Hilary

recipes

Recipe Friday

First of all, there aren’t enough hours in the day.  I just had to share that newsflash with you.  I used to be really good at time management.  Something has changed in the last few weeks, though.  I just can’t get it together to get as much stuff done as I used to.  I can’t blame it on the holidays, either, because they are so far in the rearview mirror, I can barely remember what happened.

This morning, I was up and dressed for the gym at 5:45.  I figured I had a good 45 minutes to knock off a few to-do list items before the troops started to rouse.  I cleared my email inbox. I organized my receipts to run stuff back to the store. I started a grocery list. I planned my route of errand running for the day. I was about to take that beloved first sip of coffee when I peeked at the time.  6:34 am! Nuts on Toast! I’m late!

Up the stairs, rouse the kids, feed the baby, and grab the laundry.  Back downstairs, whip out the breakfast, start the laundry, grab the lunches.  And so it goes.  I pulled out all the ingredients for tonight’s dinner (Chicken Piccata, my old tried and true BFF of recipes). As the day progressed, however, the weather took a turn for the nasty, and I was beginning to wish I had something hot and savory in the crock pot.

See, I’m not really soup person.  No, really.  When I go out to eat, I never order soup for an appetizer or soup/salad for a lunch.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ll stick my spoon all up in your bowl to make sure it’s good enough for you to eat.  I just don’t want a cup of my own.

A few weeks ago, the hubs and I went out to dinner with some friends.  On the menu as special was a Pumpkin Sunflower Seed Bisque with Truffle oil.  There may have been some shaved bacon on top (or maybe that’s just wishful thinking), but even then, I didn’t order it.  The hubs did and he was doing all kinds of parries and thrusts with his spoon to keep me from double dipping.  It was absolutely delicious.   Of course, the next time I go to that restaurant, it’ll probably be off the menu.

Soup, to me, is not very filling.  I like to belly up to the trough and tie one on.  Soup isn’t going to get it done.  Stews or chilis? They’re heartier and more apt to stand alone, but even then, I’m still not ordering it if I’m out on the town.

With winter settling squarely around our shoulders, it feel like soup and stew season.  I haven’t made any chili yet, though I have been giving this white bean and andouille sausage soup a fit.  It freezes well, too, so just when I think I’ve got nothing — BANG!– soup’s on!  I’m trying to branch out, though.  I tried my hand at a homemade split pea soup (I don’t think I soaked the peas long enough), a homemade chicken noodle soup (which went over well with the hubs and received a resounding “meh” from the girls), and a wonton soup, which I really like.

Aside from the split pea and lentil, I’m really a broth based soup kind of girl.  I’ll see a recipe for something decadent like Creamy Potato and Bacon Soup or Chicken and Corn Chowder.  My mouth starts watering, my stomach calls for all hands on deck, and then I see the ingredients.  If it’s got milk, sour cream, heavy cream or pretty much anything dairy related, I’m out.  Oh sure, I’ll make it for you, but I’m not going to eat it.  I’ve got a thing about hot milk products (I just threw up in my mouth a little just typing those three words).  Hot milk is just blerg *shudder*.  Can’t do it.

So, back to the drawing board.  Last weekend, Vivi’s godparents invited us over for lunch.  They had two crockpots going with two different soups.  One chicken noodle for the girls, one spicy tortilla for the grown-ups.  I’d never had Tortilla Soup before, and let me tell you, I have been missing out.

This soup was amazing.  Tortillas, cilantro, chicken, avocado — it was a flavor profile that I love in a soup! Who knew? Yes, I skipped the cheese and the sour cream (hot dairy!), but I don’t think I lost anything.  I came close to embarrassing myself by not only having seconds, but eyeballing the pot for possible thirds.

I restrained myself.

Vivi’s godmother showed me her recipe, as well as a few books that I wasn’t familiar with, like this one.

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It’s in the Amazon shopping cart as we speak.

Anyway, after that outstanding lunch, I have been having a craving for Mexican food.  Chipotle always comes through in a pinch, but given the drop in temps, soup or stew was what I was looking for.  While I was looking for an image for tortilla soup, I came across the Pioneer Woman’s recipe.  It’s straightforward and her written delivery on how she prepared it sounds much like my own inner monologue.  Double win!

Enjoy your tortilla soup (with or without your hot dairy) and happy Friday, y’all!

