Driving With The Brakes On

Friday Night Leftovers

2011-08-26T15:19:00.000-06:00

As a stay-at-home-mom with a husband who works a non-traditional schedule, Fridays are generally just another day of the week to me, but this week? TGIF. I suspect it has something to do with the fact that both The 1st Grader and The Preschooler are back in class this week and I am having a hard time readjusting to our new schedule.

Everything seems to be going well so far for both kids. The Preschooler is just thrilled to be playing with new-to-her-toys and with kids that she isn't related to and The 1st Grader is so shell-shocked by being in a new classroom with a new teacher and new classmates that several days this week the only response I got from him when I asked him about his day was a wink.

My gardens are on the verge of exploding. We had such a cool wet spring and early summer that all the plants are HUGE, but have been very slow to produce, and my tomatoes are just now starting to think about turning red. We planted green beans, peas, and pumpkins in July and should have enough to keep us in fresh vegetables through September.

My husband got a promotion this week. This means a little more money, a few more responsibilities, and a little more time in the office instead of on cases (translation: things are staying about the same.) Being in management, however, apparently means that he is now expected to attend social functions and that I am to come with him. Despite the fact that this means nights out without kids, I am not really thrilled. My pajamas expect me promptly at 7:30 each night and I don't want to disappoint them.

I am planning on making a cheesecake for dessert after Sunday's family dinner. My mouth is already watering.

Thank you to the incomparable Danifred for hosting Friday Night Leftovers! I love purging and rearranging the thoughts in my head just as much as I like purging and rearranging my kitchen cabinets when my husband is out-of-town because I think it is hysterical to watch him spend 10 minutes looking for his breakfast cereal.

I Haven't Gotten My Pumpkins Out - Yet

2011-08-23T22:02:00.000-06:00

When I used to manage outdoor swimming pools, the last day of summer came with a list of things that had to be done and steps that needed to be taken before the pool could be closed for the off-season. There was the obvious things like taking care of the chemicals that were stored at the facility and making sure equipment was stored and locked-up for the winter, the tedious things like making sure all of the paperwork for the summer was in order and turned in to the appropriate places, and then there was the checklist. Oh, how I loved that little checklist!

The checklist was a series of things that needed to be done over the course of the day: "At 12:00 turn off the heaters." "At 2:00 turn off the chemical feeds." "At 4:00 turn off the hot water heater." The whole thing culminating with, "At 6:00 turn off the main pump."

I can still remember very clearly all the times I walked down the stairs to the basement pump room and flipped the switch on the pump to 'Off' for the very last time each summer. It was always a bittersweet moment, filled with the tiredness that day-after-day of standing in the endless heat of a Colorado summer brought, the relief of having made it through another season of sunscreen and screaming daycare kids and the drama that was having well over a dozen teenage lifeguards, and the excitement of going back to school for another year. It was the ultimate defining moment between summer and fall (despite the fact that we often closed in mid-August and the temperature would continue to climb well into the 90s for several more weeks.)

In the years since, the line between summer and fall has become blurred. Before having children and when my kids were young, there wasn't anything as tangible as flipping a switch to signal the end of one season and the beginning of another . . . the days started getting shorter and the temperature started getting cooler, but summer lingered well into September, and it wasn't until the realization that Halloween costumes and candy were beginning to appear in stores that I would realize that it was fall.

It seemed like the line might get a little clearer once my oldest started preschool and then entered kindergarten, but since the school he attended was on a year-round calendar and the new school year started in early July, that wasn't the case. The walk to school took us past the neighborhood pool, where we could hear the kids who hadn't tracked back on yet splashing and yelling and doing their best to beat the 90+ degree heat - and while he was thrilled to be going to school, he was equally happy when his day was over and we could spend the rest of the afternoon cooling off. As the school year got underway and we got busier with school related activities, trips to the pool feel to the wayside, and we once again unceremoniously entered fall.

Last December, the school district decided that enrollment in our elementary school was low enough to warrant going back to the more common (and cheaper) traditional calendar, with the school year starting in late August and ending for the summer in early June. On Monday, I got to flip the imaginary switch that takes me from summer to fall, sending The Kindergartner off to become The 1st Grader. (Can we pause for just a moment here to take that last sentence in? I am the mother of a 1st grader! Holy herd of cows, Batman! Anyway . . .)

We had a wonderful summer, filled with frequent trips to the pool, a couple afternoons at the splash park, two full days at Water World, a week of zoo school, a smattering of afternoons relaxing in the air conditioning and watching movies, hours of riding bikes and scooters up and down the sidewalks, and handfuls of other outings and activities that kept us just busy enough. And now, despite the fact that we hit a scorching 98 degrees today and the neighborhood pool is still open, it feels like fall.

Kid-Style Fancy

2011-07-05T08:11:00.000-06:00

I am generally pretty good about serving a variety of meals and foods to my family - except when it comes to lunch. We rotate between a 'main course' of peanut butter and jelly, cheese and crackers and lunch meat, cereal bars and yogurt, and turkey sandwiches made on mini bagels, but it all gets boring. (Read: it gets boring for me to make. The kids rarely complain about what they are being served!) I pulled the following out of a magazine awhile back and tucked it into the 'Appetizer' section of my cookbook, but have found that it makes the perfect lunch! (And don't let the fact that it uses puff pastry intimidate you - it is very easy to use!)

Apricot Turkey Pinwheels

¼ cup apricot preserve
½ teaspoon ground mustard
¼ pounds sliced deli turkey
½ cup Monterey Jack cheese
1 sheet Puff Pastry

Spread apricot preserves onto puff pastry sheet. Sprinkle with ground mustard. Layer with turkey and Monterey Jack cheese. Roll up jelly-roll style. Cut into 16 slices. Bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes or until browned.

More Happiness On A Stick

2011-07-04T23:17:00.000-06:00

Remember those cakepops that I mentioned a couple months ago? As it turns out, those things are pretty popular! Shortly after I wrote that post, I made a couple batches to send into my husband's office (mostly because I wanted to try making them again and didn't want them sitting at my house and partly because the company he works for is pretty darn good to my family - and not just in the form of the paycheck they send home with him every 2 weeks.) I had a pretty awesome afternoon reading all of the e-mails he forwarded me from his co-workers thanking him (and me) for the cakepops and raving about good they were. Also among those e-mails? A request that I make 200 of those little pops for a birthday party that one of his co-workers was hosting the following weekend - for which she would pay me! I hemmed and I hawed for a few hours before deciding to take on the challenge. The end result?

(The host used styrofoam rings to 'stand' the pops around centerpieces of cotton candy, which is the dessert specialty of the venue where the birthday party was held. I unfortunately do not have any pictures, as they were delivered while I was hosting my sister's baby shower - thank you my husband and kids for that one!)

Imagine my surprise when I got an e-mail shortly after the party asking me if I would make a batch for a bachelorette party! And another asking for cakepops for a bridal shower! And another one for a baby shower! And an engagement party! You honestly could have tipped me over with a feather! Those e-mails have led to these:

And these:

And this.

Excitement Might Be Overrated

2011-07-04T23:15:00.000-06:00

Several months ago, a guy I used to work with contacted me with a proposition. Yes - that kind of proposition. His thoughts on why it would be a good idea? "You need a little excitement in your life." Ummm . . . yes. Yes I do. Not, however, in that way.

(Let's pause for one second while I say this: while I in no way condone cheating on one's spouse, I will not pass judgement on those who do - for many, many reasons, none of which I care to discuss right now. And also? Flattered is putting it mildly. I had 4 babies in 4 years and am a stay-at-home-mom . . . the fact that someone from my past saw a picture of me on Facebook and thought that I still had it? Don't tell me you wouldn't have gotten just a little excited!)

Anyway . . . after getting over the initial shock of being contacted out-of-the-blue with such a bold request, I have to admit that I was a little ticked off. I mean, seriously! Who is he to say that my life needs some excitement in it?! And how dare he assume that cheating on my husband is the way I want to go about getting it! And then I was a little sad because honestly? It's true. Don't get me wrong - being a mother and a wife and a homeowner and a pet owner and all the dozens of other 'things' that I am is exciting - and each in their own way - but after 6+ years as one, 8+ years as another, and still more as some of the others, I really could use something fresh. Apparently, the Universe was listening.

Thanks to a couple batches of that I made for fun and sent into my husband's office, I am now apparently in the business of making cakepops! To date, I have made them for a birthday party, a baby shower, a BBQ, and a bachelorette party, and I have orders for another birthday party, a bridal dinner, a bridal shower, and an engagement party. And I am not just making them - I am getting paid to make them.

(Here is where I will pause again and tell you this: I don't know the first thing about running my own business. To date, I have determined that the health department says that my kitchen needs to be certified as commercial grade in order for me to make and sell things from it - which would be fine if it didn't involve a 21-page application, a non-refundable $100 application fee, an additional $48/hour to review said application, an inspection that must be paid for . . . and so on and so on. I can choose to omit this step, but if I register my business so that I can file taxes for it and advertise and the health department catches wind of it, they will fine me. Plus . . .)

This is scary. Exciting, but scary. Trying something new. Adding to the chaos that already exists in a household with 3 kids, a workaholic husband, and a dog. Meeting demands and timelines and staying up later than I have in YEARS. This is an amazing opportunity for me and something that I enjoy doing (not just the cakepops, but baking in general - which is why advertising would be nice . . . I make a mean Bundt cake!) But . . . I am not sure that I can. As much as I want to, I am simultaneously being choked with self-doubt, and while I can look to well over a dozen of you, dear readers, to find inspiration in taking a big chance and going for it, I just can't bring myself to step to the edge of that metaphorical gap to even think about taking the leap.

I have given myself until the end of the summer to decide what I want to do and to figure out how to go about doing it. The Kindergartner will be in 1st grade in the fall, going to school all day, everyday and The Preschooler will be in her second year of preschool, going Monday through Thursday afternoons. The Toddler is so easy-going and content that it is feasible for me to take this on, and I can't tell you what it would do for my self-worth to have something that is not only my very own, but for which I am recognized (though, to be fair, The Preschooler did thank me for helping her wipe after her last trip to the bathroom.) Honestly though? Just thinking about making some decisions has me completely overwhelmed.

I am hopeful that this is one of those things that will become clear to me as time goes on; that the little lightbulb that seems to pop on when it is time to jump on something and go will either burst from brightness or fall completely out of the socket and shatter, making it crystal clear to me what I should do. A girl can dream, right?!

As American As Apple Pie - Only Easier

2011-07-03T21:48:00.000-06:00

Easier Than Apple Pie

1 refrigerated pie crust
1 egg white, lightly beaten
¾ cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 tablespoon cinnamon
4 cups thinly sliced peeled apples (about 4 medium apples)
1 teaspoon sugar

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Prepare crust as directed on package. Place on foil-lined baking sheet. If necessary, press out any folds or creases. Brush crust with about ½ of the beaten egg white.

Mix ¾ cup sugar, cornstarch, and cinnamon in medium bowl. Toss with apples. Spoon into center of crust, spreading to within 2 inches of edges. Fold 2-inch edge over apples, pleating of folding crust as needed. Brush crust with remaining egg white; sprinkle with 1 teaspoon sugar.

