I Want a Mommy

"I want a mommy" is one of the top search terms used to find my blog.  "Bandaid toes" is another search term which I would absolutely expect to find after someone searches for a mommy online.

The absurd thing is, I don't consider myself a "mommy."

Yes, I know that I am and embrace it wholeheartedly, but when I hear "mommy" I immediately think of my first few (naive) months as a new mom or worse, mommy blogger.  Just because I am a mom and I blog does not mean that all I blog about is being a mom.  I prefer parenting influencer.  I write about my family and what we do.

Mommy, to me seems young and I am so not young.  I was not a young mom, in fact I am probably one of the last of my friends to procreate.  Also, my kids have never really called me mommy, at least not for very long and now only when scared or hurt.  They call me momma, mom, and even m-o-t-h-e-r, but not really mommy.

Ever since my mom died in February, I've been thinking about my role as a parent.

Everything is Awesome

Sitting in the dark theater, I feel a little hand search for me. I look over to see her snaggletooth grin. She was just making sure I was still there.

I don’t take the kids to the movies. That’s what daddy does but I really wanted to see the Lego Movie. The kids saw it while I sat with my mom, one last time, and today I really wanted to forget the world and go to the movies.

As we drove, my son realized we were going to the same place that shows movies on the lawn in the summer. Despite the freezing temperatures, he was convinced that if I was taking them to the movies then it must be outside and not in an actual theater. I saw he was serious when he asked where we would get popcorn since I did not make it ahead of time.

I told him we were stopping to buy popcorn and waited till he figured out that we would also be seeing the movie in the warmth of a movie theater.

I am that mom that uses her purse to pack snacks and juice boxes but today, we splurged. Well, the kids splurged. They even got slurpees - coke and blue raspberry and cherry mixed with blue raspberry. When did they install a slushie machine?

Throwback Thursday Work Addition: My Colleagues Took Their Clothes Off

It is hard to imagine lives before kids but we had them.  I wanted to compare me from ten years ago with today but I found this gem from 1999 and that is close enough.  I am posing with a colleague during his shift.

Fourteen years ago I managed a nightclub quite by accident. I was the receptionist by day and ran the coat check at night until the night managers quit to open their own nightclub.  One of my responsibilities became managing an all male revue (aka male strippers), overnight

Today, I order supplies and sign for packages.  Back then I ordered supplies, signed for beer deliveries and got to watch my co-workers take their clothes off. Every. Saturday. Night.

Good times.


The Prompt: 1.) Find a photo of yourself taken 10 years ago and display it on your blog along with a current photo. How have you changed since the day that photo was taken?

Remembering My Dad

 

My dad died my freshman year of high school.

It was not necessarily a surprise, he had cancer after all, but it was. He went in for a surgery that would extend his life but he never woke up.

It was hard, at first, to remember my dad and not the man who was sick with cancer sleeping in our living room. My dad was so strong, invincible but we watched his body give up, failing him. Cancer did not make him wistful and full of peace, it made him angry and mean.

I was barely a teenager facing adult situations and I was just so angry. My belly burned with resentment and my shoulders slumped under the responsibility. I also don’t remember a lot of that time. It feels like someone took an eraser and left faded marks. I am thankful for that.

I catch glimpses of the man who was my dad now that I have kids. I spent my twenties struggling to hold on to the fading memories so it takes my breath away to see him in my son’s scowl and my baby girl’s temper. She certainly has his temper.

But. I can also see my dad in their laughter. 

I like to think that my husband and my father would have gotten along, playing golf and sharing a beer. And, I hope that he would have loved my kids as much as he loved us.

I miss you daddy.

Because Prompts are Fun - Shepherd's Pie, My (forgotten) Comfort Food

When I was a little girl, I use to go to my grandparent's house often.  Actually, every Friday and most weekends I would spend the night. Their house was my favorite place to be and I lived for Fridays when I could go and hang out with my Grandfather.

