You'll Eat It and You'll Like It

Today I am going to write about something that has nothing to do with cancer (yay!), but has everything to do with my sanity (or lack thereof) as a human being. Today's topic: Meal Planning.

Up until the day I moved in with my husband, I only really ever had to worry about feeding one mouth. Mine. So, between...what say...1995 and 2010, I pretty much did whatever I wanted in regards to breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Thinking back...I went through many different phases. Healthy phases...where I ate spinach salads and whole grains mixed with more vegetables day in and day out. Unhealthy phases...like the time I ate Lucky Charms morning, noon and night for a couple of weeks. (I do not recommend this. It did some funny things to my umm...poo.) Sometimes, I would cook myself elaborate multi-course meals, usually with a glass of wine between each course (I always seemed to end up pretty sloshed by the end of those nights). Then, there was always the old standby of "breakfast for dinner". Bacon and eggs. Waffles. Pancakes. French Toast. Hash browns. All those glorious breakfast foods that a working girl never really gets to eat. Mmm.

Before I moved in with my husband, I was pretty much eating Lean Cuisines or spaghetti or stir-fry every night. Shopping was easy. Planning was easy. And, if I wanted to eat spaghetti for dinner 7 nights in a row...more power to me.

Then, I moved in with The Hubs. And life, as we know it, changed in ohsomany ways. I lived with my husband for about 6 months before we actually got married. And I have always been grateful that I did, because it was HARD and I think if I had just officially and legally tied the knot and THEN went through those first 6 months...I may be locked up in a mental institute somewhere today. Seriously. But, I digress.

I think that, at first, I was really excited about the prospect of this new "role" in my life. My new responsibilities as the "domestic goddess" of the household. It was a new opportunity for me to plan and organize and find new and added purpose in my life. An opportunity for people to count on me and appreciate me (hahahahahahahaha).  Sigh. I had so much to learn.

With my stepdaughter in the house for 50% of our dinners, meal planning took on an added challenge. I wanted to eat healthy (and lose weight for my wedding), but I wanted her to actually eat what I made without too much fuss (hahahahahahahahaha). Sigh. Again...I had ohso much to learn. (During that time, I also learned that my adult self-esteem wasn't all that solid because I did, indeed, feel hurt and sad when my meals were rejected by a then 6 year-old).

Eventually, I started to develop a system. We had a repertoire of dishes (that I TRIED to make healthy) I could count on each week. They all needed to be relatively easy, as I did work a full-time job and my stepdaughter's bedtime was fairly early...we didn't need her eating dinner in the bathtub.

During this time...we pretty much counted on a few things for nights we had my stepdaughter: mac and cheese; tacos; hot dogs; chicken with rice and broccoli. Every weekend, there was some sort of slow cooker meal. Every Tuesday was "Taco Tuesday". I loved this. I didn't have to think about it and I didn't have the usual "What are we eating for dinner?" interrogation <insert whiny tone here> the minute that my husband and stepdaughter walked in the door.

Then my husband, who had been fairly quiet and accommodating to my meals, decided to start having an opinion. The nerve. I can't remember if this happened before or after the official knot had been tied. My guess would be after...once he legally "had" me. LOL. So, one Tuesday while I was happily constructing a taco (and mind you...I changed it up a bit here and there...using turkey or chicken or fish, soft shells, crunchy shells, etc.) and he says, "I am sick of tacos. We need to stop the tacos for awhile." WHAT!? This was one of the few mindless things I had going on in my life and he wanted to take that from me? Sigh.

So over the past 2 years, I have experimented with the meals and with the "rotation". Sometimes successfully. Sometimes, notsomuch. But, we all eat every night and so far no one has died of starvation or food poisoning. Yet. (I also have learned to lower my domestic goddess expectations). But, in all honesty, I really feel no joy in this task. Some meals incur grumblings and complaints, while others bring quiet indifference. Very rarely is there an acknowledgement of how awesome a meal is. Ha. It happens. And its usually by me. But...really.

How did this become my responsibility? What would happen if the responsibilty was turned over to my husband or to my 8 year-old stepdaughter? Does anyone enjoy this task? Does anyone have a trick? Sigh. I hope I can find a way to enjoy the planning of the meals....

Until then, I will continue with my favorite new line: As my husband skeptically questions what he is about to put in his mouth...."It doesn't matter. You'll eat it and you'll like it."

So there.

What's for dinner? Vashni

Jamaica-Mon

Hello! The winter solstice has come upon us!! I learned in high school that the winter solstice means that the sun will now progressively makes it's way closer to us. It's my glass-half-full approach to the winter blues and it has served me well for over 20 years. 

In addition to the sun moving closer to us, I (and my hubs and step-daughter) will be moving closer to the sun for 4 days between Christmas and New Year's as we embark on an adventurous family journey to Jamaica...

Yah. Jamaica-Mon.  Can you dig it? (I don't know if that last part is Jamaica-speak or just 80's, but it's fun to say).