Bake 20 minutes or until apples are tender. Cool slightly before serving. Yield: 8 servings.

(All the taste of a homemade apple pie with WAY less work. And awesome with vanilla ice cream!)

If Only Squinting Really Hard Actually Worked

2011-07-02T23:16:00.000-06:00

At least a half-dozen times a day I tell one of my kids to focus on what it is that they are doing. To The Kindergartner it is usually, "Please stop looking around and focus on getting all of your pee into the potty." To The Preschooler it is usually, "Please stop daydreaming and focus on eating your lunch in a timely manner." And to The Toddler it is usually, "Let's stop trying to catch the moth flying through the playroom and focus on getting your diaper changed." What has been sorely lacking as of late, is someone looking me in the eye and telling me that it is time to focus.

I want to blame my blogging hiatus, the stack of papers on my desk, the unfinished papercraft projects, and the dozens of others things that need to get done on the fact that the kids are out of school for the summer or on the fact that my husband has been working an insane amount as of late or on the fact that I have taken on too much and just don't know where to start in clearing some of it off of my plate, but the reality is that I am lacking in focus. I know how to get the things that need to get done and the things that I want to get done accomplished, I am just lacking the direction (and sometimes motivation) to do it.

In the past, I have struggled with the opposite - having so much drive and determination that I missed out on the things happening around me; I was so hell-bent on getting from Point A to Point B that I forgot to enjoy the journey that was getting there. And yet, despite the fact that my focus is all but gone, I still seem to be forgetting to enjoy the journey. I am putting the little things that don't matter a bit before the big things, obsessing over the things that I can't (and actually really don't need to) control, and getting myself so worked up over all of it that I am lost and overwhelmed before I even try to start.

Like nearly everyone I know, I flipped the calendar yesterday and declared that there was no way that it was July 1st. June (like nearly every month before it) has flown by, and I wince every time I walk through the kitchen and glance at all of the things being added to the 31 days in July. Before I know it, it will be August. The pool will be closing, the kids will be back in school, the days will be getting shorter, and the weather will be getting colder. And then it will be September and then October and . . . you get the idea.

I want to dig in my heels and deny that time is flying by - and to deny that I am wasting it by failing to pull my head out of my rear and focus on the things happening around me. It is time, however, to stop. There is probably an analogy to be made about remembering to smell the roses at the same time I am weeding the garden, and a lesson to learned about multi-tasking and about having the courage to say no once in awhile and I am hopeful that I find them both - sooner, rather than later.

Let's Have A Drink!

2011-07-01T20:49:00.000-06:00

I am not, and have never really been much of a drinker. In high school it wasn't really around or part of the activities that I engaged in. In college I drank enough to know what I liked and what I didn't (or rather, didn't like me), but more often than not I was too busy studying to do much partying. In my early 20s I would enjoy a drink here-and-there with dinner or grab a beer after work, and by my mid-to-late-20s I was either pregnant, nursing, or doing both.

I think that part of the reason alcohol has never really been my 'thing' is because neither of my parents were big drinkers when I was growing up - they weren't opposed to drinking, and each enjoyed a drink here-and-there, but it wasn't a regular thing. Except during the summer. Because summer in our house? Meant Slush.

At the start of every summer, my Mom would make a bucket of Slush and stock the back corner of the refrigerator with Sprite or 7-Up for those hot summer nights when a popsicle just wouldn't cut it. Though not fans of me drinking before I turned 21, my parents made an exception with Slush, and it was the best way to cool down after a long day of lifeguarding in the summers between college semesters. (Looking at the ratio of alcohol to other liquid and the fact that it gets further diluted with soda, I think it is safe to say that you could drink an entire bucket and still be below the legal limit, though I am in no way implying that you should!)

Mom’s Slush

2 cups sugar
4 green tea bags
1 can (12 ounces) frozen lemonade
1 can (12 ounces) frozen orange juice
2 cups any flavor Schnapps (Brandy or Gin are fine as well)

Boil 7 cups water and 2 cups sugar until dissolved; let cool. Meanwhile, steep 4 green tea bags in 2 cups of boiling water. Leave tea bags in water until cooled; add to sugar mixture. Pour in lemonade, orange juice and alcohol. Mix well; pour into plastic container and freeze for at least 24 hours, stirring several times over that period. Serve with 7-Up or Sprite.

An Apple For Teacher

2011-06-02T14:51:00.000-06:00

During his first year of preschool, The Kindergartner had 8 teachers assigned to his classroom; the main teacher, 3 aids, a speech pathologist, a social worker, an occupational therapist, and a special education teacher. Due to the inclusive design of his preschool program, he worked with each one of these teacher regardless of the fact that he wasn't staffed into their specific programs, and at the end of the year I felt compelled to thank each of them with a little gift. Wanting to save a little money, I hit the Internet in search of something I could make for each of them, and happened upon Claypot Apples. Not only are they super easy to make, they are super cute, and can be filled with anything (I opted for candy, and this year will put in some homemade cakeballs.) Ready?

Materials:

4-inch terra cotta pots and matching bottoms ('lids')
Red acrylic paint
Black acrylic paint
Small nylon paintbrush
White paint pen
Cinnamon sticks
Plastic leaves
Raffia
Painter's tape
Krylon Clear Finish Glossy Spray
Hot glue gun

(The pots, paint, brush, paint pen, leaves, raffia, and Krylon can be purchased at any craft store, the cinnamon sticks from the grocery store, and the painter's tape from Home Depot or Lowe's.)

1. Paint the outside of the pots and the outside of the 'lids' with the red paint. I like the look that two coats gives the pots - the paint dries very quickly, so you will be able to put both on within an hour.

2. Use four strips of painter's tape to mark off a 'blackboard' on one side of the pot.

3. Carefully paint the area inside the tape strips black. Two coats of paint also seems to look best in this area, and it also dries very quickly and can be done within an hour.

4. Allow the paint to dry completely (a couple hours is sufficient.) Using the white paint pen, write the teacher's name or anything else that you would like to in the black area. (I happened to have extra pots this year, so I opted for a generic personalization of 'AaBbCcDd' and '123'.)

5. Once the writing has dried (which is almost instantly), spray both the 'lids' and the pots with a coat of the Krylon Gloss. (I use a pretty heavy hand to make sure the paint is protected and won't crack. I also suggest doing this outside and then putting the pots and 'lids' on cardboard to dry.)

6. Cut the cinnamon sticks in half and snip a cluster of leaves from the branch. Hot glue each to the bottom of the 'lid'. (I am not particularly neat when I do this because the glue is going to be covered by the raffia bow.)

7. Tie a length of raffia around the cinnamon stick 'stem'. (You can add another drop of hot glue to the bow after doing this to ensure that it doesn't slide off.)

8. Fill the pots with whatever you desire and top with the 'lid'. And that's it!

52 Weeks Of Sunday Dinner - Week 7

2011-06-01T23:04:00.000-06:00

Were I to pin a "Signature Dish" on my mom, this would be it. I don't know who passed this recipe on to her, but it was one of my favorites growing up, and it quickly became one of my husband's favorites as well. (The kids prefer any and all chicken in nugget form, though when they stop complaining about the green chilies long enough to take a bite of this, they realize they like it too.)

Spanish Style Chicken Casserole

4 cups cooked and diced chicken
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 can cream of chicken soup
½ cup milk
½ cup sour cream
1 small onion, chopped
1 can (4 ounces) diced green chilies
1 can (7 ounces) green chile salsa
Burrito sized flour tortillas
½ pound cheddar cheese

In large mixing bowl, mix first 8 ingredients. Spoon ½ of mixture into greased 13 x 9 x 2-inch baking dish. Arrange sliced tortillas on top Layer more of chicken mixture, cheese, and tortillas. Finish with layer of chicken and top with grated cheese. Refrigerate several hours or overnight. Bake, uncovered, at 300 degrees for 55 to 60 minutes. Yield: 8 servings.

Every "Signature Dish" needs a "Signature Dessert", and this is it! Don't let the dating of the Robert Redford moniker fool you, it's good!

(P.S. Buy the largest tub of Cool Whip your grocery store has when you get ready to make this - I think it is 16 ounces? When this recipe found its way into my mom's collection, Cool Whip still came in a 12-ounce container. You can save the extra for another recipe or just spread a little more on the top!)

The Next Best Thing to Robert Redford

Crust:
1 ½ sticks butter or margarine
1 ½ cups flour
½ to 1 cup walnuts or pecans, chopped

Blend all ingredients and press into a 13 x 9 x 2-inch baking dish and bake at 350 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes or until golden brown. Let cool completely.

1st Layer:
8 ounces Cool Whip
8 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 cup powdered sugar

Blend 1 ½ cups Cool Whip, cream cheese and powdered sugar until smooth. Spread over crust.

2nd Layer:
3 cups milk
2 packages (3 ounces each) instant chocolate pudding

Remaining Cool Whip

Mix milk and pudding until smooth and pour over 1st layer. Gently spread remaining Cool Whip over pudding and sprinkle with chopped nuts. Refrigerate until ready to serve. Yield: 12 servings.

(Mostly) Wordless Wednesday: Pretty Functional

2011-05-18T18:22:00.000-06:00

At the beginning of May, it appeared that we were going to be headed into a very warm, windy, and dry spring, and I was worried that I was going to have to shelve this little addition to my shoe collection until next year. It turns out, however, that I fretted for nothing, as we have had enough rain (and snow) in the last week to not only make up for what we hadn't gotten, but to put us a little ahead for the month! Now if only the rain would stop so that I could get out and actually plant something . . . though stomping around in mud puddles is a lot more fun.

52 Weeks Of Sunday Dinner - Week 6

2011-05-18T18:13:00.000-06:00

Meatballs, in my opinion, may be one of the most seriously underestimated foods ever. While what makes up the meatball is generally the same from recipe to recipe, the sauce can vary in so many different ways that you could eat them every night for a month and still not have the same meal! These meatballs have become a special treat in our household and are perfect with a side of mashed potatoes, green beans, and a little Creamsicle Salad:

Sweet and Sour Meatballs

3 eggs
1 medium onion, chopped
1 ½ cups dry bread crumbs
1 teaspoon salt
2 pounds ground beef or turkey
2 tablespoons vegetable oil

Sauce:

3 ½ cups tomato juice
1 cup packed brown sugar
10 gingersnaps, finely crushed
¼ cup white vinegar
1 teaspoon onion salt

In a bowl, combine eggs, onion, bread crumbs, and salt. Crumble beef over mixtures and mix well. Shape into 1 ½-inch balls. In a large skillet, brown meatballs in batches of oil. Transfer to a greased 13 x 9 x 2-inch baking dish.

In a saucepan, combine the sauce ingredients. Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring until cookie crumbs are dissolved. Pour over meatballs. Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees for 40 to 45 minutes or until meat is no longer pink. Yield: 8 servings.

Sunday Dinner Mashed Potatoes

5 pounds potatoes, peeled and cubed
1 cup (8 ounces) sour cream
2 packages (3 ounces each) cream cheese, softened
3 tablespoons butter or margarine, divided
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon onion salt
¼ teaspoon pepper

Place potatoes in a Dutch oven; cover with water. Cover and bring to a boil. Cook for 20 to 25 minutes or until very tender; drain well.