Often, my cousins would come over and it was from my cousin Catie that I learned about shepherd's pie.  It seemed to my little girl's eye, that she was just throwing food into a pot but when she pulled it out of the oven it smelled so delicious and that first bite - amazing, simply amazing. 

Believe it or not, I have never really made it as an adult.  I made variations of it with cream of mushroom soup but it was not the same.  Truth be told, I didn't really learn how to cook until about ten years ago so I thought my version was good enough.

A few months ago, the girls at my job decided to throw a comfort food potluck which happen to fall the same day as my son's school's family heritage potluck dinner.  Last year I made cabbage and noodles and it seemed like everybody else did too so this year I figured I would make something that would fit both events. The first dish that came to mind was my cousin's shepherd pie.

It was a little daunting trying to recreate it and keep my emotions in check.  So much time has past and so many sad memories since the last time we ate together. When I made this, my cousin and I had not spoken in three years and I had severed all ties to my mom's side of the family.  Not that this was hard to do, they had cut me out years before that day.

Making this dish was reconnecting me with them just a little bit.

 

I am not sure how the family's at the school liked mine because there were three other shepherd's pies there when I got there and no cabbage and noodles!  Oh, the irony.   I do know that the girls at worked loved it.  In fact, one has asked me repeatedly to make it again because to her it tasted like home.  I won't ever make it again for them because that is way to much pressure.  I will share the recipe.

I actually had to Google what was in it besides meat, veggies, and potatoes.  I ended up using a version from Simply Recipes,  but used frozen mixed vegetables and boxed potatoes since I was making so much of it and by so much I mean two large lasagna pans plus a crock-pot full for work.

Short Cut Shepherd's Pie

• 1 1/2 lbs ground round beef
• 1 onion chopped
• 1 bag of frozen mixed vegetables - carrots, corn, peas
• 1 box of potato flakes
• 1 stick of  butter
• 1/2 cup beef broth
• 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
• Salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Saute the onions until clear with 2 tablespoons of butter in a dutch oven or a pot large enough for everything and can go into the oven.  Add the ground beef to the onions and season with salt and pepper.  I used really lean beef so I could use the juice from the beef in the dish.

While the beef is browning, make the potatoes according to the box.  You will need enough to cover the mixture with at least an inch of potatoes.

Once the beef is done, add the broth and Worcestershire sauce and let simmer for about ten minutes.  This is what will make it taste like you were cooking it all day.

Finally, add the frozen veggies, top it with the potatoes and top the potatoes with at least a had of stick of butter - melted already or cubed and let it melt while making.  Bake for about twenty minutes or until the potatoes are a little browned.

This really is a one pot meal.

Do you have a favorite comfort food?

Because Prompts are Fun is now open! Join the link up or come read bout this week's theme - food! ow.ly/kGjcV #promptsrfun

— MryJhnsn (@mryjhnsn) May 3, 2013

Every April

Sometime in my twenties, I got knocked up.

Pregnant or in the family way would probably be more acceptable but I had just gotten out of a shitty relationship that lasted way to long and was finally living alone. Saying that I was expecting seems wrong when I had gotten myself knocked up.


It was the first time that I was living truly on my own. No roommate, no parent, and no boyfriend - I was on my own and loved it. And then, the ex-boyfriend came to see me, on Valentine’s Day, wondering why I would not answer the phone anymore when he thought we would get married one day.


Married? I knew I would never marry him. Maybe at some point there was a possibility but I left him, moved across town and deliberately moved to a place that was suppose to be so secure you had to know the apartment number to ring my buzzard.


I never told him my apartment number but he got in anyway. Where was that security they promised in the brochure?


We talked, we argued, we said our goodbyes, and one thing led to another. A few weeks later I took that dreaded test, so much for that fond farewell idea and so much for birth control.


Needless to say, when I called to tell him, the truth came out. He had been living with someone for months and I would be on my own if I had the baby. I was actually okay with that scenario. It was him that I didn’t want anymore.


As it turned out the baby was not meant to be and life went on. I have not thought of that time in my life for many years.