I would be lying if I said I wasn't feeling a bit...umm...insecure with my pale skin, bald head, and prednisone-inflated face, neck, back, belly and butt. I have been wrestling with this issue for several weeks now. But, I realize that when it comes down to it...this vacation is about rest, relaxation, rejuvenation, vitamin D and being with my family...who love me bald, fat and pale. Everything and everyone else in Jamaica is just supplemental or scenery. Will I feel awkward the first few minutes I reveal my baldness to the other guests before dashing down the Pirate's Cove waterslide or swimming head first into the ocean? Yup. But, you know what? Meh. I'll get over it. They'll get over it (or have a lot of explaining to do to their kids...hee hee hee). And everyone will still have a great time.

On top of this insecurity...I was advised by my doctors and nurses that I should wear a mask on the plane...along  with frequent hand-washing and care with what I put in my mouth. Surgical masks on airplanes make me nostalgic for SARS and bird flu. What ever happened to those? Anyway...I will do the mask part because I don't really want anything to ruin Jamaica...but OY...it's not easy looking like a sick person when you are trying to just BE and FEEL normal!

In the past, I would have been doing everything I could in the preceding weeks to make myself look as much like a Victoria's Secret model as I could before unveiling any part of myself at a Caribbean resort. I would be trying hard to look like the most put-together Carrie Bradshaw-style traveler on the plane. I suppose my priorities have changed. And I think it's actually probably a good thing.

Anyway...we fly out in the morning...and underneath all the insecurity...I am BOUNCING OFF THE WALLS with excitement! Sun, sand, pina coladas, zip-lining, river tubing, food, fun and the vast open sky and ocean...await me. What better place is there to sit and meditate on the amazing-ness of life?

I bought my stepdaughter clip-on "mood" earrings for Christmas. She has been wearing them around all afternoon asking "What color are they"? When we say "purple", she responds with "That is because I AM SO EXCITED"!! Me too, little one, me too!!

Look out Jamaica...the DePaz's are about to tear things up!!

Code-Red Estrogen Level

Well, yesterday ended the Thanksgiving break visit with my stepdaughter. I would say that on a scale of 1-100, it was at about a 97.75. Pretty successful visit overall. My stepdaughter is growing up so fast! I swear she grows by feet each time I see her and she is becoming such a sweet young lady. But, there is one thing that hit me hard this visit...

The visit did not start out very well. I mean aside from my internal rage at the traffic and being stuck in the car for like 37 bazillion hours, the transition into our home again was a little rough. 

It was late, it had been a long day, she was sleepy and all she wanted........was her Mom. Despite all of our decidedly wonderful and virtuous qualities, neither my husband nor I fit the "Mommy" bill. I'm not gonna lie...my stepdaughter can be dramatic. Dramatic--to the Nth degree--dramatic. But I could feel that night that her angst was completely authentic. I know what it is to want my Mom. Nobody else will do. You get that homesick feeling in the pit of your tummy. You know what I mean, ladies, don't you? And seeing her cry made me feel like my own heart may just burst into a million little pieces...not because I felt so helpless and inadequate (which, of course, I did) but because I am a girl with a Mom, too. I get it. And when you want your Mom...a hug and attempts at comforting from your Stepmom...is not even close to good enough. I felt that old internal role confusion again. Where do I fit into this little girl's world? What do I do to make this better? What do I do when there really is nothing to do to make this better? And so I left her bedroom and I cried too.

So, then...my husband had two crying ladies on his hands. The estrogen level in the house was at like Code-Red HIGH. There was an intense expression of fear on his face at not knowing what to do with all this emotional turmoil and angst. If there was a bomb shelter or panic room in our house, I am pretty sure that is where he would have fled to.

Thankfully,  a good night's rest for all of us cured our woes and we were able to move past Mommy-angst and onto celebrating the greatest holiday ever invented (with the exception of Festivus, of course).

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday and found something, no matter how small, to be thankful for. 

I Thought About Having a Gallon of Wine with my Pizza, But I Was Too Tired to Lift the Glass...

I can't believe that in just 2 days, we will be making another trek down I-95 to pick up my stepdaughter! It seems like it was just yesterday that we dropped her off...not that I am complaining. Just surprised at the speed of time sometimes!

Her last visit was a short one. Picked her up Thursday evening and took her back Sunday afternoon. But, we managed to pack A LOT of non-stop action into that short time! OK...I was in bed by 8pm every night...but we still did a good amount of schtuff!

And, now that I say that...I am thinking..."what did we do"? So, I may have forgotten a lot in the last week. Ha.

My husband went off to work on Friday leaving us alone (and we all know how well I do alone with a child). Said child had been advised that there would be no TV, which meant extra work and no TV for stepmom too. Sigh. So much for that parenting strategy. LOL. We walked the dog, visited the playground and oh yeah...made smoothies, which contained blended pieces of a silicone spatula because I didn't heed the warning "Do not place objects in moving blades." Oops. 

I did allow her some time on the wii while I made some calls, cleaned the silicone mess out of the kitchen and got myself in order.  Then....RAKING! I am so excited about this part because...as is my experience...trying to get a child to do something that is actually productive is like...umm...impossible. But, I learned that the prospect of a) leaf-diving and b) post-leaf-diving-hot-cocoa, make a child a magician with a rake! And it ended up being fun for me too...kinda. I mean...the "old me" would have been far too serious to take a running leap into a pile of dirty leaves. But, the me who just came face to face with her own mortality/"life is short, make it count" attitude...said..."what the heck" and ran full force into the mess. (Hmm...that could be an excellent metaphor for life right there).

