Travel trials…

My brother is getting married on November 7. In Ohio. I live in Connecticut.

Because we’re not rich, we decided to take my mom and stepfather up on their offer to drive with them to Ohio instead of spend $600 on airfare- each, plus hotel, plus rental car, plus bridesmaid dress (and shoes and alterations and stuff). A $3000 trip just went down to like $700.

So, we’re leaving the Wednesday before the wedding. At like 4 am. For a 14 hour drive. With my mom, my stepfather, my husband, my 18 month old, and our Jack Russell Terrier.

*Twitch*  *Twitch*

Needless to say… I’m nervous. I’ll let you know how it goes. If I make it home alive ;-P

-Leigh

 

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies

I came across this recipe on another blog and the cookies look totally delish!

So maybe I’m getting better at this baking thing…I made a bunch {like 3 or 4 dozen} Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies last night and brought them into work this morning at around 9am – By 11am they were GONE. All of them. I thought they were amazing but wasn’t sure what others would think. Rich is not a fan of pumpkin and was not impressed so I had low expectations. Boy did I underestimate my cookies.

Here’s the recipe from George Duran of the Food Network:

Ingredients

• 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
• 1 cup white sugar
• 1 cup light brown sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 cup canned pumpkin puree
• 3 cups all-purpose flour
• 2 teaspoons baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
• 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
• 2 cups (12-ounce bag) milk chocolate chips, not semisweet
• Nonstick cooking spray or parchment paper

Directions

Heat the oven to 350 degrees F. Spray cookie sheets with nonstick spray or line them with parchment paper.

Using a mixer, beat the butter until smooth. Beat in the white and brown sugars, a little at a time, until the mixture is light and fluffy. Beat in the eggs 1 at a time, then mix in the vanilla and pumpkin puree. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cloves. Slowly beat the flour mixture into the batter in thirds. Stir in the chips. Scoop the cookie dough by heaping tablespoons onto the prepared cookie sheets and bake for 15 to 20 minutes, or until the cookies are browned around the edges. Remove the cookie sheets from the oven and let them rest for 2 minutes. Take the cookies off with a spatula and cool them on wire racks.

Yum Yum!  I cannot wait to make these!

-Danielle

Putting the ‘fun’ in dysfunction

My family is crazy. Most are. I don’t mean crazy in the fun way. I mean crazy in the most literal sense of the word. They’re nuts.

When I was little, I thought they were funny. Sometimes, things were a little scary, but I thought the chaos was fun most of the time. Now, as an adult, I have a different sense of the reality of my family’s dyfunction.

Over the summer, my friend and her aunts threw a surprise birthday party for her mom. Her aunt drove up from Florida with her family and my friend flew her brother in from California, got a DJ and rented a hall, decorated it… the whole nine. It was a really great party. I brought my daughter and had to bring her home early and get her into bed, but I went back to the party after she went to bed and my husband came home. When I got back, most of the guests had gone and it was just the family, sitting on the patio, drinking beers and talking about the old days. And their stories were HILARIOUS.

I started to think about all of our family stories, stuff we used to remember while sitting on my aunt’s porch while candles flickered in the cool summer night’s breeze. I thought of those stories from the perspective of an outsider, and the stories lost most of their humor when stripped of the first hand knowledge I have. They were still funny but in a more sad kind of way.

I sat down last night to write a letter to the local probate court. I have an uncle that is very troubled and has been in and out of correctional facilities most of his life. My aunt took him in after his most recent release from an 11 year jail stint. He’s really putting my aunt through the ringer now, acting all crazy, using drugs, stealing, and being abusive towards her. She asked myself and my cousins to write letters to the court because my uncle is causing some trouble about the estate of my grandmother and wants to reopen the estate. Obviously, we don’t want this to happen because it’s not only frivolous, but also unnecessary. Plus, if he gets what he wants, then the addresses of myself and my cousins are out in the open. I could care less about the money. I don’t want him knowing where I am.