My mom on the other hand, thinks of it every April.


It’s amazing how events in our lives may impact the ones around us more than we know. I think my mom saw the miscarriage as a lost grandchild, a lost miracle. I saw the miscarriage as a blessing, not right away mind you but eventually.


It took a long time for me to be around any children, including the children in my family. I had even given up ever having a family of my own because not long after my miscarriage I was told it would be hard for me to conceive. Although it was not necessarily in my plan to have children, taking the option away devastated me to the point I told my husband, “What’s the point of getting married if I can never have kids?”


Obviously, the doctor was wrong and I had no problems conceiving two kids and the husband and I eventually got married.


Looking at our family, my husband and our children, I realize that sometimes the best answered prayers are the ones that weren’t answered at all.

Word(less) Wednesday: A Dog Named Whiskey

3 years later...

Don't go breaking my heart
I couldn't if I tried
Honey if I get restless
Baby you're not that kind

Don't go breaking my heart
You take the weight off me
Honey when you knocked on my door
I gave you my key

Nobody knows it
When I was down
I was your clown
Nobody knows it
Right from the start
I gave you my heart

It Happened on a Bus One Day

 

I did not date in high school.  Partially, because I was scared to death that my mom would live up to her promise to come on any and all dates but mainly because I was never asked out by any one I wanted to actually spend time with outside of school activities.  I also had to leave my calendar open in case one of my many crushes came to their senses and finally asked me to go out.  They never did.  I am okay with that and I have a therapy bill blog to prove it.

I digress.

When I finally took the plunge and had my first real boyfriend, I was in my first semester at community college.  No jokes.  I need to up my GPA and I could still live at home to save money.  In addition to living at home, I did not drive, yet.  My second boyfriend would be the one to get me through the test but that is another story.  No, today I want to talk about the first time I got dumped.  The original prompt is for duped but I feel that this is one and the same 

As I said, I took the bus.  Most days it was fine because I took it downtown and it was easy peasy living in a suburb spitting distance from Cleveland.  On Tuesdays, however, I had to take an hour long bus ride, out to another suburb, to the college's other campus to take the classes for my major.

It was because of this bus ride that I met my first.  He was cute.  He was very cute and he liked me.  And, yes, by first I mean first.

Over the long bus rides to and from the campus we had long, wonderful talks about life and the future.  As it turns out, he actually lived further east of downtown so I was also exposed to a whole new area of town and it was fun.  He also had his own apartment and that was a big bonus for a gal who lived at home.

Our first night together was, well, magical, the heaven's opened and the angels sung.  Okay, I am totally making that up because I only remember telling him that I could not stay the night because I was expected home.  I was only nineteen for Christ's sake. 

This went on for a few months.

And then, one day, he was not at the usual waiting spot and  I got on the bus with out him. Walking to the back of the bus I spotted why he was not waiting for me.

He was already on the bus, with the French chick that he said was just his friend.

They were holding hands.

Longest.  Bus.  Ride.  Ever.

Top 5 Songs That Tell the Story of Me

Top 5 Songs That Tell the Story of My Life... (so far)

When I was in high school, I crushed on everyone and dated no one. Part of me is glad for that but there is a bigger part of me that feels that I would have learned more about who not to date when it mattered if I had more practice.  Still, I often wished I could have told a certain someone that Damn, I Wish I was Your Lover.



Speaking of whom not to date...  I took me *cough* seven years to figure out that there is a Better Man.




When I came into who I was in my twenties, Sexuality was my anthem and I embraced my own.  I was free of a bad relationship, working in a nightclub and in an apartment of my own for the first time.  I was free and I had so much fun.  There was some heartbreak but I was so very happy.



Little did I know that I could be happier though...  My husband bought me John Mayer's Four Square album after we decided to try dating.  We had know each other for ten years at this point and had been hanging out for the last three years, telling people that we were not dating.

Turns out that we probably were dating the whole time but I did not realize I was in love with him until we stayed up all night listening to this album, on my old, comfy sofa.  Who knew we would get hitched a few years later?