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Chicken Tortilla Soup from  The Pioneer Woman via Tasty Kitchen

Prep Time 
Cook Time 		 Servings 8 Difficulty Easy

Ingredients

  • 2 whole Boneless, Skinless Chicken Breasts
  • 1 Tablespoon Olive Oil
  • 1-½ teaspoon Cumin
  • 1 teaspoon Chili Powder
  • ½ teaspoons Garlic Powder
  • ½ teaspoons Salt
  • 1 Tablespoon Olive Oil
  • 1 cup Diced Onion
  • ¼ cups Diced Green Bell Pepper
  • ¼ cups Red Bell Pepper
  • 3 cloves Garlic, Minced
  • 1 can (10 Oz. Can) Rotel Tomatoes And Green Chilies
  • 32 ounces, fluid Low Sodium Chicken Stock
  • 3 Tablespoons Tomato Paste
  • 4 cups Hot Water
  • 2 cans (15 Oz. Can) Black Beans, Drained
  • 3 Tablespoons Cornmeal Or Masa
  • 5 whole Corn Tortillas, Cut Into Uniform Strips Around 2 To 3 Inches
  • _____
  • FOR THE GARNISHES:
  • Sour Cream
  • Diced Avocado
  • Diced Red Onion
  • Salsa Or Pico De Gallo
  • Grated Monterey Jack Cheese
  • Cilantro

Preparation Instructions

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Mix cumin, chili pepper, garlic powder, and salt. Drizzle 1 tablespoon olive oil on chicken breasts, then sprinkle a small amount of spice mix on both sides. Set aside the rest of the spice mix.
Place chicken breasts on a baking sheet. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until chicken is done. Use two forks to shred chicken. Set aside.
Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a pot over medium high heat. Add onions, red pepper, green pepper, and minced garlic. Stir and begin cooking, then add the rest of the spice mix. Stir to combine, then add shredded chicken and stir.
Pour in Rotel, chicken stock, tomato paste, water, and black beans. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer. Simmer for 45 minutes, uncovered.
Mix cornmeal with a small amount of water. Pour into the soup, then simmer for an additional 30 minutes. Check seasonings, adding more if needed—add more chili powder if it needs more spice, and be sure not to undersalt. Turn off heat and allow to sit for 15 to 20 minutes before serving. Five minutes before serving, gently stir in tortilla strips.
Ladle into bowls, then top with sour cream, diced red onion, diced avocado, pico de gallo, and grated cheese, if you have it! (The garnishes really make the soup delicious.)
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IN: recipes ON: January 11, 2013 TAGS: , , , , , , BY: Hilary
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#fashionfail

I’ve been trying to improve my wardrobe from sweatpants chic to a more young, urban mother flair.  It’s been a journey considering the number of sizes I’ve cycled through with each pregnancy.  No counting the work-out wardrobe I needed to get back into shape.  My closet is overflowing and yet, I constantly maintain that I have nothing to wear.

I have steadily torn out pages from Glamour, Real Simple, People and the like whenever headlines like How to dress 10 Lbs. Slimmer! Your 10 Essential Wardrobe Must-Haves! Winter Chic for Under $50! Rachel Zoe Decodes Your Closet!