After lunch and hot cocoa...we had a play date with my one and only local friend and her same-age daughter! Thank goodness for tag-teaming and well...8 year-olds that can entertain themselves. About 10 minutes after arriving, the electricity went out. What?! Are you serious?! This adds a whole new dimension to the art of self-entertainment. Sigh. 

Thankfully, some neighbor kids invited the girls out to play in the street. (Ha ha..."Girls...go play in the street!") Seriously though, it was a cul de sac, so safe from traffic. The "funny" part of this is that well...we know how flustered I get with one kid...my friend, while way less flustered than me...can also feel overwhelmed when multitasking kids...and somehow, the 2 of us ended up alone...in the cul de sac...being encircled like a school of sharks by 6 kids using 2 pogo-sticks, 3 bikes, 4 scooters and I don't know what other physically dangerous contraptions...but I was scared. Scared, I tell you! Thankfully...no one lost an eye or a finger. There wasn't even any blood. Phew...after that was pizza and bed. I thought about having about a gallon of wine with my pizza, but I was too tired to lift the glass.

Saturday, we embarked as a family on a metro ride and visit to the Air and Space museum! Despite the fact that this was a popular Saturday destination, it was decidedly an excellent and fun choice. We did drop a load (I can hear my husband saying "heh. you said load.") on the simulator rides that were a little...umm...BOHRING. But, oh well...live and learn. We also dropped a load at the museum cafeteria where they were not-so-subtly pushing McDonald's food. Hmph.

Anyway...later at home we watched How to Train Your Dragon (no...not How to "Drain" Your Dragon as one of my friends suggested) and Diary of a Wimpy Kid (which I loved so so so much). This movie really brought back middle school memories. Things that horrified me in the 6th grade that I can kinda sorta laugh at now. Kinda. Sorta. Note to self: Must re-watch this with my bestie. 

All in all, it was a really good visit. I survived. She survived. Mind you...I spent a week in the hospital after the visit, but I mean...who's keeping score?

"Can we PLEASE talk about something else?"

I have spent a lot of time obsessing about my hair. Probably more than I have obsessed about any other part of this journey. A bit odd, I know. But, I figure it's the one thing that will make my dis-ease visible to the general public...and it's also a bit of a "lighter" thing to obsess about compared to some of the places I am refusing to let my mind go to. If ya catch my drift.

When the doctors told me that, with the cocktail I am on, I will definitely be losing my hair (wouldn't it be a riot if I am the exception to this and all this obsessing is for naught?), I realized that I would probably need to somehow gently explain this to my stepdaughter. It was decided amongst us co-parenting adults that it would be best to talk to her in person, so we decided that the weekend of her 8th birthday party would be an appropriate time. Exactly WHEN on this weekend of the 8th birthday party ending up resting on my shoulders. And...a new obsession was born...when and how to tell my stepdaughter that perhaps the next time she sees me, I will be bald.

I didn't really want to explain what cancer was or what cancer might do to me. I don't think that this is something her young spirit needs to bear at this point. I have zero idea if that was the right approach or not. Regardless, by Saturday night, I couldn't bear it any longer. I had to tell her something. I didn't want to tell her Sunday and then drop her off with her mom (though the idea was tempting. Ha ha.) So, I told her I had to tell her something and that part of it was kind of "weird". I explained to her that all the doctors I have been seeing (she knows I have been through the medical ringer since April 2010) finally figured out what was wrong with me and now they are giving me some really really strong medicine to make me better. And that the "weird" part is that the medicine is so strong that it is going to make my hair fall out.

At this point....I felt relief to have gotten it out. UNTIL. Until, my stepdaughter looked at me, eyes as wide as I have ever seen them, and said "I really wish you hadn't told me that"!! She then laid down on the couch and pulled her blanket over her head. I tried to explain that I would probably be covering my head with hats and scarves and a wig. She peeked out and said "Will it grow back?" To which, I said "Oh yes!!" Then I said..."what do you think about your daddy shaving his head too?" Her response: "NOOOO"!!! She then covered her head under the blanket again and said "Can we PLEASE talk about something else"?

Sigh. I felt terrible. I felt as if this was a big FAIL. Huge. But, I know she will process it and be ok. In the end, she will probably handle it better than I. The next day...out of the blue, she told me that there is a girl at her school who has no hair. She didn't want to discuss it further, but that is how I know she is processing it. 

Anyway...I can't believe I forget to share this. Not the easiest thing I ever had to do and looking back almost a week later, the whole conversation makes me laugh. I am not sure how I expected it to unfold...but certainly not so dramatically and horror-like. Ha ha. Thank God she didn't ask anymore questions!

The 8th Birthday Party that Rocked the Hill

Several of you have either a) flat out asked me to tell you more about my stepdaughter's natural disaster-themed birthday party or b) have appeared so perplexed by the concept that I thought I would share with you all the gloriously chaotic details of the 8th Birthday Party that Rocked the Hill.

Ok...so the blog title I provided probably TOTALLY oversells the party that was, but it seemed a fitting and fun way to get your attention.

For the record, it was discussed several times over the past weekend by the adults of the party as to whether or not WE had theme parties as kids. I cannot remember my 8th birthday party, much less if it had an actual theme tied to it. I think that as long as I got my beloved Carvel ice cream cake, I was pretty happy with whatever else transpired. So, when did kids' birthday parties start to take on such a high level of experiential expectation?