Since, I can't exactly pick the whole album, I'll go with Your Body is a Wonderland.



And now, I am totally stealing Swagger Wagon from Moments That Define Life, because it fits how my life is now, too.

I, however, do not embrace driving a minivan and a small piece of me dies when I turn the key.  This year I am getting a car.  A safe, reliable, not a minivan, car.  The video is very funny.





What song (or songs) would be on your list?

Top Ten Things I Miss About Being Alone

It seems like a lifetime ago that I woke up in a bed alone much less, ate, drank or peed with out someone else five inches away from me. I have a brief glimmer of what it was like, a distant memory. I am not sure I would want that again any time soon but on occasion I like to imagine what it was like.

{cue flash back music}

Ten Things I Miss Most About Being Single

1. Sleeping alone (every once in awhile)

Actually, doing anything alone these days is a luxury but waking up in bed without a stray foot in my face or someone's knee in my back would be swell.

2. Walking around naked.

Call me crazy but I miss being naked in my home. The first thing I would do when I walked through my front door, especially when I worked in a restaurant or night club, was to take off my clothes. Peel off would be better. I usually did it as I walked to the kitchen for a glass of wine.

3. No homework

I hated doing math when I was in the first grade. sigh.

4. Bathroom privacy

Sure, I may have left the door open but I was alone.  And, I took long luxurious baths, with candles and wine.

5. Watching TV when scheduled

If you ask me what time and day my favorite TV show is on I would say - How the hell should I know? Isn't it on demand or hulu, yet?

6. Spontaneity

A ride to the beach four hours from here? - Sure! Bar crawl tomorrow? - Sure! A concert two states over? - Okay! Friend's house for dinner? Tonight? - What can I bring?

7. Vacations (by myself)

I lived for booking a flight to somewhere, anywhere, by myself and seeing somewhere new. I did not do it enough.

8. Dating

Call me crazy but I miss dating, sometimes. Not the bad ones, of course, but I miss the chase and the promise of something new. The flirting and getting to know someone you just met.

9. Eating out

I never cooked for myself and I never went to chain restaurants, either. For the life of me I have no idea what the hot new restaurant is today. I also miss drinking for free. That has more to do with me working "in the industry" then being sent drinks at the bar but either way - free was free.

10. Me time!

And, not just for me time, but also to blog, to write, to paint, to read and whatever else I vaguely remember doing way-back then.

I failed the #AtoZChallenge and I would like to blame it on lack of me time, but, eh, there is also next year.

Choose a prompt, post it on your blog, and come back to add to the link here.
My Prompt:
3.) List the top 10 things you miss about being alone. (Inspired by The Little Hen House)

Good Grief - #AtoZChallenge

When I was a little girl, my Godfather gave me a book as a present.  We were celebrating my birthday at my grandparents house.  My Godfather knew I loved to draw and sketch so he gave me a book about the Peanuts and Charles Schultz.

I was overjoyed, I loved the Snoopy comics and read them every Sunday.

The book was filled with his cartoons and sketches.  It also seemed to be more of a book then a comic book but I was young and I don't remember.  It was by far the best present, ever.

When we got home from my grandparents, my mom put it away for safe keeping.

I never saw it again.

Good Grief.

Absolutely - #AtoZChallenge

I must admit that I have had some serious blogger block (aka writer's block) the last few weeks so as a big kick in my creative ass I am participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge. Do I have to do this? ABSOLUTELY!

My go to word when someone asks me to do something has always been absolutely but I find I use it more when I am unhappy or stressed then any other time. I used it so much when I worked at a mental health and substance abuse agency, the counselor I worked with wanted to get me in to group therapy to deal with my issues.

Issues?  Please!  I had no issues.  Everything was absolutely fine.

I knew I said it too much when my two year old son used it, correctly.