In a large mixing bowl, mash potatoes. Add sour cream, cream cheese, 2 tablespoons butter, salt, onion salt, and pepper; beat until fluffy. Transfer to a greased 2-quart baking dish. Dot with remaining butter. Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes or until heated through. Yield: 8 servings.

Creamsicle Salad

3 ounces orange gelatin
3 ounces vanilla pudding (NOT instant)
3 ounces tapioca pudding (NOT instant)
8 ounces Cool Whip
2 cans mandarin oranges, drained
3 cups water

Bring water to a boil and add gelatin and puddings. Bring mixture to a rolling boil. Remove from heat and allow to cool thoroughly. Add whipped topping and oranges and stir. Chill thoroughly

Friday Night Leftovers

2011-05-13T20:59:00.000-06:00

Friday. Oh, Friday. Sometimes I wish that I worked outside of the home just so Friday actually meant something other than that all the places I didn't go during the week and have to go to tomorrow or Sunday are going to be way more crowded than they are at 11:00 a.m. on a Tuesday.
My driver's license expired earlier this week and since Hubby was unable to go into the office today due to a fire in the building yesterday, he and the kids hit Costco while I had a brief date with the DMV. Unfortunately, Colorado recently decided that a previously issued license with a Colorado address is not enough to prove residency, and now requires something that has both your name and address on it. Guess what I was unaware of and thus didn't have? If we are friends on Facebook, you know that my current plan is to return next week with proof of residency, along with 3 tired, hungry, and possessed children.
The Toddler has decided that she is ready to start potty-training. While I am elated at the thought of not dropping a small fortune on Huggies, I was honestly hoping she would wait just another month or two for the sheer fact that it is so much easier to pull off shorts than it is to deal with jeans or other pants. Jeans and pants that we are still wearing because it snowed on both Wednesday and Thursday.
Snow - twice this week. (The fact that it snowed this week deserves its own bullet.) While I love the snow and the moisture and the electric green grass that I currently have, I was unprepared for how cold it was.
Once upon a time I balked at the notion of pet insurance. After Wednesday's trip for cold laser therapy, a prescription for narcotics, and increase in a current medication, and a request for not one, but two follow-up appointments, I get it. Having a 13-year-old Lab is getting a little expensive.

Have some random thoughts that you want to share with the blogosphere? Link up with the delightful Danifred at Sippy Cups Are Not For Starbucks and let it rip!

(Mostly) Wordless Wednesday: That Looks About Right

2011-05-11T22:18:00.000-06:00

Oh! What's that lying there on the floor?

Surely that doesn't belong right there! When most of the residents of your home are too short to reach the towel rack . . .

You have to take what you can get!

52 Weeks Of Sunday Dinner - Week 5: The Side Dish Edition

2011-05-11T18:58:00.000-06:00

On most holidays, our main course is meat . . . turkey on Thanksgiving, ham on Easter and Christmas, and steak on Memorial Day and Independence Day. I always eat some of the meat, but on those particular days, I reserve the bulk of my appetite for the side dishes that go with it. I have a serious love for all things side-dishy. Easter this year included ham, CrockPot Cinnamon Glazed Carrots, Deviled Eggs (which I need to find my recipe for) and the following:

Hash Brown Potato Casserole

2 pounds frozen hash browns, thawed
¼ cup melted butter
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
¼ chopped onion
2 cans cream of chicken soup
1 pint sour cream
2 cups shredded cheddar cheese
2 cups crushed cornflakes

Mix all ingredients and pour into a 9-inch x 13-inch casserole dish. Sprinkle cornflakes on top and drizzle with ¼ cup melted butter. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 to 55 minutes.

(My Mom makes this every year and brings it with her when she and my Dad come over. It is one of my favorite comfort-type foods, and is awesome reheated and served along with leftover ham and scrambled eggs for breakfast the next morning.)

Cardamom Braid

1 package (1/4 ounce) active dry yeast
1 ½ cups warm milk (110 to 115 degrees), divided
1 cup sugar, divided
3 egg yolks, beaten
½ cup butter, softened
1 tablespoon ground cardamom
½ teaspoon salt
5 to 6 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons milk

In a large mixing bowl, dissolve yeast in ½ cup warm milk. Add ¾ cup sugar, egg yolks, butter, cardamom, salt, 3 cups of flour and remaining warm milk; beat until smooth. Stir in enough remaining flour to form a soft dough. Turn onto a floured surface; knead until smooth and elastic, about 6 to 8 minutes. Place in a greased bowl, turning once to grease top. Cover and let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 1 ¼ hours.

Punch down dough; divide into six pieces. Shape each piece into a 16-inch rope. Place three ropes on a greased baking sheet; braid. Pinch ends firmly and tuck under. Repeat with remaining three ropes on another baking sheet. Cover and let rise until doubled, about 45 minutes.

Brush braids with milk and sprinkle with remaining sugar. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes or until golden brown. Remove to wire racks to cool. Yield: 2 loaves.

(I wish I had taken a picture of these, because they came out really fancy looking this year! The flavor is sweet and mild and is a nice compliment to the ham and other veggies.)

Dirt Cake

3 ½ cups cold milk

2 packages (4-serving size) instant chocolate pudding
1 tub (12 ounces) Cool Whip
1 package (16 ounces) chocolate sandwich cookies, crushed

Pour milk into a large bowl. Add pudding mixes. Beat with a wire whisk or electric mixer on lowest speed 2 minutes or until blended. Gently stir in whipped topping and ½ of the crushed cookies. Spoon into desired container* and cover with remaining cookie crumbs. Refrigerate 1 hour or until ready to serve.

*I have served this in a 9-inch x 13-inch casserole dish decorated with candy pumpkins and Milano cookies decorated like tombstones, in the back of a dumptruck with a shovel for serving, and in a flowerpot with a silk flower and Gummi worms. You can also use vanilla pudding and vanilla sandwich cookies and serve in pails and shovels with Gummi fish for a beach-themed party.

(We celebrated The Kindergartner’s birthday on Easter and for the second year in a row he chose a Dirt Cake for his special day!)

Repost: Lessons From The Mixing Bowl

2011-05-07T22:12:00.000-06:00

Earlier this year, Michelle over at Mom's Sippy Cup was gracious enough to allow me the opportunity to post as a guest on her blog. The following is the post that I wrote and shared and feel like sharing again - because I just can't say it enough: IT'S JUST BREAD.

***

Several years ago I got the idea in my head that I wanted to start making my own bread and rolls. With a toddler underfoot and another baby due at any moment, I knew my future would include a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and it seemed that one way to keep our budget on track would be for me to make the loaf of bread that we would surely be going through on a weekly basis. I had given it a try a few years prior, making a loaf of ciabatta bread for my husband (then boyfriend) and I to go with our Italian dinner.

The next logical part of this story would read that I started baking like a mad woman, buying yeast in bulk and crafting artisan loaves that have become the envy of all the other mothers at kindergarten drop-off. Instead, I had amassed a small shoebox (okay, a ladies size-9 shoebox) full of recipes that I wanted desperately to try and that I stared longingly at every week when I was meal planning. It would be easy to blame my hesitation to dip into these recipes on simply not having time; with a 6-year-old, a 4-year-old, and a 2-year-old, finding time to prep the dough, proof it, let it rise, mess with it some more, let it rise again, and then finally bake it would be hard. The reality, however, is that on Mondays and Wednesdays my oldest children are both at school for a couple hours, and while I try to spend as much of that time giving the baby the one-on-one attention that she deserves, she is very independent and would rather I just sit back and watch her play with all the toys that her brother and sister normal forbid her from touching.

The real truth to my hesitation was that I was scared. Beyond the fact that some of the recipes seemed a bit complicated, the thought of somehow messing it all up kept me from trying. Getting the water temperature right, adding the right amount of flour to form the right consistency, kneading the dough, getting it to rise the correct amount . . . you get the picture. In other words, I was talking myself out of it before I even gave it a chance! And then something changed.

Last spring I embarked on a mission to get my life back (or at least as much as a life as one can have with a husband who works beyond fulltime and 3 children under the age of 6.) This quest included changing a lot of things in my life and making some decisions that forced me to really consider what was important and valuable to me, and somewhere along the line I came to a (looking back on it now) silly realization: IT IS JUST BREAD! SERIOUSLY! It is just flour and water and yeast and salt and sometimes a little extra, but IT IS JUST BREAD. It seems like such a ridiculous conclusion to come to and it is so basic in theory, but making that discovery and reminding myself of that basic fact was the most empowering moment I had had in a very, very long time.

Guess what? It is all JUST BREAD. Somewhere along the line of learning how to make a killer pizza crust and baking homemade whole wheat rolls for Thanksgiving, I discovered that baking bread was a bit of a metaphor for life and how we live it. I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say that there is a large number of us who have a list of things that we want to try but that we talk ourselves out of because it seems like too much work or because we don’t think we have enough time or because we just don’t think we can, and the reality is, there is absolutely no reason that we can’t give whatever IT is, a try. Can I let you in on a little secret?

You can do whatever you want to do! There is no reason you can’t give it a try, and if you fail, there is no reason you can’t get up and try again!

Among the things in my life that I consider when I call myself lucky and blessed are the woman around me who have found the courage and the empowerment to take a risk and accept a challenge and do what they really, really wanted to do in life . . . the stay-at-home-mom who started her own photography business, the working mom who ran her first 5K, the entrepreneurial mom who saw a need and decided to fill it, and the mom who risked it all and moved across the country to start a new life for her and her children. They did it, and you know what? SO CAN YOU!

Happiness On A Stick

2011-05-06T22:04:00.000-06:00

Oh, cake pops. How I love thee. Lemon cake with white frosting, yellow cake with white frosting, chocolate cake with chocolate frosting . . . you just can't go wrong. I had heard about these magical concoctions quite awhile ago, but it wasn't until Hubby brought one home from Starbucks a couple months ago that I had the urge to make my own. Enter Bakerella. Easy to follow directions, pictures to go along with them, and lots of fun ideas for personalizing your pops? I was sold.

My first attempt was with lemon cake mix, white frosting, and white (vanilla) candy coating, the second was the cupcake pop pictured to the left (yellow cake mix, white frosting, and chocolate and white (vanilla) candy coating), and the third was chocolate cake, chocolate frosting, chocolate candy coating, and chocolate sprinkles. And here is what I learned:

(1) Making these was not nearly as hard as it looks! I made and baked the cake while the kids ate breakfast, mixed it with the frosting, formed the balls, and inserted the sticks while they ate their afternoon snack, and dipped them in the candy coating after they went to bed and while I watched the 10:00 news. And while that seems like a lot of step and a lot of time, I really liked that I could split it up over the course of the day and didn't have to do the whole thing all at once.

(2) Make all of the balls and THEN put the sticks in (which is what Bakerella suggests.) Your hands will get really sticky/dirty making the balls and you will get it all over the sticks if you handle them before washing.

(3) When the directions tell you to let the candy coating stand for a few minutes to harden, DO IT. I was really afraid it would harden too much and that I would have to heat it up again, ruining it in the process! It was not an issue at all.

