What the devil is pancetta . . . ?

I think I've mentioned before that I can cook. Not like Iron Chef, no, but I know my way around a kitchen and can cook for my family. I'm from a family of 5 kids, and my mom always cooked homemade meals for us every day. I had a great upbringing that way, so when I got married and moved out on my own, while I didn't know how to cook EVERYTHING, I knew enough to wing it and make things work without eating out every meal. One of my proudest moments was making a delicious ham sandwich using leftovers of an amazing ham roast I had cooked the previous night without even having to call my mom for instructions (no really, it was a FANTASTIC sandwich).



It's been seven years now since I first got married, and for the past several years I've been living with my husband's family, and for the past two years, I've been cooking for us all five nights a week. So I'm confident in saying that I'm now a capable cook. I've collected tons of recipes over the years, learned a lot of my mom's cooking secrets and tricks, and I'm comfortable with my abilities.

I am not, however, a fancy cook. I wrote a post awhile back about how I nearly went into paroxysms when I found out I could substitute the long shelf life evaporated milk for perishable half and half or heavy cream! It changed my life! I see things in recipes like fresh herbs and not commonly used produce and immediately start figuring out in my head what the measurement of dried herbs would be and what I can substitute for shallots. (Onions, btw. Substitute onions.)

So, when I came upon this delicious-looking recipe on Pinterest for Winter Minestrone Soup (I've been craving soup this pregnancy), you can imagine the internal monologue I had going on as I read through it. Just for kicks and giggles, let's go through it and I'll tell you what I thought. Because this could just be me being all narcissistic, but I thought it was pretty darn funny. My thoughts are in the parentheses.

Winter Minestrone & Garlic Bruschetta
Serves 6 to 8

Good olive oil (I don't know about "good", but that we have.)
4 ounces pancetta, 1/2 -inch-diced (Pancetta . . . what the devil is pancetta?)
1 1/2 cups chopped yellow onions (Dehydrated onions = 3/4 c)
2 cups (1/2-inch) diced carrots (3 carrots)
2 cups (1/2-inch) diced celery (3 stalks)
2 1/2 cups (1/2-inch) diced peeled butternut squash (Ha. I've attacked a squash before. Also blogged about it. That's not likely to happen again.)
1 1/2 tablespoons minced garlic (4 cloves) (Score for the bottle of minced garlic in the fridge!)
2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme leaves (Dried thyme = 1/2 tsp-ish)
26 ounces canned or boxed chopped tomatoes, such as Pomi (How big are those normal size cans? 14 ounces? Eh, I can just do two of those.)
6 to 8 cups chicken stock, preferably homemade (page 62) (Chicken base and water, that counts as homemade since I have to dirty a dish.)
1 bay leaf Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper (Bay leaf, table salt, and normal ground pepper, check)
1 (15-ounce) can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed (White beans in sauce work, right? I don't really like beans anyway. Maybe we don't need those.)
2 cups cooked small pasta, such as tubetti (see note) (So . . . elbow macaroni it is!)
8 to 10 ounces fresh baby spinach leaves (I still have that frozen package of spinach in the back of the freezer, woot!)
1/2 cup good dry white wine (Make extra chicken broth, we don't have wine.)
2 tablespoons store-bought pesto (Pesto is just basil in some kind of oil or liquid, right? Yeah. 1 1/2 tsps of dried basil it is. Wonder if I should add an extra trickle of olive oil or something.)
Garlic Bruschetta (recipe follows) (White bread and butter on the table when dinner is served, check.)
Freshly grated Parmesan cheese, for serving (Freshly opened grated Parmesan in the plastic bottle. Because everyone loves a garnish.)

( . . . we never did figure out what pancetta was . . . *Googles* . . . Oh! Fancy bacon! I like bacon! We have breakfast bacon!)

