I’m Liz. I’m almost *cough cough* 40 but definitely don’t feel it. Born right on the cusp of Millennial and Generation X, I relate to aspects of both. I call myself a late bloomer, both puberty and experience-wise. Sheltered good kid all through high school–I didn’t do anything the rated R high school comedies imply is “normal.” Didn’t go away to college so there were no dorm life shenanigans. I did “catch-up” after moving out of my parent’s house at 21, got a job at a bar at 22 (where I partied a bit too hard), then joined the Army at 24. My 8 years of military service feels like an isolated, separate time line, because after getting out, it was back to my early 20’s waiting tables and living paycheck to paycheck. I then fell for a man about a decade my junior. I attribute our compatibility to my extended childhood and him needing to grow up fast. We’re married now and have a beautiful 2 year old daughter and are currently trying to conceive her a sibling.
Our Covid-19 Experience
Sharing our household’s experience with the Coronavirus. We were among the fortunate, mild cases.
It all started when hubby woke under the weather general malaise-wise, and called out to work. He did the acetaminophen and ibuprofen regimen I learned as an Army medic and after 2 days felt well enough to go back to work. When he called in, he learned that a coworker with a bad track record for wearing his mask tested positive for Covid. He was told not to come to work, get a Covid test, and follow quarantine directions. Hubby was assured he’d still get a normal paycheck as though he had paid sick leave. That’s taking care of your employees. Anyway, I started feeling icky immediately -likely psychosomatically- but fought hard to remain my normal self. It actually translated into crazy nervous energy and I got a lot of work done around the house.
Turned out hubby tested positive, he got his results 2 days after taking the test, but we assumed all along it would be positive anyway. For time-line’s sake, I’ll call test day (not results day) day 1 for the house even though technically it was day 3 for my husband.
Day 1, I felt feverish and our 11 week old PB and 3 year old DD felt hot, but our forehead scanning thermometer said low battery. I gave acetaminophen to the baby immediately anyway, but DD didn’t want it and fought us HARD. Striving for normalcy, I decided to let it go for now and monitor her fluid intake and rest. That, plus the fact that hubby is completely helpless around her (totally wrapped around her little finger), meant that he didn’t agree to tough love medicine until bed time.
Around lunch, we got a new 9 volt and got the thermometer working again. Since PB had been on an acetaminophen routine already, she never registered over 99 degrees. DD however, fluctuated between 100.4 and 101.8 degrees. Her worst was after hours of cuddling with her dad under a blanket in the recliner… so understandably warm. After insisting he let her up, her body did cool down and she seemed cheerful and perky. The cheerful went away at bedtime and she got droopy earlier than usual so I insisted she take the medicine and we held her still. It really was the last straw. Throughout the day I tried to be sneaky and ambush her – sticky syrup got everywhere. Tried reasoning with her while watching cartoon “Doc McStuffins,” didn’t work. Tried bribing her with a toy meant for potty training rewards – no luck. She has the toy now, btw. Well… holding her still and hoping she let enough medicine slide down her throat resulted in her managing to gag/vomit the medicine back up. Thank goodness no food came up with it, but in perfect honesty she wasn’t eating much.
Day 2, I’m not registering a fever, possibly because I keep taking acetaminophen, but I feel the hot/cold body fluctuations associated with a fever all day. It’s annoying. I’m cold so I layer up. I get sweaty, so I take it off… all day long. Fatigue hits me hard and I’m also really phlegmy. Gross. PB seemed clingier than usual but nothing super concerning and I stopped giving her acetaminophen. DD still worried me. She had almost no appetite and seemed to mirror what I was feeling. She went back and forth between appearing normal and then testy cuddly/sleepy with warm appendages and flushed, yet no fever. Every minor frustration or disappointment was met with tears and exaggerated, loud wails. This lasted a few days and I started giving myself headaches from gritting my teeth in response to the crying.
I called the pediatrician’s office and spoke to the girls’ nurse. It sounded like any “go-to-the-emergency-room” symptoms would be more than obvious, otherwise just ride the virus out. The fevers were considered low-grade and it was ok to not medicate, and the super flushed cheeks were normal. Big sigh of relief there. I had some Pediasure (protein shakes for kids) in the cupboard. She didn’t like it plain so I froze one, then blended it with vanilla ice cream to make myself feel better about DD getting nutrition and calories into her system. One strawberry Pediasure turned into 4 different ice-cream assisted last-resort “meals” over 2 days.