(4) Do not add all of the frosting at once! I dumped the full 16-ounce container in the first time around and found that I did not need that much - the extra didn't hurt the taste in any way, but it made them a little harder to roll and they were quick to spread a little bit when I put them on the cookie sheet to chill. The 2nd and 3rd time I used between 12 and 14-ounces and had better results (particularly with the cupcake pops, which required a little more manipulation.)

(5) I don't normally make test-batches of desserts before serving them to company, but am glad that I did on these. My neighbors were THRILLED to be my test audience, and I am super confident that the cake pops I am planning on making as favors for my sister's baby shower in June are going to be awesome.

(6) Make sure you have milk on hand. Cake pops + milk = awesome.

Friday Night Leftovers

2011-05-06T21:29:00.000-06:00

I owe all of you a huge thank you for all of the lovely comments that you have left me this week! My in-laws are in town through tomorrow and I am hopeful that part of my Mother's Day can be spent catching up a little bit.
We had an absolutely perfect day at the zoo today. The weather was BEAUTIFUL, the animals were out and active, and there were lots of new babies to oooh and ahhh over.
All those little Xs I have been working on? Apparently they weren't keeping me busy enough, because I got the bright idea to make the 30 invitations needed for the baby shower I am hosting in June. It seems that I forgot that I have 3 kids, a husband, a dog, and a house that all require a little attention now and then. I have until Monday to get everything wrapped up and in the mail!
The rabbits in my neighborhood seem to be multiplying, well, like rabbits. They are everywhere! I was fine with it until I discovered that one has dug a huge hole and made a home in the raised garden bed that I am planning on planting in a couple weeks. Guess what is now at the top of my To Be Googled List?!
Does anyone else have a To Be Googled List? What did we do before we could just go Google it?!

Have a bunch of random that you want to get out of your head but that don't quite fit the bill for a full post? Join the incomparable Danifred and share your Friday Night Leftovers! If you don't do it for me, do it for her - it's her birthday!

My Main Man

2011-05-05T21:24:00.000-06:00

From birth until the age of 3, The Kindergartner was a whole lot of fun. While the years between his 3rd birthday and his 5th birthday were filled with fun, they also had an abundance of drama and attitude and a whole lot of other things that shall go unmentioned as I am still desperately trying to recover from the damage they inflicted. Shortly after his 5th birthday, The Kindergartner turned a corner, and I went from not just loving him to actually liking him again. Slowly, but surely, his little attitude started to adjust itself, the drama limited itself to special occasions and every-other-Tuesday (or a schedule far more limited than the continuous loop that it was playing on), and he remembered that you don't mess with Mommy unless you are willing to pay the consequences. Ahem.

And now he is 6.

I remember looking back at the first 12 months of his life shortly after his 1st birthday and marveling at how much he had grown and developed and learned and changed - it seemed impossible that anything he did from there on out could ever eclipse the sheer volume of stuff that the first year brought. And yet? This past year did that - about 10 times over.

The biggest contributor to this was undoubtedly kindergarten, which he is now only 6 short weeks from completing. To say that it has been an adventure (both for him and for me) would be like saying The Superbowl is 'just a football game'. Reading, writing, adding, subtracting . . . I seriously had no idea that kindergarten was so, well, academic. Don't get me wrong - I love all the knowledge the kid is spouting off left and right, it just breaks my heart a teeny, tiny bit to know that he doesn't get the endless amounts of playtime and the quiet reprieve of naptime like had when I was his age. Rigors aside, The Kindergartner LOVES going to school and adores his teacher and most all of his classmates, happily oblivious to the fact that he isn't always at the top of their list of favorites.

In the past I have written about the concern that The Kindergartner shows some characteristics of ADHD, and while in preschool he had his issues, in kindergarten, those issues are actually problems. While he falls in the completely average range academically, socially and behaviorally he is struggling, with his teacher reporting that he is fidgety, easily distracted, has a difficult time following directions, and sometimes disruptive. Being that he is only 6 (a relatively young age to be formally diagnosed), his teacher and the school are using intervention and accommodation to help limit some of the the problems he is having in the classroom, buying us a little time before being faced with the possibility of formal testing and/or medication. While I certainly don't want him to struggle academically, my bigger concern is the effect that his behavior has on his relationships with his peers.

I could write paragraph after paragraph on this one, but let my just summarize by saying: even at the tender age of 5 and 6 years, kids are smart enough to know that they don't want to sit with or play with the kid who is constantly in trouble because he just can't keep it all together. I cannot even tell you how thankful I am that he is so happy-go-lucky and content just doing his own thing that it hardly (if ever) bothers him, and how many pieces my heart breaks into when I think about the fact that the day when this isn't the case is coming sooner, rather than later. It isn't that I want him to be the popular kid that everyone wants to hang out with - it's that I want him to have a friend (or two or three) who accept him completely for who he is, and understand that there are some things that are just out of his control. (In discussing all of this with his pediatrician, she acknowledged that medication is sometimes indicated for kids who need a little help managing the social ramifications of ADHD and the depression and anxiety that they sometimes develop, and while I totally understand that based on my own experiences with depression, it breaks my heart into even smaller pieces to think that he may one day follow in my own footsteps and need a pill to make things 'right'.)

Despite all of my worries and concerns, I cannot help but smile from ear-to-ear when I think of where the road leads from here, because I know that he is going to navigate it in his own special, crazy way, complete with his trademark goofy grin and winsome ways. I can't wait!

52 Weeks Of Sunday Dinner - Week 4

2011-05-04T11:23:00.000-06:00

It's the brinner edition! Who doesn't love changing things up and having breakfast for dinner? And who doesn't love having coffee cake for dessert? No one at this house, that's for sure! (Note: the Brunch Strata recipe will produce 2 11-inch x 8-inch casseroles, but can easily be cut in half to accommodate a smaller crowd.)

Brunch Strata

3 cups sliced fresh mushrooms

3 cups chopped zucchini
2 cups cubed fully cooked ham
1 ½ cups chopped onions
1 ½ cups chopped green peppers
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/3 cup vegetable oil
2 packages (8 ounces each) cream cheese, softened
½ cup half-and-half cream
12 eggs
4 cups cubed day-old bread
3 cups (12 ounces) shredded cheddar cheese
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper

In a large skillet, sauté the mushrooms, zucchini, ham, onions, green peppers and garlic in oil until vegetables are tender. Drain and pat dry; set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, beat cream cheese and cream until smooth. Beat in eggs. Stir in bread, cheese, salt, pepper, and vegetable mixture.

Pour into two greased 11 x 7 x 2-inch baking dishes. Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees for 35 to 40 minutes or until a knife inserted near the center comes out clean. Let stand for 10 minutes before serving. Yield: 2 casseroles (8 servings each.)

Cinnamon-Swirl Coffee Ring

3 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon ground cardamom
1 package (8 ounces) cream cheese, softened
3 eggs
1 cup milk
½ cup butter, melted
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Filling:
½ cup small-curd cottage cheese
2/3 cup sugar
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

Confectioners’ sugar

In a large mixing bowl, combine the first six ingredients. In another mixing bowl, beat cream cheese until smooth. Beat in the eggs, milk, butter, and vanilla. Gradually add to dry ingredients, beating until combined. For filling, combine cottage cheese, sugar, and cinnamon in a small mixing bowl. Beat on medium speed for 2 minutes.

Spoon half of the batter into a greased 10-inch fluted tube pan; top with filling and remaining batter. Bake at 350 degrees for 55 to 65 minutes or until a toothpick inserted near the center comes out clean. Cool for 10 minutes before removing from pan to a wire rack. Dust with confectioners’ sugar if desired. Yield: 12 to 14 servings.

(P.S. I know cardamon is a weird spice to have around, so next week I will share another recipe you can use it in!)

(Mostly) Wordless Wednesday: Is It Summer Yet?

2011-05-04T10:51:00.000-06:00

Forget summer . . . at this point I would just settle for a day in which the temperature is above 70 degrees and we can wear sandals because sorting, matching, and washing these?

Well, it is just getting old.

The Pot Of Gold At The End Of The Rainbow

2011-05-03T15:49:00.000-06:00

While the first 3 weeks of April pretty much stink, the last week tends to make things a whole lot better thanks to the birthdays of The Toddler and The Kindergartner. Dear Internet? They are now 2 and 6 years of age. (Did you read that? They are 2 and 6. Don't even ask me what my head does when you throw in the fact that I have a 4-year-old as well.) There is so much to say about each of them, and I will start with The Toddler:
I don't think there are enough words in the world to express how much joy The Toddler brings to my life. She is love and light and happiness rolled into a little bit of ornery mixed with smiles and giggles and a fierce desire for independence and smothered with kisses and curls and joy. She is the World's BEST Cuddler, and while the other kids were more than happy to sleep in my bed when they were her age, they were up and out the door as soon as the sun would rise each morning, while she happily sleeps for another hour after they are up and rusting around in their rooms, and then wants to spend another 30 minutes laying in bed cuddling. The Kindergartner and The Preschooler love going to the pediatrician's office (sick or not) and are all about dancing and singing and showing the entire building what they can do. The Toddler? The poor child cries from the second the nurse calls her name until the second the pediatrician walks out of the exam room! (Which is only noteworthy because we spent every-other-week at her office from February until the end of April thanks to a particularly persistent sinus infection that required a solid 2-months of antibiotics. Thank goodness The Toddler has her father's GI tract and never once showed any sign that those antibiotics were bothering her belly.)

Speaking of The Hubby . . . The Toddler has him wrapped around her chubby little finger in a way that the bigger kids could only dream of. Each of the kids got a Hershey Kiss after dinner last night, and while The Kindergartner and The Preschooler both asked for and were initially denied a second piece of chocolate, the bag came back out of the pantry and was reopened when Little Miss Sunshine flashed her toothy grin and requested, "Moe 'She Kissy peeeeease?" I can hardly claim immunity from her delightful little ways, as she has me wrapped around her other little finger, and has claimed the title of Mommy's Little Shadow thanks to the fact that she spends a good chunk of her day wrapped around one of my legs, another large chunk of it playing as close to me as she can get, and the remainder of it trying to find a way to get back into my uterus. Seriously. The picture? Pretty much says it all. (It was taken last summer - hence the fantastic tan - but could be reproduced on any given day.)

The kid weighs more, eats more, talks more, climbs more, and runs more than either The Kindergartner or The Preschooler did at this age. She is often mistaken for being much older than she actually is, and I can't help but wonder on a daily basis what she is going to do or what is going to come out of her mouth next to make me question whether I have looked at the calendar wrong and somehow missed a year. She also follows directions and listens better than the other two kids ever did (or probably ever will again) - though I suspect she will catch on soon and follow in her sister's 4-going-on-14 footsteps before I can even blink.

Blessed, lucky, honored, amazed . . . not a single one of those comes close to describing how I feel about having this little girl or how I know I will feel every single day for the rest of my life.