But it was an absolutely stressful time in my life.  My job sucked, I missed my friends, I was overwhelmed at home and I was learning to be a mom.  My mom had moved into the building we lived in so I could take care of her and for the first time in my life I was sharing a home and not just with my darling, absolutely perfect baby boy but his father, too.  Was I stressed?  Absolutely!  Would I admit it?  Absolutely not.

I did let the stress roll over into my performance at work and I was in a constant panic attack at home.  The best thing that happened was when I was laid off and I went back to waiting tables.  Life finally made sense again and I was able to catch my breath.  It was absolutely a good thing.

Eventually, everything else feel into place including my mom moving in to a more appropriate building, got married, got a better job (still there five years later) and moved to a house.

Is everything absolutely perfect now?  Absolutely not but at least I don't feel as if I have to be absolutely everything to everybody.  Learning to step back and see the big picture is something I am still working on and learning to say no or I need help was a big start to that process.

Do you have a stress tell?  Or are you participating in the A - Z Challenge?  Feel free to leave a comment!

And Then There Was This Time We Went to Florida and #TropFloridaOJ

When I was a little girl, my mom drove to Florida with me, my brother and my grandparents. I think I was six years old and we lived in Ohio, this was not a day trip. We were going to visit my cousins who lived in southern Florida. Given my grandparents age, my mom drove almost the entire time. I don’t remember a lot from this trip but I do remember the incredible sunshine streaming through the car windows, singing with my grandpa a song about a horse and seeing rows and rows of orange trees. The image of all those trees is so fresh in my memory I feel like I am in the car again driving to the sandy beaches.

One day, I hope to take my kids to Florida to see the orange groves for themselves but since I can’t do it today, at least I can give them something that tastes as fresh as my memory - Tropicana Pure Premium 100% Pure Florida Orange Juice.


Tropicana is one thing that our family can not live without. Even when we don’t have time for a full sit down breakfast we always have time for a glass of OJ and not the knock off brand either. I love how fresh their orange juice tastes and there is a reason for this - they use oranges from Florida!

Tropicana is the single largest buyer of Florida fruit, purchasing approximately 11.6 billion oranges from Florida each year from 22 different Florida counties, primarily in central and southern Florida. And, since, the oranges are coming from all over Florida with the different climates and soil types it means that the fruit reaches peak maturity at different times, allowing Tropicana to harvest ripe fruit throughout the entire growing season. It is a good feeling to know that Florida has been supplying oranges for Tropicana since the 1960s. And, yes, I am fully aware the trees I saw when I was little are probably original to Tropicana.

I think about that trip whenever I see a commercial for Tropicana but also whenever I see an in ground pool. It always struck me as funny that my cousins had one when they lived so close to the ocean. It was in that pool I learned to swim or at least bob to keep from drowning. My uncle thought it would be funny to see me swim and threw me into the pool. I had not actually had a swimming class and since we live in Ohio, access to pools and the lake is limited to summers. I wailed, screamed and cried until someone fished me out. I did not see that pool again for the rest of the trip but like I said before what I remember most about that trip was the groves of oranges we passed to get to the pool of death...

There is one way I might be able to get the kids to see the orange groves - a contest! Tropicana is sponsoring a giveaway on Facebook to win 100 Florida prizes, including one-year-supplies of Tropicana (in the form of twelve 59 oz Tropicana Pure Premium containers) and a trip to Florida to visit an orange grove. A trip to F-L-O-R-I-D-A-! Click here to enter and for more details.



I wrote this blog post while participating in the SocialMoms and Tropicana blogging program, to earn My SocialMoms Rewards Points. The opinions and ideas expressed here are my own. To read more posts on this topic, click here.

I Hate Pie

I must admit, I hate pie. I do not like pie I say. I do not like it is what I say.

You may ask why but I don't know why I don't like pie.
It could be the crust has no flavor and is often dry.
It may even be that if the crust is good there is not enough or even too much but I rarely find a good crust.
I guess the filing can be okay, but I'd rather have a great piece of cake or maybe tiramisu.
I would give my left tit for a brilliant tiramisu.