Days 3 – 5 were more of the same. I felt super-icky, DD was quick to cry, hubby claimed he was ok, but spent all his time in the recliner so I’m willing to believe he was fighting fatigue too. We drank a LOT of ginger ale, lemon-lime soda, and orange juice this week. It felt good against the phlegmy sensations I couldn’t shake. Hubby cooked a lot, but complained he couldn’t tell if the food was seasoned well enough. On taco night when I noticed they tasted mild, I added what should have been too much hot sauce, and still thought they were mild. Classic Covid symptoms. Sweetness didn’t suffer, thankfully, and I ate lots of ice cream with chocolate syrup, too.
My husband felt physically better after a week – only complained of being “off” and his sense of smell was going in-and-out. I could say I was nearly normal again at that week mark, but seriously always cold… not sure if it was from the virus or just being a wimp. We hadn’t changed the thermostat and the winter here has been really mild so far… The girls I’m confident were all better, and DD was back to eating her normal picky menu so I didn’t have to resort to calling ice cream meals just to watch her eat.
I have 2 Facebook acquaintances that fall in the Covid long-hauler category so I know what this could have been and know we are lucky. Doubly so since hubby’s job kept paying him – it’s not a job that normally comes with sick leave so that was purely at the owner’s initiative. So after 2 weeks off, hubby is back to work and glad to be there. Forced to stay inside and feeling icky half the time is no vacation.
Non-productive Perfectionism?
So I’m not quite a perfectionist in the definition that comes to mind first. I’m not super tidy or organized. I thrived in the structured environment of the military because I was told what to do and when. Self-motivation and self-discipline are hard to come by. Especially as a stay at home mom. The demands of my 2 kids are sporadic and I just cater to their needs as they arise so I don’t have a firm schedule. I do have plenty of free time between diaper changes, toilet training runs to the potty, nursing, and sandwiches where I could write more, but somehow internet scrolling and depressive self loathing fills the voids. I play with my girls, too, they are in no way neglected, but it seems the time I used to spend on online college is still spent online, just unproductively.
I should write more. I want to write more. But I look at the screen with nothing definitive to say, so I don’t start at all. As though not having a fully formed thesis to write about is my excuse to not write at all. I also want to get my creative writing juices flowing again and work on my poetry and novel concepts, but also again, without a real plan, I stall starting at all. I hate this non-productivity, but I manage to cultivate excuses to not create. I know they’re weak, stupid excuses, so that only feeds my underlying depression anyway, and the cycle continues.
Is it perfectionism that keeps me from producing? Or fear of not being perfect, perhaps?
A Late Christmas Post
I started writing this before my family woke up Christmas morning… wow, I need better time management! Ha ha ha!
This Christmas morning, I’m sitting in the living room, waiting for my family to wake up, and I’m hit with a wave of gratitude. First of all, after the year the globe has had, and America has had… I’m grateful for LOTS of things. But today especially I’m thinking about family oriented Christmas things. My husband was raised a Jehovah’s Witness, so he has no holiday traditions. I was raised Catholic so I have lots. As a couple, we haven’t really started crafting our own Christmas traditions other than I buy one new ornament. Our first Christmas together we had a silly, secular Christmas with inexpensive presents and a lot of alcohol with work friends. Over the he next several years, doing anything really depended on if we were working or not. We both worked at a restaurant open on Christmas those years.
Last year, with Deedee being 2, we used the excuse that she wasn’t making concrete memories quite yet to not do anything elaborate on December 25th. We did minor, toddler safe decorations and opened presents from out of town family as they arrived, so the whole of December was special for her. This year we decided to save presents for the 25th and bought a few bigger items for Deedee ourselves. My former JW husband has been so, so sweet to watch. His excitement over her presents – in some cases he’s more excited than she – has been priceless. I know all parents must love watching their kids opening presents, but it hits me in the emotions twice. Once for the joy on my child’s face, another for the joy on my husband’s since Christmas in general is still so new to him. JW’s are Christian, but they don’t celebrate anything Jesus doesn’t outright tell his followers to (Passover supper just before Easter is it). Not only do they not recognize birthdays, they also don’t believe Jesus was born in the winter anyway, so December 25th is just another day.
I love that my husband finds the non-religious traditions of decorations not just worth doing, but enjoyable. He doesn’t show signs of pulling a complete 180 from no Christmas to over the top decorating, and for that I am grateful, too. I love a simple, sentimentally decorated tree (half of the ornaments for our 3-foot, fiber optic tree are from my childhood), and simple outdoor lights, but have no desire to compete with neighbors for the highest electric bill.