You can imagine the pile of papers I’ve got to work with.  I’ll admit it, I’m a follower of trends. I’ve got a Pinterest board called “Dress Me Up” and one called “Saw it. Bought it.”, which overlap quite a bit.  Clothes, shoes, outfits that I’d like to wear (or maybe it’s the body shape I’d rather have) make it to these boards.  On a recent review, there’s quite a bit of stripes going on, but as the old adage goes. . .
(true story)
I see stuff that I like either in magazines or on other people.  Rather than thinking about whether or not a) I need it, b) really and truly like it or c) whether or not it’s a good match for me, I end up with stuff that I don’t really wear.   Trying to put an end to that, I’ve decided to dress or rather,  make outfits selections more purposefully rather than with a “This is clean” mentality.  And while I’m not a fan of shopping (contrary to what my back account says), I’m a sucker for things that I see in my price range and that I think will disappear if I don’t grab them.  Case in point, this Peter Pan Collar from J.Crew.  
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I looked at it online after viewing it in one of my mags back in August.  The word on the street was that Peter Pan collars were making a comeback for the fall.  This particular shirt was already back ordered until November.  In my pea brain that meant Panic at the Disco! Everyone is buying this shirt! I must have it, too! 
I must have been a lemming in my past life. 
Now, I know that I am shaped like a 34 year old Black woman, not like the model pictured above.  BUT, I figured that the shirt would be flattering.  I mean, I’ve got a cute shape every now and again.  I’ve got jeans like the model has on.  I could make this work.  So, I forked over my debit card and waited for November.  The shirt came as promised I planned to wear it for Thanksgiving dinner.  I gave myself a blow out, put on a little stick-lip (that’s lipstick to the rest of y’all) and away I went.
(you can’t really see it that well, but I’m in it)
Anyway, I liked how it looked. It was comfy and every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, I found myself smiling.  Of course, the vanity in the bathroom was high enough to cover the lower half of the shirt and my body, so I never got a really good look at what was going on. Ignorance is bliss, right? 
Fast forward to a few Sundays ago.  Trying to get ready for church, trying to wear something I haven’t worn in a while (remind me to tell you about the clothing rotation project), and my hand stopped on the shirt.  I figured I could wear it with a black pencil skirt, black tights and black pumps.  Yeah, it wasn’t doing me any favors.  So, I tried the shirt with a herringbone print skirt, black tights, and pumps.  Nope. Negative.  Then I held up a pair of oxblood pants to my waist, turned to the hubs and asked, “Does this go?” and he gave me a a very confident thumbs up. 
I slipped on the pants with a pair of nude heels, turned to the hubs, who then said, “Actually. . .that really doesn’t work.”
I knew it!  And here I am with this shirt that only looks good from the waist up.  What am I supposed to  do with that? Walk around with a redact bar across my waist? Back to the drawing board.  SN: as for church that day, I settled on the oxblood pants, a cream colored long sleeve shirt with a boatneck, and a grey cocoon shrug.  Nice. 
So, I’m determined not to give in to this shirt.  I’m going to do one of three things. 
1. Take the shirt to J.Crew and say, “Help me with this.”
2. Fold it up and save it for one of the girls to grow into (hello, grow with me project for Vivi!).
3. Keep trying clothes in the closet to see if I can figure something out. 
Today, I went with option three.  I flipped through my other pages of fashion inspiration and wouldn’t you know it? I had another page featuring a Peter Pan collared shirt, this time worn by a well known actress.  
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I have all of those pieces she’s wearing.  I put on the skinny jeans, some tall brown boots with a brown belt. I grabbed my black cardigan per  Victoria Beckham’s Wardobe Essentials as reported by Glamour magazine.  She must have gotten that from my good friend and constant cardi wearer, Karen Sue.  As for the scarf, I skipped it.
Clearly by the look on my face in the first picture, I’m not feeling this.  So, I add the cardigan.  Better, but still not making me happy.  Maybe I need the scarf after all.
(grrr! this shirt!)

What’s a girl to do?  Take it to social media of course. I fired up my insta.gram, pic-stitched the pics and turned it over to the masses.

Here’s a sample of the feedback I received from my pals (in no particular order):
from lifeofkeesh: Wear this shirt with a bright colored blazer (maybe a jewel tone) and add a skater skirt. You’ll be new old school.
from sjfaraway: I’m sorry, were you saying something? I was distracted by those awesome boots.
from annteighm: If the shirt were red, I’d liken you to Aileen Quinn. . . “The-e-e-e-e sun’ll come out, TOmorrow! Betcha bottom dollar that too-more-owww. . .they’ll be sun- n- n-n ! For real, though, I think it looks good.
from refeoxyfemme: The cardigan helps.  I’m wondering if some pops of color would too.  Is the collar connected?
from besswa: I love it!
from franklinfitzgerald: Drop the cardigan. You can go with a nice skirt and run some dressier boots to set it off.  Possibly a wide high waisted belt to set off the dressy boots.
from kmcam34: I like the shirt. I was going to ask you where you got it.  I think some different shoes with the cardigan or without. 
from jessgarbi: I love it! Try with round flat shoes.
from itsonlyanatural: I like it.
from kisforkatrina: I love Peter Pan collars.
Love, love, love it!  I think it can be saved.  Stay tuned. . .