Anyway...I digress. As I have mentioned in the past, my stepdaughter is not your average Beiber-loving, Barbie-playing, run-of-the-mill kid. Yes...she does love Beiber and she does have a Barbie, but she has got some unique ideas that she pulls out of who-knows-where. God love her...I wish I had half the imagination she has (which gets me thinking...did I once have that imagination...and it got lost in the world of grown-up-hood? Hmph.)

So...when asked what she wanted the theme of her party to be...naturally...NATURALLY...she says "Natural Disasters". Of course. And, to give credit where credit is due...her mom and grandma came up with all the amazingly disastrous ideas. Here they are:

• Volcano cake (YUM and pretty cool...center filled with dry ice and marshmallow cream for smoke and bubble effects)
• "Mudslide" aka chocolate fountain (which was a COMPLETE MESS)
• Tsunami relay, which consisted of a large bucket of water with miniature policeman and firefighters floating around. Teams had to run to the bucket and use a makeshift fishing rod to fish the little peeps out.
• Earthquake board. This was a slab of wood placed on top of a 2x4 (it was probably more complicated than that, but that is as far as my non-engineering brain can comprehend) that the kids had to balance on. The idea was for them to work together to get the board balanced. Fun stuff.
• "River crossing". This was actually an adult team-building activity. The kids were supposed to use makeshift rafts to get all of them across the river without falling in or losing a raft. DISASTROUS. I still can't figure out what the appropriate strategy is. I guess my team would be SOL or "up the creek" if they had me to depend on here!
• Hurricane kits. In lieu of gifts (something else I never imagined as an 8 year-old), the kids donated towels, soap, toothbrushes, nail clippers, combs and band-aids and as a final activity put together hurricane kits for charity. Pretty dern cool.

When all was said and done....the adults were exhausted and the kids had a blast. The well-planned out games mostly fell flat and the kids managed to create their own fun games instead. Moral of the story...give the kids the tools to create their own natural disasters and they will have the time of their life. Sit back, relax and watch the hurricane unfold. Perhaps sip on your own vodka-fied mudslide beverage while you watch. Oh and don't eat from the kids' "mudslide"...I can only imagine the recycled double-dipping, finger-licking germs that developed in that mess.

Thanks be to God...we survived.

Holy Mary Mother of All That is IKEA

I forgot how totally AMAZING and AWESOME the IKEA store is!! It has been years since I walked into an IKEA, and on a whim this weekend, I made a pilgrimage to all that is holy in home furnishings and decor. After fighting through Maryland vs WVU football traffic (that's the trouble with doing something on a whim...you forget about these types of unplanned-for obstacles), I arrived at the Big Blue building, parked in the gi-normous parking lot and slowly escalated up the...uhh...escalator to "The Showroom"...aka Grown-Up playland...awww ahhh...<key the majestic heavenly lights shooting out from the ceilings of the IKEA store>.

Top 3 things I love about IKEA:

1) The Showroom and its itty-bitty, yet grown-up size "playrooms". Its like being a live adult-sized doll inside a real adult-sized dollhouse. You can sit in various styles of living rooms, bedrooms, offices, kitchens and bathrooms and imagine yourself in a whole different trendy and sophisticated life. You can lounge on a couch and watch the fake big screen TV or read a fake book while cozied up on a chaise lounge covered in a silky mohair wool throw. You can sort through your wardrobe in your super-organized closet or chop veggies on your pristine kitchen counter with your wall-mounted knife set while your kids dutifully do their homework at the free-standing kitchen island under fully-integrated environmentally-friendly lighting. IKEA makes me want to be a better person. IKEA also makes bedding look like a warm soft fluffy cocoon that you never want to emerge from. I have never actually crawled under one of these inviting swaddles of cloth in the IKEA store...but...oh how tempting it is!

2) The Prices! Oh My God...The Prices!! Sure there are pricey items there, but most things are so affordable yet stylish and sturdy...I can't tell you how many times I gasped while touring around the store. A duel-sided art easel (chalkboard on one side, whiteboard on the other) for $14.99!?! Gorgeous queen-sized duvet sets for $39.99!?! Are you kidding me?!? A pair (pair!!) of lined (!!) curtains with tiebacks included (!!) for $19.99!?! Get the heck outta here!!?? Seriously, I could go on and on. The prices astound me. 

3) The People-Watching. Very few people shop alone at IKEA. Mostly you will see couples and families embarking on a multi-sensory hours-long adventure through the store. Mostly you will bear witness to these other people and their families playing make-believe among the mini-rooms, couples discussing the merits of leather versus fabric or spring versus memory foam. Parents helping their new freshman college students furnish their first dorm room. Newlyweds trying to negotiate needs versus wants and his style versus hers. It's fun. It's entertaining. And in IKEA, I can just pull up a $69.00 armchair and take it all in.

One of the downfalls of IKEA is that, despite its well-marked arrows to help you flow seamlessly from one department to the next, it is very easy to get lost and disoriented inside the store...especially if you need a break for food or bladder relief. Its like getting lost inside the Louvre (has anyone else ever gotten lost in the depths of the Louvre...its terrifying...you feel as though you will never find your way back to daylight again). I circled the store probably a total of 14 times in the 2-plus hours I was there and if you asked me to find a specific department or item...I couldn't do it. 

