well, i can't say that 2012 rang my bell. its been a bottom of the barrel year to say the least, but on the positive side:
i got to spend more time with Kidlet.
i read 54 books.
i've learned to be more self reliant.
i have THE best friends.
i've gathered more patience.
i've been buoyed from the least expected sources.
i've shed some guilt.
special thanks to the following. you each know why:
Joanie
Nancy
Robin
Lee
Kelli
Sue
Les
Barbara
Monday, December 31, 2012
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Christmas, the long version . . .
I'm going to go out on a limb and say we made it through Christmas even though there are still a few minutes left.
Let's back up a day first.
Christmas Eve is full of holiday tradition with us. The 9TS started cooking early in the morning for the Feast of the Seven Fishes. He picked up the flag after his mother passed away. He'd make fish chowder from dried cod. Shrimp. Fried smelts. Airships. Crabs in gravy over spaghetti. White fish and muscles or clams. And of course the gravy. Rich tomato sauce full of meatballs made with beef/veal/pork, country pork ribs and sweet Italian sausage, all simmering for hours until the house smelled so delicious, everyone was drooling. Oh, and stuffed manicotti. The BEST stuffed manicotti.
Last year, my sloth was not feeling his best. The menu was a little shorter and he mostly gave me directions from his chair but he still made the gravy and then put me in charge. I promptly burned the gravy . . . as in we had to toss the pot afterwards. You know, those big blue pots with white speckles. Even a jack hammer couldn't save this ones life. But we ate and carried on with family and had a good time.
This year, Kidlet and I have forged new traditions. The same, just different. We nixed the idea of all the fish. We are not keen on things that sound like dirigibles, remind us of pig iron, or come with their own shells . . . except shrimp. Shrimp are good. But that left the gravy.
Long before I met the 9TS, my idea of spaghetti sauce came from a jar. He put me straight the first time I served it to him and has been making our gravy ever since. Until yesterday morning, I had never made a meatball in my life.
(Now it must be noted that on occasion, I have a bright idea and last year, I had my laptop on the kitchen table furiously taking notes as the gravy process proceeded.)
So there I was hand deep in ground pork, ground veal and ground beef, eggs, breadcrumbs, spices, cheese and two slices of squishy bread. Squishy bread???? Yep, I looked again at my notes. What the heck was squishy bread. Well I winged it with milk sodden wholewheat and figured who would know. I had enlisted Kidlet's moral support and she ensconced herself in one of the big leather chairs from the living room she had dragged to the kitchen . . . and was happily watching the proceedings while crocheting.
Not trusting myself, I had asked everyone and anyone about the intricacies of meatballs and the general consensus was to make them tight so I didn't end up with meat sauce instead. Tight. Please define tight. At this point, Kidlet, who hates getting her hands gunky, hops up, washes her paws and starts 'tightening' up my balls. Go Kidlet.
Now, all we could do was wait for four hours to see the results, but not without a back up plan. I made baked ziti from bottled gravy, cooked some shrimp, made a salad and four loaves of garlic bread. We would not starve if all went downhill . . . fast.
The results? Damned good gravy if I do say so myself. Craig said the balls tasted just like his dad's. Seems I not only married an Italian, I can fake cooking like one. Yay me.
Christmas day, the plan was for Kidlet and I to open our presents as usual, have our Christmas breakfast and then she would head back up north to spend the day with her best friend and her family.
Opening presents was fun for all, including Pippin who thought Christmas was all about him:
Under the best present ever category, Kidlet bought us two tickets to see Wicked in Orlando in March. I have ALWAYS, wanted to see that play. Kidlet, you are the BEST.
Under the most absurd category: Kidlet's super socks complete with capes. Oh yes, I did:
And the fun went on with bobble headed Yoda and Jabba the Hut and much more.
When it became time for Kidlet to get ready to leave, she got a text from Jennie, who is nine months pregnant and exhausted, could they please postpone. Triple YAY, I got Kidlet for the entire day. I was not especially looking forward to being alone on Christmas although I had several offers of food, wine and cheeriness.
The only problem was not enough time to get the Prime Rib in the oven for dinner, but since it was already planned for Wednesday night, no biggie, trust me, there were plenty of leftovers.
I shot off a text to Stacie to wish her Merry Christmas and she decided to join us for dinner. Give me another huge YAY!!!!