So . . . yeah. That's pretty much exactly the thought process I had with this. I didn't even read the directions, but I know I'd have some sacrilegious thoughts about those as well. At the end of this recipe, I'd have a Minestrone-similar soup, definitely, but there are no promises that it would in any way be the SAME as this recipe. Would it be edible? Yes. Would it taste good? You bet your britches. Would it look like a passable imitation of the picture? Yep. But Julia Child I am not, folks. I never met a recipe I couldn't simplify, and never met a corner I didn't try to cut. Because that's how I roll. How about you? Do you put fancy chefs and cooks to shame, or is condensed cream of chicken soup your best friend? Do you have desserts or dishes that are constantly requested at parties and functions, or was mastering the can opener the greatest advance to your culinary career to date?

Jeremy

This isn't a happy post, unfortunately. Nor is it a sarcastic or a witty one, because that would have been a lot more enjoyable for me to write. Actually, this particular blog post is kind of an "in memorium". And it probably won't be important to anybody, but for some reason it is important to me.

I went through a miscarriage this month. Jeremy is the name that my husband and I picked out for our baby. We don't know for sure that it was a boy, but . . . that's just what we feel. And we've been calling it a him.

I got pregnant in April after about a year or so of me being off birth control. I'm not really surprised it had taken us so long, since my husband's job requires him to be away from home literally almost 90% of the time, and we actually had to make special arrangements for me to go with him so we could conceive. And I did.

I took a pregnancy test in May which confirmed I was pregnant, and my husband was absolutely thrilled. He couldn't stop smiling, he posted it immediately on Facebook, and told everyone in the family that he was going to be a daddy again.

About a week later went in for my first prenatal appointment. I was almost 9 weeks along, and despite me being so early in the pregnancy, my doctor did an ultrasound anyway. And there it was, just a tiny little shape tucked in there, and yet despite him being so young we still got to hear the heartbeat. And due, of all days, on Christmas Eve.

All this time, and over the next couple weeks, we made plans. I had the names all picked out if it was a boy or a girl, although we and most everyone else still thought it was a boy. We figured out where to put the crib in our cramped bedroom, got it figured out how to work around Pete's work schedule when it got time for the baby to be born, and even got it settled with my doctor that since I'd had problems with my last labor and delivery, this time we'd just schedule a c-section.

Long story short, I started spotting and then cramping about a week after my appointment. I called my doctor in a controlled panic when the spotting hadn't stopped after a couple days, and I was put on bed rest for the weekend. Unfortunately, at that point it was already too late. After a very long afternoon of tests and ultrasounds at my doctor's office, it was confirmed that I had miscarried. The baby was too small for me being 11 weeks along, and there was no heartbeat.

I had called my mom the day before to have her come and be with me for my appointment because Pete was at work. And I had bawled to her on the phone when I did, because I just had this horrible, sinking feeling that I had lost our baby. I sobbed about it, trying to be quiet so I didn't make Pete worry, but he caught me anyway and just told me over and over that it was ok, and I tried so hard to try and be hopeful for him.

Telling Pete that it was a miscarriage was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. I didn't want to tell him. He'd been texting all day, asking how things were going, keeping up with what was going on, and for a few minutes I just didn't have the heart to tell him that we'd lost our little one. When I talked to him on the phone a little while later when I had some privacy, it was undoubtedly the worst phone call I've ever had. The sheer . . . grief in his voice made my heart break, even more than it already had broken.

I had let myself get excited for our baby. With our first child, it was easy to hold back a lot of the emotion and attachment, to wait until she was here until I let myself fall in love with her. I wanted to make sure we would actually get her before I loved her, just in case. So I wouldn't be so hurt if we lost her. But we got her, and I loved her, and she was perfect and healthy, and she still is. It was harder this time to keep emotion out of it. I had already had a baby, I knew what to expect and I had already gone through this before. So it was easier to love the little life I was growing inside me, the little piece of me and my husband that we were looking forward to.

So it was devastating for me to have lost him. It hasn't hit me as hard and as abruptly as it hit everyone else. Pete was still talking about it as if everything would be fine, even the night before my appointment. But I was very worried long before I got confirmation from my doctor that I had miscarried. I had an entire week to dwell over the possibilities, and due to my extremely rational, often pessimistic mindset, I had plenty of time to consider and even expect the worst. Even though I hoped, and prayed, that everything would be ok, I still tried to prepare myself. Just in case.