The other downfall is the fact that my husband will never set foot inside the IKEA. I so want him to experience this world, but it is so far beyond his comfort level...it will never happen....unless I strap him to a flatbed and force him to roll through the labyrinth that is IKEA, roll him into the cocoon-like bedding, somehow convince him that the TVs are real. Yeah...so not gonna happen. Oh well...that's what my girlfriends are for....who wants to go!?

To Bleach or Not to Bleach...That is the Question

For as long as I can remember, I have loved the smell of chlorine. Put me in the lobby of the local indoor Y and I was in heaven. During my childhood summers, my mom would bleach our crisp white sheets and lay them out on the living room floor in front of a big box fan as a cool way to relax in the days before air-conditioning. As such, the smell of chlorine bleach reminds me of cool, refreshing, crisp clean-NESS. 

As an adult, I have always felt it important to use bleach and bleach-containing products when cleaning and laundering. There is something quintessentially hygienic about the use of bleach when cleaning. For me, the smell of bleach equals the smell of clean. I can picture the little bleach molecules destroying the germs and mold and bacteria and viruses clinging to the surfaces of my house.

BUT...I have discovered two things about using The Bleach.

One...is the obvious...as my best friend likes to point out to me often. The Bleach is toxic. It can burn your skin. It can burn your lungs. The Bleach can even kill you if you are not careful. Per my BFF, other products clean and sanitize just as well as bleach. Point taken.

The second thing is more of a personal problem. I cannot contain The Bleach. Every time I clean anything with bleach, I end up bleaching everything in my path including (but not limited to) whatever outfit I am wearing to clean. Yesterday....I squirted bleach-containing toilet bowl cleaner on my favorite lounging pants. (Little overzealous with the toilet bowl cleaner, you might say. But, is my toilet sparkling? Oh yes!) When we cleaned our apartment before moving...bleach....all over my lovely brown shirt. I have had people point out to me that I have something on my shirt, pants, sweater, whatever and have to explain..."oh yeah...that's a bleach stain". When I first moved in with my husband...I destroyed a set of really nice sheets. Bleach. (In my own defense, before my existence in his life...he rarely RARELY washed his sheets and I felt that extra sanitation was in order before I slipped my clean, sanitized body between them. I sanitized the heck outta those sheets...so much so that they just...umm...fell apart?! Oopsy!) He hasn't let me forget this incident since. 

Anyway...given my latest pants bleaching incident and the fact that I have almost assuredly come close to asphyxiating myself while cleaning the bathroom on multiple occasions, I think it is really truly time for this girl to step away from The Bleach. It will take me some time to replace my bleach-y products with safe non-toxic yet germ-killing goods, but I think in the long run my skin, lungs, internal organs, wardrobe and marriage will all be better for it.

Goodbye crisp clean refreshing and lovely chlorine smell. You will be sorely missed!

Labor Day Minus the Labor

It seemed kind of odd this year to take a "Labor Day" vacation when I don't have a job. After all, Labor Day is the day to observe and celebrate the "economic and social contributions of workers" of which I am currently a non-participant.

In all honesty, without a regular 9 to 5, my days have been all mixed up in my head. There is no truly definitive beginning and end to a work week. And, its kinda funny (but sadly true), I tend to keep track of the weekdays by my reality TV shows (like...I know The Bachelor Pad is Monday nights and Jersey Shore is Thursdays and I look so forward with anticipation to these two TV-centric evenings that my week revolves around them...to an extent...yeah...I probably shouldn't put that in writing).

Also funny and sad...I realize now that during the summer (especially in that one-bedroom apartment)...I treasured the weekdays, half-dreaded the weekends and looked forward to a reprieve from my more intensive weekend wifely/stepmotherly duties come Monday. The work week reversed.

Anyway...I digress. Because what I really wanted to write about today was how incredibly awesome my Labor Day vacation was. Though we already established that I am not a laborer, life has become a little too serious and scary for my liking lately and I certainly needed a vacation. According to Mr. Webster, a vacation is  "a respite or a time of respite from something". While I couldn't/can't really avoid the facts of life facing me at this juncture....traveling out of town on an airplane with my husband and step-daughter (who by the way...flew by herself...age 7...so proud!) to be hosted and entertained and fed and coddled by family (my wonderful in-laws) was just what this non-working girl needed. It was busy for sure, but it was all happiness...from reliving my husband's undergraduate years and cheering on his alma mater to eating Chicago-style pizza late in the evening. Pulling children around a big flat green yard in a big red wagon and cautiously holding a nearly-newborn baby, taking in her nearly-newborn baby smell. Sharing stories of what it's like to be married to a man from my husband's family while dining on a home-cooked-not-by-me meal and watching old home videos of my husband acting a-fool. Pure entertainment. 

Time of respite from something? Mission accomplished. 

And so it goes...

So...the summer has ended and my stepdaughter has returned to her hometown to be with her mom for the school year. I would be lying if I said I had been fully prepared and excited at the prospect of having a child with us 24/7 for the summer, but I would also be lying now if I said I didn't miss that little stinker now that she is gone.