Everything Is Better With Chocolate

2011-05-03T13:26:00.000-06:00

Chocoholic Cake

1 package (18.25 ounces) chocolate cake mix
1 package (3.4 ounces) instant chocolate pudding mix
1 cup milk
½ cup sour cream
4 large eggs
1 cup chopped walnuts (optional)
2 cups (12 ounces) semi-sweet chocolate chips

Glaze:
1 bar (2 ounces) unsweetened baking chocolate
1 ½ cups powdered sugar
3 tablespoons butter
2 to 3 tablespoons water
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For Cake: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour a 12-inch Bundt pan or other tube pan. Combine cake mix, pudding mix, milk, sour cream and eggs in large mixer bowl. Beat on low speed just until blended. Beat on high speed for 2 minutes. Stir in morsels and nuts. Pour into prepared baking pan. Bake for 55 to 65 minutes or until toothpick inserted near the center comes out clean. Cool in pan for 20 minutes. Invert onto wire rack to cool completely.

For Glaze: Melt baking bar and butter in small heavy-duty saucepan over low heat, stirring until smooth. Remove from heat. Stir in powdered sugar alternately with water until of desired consistency. Stir in vanilla extract. Pour glaze over cake.

I love this cake because (1) it is super easy to make and (2) because while it contains a bunch of chocolate, it is not overly sweet or rich. But you don't have to take my word for it . . . The Toddler will tell you it is pretty darn good:

The Memories We Choose To Make

2011-05-02T13:43:00.000-06:00

I was in 2nd grade when the Space Shuttle Challenger broke apart during its launch and burst into flames. I can still remember my teacher wheeling the A/V cart with the television on it into the classroom so we could watch the coverage of the aftermath.

I was a junior in high school when the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City was bombed. I was driving home from school and heard it mentioned on the radio. I remember calling my Dad at work on the cellphone I carried for absolute emergencies only to find out exactly what had happened.

I was a junior in college when the massacre at Columbine High School took place. I overheard several classmates in my World History class talking about gunmen in a high school in Colorado, and returned to my dorm room that afternoon to watch hours of news coverage of it instead of studying for my upcoming final exams.

I was an EMT working on an ambulance in downtown Denver when the page went out informing us that first one and then another airplane had flown into the World Trade Center in New York City on September 11th, 2001. My partner and I ran one call that day before being told to return to the division to make sure all of the backup ambulances and equipment were ready in case they were needed. That was also my second day of paramedic school, and the one and only day that class was ever cancelled.

If you ask my mom, she will tell you exactly where she was and what she was doing when John F. Kennedy was assassinated or when John Lennon was killed, and she can tell you the same about all of the events listed above. She can also tell you about the day that she watched Prince Charles marry Princess Diana. Like most of you, I have to admit that I got a little tired of hearing about all the marriage of Prince William to Kate Middleton . . . who was she going to wear, who was going to be there, what would each and every little, teeny, tiny detail look like . . . all of it. That did not stop me, however, from turning the coverage of the wedding on while my girls and I sat down to breakfast last Friday morning and from oohing and ahhing over the beautiful dresses and flowers.

I will be able to tell you where I was and what I was doing during all of the horrible events listed above for the rest of my life. And I will also be able to tell you that I watched the royal wedding with my two little princesses over waffles and banana slices - because it is just as important to remember the joyful things in life as it is to remember the bad.

The Final Stretch

2011-05-02T09:07:00.000-06:00

I think it is safe to say that I have become addicted to working on this thing! I am down to the last quarter of regular Xs, and then I will move on to all of the backstitching/outlining. My goal is to finish before the end of May and then to move on to the snowmen.

Three Years Later And I Still Suck At This

2011-05-01T22:26:00.000-06:00

Were I inclined to borrow from Hunter S. Thompson, the actual title of this post would be Fear and Loathing In Denver. To say that this last month has been difficult would be a complete understatement, as would be declaring that I went into it knowing what to expect.

I think that anyone who has gone through it can agree that there is a significant amount of self-loathing that comes with losing a pregnancy. I can remember like it was yesterday sobbing on the shower floor and thinking over and over again how much I hated my body for not only betraying me, but for failing The Firefly in the most awful way possible. Three years later, the notion that I did something wrong and that her premature birth and subsequent death were MY FAULT still eats away at me almost daily. This being the case, it really should not have come as a surprise to me that I have let that loathing creep into my normal day-to-day.

In the days and weeks leading up to April 21st I deactivated my Facebook account, picked a fight with a large handful of people who didn't deserve it, and pierced my nose. Just because I could. The first two because, for some twisted reason, it made me feel better to alienate and torment myself; to believe that I was better off alone and without the support or friendship of others, and the last one? Mostly because it is something I have wanted to do for a really, really long time, but also because there was something so sadistically gratifying in letting someone inflict a physical pain upon me to match the emotional pain inside me. Mature, no?

It dawned on me sometime after the following weekend that, for the first time, it wasn't the 21st that was the hardest day to face, but the days leading up to The Firefly's birthday that were physically and emotionally draining me - the Friday and Saturday and Sunday that led to the very early Monday morning that she was born and died. This year it didn't matter that the 21st fell on a Thursday . . . in my mind it was still the Monday that it was 3 years ago. The hours and days leading up to that 4:00 hour played through my head in an endless loop until I hit . . . relief? Acceptance? Denial? Exhaustion? I honestly don't know which it was or at what point I hit it, but I did.

I keep thinking that it will all get easier. That one year I will know what to do and what to say and how to handle all of the thoughts and feelings that come with each April and that I will get it right. That I will ask for help when I need it and accept that there are certain things in life that I cannot get through alone.

This? Was apparently not that year.

Meal Planning Sunday

2011-05-01T14:34:00.000-06:00

I don't normally blog my menus for the week (1) because Sunday's meal is generally the only one that is set in stone (thanks in large part to Hubby's schedule being what it is and in smaller part to whether I have remembered to defrost a pound of ground turkey or not) and (2) because I typically write it up on a sticky note and post it in the kitchen. My in-laws are coming in this week, however, and I am trying to eliminate some of the notes and clutter that I have spread all over the kitchen (and because I lost the stupid menu twice and put it in the refrigerator once because it got stuck to the bottom of the butter tub.) So here it is:

Sunday: spaghetti with meat and mushroom sauce, salad, and warm Italian bread. In addition to my parents, my sister and her husband are joining us for dinner to celebrate The Toddler's 2nd birthday. The spaghetti sauce has been cooking in the CrockPot for most of the day, and we are having chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwiches for dessert (the sides of which has been rolled in sprinkles to make them birthday special.)

Monday: I am leaving this one open for right now because it is the only day this week that it will just be me and the kids (unless the Hubby is around.) I am thinking we will do macaroni and cheese with peas as a side - quick and easy.

Tuesday: BBQ chicken, bacon, ranch pizza and salad. (I will share my recipe for the pizza crust and toppings sometime soon. It sounds hard and fancy, but it is super easy and makes it look like you worked your butt off in the kitchen.)

Wednesday: Manwich, sweet potato fries, and corn.

Thursday: 5-cheese lasagna, salad or green beans, and warm Italian bread. (I don't generally do two big Italian meals in one week, but I am taking the easy road and using a Stouffer's lasagna because we will probably be out-and-about during the day and I don't want to have to worry about meal prep.)

Friday: meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans.

Saturday: LEFTOVERS. Seriously. I expect the refrigerator to be stuffed to the brim anyway, so the clean-out will be on.

And now I can throw my sticky note away!

At The Intersection Of Acceptance And Reality

2011-03-28T22:31:00.000-06:00

The problem with grief (you know, aside from the fact that it takes something particularly crappy to get there and that it sucks) is that it takes, well . . . simply put, time.

I think that most people who go through a particularly trying time knows that it will, at some point, get better. It may take days or months or years, but at some point, things will be better than they are at the exact moment their grief began. (Please note that I use the term 'better' here for lack of a more perfect word, because it doesn't always get better - it changes and takes on new shapes and meanings and comes and goes. Sometimes I think that grief is like the ocean - it rises and falls; it swells on some days and lays calm on others. Some days it is bright and clear and you can ride through it knowing that you will arrive safely on the other side, and on others it is dark and muddy and you feel like no matter what you do, you won't get through it.) And I think that most people who go through a traumatic experience immediately come to expect those days and months and years - afterall, it is was everyone tells you to expect. It seems, however, that what no one will tell you is that grief takes time in the form of seconds and minutes and hours.

The 'good' emotions - happiness, elation, joy, and all of its other forms, are relatively easy by comparison. They can coexist with just about anything going on in life, and while it is nice to stop and enjoy and savor the feelings that they give, you won't really be any worse for the wear if you don't. Grief, I am learning, requires a little more time and attention.

I am notoriously awful about taking time for myself. There is always something to be done for someone else - laundry, cooking, cleaning, helping with homework, coloring, cutting, pasting, playing . . . you name it. Taking time to sit and process and feel my grief? Not really something I am good at. AT ALL. It has gotten to the point that I have almost developed an aversion to it - and it is catching up to me.

Part of it is because those little bits of uninterrupted time that I do get to myself are so few and far between, and I would prefer to use them to decompress and clear my mind of the clutter that it seems to collect on a daily basis. The other part of it is because I am afraid. I know that I need to let myself go to the depths of my grief, and I know that going there won't be a permanent thing, but I just can't do it. Maybe because I have gotten pretty good at tricking myself into believing that I don't have a tiny urn on the shelf next to my bed (despite the fact that it is the first thing I see every morning and the last thing I see every night when I crawl into bed), or maybe because acknowledging that nearly 3 years later the pain of losing my baby girl is just as great as it was on that awful day in April makes me feel like a failure - like I suck at grieving because it just hasn't gotten 'better'.

It seems, however, that in order to get to 'better', I need to let myself grieve. I need to take the time to sit and process my feelings instead of trying to rush through or gloss over them, hoping that they will go away before another moment of quiet comes and I remember that they are sitting just below the surface. I need to let my grief wash over me and accept that the days and weeks and months since The Firefly's birth and death have been hard, and I need to work on acknowledging that I have made progress and grown from my experience. I need to escape from the haze that being a wife and a mother has put me in and remember what it means to let myself feel something so deeply that it scares me - both for her and for me.

52 Weeks Of Sunday Dinner - Week 3

2011-03-23T08:39:00.000-06:00

This is my go-to dish when I am making a meal to take to someone who has just had a baby or had surgery or the like - it has all the comfort of macaroni and cheese, but with a little Mexican taste and flair. I use mild salsa to keep it on the tame side, but you could easily use something hotter or throw in a can of diced chilies to give it a little more kick. If I remember, I also throw in a bag of frozen corn so that I don't have to add a side of veggies.

Ranchero Macaroni Bake

1 can (26 ounces) cream of mushroom soup
1 cup milk
1 cup salsa
3 cups shredded cheddar or Monterey Jack cheese
6 cups cooked macaroni (about 3 cups uncooked)
1 cup coarsely crushed tortilla chips

Mix soup, milk, salsa, cheese, and macaroni. Spoon into shallow 3-quart shallow baking dish. Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes or until hot. Stir well and sprinkle chips over macaroni mixture. Bake an additional 5 minutes.

