Tag: pinterest

(The Return of) Monday’s Message

I’m a real cynic when I hear people talking about the Universe and “When you put stuff out into the Universe, things happen!” or “Such-and-such happened to you because the Universe was sending you a message (see ankle-gate 2012).” To which I reply,  **koff,koff*bull-isht*koff,koff*.

Sometimes, though, things literally appear right before my eyes.  Then I’m forced to admit, maybe I need to pick up what’s being put down (see ankle-gate 2012).

The other day, I was sitting in the carpool pick up line and clicked onto Tumblr. The first thing in my newsfeed was this quote.  
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Those are some powerful words.  Immediately, I reblogged it on tumblr. Then I emailed it to myself and put it up on insta.gram (curly_girlie78).

See, when it comes to me and friendships, I feel like this is the story of my life.  I suck at making friends.  Contrary to popular belief, I’m pretty shy.  Shyness can be misconstrued as snottiness or uppityness.  When that is the case, making friends is pretty difficult.  Once people get to know me, they inevitably say, “You know, when we first met, I thought you were SO stuck-up!” I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been told that.  I’m neither of those; I just don’t like putting myself out there.  I  still feel like the braces wearing, coke-bottle glasses sporting, Superman “S” curl hair-do having tween-ager who’s the first one to fall asleep at the sleepover.  You know, I’ve got that I’m a kid at the grown-ups table thing going on.  

Whatever the case is, as I’ve matured, I’ve tried to approach things differently.  I was talking with a friend shortly after we moved back to RIC.  She had said that it must be nice coming back to a place where I already had a network of friends.  In truth, coming back really crystallized the old adage, “You can’t go home again.”

After a five year absence from the RVA scene, things had changed.  We don’t live in a vacuum and you can’t preserve relationships in amber.  The group of W&M grads that made RVA our home in the early 2000s had morphed from young, newlyweds into no/one/two or three+ child families.  Some couples had divorced. Some had moved away.  The dynamic that made me pine for relationships lost while we made a life in Norfolk was no more.  A new dynamic was in place, and it was like starting over.

Case in point (and I’m leaving off names here for a reason): There was a woman with whom I was really looking forward to reconnect with once we got back to town.  She and I had been new moms together, which is pretty significant.  We went through early childhood milestones — me with Mo and her with her little biscuit — together.   I leapfrogged over her by having not one, but two more kids.  My triumphant return to RVA lead me to believe we would just pick up where we left off;  my kids and her kid would be fast friends.  

It didn’t happen.  

Suffice it to say,  we got together once or twice and found that we just didn’t have anything in common any more.  That’s not unusual, seeing as how people grow and change as just a normal part of life.  I realized that I was extremely reluctant to tell her that I was expecting Vivi because I knew that it was going to be the last nail in the coffin.  Sadly, I was right.  I haven’t heard from her aside from the obligatory Christmas card. 

In hindsight, I wonder if maybe I dropped the ball by not inquiring as to what happened.  Maybe she was having fertility issues and felt that I was flaunting my overachieving ovaries or something. Maybe she was having some kind of life situation that just made it difficult for us to be friends.  I’ll never know for sure, but I’d like to think I would have taken that type of admission from her with some grace instead of just being dropped off on the side of the road.

Believe me, that smarts.  

Here’s another doozy of a story.  There’s a woman I met shortly after we moved back, about two summers ago.  She was a friend of a friend.  She’s the type of woman you see and think, “Wow, she is SO cool.”  She’s the Carrie Bradshaw, the Leslie Knope, the Liz Lemon or the Olivia Pope type that would so perfectly compliment you.  Not hanging out with her would be like asking Kim Kardashian for parenting advice. 

Anyway, she and I caught up at few other places where we knew people in common.  I suggested we grab coffee sometime, which we did.  We had our kids have playdates together.  We’d text and make plans to hang out, but then the plans were never executed.  I didn’t notice it at first, I mean who doesn’t have a crap ton of things to do all the time?  I’m bad about returning texts.  I break plans sometimes.  It happens.  If she and I couldn’t get together, then we’d plan for another time.  