So here's the thing. Yes, we missed the 9TS. Desperately. But things worked out. I prefer to think he was up there orchestrating the entire thing: from the perfect gravy to Kidlet and Stacie joining in for dinner. Well done my sloth. Well done.
Let's back up a day first.
Christmas Eve is full of holiday tradition with us. The 9TS started cooking early in the morning for the Feast of the Seven Fishes. He picked up the flag after his mother passed away. He'd make fish chowder from dried cod. Shrimp. Fried smelts. Airships. Crabs in gravy over spaghetti. White fish and muscles or clams. And of course the gravy. Rich tomato sauce full of meatballs made with beef/veal/pork, country pork ribs and sweet Italian sausage, all simmering for hours until the house smelled so delicious, everyone was drooling. Oh, and stuffed manicotti. The BEST stuffed manicotti.
Last year, my sloth was not feeling his best. The menu was a little shorter and he mostly gave me directions from his chair but he still made the gravy and then put me in charge. I promptly burned the gravy . . . as in we had to toss the pot afterwards. You know, those big blue pots with white speckles. Even a jack hammer couldn't save this ones life. But we ate and carried on with family and had a good time.
This year, Kidlet and I have forged new traditions. The same, just different. We nixed the idea of all the fish. We are not keen on things that sound like dirigibles, remind us of pig iron, or come with their own shells . . . except shrimp. Shrimp are good. But that left the gravy.
Long before I met the 9TS, my idea of spaghetti sauce came from a jar. He put me straight the first time I served it to him and has been making our gravy ever since. Until yesterday morning, I had never made a meatball in my life.
(Now it must be noted that on occasion, I have a bright idea and last year, I had my laptop on the kitchen table furiously taking notes as the gravy process proceeded.)
So there I was hand deep in ground pork, ground veal and ground beef, eggs, breadcrumbs, spices, cheese and two slices of squishy bread. Squishy bread???? Yep, I looked again at my notes. What the heck was squishy bread. Well I winged it with milk sodden wholewheat and figured who would know. I had enlisted Kidlet's moral support and she ensconced herself in one of the big leather chairs from the living room she had dragged to the kitchen . . . and was happily watching the proceedings while crocheting.
Now, all we could do was wait for four hours to see the results, but not without a back up plan. I made baked ziti from bottled gravy, cooked some shrimp, made a salad and four loaves of garlic bread. We would not starve if all went downhill . . . fast.
The results? Damned good gravy if I do say so myself. Craig said the balls tasted just like his dad's. Seems I not only married an Italian, I can fake cooking like one. Yay me.
Christmas day, the plan was for Kidlet and I to open our presents as usual, have our Christmas breakfast and then she would head back up north to spend the day with her best friend and her family.
Opening presents was fun for all, including Pippin who thought Christmas was all about him:
Under the most absurd category: Kidlet's super socks complete with capes. Oh yes, I did:
When it became time for Kidlet to get ready to leave, she got a text from Jennie, who is nine months pregnant and exhausted, could they please postpone. Triple YAY, I got Kidlet for the entire day. I was not especially looking forward to being alone on Christmas although I had several offers of food, wine and cheeriness.
The only problem was not enough time to get the Prime Rib in the oven for dinner, but since it was already planned for Wednesday night, no biggie, trust me, there were plenty of leftovers.
I shot off a text to Stacie to wish her Merry Christmas and she decided to join us for dinner. Give me another huge YAY!!!!
So here's the thing. Yes, we missed the 9TS. Desperately. But things worked out. I prefer to think he was up there orchestrating the entire thing: from the perfect gravy to Kidlet and Stacie joining in for dinner. Well done my sloth. Well done.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
acceptance . . .
I'm really proud of Kidlet. She's had a very hard road.
Last night we went to a grieving seminar by Dr. Alan Wolfelt. Just before he started talking, Kidlet and I agreed to count to ten before we beat the feet out of the hall. I got my forth finger straightened out when Kidlet nudged me and hissed, "give him a chance, mom."
And so we listened to this very insightful man. For two hours . . . which seemed like mere minutes. and when he was done, Kidlet went up to chat with him.