The Question That Doesn't Need An Answer

2011-03-23T00:38:00.000-06:00

The amazingly talented and so wonderfully humble Cecily sent me a link last week to the Story People website. (WAIT! Don't click over there - yet. I am not exaggerating in any way, shape, or form when I tell you that you will instantly become addicted to that site and that you should not go over there until you have a little time on your hands.) Simply put, it is amazing. I adore nearly everything wacky and whimsical, and love, love, love me a good quote, so this site was right up my alley. Several of the quotes and stories from this page have been swirling around in my head for days - to the point that I am not sure what I saw there and what I saw somewhere else or what I read in a magazine that my mother brought over last week . . . so my apologies to any or all of those sources for possibly repeating what they may have already asked?

What if this is exactly the life I am supposed to be living?

Let me back-up for a second.

I have been having a hard time sleeping lately, and rather than sticking to my normal routine and going to bed at a decent hour despite knowing I am going to lay there for a good hour before falling asleep, tonight I decided to call an old friend. I am very lucky to have people in my life whom I can talk to about just about anything, and this person is one of them. I wouldn't always call what we have a friendship, but after 10 years and a lot of water under the bridge, I know that we can talk about ANYTHING without judgement. Tonight, it was like the damn burst, and everything that has been swirling around in my head for the last 6+ months (and a little bit more) came rushing out - I admitted to feelings that I have gone to great lengths to avoid putting into words, I uttered words that I never intended to see the light of day, and I admitted to just how desperately I want certain things to be what they will never, ever be. For example:

I am lonely. I am hopelessly and terribly lonely. My husband works 65+ hour weeks (1) because that's who he has always been and who he will always be and (2) because it allows me to stay home with our children. During the month of September? I went to bed alone all buy 4 nights. FOUR. I didn't marry a man who is in the military and whom I expected to be sent away for days and weeks and months on end - I married a man who was a paramedic and then a cop and who now works in organ donation. I am incredibly proud of his dedication and his hard work, but the hours that he works and the moments and the meetings and the appointments and the stuff that he misses . . . I just didn't expect any of it. And I know that I am so very blessed to have the life that I have and to have my husband and my children, but sometimes I wonder if i had known 8 years ago that this is what my life would be life, if I still would have made the same decisions and choices that have gotten me to this point. Would I have committed to marriage and children if I had known just exactly what they entailed?

I am desperate for validation. For someone to make me feel appreciated and like I am the most important person in the world. That has never been my husband - it just isn't his personatlity, and to be fair to him, that need was never part of mine. But having kids and maintaining a household and being a mom and a wife and, well, all of it, has beat me down and taken it out of me, and I want more than anything for someone to just give me a big hug and tell me that it is all going to be okay.

I miss my grown-up self. And not just the semi-career-minded girl who went to work and got a little piece of paper with a dollar sign and her name on it twice-a-month . . . the girl who could hold her own in a garage full of guys and walk out the door with one of them laughing, one of them hoping to get my number, and one of them picking their jaw up off the ground in total awe of the fact that I just put him in his place.

You get the gist.

As heartbreaking as it was to breathe life into those words, I couldn't help but feel both relieved and damn-near elated when I got off the phone. And then the question hit me:

What if this is exactly the life I am supposed to be living?

What if I am right where I should be and things have turned out just as they should and what if there is no point in asking myself the hard questions that I torture myself with and what if I just take a step back and accept that this is exactly the way that things should be.

Terrifying, and yet? I have never felt more free.

The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same

2011-03-20T15:30:00.000-06:00

In the first year after The Firefly's birth and death, everywhere I went and everything I did was filled with grief. What seemed like the smallest and most insignificant things had suddenly become insurmountable roadblocks and the raw emotion of the whole ordeal combined with the need to deal with the normality of the day-to-day made it feel like I was on a rollercoaster that never stopped.

By the time the second year arrived, I had figured out what my 'triggers' were - the places and songs and people and events that reminded me of her. What I couldn't outright avoid, I approached knowing that I was going to be effected and was somewhat prepared. I let life and the joy of raising 3 very active children be my distraction and reminded myself often of how blessed I was and consoled the grief that did manage to seep through with the notion that this was how things were supposed to turn out.

I am now well into year number three, and while I should be seasoned enough to know what and where and who and why as it pertains to my feelings about The Firefly, it appears that I am not - and lately I have found myself caught completely by surprise and totally overwhelmed by my grief.

It appeared a few weeks ago when I was talking to another preschool mom and I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood in my mouth. Her daughter was due the same week as The Firefly, and while I saw her several times a week at the pool that summer with a very swollen belly and met her brand new baby girl that last week in August, I never said a word about Q.uinn. I see her and that little girl at least a couple times a week now (her son is in the same class as The Preschooler), and while The Toddler runs and laughs and plays right along with that little girl and I know that I got another chance at a living child, I can't help but wish that that nearly 3-year-old was mine.

It broke through a few days after that when a song that I heard at the end of April came on the music feed I was streaming on our desktop computer while I was in the kitchen making lunch for the kids - I couldn't drop what I was doing and run in to stop the streaming fast enough just to avoid having to go to that place.

And it reared its' ugly head a couple days later, when, both growing tired of listening to and trying to cheer-up a friend who was whining and complaining and bitching and moaning about how sad and pathetic his life is, I flippant told him, "At least you don't have a dead baby on a shelf hanging in your bedroom." (Really . . . how awesome am I?)

I KNOW I am lucky. I KNOW that things turned out in ways that I couldn't even imagine and for which I am beyond grateful. And I KNOW that the things that I feel are normal and that I will never 'be over' The Firefly or the experience that I went through.

What I DIDN'T KNOW was that nearly 3 years later, it would still be this hard.

3-For-1

2011-03-20T13:35:00.000-06:00

Technical difficulties and a general aversion to sitting still prevented me from posting this past week, so to make-up for my absence (which you no doubt have noticed and are devastated over) (and because the kids are napping and I am caught up on most things domestic), I am giving you a 3-for-1 today. (Okay, so maybe you weren't devastated, but I'll bet you are curious to see how many tiny Xs I have made in the last two weeks, what I made for dinner one Sunday night in January, and what quote is floating my boat this week.)

More Teeny, Tiny Xs

52 Weeks Of Sunday Dinner - Week 2

I don't remember where I found this recipe originally, but I know that I have tweaked it enough that I can safely call it my own. I don't care for really hot or really spicy meals, so this chili is perfect - very mild but still very flavorful and filling without making me want to down a gallon of milk just to kill the after-effects. Perfect for a cold day and awesome with a side of cornbread (a recipe for which I have not included because I have yet to find one that makes me want to jump for joy . . . does anyone have one they want to share?)

CrockPot Turkey Chili

1 pounds ground turkey
2 cans diced tomatoes + liquid
2 cans kidney beans, drained
2 cans black beans + liquid
1/2 medium onion, chopped
2 tablespoons chili powder
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 tablespoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon allspice

Place turkey in a skillet on the stovetop and cook until evenly brown; drain. Combine meat, kidney beans, black beans, tomatoes, and onion in the CrockPot. (I do not drain the tomatoes or the black beans before adding them because I like my chili a little juicier.) Add spices and stir. Cover and cook on low for 8-hours (or for 4-hours on high.) Serve with shredded cheese, sour cream, and a side of cornbread.

Dessert that particular week was super easy . . . a 9 x 9 pan of brownies made per the instructions on the store-bought mix, covered with vanilla ice cream, and topped with frozen strawberries. Store the whole thing in the freezer and remove about 10-minutes prior to serving for easier cutting. (The original recipe called for strawberry pie filling, and while it definitely makes the dessert look better, I have yet to find a filling that hasn't had its color enhanced with a boatload of red dye . . . because apparently the strawberries they use aren't red enough to begin with?!)

And last, but not least . . .

She Said It Better

"We don't see things as they are. We see things as we are."

- Anais Nin

(And just in case you missed it . . . I am doing my writing about feelings and . . . stuff . . . at Brokenhearted Smiles, and will have something new over there by this evening. I hope.)

52 Weeks Of Sunday Dinner - Week 1

2011-03-09T08:52:00.000-07:00

Living only a handful of miles from us, my parents generally join us every Sunday night for dinner. I love it not only for the time with them that it gives the kids, but because it gives me a chance to cook and try out meals that I would generally hesitate to try because of the amount of food that they make - I love casseroles, but a 9 x 13 dish of food is just too much for the kids and I, and while hubby will always reheat and eat whatever I have made, some weeks he is around so little that a lot of it seems to go to waste.
This year, I set the goal to try more new recipes and to use the CrockPot a little more in doing so. First up on the list this year? A Slow Cooker Brisket courtesy of Barbecue FYI (though slightly modified), sides of corn and baked beans (from the can on both), and an approximation of Jim 'N Nick's Cheese Biscuits from gas-tron-o-my.

Slow Cooker Brisket

1 or 2 brisket flats, trimmed of most of the fat (I used a nearly 5-pound flat purchased at Costco and cut in half)
1 cup apple juice
1 cup barbecue sauce
1 small onion, chopped
2 to 4 cloves garlic, chopped
2 teaspoons celery salt
1 teaspoon pepper
Seasoning for dry rubbing

Dry rub the brisket with the seasoning of your choice. (Hubby is in charge when it comes to steaks and such at our house, and prefers to use a rub I get online from F. McLintocks - a fantastic restaurant in Pismo Beach, CA that he took me too years ago. You can also use a combination of celery salt, pepper, garlic salt, onion powder, and anything else you have in the pantry that lends itself nicely to beef.) Place the brisket in the slow cooker and cover with the barbecue sauce and apple juice. Add the onions, garlic, celery salt, and pepper. Cover and cook on high for 2 hours. After 2 hours, uncover and baste the meat with the sauce and seasonings around it. Recover, and continue cooking for at least another 4 to 6 hours. The brisket will be done when it reaches an internal temperature of at least 145 degrees, but letting it get closer to 200 degrees will yield a more tender cut. (I cooked mine for a total of almost 10 hours and we all agreed that it was just perfect.) Serve sliced with a side of the sauce from the CrockPot or with the BBQ sauce of your choice.

Jim 'N Nick's Cheese Biscuits

1 1/2 cups flour
3/4 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 milk (*I used buttermilk*)
1 egg, beaten
4 tablespoons butter, melted
1/4 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line a 12-cup muffin mold with paper inserts or spray with cooking spray.

Combine flour, sugar, and baking powder in a large bowl and set aside. Whisk egg, milk, butter, and vanilla in a medium bowl. Combine liquid ingredients with dry ingredients until just barely mixed. Fold in cheddar cheese. Divide batter into the 12 muffin cups and bake 15 to 20 minutes. Biscuits are done when slightly golden and springy to the touch. Remove from oven and allow to cool 5 minutes before inverting mold.

It Feels Like Home

2011-03-07T16:02:00.000-07:00

Throughout high school,college, and well into my 20s, I spent the summers between classes working at the city's outdoor pools. I started as a lifeguard and a swimming lesson instructor, and quickly worked my way up to being a headguard and then a manager. The summer after I turned 21, I was asked to mange the city's largest outdoor facility, which featured a 50-meter swimming pool, a separate diving well and shallow kiddie pool, a 150-foot waterslide, and a concession stand. I had a staff of about 25 kids, ranging in age from 14 to 24-years-old, and the facility drew hundreds of swimmers on a daily basis. The job was a huge responsibility and a huge honor, and I took it very seriously. And I loved it.