Then we were planning for another time.  Which brings us to the last time. We planned to get together for coffee after doing our respective carpool runs one morning.  Just as I am pulling up to our coffee spot (oh, who am I kidding, you know it’s Starbucks), I get a text from her saying that she can’t make it because Verizon was coming to her house that afternoon. 

Afternoon.  It’s 8:20 on a Thursday morning, but then I got it.  I was being dismissed.  So, being at Starbucks, I got myself a latte.  Then I sat and stewed. 

Was it my breath? Was I a hanger-on? I kept thinking about what it was that I had done or not done.  But in the end, I stopped trying to lay blame and decided that it was her loss. Maybe, the universe was trying to tell me that she wasn’t the type of person I needed in my circle of trust. 

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After I’d had that epiphany, I fired off a “too bad, so sad” kind of text, purposefully omitting any “Oh, let’s reschedule” type of talk. I sipped my latte and decided:

I’m not going to chase you. 

That afternoon in carpool, the above quote pretty much leapt out at me, and I knew I’d done the right thing.   Oh, and as a post-script to that story?  This broad had the nerve to call me up later on the in the week to ask me if I could take a few pictures of her child for some look-book she wanted to submit photos for. . .as a favor!  

Deep cleansing breath. . .deep cleansing breath . . . 

Anyway, I have decided that this above quote is going to be my touchstone going forward.  I can’t change people. I can only work on myself and I need to remember that. I will be me. I will do my own thing. I will work hard.  I will cultivate the relationships with the people who belong in my life, for they truly are the right people.  Our friendships will endure. 

Oh, and one last thing. . . I am going to make sure my girls read, repeat, and remember this, not just for their little girl-friends, but when the young men start to enter the picture.  I’m just sayin’!



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IN: ON: January 14, 2013 TAGS: , , , BY: Hilary
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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!

(image)

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.  
(image)
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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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.

(image)

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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Recipe Friday

Well, that just sucks.

I had written what was arguably the best blog post to date.  I saved it, oh, did I save it. I closed the computer and when I came back to upload my pictures, guess what?

*Poof* No more post.

It’s fitting because I was going on and on about what a less than stellar week this has been.

I’m in a total “bah humbug” kind of mood.  It started when we got back from Thanksgiving. The Hubs was already battling a cold and losing, impressively.  He shared said cold with me (so much for my flu shot).  The girls were overtired and in need of a sugar detox.  By the time we were back in our own beds, Thanksgiving was in my rearview mirror and I’m all, “Wait! Was that it?”

We are fully going towards Christmas.  It’s all over the place — on the TV, in the mail, on the radio, in my spam.  It’s in my house, too.

We got our tree the Saturday after Thanksgiving.  That’s unheard of around here. We usually get our tree like the week before.  I’m start taking down the ornaments around 3:30pm Christmas Day.  So the tree is up, as are the stockings and the wreath on the front door.  The girls keep insisting that we trim the house with lights, set up an inflatable Santa on the front lawn, spray fake snow on the step, and get one of those Elf on a Shelf things.  Elf on a Shelf? Right, because I don’t have enough to do.  I got the Advent calendar up.  I got the Christmas Carol Pandora Station going.  I even made three separate trips to three separate Targets to find the right replacement bulbs for the fake candles I put in the front windows of the house.

Remember how I said that I didn’t really care that my pants didn’t snap after Thanksgiving. Yeah, well I lied.  So I’m trying to be a more responsible eater.  It’s SO hard though, because this is the season where  food and drink are part and parcel of the experience.  I mean, you can practically taste the butter, sugar and peppermint in the air. On those aforementioned trips to Target, I blew my hard earned cash trying to find a more waistline friendly coffee drink.  Here’s a PSA: I’ve eaten brussel sprouts and cauliflower that taste better than Starbucks Skinny Peppermint Mocha Lattes and Skinny Caramel Machiattos.  Either save your money or splurge on the fat content. You’ll come out ahead.

