First, I should mention that I've had some wine tonight. Ok... a LOT of wine tonight. It's National Wine day or something like that (Feb. 18) and my friends and I had been discussing wine all day. I decided to come home and indulge a bit.
Please don't think I have an alcohol problem! HOLY NO! Honestly, I'm one of those one glass of wine per month types. I always seem to have a bottle chilled in the fridge, but if you examine it carefully, you'll see that the bottle I tapped tonight was originally opened at my mother-in-law's house on Christmas Eve 2015... nearly two full months ago, and it looked like only one glass had been taken already!
I don't drink much at all and because of that, one glass of wine is really all it takes to make me feel groovy. Two glasses makes me downright tipsy, and three... well that is full on drunk for me. Tonight, I've had two glasses. That puts me in a boldly honest place where I often forget to exercise things like tact and common sense, and where I tend to be very open about opinions and emotions.
I never liked drinking. Even in those crazy college years where one is expected to be going to hard core parties and clubs, I was always the designated sober person. I hated drinking in excess. When I did, I hated myself for the disgusting, vomiting monster I became. Shots are NOT my friend.
I was raised in a dry home. Neither of my parents drink, and honestly, I don't think they ever did. I once convinced my mother to try a hard lemonade.. two sips and she was done! ha! My father once said that he LOVED the taste of Nyquil which proved to him that he could easily become an alcoholic. It was for that reason that he steered clear of the stuff and never allowed it in his home. To this day, out of respect, I do not drink in front of my father and drink very sparingly in front of my mother.
I'm OK with being a designated driver or the sober voice of reason. It never bothered me and I don't think it ever will. Unfortunately, though, it has put me into a place where I simply hate going to bars. I see no point in going to an establishment designed specifically for drinking. I'd rather have some wine with dinner or on a special occasion. The occasion is never the drinking itself. This has caused some issues with a dear friend of mine who seems to ONLY want to visit bars or drinking venues. I have nothing against her enjoying those establishments, it just isn't for me.
When I was in college MANY years ago, I had to write a script for a movie as a final project. These are projects you get as a film major! Ha!
Everyone loved my story line. Several suggested I turn it into a novel. So began my journey of writing a book I titled, "Beyond Desperate." It's a romantic murder mystery type story that sits in my brain and has yet to make it to paper.
Back in October, I stood in the cold waiting for my daughter's Halloween parade to start. A father standing nearby saw me with a book in my hand and started a conversation. He asked if I was an avid reader and what types of books I enjoy. He then suggested a book he thought I might like. He had written the book himself and had it published about a year before.
I was thrilled. We talked about writing and I mentioned that I love to write but that I simply could not seem to get the ball rolling on that novel. He suggested that I set a small goal of writing 500 words a day, every day, even if it's nonsense. Then, eventually, the words will begin to flow.
I have a new goal for this year. I'm going to work on that novel... I'm not sure if it will be the one I originally planned, or something new, or some fun hybrid of old and new ideas... but I'm going to write that novel!!!
Valentine's Day is a day we use to celebrate love.
Now, I believe we should celebrate love every single day, but sometimes routine gets in the way. We wake up and get the kids fed, dressed, hair combed, lunches packed, and whisk them away to school, all the while getting ourselves up, pressed, dressed, make up and contacts, then boom out the door and off to work. It's a routine. We all have them. It's not a bad thing.
Valentine's Day, however, gives us a chance to take a moment and reflect on all the many kinds of love we have in our lives.
My sweet husband gave me roses, a card, and my favorite chocolates. I gave him some candy and a card, because I know he doesn't want the fuss. We gave the kids small trinkets of our love for them through dolls and sweets. The kids gave their friends little cards with lollipops attached to show they care.
We all jump on Facebook and share what our spouses did for us, or show pictures of the food we got when we went to our favorite bistro, or show old wedding photos, and proclaim our undying love for those who mean the most to us.
There are as many forms of love as there are Shakespeare sonnets.
This year, my husband and I put aside any romantic plans to care for our very sick child. She has the flu and a double ear infection. She's 7 and has special needs. It was mentally and emotionally exhausting. We were in constant states of worry, concern, love, and care for our dear little one. Valentine's Day was a demonstration of our love for our dear little one as we cared for her.
I've been reflecting a lot on love lately. There are so many different stages and types of love and I think a lot of people, maybe me included (?), are easily confused by their own feelings of love.