I was doing ok, and Pete was doing ok, until this week when my sister in law had her first baby, a little boy. Pete got to see and hold him yesterday morning before he went back to work, and I got to hold him yesterday evening. It didn't surprise me that both of us have suffered a sort of relapse. Pete mostly. I've been so overwhelmed from my body going through this and even being in the hospital because of it last week that I haven't had a lot of time to be able to just think about it. To just let myself feel the emotions I need to feel to be able to move on again.

I guess this post is a part of that. I tried to write it over a week ago, I tried to just get it all out, but I couldn't. I couldn't find a way to say what I wanted to. But last night, Pete and I were talking, and something he said made it easier for me. Both he and I have been independently struggling and wondering if, with how young the baby was, if he really was someone or if he was still just an empty body waiting for a spirit. He died shortly after my first appointment with my doctor, so that heartbeat that we heard in her office ended within days or even hours of us hearing it. And both times, he was very small, and only measured about 7 weeks. Is that long enough for a body to exist before they are a real person? Did we actually have a little child in there, a baby with an identity and a mind and a character all his own, or was it just an empty shell waiting until it was more mature before it got its soul?

We don't know. And that was what was tormenting my husband the most. So he asked me if we could name him. For me, it gives a little bit more of something, I don't know what, but something to my own grief and mourning, to be able to miss and feel the loss of a real person, not just the possibility of someone. Someone real, with a name, that I can wish I could have known and held and been able to watch grow up.

We named him Jeremy. I suggested two names to Pete, and we both liked Jeremy. I had actually thought of this name before, on the day of my appointment with my doctor, and had considered writing it on the ultrasound pictures we got during my first prenatal checkup. And now I can for certain.

We had a son. A little boy named Jeremy that we never got to actually see or hold or have as our child, but we was ours, and we miss him. And we loved him. We were looking forward to having our Christmas baby, and we would have given a whole lot to have been able to have him. I just wish he could have been able to know his daddy. To have that relationship with the most amazing man I know. That's the worst part of the whole thing, is that he is missing out on a family that would have loved him dearly.

We love you, Jeremy. And I'm so sorry.

Beat the Jell-O into Submission

Today . . . has been an epic day. It's the Saturday before Easter, which means that all that fun holiday stuff that you can't really do on the Sabbath, happens today. You know, shopping for all that stuff you forgot to buy at the grocery store on the four previous trips you made. Making the house all pretty and shiny for Sunday. For my family, that means boiling and dyeing the Easter eggs, so they're all ready to be skinned and eaten alive the next day. Oh, and getting started on all the food that the ravenous children will be eating tomorrow.

Of course, I'm talking about my mother. I am not cool enough to clean my house (well, rooms that I live in at my in-law's house) for special occasions. Or every day. Or at all, really. Have I mentioned I hate cleaning? Yeah. But my mom, who is pretty much the Supermom that other moms try to emulate and usually fail at, is awesome like that. House: clean. Brand new Easter clothes (half of them handmade): done and ironed. Food: ingredients gotten (after 17 trips to the grocery store). I am not this cool. I would go to the grocery store once . . . and if I forgot to grab the French fried onions for the green bean casserole, well, dehydrated onions work too, right? And how crucial are the apples in the Snickers n' Apple Salad? Cut up Snickers smothered in Cool Whip (I remembered to buy that, right?) works just as well. Right?

Well, anyway, my Mom's amazingness aside, here is what else we did today: We went out for lunch and a movie. The movie was Hop, and it was cute and funny and a keeper! I love James Marsden. But the real highlight of this outing . . . was lunch. We went to the Beijing Buffet, all 8 of us, and systematically consumed half the food in the place. And my little brother . . . found the chopsticks. Now, see, normally this is not a problem, since 7 of us are over the age of eight and therefore quite adept at using chopsticks. However . . . my daughter . . . is 3. We gave CHOPSTICKS to a THREE YEAR OLD. Yes, at the time, I knew this was a supremely stupid idea. I knew I would regret it. I was not, however, prepared for how . . . epic of a fail it turned out to be.