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IN: ON: January 9, 2013 TAGS: , , , , BY: Hilary
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Status Update

*this is a transcription of a blog post idea that I had while driving. i decided to use my voice memo feature on my phone and just spew it out. side note: i canNOT believe that’s what my voice sounds like!*

I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. I should have just stared dictating a long time ago. So for the blog, I was thinking about doing a post called status update.  I plan to get back to writing my usual, thought provoking/self deprecating/recipe laden/craft-tastic/day-in-the-life type of posts for sure, but in the interim, I thought it would be funny to just write out what my status updates have been and would be.

See the thing is, I Don’t really do status updates on Facebook.  Have you see that funny e-card online about Facebook status updates?

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Yeah, that’s pretty much how I feel about it. The blog I did before about am i taking a picture to put it on Facebook or am i taking a picture to really enjoy the moment, Facebook status updates kind of remind me of that.  And I’m only talking about me, Hilary with One L, putting up status updates.  I mean, by all means, keep yours coming.  That’s why I get on Facebook in the first place; to see what’s going on with you!

I personally think I put things up that are relevant or funny or you know, nothing that’s too personal that I wouldn’t want to follow up about.  I wouldn’t post things about my parents health or the death of a family member or solicit prayers for something.  I don’t like that kind of thing.  It’s not in my personality to do that face-to-face, so it’s definitely not going to happen in social media. 
I think status updates, at least for me, should be funny. I’m not a comedian — I leave that to the professionals like Na’im Lynn and Kevin Hart, but I think I’m kind of witty.   So that status update about being at the gym the other day, I wrote, “@ the gym for my first workout in 4 months. 1st song on shuffle– “Time got the Percolator/ Eurythmics mash-up. Oh snap! It’s about to get real up in here! Let’s go!”  There’s something to be said about the endorphins released during a work out and your mood.  I was feeling like I could have party marched all around that gym, taken Zumba, done a few laps in the pool and picked up a game of three on three.  I’m leaving the gym now, coming off of the same feeling and I feel really good. 
I’m thinking about that status update. . .I keep thinking about fracking, for some reason. That word is in my head. And because I can’t get it out of my head, it’s the kind of thing worthy of a status update. And Homeland. I’m so obsessed with Homeland right now. What I would have done is put “Abu Nazir!” as my status update, or Homeland S2 Ep6. ABU NAZIR! Mind is blown!” as my status update.
So maybe instead of doing a post about or actually breathing into, not breathing into. . .what am I talking about? 
Here it is. Instead of taking the route of a former FB friend who cataloged every inhalation, exhalation, eye blink and nose wipe, I’d rather do a blog post of non-sequitors, like a stream of consciousness, which would have been status updates if I took the time to put them on Facebook.
Does that even make any sense whatsoever?
Yeah.
I really need to get back to writing, but as usually, I’ve got a crap ton of things to do. I really want to write. I’ve got a bunch of ideas floating in the pipeline and not enough time to sit down and just get it on paper. I’m doing a mental headslap right now for not thinking to use this voice memo app to record my ideas before now.  This way, I can just transcribe it later.
Don’t you hate that? Like when you think of something and don’t have a chance to get it down.  The next thing you know, you’re grasping at that memory as is dissipates before your eyes like Marty McFly at the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance.  Awww, Marty. . .I love that movie. 
But, back to the status updates. I’m going to give it a whirl and see what I can come up with.  I read in Real Simple magazine a while back about how this author used to set these really high goals for herself and would get so frustrated when she got nothing done.  After a while, she decided that she would just carve out 15 minutes to write. 15 minutes, that was it.  Over time, this method worked for her and as result, she has since written and published 10 novels.  And it all started with 15 minutes.  The journey of 1000 steps, right?  
I can carve out fifteen minutes.  I can come up with 15 status updates that might be the opening line to the next American classic.  
01/07/13 Woulda Been Status Updates 
—  Ooh! Listening to Mariah Carey’s Vision of Love on the radio and instantly transported back to 1991.
—  Just got an emil from Mo’s Brownie leader requesting a parental consent form to sell cookies.  Isn’t that kind of implied by the fact that I signed her up.  Brownies/Girl Scouts = Cookies.   
—  Having buyer’s remorse about this shirt I bought from J.Crew.   I wish I had really looked at myself in it before I took the tags off.  I look like a square with a peter pan collar. #fashionfail
—  Homeland is off the chain! 
—  Just met the sweetest girl at Loft. We talked natural hair care for 30 minutes and she gave me some new tips and tricks to try out.  I know I’m not pioneer of the natural movement,  but things have surely changed  since I did my first big chop.
—  Mmmm. . .Starbucks. . . must. . .resist. . .temptation . . .
—  I really need a better camera on my phone. Or maybe I just need a better phone.  Or maybe the camera phone and the mirror need to come to an agreement about how I really look.
—  Meatless Monday means I have to put on my thinking cap for dinner.  I’m so hungry and all I want is a nice, big prime rib.
—  Oooh, gift card I didn’t know was in my wallet.
*author’s note:
I’ll admit it. This is not my best work, but I felt like if I didn’t get something down, my holiday hiatus was going to extend indefinitely!
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IN: ON: January 8, 2013 TAGS: , BY: Hilary
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recipes

