh! School!  I am a study in ... what is that word? Opposites? No... my fever addleed brain won't give it to me... I am taking Speech- Communications 101.  See, I went to college in Washington and up there, they don't have a speech requirement whereas down here, they do- so I apparently have to take a 101 class. Woo hoo.  Note my enthusiasm. And then I am taking Neurobiology.  How exciting is that?  Gotta love that.  When I went to college *before* I had no time for goofy classes like that as I was cramming 19 credits of philosophy and microbiology classes in for my double major.  Now I have a bit of luxury- taking what I want.  And speech.  Which I am going to kickm butt at.  No, seriosly.  If one thing philosophy taught me, it was to talk, argue, speak my mind.

My brain is so addled I can barely type.  I am shaking.  One minute I am buning up and the next, freezing cold.  I sept most of the day.  Tiome to go to bed.  I do hate this dissociated feeling... and shaking...  Better tomorrow, eh? (You know I'm sick when I can't even write an adequate blog post).

. 

New week, new day

I woke up this morning, sat up and *breathed*.  It feels like I've been holding my breath forever.

And only in California do we have days like this in January.  The sun is out, the air is warm-- I'd swear it was spring.

And something was contagious about my mood today because the girls got up and ready for school without a hitch- even if I was trying to dry Ave's sweat pants and polo in the dryer at the last minute since I forgot that today is PE day. 

I feel good today, finally after having had several days of sore throat-congested yuckiness.  Sometimes it's good to feel sick so you realize just how good normal really feels.

I stripped the bed this morning and put on new sheets- I love flannel and I love that it's January so it actually warrants flannel sheets.  Yes, even a top sheet.  Right there, you see the problem with the family bed- I can get away with flannel sheets in August when I have other bedfellows to consider.  Although, there is nothing nicer on a hot summer night than sliding under a single, cool, crisp cotton sheet that still smells of night-blooming jasmine from having been pulled in off the line just before bed.  Jersey is pretty yummy, too.

My grandmother had the best clothesline ever- it extended from her porch over to a big douglas fir, several bedsheets away.  It was on a pulley, so she'd stand at the deck rail and pin up the clothes and then give a tug to the cable and the laundry would be shimmied out over the garden to dry... a clothesline, in Washington-- in the woods no less, seems a bit impractical but so much better than lugging the clothes down to the dark, damp basement to the dinosaur of a dryer that was, turns out, rarely used.

I met a girlfriend for coffee today.  That was absolutely fantastic given that we couldn't stop talking though we haven't seen each other in possibly years.  We made a pact to go riding- trading off weeks, one week at her place, one week at mine.  I'm anxious to get the girls together, too, as Vi was instantly at attention when I mentioned one of her long lost friends of yore.

Kendyl and I took the girls on a return-unwanted/broken-merchandise-shop-for-t-shirts-and-laundry-soap trip to Target.  I don't know why, but they seem to have the best selection of liquid fabric softener all in one place that I've encountered.  Our Target sells milk now, which I find a little disturbing.  I suppose there is some logic to the whole one-stop shopping idea but it just seems a little odd to buy your milk and eggs in the same place you

The girls are now hounding me endlessly... "Are they ready?!?" since we made chocolate chip cookies tonight after dinner.  Can I just say in the middle of this chocolatey profoundness... silpat I love you! (And if you  don't know what silpat is... it is made in France(well, the *real* stuff is) out of silicone and is not a sex toy.  Seriously, I can not think of a single sexual use for this cooking accoutrement(but maybe I'm just not being creative enough at the moment).  Getting back to cookies, good cookies take patience. I have a whole assembly line process I've developed for placing the unbaked dough on the silpat-lined cookie sheets, baking them one sheet at a time in the oven, cooling on the sheet then transferring to a cooling rack for eminent eating.

This entire batch of cookies will be gone by tomorrow.  Guarantee.

As for me and my cookie, we are retiring to the bedroom now to watch disk three of the newest release of Battlestar Galactica.  Yeah, yeah, guilty pleasure and all, whatever.

Jellies

Today I chaperoned a field trip to the Monterey Bay Aquarium for Avery's class.  Ave and I got to ride on the school bus!!  It was absolutely amazing and I think only the photos will do it justice.  Please forgive- I forgot my camera and so was stuck capturing the event with my iPhone... lousy!!  But I think you can still get an idea... Otters and scuba divers, and jelly fish, Oh my!!

