Boy, has it been a long time since I updated! I've been terrible about reading my friends' blogs, too; for that I apologize. Life has been pretty hectic since we've moved in here. I am not one to settle right in and make home; maybe by the time Aaron retires in 15 years I will have that little skill down. Our garage is such a giant mess, and I am buried in laundry. Most of you know why this is; around the time I was writing my last blog, unbeknownst to us, we made a new addition to our family. I am now 11 weeks along, and the baby is due July 27th. It has been a big huge adjustment to my mental. I am a bit of a control freak, and I like to plan things. So being pregnant as a surprise has been a bit of a struggle, mentally. I am coming around, though! I hired a midwife yesterday who I'm really excited about, and I'm planning a waterbirth here at the house. I never really was interested in a waterbirth before, but while laboring with Jack I kept wishing I had a nice tub. So I'm pretty excited about that, and I guess I didn't realize how much I was stressing about it. I feel so much better, more relaxed, and more able to focus on the joy that is a new baby.
Aaron and I have been teasing each other a lot about what the baby's gender might be. (A lot of people have been asking me if I know the gender yet....I don't understand this. I'm only 11 weeks.) When I first got pregnant, I was really wanting a boy. In a "If I have to be pregnant it better be a friggin' boy" way. As time has gone on, I have been feeling unendingly girl feelings. Of course, I was convinced Libby was a boy, so who knows. We'll hopefully find out around the beginning of March. Aaron has been pushing for a boy. I know we'll both be happy either way, although I do think it'd be nice for Jack to have a brother.
This pregnancy so far has been a whirlwind. Finding out right before Thanksgiving, waiting for the morning sickness to kick in so I could feel confident that Baby was sticking. On December 10th, I woke up with a pain in my side that I'd been trying to ignore for a couple of days. That morning, it was intense. I decided to call my neighbor and ask her to watch the kids, and have Aaron come home and take me to the ER. I couldn't walk the kids over to the neighbor's house, and by the time Aaron got home I was a whimpering mess on the floor. I'm sure it must have been scary for him to come home to that. He carried me into the ER, and a few tests later an OB came in and told me that it looked like what I had was a standard uterine pregnancy along with a tubal pregnancy on the right side. The chances of this are 1 in 30,000, and the only solution was surgery. If I left it to rupture, it could kill me, and methotrexate, a chemical solution, would destroy the uterine pregnancy as well. I was fine until they wheeled me away from Aaron. I panicked for a minute seeing him walk away but I knew this needed to be done. The personnel at the hospital were very kind to me, and the surgery went without a hitch. Instead of a tubal pregnancy, what they found was a blood-filled cyst on my right Fallopian tube. Removal went fine, and I was sent home that night. I recovered fine, except for a couple of stubborn undissolved stitches, and baby hung on despite a 50/50 chance of miscarriage.
We stayed home during the holidays due to cost, and I think we've discovered a new joy in a nice, relaxing holiday at home. When we go visiting for the holidays, there is always a lot of scheduling and traveling...everyone lives so far apart! It has been nice not to run all over the puckerbrush anymore.
As a result of the pregnancy, my milk supply is diminishing like crazy, so, alas, I'm forced to wean Jack. It was really hard for me to admit at first, but obviously some things are beyond our control. We are starting with night weaning, and it's going pretty well. It's exhausting, though.
My little girl is turning 8 in a few weeks, and her Grammie and Poppa are coming up for a couple of weeks to be here for her baptism and hopefully give Aaron and I some much-needed couple's time. Then, in March, we are hoping for a visit from my brother and his family. I can't wait to meet my niece! And, maybe in April, my bff will be visiting. So this should be a very exciting spring, and I'm sure it'll fly by!
That's what I've got for now. Hopefully it won't be 3 months before I update again. Thank you for reading.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Italian Sausage and Pepper Pasta
This is freakin' amazing. EAT IT!
1 package fresh Italian sausage, mild or hot (your preference) I like Johnsonville.