I understand that this is like comparing kittens to puppies and asking which is cuter but hey, we all know which is cuter just like we all know that pie is a mediocre replacement for a better pastry.

When the husband and I started seeing each other, I read an article about smells that induce arousal, aphrodisiacs. So I bought some vanilla candles and planned a romantic night in. As we finished dinner he asked about something for dessert. Well, dessert is me, duh.

At the time, I was very anti-dessert and did not keep it in my house. Sitting on the couch he asked, again. Sorry, cake won’t magically appear just because you ask again. He ran out to the store and bought a pie. A pie? French silk to be exact. A french silk pie. It was good. It was not cake but then again he wanted something for dessert. I was content to drink wine and watch TV. A few days later the same scene replayed itself - deja vu?

Turns out, when ever, and I do mean whenever, he smells vanilla he must have pie, or some other type of sweet. I would say it was his kryptonite, except he is drawn to it and must have a sweet at whatever the cost and yes, my waist line has paid the price. Needless to say, I also avoid buying lotion and perfume with even a hint of vanilla in it because it means cookies, cakes being baked or even, gasp, pie.

As for me, I still hated pie, until I was pregnant with baby girl and all of a sudden just the word pie made me weak in the knees and my mouth water. The entire time I craved it I only had it once and it was by chance. I just could not bring myself to make it or to buy it, no matter how much I wanted or needed it. Seems silly now, that I wanted pie but boy oh boy did I want pie.

I don’t even like pie on Thanksgiving but I do like pumpkin so I will have a piece. But eat the filling.  I prefer to make Pumpkin Tiramisu.

 
There is only one exception to my, I hate pie, rant and that is key lime pie. Could care less where it came from, if it was the right color or the wrong. Give me a good piece of key lime pie and I would be yours for ever.

I am sure you may be wondering what prompted my post on pie and it is all because of the awesomely, creative Aums Mama's post here and her un-pie.

But now I ask you - pie or no pie for you?

Opening a Door: A Story of My First Apartment(s)

I feel as if I have had three “first” apartments.  I realize how silly that seems but I will explain.

The first time I moved out, I was angry.   

I was 19, going to college, working at a job I had since I was 14 years old and felt that my family was unreasonably oppressing.   

Looking back, my family was, with out a doubt how I remembered them. 

I moved in with a friend from college who was a nut case.  I did not know that when I moved in with her but I would later learn that she was absolutely psychotic. A nut case.

I came home from work one day and she had moved back to Michigan.  Moved. Back. To. Michigan.  I had lived there for two weeks.  Since, I was not on the lease I lived in my car for three days and went back home. 

The second time I moved out I was ready and better prepared.

I found a cute attic apartment, that I loved, but was hardly ever there.  It was a one bedroom with a huge eat-in-kitchen, a huge living room with a separate sitting room and it was in the neighborhood I had dreamed of living in since I was in high school.  I loved everything about the place from the old fashion fridge with built in, folding wine rack and a foot pedal to open the door to the light above the bathtub.  I even had a grille in the back yard.

But, I spent more time at my boyfriend’s house. 

I lived there for almost a year and moved out to move in with the before mentioned boyfriend.   When we were in bed, I use to fantasize about that apartment.  When we had sex, I imagined we were in my bed in that apartment.  It was a great apartment.

The final, “first” apartment came when I left the boyfriend. 

I actually hate describing him as a boyfriend because he was more like a one night stand that lasted six years.  Most of the time it was bad, the other times were okay, but with hindsight comes understanding and he was just no good.

I had no idea how he would react to my leaving so I rented an apartment, sight unseen, a month before I told him I was leaving.  I even had a phone number before I told him I was looking.  I started moving my furniture that was in storage at his house, a little at a time and kept it where I worked because I was afraid of what he might do to my belongings, maybe to me, too.

I worked at a nightclub, so storage was not a problem nor was muscle when the time came.  Luckily, he was okay with me leaving and even helped me move.  Might have had something to do with him having another girlfriend but, eh, made it easier for me to start seeing my now husband a few months after I moved in to my final, first apartment.