My husband is very dedicated to his new job, which is a great thing considering that is why we uprooted our lives, but it also means that he works a lot and that I spend a lot of time alone now. I have always always loved my "me time", but the phrase "too much of a good thing" comes to mind right now. It is a struggle for me not to pounce on him the minute he walks through the front door, begging and pleading for attention and acknowledgement of the things I have "accomplished" in his absence. Mostly, this is a lost cause, but I suppose this has always been the plight of the woman. Sigh.

Alone, unemployed, unacknowledged...I do find myself struggling with the old demons of depression. Questioning my purpose, the meaning of life, the end all be all of the what is. This is not to say that I am being swallowed up by depression...not even close. I'm happy. I'm just...lost? Nay...disoriented. I've been removed from all that I had become familiar with and comfortable with. Life, once again, threw me a curveball in the form of love for another human being and the committment that comes along with marriage and for the first time in my life...I had to be selfless and give up my own course of adventure to embark on someone else's. I know this is not a bad thing...but it is not an easy and swift transition to adapt to. It's a process and I am 100% at the very beginning of understanding and embracing it.

Last week, I had a CT scan of my abdomen and pelvis. The results showed some junk that may not necessarily belong there. As you might imagine, this adds a whole new dimension to my disoriented state of being. Facing this unknown obstacle, which may really turn out to be a non-issue, makes me feel grateful that I am not employed (I can focus on getting this resolved) and that I am closer to my family and friends in PA (my support system). Perhaps it is true what they say: "Everything happens for a reason".

Regardless...summer ends...autumn begins. In like an earthquake, out like a hurricane. Heh. And so it goes...

Bedtime Stories

This is how I know I married the right man for me...

**Warning--If you are mature, you may not appreciate this post.**

This summer, we have been reading bedtime stories all together--my husband, my stepdaughter and I. Each night, my stepdaughter will choose 2 books from her shelves for our shared reading pleasure. Generally, my husband will read his selection first and then it is my turn. Despite the fact that my stepdaughter will soon be 8, she has a tendency to choose books she has owned for many years, but that's ok...we still enjoy it.

My husband and I both tend toward an adolescent sense of humor about some things and I have come to the realization that children's books are full of innuendos for the immature adult. For example, he and I tend to get the giggles over a statement in a Sesame Street book in which Betty Lou offers Big Bird her "watering can". Not totally sure why this is SO funny...but since he got the giggles over it...I can no longer read the offending sentence without falling into hysterics.

Here are  some others that give us the giggles:

From Frosty the Snowman: "Round and round the snowy yard they rolled the snowballs. Soon they had two fine big ones."

From Curious George: "After a good meal and a good pipe, George felt very tired."


Ralph S. Mouse was always "polishing his chrome".

From The True Story of Balto: "at last he felt the package".

I am sure I could find plenty more for our immature chiding...but I have done enough to embarrass myself for now.

The Art of Collecting Junk

My stepdaughter is something of a "collector". By this I mean...she likes to pick things up off the ground and stuff them in her pockets. She does this at school, at camp, on walks, in restaurants...anywhere. It doesn't matter where we are. If there is something on the ground that doesn't belong there, it now belongs to her. If there isn't miscellaneous trash or long lost trinkets to be excavated and collected, she will find some form of nature to take with her. Once, while walking around the lake near our temporary apartment, she picked up no less that 942 goose feathers. Ok...I'm exaggerating, but she did collect enough to make an impressive Indian headdress (though I am uncertain that goose feathers would be appropriate for this sort of project). We now have them stuffed in a shoebox for umm...safe keeping?

Being a "collector" isn't necessarily a bad thing and I would like to add that she has never picked up anything completely gross and disgusting, though I am not totally sure of the sanitary conditions of some of her findings. Where the problem arises for me...is that being the amazing domestic goddess that I am...I cannot seem to remember to do a pocket check before laundering clothes. Because of this,  I have washed leaves, flowers, rocks, coins (both real and fake), tissues, candy wrappers, plastic oddities, art projects, lip balm...the list goes on and on. Today, I spent an unreasonable amount of time digging individual beads (aka PixOs) from the bottom of the washing machine. The PixOs used to be shaped in some form of artwork, but alas...said artwork did not survive laundering. Oopsy. Hopefully,  the washing machine can survive the PixO invasion.

I am half-tempted to sew all her pockets shut because let's be real...I am never going to get the hang of doing a pre-wash pocket check no matter how many things I destroy or melt in the washing machine and dryer. Then again...let's be real some more...I am never gonna take the time to sew her pockets shut...so it looks like we will just have to continue  the collection game. She will continue to find treasures on the ground and I will continue to find treasures in the washing machine. And so it goes.

TP: An Artist is Born

I have been catching up on my blog reading a bit, which has given me some blog-spiration to do some blog writing again. Phew. I know I took a longer break from it than I was actually blogging this time and well...that is just so un-bloggeress of me. So sorry. I suck.

BTW, I am particularly enjoying catching up on Mommy Wants Vodka. She is hysterical. Though she does have a potty mouth, so if you are sensitive to that kind of thing, do not click on her link above. Also on my latest and greatest list of blogs to read when I don't feel like doing what I should be doing is The Blogess. Brilliant. Potty mouth as well but notasmuch. So funny.

Anyway...I have been on a "break" from stepmomhood whilst my hubs and I move into a home in our new little community (which by the way is totally awesome and friendly and pretty and it has sidewalks and a playground and a park and trails and a lake....love it.)