Evoo
4 cloves garlic, chopped or grated
1 whole white onion, chopped
1 each yellow, green, orange, and red bell peppers, sliced into thin strips
1 small can tomato paste
1 8 0z can tomato sauce
Salt and pepper to taste
Fettucine or other hearty pasta
Italian cheese blend
Garlic bread (I like Pepperidge Farm)
Preheat the oven for the bread and put on a big pot of salted water to boil.
Prick the sausages with a fork or knife and put them in a skillet with about half an inch of water and 2 tbsp of EVOO. Turn the heat onto medium-high and bring it to a boil. Then turn it down to a simmer. After the water boils off, the sausages will get brown and crispy in the oil.
In a saucepan, heat about 2 tbsp of EVOO and add the garlic and onions till they get soft. Then add the peppers strips and cook and stir till they are tender. Then add the tomato paste and about 1/2 a cup of water to the pan. Stir till the tomato is diluted and evenly spread about the pan. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Then add the tomato sauce and mix it all up. Bring to a boil, then turn down to a simmer and cover.
When you put the pasta in to boil, put the bread in the oven. Drain the pasta when it's al dente or just shy of.
When everything is all cooked, put the pasta in a baking pan and toss gently with most of the sauce. Nestle the sausages down into the saucey pasta and pour the remaining sauce on top. Cover the whole thing with lots of cheese. Take the bread out and turn off the oven. Then put the baking pan in the oven until the cheese all melts.
Take out of the oven and serve with yummy bread alongside. Enjoy!
1 package fresh Italian sausage, mild or hot (your preference) I like Johnsonville.
Evoo
4 cloves garlic, chopped or grated
1 whole white onion, chopped
1 each yellow, green, orange, and red bell peppers, sliced into thin strips
1 small can tomato paste
1 8 0z can tomato sauce
Salt and pepper to taste
Fettucine or other hearty pasta
Italian cheese blend
Garlic bread (I like Pepperidge Farm)
Preheat the oven for the bread and put on a big pot of salted water to boil.
Prick the sausages with a fork or knife and put them in a skillet with about half an inch of water and 2 tbsp of EVOO. Turn the heat onto medium-high and bring it to a boil. Then turn it down to a simmer. After the water boils off, the sausages will get brown and crispy in the oil.
In a saucepan, heat about 2 tbsp of EVOO and add the garlic and onions till they get soft. Then add the peppers strips and cook and stir till they are tender. Then add the tomato paste and about 1/2 a cup of water to the pan. Stir till the tomato is diluted and evenly spread about the pan. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Then add the tomato sauce and mix it all up. Bring to a boil, then turn down to a simmer and cover.
When you put the pasta in to boil, put the bread in the oven. Drain the pasta when it's al dente or just shy of.
When everything is all cooked, put the pasta in a baking pan and toss gently with most of the sauce. Nestle the sausages down into the saucey pasta and pour the remaining sauce on top. Cover the whole thing with lots of cheese. Take the bread out and turn off the oven. Then put the baking pan in the oven until the cheese all melts.
Take out of the oven and serve with yummy bread alongside. Enjoy!
Monday, October 4, 2010
I Am the Cooker of Delicious Things.
I think that'll be the new title for when I post recipes.
Last night we had Oven-Fried Pork Chops, which I can't take credit for. The recipe is from Better Homes & Gardens. On the side we had mashed taters with feta and California blend with garlic butter. Mmmmmm.
Ok. So you start with some boneless pork chops that are about 3/4 of an inch thick, and do an egg wash with an egg, a little milk, and some pepper. (Why is pork naturally salty? This is a question that just occurred to me. I think I'll Google it.) Then, you roll the chops in some dry herb stuffing mix that you've crushed down fine. In a 13 x 9 pan with a little puddle of butter on the bottom, you put the chops and cook them on 425* for about ten minutes, turn, and cook for 10-15 more. Internal temp should be 160*.
For the potatoes, I just boiled some red potatoes and mashed with butter and chicken stock, then added about a half a cup of feta. Next time I'll add it sooner so the cheese melts a little better.
California blend = fresh broccoli and cauliflower florets with baby carrots, steamed/boiled in a little bit of chicken stock, then tossed with garlic butter (heat equal parts EVOO and butter on low with some chopped garlic), salt, and pepper. Emily even said the veggies were the best part, and usually she acts like I'm trying to kill her when I tell her to eat her broccoli.
