This guy is the best husband, best father and best uncle ever.
I just love him.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
Domesticated
I've been beat up lately by the blance of life. I swear that last week I ate out for probably 12 of the 15 meals from Monday to Tuesday.
I had missed the grocery store the weekend before since we were out of town visiting. But missing the grocery store can only lead to one thing, TROUBLE.
So yeah, I spent the evenings staring mindlessly into the fridge wondering how I was going to make the three packets of strawberry applesauce, the stick of mozzerella cheese and the package of bowtie pasta fit into some sort of nutritionally valuable meal. You see my dilemma. It was easier to call something in.
All the while, the big elephant (read: Crock Pot) in the room sat atop my fridge staring down it's nose at me.
About two months ago, I was committed to Crock Pot cooking. Three times a week, three delicious meals, three satisfied family members and sometimes three rounds of leftovers (if we were lucky). It was easy. And I was happy.
Opening the front door upon my arrival home and having the aroma drifting through the air carrying the sweet song "Welcome Home, Honey" "Put Your Feet Up and Relax, Honey, Dinner is DONE, Honey" "What's to Eat? Why Me, Honey. This Fully Cooked Meal" was music to my ears.
But it takes planning on the weekends and some small to moderate prep the evening before. Did I mention my crazy job a few weeks back? Ah right, it was madness. So, planning got dropped. I got stressed. And we were back to square one.
I focused myself this weekend. I planned it out. I consulted some friends. I sent Jeff to the grocery store (good one, huh?) and cue Monday morning "Awww crud! I almost forgot to get dinner started!". Can of soup here, chicken there, milk, cheese, set timer and OUT THE DOOR. Bam. *Blows smoking finger* Dinner is on.
This week I've committed to the following recipes:
Chicken Cordon Bleu (via Saretta) on tonight's menu
Crock Pot Lasagna (via Saretta) I'll bost recipe later if it's a win
Slow Cooker Chicken Tacos Tried and true and I love it. Makes a lot and we use for tacos, salads, and soup
I'm pinning everything on my Crock Pot & Meal Planning Board on Pinterest if you want to follow. I'll try to keep a record of my likes/dislikes/failures - Speaking of which, tried a Crock Pot Ravioli recipe on Friday night that failed MISERABLY. Crunchy. Noodles. Need I say more?
If you have any recipe suggestions, I'm all ears!
In the words of the beloved Julia Childs, "
I had missed the grocery store the weekend before since we were out of town visiting. But missing the grocery store can only lead to one thing, TROUBLE.
So yeah, I spent the evenings staring mindlessly into the fridge wondering how I was going to make the three packets of strawberry applesauce, the stick of mozzerella cheese and the package of bowtie pasta fit into some sort of nutritionally valuable meal. You see my dilemma. It was easier to call something in.
All the while, the big elephant (read: Crock Pot) in the room sat atop my fridge staring down it's nose at me.
About two months ago, I was committed to Crock Pot cooking. Three times a week, three delicious meals, three satisfied family members and sometimes three rounds of leftovers (if we were lucky). It was easy. And I was happy.
Opening the front door upon my arrival home and having the aroma drifting through the air carrying the sweet song "Welcome Home, Honey" "Put Your Feet Up and Relax, Honey, Dinner is DONE, Honey" "What's to Eat? Why Me, Honey. This Fully Cooked Meal" was music to my ears.
But it takes planning on the weekends and some small to moderate prep the evening before. Did I mention my crazy job a few weeks back? Ah right, it was madness. So, planning got dropped. I got stressed. And we were back to square one.
I focused myself this weekend. I planned it out. I consulted some friends. I sent Jeff to the grocery store (good one, huh?) and cue Monday morning "Awww crud! I almost forgot to get dinner started!". Can of soup here, chicken there, milk, cheese, set timer and OUT THE DOOR. Bam. *Blows smoking finger* Dinner is on.
This week I've committed to the following recipes:
Chicken Cordon Bleu (via Saretta) on tonight's menu
Crock Pot Lasagna (via Saretta) I'll bost recipe later if it's a win
Slow Cooker Chicken Tacos Tried and true and I love it. Makes a lot and we use for tacos, salads, and soup
I'm pinning everything on my Crock Pot & Meal Planning Board on Pinterest if you want to follow. I'll try to keep a record of my likes/dislikes/failures - Speaking of which, tried a Crock Pot Ravioli recipe on Friday night that failed MISERABLY. Crunchy. Noodles. Need I say more?
If you have any recipe suggestions, I'm all ears!
In the words of the beloved Julia Childs, "
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Monday, March 12, 2012
New Tricks
I went back to manual mode on my camera this weekend. I've been shooting in the other program modes for a little too long and "forgot" some basics. Some very cool basics.
Dad and Jeff were playing around with this crossbow that Dad got for $10 off of woot.com - trust me when I say it wasn't even worth $5 - ha! But this lent a good opportunity for me to play around with my fstop settings. Got some pretty neat shots out of it.