I loved being the first one there almost every morning, unlocking doors and checking the pumps and filters. I loved watching my lifeguards and concessionaires come through the door and get ready for their day, often talking about what they did with their friends the night before or how awful and mean their parents were being. And I loved being the last one to leave most evenings, staying a couple nights a week until 9:00, when the local Master's swim team finished up their evening practice. I looked forward to Friday mornings, when my headguard and I would come in early to clean the filters (the whole process took a little over 3-hours, and between climbing in the 4 filters to rake them, we would sit on the pool deck and just talk) and to Sunday mornings, when I would come in early to vacuum. The pool sat at the intersection of two rather busy streets, and if I close my eyes, I can still hear the steady flow of traffic from people going to-and-from church over the hum of the vacuum.

I started that summer terrified of being in charge of such a large facility and so many staff members. I worried about everything running smoothly, about the safety of the patrons, about the confidence that my staff had in me, and about looking like (in the words of one of my lifeguards who told me at the end of the summer what he thought of the first time he met me) "some 19-year-old yahoo who has no idea what they are doing." I worried something would break or someone would get hurt (or worse) or that my boss would decide that he had made a huge mistake and reassign me or fire me. And then slowly, things began to change.

I grew to trust the kids who worked for me. I grew to trust that my boss knew what he was doing when he gave me the job in the first place. And, most importantly, I grew to trust that I actually knew what I was doing (or that, on the days that I didn't, I was really good at faking it.) I learned to stop worrying so much about the little things and to roll a little quicker with the punches that didn't always go the way they should. I learned what things mattered more than others - where I could cut a corner or two and where I needed to put all my energy when it was needed. And I fell in love.

And not just any love. The love that every little girl dreams about. Her first love. The love that is perfect in just about every way with the guy who is perfect in just about every way. The love that is fun and carefree and that makes you smile like an idiot when you so much as think for just a second about it. (For those of you who have been around for awhile, you have read about this before . . . this was with the guy whom I found through Google when I was pregnant with The Toddler. We still stay in touch through e-mail and Facebook and with the occasional text message or phone call and agree that back then? Life was good.)

By the end of the summer, that pool . . . that perfect blend of hot concrete and cool water and sunscreen and children's laughter and kids who were hoping to earn enough money to pay for gas, was home. And as I approach 12 years from the start of that summer, it still feels like home.

I rarely make it to that side of town any more, but when I do and if I can, I stop. I've never gone back inside, and I am instead the weirdo standing outside the chainlink fence gazing in and smiling (hence the photograph above). I visited in the weeks before my wedding. When I was home visiting while pregnant with The Kindergartner. When I was headed home from an appointment in east Denver last fall. Any time I have needed to think or to reflect or to just be reminded of the place that now represents a huge part of my life in countless ways. It seems so silly sometimes, not only to be so attached to something, but for that something to be a swimming pool. And yet? I can't seem to help it - and because it makes me happy, I am not going to do anything to try.

Death By Tiny Xs

2011-03-07T13:52:00.000-07:00

Every year I tell myself, "THIS is going to be the year the majority of my holiday gifts will be homemade." Most years I succeed a little, generally in the form of baked goods or a few projects that the kids do with a little help, but never in the way that I really want. Admittedly, part of it is because I want to save a little money, but more than that, I want to give people gifts that have heart and soul and meaning behind them; gifts that they know weren't some last minute addition to my cart as I am frantically trying to finish things up before December 25th. As my children get a little older and as the amount of time they spend in school and the amount of time they are able to entertain themselves slowly increases, I am finding that I am able to craft a little bit more, leading to this:

At this very moment in time, I am not sure what is more sick . . . the fact that I find making tiny Xs over and over and over again somewhat therapeutic or the fact that I started what will be a Christmas present this coming December before 2010 even came to a close. (For the record, I lean more towards the latter since the last cross stitched project I completed took me nearly 5 years to do so.) I am about 1/3 through the entire scene (a Tuscan print that will eventually feature a bottle of wine, a few more grapes, and a frame of olives that is being gifted to my sister and her husband for their Italian-themed kitchen), with plans in my head to follow this up with a couple snowmen for my in-laws.

(I would love to say that doing something like this makes me creative, but the reality is that the whole thing came in one neatly packaged little kit . . . all the thread, the picture guide, and the cloth to put it on. And cross stitching is something that anyone can do - beyond the kit, the only other 'extra' needed to complete the project is an 89 cent wooden hoop that holds the fabric in place.)

I will be sure to update with pictures as I continue - assuming I don't go crazy first.

Spring Awakening

2011-03-04T16:36:00.000-07:00

In the year after The Toddler was born, I celebrated. I ate what I wanted in whatever quantity I wanted. I stayed-up late when I felt like it and suffered the consequences the next day. I watched too much television after the kids went to bed and let my books and magazines collect dust. I tucked all the arts and crafts I had wanted to do in my spare time into totes and drawers. And while all of that is perfectly fine and the way that many people choose to live, it isn't me. Type-A, OCD, must-be-in-control me watches what she eats, exercises on a regular basis, watches entirely too much television but balances it with books and magazines, goes to bed at a reasonable hour so she is well-rested, and tries to engage in activities that flex her creative muscles. That year between welcoming my last bundle of joy and watching her blow out the candle on her 1st birthday cake was fun, and certainly a bit more relaxed that my normal year (in so much as a year with a newborn, a toddler and a preschooler can be), but as it drew to a close, I couldn't help but feel that I had wasted it. I had gotten so caught up in just being relieved to have welcomed a healthy baby and in just making through those initial days and weeks (and eventually months), that I stopped doing all of those little things that are just me.

On March 1st of last year, I decided it was time to find ME again. Cookies were rationed into weekly allowances instead of daily ones. I started walking and working out. Bedtime was set at no-later-than-10:00. The DVR was cleaned out and set to record only the shows that I really wanted to watch. The books and magazines were dusted off and the totes and drawers were emptied and inventoried. I started looking very closely at my relationships with those around me and made some hard decisions about whether they were really in my best interest. It took a lot of (literal) sweat and blood and tears, but as 2010 drew to a close, I can honestly say that I felt better about myself and my life than I had felt in a very long time.

Recognizing the importance of rewarding hard work, I promptly took the months of January and February off.

And now that March is once again here, it is time to get back on the wagon. As the days get longer and the temperatures get warmer, I can't help but feel that it is time to get up, get out, and get on with finding more of me. It is time to move more, read more, write more . . . to challenge myself to figure out how the Me-Before-Kids and the Me-With-Kids and the Me-Whose-Kids-Won't-Always-Need-Her-Every-Second-Of-Every-Day fit together and what they will become.

It's on.

Grown-Ups Live At My House Too!

2011-02-19T15:09:00.000-07:00

Like a great number of things in my life, the master bedroom and the feeling and appearance that it is someplace where an adult resides for a portion of the day took a backseat once the kids arrived. While their rooms have always gotten a pretty good billing, our room became the red-headed stepchild; a catch-all for the glider, the pack-and-play, the dresser that I used growing up (meaning that yes, my husbands intimates are kept in a drawer lined with the Holly Hobby wallpaper that my mom put in it when I was a child), and a few other random pieces that just didn't fit anywhere else but hadn't yet been retired to the basement. When you combine that particular 'look' with the fact that most nights I go to bed without any adult company, the room was pretty sad.

(Ignore the mess and the patches on the walls . . . we had already started doing a few thing here and there when I finally remembered to take "Before" pictures.)

Using inspiration from Frugal Home Ideas, we stuck with the wainscoting theme and replaced the closet doors. I had initially planned on doing something relatively low-key and, well, plain with the paint color, and then I decided to go big. My general motto when it comes to paint is that, "It is JUST paint!" I have never understood why people hem and haw so much over something that can be changed with relatively little cost and minimal effort. (It is kind of like hair. I have gone from pixie short to long and back again - twice. And it never fails that people make a big deal of it. It's hair. It grows. I don't get it.) But I digress. For the first time ever, I hemmed and hawed over the color of the paint, (1) because while buying a new can of paint isn't that big of a deal, finding the time to repaint an entire room is and (2) because I have never gone this particular shade of bold. (And if I must be honest, (3) because I had myself convinced that Burgh Baby would see these after pictures and proclaim that I was on crack for choosing a shade of red that will surely take no less than 3 coats to cover if when I change my mind.) The end result?

Much to my surprise, the color didn't take nearly as long to grow on me as I thought it would - in fact, it took longer for me to get used to not seeing all of the baby stuff tucked in all of the corners! And nothing screams grown-up more than a mirror above the bed, right?! (Go ahead and crack your jokes about how disappointed my husband was when he found out the mirror was going to go ABOVE the bed and not OVER the bed right here . . . I have gotten a lot of mileage out of that one this week!) I love that my room now looks a little more put together and that it feels a little warmer and inviting, and I am hoping that it will inspire me to spend more time awake in it. You know, blogging and doing arts and crafts and reading. What did you think I meant?!

What Home Improvement Taught Me About Marriage

2011-02-12T12:32:00.000-07:00

It never fails that when I mention to someone that The Hubby and I are going to tackle some home improvement projects, the joke that we should also budget for the marriage counseling we are going to need when we are through is the almost immediate response (which explains why I cracked the joke myself back when I posted about my living room looking like a lumber yard.) The reality, however, is that home improvement is one area where The Hubby and I generally get along pretty well. We each have our strengths and weaknesses when it comes to the various projects we are taking on, and I think that we compliment each other nicely in getting the job done.

If we disagree or 'argue' about anything, it tends to be the small stuff - which is not surprising considering the same is true of our relationship in general. I am the quintessential Type-A, OCD, anal retentive, just-plain-uptight woman, and while he also has the ability to pay attention to detail and to focus on things that aren't really important to the issue at hand, he is much better at looking at the big picture and seeing the end result.

The images accompanying this post of of The Kindergartner's room in the Before, During, and After phases. The inspiration for the wainscoting came from a page I had torn out of a magazine some months ago and tucked into my "Someday I Am Going To Have This In My House" file. (Normally a go-getter, this is a project I knew I would need hubby's help on, as I am not really a big fan of the miter saw - turns out I have a healthy respect and love for my fingers.) I was even further convinced that this project was more suited to him when it came time to start measuring things out and to mock-up the placement of all the trim - the fact that things weren't in exact measurements and that the walls weren't square and that there was going to be spaces in areas where I didn't want spaces and trim where I didn't want trim was just to much for my right-angle, perfectly divisible head, so I vowed to let him be and instructed him to tell me when it was time for me to get my paint on.

The kids and I played and watched movies and read books and kept ourselves entertained while he went to-and-fro from the garage to The Kindergartner's room, and I lasted all of about 3-hours before I had to go check things out. Let's skip all of the hounding I did and the questions I asked and the criticism I gave and just say that I am very lucky that Hubby has amazing self-restraint and didn't Liquid Nail my mouth shut, telling me instead to, "Be patient. It will all come together and you won't even be able to tell where there are gaps and shorter pieces and stuff that doesn't look right."

He was right. Once the final piece was nailed into place and the gaps were filled and smoothed out with caulk and wood filler, it looked perfect. The two coats of paint that I painstakingly applied only made it all look better, and once the bed was made and the furniture was put back into place, all I could do was step back and marvel at how awesome it turned out.