First of all, she tried to eat salmon with the chopsticks. And promptly ditched one of the chopsticks out of sheer annoyance. So, three year old, piece of salmon, single chopstick. And next to the plate, a cup of Egg Drop Soup. Want to know what happens when you semi-violently attack a helpless piece of salmon with a chopstick? That's right. A piece of it goes flying hari-kari to commit suicide in the cup of soup, and it may or not have had help from the semi-violent three year old brandishing a chopstick like a Japanese samurai sword.

Most of the salmon (that didn't end up lying peacefully in the soup) ended up scattered all over the floor. Then . . . we moved on to the Jell-O. My sister, with the greatest of intentions, got my daughter some Jell-O cubes to eat for desert, along side the ice cream (just for the record, Sammy ate more of the ice cream than she did of the actual food for lunch). Still using her single chopstick, my daughter decided that the easiest way to make use of these strange, squishy, rubbery-lookin' orange things would be to spear the sucker, raise it in the air, and try to navigate it to her mouth. Didn't work. *Plop* Orange Jell-O jiggler is back on the plate, somewhat holey, and three year old is surveying it with a look of confusion.

So, we moved on to a different tactic, holding the Jell-O in place with a finger while sticking with chopstick and again raising into air and maneuvering to mouth. *Squish* Jell-O, meet table. At this point, it occurred to my daughter that Jell-O seemed way more like a toy and less and less like something to try eating. So she proceeded to chase the gelatin cube around the table, giggling as it bounced off the edges of plates. And then, apparently offended and outraged that it had the nerve to split in half, she then started to beat the Jell-O into submission (that phrase courtesy of my hysterical Dad), and once subdued, sweep it all onto the floor.

It was around this point that I figured I should stop laughing and take the chopstick away. I wrapped it and the masticated Jell-O up in a napkin, keeping it out of her reach. So, Sammy just stole my sister's chopsticks, dropped one a plate, and in the process of smacking it with the other stick as punishment, sent the one on the plate flying over our heads, to bounce off of the table behind us and roll to a stop under a chair.

By now, I was crawling under our table in embarrassment and shame as my daughter shrieked with laughter and kept trying to find the missing chopstick. And then started whacking my sister with the other one, prompting me to get out from under the table and remove all chopsticks from within her reach and hide them. We managed to get out of the restaurant without too much incident (leaving a $12.50 tip for the poor person who had to clean up the smooshed Jell-O, bits of noodle and rice, and flakes of salmon ground into the carpet. Oh, and the chopstick under the chair at the other end of the room).

Apparently her exertions at trying to tame the wild Jell-O jiggler had just worn my poor daughter out, and she slept through most of the movie. Which left her all kinds of chipper and perky at Walmart, which was just so . . . fun. Really. Yeah. The next adventure on the docket was dyeing Easter eggs, and after getting the six dozen eggs boiled (yes, six dozen) and ready to go, my mom and I shared a nostalgic moment together, grinning like little kids as we plopped the little color dye tablets into the mugs, to fizz and bubble in the vinegar at the bottom. The smell of vinegar has always reminded me of Easter, for this exact reason. We watched the little tablets scoot around the edge of the cups as they bubbled, sending the dye swirling up in their wake.

And then . . . my little brother and sister got ahold of the stuff. A nine and eleven year old, 2 dozen eggs, and 12 mugs of pretty darn permanent multicolored dye, and these really nifty "dye pens" we found at Walmart that consisted of thin tubes of dye with a Q-tip fluff on each end. You break the seal on one end, and all the ink rushes to the cotton at the other end. Voila, Easter egg dye pen! Let me just say that it is a good thing my mom's Easter tablecloth is vinyl.

And now, I'm sitting at the table amidst the aftermath of a whirlwind evening of dyeing Easter eggs. We even have a set of eggs decorated as Gru and his minions from Despicable Me, I kid you not. Those were my brothers invention. Oh, and by the way, if you do not know how to juggle, attempting to learn how with hard-boiled eggs is . . . well, hysterically funny, but maybe not advisable.

So now, I'm going to see what I can do about cleaning up the disaster that once used to be the kitchen table, stick the 6 dozen eggs back in the fridge in preparation for tomorrow, and pour 12 cups of dye down the sink (best part of dyeing eggs). I hope everyone else has as . . . memorable an Easter as I did. Ta!