Recipe Friday on Thursday

The flu has come to our house and it is slapping us around like we owe it some money.  The girls have fallen like dominoes, one right after the other, starting with Mo on Sunday, Co on Monday and Vivi on Monday night.  Nothing saddens me more than seeing all three of them all deflated in their beds as the fever and coughing saps them of their energy.

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They all had the flu shot, as did the hubs and I.  Thankfully, he is still well, whereas I’ve got something blooming in my throat that makes coughing feel like someone taking a hammer to my chest with each exhalation.  It’s been a long five days to say the least. I have dosed everyone with alternating cocktails of acetaminophen, ibuprofen, expectorants and suppressants.  The oft described fever dream is real, let me tell you.  At least twice during the last few days, Mo has wandered downstairs in the middle of the night, glassy eyed and burning bright, looking for Co.  Co, has been sitting in her bed, one leg protruding from under the covers for some relief, singing a song about “Where’s my banana?”  and Vivi? She’s just a lump formerly known as baby, clinging to my hip and shoulder like a koala.

Parenting, as I’ve said before, is a challenge.  When everyone is down for the count, including Mom, it feels near impossible.  Once I get one little person squared away, another is coughing and croaking kurt requests for juice, tissues, or story-time.  I’m pin balling between rooms, have the washing machine going double time to keep the sheets clean and you’d think we’d been drinking the hand santizer given how much we’ve gone through to keep the germs at bay.  I started to feel like “stir fried-s#it” (to quote the hubs) on Tuesday afternoon.  It’s turned in something that’s probably the flu (I’m going to the doc today), despite having had a flu shot already.  This isn’t the first time I’ve fallen ill during the Christmas holiday.  I can recall at least three other instances and one of which where I’m pretty sure I had bronchitis and a touch of pneumonia, I just didn’t go see the doc because — everyone else was sick.  I know I can’t be a help to anyone if I don’t take care of myself, but the kids are looking like they’ve been run over by Santa’s sleigh and wiping their noses on pieces of coal.  I’ve been trying to get them on the mend and tending to myself afterwards.  Raise your hand if you know of what I speak.  Yeah, I thought so.

I’ve called in all my favors from when I injured my leg.  I’m pretty sure my parents have blocked my number.  The babysitter came for a bit so I could at least go out and stock up on supplies, but I don’t want her catching this crud.  Last night, I implored the hubs to stay home, something that I was loathe to do, but my health had taken quite a turn for the worse.  By this morning, I must have looked like crap on toast, because not only did he stay home, he called the pediatrician and set up appointments for the girls, then he dosed me with some hot salt water with which to gargle and sent me back to bed.  I’ve got a keeper.

Anyway, it’s about noon. The girls diagnosis has come in as the flu, but unless you get diagnosed within the first 24 hours, they can’t give you anything to knock it out except a suggestion for some DM laced cough meds and a “go with God”.  Our house is littered with tissue packets, cough drop wrappers, ear covers for the thermometer, and the like.  The lovies have been handed out, pi’s are on and so is the TV; I don’t even care at this point.  Naps will be had all around.

Last night, I was awakened by Mo’s persistent cough. It just broke my heart because I know how painful it must be for her.  I brought her some juice, some medicine and some cough drops.  I put some Vicks Vapo on her chest and the bottoms of her feet.  She snuggled into my arms and let me stroke her hair as her breathing became less labored and more even.  Between coughing fits, she said, “You really know how to take care of a cold, Mom.”  My poor little schmoo!