Somehow giving Santa credit for anything this year didn’t come naturally to me, and obviously hubby has no frame of reference. So Santa still hasn’t been introduced as “real” in my house. He’s recognized thanks to TV, but he’s as “real” as talking animals, talking toys, and monsters. I’ve always been on the fence about Santa for my kids anyway. I managed to believe myself until I was 10 and felt significant betrayal when my mom confirmed there was no Santa after my 6 year old sister broke it to me. By Covid preventing mall Santas from doing the leg work of making him “real,” it would have been all on me to convince Deedee of his existence… and like I said, it didn’t come naturally. She’s 3 now, so I may have missed the window for introducing him at all, and I wonder if I am cheating her out of something special. Because if there’s no Santa, there probably shouldn’t be an Easter bunny or Tooth Fairy, either, right? Need to be consistent with the well-intentioned lies. I don’t know. Hubby doesn’t feel cheated by not having a Santa, but you can’t miss what you never had. The memory of hearing the surprise in my mom’s voice, “you mean my 10 year old still believes in Santa?” miiiiight be clouding any magical positive Santa memories – Elf on the Shelf was not a thing in the 80’s – I’d be interested to hear how other families introduce Santa. I just thought it would come naturally so I never had a plan.
So this started with gratitude, detoured a bit about Santa, but I want to end this with gratitude as well. Through everything this year has been… it has also been good to my family and for that I am truly thankful. I gave birth safely to a healthy, wonderful little girl. My husband’s restaurant has managed to thrive despite safety restrictions with a few marketing changes. I finished my bachelor’s degree. My toddler, while still not toilet trained, continuously grows in health, creativity, and intelligence – sometimes without any instruction or heavy encouragement, she just wants to learn! She’s also embraced her role as big sister and proves herself to be mommy’s little helper every day. I look to 2021 with hope and optimism and wish nothing but the best for everyone reading this. Thank you. The stay at home mom gig can be a little “adult-conversation-lonely,” so WordPress helps me feel connected.
My Princess Baby Arrived with Laughter!
In the extreme AM of her due date (0030), I contend PB broke her own water. She was super active and at first I thought her tap dancing on my bladder was why I was wet. I had no contractions and was probably in a bit of denial, blinded by the relief of having an induction scheduled for the near future.
Well, it soon became clear that it wasn’t my bladder and I called my OB’s after hours line for guidance. My only sitters for Deedee are her grandparents 2 hours away and I didn’t want to wake them if I could potentially be waiting hours for contractions to go to the hospital. After multiple pages to the on call doc – which happened to me mine – (mildly annoyed there…) it would be the receptionist to call me back to tell me he said just go to the hospital.
So to speed things along, here… I wasn’t dilating or contracting at a rate that pleased the 2 midwives that wound up as my physicians that weekend, so we added the induction medication Pitocin. I knew before I ever tried to get pregnant with Deedee that I’d be an epidural person. I consider myself tough to physical pains, but man the thought of natural childbirth scares me. When Saturday’s epidural proved ineffective on the entire left side of my body, the respect I already held for natural childbirth moms grew exponentially. Breathing deeply with tears streaming, I got through quite a few contractions before the anesthesiologist made his way back to try the epidural again. Thankfully, that one was a success.
Even with the epidural, the pressure of PB in the birth canal was intense and I certainly felt pain. Undoubtedly not the full effect – how have we not gone extinct? I’m only part serious, because I know women are built for it and I tend to believe the theory that hormones and the female brain manage to help us forget/block the memory of that pain or women may never have more than one! Anyway, something I’m itching to share though is that I finished pushing PB out laugh/crying… She was positioned occiput posterior (back of her head against the back of my body – which is not favorable). The midwife was working on turning her as I was working on pushing her out. With my petite Deedee, what I remembered was one last big push to get the head through and it was basically over. I swear PB put me through 3-4 contractions worth of “one last big push” stalled out in the birth canal with onlookers telling me her head was partially through. It hurt, tears were falling, but I choked back sobs because the short muscle contractions of sobs cause lightning sharp pains worse than the pain of extended pushing during contractions.
The midwife encourages me to reach down and touch the baby’s head – I suspect as motivation – and it worked. She was so close! There was her head, full of hair! Happy tears mingled with the pain, and a manic laughter overtook me. Damn it hurt, but I couldn’t stop laugh/crying! I felt PB making pulses of progress with each laugh-sob. The midwife is cheering me on, says the baby’s turning out of the undesirable position and finally, I literally laughed my daughter out of me at 1833.