Ave was absolutely enthralled by the jellyfish exhibit. It was a little bit of a nightmare for me trying to keep track of a bunch of 5 year old girls in the dark, running from tank to tank. The jellies really were absolutely amazing, though.  So beautiful and yet the tiniest of them can kill you and the larger ones can cause you intense agony... the ultimate in "look but do not touch".

The day was a bit chilly but we still had a gorgeous view of the ocean.  There were a couple of new exhibits- like the freshwater otter exhibit and the cold-water shark/fish exhibit (sorry, not good at recalling the official titles of the exhibits). 

It was all very cool, though, and we arrived just in time for the Kelp Forest feeding.  The girls were very impressed with how much the scuba diver looked like the scuba diver in Finding Nemo. Hee hee.

Still, the otters were cute as hell and the sharks were creepy in that dead-eyed, predatory way of theirs... 

I have to admit I was just mesmerized by the jellyfish.  I could have spent the entire time in there watching them.  They light them up beautifully but still, they are amazing creatures.

 They showed jellyfish at all stages of development and how some can be nearly invisible...

Truly amazing.

The bus ride back was torturous.  The kids were all tired and as such were acting up.  Being on a bus with about 100 5 and 6 year-olds for an hour and a half each way... well, let's just say I was never more relieved to walk through my front door and throw myself down on the bed for a rest.

Still, it was completely worth it and I was very glad to have been there for Ave's first field trip ever.  Moments...  good ones.  Fantastic.

The unbearable lightness of being real.

Tonight we ate "Mexican Dinner Dip"- a somewhat culturally prejudice recipe from the Junior League cookbook a la 1965.  Refried beans, I guess, make it "mexican".  But it is an old recipe in our family- comfort food, and a way to disguise "salad"(aka lettuce and tomatoes) so the kids will eat it, even if it is mounted atop a corn tortilla chip.

We watched movies and played video games.

We had an emergency when the kids were fighting and Avery shoved Vi over and she fell on top of the turtle's aquarium.  Fortunately, no femoral arteries were severed in the accident and aside from a great deal of consternation on the part of the box turtle(can you blame him?)- $40 later, he is safely esconsced in a new aquarium with a very expensive pieve of wire mesh over the top.  He's not our turtle, so thank god we didn't have to reference the page Viola's teacher gave here entitled "Sheldon's Vet" OR worse, search high and low for a look-alike-Sheldon.  These can be very touchy situations.

I made two loaves of bread this afternoon, both of which are almost gone.  I cannot keep up.  But you know, it really is true- the cooking and baking is like therapy only less expensive and more productive, as far as I can tell.

I must be hormonal... or a little delusional(who wouldn't be when they have anemia badly enough that they have pica badly enough to chew through 15- yes 15- FIFTEEN trays of ice a day right now) but I am loving being here, right now, in this moment.  I love my little, imperfect family and our crazy foibles.  I love... this.  And that's good because I think sometimes we really need to love where we are if we're to keep moving forward.

And really, I have so much to be grateful for- so very much.

 

 

 

These are the days.

I hope, hope really hard that it is days like today that my girls remember.  Dean and I spent much of the afternoon and evening in the kitchen.  The girls played and were our test subjects while we developed our own dinner crepe recipe.

The crepe part wasn't hard.  I used the usual recipe- I've never like sweet dessert crepes, it is what you put in them that makes them sweet.  So I whipped up a half dozen eggs with flour, milk, water, salt and a little sugar and put on the cast iron pan to heat.  No nonstick in this house, we do it the old fashioned way-- at least since we got our induction cooktop and hundreds of dollars of beautiful nonstick cookware became absolutely useless to us.  And now look at me- I'd take a $13 Lodge cast iron over a $150 something-else.  Crazy.  Love my Lodge, what can I say? (OMG, don't look, yes that is a giant bottle of Karo syrup in the corner of the picture- I am so embarrassed).

Dean was in charge of the broccoli- I mean, cheese and broccoli sound like good dinner crepe material, non?  And then the ham!!  I made a roux, added just some plain ol' milk to it until it was a hearty, thick white sauce and then threw in big handfuls of mozzarella until it was a big cheesy goodness-in-a-pot.  After that, I threw in the ham.  This was my mistake.  I think what I should haver done was assemble the ingredients  in the crepe and then add the cheese sauce- you want broccoli? Just put broccoli.   You want ham and broccoli? Use both... etc.  I also should have made a smaller, seperate pan and thinned out the filling to make a sauce to put over  the top.  As it was, I ended up glopping some plain filling on top and then grinding pepper over it. 