The day I got my keys and opened the door for the first time I thought: freedom. 

That night I sipped wine from a jelly jar, naked on my couch staring out the window.   

Freedom.

Because You Want to Make Pumpkin Tiramisu

When I was pregnant with my son, my mom's health problems had gotten worse. She even moved in to our apartment building so it would be easier to help her.

I must admit, it was wonderful having her in the same building, even if the reason was not ideal. It certainly made helping her easier and it was nice that she could see the baby whenever she wanted. Not going to lie, in house sitter was a bonus!


She had been encouraging us for some time to get our son baptized. Not that he was not going to be baptized, but I was feeling overwhelmed and there just did not seem to be a rush. At least until it was decided my mom was going to need surgery and she insisted that we have it done so she could be a part of the ceremony. Her surgery was scheduled for the day before Thanksgiving. The. day. before. Thanksgiving.

Since Thanksgiving day was going to be stressful enough we decided to have Corey baptized the Sunday before Thanksgiving and after the ceremony, have our Thanksgiving dinner with all the bells and whistles.  

I spent all of Saturday cooking and cleaning to finally lay down around 2:00 AM to be woken - five minutes later to a screaming, feverish infant who we had to take to the emergency room. We spent SEVEN hours in that emergency room and got home with just enough time for a quick shower and change before going to the church for his baptism. But, you know, whatever - still a HUGE success. It was, by far, one of my favorite Thanksgivings to this day. 

It was, also, the first time that I ever made tiramisu and the last time, until this year. 

What does any of this have to do with anything this fine day of Thanksgiving?

Absolutely nothing!

But, I made Super-Simple Pumpkin Tiramisu and want to share the recipe.

Super-Simple Pumpkin Tiramisu

1 1/2 cups chilled whipping cream
3/4 cup sugar
1 (8-ounce) container mascarpone cheese
1 (15-ounce) can pure pumpkin
3/4 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice (or 1/4 teaspoon each cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg)
2 (3-ounce) packages halved ladyfingers
1/4 cup rum (Captain Morgan is best)
2 ounces crushed amaretti cookies

Beat whipping cream and sugar until peaks form. Add mascarpone cheese, pumpkin, and pumpkin pie spice; beat just until filling is smooth.

Line bottom of 9-inch-diameter spring-form pan with 2 3/4-inch-high sides with 1 package ladyfingers, overlapping and crowding to fit. Sprinkle with 2 tablespoons rum. Spread half of filling over ladyfingers.

Repeat with second package ladyfingers, remaining 2 tablespoons rum, and remaining filling. Smooth. Wrap tightly in plastic, then foil. Chill overnight.

To un-mold, run knife around inside edge of pan. Release pan sides; sprinkle with amaretti cookies.

Writing Prompts:

1.) Share a Thanksgiving recipe you will be cooking up this week.

The Dreaded Holidays

I have a confession - I dread Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Easter.

I am filled with utter, sometimes debilitating, dread at the approach of each and every holiday.  It has gotten better since the Husband and I got hitched and as our family and extended family grows but, I still have a sense of dread and probably just as much sadness as a holiday approaches.

Growing up, I remember big, wonderful feasts with a big, beautifully set table using the good silver and a kid table.  I remember watching the Macy's Day parade and munching on stolen black olives.  There was marathon cooking and cleaning, there was homemade pies and real stuffing and just so much food.  And, then just when you thought you could eat no more there was ginormous leftover sandwiches eaten while adults played cards at the kitchen table way past our bedtimes.  It was such an active and hectic occasion and it was wonderful.  Just wonderful.

It was a time when my uncles, aunts and cousins gathered at my Grandparents' house to celebrate, together.  I was ensconced in my mother's family traditions, until my grandmother died.  The dinners continued for a few years but the people eating together became fewer as the family grew apart, other traditions were started and others just moved away or died.  Finally, it was just my mom, brother, uncle and me at dinner time.

I miss those family gatherings and prayed to be part of a big family again.