The 100% honest, 2nd baby (same gender) registry
Ok, so I don’t know about anyone else’s experience with registries, but I spent a lot of time and energy building a few for my first pregnancy.
Everyone was happy for me and asked where I was registered. The long-distance friends I kept after the Army, my settling-into-a-new-city-budding-friendships, work friends, family… so lots of people. My work friends were gleefully planning my shower to be held in the restaurant we worked at and local family said they’d throw their own. It seemed great. Yeaaah. 2 people bought off my registry, my mom and one aunt. Not a single friend that had mentioned buying me things or throwing me a shower came through. My side of the family (they’re the ones that live several states away) mostly sent money, so I don’t feel neglected by them, just pouting about all the time wasted on the registries. Hubby’s side threw us a shower where we got just about everything we needed… but not to sound ungrateful because everything is beautiful and it was an overwhelming level of generosity, but… there were lots of repeats – an expensive registry item my mom had bought too, 6 baby blankets, a crap ton of baby clothes – especially socks, three years later still using lotion from that shower – and since no one seemed to have consulted the registry, there was no coordinated color or theme for Deedee’s nursery. Unless you count that bafflingly trendy gray.
Moving on… I didn’t even bother with a registry for this baby. It’s another girl born in the same season so clothes should line up pretty on point. Because of family’s generosity with Deedee there’s very little we NEED this time around (god, we got so many clothes we’re glad it’s another girl so things can be worn more than once), and after the disappointing waste of time that first registry turned out to be I wasn’t going to waste my time again. But if I did (and was willing to sound bossy and decided it wasn’t weird to ask for pads) it would need to look like this…
- Any cute baby clothes you might be tempted to buy… pick out something in 3T and/or 4T for her big sister, she’s the one that needs clothes. New baby will benefit from them in time, too
- Coordinate, people… 2 baby blankets tops, a couple stuffed animals to get her started with a personal collection – I understand not everything should be a hand-me-down
- Pacifiers and starter sippy cups
- Max 2 rounds of baby hygiene products – hold the lotion
- Bulk sized containers of each size batteries that power all the toys ya’ll got me 3 years ago for Deedee
- A few visits from a cleaning service
- Gift certificates for grocery stores that do delivery
- Photo shoot for holiday cards
- Deedee’s favorites we stream on Disney+ so we can cancel that subscription
- Panty liners, stretch mark reducers, hemorrhoid products, and do OTC skin tag removing products actually work?
- A sewing machine (yeah, I wanna be the “I’ll make your Halloween costume, hem long dresses, and patch your ripped knees” kind of mom)
- A fun girly pamper kit… stuff to do my own mani/pedi and some makeup to play with when I have the time and desire to feel pretty again. (I’m a super low maintenance tom boy kind of woman so it really says something for me to want this… I’ve hardly even tried to artificially enhance myself since I stopped working, my poor husband (Recently went to use mascara only to discover it had dried up).
- Personal trainer (mostly for the motivation and accountability, I more or less know what exercises I should be doing)
- At a minimum (will not turn down more) 2 people willing to give us a day’s help with DIY renovations. There’s not much left that requires many hands, but it’s about the speed. For most of what’s left, the extra people, brute strength and sweat could knock tasks out in a day.
Are registries falling out of fashion? I’ve known several pregnant people over the past few years I liked enough to spend money on that have not created them.
Blog Writing – Comfort Through Anonymity?
So when I started this blog, I wanted to keep everyone more or less anonymous so I didn’t potentially offend or embarrass anyone – mainly stuffy old relatives and the kids looking back since the internet is forever. My husband is a private person, and extended family on both sides are quite conservative (prudes, not necessarily politically). The common blog post abbreviation “DD” to refer to “dear daughter” was a serendipitous discovery since I was already calling my daughter Deedee as the not-obvious nick name to her quite popular full name. Hubby had it picked out as a teenager, and come on, I was so charmed by the fact that he had already named his daughter that I didn’t put my foot down about picking something different. As an Elizabeth, I grew up with a million other Elizabeth’s and wouldn’t you know it, many of us chose to go by Liz. I tried on both Beth and Libby in the 3rd grade before eventually deciding I liked Liz best. My mom grumbled because of the story and rhyme: “Lizzy Borden took an axe…” but Liz still won! So with only a mention of its popularity and the very real chance she’d go to school with a few classmates of the same name, to which he was fine with, my request was to call her the non-obvious Deedee or full name until she was old enough to choose her own nick name. I’m the only one that calls her Deedee, and family has been great about respecting my wish to use her full name. There’s a work friend that calls her the go-to popular nick name, but she doesn’t even answer because she doesn’t know it refers to her. That actually cracks me up.