Fairies, Big Toys, and Cliffs Notes

So, I was going to do my Things Your Waitress Won't Tell You, but I'm not functioning very well right now and I only got to number two and realized I was rambling. So we'll try for next time with that.

My baby is sick. *Sad face* I'm fairly certain we got colds after having that virus, and since she was a lucky bug and escaped the virus, she got slammed by the cold. She's got huge dark circles under her eyes and they're red and puffy, her nose is running like a train and she's just as ornery as a bear. I'm keeping her loaded up on kid's ibuprofen and nighttime cough and cold, but she's still having a hard time. One of her favorite movies is Polar Express, which she endearingly calls "Choo choo" but I hardly let her watch it because there's just something sacreligous about watching Christmas movies when it's not Christmas, but I've let her watch it as much as she wants today. Which is, like, 8 times. At least. I was at work this morning, so who knows. I'm hoping her cold wasn't made worse by playing outside the other day.

We spent the night at my parent's house and they live right across from the elementary school, so we all went over and played on the Big Toy for about an hour or so. We're talking 4 adults, two over the age of 40, a 17 year old, then 3 kids from 10 to 2. Us adults discovered via the monkey bars and zip line that we have muscles that have lain dormant for a good 10 to 20 years! I'm sure it was a riot to see us all playing around. My daughter was having a ball climbing up the slide and going down, and climbing up, and going down over and over. My littler sister was climbing everything, my other older sister was trying to simultaneously hold onto the dog (a very spazzy miniature American Eskimo named Miko) and jump on the tires in the sand box. My mom was alternating between spinning on the twirly stool-looking things and testing the zip line. My dad was busy crashing himself into the rest of the big toy while testing the zip line and helping my daughter climb back up the slide. My hubby was everywhere getting into everything, particularly the toy that's like a log in the water that you run on and try not to fall off. My brother was climbing around on the big tires in the sand box, and I was going between the zipline, the tires, and the Maryland bars (I'm not actually sure that's what they're called, they're two parallel bars that slope down to the ground from the Big Toy. You just hook your legs over the bars and zoom on down. In my case I was more of very slowly creeping down since my jeans weren't very slidey). It was a blast and we were all SO sore the next morning! And then before we left my baby insisted that we go back and we climbed up and down the slide for another half hour.

Anywho, I got the funnest package in the mail today! I have a favorite site called Collections Etc. and they have the coolest stuff! It's one of those catalog places that have all sorts of stuff that you don't really need, but at the same time you can't live without it, you know? I ordered a couple things last week and they came today! Joy! I got a set of three blown glass art necklaces, they're really pretty, and a figurine set of fairies in the woods! I didn't know if I expected them to be bigger or smaller, but for some reason I was so surprised and downright tickled when I opened them up! They've got glittery wings and the details are so cool! They are now in a spot of honor on the shelf on my nightstand, next to my musical doll my daughter got me for Mother's Day and the silk flowers in the white pail that I change when I'm in a mood to. So today was a lovely package day! I am going to have the hardest time deciding which necklace to wear first! Gah!

On a side note here, I have discovered that I love Cliffs Notes. I see them at the library all the time, so a few weeks ago I just grabbed a handful and took them home. They are so awesome! You get the whole plotline without having to read hundreds of pages! I read Wuthering Heights (depressing, glad I didn't read the long version), King Lear (want to see it now), Othello (depressing), The Iliad (interesting), My Antonia (glad I never read it in school), I tried to read Canterbury Tales but there were just too many flippin' characters, I did Beowulf (pretty nifty, I love mythology), and Henry V (cool). Who knows how many pages I would have had to read and Shakespeare I would have had to decipher? I love the story of Little Women and the Jane Austen's, but I can't stand the language. It's fantastic, but it takes you a freaking eternity to read! So I am more than happy to settle for the movie versions, or, in the case of this paragraph, Cliffs Notes! Hooray for Cliffs Notes! I have another 50 or so that I'm going to check out, and Don Quixote is the next one in the stack on my dresser. I'm excited!