While my stepdaughter is with her mom down south, we have been Skyping with her nightly, which is decidely loads of fun (for my stepdaughter and I anyway...hubs seems to think we may be a bit childish. Sheesh.) ANYWAY, my stepdaughter is something of an artist. Seriously, this kid blows my mind with the things she creates. Amazing-ness. And, last night, while on The Skype, she asked her father and I to help her name some of her latest drawings, which were created on post-its. (She uses whatever she has available when the mood strikes her).

Drawing # 1 was of a boy, but when she held him up the webcam he had no head because she had run out of room on her post-it. Tee hee. We named in "Justin Beiber". Why not? He's everywhere anyway. She also had a drawing of a baby koala, which we named "George" and some thunder/lightning/raindrop that we named "Stormy". Eh. Pay attention though...cause seriously...these sketches might end up in a museum someday.

So somewhere down the line of these presented drawings, we struggled with naming her sketch of the Pyramid Egyptian Warrior, so I suggested (I am so beyond brilliant) that we call it "PEW". You know for Pyramid.Egyptian.Warrior. Acronyms rock.

After that she decided to name her next and last drawing "TP" for Toilet Poo. That's right. True story. My stepdaughter drew a picture of a toilet with poo in it. I love this kid. I love her whimsy. I love that while pondering what to draw she must have thought to her little 7 year-old self "I think I will draw a toilet with some fresh poo in it". And so, an artist is born.

Why I Am Not Allowed to Touch Anything

For the past 2 weeks, the 3 of us have been living in a furnished one-bedroom high-rise apartment. I'd like to emphasize the one-bedroom part here because this was not/is not my ideal living situation. But, to my husband's credit, it IS temporary, it IS much cheaper and it really hasn't been as bad as I imagined it would be. 

(*Sidenote: I have had the sliding glass door to our apartment unit balcony open all day to let in the pleasant fresh breeze...and once every hour or so, I get a waft of marijuana smoke through the door. Ah apartment living. I wonder what apartment its coming from? I bet they have a good stock of snacks...)

Anyway, I digress...the reason I started typing today's blog is because I got bored with my previous task. You see...I have spent the last 20 minutes or so (give our take an hour) attempting unsuccessfully to open the bedroom window. At first it was about the fresh air (and no, not the Mary Jane wafting in), but then it just became a task of will. A fight between myself and The Window. I fear I have been defeated. The Window has won.  And given my previous history of breaking things in this apartment, I decided it would be best for me to take a break from this endeavor and accept my defeat before I did some serious damage. What have I broken in the apartment, you ask? Umm...pretty much EVERYTHING.I.TOUCH. To the point where my stepdaughter informed me that I am not allowed to touch things. We will have to wait for daddy to come home and do it. 

Here's the list:

1. Door handle to the sliding glass door (Popped right off while I tried to open the balcony door about 10 minutes after arriving). Cracked me up, but no one else found it funny. Hmph.
2. Thingy you turn to open the venetian blinds and slide said blinds to left to allow light into the apartment (just detached itself right into the palm of my hand and despite multiple tries, I could not re-attach). My husband re-attached it in about 4 seconds flat and I haven't touched it since.
3. The vacuum cleaner. (Vacuuming away and the rubber belt thingamajig popped right off). To MY credit this time, I fixed it myself and I do believe that said vacuum is working even better than before). Also to my credit, I vacuumed.
4. A glass. Ok, my husband doesn't know about this and he would never have noticed if I didn't mention it here on this blog because he is infamously unobservant (sorry, honey) so I have no clue why I am outting myself. But, I learned that you should not stack glass glasses (or perhaps the specific kind of glasses that came with the apartment because when you try to unstack them, they will stick and when you force them apart, a shard of glass from the top of the inner glass with propel from the glasses and try to stab you. (Also...to my husband...if you are reading...before you judge, let me remind you of the $10 wine glass you broke in NC and never told me about until I realized that one had "gone missing"). Love you.

Today, I almost ALMOST washed the remote control. It seemed to have somehow gotten wrapped up in the sheets of our bed and wound up in the washing machine. I suspect my husband, who loves the remote control so much he panics if he can't see it, may have cuddled with it last night while sleeping. Luckily, I made a great save because if something happened to the remote...that would have been the end of me. Seriously.

Two nights ago, I spilled not only a full glass of water but also a half glass of red wine (I spilled the water while making a save for the wine glass) all over the table and the game of Life and the floor and the chair. Huge disaster. I am actually pretty amazed at how calm everyone stayed. We all pitched in to clean it up and then continued with our game. My new family must be getting used to my way of adding excitement to their lives. :o)

I Can't Imagine Why You're So Exhausted

A good friend of mine (thanks for the blog fodder!), after viewing my new blog, stated that she too wished she had been keeping a blog, but simply couldn't find the energy. My immediate thought to this statement was "well, duh...you have 3 kids"! Just thinking about that makes me feel exhausted!