One of the top alternatives for Deedee’s name is what we chose for her sister, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s grown in popularity over the last few years. Ugh. Hey, we’ve had it on the back burner for 3 years, we like it, we’re going with it, pooh pooh on it being trendy. My fangirl love of Adventure Time influenced my choice of blog code name PB for baby #2. Finn calls the princesses by their initials pretty regularly, so Princess Bubblegum is PB. Well, I decided Princess Baby sounded cute, so there you go. My daughters are Deedee and PB.
So a lot of blogs I hop around reading and actively follow aren’t anonymous. Am I being silly with code names? As someone who daydreams about being a writer, am I holding myself back through anonymity? Liz isn’t a pseudonym but is common enough to almost count as one. If someone were really determined to figure out who I am via hacking or face recognition, I’m not actually hiding… If I do write something that amounts to anything, I want credit for it. But I don’t want people that wish me ill, or a potential employer, to Google my name and come across this… I overshare. I’d love to hear input from any of you long-standing bloggers. Thanks!
Lots Going on… Mental Overload
So my depression took a downturn recently. There’s a lot happening at once and while its not all bad, it’s still an overload. Good stuff include Deedee turning 3, preparing for new baby, and my *cough* 40th birthday coming up. Double depression whammy between my Grandma’s apparent giving up on life recently and a lack of information from my OB’s office scaring me. Let’s start with that.
This isn’t my first baby, but with Deedee, she was considered underweight and I was going to the high-risk clinic. The high-risk people talked to me so much, despite the worry of her being underweight, I trusted them and was ok. My new office here is busy, and the doc always seems in a hurry, and if I have any questions, I swear I have to interrupt his goodbye spiel to ask it. I am not assertive… Princess Baby slept through a 35-week non-stress-test (NST) and the tone of my visit shifted to concerned – they squished me in for a biophysical profile that same day and scheduled an extra unplanned visit in less than a week. I had to look up NST and biophysical profiles online and while it wasn’t all doom and gloom, when you’ve been given no information and have depression anyway, all you see is this quote: “The test is most commonly done when there’s an increased risk of problems that could lead to complications or pregnancy loss.” Add to that the firmly stressed and repeated multiple times by both doctor and nurse to call – there’s an after hours line, don’t wait for morning – if I detect a decrease in fetal movement. Like I’m supposed to sleep now?!?
On the 3rd visit within 2 weeks, I finally asked the doc (this is a big deal for me, I’m nonconfrontational to my detriment) why I have so many scans scheduled, what are they for, is something wrong? I’m mortified to be crying through it – I practiced my speech in the car and had every intention of being bitchy as a show of strength. Ah well… doc is apologetic (his good natured chuckle landed poorly though) and says at 39 and overweight, these tests are just done, my baby’s fine. What, was he avoiding the age and weight topic to not hurt my feelings? Like I don’t know I’m overweight and old?
But they’re still stressing to monitor movement and I’m still overly distracted by it… school is definitely getting the least of my mental function right now. I’m fairly certain I’m not getting A’s this term.
School… I should be excited, right? I’m done in 8 days. Anti-climactic online school finished, graduated, ta da. Diploma comes in the mail in about 12 weeks… but man, this is such a disappointing term! All classmates are worthless in the discussion board interactions. This teacher isn’t helping my enthusiasm either. Most of her replies come off a little bot-sounding. Last week she replied to my post as though my opinion on the matter was defending a certain tax practice when my entire post was academically criticizing it. If this were 18-year-old me, I would have dropped out of more than half of this school’s classes because the teachers suck. Yes, that is something I did frequently while less mature. A teacher that didn’t seem to care couldn’t make me care so I’d drop out while I could still get at least a partial tuition refund. That explains why I’ve been enrolled in 6 different higher learning institutions since 1998 and only just now am getting a degree.
I’ve mostly come to terms with not seeing Grandma before she goes… it’s probably more of a numbness than a coming to terms… there’s just so much going on in my head at the same time! The only new news I’ve heard on that front is that after 6 months of suicidal-depression-inducing isolation, there are now 11 cases of covid at the nursing home. Grrrreeeat.
I did finally apply for an absentee ballot and as a 40-year-old, former Army Soldier, I will be voting for the first time ever. That makes me feel all sorts of adultish and responsible.