I’m just doing what I remember my own mom doing for me.  Propping up pillows, wiping down my face with a cool washcloth, and just sitting with me.  We used to have this cool mist humidifier that my mom would place on my nightstand to help eradicate some of the dryness in the room.  She would tell me not to touch it, to let it just do it’s job, but as soon as she left the room, I put my whole face right up on it to get at the cool vapors.  My face and hair thoroughly dampened, I would lie back on my pillows and drift off into a Robitussin filled sleep.  Sometimes my mom would bring me a hot toddy — I was older by this point — and that honey,lemon, bourbon combination would ease the lightening bolts of pain in my throat and help me drop off to a more restful sleep.

The girls aren’t quite old enough for that yet, so we’re just doing some regular tea with milk and honey.  When their coughs were at their worst, I just gave them teaspoonfuls of honey to coat their throats.  That was the first time I saw them smile in a long time.   I tried it myself, but I prefer my honey diluted with some lemon and tea. While I wait for this Mucinex to kick in, I’m going to stir up a home remedy. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow for Recipe Friday. . .if not, I’ll probably be in the bottom of my tea cup.

Dr. Pat’s Hot Toddy Cold Remedy

Ingredients
2 ounces whiskey (we use Jack Daniels)
1 tablespoon honey
4 ounces water (hot from the tap)
1 teaspoon lemon juice (we use the stuff in the plastic lemon)
1 slice fresh lemon (if we don’t have this we don’t use it) (optional)

Directions
1. Place the whisky in a large microwave safe mug*.
2. Add the honey.
3. Pour the hot water into the mug over the spoon you used for the honey to get off the last little drops.
4. Add the lemon juice and stir well.
5. Place the mug in the microwave for 1 minute or until it is piping hot, but not boiling.
6. Add the lemon slice and serve.
*If you don’t have a microwave, which we don’t, you can pour the whiskey in a small cup or glass and submerge it in some boiling water until it’s the right temperature.

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IN: recipes ON: December 20, 2012 TAGS: , , , , , , , , BY: Hilary
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recipes

Recipe Friday, on Tuesday

I’m late (or early, depending on how you look at it) with the recipe! Time is just flying away from me.  There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to get done the things that I want to get done, the things that I need to get done, and the things that have to get done.  
By the time everyone is up, fed, dressed, and out the door, I turn my attention to things in the house that have been calling me.  Would you believe I’ve been letting dishes fester in the sink?!  So unlike me.  The trash cans are overflowing, there’s laundry to be done, groceries to be purchased, presents to be wrapped.  What, you ask, has me so neglectful? It’s not Pinterest (this time).  I’m not catching up on Scandal on DVR. I’m not scrapbooking, either.  
I’m reveling in my new freedom!  No more boot, snitches!! Woop! Woop!
awww, yeah!

And I’ve been playing with my new photography backdrop.  I decided to upgrade to a paper backdrop for a more seamless, professional look.  The bed sheet over my backdrop stand was economical, but it really just photographed poorly.  The paper backdrop is ah-may-zing! You can’t even tell that’s my living room, can you? 

baby mohawks are funny for everyone but the baby.

 So, the girls have been my unwilling models as I test things out.  Seeing as how I can pay them in cookies, my overhead stays low and their enthusiasm stays high.  I’ve also been busy with holiday shoot. Trying to fit everyone into the schedule is a great problem to have.  I’m getting to a point where I can say that I love what I do.  For a while, I was hesitant to embrace my status as a professional photographer or to say that I really liked it.  I was afraid that doing so would invite some bad karma.  Nothing specific that I could point to, but just that feeling of second guessing myself or feeling like I’ve totally blown a shoot. I had this feeling that one minute I’d be breaking my arm patting myself on the back and the next I’d be banging my head against the wall like, “Why? Why? What was I thinking?”

The other day,  I was on my way to a shoot and realized, I’ve been doing this for over a year now.  I’m not an amateur photographer. I have people seek me out and pay me to take their photographs. I am donating my services to a silent auction.   I’ve built a sizable portfolio. My skills are constantly developing (no pun intended).  I’ve got great equipment. I’ve got repeat clients.  I can say with confidence and pride, “I am a photographer,” when asked what I do.

I had a bittersweet moment at the hubs’ office party when I was able to correct someone who assumed I stayed home taking care of the children.  A couple of years ago, someone I had just met asked me if I was a lawyer like the hubs, and when I said, “No, I’m at home with our children,” this person literally said, “Oh,” and turned their back to me to strike up a conversation with someone else.

