It’s just after midnight. It’s very quiet right now. I can hear the snake slithering around in his habitat. The new dog gnawing on a chewtoy. My keys clicking as I type. Otherwise it’s nice and peaceful right now.
Many people don’t get why I stay up way past a sensible bedtime. Would I benefit from a full 8 hours of sleep? Probably. Would I get more accomplished if I got enough sleep and didn’t hit a wall and doze off at 2 pm every day? Probably. Would I start to go stark raving mad from lack of quiet, no demands, no one touching me, no stream of constant and unending chatter, no tasks to do but what I feel like doing? Definitely!!! I need this time. I thought I might have it happen during the day once The Boy started kindergarten. I thought that while he was at school for the afternoon I would have the opportunity to get some stuff done and have a chance to drink a HOT cup of coffee and a have a sit down and get some uninterrupted stitching in. Turns out, 2.5 hours is not long enough. Don’t get me wrong, it’s better than nothing, but it simply is not enough time to do what needs to be done and spend some time doing me stuff.
So, I stay up way past midnight. That’s when I do most of my writing. Get most of my stitching done. Bought some fabulous yarn with my Chistmas money. I’ve promised the hubster that I’ll actually keep what I’m making with it. I may even keep that promise.
It is so very me, this lovely green yarn. The blanket is meant to go on top of my plain duvet on my bed. I may even start to actually make the bed just to show this one off.
Well, that’s what’s on my mind tonight. I’m about to go work on a project and I’m a bit excited for tomorrow. Starting a new yoga program and my second workout is tomorrrow. Still have to go out and get myself a proper mat. Made due for the first workout but the hard floor is hell on my knees. It’s a good, hard but not too hard, workout called DDP Yoga. It was designed by a wrestler named Diamond Dallas Page to help himself get through the assorted injuries and pain he suffered as a result of his time in the ring. It grew into a whole yoga program and has helped tons of people with pain control, weight loss and general fitness. I liked the first workout. Usually, when I try something like this, I know right away that I don’t like it. I hate working out. I hate aerobics and weights and cardio. I love the pool but don’t have one so that’s an occasional treat. This one seems like something I can do and maybe even enjoy. One of the instructions was to take a bunch of pictures of myself. The “Before” photos. Gonna do that tomorrow too. Perhaps, someday, I’ll put them up here with the after photos.
Here’s to quiet and feeling optimistic.
Good song, and true in my case as well. Been really, really busy feeding and entertaining and cleaning up after my family. Haven’t had hardly any time to write on my blog like I’d hoped to. Today I just had to though. I have just created the most delicious Buffalo Cheese Sauce ever. Okay, I realize that it’s pretty much guaranteed that someone, somewhere has made this before and has probably posted it to the internet but I didn’t get it from that. I improvised it so I’m proud of it. I wanted to make this recipe Buffalo Chicken Macaroni and Cheese. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any heavy cream so I had to improvise. I made the pasta, used rotini, and the chicken filling then whipped up my own version of the sauce.
Buffalo Cheese Sauce
- 1/2 cup butter
- 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
- 1 1/2 cups milk (I used 2%)
- 2 cups grated cheddar
- 1/4 cup Frank’s Red Hot Sauce
- pepper to taste
- melt butter in saucepan
- stir in flour thoroughly. It will clump and then get smooth. Let cook for a few minutes
- Stir in milk and pepper. Let cook a few more minutes
- Stir in cheese. Keep stirring until melted and blended.
- Stir in Frank’s Sauce. This one can be to taste as well. With the 1/4 cup I used it was enough to give the flavour without being painfully hot.
OMFG was it yummy. Besides the recipe for the cheese sauce and the panko breadcrumb crust on top (I prefer to toss some cheese with some bread crumbs made from my homemade bread for mac and cheese crust) I followed the linked recipe. Then, I dropped my phone into the oven trying to take a picture of the food baking. No worries, both me and my phone survived the experience and we have this to look forward to eating.
It’s Autumn. I adore the cooler weather. The beautiful colours. The lack of biting insects. It’s the best time of year to be home with my little dude. Or out with him. We went to the park today. It’s cloudy and a bit blustery but we dressed for it. I’m a knitter and crocheter. We are not lacking in scarves, hats and mittens. Or we won’t be once I get finished making this year’s crop of them. Lately, I’ve been addicted to making a particular shawl. Called a Virus Shawl, it’s a quick and pretty easy pattern once you get the hang of it. It’s easy to find if you google it and there’s a pretty straightforward video tutorial. There’s some small amount of controversy over whose free pattern it is so for this one you’re just going to have to google it for yourselves. It works up like this…
And here’s one of a most beautiful lady modelling a gorgeous one I made…
They are both made with Red Heart Unforgettable yarn. I’m making a third with colourway Parrot. It’s glorious.