PB’s due in 2 weeks and a day and I’m SO ready to not be pregnant anymore. I’m stressed abut this decreased fetal movement thing, not to mention I’m HUGE! Not even remotely worried about this baby’s weight… she’s already considered 7.5 pounds – heavier than Deedee was at birth – late and induced (she was 6lbs 15oz)! I’m also very nervous about water breaking, waiting until labor pains are 5 minutes apart, drive to the hospital in labor, yanno, the more average way these things seem to happen. Deedee won’t be allowed in the hospital and I’m so grateful my in-laws are prepared to drop everything and come get her when its time, but I still worry hubby might miss the birth waiting for his folks (2 hour drive) with our toddler. Doc chuckled at my request to induce on Halloween, but maybe I can convince him of another day since Halloween is a Saturday. But common, that’s bragging rights her whole life if she were born on a blue moon Halloween. My birthday is the 29th and I’d be happy to share… 37 weeks is technically full-term, let’s go doc… any day now! Next appointment is Thursday, I’ll be there anyway, whadayasay?
My Chili – pleases the tummy and wallet
I thank God for my husband every day. He is wonderful in many many ways, but some days it’s his low-maintenance that tops the charts. I have a simple chili recipe my Mom put into a hand-written, keepsake-quality recipe book several years ago that I tweaked to make my own and he LOVES it. The man cooks in a high-end chain restaurant with the dream of going to culinary school and breaking into fine dining, yet this sinfully simple, easy to make with inexpensive ingredients recipe makes him happy every time I make it. Like, not just happy, he’s excited when he notices what meat I have thawing, sincerely compliments it every time, and wakes up looking forward to leftover chili for breakfast!
With the myriad of recipes on the internet, I am not even trying to break into the cooking world (unless I tackle the “eat for cheap and feel like an adult” niche). I’m just inspired to share this today because I made it last night and the weather’s getting to where I’ll want to make it more often.
Before I startle anyone’s regional chili sensibilities, I’m from Northern Illinois, and beans go in chili.
Basic Ingredients:
- 1lb ground turkey, 1lb ground Italian Sausage – brown together and drain.
- 2 cans red kidney beans
- For visual interest I do one can light red, one can dark red, and drain a big plop of water out of each can, I like my spoon to stand up in my chili
- 1 can diced tomatoes
- Ones labeled “Chili ready tomatoes” are diced smaller and preferred in my house
- 2 average-sized jalapeno peppers, diced
- Scrape seeds out unless you really like that added heat
- Diced onions to taste – Mom said 2 small ones, that was always too many for me
- Walmart’s “Great Value Seasoning Blend” is 10oz frozen veggies – 90% onions – so I use this and add visually 1/4-1/3 cup diced fresh onion (never actually measured)
- Diced bell peppers to taste
- I do 1/2 a really big green one or the visual equivalent in colorful peppers
- 1 Tbs each: Chili powder, Cumin, Oregano, Worcestershire Sauce, and Minced garlic from jar
- Conversions claim a tablespoon is equal to 2 fresh garlic cloves (Mom’s recipe) – I heap that tablespoon – love me some garlic!
- 1 tsp ground black pepper
- Simmer on medium-low to heat through and blend flavors. Stir occasionally.
Experienced variances:
I’ve subbed Italian Seasoning blend for the oregano before and it creates a “can’t quite put my finger on it” difference. I’ve also used a pre-seasoned taco ground turkey in place of Italian sausage before and cut the chili powder, cumin, and oregano down to a tsp each. It undeniably tasted like a taco relative, but was still good! I’ve tossed in leftover sloppy joe and taco meat (separate occasions) from a previous night just to use them up, and they blend in well. When I had a roommates I’d feel obligated to offer food to, I’d even toss in a can of grocery store chili to stretch it a bit farther without the added hassle or cost of more dicing and more meat.
It’s not a super hot recipe, but making it without jalapenos once was noticeably mild and I don’t want to forget to buy them ever again. I’ve tried to meal prep by mass dicing and freezing veggies for future use, but fact of the matter is, I almost always have fresh onions and peppers, and it’s really not that hard to cut them up fresh – I do greatly appreciate the frozen mostly onion mix though. I really dislike dicing onions.