Literally.

But, as I was saying. . .

As I’ve discussed before, taking care of kids is no easy feat, whether you’re working from home, at home, outside of the home or any derivation where the home is concerned.  I loathe the whole “mommy wars” phenomena that has been created, continually stirred up and perpetuated by the media. Parenting is hard, no matter who is doing it. Period.  For someone to dismiss me because that’s how I choose to spend my wake-filled hours is hurtful and disrespectful.  While I did take a small measure of pride identifying my occupation as a photographer, I felt like I had to put that first, and relegate my work as a parent in order to hold the attention of the other person.  I just had the weirdest thought: It’s like the end of Dirty Dancing and instead of Johnny telling Dr. Houseman that no one puts baby in a corner, it’s me telling that yahoo that no one puts motherhood in a corner.  Too much? Yeah, it sounded better in my head, too.

No one puts as much pressure on myself as I do, so I know that my choice was my own.  Still, the fact that I go through such mental gymnastics speaks to the state of affairs in which we find ourselves.

I just read an article on Huffington Post by Amy Morrison entitled, “Why You Are Never Failing As a Mother,” and it was so timely.  Earlier in the day,  I was failing.  I had been overseeing a playdate between Mo, Co and a friend, trying to get them to slow down as they decorated cookies, put the sprinkles ON the cookies instead of IN their mouths, defrost some dinner, run a load of laundry, answer some emails, and deal with the massive poop Vivi gifted me with nary a wipe in sight.  Fast forward to the end of the night, when everyone was tucked in.  I finally got around to reading the article and it felt like Morrison was giving me a “hang in there” high five.

She writes, “. . . but I’m just saying that we are part of a generation that considers parenting to be a skill. Like a true skill that needs to be mastered and perfected and if we don’t get it right, we think our kids suffer for it — and that’s hard sh*t to keep up with. That’s not to say other generations didn’t have it tough or think parenting was important, but there just wasn’t the same level of scrutiny that could be liked, tweeted or instagramed all at once.

You are in the trenches when you have a baby. To the untrained eye it seems pretty straightforward and easy — you feed them, you bathe them, you pick them up when they cry — but it’s more than that. It’s perpetual motion with a generous layer of guilt and self-doubt spread on top, and that takes its toll.
Feeling like you also need to keep on top of scrapbooking, weight loss, up-cycled onesies, handprints, crock pot meals, car seat recalls, sleeping patterns, poo consistency, pro-biotic supplements, swimming lessons, electromagnetic fields in your home and television exposure is like trying to knit on a rollercoaster — it’s f*cking hard.
We live in a time when we can Google everything, share ideas and expose our children to amazing opportunities, but anyone that implies that they have it figured out is either drunk or lying (or both), so don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” I need this tattooed on my forehand, my forearm, my forefinger.  It’s not that my own mom hasn’t told me this about four billion times, but reading it again from someone who doesn’t know me personally, but does know the road I’m on. . .well, my mom is supposed to be my cheerleader, you know? I know I shouldn’t worry about what other people think about me. What I think about myself is the most important thing.  I think I’m getting the job done.  I mean, they’re still alive, right?  I’m being flip, of course. I know that I’m doing the right things for my girls. I’m setting good examples and following the best practices set forth by my own parents and in-laws.  
In the wake of the tragedies around the countries that have captured our hearts and attention, I’m reminded to not be too hard on myself, or on the girls.  I’m giving extra hugs and kisses. I’m saying more prayers. I’m letting little things slide just a bit more.  I’m giving in to dessert more often than not.  Of course, the veggies have to be eaten first. . .that’s a non-negotiable.
The “Down with Veggies” Face.
(image)

Sauteed Asparagus with Garlic and Cherry Tomatoes

Ingredients
1 bunch asparagus, ends snapped or spears sliced into coins
1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved
3 tbs minced garlic
2 tbs olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions
Heat the olive oil over medium heat in a saucepan.
Add minced garlic, stirring until it begins to turn brown.
Add asparagus, stirring occasionally and cooking until bright green and tender, about 5-7 minutes.
Add tomatoes, stirring until softened, another two minutes.
Sprinkle with salt and pepper and serve hot.