I adore and love my husband. He is my rock when I'm falling apart and my closest and dearest friend. I can tell him anything, and even though we may fight from time to time, I know that he wants the best for us and our family.
I love my friends, especially my closest and most trusted friends. When I Google quotes about friendship, one that comes up often is:
Isn't that the truth? I don't always have time to check in with my closest friends, but I know they will be there for me when I need them. I love them dearly. Some friends, old friends from school days, reconnected through social media, have been so far removed that we wonder how our friendships drifted so far. Then, after just one conversation, it all comes flooding back. The friendship is still there, you see the quirks and attitudes that always made you smile, you remember instantly why you got along so well back then and BOOM your friendship flourishes once again. I love those friends, too!
Some loves can be confusing. New love, when you want to shout from the mountains that you've found someone special, but you know it's TOO soon to do it, so you lie in wait for the perfect moment to reveal your emotions.... You might type out exactly what you're feeling in a deep, romantic text only to DELETE rather than SEND because you fear the reply will be awkward or unwanted.
Quick story: My husband and I met online. I couldn't wait to jump on the computer and see if he was free for a chat on instant messenger. I would wait with my heart beating wildly for him to appear online so we could chat. When I saw his name pop up as available, I would fight myself to wait a bit before I sent him a message, out of fear that if I seemed too eager, it would scare him off. We all play that game, don't we?
After months of communication, we decided to meet in person. It was magical. On the second date... SECOND DATE... I blurted out something like, "I think I might be falling for you...." and immediately regretted it. I wanted to go back in time and smack myself to stop me from saying it. I apologized a thousand times. I felt foolish. I had opened my mouth, spoken my true feelings, and was terrified of the reply that would be coming. Fortunately, after I had worked myself up pretty bad, he said, "It's ok. I'm falling for you, too." He fixed the situation rather than running for the hills.
New love can be confusing.
Old love is sacred and treasured.
They say you never forget your first love. I think that's true. I think that the love you had for that first one will always be with you. It's special. It's sacred. It's tucked down deep into your heart in a special place all it's own. Even if it ended badly, you tend to forget the bad bits and hold on to the wonder and amazement of that first time you realized what it was to truly be in love.
But the best love of all is the love you feel in this very moment. The romance from your spouse or significant other..... the family love for your children, parents, and siblings.... the love you have for your best friend.,... the love for a rekindled friendship from the past.... the love that you feel in your heart at this very moment.
All you need is love.
I leave you now with my favorite love song. It's a compilation of love songs meshed together for the movie Moulin Rouge. It's the Elephant Love Medley. For the record, one of the best love stories ever told... if you haven't seen it... please do.
Ok, there's no rhyme or reason to this... just a few random thoughts:
1. Adele's HELLO is kinda stalkery. Just sayin'. I mean, hey there old boyfriend, I totally crushed you and stomped on your heart, so I've decided to stalk you and call you about a thousand times to say, OOPS MY BAD, only to find out that you don't have time for me??? You moved on?? HOW DARE YOU??? You should totally be waiting by the phone for me to call and rekindle whatever it was you felt for me so that I can SLAM your heart into a wall again!!!
2. That last one was kinda intense. I need to recover.
3. The only thing worse than being sick is having a kid that is sick. Why can't they make cold medicine that tastes like ice cream and cookies?
4. Early morning team meetings at work without coffee are excruciatingly painful. I DON'T CARE ABOUT WHATEVER DRIVEL IS COMING OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!
5. I write very strange blog posts when I'm tired.
6. School buses and egg yolks are the same color.
7. Putting cucumbers in your water makes you poop more.
8. I should stop now... before this get's REALLY weird.
My kids are SUPER picky eaters. My 9 year old daughter will eat chicken in any variation, but avoids veggies at all costs. The younger one, with autism, has texture issues and has a very limited diet. Her favorite food is yogurt and she avoids all meats, except for bacon. If she had her way, every meal would be breakfast. My dear husband works the night shift. He only eats with the family on weekends.
In short, I live my weekdays as a short order chef. Each kid eats something different, I then pack a lunch for hubs to take to work, and finally, once the kids are in bed and the hubs is out the door, I make something for me.
It's quite tedious.
However, this past week or so, I have been on a cooking kick. I've made 3 hour chicken, crockpot pork, pizza fondue, tacos, mac-n-cheese, chili pasta, and my favorite: Sausage Potato Kale Soup.