With my toddler’s interest in cooking, I let her stir the veggies and seasoning over a cold burner next to me while I brown the meat. It’s stressful to have her so close to the heat, but I narrate the whole time, “See that’s called steam, that means it’s very hot. Don’t touch the pan, ouchie. Stir, stir, stir, mix your pot, good job!” etcetera… and she’s so pleased with herself for being included, that extra stress on my part and inability to multi-task while browning because I have to stay put is worth it. When I do have to kick her off the stove, she’s usually satisfied that she’s helped and ready to move back to her toys. Letting her “help” is the biggest time suck. When she doesn’t, it really is quick to throw together.
I’m lazy, so this does make more dishes than I like, especially if I add grilled cheese, but while it’s simmering, I try to knock out a few so after the meal doesn’t seem so bad. Grilled cheese made with the cut-off-a-brick melty cheese is so ooey-gooey wonderful with chili, and it helps it stretch into the next day to feed both of us again. If I have hamburger or hot dog buns threatening to go stale I’ll turn them into garlic bread. Was your house a “butter bread” house growing up? Both me from Illinois and hubby from Virginia grew up with parents that used “butter bread” (literally just cold sandwich bread with margarine on it) as a side dish. If I’m feeling adultish-attempting-healthier-choices, I add a side of fruit.
Deedee isn’t super into chili yet – she’s sporadically stolen cold bites from my bowl while I’m taking a break to decide if I need a refill, but if I give her her own portion she doesn’t want it.
I’d have to do some serious math to get the true cost of this recipe, but I’m willing to bet less than $10 as written to happily, comfortably fill up me and the husband for one night, and without adding a side, feed at least him one more full meal the next day.
I love chili because it is endlessly customizable and oh so satisfying… and it really helps that my hard working, wanna be professional chef of a husband appreciates it! ❤
Grandma’s Given Up?
My Grandma had 8 children, which turned into 17 grandchildren, and my bun in the oven makes 28 great-grandchildren for this incredible woman. She’s nearly 96 now and never did embrace technology, so no computers or cell phones, meaning no emails or video chats. Her solo daughter (yes, my aunt has 7 brothers), in recent years developed into kindof the unpaid nurse for things that were slowly becoming difficult, but she was thriving in her mostly-independent retirement community for the better part of this decade. Other nearby family visited regularly, and I never got the sense that it was out of guilt or a reluctant obligation – my less than annual trips home always had to include a visit because I wanted to.
(Photo is nearly 40 years old – I’m the baby)
A little over a week ago, one of my cousins sent out a mass email calling us adult grandchildren to reach out with messages in an attempt to lift Grandma’s spirits. 6 months of Covid isolation and a recent fall had caused quite the emotional toll (zero visitors, but also zero Covid cases in her facility). I loved this idea and felt pretty guilty that my last reach out was Mother’s Day. I love photos and albums, so I offered to make Grandma an album of current family photos, catching her up with where we are so far in 2020 and include birthday wishes because her birthday is mid-October. Getting good photos of all of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren was quite the chore. It took some mild nagging, emailing a few aunts behind the cousins’ backs, Facebook messaging, and some outright snooping on Facebook. I wish I nagged harder… several pictures were quite old, and some of my cousins were only represented once with a cropped Facebook photo. The good ones I got though were GREAT, and I was pretty proud of the album.
Following up with my sister after finishing the book and sending it off, I learn Grandma’s not just sad… I was avoiding homework chatting with her online while Deedee’s in the recliner with me watching Frozen. Paraphrasing my sister: Word is she’s given up. She only gets out of bed to use the bathroom. After 6 months, they’re finally allowing patio visits, but Grandma wouldn’t even get out of bed for 2 different attempts. She even cut a phone call with our dad short recently. Reading this, of course I start crying. Trying not to alarm Deedee, I hold my breath and choke down any sobs, but tears are streaming…
“Boo-boo?” she asks when she notices. She’s super concerned, grabs my head and sort of moves it around looking for a boo-boo on my head. “No, honey, I’m sad.” She (thankfully) stops wiggling my head, pats it, “Mommy sad.” We’re reclining, and she’s perched high enough to snuggle into the crook of my neck. Her arms circle my head, and she settles in to finish her movie in this position. Honestly, it got rather difficult to keep crying, it was so sweet.