It makes me a little sad to think how we once gathered, as a family, to share a meal for the holidays and then it stopped.  It makes me sad that because everything revolved around the one family, we never got the opportunity to really get to know the rest of the family growing up. And, I am more then a little sad when it comes to not being able to have those wonderful family gatherings to share.  I know that there is more to it then not spending holidays together or why dinner attendees thinned out, but, I see the cycle being repeated.


I do have a deeper appreciation for the dinners we do host or attend.  And, I do realize that I am very lucky and blessed to have such a wonderful family and to have an even more amazing extended family but I can't help wishing, sometimes, for the way things were - only now with the whole family participating.

Catholics are not Allowed to Like Gospel

“What do you have against Gospel music?” he said, shocked that I would actually admit to not liking Gospel music.

“I have nothing against it,” I explained with a shrug, “I just don’t care for Gospel music. Why are you surprised by this?”

“Well, you know, isn't your husband… Baptist?” he said, with that overly casual tone. 

He shifted uneasily in his seat, trying not to appear as uncomfortable as he clearly was as our conversation took on a more serious tone.

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Besides, being Catholic, we are not allowed to listen to Gospel music.”

“What!”

“Yep, it is written in the bylaws. It is right on the list of things not to do like attend a church that is not Catholic and committing suicide.”

(source)

I could see the wheels of his Catholic educated mind turning, trying to recall that moment in school where one of the nuns or maybe a priest may have told him that we, as Catholics, don't listen to Gospel.

I was trying so hard not to laugh out loud.  Trying to stay as solemn as I could, I
stifled my giggles. Honestly, how can he not see I was not being serious?

“You're kidding?” he replied, still trying to figure out if I was really serious.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am.”








Link up for RemembeRED.

This week, we’re writing about pivotal conversations. The goal was to focus on body language, word choices, and the pauses between the words to create meaningful, powerful dialogue.

And remember, this is memoir-so as tempting as it is, don’t write what you wish you said.

Sentimental Sunday - Week 2

At this time, last year, I threw in the towel on NaBloPoMo.

I did not announce it until a few weeks later but none the less - I "failed."

I will not fail this year.

I will succeed.

Today I will remember my dad.

My dad was a quiet man with an easy smile and so quick with a laugh or a joke.

He took long walks and would sit for hours staring at the lake.

I miss the way his hand felt holding mine, I miss the way he smelled of after shave and cigarette smoke.  But, most of all, I miss him.

There is not a day that goes by that I don't wonder how life would be different without him in it.

Especially, now.

I miss my dad.

Link up your special memory (current or past posy, but please to a post).

Not Everything Stays in Veags

The plan had been in motion for months and, yet, it seemed to happen too quickly. On a plane, off a plane, in the hotel room and finally sitting in a chair watching a stranger work magic with scissors until she finally placed the simple white tulle headpiece on my head.

I sat there, sipping hurricanes from cheap, plastic, novelty cups and chatting to my friend who came with me for moral support. Secretly, I think he was there to make sure I did not run.

Not that I intended to do so, I did say yes after all, but I often wonder if my friend feared what I would do left to my own devices. This was fair since I was tipsy by the time I was being zipped up and shuttled to the chapel.

As we waited our turn, I started to shake.

This is going too fast. Need to breath. Can’t breath, everyone was looking at me, well all of the eight people who attended - ten if you count the groom and our son. When is this thing going to be over with all ready? Hate being the center of attention and let’s face it, when you are dressed in white everybody turns his or her head to see what is going on, even in Sin City.

Papers signed, bouquet in hand, music starts; as a jet lag toddler and I make our way down the isle. No one more fitting to give me away then the (second) main reason we were there.

The words the minister spoke were inconsequential until I found his face and his eyes just as the minister asked the only question I had to answer and everything stopped.

I held my breath, opened my mouth and the words were stuck.

Finally, I breathed - I do.



Stephen King said, “The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better.”

This week we asked you to write a memoir post inspired by that statement - in 300 words or less.  View the rest here.