I found a recipe for Sausage Bean soup, and another for sausage potato, and another for sausage kale... I took my favorite parts of each recipe and combined them with the seasonings and spices I had in my own home.
Today, I'm happy to share my final creation with you. I've made it this way many times and it truly is my favorite soup of all time.
RECIPE:
Sausage Potato Kale Soup
1 lb. ground sausage (I like sage sausage)
1 red bell pepper, diced
1 green bell pepper, diced
1 cup chopped carrots
1 small white onion, diced
3 med. gold potatoes, diced
3 cups (one bunch) kale, torn
32 oz. reduced sodium chicken broth
4 cups water
1 Tbs. Dill (I use Pampered Chef Dill mix, it has some dried onion in it)
1 Tbs. Rustic Herb Seasoning (I use Tastefully Simple -you can substitute with a mix of garlic powder, rosemary, thyme, and black pepper)
1 Tbs. Lemon Pepper seasoning (this brightens up the soup)
Brown the sausage in about 1 Tbs. of vegetable oil. Throw in the onion, carrots, and both green and red peppers and allow them to cook down a bit. Then add the potatoes and kale. Give it a good toss.
Add in the broth, water, and seasonings and bring to a boil. Back the heat off and leave it to simmer for about an hour.
This is an amazing soup. I hope you love it as much as I do!! If your kids are as picky as mine, it reheats very well, too! I make up a batch and take it to work for a week! YUM!
For some reason, we all seem to be raised with this stigma that we should keep our emotions to ourselves. When someone asks, "How are you?" The social norm is to say, "fine, and you?" only to hear another "fine" in return. Sure, there are variations... one of my favorites is "Can't complain, no one will listen..." and here begins today's blog.
Can't Complain, No One Will Listen
We are constantly being told to "Suck it up, Buttercup," and "Put on your big girl panties." After all, "Silence is Golden" and "Big Girls don't cry."
My last blog, A Valentine Story, was about a terrible car accident I was in on Valentine's Day 1996. In true Arlo Guthrie form, "I told you that story to tell you this one." It starts with my mother and her mother before her.
My mother has Fibromyalgia. When she was diagnosed, it was a rarely heard of autoimmune disorder. It was often used as a catch all term, when doctors didn't know what was wrong with you. Widely disputed as a "valid" condition/disease, it was not recognized as a health issue for most of my mother's life.
Fibromyalgia is most prominent in women, but can be found in men. Morgan Freeman, for example. It is genetic and is generally passed from mothers to their children. It is a unique condition that lies dormant in a person until triggered, often by an emotionally or physically traumatic event. For my mother, it was a car accident.... NOT the one on Valentine's Day, but earlier in her life.
After the Valentine's Day car accident, I suffered from chronic back pain. I would have good months, bad weeks, and stiff necks, often. They seemed to go along with the weather or the level of stress and strain I put on myself. Shoveling snow was sure to leave me in bed on a heating pad for days. I always attributed it to the broken bones in my back and neck. They say old injuries flare up and don't ever truly heal back to normal... right?
They. The infamous THEY. Who are THEY anyway? I question that phrase, "They say..." all the time. WHO? SAYS WHO??
Sorry, sidetracked. Oh Look, A Chicken!!! ahem.
The pain got worse over the years. Soon, it was in my shoulders, upper back, shooting down my arms like electricity. I felt like Storm from X-Men... I could zap people with the amount of electricity racing through my body. I would take a tylenol and Suck it up, Buttercup... because big girls don't cry.
I finally decided to go to the doctor when I had an odd sensation on my back. From the base of my neck to just below my shoulder blades, I was numb. I had itches and pain, but if I touched it, I felt nothing. Some days, I would feel an intense itch, but if I asked my husband to scratch it, it felt like he was scraping razor blades down my back. Something just wasn't right.
I had to wait 3 months to get into the doctor, but once I did, it was confirmed. I have Fibromyalgia. I told my mother and my husband, but no one else. It was my secret. The doctor put me on meds to help me regulate things and it took a while to find a combination that worked well for me. My doctor believes it was the 1996 accident that triggered it in me and as I grew older, it became harder for me to shoulder the pain on my own.
(See what I did there? SHOULDER the pain... LOL.. I kill me.)
So for years, I decided to Suck it up, Buttercup, and not tell anyone about my chronic pain disorder. I have been the team captain for my company's MS Walk team for 10+ years, but can no longer walk the distance. Every year, I found myself making excuses, or bailing out half way through. When my children want to play "Horsie" or climb on me, or sit on my lap for long periods of time... I didn't utter a word. I suffered in silence.