I also managed to whip up a throw blanket in just under a month. Yay me!! It was a wedding shower gift for a dear cousin. I’m so glad she liked it.
This is it half done. I really love the way it turned out. The pattern was Easy Ripple Afghan which is another favourite of mine. I like it because it’s an easy repeat and doesn’t have the holes you so often find in a crochet chevron blanket. I have some of the yarn left and have matching plans for it but I’m not going to get into it in case my cousin reads this.
Now that it’s cooling off and the Boy and I aren’t so new at this whole “at home all the time with mom” thing, I should have more time to blog again. Also, with the cooler weather I’ve pulled out my stock pot and will be searching out and trying new recipes for soups and stews to help keep our bellies nutritionally, yet frugally, full. I already have a delightful pork stock that has squash soup written all over it.
Catch y’all later.
My mother-in-law lost her husband recently. It was sudden and unexpected and we were all pretty stunned. She’s taking it well but it’s fresh still and facebook still throws things at her that are pretty clear reminders. This morning it was a quiz that told you who your best friend is and it picked him for her. I wrote her a small burb about something that comforts me when I’m missing my lost folks. It’s really a picture in my head but it comforts me.
It’s a beautiful sunny day with a nice cooling breeze that’s blowing in the windows keeping it from being uncomfortable. The trees rustle a familiar tune as the wind ruffles through their leaves and needles and stray noises from daily chores and children playing burst through occasionally. There are slight waves breaking on the beach adding to the summer symphony. I see a small cabin with a large kitchen. Wood stove on one side, gas stove on the other. Blue water pump beside the sink. There’s something baking or roasting in the oven. Blueberry pie or chocolate brownie or some sort of roast beast meant for dinner. There is a large table, big enough to fit many people, surrounded by comfortable wooden chairs. My mom is sitting at it. Her back to the hutch. To the left of her is her mom. Gramma never visited this particular kitchen in her lifetime but she would have been welcome and fits well in this company. Blonde head and grey one close together as they drink coffee and talk. At the head of the table is my Aunt Karen. Notepad and ashtray within reach. On her side is her mom, Auntie Addie. The scene oozes motherliness and so much love I took for granted when I had it nearby and reachable. The stories I heard and now grasp at trying to remember because felt I had all the time in the world to hear them over and over again. I wish I’d written them down.
Others pass through from time to time. Some naturally belong here, others are first time visitors, all are welcome. Some just stop for a drink, coffee or rye or whatever, others set a spell and shoot the shit.
The four women are always there. They keep an eye on me. My very own cheerleaders. When I’m down or having a hard time they send me support. Sad they can’t talk to me to help. When I do something funny or boneheaded I can hear their cackling in the back of my head and it reminds me to laugh at myself so they aren’t laughing at me. They are always there, this picture in my head. I miss them all so much.
I told my mother-in-law to send her husband a prayer to stop by for a drink. He’d be more than welcome, the baking is incredible.
When I was an expecting and new mom I found a great thing. A blog called Scary Mommy. All my fears, doubts and insecurities seemed to be there and if I couldn’t find an answer to them I could at least find others there who had them too and could empathize. The forums are still okayish. They do some great charity work (non-Americans need not apply) and the first few books are quite funny. The testimonials are the same. They go from hilarious, to pathetic, to heartbreaking but that’s what one should expect from anonymous admissions from women. Unfortunately, the blog has become blametown. One post is about how washing one’s misbehaving child’s mouth out with soap is abusive. Siting the toxicity of soap being harmful to the brat (who has toxic soap around children?) it flat out calls you abusive if you’ve ever used that particular punishment on a child no matter what their transgression was. Another post complains about how parents willing to play with their children are ruining her sitting on her butt time. Breast is best vs. formula, Chrissie Teagan, cover the babe when feeding vs. whip out your baby feeders and take on anyone who wants to shame you for using them for what they’re intended for, discipline, precious snowflakes (anyone who knows me knows I don’t use snowflake as a compliment in this case) wine, more wine, dad’s as babysitters, dad’s who clean being the ultimate feminists, every group possible trying to explain how their particular group has it harder than all other groups. Heck, my last blog post was a rant about a blog post on Scary Mommy saying fuck you and your sandwich to all parents who aren’t jumping for joy at the opportunity to have their children miss out because of other kids’ allergies. The worst are the posts out there judging and shaming people for judging and shaming. There’s so much of it going around on there (and I’m just talking about the blog posts themselves, don’t get me started on their comments sections) that it’s difficult to find the solidarity-based, we’ve all been there, you aren’t alone vibe I grew to love because it helped me through my new motherhood until I could gain enough confidence to be an “I’m a Mom!” rather than “I’m a mom?”