Later in the parking lot, Kidlet announced she was tired of hiding her feelings and . . . well this post on her Facebook, which i asked her to email to me since we are not friends on FB, will explain it all:
And there it is in a nutshell. So on top of mourning the loss of her dad, and having depression, and ADD, and mourning the loss of her fine motor skills from a newly introduced familiar tremor, and having difficulty with a little course called Advanced Calculus, she shattered. Wouldn't you?
Last week she spend five days in the hospital while all the Kings Horses and all the Kings men, tried to put Kidlet together again. She is a work in progress and it's not easy for either of us.
But last night was a really good first step. She's not hiding her illness anymore because she thought she should. I am so proud of her for standing up and telling the world what her life is like. And if the world doesn't understand. Well, you know what I say!!! Will this be magic like snapping your fingers and it all goes away. No. This will be a life long struggle but she knocked down one barrier and again, just a little bit louder, I AM SO PROUD OF HER!!!!!!
Kidlet, I love you~
Last night we went to a grieving seminar by Dr. Alan Wolfelt. Just before he started talking, Kidlet and I agreed to count to ten before we beat the feet out of the hall. I got my forth finger straightened out when Kidlet nudged me and hissed, "give him a chance, mom."
And so we listened to this very insightful man. For two hours . . . which seemed like mere minutes. and when he was done, Kidlet went up to chat with him.
Later in the parking lot, Kidlet announced she was tired of hiding her feelings and . . . well this post on her Facebook, which i asked her to email to me since we are not friends on FB, will explain it all:
Last week she spend five days in the hospital while all the Kings Horses and all the Kings men, tried to put Kidlet together again. She is a work in progress and it's not easy for either of us.
But last night was a really good first step. She's not hiding her illness anymore because she thought she should. I am so proud of her for standing up and telling the world what her life is like. And if the world doesn't understand. Well, you know what I say!!! Will this be magic like snapping your fingers and it all goes away. No. This will be a life long struggle but she knocked down one barrier and again, just a little bit louder, I AM SO PROUD OF HER!!!!!!
Kidlet, I love you~
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
just call me . . .
fang.
at La's yesterday, i popped my last bite of delicious sammie into my mouth and bit down on something hard. now there aren't many options in chicken, spinach and tomato wrapped in ciabatta bread with spiced mayo and vinegar reduction. and when my tongue confirmed a gaping hole, i knew the landscape of my mouth had been altered in the least fashionable way.
as i rushed to the little girls room, my poor tongue ran against a razor sharp edge. ouch. ensconced in front of the mirror, the truth sunk in. my frontish cap had broken down vertically. my two rather large front rabbit teeth were now flanked by a fang. a sharp pointed fang. Gah!!!!
i flew to the dentist who kindly made me an appointment for this morning. meanwhile of course, i had a meeting yesterday afternoon that could not be broken. i made sure not to sneer, growl, drool or do anything else that might reveal my new lycanthropic tendencies.
7:45 a.m. and there i was, plopped head down in the dentist chair while he took out his hammer, chisel and pliers and removed what was left of my old cap, drilled the tooth to an even smaller peg and stuffed me full of goop with which to make my new impression.
8:45 a.m. and i am home with a temporary crown and a hole in my pocketbook. i think i deserve a nap.
at La's yesterday, i popped my last bite of delicious sammie into my mouth and bit down on something hard. now there aren't many options in chicken, spinach and tomato wrapped in ciabatta bread with spiced mayo and vinegar reduction. and when my tongue confirmed a gaping hole, i knew the landscape of my mouth had been altered in the least fashionable way.
as i rushed to the little girls room, my poor tongue ran against a razor sharp edge. ouch. ensconced in front of the mirror, the truth sunk in. my frontish cap had broken down vertically. my two rather large front rabbit teeth were now flanked by a fang. a sharp pointed fang. Gah!!!!
i flew to the dentist who kindly made me an appointment for this morning. meanwhile of course, i had a meeting yesterday afternoon that could not be broken. i made sure not to sneer, growl, drool or do anything else that might reveal my new lycanthropic tendencies.
7:45 a.m. and there i was, plopped head down in the dentist chair while he took out his hammer, chisel and pliers and removed what was left of my old cap, drilled the tooth to an even smaller peg and stuffed me full of goop with which to make my new impression.
8:45 a.m. and i am home with a temporary crown and a hole in my pocketbook. i think i deserve a nap.
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