I lied. A lot. I was limping because I "turned an ankle," or I took a day off of work for a "migraine." It was getting harder to make excuses. I hated that I had to take medications every single day, several times a day. Then, a friend shared something with me.
"If your mechanic said that your car needed an extra fuel treatment once a week to keep it running well, would you do it? What if he told you that you needed to use the more expensive gas or a higher grade of oil, would you do it? Do you give your kids vitamins? This medicine is to help your body work more productively. It's maintenance. You have to stop seeing it as a crutch and more like a fuel."
That friend saved me. I started taking my medication and it really helped. I also stopped lying about my condition. I hate lying. I'm not very good at it. It was just easier to say, "I'm having a bad Fibro day." I started to open up more about it and show more support for it on social media.
It is not a crime to open up about invisible illnesses. It's not a crime to have a chronic pain disorder. It's not a crime to have an off day. I don't have to tell you "I'm FINE."
On Valentine's Day, 1996, 20 years ago, I was riding in the car with my mother very early in the morning. She was driving into work and I was riding with her because I didn't drive at that time. I was going to take the bus from her work to my college for classes. In my hand was an inexpensive chocolate rose that I had purchased for about $2 to give to my boyfriend. I was, after all, a broke college kid!
I was in a great mood when I woke up that day. There was a light sprinkling of snow on the ground, very pretty, and my mother and I were chatting casually about Valentine's Day plans. Then, out of nowhere, my mother hit a patch of black ice on the road. The car fishtailed out of control. On one side of the road was a large wall with a house at the top, built into the side of the mountain. On the other side of us was a canal full of frozen water. Coming the other way on the road, toward us, was a big rig truck with a trailer attached. We were sliding, passenger side of the car first, toward the truck.
There was a loud crunch of metal, as our small Ford Taurus was crushed around the bumper of the truck. My head crashed through the passenger side window, then bounced back to crash into my mother's head. The car crushed in such a way that I was pinned between the center console and the bumper of the truck.
My mother had a serious concussion and short term memory loss. She kept asking me what happened. I felt my hands go cold and something warm dripping down my neck. The rescue teams arrived and a towel was placed over my head as they used the jaws of life to disassemble the car so that I could be removed. A man was holding my head still, it was John, a boy I had known since childhood. He asked if it was a bad time to ask me out on a date. I laughed.
They strapped me to a back board and put me in the ambulance where they proceeded to ask me a thousand questions about my mother, her medications, allergies, and medical conditions. They asked a few questions about me, too. It concerned me that they asked so much about her, because I assumed it meant that she was not well enough to answer her own questions.
Moments after the ambulances left the scene of the accident, my father came upon the crash scene on his way to work. He got out of his car and ran to the scene. "That's my car. Where's my wife?" He was directed to the proper hospital. He didn't know I was in the car with my mother.
In the hospital, my father came to me. "How ya doin' Kid?" he asked. I immediately began asking where my mom was, how she was, what was going on? He told me to relax. Just relax. Mom's fine. She got knocked in the head, just a minor concussion with some memory loss, "It's YOU we're worried about, Kid."
Me?
Why?
What's going on?
"My head hurts." He reached behind my head and pulled out a large chunk of glass. It had been lodged into my head and held in place by the back board.
"They think you have a broken back or neck," he told me. I had never seen him so worried. The nurse came and removed my necklace and all 6 of my earrings then took me in for x-rays.
In the end, I ended up with 2 cracked vertebrae, one in my neck and one in my lower back, and a bruised liver. I also had a large cut in the back of my head from the glass and several bruises and lacerations.
When I was released from the hospital, the nurse handed me the chocolate rose I had been holding when the accident happened. There were bits of glass stuck into the chocolate. I started to laugh.
After a few days, my mother's short term memory returned, but to this day she does not remember the accident. I recovered in time, and it became a unique Valentine story for years to come.
I'm so thankful to God for protecting me and my mother that day. Here I am, 20 years later, doing great! After seeing the pictures of the car after the wreck, I cannot fathom how anyone could have survived. I decided to share this story because the accident led to some other things that I'd like to share in the days to come. I mostly wanted to share to show you all how great God can be. He protected me and my mother. We are alive to tell the tale -- well, I can tell it, she can't remember a blasted thing!