Okey dokey, I think my mouth runneth over enough for tonight, and I shall now . . . do something. I was so tired earlier that I actually slept for an hour, and it was 9 o'clock! I'm still tired, but my mind is going 110 mph so I'm going to have to find a calming activity. It's a challenge when the last 2 discs of NCIS are beckoning and I also have 2 movies from the library to watch. David and Bathsheba with Gregory Peck and Immortal Beloved with Gary Oldman, it's about Beethoven. If either are remarkable, I'll let you know. But not tonight! I am not staying up til 3:30 in the morning again, no way! And so, I take my leave. G'night, y'all!

Golden Spikes and Jerks

Today was quite fascinating. We spent the weekend at my parent's again, and today we went to the Golden Spike National Historic Site for the reenactment. My sister plays in her high school band and they played there, and it was tons of fun to listen to. I played clarinet for six years in school, so it was a bit of a blast to the past. They played Hey Baby, we played that in pep band, and it was fun. Anyway, before they started the reenactment, we had a blast. Then they started talking. And they didn't stop for about 2 hours. Long before they finished I got bored, and the rest of my family too. We went on a small train, kind of like a plain version of the kind you find at theme parks, and took a little ride. It was fun.

After that we headed home and I went to work. We had two exciting things happen today. The first one was a lady came in that has been cyberstalked by some creep. Her son saw him in a car near theirs in the parking lot and she was totally freaked out. She wanted to know if we had any video footage of his car or him.

The next exciting thing was that we apparently had some jerk in the library today. We have a regular that comes in, an older guy in his 60's that's disabled. He gets on the computer and prints off tons of stuff every time he comes in and staples them together while he mutters to himself. So today it seems he accidentally stumbled onto a site that offended another patron (we are certain it was accidental) and instead of talking to one of us behind the desk, the idiot called the police! A while later, two cops come into the library, don't even stop to talk to anybody, just split up and circle the library until they get to this guy. They kicked him off the computer, seized all the papers he had printed off, and started interrogating the poor guy quite loudly right in the middle of the library! The jerks! They were looking through all his stuff trying to find evidence but they found nothing. I know that being a cop is something very important and takes a lot of bravery, but that makes it twice in the past few years that I know from personal experience that they have been jerks and idiots.

Anyway, that was all the exciting stuff for today. Now I'm just watching NCIS and being very sleepy. But I just watched The Meat Puzzle episode, and I can't end with that episode, it's way too creepy although the part with Tony almost throwing a fit at being left with Ducky's mother is HILARIOUS!!!

Ok, I'm starting to have typing problems which means I need to get off the computer and go to bed. Night all, sweet dreams.

Random Random Random

Today is the funeral. I'm all dressed up and stuff, except for the socks I'm wearing over my nylons so they don't get dirty or snagged. And I haven't done my makeup either, perhaps I should go do that.

You know, sometimes funerals can bring families together, and sometimes they can reveal just how crazy some family members are. This funeral is doing both. It's kinda weird.

Last night after the viewing we went with my huband's family and his aunt and a few relatives visiting from out of state. We went to Olive Garden, which is FANTASTIC in every way possible. I had the Manicotti Formaggio and the Tuscan soup. And the breadsticks, of course, which would have been incredibly worth it just by themselves.

Earlier yesterday I got two books from the library full of cross stitching patterns and designs, and I'm in a cross stitching mood now. I have tons of thread and cloth, so I'm excited to start on that.

I just finished watching an episode of NCIS. I'm pretty sure I've decided that NCIS is my second favorite TV show. Stargate SG-1 is my favorite, and I think MASH has the number 3 slot.

I am completely going with any random thought that enters my head right now, are you enjoying it yet?

Yesterday I finally typed up that idea for a muse that connected A and C. It thought it was rather interesting, although I'll have to go back and add in a bit more finesse and detail when I'm more awake. Have I explained what muses are yet? I don't think I have. Ok, my muses are when I come up with an idea for a story. I see them in my mind like scenes in a movie, and I just write them down and then I either come up with the rest of that story later, or I tweak it just a bit to implement it into a work in progress. I've had lots and lots of muses, and I get them from all sorts of places. I tend to get some good ones when I shelve books at work. Either titles or author's names with strike me in a way that works with whatever I'm thinking about, or it'll just sorta fall into my head and play out. It's kinda fun, and really interesting, and I love to write them down and play the weaver when I string them all together to make something.