Tonight, we had Pesto Chicken sandwiches on ciabatta bread. Aaron wanted my version of chicken cordon bleu, which entails provolone in place of Swiss and prosciutto in place of ham, but prosciutto costs an arm and a freakin' leg at Wal-mart, so that was a no-go. They did have day-old ciabatta bread on sale, so I bought some of that, fresh spinach, provolone, and jarred pesto. I was thinking of the Barefoot Contessa's pesto bread where she spreads it on ciabatta and then toasts it. So I cut the chicken breasts in half longwise (to make two thin pieces from one breast piece) and salted and peppered them and grilled them. I cut the loaf of ciabatta in half the same way and spread the pesto on it. Next time, I will probably toast the bread a bit before assembling the sandwich, but I didn't this time. I layered spinach on top of provolone on the bottom piece of bread, placed the chicken breasts, and topped them with tomatoes and more provolone. Then, place under the broiler to melt the cheese and put the top piece on and cut the whole thing into servings. They were big Schlotzsky's-style sandwiches. I served them with a side of fries. So good! I also might, next time, use the pesto beaten with an egg to bread some chicken (as in, dip the bread in the pesto/egg and then the breadcrumbs and then fry.) If I do, I'll let you know how it went. If you try it first, let me know!
Thanks for reading, and happy eating! PS, both these meals took about half an hour to make and serve.
Last night we had Oven-Fried Pork Chops, which I can't take credit for. The recipe is from Better Homes & Gardens. On the side we had mashed taters with feta and California blend with garlic butter. Mmmmmm.
Ok. So you start with some boneless pork chops that are about 3/4 of an inch thick, and do an egg wash with an egg, a little milk, and some pepper. (Why is pork naturally salty? This is a question that just occurred to me. I think I'll Google it.) Then, you roll the chops in some dry herb stuffing mix that you've crushed down fine. In a 13 x 9 pan with a little puddle of butter on the bottom, you put the chops and cook them on 425* for about ten minutes, turn, and cook for 10-15 more. Internal temp should be 160*.
For the potatoes, I just boiled some red potatoes and mashed with butter and chicken stock, then added about a half a cup of feta. Next time I'll add it sooner so the cheese melts a little better.
California blend = fresh broccoli and cauliflower florets with baby carrots, steamed/boiled in a little bit of chicken stock, then tossed with garlic butter (heat equal parts EVOO and butter on low with some chopped garlic), salt, and pepper. Emily even said the veggies were the best part, and usually she acts like I'm trying to kill her when I tell her to eat her broccoli.
Tonight, we had Pesto Chicken sandwiches on ciabatta bread. Aaron wanted my version of chicken cordon bleu, which entails provolone in place of Swiss and prosciutto in place of ham, but prosciutto costs an arm and a freakin' leg at Wal-mart, so that was a no-go. They did have day-old ciabatta bread on sale, so I bought some of that, fresh spinach, provolone, and jarred pesto. I was thinking of the Barefoot Contessa's pesto bread where she spreads it on ciabatta and then toasts it. So I cut the chicken breasts in half longwise (to make two thin pieces from one breast piece) and salted and peppered them and grilled them. I cut the loaf of ciabatta in half the same way and spread the pesto on it. Next time, I will probably toast the bread a bit before assembling the sandwich, but I didn't this time. I layered spinach on top of provolone on the bottom piece of bread, placed the chicken breasts, and topped them with tomatoes and more provolone. Then, place under the broiler to melt the cheese and put the top piece on and cut the whole thing into servings. They were big Schlotzsky's-style sandwiches. I served them with a side of fries. So good! I also might, next time, use the pesto beaten with an egg to bread some chicken (as in, dip the bread in the pesto/egg and then the breadcrumbs and then fry.) If I do, I'll let you know how it went. If you try it first, let me know!