It’s sad really. I miss the old Scary Mommy. I took part in the forums. Shared what I’d figured out, learned from others and enjoyed the blog. Now, the constant judging and shaming coming up on my social media feeds has totally turned me off and so, I’ve totally turned them off. Maybe one day there will come a time when they, and/or the internet can switch back to helping rather than harming. A girl can dream can’t she? If and when that day comes I’ll be back there happy as a clam because I’ve missed my old friend and I’ll be happy to have them back.
Recently read a blog post that I found incredibly annoying and thought I might write my thoughts about it. The post can be found here…
Is Your Child’s PB&J More Important Than My Child’s Life?
Now for the record, no. My child’s PB&J is NOT more important than any child’s life. It never has been. When my son was in daycare and they had a no peanut policy I sent plain jam sandwiches every day because he wouldn’t eat meat or cheese ones. I finally found a soy substitute for peanut butter that didn’t taste like ass and made sure everything involving his lunch had the included stickers to ensure that everyone knew it was nut free. I ran home once when I pulled a complete bonehead that I thankfully caught en route when I put Nutella in his sandwich without thinking. We call it chocolate butter at our house but thankfully I remembered the hazelnuts before we got there. I buy rice crispy treats for The Boy’s birthday because they have the nut free symbol on them instead of making him the cake he asked for because my kitchen is in no way nut free and I can’t guarantee anything coming out of it isn’t contaminated (I haven’t managed to kill any of my nut allergic friends yet but still can’t guarantee). So again, no, my and my son’s consumption of nuts isn’t more important than the risk to other children who allergic to them. That does not mean I have to be happy about it.
Where does this woman get off sending out a general, widespread and literal fuck you to anyone who might bitch about nut free policies? You’re a momma bear? So what? So am I. That doesn’t mean I go out in public and hand out a giant middle finger to everyone in the friggen planet for not caring about my child. That daycare he used to go to? They used to do a summer outing with the kids every other week or so. They used to pack them all up and parade them all down to the Dairy Queen a few blocks away for ice cream. Then, they got a kid with a nut allergy. Unfortunately, DQ has a great big sign that says “we are NOT nut free” so the munchkin with the allergy couldn’t go. They accommodated him by leaving him at the daycare with a staff member. One on one time is expensive. Wasn’t good enough. They made it policy that none of the children could order anything with nuts. Not good enough. They couldn’t guarantee that the children wouldn’t carry back any microbial bits of nut atoms with them so what happened? All 80 kids have to go without one of the best field trips of the summer because the world is hazardous to kids with nut allergies. Fine. It’s necessary. Still don’t have to be happy about it. So to the lady who says fuck me and my PB&J, right back atcha. You might be a momma bear and your little bear might be cursed with an allergy that can kill the poor little bugger but this momma bear has accommodated to the detriment of my own child so you can take your fuck you and shove it up your arse.
If you aren’t familiar with the movie Anger Management starring Jack Nicholson and Adam Sandler, I highly recommend it. The title of today’s entry is a phrase from the movie and is used to calm and relax those experiencing anger and anxiety in the movie. I had a goooozefrabba moment yesterday. Doing much better today. Found a reason to laugh at/with (he didn’t know why we were laughing but whatever) my son, went for a long walk, threatened his life if he didn’t play on his own with his own toys for a while which he finally did and I got some time to just sit and veg and play with my new crochet thread stash. He actually came over and helped me sort it.
Mostly just playing around at this point but whipped up a bracelet for myself…
And I’ve started on one for my sister. She says she wants ‘camo colours’…
She didn’t say it couldn’t be a camo coloured granny square cuff. She’s being a good sport about it. If she doesn’t end up liking it I’m sure it will have a good home with me or someone might decide to adopt it.
The Boy is co-operating well today. Got him interested in his building blocks last night and he’s been keen to build stuff since. Erected his first bridge yesterday.
He was very proud of it. We started a penny chore jar a couple of weeks ago and it seems to be working well. I let him paint it.
He gets a few pennies for a day without potty accidents and varying amounts for doing whatever chores I need him to do. Today he got a couple for helping me put away the clean dishes and deal with the dirty ones so we could make cookies. I think the cookies were more exciting than the pennies going in the jar.
We just used the recipe on the Chipits bag also available at Original Chipits chocolate chip cookie recipe. Ours aren’t as super perfect looking as the ones on the bag but taste like chocolate chip cookies. I’m puzzled as to how The Boy manages to get chocolate all over his face by eating itty bitty individual chocolate chips. Meh, he’s a boy. His natural state is dirty.