Heavenly.  Even on our beautiful, blue, plastic plates. (I'm really letting it all hang out- yes, we do a little french cooking then eat witth plastic silverware. Gawd.).

The girls were awesome about hangiong about and letting us experiment on them.  Later we fiilled leftover crepes with strawberry jam for dessert.

Do love cooking with Dean and the girls on a cold, winter's evening- feels homey.

Saturday and Sunday and then winter break is over.  I can't believe it.  It flew by- and it was lovely.  I havee to say, I'm glad we didn't go to Seattle this year.  Yes, miss my family and friends up there but home is here now.

Time to check on my morning loaf of bread and crawl back into bed and warm up next to Dean.

Guess?

Why am I up at 7:20am on a Friday when there is no school, no work, everyone else is sleeping, etc?

Bread, that's why.

So, I recently purchased a rice maker. Uh, what does a rice maker have to do with bread? Well if you'll let me get that far, I'll explain. Geez. We make rice constantly- rice to go with stir-fry, rice to go with teriyaki, rice  to go with sushi, rice to go with chicken breasts, rice to go with chicken and broccoli casserole, rice for rice pudding, rice for beef stroganoff (oh, the humanity but for some reason my kids like it over rice)... and even though the rice cooker has it's own specially-designated-prior-to-installation-of-remodeled-kitchen-shelf-in-cupboard, it almost never gets put away.  And while it has served us faithfully for enough years that it is warped and tattered and the paint has worn off the outside, etc... it is warped and tattered and UGLY.  So, I decided we needed a rice cooker we could keep out on our black granite countertops- a sleek, modern, black rice cooker with silver trim and a computer with many, many modes including but not limited to Dol Sot Bi Bim Ba mode(it's Korean), Bread mode, White Rice mode, Quick Rice mode, Brown rice mode, Sprouted Brown Rice mode(whatever in hippie-hell sorta thing that is I dunno but my rice cooker can cook it), Porridge mode, and so on.

Rice is nice but...

Well, the bread mode caught my eye.  I was like, hmm, my rice cooker can make bread?? Well, it turns out, not exactly, but it can be used to raise my dough(heh heh), beeps to call me to punch it down, bakes my dough into a nice round loaf then beeps yet AGAIN to call me to flip it over to brown the crust on the other side, then keeps the whole thing toasty warm, soft, moist and yummy.

So, one night, post-Christmas-frenzy... I was up late cleaning and had a sudden urge to use up some of the 100 lb bag of flour I recently and rather rashly purchased at Costco.  I didn't like the look of the recipe in the manual right from the start but then one might feel a little chagrined at changing a recipe for something so specific as making bread in a RICE cooker... so I pretty much totally modified the recipe and threw in the food processor, as well, like substituting  white flour from my 100 lb Costco bag for the called-for whole wheat flour and upping the amount of honey and then 'processing' it.

Anyhow, the results were... supeurb.  Dean and the girls finished the loaf off before I hardly got a slice.  It was moist and yeasty and fresh-baked-goodness all rolled into a rather weird looking round loaf.

Since then, I've made bread daily.  Dean has been making sandwiches on the panini press with the bread and the girls will eat it plain, not toasted, and love it with butter and homemade strawberry jam or not.

I've been in the kitchen alot lately.  Dean and I do alot of our thinking, talking and music listening in there.  The kitchen, one might say, is good for our marriage (aside from it being the heart of the home and all)(and aside from the large, sturdy stretches of countertop which are, shall I say, multifunctional)(gawd, it's not  like I don't clean the counters regularly anyway- you can still eat at my house).  Yesterday, I made bread that was hot and steamy for breakfast, eaten with homemade strawberry jam- yum!

Lunch was fantastic: panini sandwiches with leftover Christmas ham out of the freezer- made by Dean who does something mysterious and amazing with a small bowl of mustard and I-don't-know-what (secret's in the sauce- and I love you if you get the reference). 

While Dean took the girls down to the park and back so they could practice on their skateboard(Vi) and scooter(Ave)- I whipped up four pizzas- cheese, cheese and olives, and two ham and pineapple.

 For dessert, I improvised Alton Brown's berry cobbler- we had a crate of fresh raspberries from Costco.  (Isn't Vi so beautiful and grown up- here she is enjoying her cobbler)  The crumble over the top consisted of flour, pecans and crushed corn flakes(butter and sugar, as well).  I ended up with a good deal more of the dry, crisp ingredients left over than we had raspberries, so I took the rest of the canned pineapple chunks and mixed them with brown sugar and tada! the kids actually liked the pineapple version better. 