I’ve been cooking this week, but it’s been the standard fare: tacos, spaghetti, steak and potatoes.  I made another batch of sausage and andouille soup because that’s good to have on hand for the nights when you’d rather re-heat than fully invest in a meat, starch, and veg.

I even went so far as to make cookies and blondies for the girls, and I didn’t even eat any.  Hold your applause;  I’m not too grown that I didn’t lick the bowl. And the beaters. A couple of times.  Hey, it’s not like I was jamming soft, crumbly baked goods into my pie-hole.

Mmmm. . . .pie. . .

But I’m getting off track here.  I’m just feeling like a big cranky, Grrrrr monster.   If I had to draw a picture of it, it would be a giant scribble with fangs and red eyes.  Surprisingly, it has absolutely nothing to do with my leg.  I went to the doctor this week and was fully prepared for whatever he was ready to tell me.  I didn’t bother to bring my matching sneaker because I knew that boot and I were going out as we came in: together.  Sure enough, I’ve got another two weeks in the boot.  It could be worse.  It could be another two months in the boot.  Of course, two weeks from today, there’s going to be a Bye-Bye Boot Bonfire in the backyard and I’ll be dancing around it holding the boot over my head like “Lord of the Flies” before I pitch it into the flames.  Or, I may just unceremoniously dump it into the trash can.  Either way, it’s a win.

The bottom-line is, I’m in need of some comfort.

I want to eat something warm, soft, and rich.  I want to eat something so good that I close my eyes and forget my name.  I want to eat something that when I bite into it, I should feel like I could crawl deep into its center, wrap myself in its goodness and take a nap.  I want to eat something that tastes as good as a hug feels.  It should be sweet and creamy and buttery and smooth and a little salty and have bacon and sugar and chocolate and of course, be less than 100 calories per serving.  I mean, so long as I’m dreaming, right?

Where to find such a mythical creation? Why, hello, Pinterest.  I’m sure you won’t fail to disappoint me.

Oh, this is so happening. . .

(image)

Bacon Chocolate Chip Cookie with Maple Glaze from Penguins and Cupcakes
Originally from   The baker chick
Makes about 2 dozen of cookies
Ingredients
2 cups plus 2 tbsp. all-purpose flour
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
12 tbsp. unsalted butter room temperature
1 cup brown sugar, packed
½ cup granulated sugar
1 large egg plus 1 egg yolk
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 ½ cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 lb package of bacon strips- cooked until very crispy and cut into small bits.

3/4 cup powdered sugar
pure maple syrup 

Directions
Adjust oven racks to upper and lower-middle positions.  Preheat oven 325°.  Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.

Whisk dry ingredients together in a medium bowl; set aside.  With electric mixer, mix butter and sugars until thoroughly combined.  Beat in egg, yolk, and vanilla until combined.  Add dry ingredients and beat at low-speed just until combined.  Stir in chocolate chips and 1 cup of the bacon bits.

Roll a scant half-cup of dough into a ball.  Holding dough ball in fingertips of both hands, pull apart into two equal halves.  Rotate halves 90 degrees and, with jagged surfaces facing up, place formed dough onto cookie sheet, leaving ample room between each ball.

Bake, reversing position of cookie sheets halfway through baking, until cookies are light golden brown and outer edges start to harden yet centers are still soft and puffy (approximately 11-14 minutes).  Do not overbake.

Cool cookies on sheets until able to lift without breaking.  Transfer to a wire rack to cool.

To make glaze- in a small bowl, add 1 tablespoon of maple syrup to the powdered sugar and stir. Add more maple syrup as needed until the glaze is a good, thick drizzling consistency. Sprinkle with remaining bacon bits.

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IN: recipes ON: November 30, 2012 TAGS: , , , , , , , BY: Hilary
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