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IN: recipes ON: December 18, 2012 TAGS: , , , , , , , BY: Hilary
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recipes

Recipe Friday

Another week in the books. Another week with the boot.  The end is in sight, though.  This time next week, I’ll be bootless!  I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to wear two shoes at the same time.  Maybe I’ll be putting up pictures of myself in the boot for Throwback Thursday . . .in a few years though.  

Ahhh, #tbt.  The first time I saw that hashtag, I had no idea what it meant.  Yes, I Googled it.  Now, I’m all about it.  But, I’ve always been taking pictures and saving things to pull out for remember when moments.  If you and I did something together, chances are I’ve got a picture of it somewhere.  This week, I threw up a few pictures from college — one from a trip to the Vineyard with some friends and one from that time I got my tongue pierced (yes, really).  I had one from high school left over that I put up today, just because it was a good memory.  That last one got me to thinking about my high school experience, what a really great time that was.  I can’t tell you a single thing I learned, except maybe Congruent Parts of Congruent Triangles are Congruent, my standard answer for all proofs in tenth grade geometry.  Oh, and that I’m “lovable and capable” as Sister Marie Thomas would make us state before she would let us leave typing (do they even call it that anymore? better question, do they even have that class anymore?).

I did learn some things, obviously, but I like revisiting the times spent with my girlfriends and the shenanigans we got up to, in and out of school.  Sledding down the front lawn on cafeteria trays. Lunch at T.G.I.Friday’s on half-day Wednesdays. Eyebrow plucking in the Senior Lounge?  Mrs. Skutnik and her Fallopian Tubes (that one’s an inside joke for sure).  

My friend Erin would host a holiday brunch at her house during Christmas season.  Sometime during the break, you’d get this note with all the details.  The note would be Calvin and Hobbes from the funnies, but their regular dialogue bubbles would have been replaced with Erin’s handwriting asking if you’d heard about the brunch and if you were planning on coming (I’m sure I’ve still got one in one of my scrapbooks).  We’d all pile over to her house, sit around eating, and laughing. We may have even done some Secret Santa Swap, too.  I know one year, we visited a reindeer farm after stuffing ourselves with baked goods and other sweets.

Oh, deer!
I remember thinking that a reindeer farm in our hometown was kind of random (we lived in suburban New Jersey), but it was the holidays, so we went with it.  It also could have been from the copious amounts of Kahlua laced caked we’d eaten just a few hours before.  Yes, I’ll admit it — I engaged in some underage imbibing when I was in high school.  Of cousre, being the goody-two shoes that I am, I never snuck nips from the liquor cabinet or replaced vodka with water.  I used it to cook with.  

I would make a Kahlua Chocolate Trifle Cake every so often and bring it to school for lunch. The nuns would let me store it in the massive cafeteria fridge.  During lunch, the group of us would grab our spoons and attack the mixing bowl full of chocolate cake, chocolate pudding, Cool (huh)Whip, and toffee bars.  I can still hear the girls banging their spoon clenched fists on the table and chanting “Kah-lu-a! Kah-lu-a!” as I walked to the table bearing the dessert to end all desserts.  I’d drop the bowl in the middle of the table and step back. You ever see that reel on Animal Planet or Discovery when the pride of lions demolishes that unassuming wildebeest?  Yeah, it was kind of like that.

Erin’s Christmas Brunch. Note the lack of plates. 
So to complete this trip down memory lane, I leave you with the recipe for Kahlua Chocolate Trifle (and how it’s actually supposed to be presented).  Although, there is something fun and deliciously naughty about eating it out of mixing bowl with a soup spoon. Happy Friday, y’all!

(image)


Kahlua Chocolate Trifle (recipe found here)
Ingredients
1 box chocolate cake mix
1 box chocolate pudding

1 tub of cool whip, light

2 Heath bars crumbled

1 c. Kahlua


Directions

Make the cake in a 9 X 13 pan as directed on the box.  After you pull it out of the oven, pierce the cake all over and pour kahlua on top and allow it to soak into the cake. (YUM)


Make the pudding as directed and let it set and cool.


After the cake has cooled, cut into 1-inch cubes.  Layer half of the cake on the bottom of a trifle bowl.  Layer half of the chocolate pudding on top of the cake, and half of the cool whip on top of the pudding. Top with plenty of heath bar crumbles.  Repeat. 


Best when served chilled, and even better the next day.  Can also make individual servings.





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IN: recipes ON: December 7, 2012 TAGS: , , , , , , , , BY: Hilary
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