Dad and Jeff were playing around with this crossbow that Dad got for $10 off of woot.com - trust me when I say it wasn't even worth $5 - ha! But this lent a good opportunity for me to play around with my fstop settings. Got some pretty neat shots out of it.
Don't worry this wasn't loaded and I actually ASKED him to point it at me
Took this right after he fired - obviously the focus could have been better but I got some great capture of the dust (?) flying off the bow and check out that bokeh in the back. Love that effect. Just need to work on the focus.
Wednesday, March 07, 2012
Aches and Pains
I've done something to my neck.
Last week it was my back.
And the week before, my legs.
Can I attribute this all to age? Or perhaps lack of mobility these mast few weeks (due to rigid deadlines and harsh working hours)? Or can I, let's face it, blame it on stress? See previous two reasons.
Last night I lounged on an ice pack for 2 hours straight. I got up to check on something only to realize the ice pack had soaked through my shirt and part of the couch, but that I couldn't feel it because the chill had completely numbed my entire upper back. The trade off? The pain was gone.
The *almost* immediate realization after I had been off the ice pack for 5 minutes? The pain had returned.
When I stress, I stress full body, so it seems. Internal? Blood pressure. External? Apparently a complete muscle seizure.
Is this normal? The pain was so intense last night it left me physically sick to my stomach, which doesn't happen often.
I think the Japanese have it right and this is how we need to start our mornings. Afterall, if some people can take smoke breaks, this is only fair. Am I right?
Last week it was my back.
And the week before, my legs.
Can I attribute this all to age? Or perhaps lack of mobility these mast few weeks (due to rigid deadlines and harsh working hours)? Or can I, let's face it, blame it on stress? See previous two reasons.
Last night I lounged on an ice pack for 2 hours straight. I got up to check on something only to realize the ice pack had soaked through my shirt and part of the couch, but that I couldn't feel it because the chill had completely numbed my entire upper back. The trade off? The pain was gone.
The *almost* immediate realization after I had been off the ice pack for 5 minutes? The pain had returned.
When I stress, I stress full body, so it seems. Internal? Blood pressure. External? Apparently a complete muscle seizure.
Is this normal? The pain was so intense last night it left me physically sick to my stomach, which doesn't happen often.
I think the Japanese have it right and this is how we need to start our mornings. Afterall, if some people can take smoke breaks, this is only fair. Am I right?
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
Dear Daughter
I'm going to start this letter with a future apology. I can not promise that I will keep this letter writing business up. Things get hectic, my stress level gets high, things have to balance, and things have to take a back seat.
But I can try. And I promise I'll do that.
So, let's begin again.
Dear Daughter,
You're two. Scratch that. You're two and one month. Twenty-five months, to those mothers who are weird about things and can't put their childs age in years. It's not making them sound younger, people.
You are two, but you are also six, and on certain days eight, and then sometimes the attitude is closer to sixteen. You laugh, and shout, and sing and cry and whine. But best of all, you joke. Boy do you know how to joke. I am floored by your sense of humor. You're jokes are beyond your years in so many ways. Your timing is impeccable, you know just when to capture your audience and for how long to drag it out. Often times I forget to laugh, as I stand there frozen with my jaw dropped to the ground in complete amazement.
I am so proud of you. For that. But for many other reasons too. Forewarning: I'm going to tell you endless amounts of times how proud I am of you over the rest of your life. And you'll nod your head and say "Thanks, Mom." and roll your eyes both literally and many times figuratively. And I'll lick your my finger and straighten your hair, and you'll brush me off. Thinking it's not such a big deal. Until you have a daughter of your own one day. And then you'll know exactly what I meant. Much like I know exactly what my mother meant. Except the hair straightening part, I'll try to contain that.
So here it is again, KTK. I am SO proud of you. You have such personality. BIG personality. You've got brains and attitude, and you're really starting to blossom into .... well, YOU. It's such an amazing thing to watch. I'd say from the sidelines, but I am an active participant.
You're teacher calls you "Loquita" - translation: Little Crazy One. But it's true. And it's a compliment. When we call you Loquita at home, your face squishes up and your eyes narrow and you shake your head like "No way, I'm not crazy" and then you giggle, as if proving that denial false right away.
Very often we play the "Oh no! Where's my hand?" game when we are in the car or the bath tub or chilling. Point is, we play it a lot. You hide Olivia behind your head as if she becomes invisible to everyone, except you. And we roll with it, because your enthusiasm is too awesome not to.
You've become fearless in play, opting for the big girl swing instead of your blue "bucket". And you lean back on the swing with your face to the sky and I could watch you all day like that. Smiling. Both of us.
And even when you make the occasional wrong decision, almost always having to do with the fact that you choose not to listen to us, you have the best disposition. Tearful and apologetic, you give hugs and kisses, and "yes, mama"s and "sorry, daddy"s. And then it's 0 to 60 back to awesome.
In short, you amaze me. Every day. Even on the days we don't get to spend much time together.
Never stop. I have a feeling you won't.
Love, Mama
But I can try. And I promise I'll do that.
So, let's begin again.