So I’m super sad, and adding to that is an insecure feeling that the photo album may come across as some kind of permission to go/goodbye, not the “we love you, we miss you, happy birthday” it’s meant to be. I also can’t help feeling sorry for myself thinking that if she dies relatively soon, I wouldn’t be able to go to the funeral. Between Covid precautions and giving birth early November, I might not be fit to travel – let alone uncertain finances after a ton of recent car trouble and I lose my monthly GI Bill stipend after graduating this month. I missed my 3 other grandparents’ funerals when deployed in the Army! I’m like this crappy absent family member that doesn’t want to be absent (I have cousins that did eagerly move away and rarely, reluctantly visit, and that’s NOT me) but life gets in just the right kind of way that I’m forgiven. Still sucks…
I feel like I’m already mourning but shouldn’t be. And yet, when someone goes to hospice or is on life support with a bad prognosis, it’s socially acceptable to start grieving before they’re actually gone. Does this count, too? But I’m also mad, because Grandma could totally be at peace with death but still take visitors and talk on the phone. It’s clearly depression. Is it selfish to wish the docs would give her a bunch of antidepressants and pot brownies? Will the docs even try to help her at this age? I dunno… So, so sad. My photo album is predicted to be delivered in a few days, so we’ll see what kind of reception it gets. Here’s hoping she even looks at it, but unlike a visitor that as to wait for her to come out and will eventually need to go away, the album can sit in her room tempting her until she’s ready to look at it. According to the family that actively contributed to the album, it was a great idea and they’re glad I did it. I mean, I am too… I just… I’m not ready to say goodbye. I want her to meet her 28th great-grandchild and leave us in good spirits proud of her incredibly full life.
Wishing My Childhood for My Kids – Nostalgia
There is a sense of the 1980’s in my trailer park. No sidewalks, kneepads, or helmets, and plenty of kids running around with no obvious supervision. Yes, my trailer park fits some of the negative stereotypes you may immediately think of, but I’ll defend it every time because it’s a hellofa lot better than the criminally overpriced, under-maintained, poorly managed apartments my area offers the working class. Good, affordable apartments with staff that care do exist, I’ve lived in some, but just not around here.
As a child of the 80’s bought up in a safe neighborhood, I respect a certain degree of the free-range parenting style, but imagining that for my kids makes me uneasy. It’s a whole new world now, and maybe I just don’t want to imagine them growing up (shoot, one’s not even born yet). I do want them confident with their own abilities, judgement, and independence, but I also want them knowing they can tell their parents anything, that we’re always here, and on their side.
Through my elementary school years, my yard was the fun yard. Big, smooth driveway perfect for roller skates, swing set, and a sand box – so mine was the place played in most. My mom was a stay at home mom until I was in high school, so she was always there if we needed anything. The directly next-door-neighbors, in perfect cliché style, were me and my younger sister’s best friends. Their mom was a teacher, so she was there all summer, too. We direct neighbor kids were together all the time for close to 5 years straight before they moved away, but there were plenty of other kids that flowed in and out of the play group. I don’t think I’d really call any of us today’s definition of free-range kids because a) the state of the world meant we could be both sheltered and only modestly supervised, and b) we mostly stuck to the back yards and respected plenty of boundaries, example: be inside by 5:30 to wash up for dinner.
I consulted Google Maps to confirm, but the residential block I keep talking about has 12 houses on one side, 10 on the other. Of those 22 homes, only 6 were comprised of families with children, but in 1988 all 16 of those kids were under 11 years old.
The walk to school was a half-mile, maybe 15-20 minute trip on little legs, with only 1 street just busy enough to warrant a paid, official crossing guard. I always had multiple neighbor kids to walk to school with. The highest number was when my sister reached kindergarten in 1989 – 13 of us kids from that street walked to school together in the mornings, reveling in the independence.
I don’t remember talking to neighborhood adults much as a kid. “Can so-and-so play?” was probably the main interaction with the parents, otherwise ignored unless we were being fed ice-pops or fruit snacks. They were Peanuts comic-strip-style background figures taken for granted until someone started crying.
There are a lot of kids on my stretch of dead-end-street in the trailer park, but the age range doesn’t favor Deedee right now. The direct neighbors’ youngest are a 6-year-old girl and 7-year-old boy who come around more than I’d like. They’re nice to her and Deedee likes them, but they make me uncomfortable by talking to me a WHOLE LOT and by assuming Deedee can do what they can as though they were all the same age. She’s a month from turning 3 so there’s a LOT she can’t do. And are you even supposed to converse with little kids when you don’t have a relationship with their parents? I’ll get into my weirdness about “other people’s kids” in another post, this is already too long.
But yeah, just making this parenting thing up as I go, hoping that when Deedee and her still unborn Princess Baby sister grow up they’re able to thank me for a fun childhood that felt safe with just enough independence. And hoping that more age appropriate kids join the street and/or the 3-5 year plan to buy a house pans out in just the right neighborhood.
Random SAHM Thoughts 