I have such a sweet dog. He's a black lab mix, his dad was part boxer, and while he looks every inch a black lab, he's taller and has longer legs than most other labs. He's got a big chest that tapers at his hips and his legs are pretty slim too. I think that's the boxer coming out in his genes. He's not at all partial to strangers, but once he checks you out and knows you're a friend, he'll love you forever. He loved to be petted and scratched and played with, and he equally loves just curling up next to you and sleeping. He's so cute, and such a handsome dog.

Ok, I need to go finish getting ready. We need to be at the church early to practice a song for the family choir. Hopefully this day will go smoothly and everyone involved will be comforted. And I hope your day goes well too. Happy Wednesday all.

The Best of Times and Worst of Times

We'll start with yesterday . . .

My family lives an hour away from us, which really sucks. I am the oldest of 5 kids, and I have the best parents and siblings in the world. My mom is the coolest mom ever, and she loves all of us kids with a fierceness that is unequaled. My dad is one of the smartest people I know and through all of the ups and downs of our lives he has always been there. I have never gone a single day in my life without hearing, usually mulitiple times, that they love me. Every night, and every time I would leave the house, that was the last thing I would hear. I have never, never once doubted that my parents love me. On that score, I am truly blessed.

My siblings are amazing. I have two brothers and two sisters. My first brother has been the protector of his mom and sisters since he was old enough to walk and talk. Once in junior high I got mad at this one guy who was being a putz, and I told my brother to go kick him for me. My little brother, a scrawny, thin as a pole, seventh grader brother walked up to this burly ninth grade wrestler, and kicked him. My dear brother practically forfeited his life to get even with some guy who had broken my little ninth grader heart.

My sister is next. She and I are spitting images of my mom, and everywhere we go there is no doubt that we are sisters. Even people I have never met have asked if I was her sister. She is the most spiritually sensitive person I know. We went on a family vacation a couple years ago and on the way home we stopped in Nevada to get lunch. The only places around were casinos, and we had to walk through an entire casino to get to the restaurant. The smoke was thick, and for us, a religious family all our lives, you could just feel the bad spirit in the air. My precious sister was in tears because of our surroundings and how horrible it made her feel.

My younger brother is very gifted. At the age of 7 he was drawing those pictures where you tip this thing over and it knocks the ball onto the ramp, which bumps this thing, which falls over and launches this thing. Seven years old. He's 10 now, and he reads books that are high school level. He's very perceptive. He asks questions about things he sees that I didn't even think about, much less ask clarification for, until I was a teenager. We watched Phantom of the Opera and he was running over with the most intelligent questions. He's a hugger. He's also a really big kid, at least a head taller than all the other kids his age and muscle to back it up, but he's a teddy bear. He has to hug everyone in the house good night before he goes to bed.

My younger sister is a spitfire. She acts like a teenage drama queen, and she's a little brat when she wants to be. But she is also a sharp observer and never hesitant to ask to help with whatever you're doing. It could be making dinner, cutting out paper dolls, doing nails, anything, she wants to help. She was born when I was 14, and just a year and a few months after my younger brother, and I was a bit more attuned to maternal instincts at that point which just made it more special. She is also the favorite playmate of my daughter, despite the 6 year difference between them, and my daughter adores her.

We're with my family this week, just hanging out like we try to do every week. My mom and sister and I talked forever last night about everything, looking at funny pictures on the internet, talking about the book my mom is reading now, laughing hysterically at how we get increasingly loopy and crazy the later it gets. Today my mom and I took my daughter and we went to a fabulous Chinese buffet Brigham City. We watched my daughter slurp lo mein and throw rice and flirt with the old man in the booth behind us until the waitresses were giving us funny looks at trying to smother our laughter. Then, on our way out, my mom gave my daughter a penny to throw in the fountain at the front. She did this, quite fascinated that I let her, then proceeded to pick up one of the decorative rocks beside the fountain and had her arm cocked back to throw that sucker before I managed to get it out of her grip. I also tried to walk out of the restaurant still carrying my glass before my mom reminded me (amid giggles) that I couldn't take it home with me.