Dear Daughter,
You're two. Scratch that. You're two and one month. Twenty-five months, to those mothers who are weird about things and can't put their childs age in years. It's not making them sound younger, people.
You are two, but you are also six, and on certain days eight, and then sometimes the attitude is closer to sixteen. You laugh, and shout, and sing and cry and whine. But best of all, you joke. Boy do you know how to joke. I am floored by your sense of humor. You're jokes are beyond your years in so many ways. Your timing is impeccable, you know just when to capture your audience and for how long to drag it out. Often times I forget to laugh, as I stand there frozen with my jaw dropped to the ground in complete amazement.
I am so proud of you. For that. But for many other reasons too. Forewarning: I'm going to tell you endless amounts of times how proud I am of you over the rest of your life. And you'll nod your head and say "Thanks, Mom." and roll your eyes both literally and many times figuratively. And I'll lick your my finger and straighten your hair, and you'll brush me off. Thinking it's not such a big deal. Until you have a daughter of your own one day. And then you'll know exactly what I meant. Much like I know exactly what my mother meant. Except the hair straightening part, I'll try to contain that.
So here it is again, KTK. I am SO proud of you. You have such personality. BIG personality. You've got brains and attitude, and you're really starting to blossom into .... well, YOU. It's such an amazing thing to watch. I'd say from the sidelines, but I am an active participant.
You're teacher calls you "Loquita" - translation: Little Crazy One. But it's true. And it's a compliment. When we call you Loquita at home, your face squishes up and your eyes narrow and you shake your head like "No way, I'm not crazy" and then you giggle, as if proving that denial false right away.
Very often we play the "Oh no! Where's my hand?" game when we are in the car or the bath tub or chilling. Point is, we play it a lot. You hide Olivia behind your head as if she becomes invisible to everyone, except you. And we roll with it, because your enthusiasm is too awesome not to.
You've become fearless in play, opting for the big girl swing instead of your blue "bucket". And you lean back on the swing with your face to the sky and I could watch you all day like that. Smiling. Both of us.
And even when you make the occasional wrong decision, almost always having to do with the fact that you choose not to listen to us, you have the best disposition. Tearful and apologetic, you give hugs and kisses, and "yes, mama"s and "sorry, daddy"s. And then it's 0 to 60 back to awesome.
In short, you amaze me. Every day. Even on the days we don't get to spend much time together.
Never stop. I have a feeling you won't.
Love, Mama
Orbiting
I'm not sure if there is anyone still out there or not.... I feel as if I've been orbiting alone in space and just now trying to regain contact with the normal world. At least, that of the blog world. If you're out there, let me here you. *tap, tap*
If not, I'll continue recording just in case they find me one day and wonder what became of me.
I've been in the mood to write lately. Like, desparately needing to write. I've had a lot I've needed to get off my chest and haven't always felt like the blog has been the best place for it. So I bought a journal. Technically, Jeff bought me a journal, because I added it to the shopping list.
At night, I write in it. But only if I'm in the mood. I've scribbled pages and pages of my neurotic thoughts on there, one by one, and reread them over and over. And it's worked. I feel better, less stressed somehow. Often times, I share them with Jeff. Sometimes, I don't. It depends on my mood, and he's super supportive of that.
But I wanted to get back in to the blog world too, because I miss it. I enjoy writing in general, so this is my chance to continue something I love. My grammar may be lacking, I probably have run on sentences. But I don't care, because you get the message anyway.
I also may provide pictures, in which they may or may not be edited. But sometimes, I may just write to write. And not provide pictures. So get over it. Well, get over it IF you have an issue with it.
Something I've chosen to work on about myself is that the stars don't have to be perfectly aligned to make things happen. You can shift them later. It's my biggest crippler and something that's kept me from pursuing some of my passions. No more, I say.
Choose to read or choose not to read. I'll continue to write.
If not, I'll continue recording just in case they find me one day and wonder what became of me.
I've been in the mood to write lately. Like, desparately needing to write. I've had a lot I've needed to get off my chest and haven't always felt like the blog has been the best place for it. So I bought a journal. Technically, Jeff bought me a journal, because I added it to the shopping list.
At night, I write in it. But only if I'm in the mood. I've scribbled pages and pages of my neurotic thoughts on there, one by one, and reread them over and over. And it's worked. I feel better, less stressed somehow. Often times, I share them with Jeff. Sometimes, I don't. It depends on my mood, and he's super supportive of that.
But I wanted to get back in to the blog world too, because I miss it. I enjoy writing in general, so this is my chance to continue something I love. My grammar may be lacking, I probably have run on sentences. But I don't care, because you get the message anyway.
I also may provide pictures, in which they may or may not be edited. But sometimes, I may just write to write. And not provide pictures. So get over it. Well, get over it IF you have an issue with it.
Something I've chosen to work on about myself is that the stars don't have to be perfectly aligned to make things happen. You can shift them later. It's my biggest crippler and something that's kept me from pursuing some of my passions. No more, I say.
Choose to read or choose not to read. I'll continue to write.
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