So, I sat down to write the letter and I started to get really pissed off that I even had to do it. I was so mad that this jerk was making things so hard. I sat there fuming, and before I knew it, I had written this remarkably scathing letter. My mom (who divorced out of this side of the family about 10 years ago) read the letter and said, “Woo. That’s really good. Appropriate.”

I went to bed last night thinking about my family. Thinking about how ridiculous it was that all of our most memorable family moments were alcohol and or drug fueled. How ridiculous it was that my dad and my aunt didn’t talk for like 5 years because my brother and her son had fought. How ridiculous it was that I hardly knew my father’s parents because nobody talked to each other, and because the past was so horrible and that nobody knew how to let it go. I lay there, trying to sleep, thinking about all of this and pissing myself off more and more.

Then I remembered when my grandfather passed away last month. I wrote about it on Facebook the night he died. Even though my mother and father have been divorced for 10 years, the outpouring of support from my father’s side of the family was tremendous. I got a lot of phone calls and emails and comments, offering sympathies. My aunt and two of my cousins even came to the wake which, for them, was a 40 minute ride each way on a Wednesday evening.

I realized that even though we may be flawed, I can still count on my family to be there for me when I need them. When something I can’t handle on my own comes up, I have endless helping hands and shoulders to cry on. As the generations have continued on, the family bond has gotten stronger. We’ve seen the errors of our parents and have made strides towards not repeating them. And I think that’s pretty cool.

~Leigh

Being a 1 car family in a 2 car culture

It seems everyone in America has more than one car nowadays. In fact, according to this study,  35% of car-owning households have at least three.  The national average is said to be 2.28 vehicles per household.

My husband and I used to be part of that crowd.  We  had 2 cars during most of our marriage.  Then we moved across country, getting rid of one in the process. We were fine with 1 car, even after we had our first child.  This was because we have always lived in-town and were walking distance to everything, so it worked out perfectly for us. We paid our car off - and that was even better.

Then we bought our first home – which happened to be far enough removed from everything that were suddenly car dependent.  And it sucked.  As a SAHM with no car, not only was I really going absolutely stir crazy, but we were jam packed in our Honda Civic,  clown car style. We knew it was only going  to get worse too –  I was pregnant with our daughter. We decided it was time to really go through our finances and work a car payment in there somehow.

We were literally in the process of looking for a car when my husband called me from work one day (I just happened to be in early labor with our daughter too) and said his job was cutting his salary –  and this pay cut would be significant enough to affect us financially. Needless to say I was panicked. Talk about a way to kick start your labor.

So, thanks to the shitty economy and some bad luck, we are now stuck with 1 car.  And it is driving me crazy. Pun intended.

~Michele

Apple Bread

I  know we have all been really kind of neglecting the blog here, so I thought I would pop on with a great recipe I found yesterday which turned out amazing!

It is really simple too!

1 cup oil
3 eggs
2 cups sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
3 cups diced apples
3 cups flour
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1 cup chopped nuts/or raisins (like my husband likes)

Combine all liquid ingredients.
Gradually add the dry ingredients into the mixture.
Add apples and nuts/raisins as the last step.
Bake in two separate bread pans, or 3 foil pans for 1 1/2 hours at 300 degrees.

Allow to cool for about 10 minutes.
Sprinkle sugar over the top if desired.

-Danielle

The Days of Death

It seems as though death has struck the moms that blog here more than we should hope in the past couple weeks.
I lost my second mother, my good friend, my mentor in the birth community, and most importantly, the doula that attended my rigorous VBAC attempt in May with my second child, Benjamin.
I am dumb founded how my loving, warm, 59 year old surrogate could pass away. I guess it kind of reflects back to “only the good die young” right?

Karen and myself, She hated being photographed, so the two pictures of us together, I cherish.