I am not saying that the solution to the problems we encounter in our marriage is to slap some metaphorical caulk and wood filler on it, sand it out, throw some paint on and hope for the best - life just isn't that easy. There is no harm, however, in learning to overlook some of those little, nit-picky issues that get blown out of proportion and to focus instead on the bigger picture, remembering that if I am patient, things might just come together in ways that I can't even imagine.

A Place Fit For A Princess - Or Two

2011-02-07T14:09:00.000-07:00

(I have to apologize up front for a couple things: First, for the fact that my last post, this post, and the next few posts have nothing to do with anything except home improvement. I love working on the house and I love looking to the Internet for advice, inspiration, and ideas - this is my way of repaying the favor. And, second, that the quality of the pictures isn't too great . . . my camera appears to be dying a slow and tortuous death, and unless I line up a replacement, will probably die twice-as-fast as I am predicting.)

I take my kids' rooms very seriously. Our house is about 2,000 square feet, and while currently that is the perfect size for three smaller-sized children, two adults, and a very large Labrador, I know that in what feels like the blink of an eye, I am going to have three much larger children who are going to demand to have space to themselves (and who, quite frankly, are going to need that space to allow them to ~~sit in when they are grounded~~ sit quietly in doing homework or just reflecting.) Being the only boy, The Kindergartner gets his own room, but the girls have to share.

I have searched high-and-low for a 'Before' picture of their room completely intact, but have been unable to find one! Their room was painted lavender on the top, had (and still has) white beadboard wainscoting on the bottom, and the front of their dresser was painted light green. Here are the pictures I do have:

(Yes, they had blinds on the windows, pictures on the walls, and doors on their closet! The room also housed the crib-that-no-one-ever-slept-in and the changing table.)

The only real change I made was to the color of the walls and the front of their dresser, update/replace their bedding, and to replace their closet doors, which yielded the following:

The Preschooler was initially a bit disappointed that there isn't more pink and that there is an alarming lack of anything related to a Disney Princess or two (or five), but she has since gotten over it. The Toddler is equally pleased, and makes a dramatic show of climbing in her bed every night - where she stays for the exact amount of time that it takes to tuck The Kindergartner in, and then happily toddles down to my bed for the night. I suppose that it is time to teach her to sleep in her own bed, but I know it won't be long before she and The Preschooler have taken over the room, a handmade sign on the door banning their brother and a poster for the latest singing craze hanging where their birth samplers now are . . . I'll take those baby toes digging in my back at 3:00 in the morning for at least a little while longer.

New Year, New Projects

2011-02-02T16:36:00.000-07:00

Every November I spend days putting up holiday decorations and making sure that the house is just so. And every January I spend what feels like the entire month taking those decorations down, wrapping them up and tucking them in plastic totes and bins, and cleaning up the mess that the holiday season seems to heap upon my household. I clean and dust and sort and organize and revel in it all for a good 5 minutes before I turn to my dear husband, hand him a pen and a piece of paper, and say, "Start writing." The end result? The mother of all To Do lists. The house just seems so bare after all those shiny ornaments and the beautiful nativity set and handsome tree are put away!

We moved back to Colorado at a time when the foreclosure market was just starting to take off, and we were fortunate enough to buy a place that just needed a lot of updating and TLC (as opposed to the hundred-or-so other places that Hubby and the realtor looked at that were simply trashed . . . missing cabinet doors, missing hardware and fixtures, holes punched in walls, water stains from sinks that had been filled to overflowing just to spite the bank, etc.) We tackled a new master bathroom, new interior paint and new carpet before we moved in, and within the first year replaced the furnace, hot water heater, and windows. Year Two saw a new roof, an upgrade to the kids' bathroom, and repairs to the back deck. We tried to keep it simple in Year Three, replacing a broken garage door and tearing out and replacing some landscaping in the front yard (the rest of which will no doubt be chronicled this spring as it is going to involve some strategic planning and care on my part - and while I have succeeded at keeping my kids and a few houseplants alive for the last few years, the yard and the plants that surround it are a different story.) And now? It is time to do a little updating on the interior.

Our house has lots of great wood railing, trim, and doors in it, but at 30+ years of age, they are starting to show some wear-and-tear that have left me with two options: (1) gently pull them off the walls, sand them down, re-stain, and reinstall them or (2) rip them out and replace them with some more easily maintained, easily cleaned, stand-up-better-to-multiple-children-kicking-them trim pieces and doors. Guess which option won? And while we are at it, why not also take the time to install some wainscoting and doors? And because we will already be making a sizable mess, why not . . . well, let's just say that the list got a bit longer than I had first anticipated and that I am grateful for great financing deals from Home Depot.

Roughly two weeks ago, this is what my downstairs family room looked like:

Homey, no? Don't worry . . . I have already allocated the other half of our income tax return for the marriage therapy that doing this much interior repair in the dead of winter is surely going to necessitate. (Stay tuned from some Before and After pictures!)

A Little Change Goes A Long Way

2011-01-25T09:29:00.000-07:00

In the months since I last blogged, I have grown into the mother of a kindergartner, a preschooler, and a toddler. The photograph at the left was taken in the early weeks of September, on the very first day that both The Kindergartner and The Preschooler were in school at the same time. It is hard to tell, but snuggled up in that jogger, fast asleep and clutching her binkie in one hand and her beloved baby in the other hand, is The Toddler. On most Mondays and Wednesdays, you can find the two of us trekking up and down the hills surrounding our neighborhood, her jabbering away at the birds, bunnies, and dogs she sees before sleep overtakes her and she gives in to the rhythmic pounding of my feet on the pavement. I often point the different animals out to her or sing her little songs between my huffing and puffing, and while I relish this little bit of time that I get to spend with just her, I am equally happy when I see her eyelids droop and her kicking feet still. I can hear the kids from the schools we pass laughing and playing, happy to be taking a break from the rigors of elementary school. I can hear the traffic from the interstate just a few miles away and from the major thoroughfares that are just a few blocks from my path. I can hear the airplanes making their descents into DIA and the jets from the local Air Force base practicing formations and flight patterns. I can hear all those birds and bunnies and dogs, chirping and scurrying and barking. And yet, it is quiet. And peaceful. And perfect.

It seems that so much has changed in such a short amount of time, and I often have a hard time reconciling all of it in my head. I have been a stay-at-home-mom for the last 5 years, but in the span of a lifetime, that is just a blink. Wasn't it just a year=or-two-ago that I was a young 20-something trying to figure out what to do with my life? Wasn't it just last week I was a newlywed, packing up and moving to California to start the new adventures of married life? And wasn't it just yesterday that I was a new mom, desperately trying to figure out how to keep it all together?!

This past week, The Hubby dismantled the crib and the changing table. The Kindergartner got a new bed and his old twin bed was moved into the room that The Preschool is going to be sharing with The Toddler. (I say 'going to be sharing' because while the crib was already in The Preschooler's room, The Toddler is still co-sleeping in bed with me, and while I suspect that it will last at least a little while longer, the end date to that arrangement is going to be coming sooner rather than later.) It was bittersweet seeing the furniture that has been a staple in our home for the last 5+ years being carried down the stairs and out to the curb. Even with two twin beds in it, The Preschooler's room looks bare, and while I am ready for it to happen, I just can't wrap my head around the fact that my girls are now big enough to share a room without the baby's midnight wakings keeping them from sleeping peacefully together.

It's new. And it's scary. And I'm ready.

This Return To Blogging Is Brought To You In 3-Part Harmony

2011-01-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking a lot lately about my place in the world; about where I belong and where I want to be - both right now and in the future - and I am both amused and terrified. Growing up I had ideas about what I wanted to do when I became an adult, but I never really put much stock in them and I certainly didn't have any of it mapped out beyond the 4 years of college that my parents expected of me. Once I became an adult, I bounced around a variety of job and industries, never really finding one that suited me or made me really excited to go to work each day, and I would be lying if I said that getting fired a week before finding out I was pregnant for the first time wasn't a huge sigh of relief. Upon becoming a mother, I promptly threw out any notions I had about what being a mother might be like, and instead settled into the routine of what being a mother is actually like . . . sleepless nights, endless amount of laundry, worry about this, that, and the other (and, of course, endless amounts of love, kisses, cuddles, and satisfaction - the good stuff those parenting books play up to keep you from freaking out about all the other stuff.) I've now been doing the 'Mom Thing' for a bit over 5 years, and while there is still a lot that challenges me and keeps me on my toes, my children are getting older and the ways in which they need me are changing - for the first time in a very long time, I can see beyond the diapers and the babygates and the booster seats that occupy half of my kitchen table and I am catching glimpses of a time in the not-so-distant-future when I will be ready to call myself something other than Mom. While I certainly don't think the title of Professional Blogger is anywhere on my horizon, nothing has helped me figure out more about myself than writing.

***

There have been a lot of pregnancy announcements from the land of Hollywood lately, and along with more than a few has come the revelation that the mom-to-be has suffered a miscarriage in the past (ummm . . . what do you mean not everyone subscribes to the People feed in their Google Reader?!) Anyway . . . while I would never wish a miscarriage or the loss of a pregnancy on even my worst enemy, there is always a tiny part of me that is thankful (grateful?) that their miscarriage has been mentioned because I hope that putting a famous face to such devastating loss will help women in similar situations know that they are not alone. The problem with this hope is that it creates a double-standard . . . is it fair to expect them to be a representative of pregnancy loss when I am not willing to do the same? (Let's just leave that question at its most basic, because I realize that there is much to debate when it comes to whether famous people should be held to higher expectations.)

The blogging community has been BY FAR the biggest source of support and comfort to me since The Firefly's birth and death, and I owe it to her to share her story and I owe it to others to let them know that they are not alone. Whether this blog continues for another 3 weeks or another 3 years, I will make her story available.

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Those of you who have followed me from blog to blog to blog may be surprise to learn that for much of my youth and a good chunk of my adulthood-so-far I loathed writing creatively. While I was totally content to write lab reports for high school chemistry and literature reviews for my psychology advisor in college, I would rather have licked a car battery than sat down to write something that required me to, well, think. Though blogging has changed the way that I look at and approach writing, 9 times out of 10, when you fail to see something new from me, it is not because I don't have something to say, and instead is because I just can't force myself to sit down and write it out.

At The Kindergartener's school they have adopted a curriculum that encourages every student to be a writer. At every grade level, students are participating in activities that will help them develop the skills needed to become proficient writers and to help foster a love of writing across multiple genres. In returning to blogging, I hope that I am leading by example and showing my children that writing is important and has value and is something enjoyable (and yes, I realize that typing isn't quite the same as writing and that there are going to be a more than a few occasions in the future when I am going to have to transfer what I scribble down at the kitchen table into Blogger . . . another small sacrifice for my children!)

As they get older, I am also trying to teach my children the value of taking ownership in things; of identifying things that they excel at and enjoy and that they care enough about to share with others. Just like in the past, this blog is my space; the one little corner of the world where I can share the joys and the pains and the trials and the victories that come with being a parent - among other things. I own this space and the words that are put forth from it - and believe me when I tell you that I won't be led twice to let someone take my words and twist them and use them against me . . . I am better than that.