Since becoming a stepmom, I have been left alone with my stepdaughter only a handful of times. Some of these moments have been pleasant and fun (fooling me into thinking that parenting or step-parenting must be a piece of cake) and other moments have been straight out of a comedic sitcom where I am left uncertain with which one of us has suffered the biggest meltdown. (*Some of my friends might recall the Saturday morning when my husband stepped out for short spell and within 5 minutes, the dog ran away, significant amounts of red juice were spilled on our cream-colored carpet and on my stepdaughter's beloved fuzzy blanket, and I sprayed an equally significant amount of aerosol carpet cleaner in my eyebawl...resulting in 2 people [myself and my stepdaughter] running around in tears and panic).

To be sure...if I didn't already have a great amount of respect for all who wear the title of  "Parent"...I certainly do now. Its no joke. And, as we have learned in the game of Life, once you open your life to offspring, you can't simply "give them back". As a stepparent, I suppose I have a little more leeway here (and I can't count the number of times in the last year that I have thought to myself "what did I do?"), but I love my husband and my stepdaughter too much to walk away from this...I married them both..."in good times and in bad." I have to remind myself that even biological parents don't know what they are doing sometimes and that after 10 months of being a stepparent...I really shouldn't expect myself to be great at this "parenting" stuff yet either.

So, as it happened, last week I was tasked with the responsibility of taking care of my stepdaughter on my own while my husband was at work. For 5 days. Yes...you full-time parents...laugh as you will. A mere 5 days. Yet this was one of the longest weeks of my life. Not because it was wholly unpleasant, because it wasn't. But, because well....its exhausting. You can't just "check out" and God forbid if you try to, you will be quickly reminded that you are not alone and that 5 minutes of one activity is plenty and so its time to find something new to do. Now now now. In fact, just as soon as I got comfortable with one endeavor, my stepdaughter was ready to move on to the next. And, if say...you were content reading quietly by the pool, your child will definitely want you to come watch what they can do in the water a minimum of 4 times every minute. And so it goes. 

If there was ever any doubt in my mind that stay-at-home parents have their work cut out for them...I know for sure now that they work harder everyday than I ever did in any corporate job. No breaks. No quiet commute time. No after-work happy hour drinks. Just back-to-back meetings with little humans, negotiating incentives and consequences; planning feeding times and play times; convincing them that your ideas are worth a try; and hoping, just hoping, that they will remember Boss Appreciation day this year.

I am glad that my stepdaughter and I have a bond. Especially since I know that it likely won't always be that way. I am also glad that I got to experience stay-at-home parenthood because now I know for sure it is not for me. I am too selfish and don't have the energy for it. And you know what, I am ok with that.

The Game of Life

The last several evenings, we have been playing the boardgame Life before bedtime. I am a sucker for life's metaphors and this family pasttime provides many. Some things I have learned from the game of Life:

• Life is a gamble...a mixture of both luck and good decision-making.
• While a college degree is the way to go in life...it doesn't guarantee you success and wealth. You still have to walk the same path as anyone else.
  
• Its a good idea to buy insurance and to pay back your debts early in life.
• Once you have kids, you can't give them back. (My 7 year-old stepdaughter posed this question).
  
• Everything you have can be taken from you in a matter of seconds, so don't get too cocky or comfortable with your fortune.
• Sometimes you actually have more than you realize you have, so don't waste too much time beating yourself up about being "behind".
  
• Along the same lines, you should never assume that someone has more than you just by looking at what they have or seeing a certain confidence in their expression.
• In the end, we all pretty much end up in the same place.

"Go with the Flow"...

Greetings!

Nine years ago when I relocated from PA to southern VA, a wise friend gave me one piece of advice on handling the changes I would embark: "Go with the flow", he said. As a planner and, as my husband says, a micromanager, going with the flow is very much against my nature. And yet, when I do succumb to this piece of advice...I must admit I generally feel more relaxed and happy. Or at least that is what I am going to tell myself as I attempt to re-establish that go-with-the-flow mindset.

The past year and a half has brought me many opportunities to test this mindset. And I find that my aptness to fight against the flow, or perhaps my inability to jump into the flow completely without flailing about in resistance and rebellion for fear of losing my essential self, has caused me a great amount of distress, resentment and tears.

You see...in the past year and a half, I have merged households, endured a mystery illness that has morphed my body into something of a stranger and have become a new wife and stepmom. I am now relocating with this new family (a process that feels never-ending) from NC to MD. During this relocation, I am learning about selling a house (I've never even bought a house), finding a new job (in a very different environment than the last time I was unemployed), being a new wife and stepmom (while clinging tightly to my old independent self), and acquiring a better or perhaps renewed self-esteem despite my newly (but hopefully temporary) morphed-out puffy roly-poly appearance. Just a little bit if change. Just a little.

The biggest change/challenge by far is that of becoming a stepmom. Learning exactly what role this is for me, where I fit into this family unit, how to establish boundaries without becoming a cold distant adult in this child's eyes or without becoming the family doormat (which is sometimes how stepmotherhood feels to me), has me tied up in knots of confusion. Recipe for an identity crisis for sure. I find that venting about my frustrations or conflicting emotions to my husband is unfruitful. I love him dearly, but as a non-step-parent, non-people-pleaser...he just doesn't get it. My girlfriends, who are mostly parents of children they birthed themselves can sympathize, but only to a certain degree. So...I turn to the world of stepmommy bloggers for support, advice and comedic relief. While browsing these blogs...I thought...why the heck not...I'll start my own new blog and see where it takes me...

Let this new journey begin...