I met Karen in 2008 when I started a chapter of The International Cesarean Awareness Network here in my state of Connecticut, just 4 months shy of my Cesarean with my oldest, Camden. She was so excited to have a chapter in the area again, and was eager to work together in the birth community. I was floor because no one had shown as much interest. Once we met our connection was on more than just a professional level, it was on a level of friends, which developed into a beautiful and close friendship. While there was such a large age gap between us, she felt like my best friend. We would sit and chit chat on the phone for hours into the night, funny stories, laughs, experiences, gossip, and advice. She was my go to gal.

When I got pregnant with my second child, I knew right off the bat that she was the one I wanted to be my doula. There was no question in my mind. She was there for me from day one, and she was there with me until the end of my almost 26 hour labor.

When I found out on Sunday that she passed away, I was floored. I had just e-mailed with her that day. She couldn’t be gone!
But then the next morning I got an e-mail from her son, under her e-mail address, and my worst fears were confirmed.
I have lost two people really close to me in my life time, one being my Uncle Dan, and the other being my Grandfather. But no matter how hard those deaths were on me, they were both expected because of their age. This has by far hit me the hardest.

I have been trying to hold most in from my children, but it is simply impossible given my state.
The hugs and kisses from my toddler make all the difference….

What about Mommy???

My marriage, it seems, is coming slowly to an end. I should not kid myself, or you, by inferring it was ever really a good idea. After what we, as a couple, had been through, and what I, as an individual, had been through, we should not have gotten married before doing a LOT of work and trust building in the relationship. I acknowledge my part in all of this, because I romanticized the fact that he had finally come back to me, and wanted, finally, to marry me.
But lately, well, the past 18 months or so, as long as our daughter has been on this earth, I have started to notice my feelings of intimate love for my husband waning. I love him as a person and consider him my best friend, but as far as romantic love is concerned, I have not felt that way for him in a very long time. It saddens me to say that because of how much I loved him before. If I think back on it, though, even when we got engaged, my feelings for him were decreasing.
There are several reasons for this, I believe. First (backstory here), when we were first together, I lived with Matt, his mom, and his stepfather in an apartment. After a few weeks, his setpfather started hitting on me, and when Matt finally told his mom about it, all hell broke loose. We were engaged at the time and all of a sudden, I was a liar and a bad person and he was told over and over again not to marry me because I was such a mess.

My feelings started to wane when the stuff first hit the fan with regard to his family and I. He sided with them. And got back together with me. And left me. And got back together with me. Lather, rinse, repeat. I was humiliated in having to explain to my family, weeks before it was supposed to happen, why we weren’t getting married. Then, during one of our “on” periods, I had a car accident (that left me unable to work for almost 9 months), and even after then… things were good for like a week, and he left me again. For stupid reasons. I called him too much. I wanted to be around him too much. I spent too much money on his christmas present. I couldn’t find the tax return he had helped me prepare and I had the nerve to call him and ask where it was.
Finally, some clarity came to him and he realized (at the urgency of his mother, who still hated me) that if he really cared for me, to be with me. So he listened to her, because that’s just what he does.
My trust was badly, if not irreparably damaged at this point, but since I had been told over and over again (by him, and, to be fair, a few other people I had dated) that nobody would ever love me because I was so screwed up and crazy, I was ecstatic that he chosen to come back, despite my obvious mental and emotional shortfalls. I was convinced I could do no better, and I stayed convinced of that until I gave birth to our daughter.
As she continued to grow, he continued to work 18 hour days to support us, and I kept thinking what a great guy he was to work so tirelessly so I could stay home and breastfeed and give our child the best things possible: natural nourishment and her own mother’s love, attention, and care. I eventually came to realize when we found out about his stepfather’s “issues” that although he was a great father, he fell short as a husband.
The day we found out that Matt’s stepfather Tony (the same man who made advances towards me in the past) had molested his 18 year old granddaughter, who has a mental handicap, we were on our way to lunch with our friends, Danielle and Will, and their son Camden. It was November, just before Thanksgiving, and it was cold and yucky out. Danielle was a few months pregnant with their second son. Matt didn’t tell me what had happened until we were in the parking lot of Friendly’s. I took a minute to absorb the information, and we carried on with our plans, opting to have a nice lunch and spend some quality time with our friends before figuring out our next move. Until Matt’s brother called him back. He instructed Matt to go and be with his mother. (Matt’s brothers lived, at the time, in South Carolina and California. Long distances, I know, but if it was my mom, I’d be on a plane or in my car in a heartbeat. His brothers are 9 and 11 years older than my husband, neither of them could take time from their busy lives to hop on a plane and come help her or Matt deal with the sitaution. They just made their phone calls and ordered him around. But.. this isn’t about them, it’s just fuel to the fire.) So Matt tells me his mom needs help and asks Danielle and Will to take me to the mall with them and he’d come get me later. He takes Lily’s car seat out of my car, puts it in theirs, and leaves, again… in my car, and is gone. For like 9 hours. With no calls or updates, leaving Will and Danielle to bring me to Bridgeport from Shelton at 10 at night. When I finally did get a hold of him, he yelled at me for being upset that he took off with my car, leaving me and his infant daughter to basically fend for ourselves. And what did he do with his mom for 9 hours? They sat in her car and talked. They went to the bank and got some money out of the joint account. They had lunch. They went to Home Depot. For nine damn hours.