Awhile later while I was talking with my mom and sister again, listening to my daughter and younger sister run through the house giggling and jabbering, my husband came up the stairs with the news that his cousin had just committed suicide. He's a few years younger than me, his adult life just barely starting.

We weren't very close to this cousin, but we knew him. His family and my husband's family are pretty close, especially because his mom and my husbands mom are very close sisters. It came as a huge shock. We all knew he had been having troubles the past few years, but no one expected this. My mouth just hung open for several minutes as I processed this information. It's still not quite real to me. I've had a few family members die, two grandparents, one great grandma, and two cousins that also died unexpectedly, although not suicides. The one I was closest with was my grandma, and her health and mental capacity had been deteriorating for years before she finally died. The amazing woman that she used to be died long before her body followed her.

This death is a new experience for me. I have never known somebody who committed suicide before. His death has left everybody reeling. He was a great kid. He was funny. He could have been a professional chef if he wanted, he had an amazing talent. He committed suicide today when his parents were both at work. He got into the truck in the garage, turned it on, and left it idling. We don't know how long it was before his dad found him. His dad did CPR while he called 911, but he was already long gone. We have no idea what to do. My sister-in-law has a birthday this weekend that she will probably remember as one of the saddest in her life. My other sister-in-law is in Europe right now on a college British Literary Tour, she just left on Monday and is supposed to stay there for another 3 weeks. How will she remember this experience that she has been saving for and planning for over a year?

This has been a day filled with emotions of such polar opposites of the spectrum. I love coming to my family's house. There is so much comfort for me here, such a sense of acceptance and unconditional love in unmeasurable amounts. My mom hates it when we have to leave, and so do I. I've gone to lunch with my mom, looked at funny stuff on the internet with my sisters, played with my daughter, snuggled with my husband, hugged my dad, marvelled at my younger brother, and missed my other brother and his new wife of almost 5 months who wasn't able to get off work and come up here with his wife this weekend. I love them all so much it hurts.

And I've been in complete shock and felt such heartbreak for my husband's aunt, uncle, and cousins who are probably sitting at home right now still struggling with the thought that they will never talk to their son and brother again. They will never hear his voice, never see his smile, never have to wonder where he is after curfew, never be able to wonder what kind of man he will grow into. He is gone from their lives and they will never see him again in this world. I had a horrible nightmare a few months ago that my daughter fell into a stream and she was stuck and I couldn't reach her and couldn't get her out, and I was so scared and traumatized that I was afraid to go back to sleep and had to check on her to make sure she was ok. I rarely cry, but I did that night.

His parents are living that right now, and they aren't going to wake up from it, and it's not going to go away, and he's never coming back, and there is nothing anyone can do.

What does anyone do when this happens?

Hiya!

Here's something fun. I have never actually read a blog before. Nor have I written anything similar to a blog before. This shall indeed be a most interesting experience . . .

This is me saying "Hiya" to my pretend audience. Here's a little about me: I'm an American girl in my twenties married to a fantastic man, I have a daughter, I'm an aspiring writer (long and involved story there), I'm religious, and I love movies and reading and good music. What else can I tell you? Um, I play clarinet, guitar, and piano (the last two not very well), and I sing. I think common sense and tact are two things that are greatly underappreciated and under-used. I have the most adorable black lab in the entire world, but he is not particularly partial to strangers and is quite vocal about it. Currently my favorite color is purple. I live with my in-laws. And my two sisters-in-law. And my sister-in-laws dog. It's a crowded house. I love chocolate. I hate canned asparagus. If you send me flowers I will love you forever. I just had fun adding that blue rose picture. This whole blog thing is kinda exciting for me!

Anywho, this blog will just be about whatever happens to fly into my head at any particular moment. Experiences from jobs I've had. People that inspire me in one way or another, be it idiocy or brilliance or just about anything else. My very wide and varied opinions on everything that seem to change on a daily basis. And so on.

So, my dear pretend audience, I hope you enjoy it, and if you don't, why are you reading in the first place? Go have fun! Fly a kite! Have a rootbeer float! Hug a puppy! Hug a person! Buy yourself some flowers! Be happy!

Ta-ta!