Of course, I made 8 ramekins and a  big pyrex bowl of cobbler and there are now about two lonely teaspoons of pineapple cobbler left which I am going to gobble as I head back to bed now.  Heh. Gobble the cobbler.  Mmm... did I mention it was heavenly?  Especially after Dean had the divine inspiration to put ice cream on it!

Oh, and last night I fell asleep reading the third book in the Twilight series (teenaged romance, vampire  novel sensation, etc.).  I know, I blaspheme that I haven't read it yet, but I wanted to save it for just the right time and for some reason, it struck me that this weekend is just the right time. 

I am in my marital, lovey-dovey groove(Dean and I listened to music all afternoon and talked and danced in the kitchen and it was fabulous as those types of days are- when things on the inside feel like they look from the outside).  I have my cooking groove on(there is something about nourishing your family and doing it in such a way that it just isn't about physical nuturing) and school starts up again on Monday which means not much time for reading outside of school reading-- especially since I am going to be both taking pictures and sewing for Viola's school play. 

So, I got my reading groove on.  I anticipate that I will soon be looking for a good book to fill the void after finishing this...

And what am I going to make for dessert tonight that can show up that cobbler?  Sometimes, just gotta get back to basics... Cook's Illustrated Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies?  Might be just the thing.  I'll let you know what I come up with...

Dean made a plain ol' outta the box cake the other night which the girls decorated which was fabulous tasting- to, uh, celebrate a birthday- Stripey's birthday to be exact.  Because not only do we celebrate all the human birthdays and pet's birthdays but we also celebrate stuffed animal birthdays!  Go us!

Yes, we sang and lit a candle for Ave's Webkinz chipmunk named Stripey on Stripey's first birthday- but don't laugh because just a week or two ago we were celebrating Whisper's birthday with a candle stuck in my beautiful monkey bread.

Vi about birthed a side of beef when she realized she forgot to celebrate her Webkinz pet Whisper's birthday in Webkinz World -ONLINE- so to talk her off the ledge(geez, I am so mixing metaphors but what am I supposed to say- "talk her outta the side-of-beef-birthing-suite"?), I convinced her that we could have a real-life celebration that would be *almost* as good.

Stay away from my monkey bread Whisper!!!

I will whup you!

BTW- The Christmas Recap post will be coming soon- I just have a bunch of photo projects on my desk that I'm slogging  through and once I'm done with those... can't wait to share the official Christmas at Chez Y in Retrospect post- really so I can show off thwe photos which if you hadn't noticed have been painfully lacking of late.

Have a great first-Friday-of-2009!  I love you all dearly my family, my friends and my friend-family-family!  I really am hoping this year holds many wonderful things for us all, be them large or be them small, and even more importantly that we are lucky to share them all.  But not at the mall or with a pall, but hopefully in a stall cause that would be a ball except if there was a fall, but don't worry I'm tall so they wouldn't have the gall.  Marvin K. Mooney will you please go NOW!! (If you get that reference, big, exhuberant, extra sloppy kisses from me- *Mwah*!)

Resolve

So, I know the blogosphere will be full of posts recapping good ol' 2008 and loaded with the hope and dreams of 2009.

We'll have none of that around here, no.  I will say a couple things about 2008- 2008 took things from me that I will never get back.  But you know that saying about how one door never closes without another opening?  Well, there is one thing I did received this year- resolve.  I'll leave it at that.

As for the upcoming year... who knows.  I have no idea where it will take me, to what heartbreak it will lead me and to what joy I will surrender in the upcoming year.  I do intend it to be full of both because I don't want to live my life halfway.

And part of that resolve is not to get ahead, not to climb over or leave others behind but to bring others along and allow myself too be carried at times, as well.  We are not alone in the universe.  And I do not mean that in an X-Files sorta way, but rather in a John Donne "No man is an island..." style.  I want to do good things in the world but I also want to help and inspire others to do the same? Sorta pay-it-forward, if you will.  That is my resolution- kinda (just kidding, I know my grammar in this post sucks- kinda).

But right now, I will say this... to all of you who are my friends, my family and my friend-family aka *real* family and to all of those of you I have loved and lost or we've moved on, pulled apart or just drifted... I love you and hope that this new year holds everything fantastic that you could hope for.  If you are wondering, if you are doubting- don't.  I KNOW.  I know with all my heart and soul.  You can do it.  WE can do it.  Together.

Happy New Year!

The end.

No, wait... The Begining.