It was that exact moment, when he was yelling at me on the phone, saying, “How dare you speak to me like this, with what my mother is going through right now?!” that I realized I deserved better. He was a wonderful son, a fantastic father, a tireless provider, but a thoroughly clueless and insensitive husband. He didn’t for one second, take into account that I had blown the whistle on that slimebag years ago and after all I had been put through for standing up for myself, I might have been feeling some things too. I didn’t expect him to choose me or his mother, but I did expect a little bit of support until the shock wore off.
Since then, when I have needed him to be compassionate and supportive, he has still fallen short. He was great a few weeks ago when I was sick and needed to be on Vicodin, staying home for a week to care for our daughter while I recouperated. But the next week, when my grandfather passed away,
he picked fights with me over stupid things, first thing in the morning, every morning of that week. I would rather he fought with me every single day I was sick then fight with me once while I was sleep deprived and stunned over my grandfather’s death. I don’t want to appear ungrateful for all he has done for us as a family.. but at some point, I started asking myself, “Isn’t it just as much about us as individuals as it is about us as a family? What about… me? When do I come before him, because I always put him before me, and he does too…where’s the line?”

Now, add to this equation, the fact that a guy from high school, that I was head over heels for, and too stupid to do anything about, starts talking to me again. He’s been in the ARMY since gratuation and he always seems to pop up out of nowhere once Matt and I start having problems, and he is always the mirror I can’t avoid.
This time, I have realized that I deserve a guy who gets me, who can be a good partner.
Even though this guy is leaving for a year long deployment in about a week, I’m taking this year while he is in Iraq and evaluating my life with Matt. This other guy has shown genuine interest, and I can’t ignore my feelings for him, and how intense those feelings are, nor can I ignore how dim my feelings for my husband have become.
Everyone seems to think this situation is no big deal, everyone goes through it. It’s a big deal to me. I’ve been miserable for a long time and I don’t want my daughter growing up thinking she has to be miserable too, just because she married someone and has a child. I don’t want to hurt Matt, but I need to be happy.

The question now is do I follow head or heart? Either way.. it’s going to hurt everyone.

~Leigh

Halloween Yummy’s

I am by no means a domestic goddess. I am honestly surprised that I haven’t burnt my house down trying to make something yet. But with time I am getting better. Today I am going to go over a super awesome recipe that I made last halloween that was a huge hit!

My Chocolaty Graveyard

Ingredients :

• 2 packages of chocolate instant pudding (4 serving size)
• 3 1/2 cups of milk
• 2 8oz tubs of whipped topping (cool whip)
• 1 16oz package of oreo cookies
• 1 package of milano cookies
• Gummy worms
• Candy Corn Pumpkins

Mix the pudding, and layer the bottom of the pan or tray with it.
Then layer the cool whip on top of the pudding.
Crush the cookies and layer the top of the cool whip.
Decorate the cookies before putting them into the into pudding mixture.
Then decorate as you would like.

It is a huge hit!

-Danielle

Boundaries, Love, and Your Kids.

I recently (like, 3 days ago) started working at a daycare center here in my hometown. I teach in the afternoons, a class of about 9 4 year olds. I’m really excited about the job because every day presents a new challenge for me. It’s up to me to plan their afternoons and make sure they go potty and have their snack and play nicely with each other. I get to nurture children and get paid for it.. I LOVE it so far, even if the kids aren’t quite used to me just yet.

Here’s the problem: I’ve become very attatched to my kids in the three days I have worked with them. Most of the children, from what I can tell, have very stable home lives with parents that genuinely care for them. There are a couple of children in my class, though, that don’t have that and it breaks my heart. It’s these children in particular that I have the urge to protect. I have the urge to give these children lots of extra attention and love, but I know that for a couple of very good reasons, I can not give in to those feelings.

Yesterday, I went in to work a few hours before I usually would so I could observe their mornings and see what their days are like before I get there, and also help the morning teacher out a little bit. While we had the kids outside for morning play, their teacher filled me in on each child’s home life and overall behavior. It’s blatantly obvious which kids have behavioral or trust issues from the second I walked into that classroom, but I had no idea some of these children had it so rough.

Being a mother has definitely changed the way I handle (or want to handle) these kinds of scenarios and situations. I can remember, before I was even pregnant, I saw a kid misbehaving in a daycare center when I went with a friend, almost weekly, to pick up her child. This one kid was always yelling and crying and hitting the other children and I can recall thinking, “Oh my god, if that was my kid.. this wouldn’t fly at all!” or, “How can they let this kid act like this, it’s ridiculous?!”

One week, I found out that both of the kid’s parents had passed away (at the same time, no less) and the child was being raised by his grandmother, who, devastated by losing her daughter, was virtually unable to take care of herself, nevermind this little boy. I remember feeling bad for the kid, but thinking that it was no excuse for behavior like that, and if that child was my responsibility, that behavior would simply not be tolerated.

Now that I have a child of my own, though, I find myself to be like a sponge. I see the pain in these kids and I want to absorb it all for them. I feel guilty disciplining one kid in my class all the time because I know they don’t have much structure at home, but the way they act is unacceptable. I feel bad refusing to hug another child all the time, like they ask, because I can tell they need the love, but I can’t let the other kids think this one child is my favorite, or more special than the rest of them. As a mom, I still have these feelings. They are intense and they are so hard to ignore.

Maybe that’s when I’ll stop doubting myself, when I can see a kid crying because he’s not getting his way and not feel like I need to wipe the tears and take the hurt and anger away. Is that also the time, though, where my own parenting begins to suffer? I worry, while I am at work all day, if one side of my life will begin to suffer as a result of the other.

Then I come home and see my daughter’s glowing face, arms outstretched, reaching for me, and I know there’s no possible way to turn that love off or let anything negatively effect my treatment of my child. I just wish other people were more aware of how their behavior effects their children.

Please know, mommies and daddies out there, that there is no greater gift you can give your child than your love and support. Don’t let that love get in the way of boundaries that need to be set (even if they can’t see it and don’t like it) for their own good. Behavioral boundaries are so crucial to their development, but they must be set and enforced with love.

~Leigh

My monster of a child

My second child, Benjamin, is so much bigger than my first was at his age. He is almost 5 months old, well he will be 5 months old on October 17th. So he is still a little ways off. And he is already growing out of 3-6 month clothes. Some of his outfits he has worn for maybe a week, one time, then I am packing them away!  What the heck!

My youngest lived in newborn, then 0-3 month clothes until he was almost 6 months old!

On a side note, I made the Apple Crisp recipe the other night and my husband said it was DELICIOUS!  (I skipped since I am trying to shave off some baby weight just in time to pack it back on for the Holidays) But I highly suggest it. And plus, it was SUPER easy to make!

P.S.

HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY MICHELE!

-Danielle