Thanks for reading, and happy eating! PS, both these meals took about half an hour to make and serve.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
No More Berger Babies
When I got married, I wanted six kids. Then I had one, and my pregnancy seemed eternal and I was SO. SICK, and I thought, okay, how about not six. Then I had another, and I wasn't so sick, but my body aches were awful. At the end, my sciatica was so bad I couldn't even walk across my living room without leaning on something. I was 22. I thought, maybe we'll have two more. Then, when my second baby turned out to be super clingy and allergic to sleeping through the night, I tried to get Aaron to have a vasectomy. He refused; he said we were too young and we'd regret it. Wouldn't you know he was right? Don't you just hate when your husband is right? So a year passes and I want to try for another. We do, and we lose the baby. (They say you can start trying for a baby right off birth control, and maybe some women can, but both times I have, I've miscarried. But I digress.) So while Aaron was in Iraq, we both did some serious thinking. We had two wonderful children. They were both potty-trained. They were both weaned. We had a rhythm, and a pattern, and were we sure we wanted to mess around with that? But I wanted a homebirth. I wanted to cloth diaper a baby from the beginning. Neither of which is a good reason to have a baby, in my opinion. I didn't want to have another BABY just to say I'd had a HOMEBIRTH, you understand? I did a lot of thinking, a lot of soul-searching, and I just knew, knew that there was another child waiting for us to get on the ball so he or she could join our family. So then I had to talk Aaron into it. I knew that I wouldn't be able to feel peaceful with our family knowing that it wasn't complete. So we got pregnant, and from the beginning, it kicked my butt! At 5 weeks, I had a staph infection and had to be put on antibiotics that made me violently ill. I had to fight with the nurses to change my medication because they kept telling me it was just morning sickness. Trust me, I could tell the difference. But, lucky me, my morning sickness started up really soon thereafter. And it was AWFUL. So. Sick. I lay on the couch for weeks. At 13 weeks, we moved. I was useless. And the whole time, I thought THIS IS MY LAST PREGNANCY. Everyone told me I was silly and I would want more, 26 is too young to be finished with your family. Seems like they were all ignoring the fact that I'd NEVER felt done before and that 26 is plenty old enough when you've got three kids! As soon as Jack was born, my family felt perfect. He's the candles on the birthday cake that is the Bergers. Still, every so often I think how much I love having a newborn. How I feel like a goddess for about a month when I'm round and not puking but not a house yet. How his birth was so empowering and I want to do it again! And then I remember the puking, the pain, the sleeplessness, etc.
I had a scare last week. I was about 4 days late, and although I've been keeping pretty close track of my cycles and this was only my 3rd cycle since getting my period back (so it could very well be irregular still) I bought a test. I spent a couple days asking myself, "What if I am pregnant?" And the answer would come, "So you'll have a baby." But I didn't WANT a baby. I have a baby. He's only a year old. IF we had another, I'd want it to be in a year or so. But do I want another baby at all? I think the true answer to that comes in the two minutes after you've peed on the stick and before the blue lines show up. And my answer was ABSOLUTELY NOT! I truly, truly, am done making tiny people. The ones I've made are so great! And they keep me very busy. And, more importantly, I don't feel like there's anyone else missing. I've never envisioned Jack as a big brother. I've never seen myself pregnant again. I am done having babies. I realize now that there are phases to marriage and child-having. I've spent the last 9 years making babies and nursing babies and changing babies and planning the next baby. Of course, watching them grow, helping them grow, and all the blessings that come with that. But now, I look toward my family's future and I don't see anymore babies, only big kids. I'm so excited about this phase! This new phase of only big kids, and all the fun THAT entails. I can't wait.
I had a scare last week. I was about 4 days late, and although I've been keeping pretty close track of my cycles and this was only my 3rd cycle since getting my period back (so it could very well be irregular still) I bought a test. I spent a couple days asking myself, "What if I am pregnant?" And the answer would come, "So you'll have a baby." But I didn't WANT a baby. I have a baby. He's only a year old. IF we had another, I'd want it to be in a year or so. But do I want another baby at all? I think the true answer to that comes in the two minutes after you've peed on the stick and before the blue lines show up. And my answer was ABSOLUTELY NOT! I truly, truly, am done making tiny people. The ones I've made are so great! And they keep me very busy. And, more importantly, I don't feel like there's anyone else missing. I've never envisioned Jack as a big brother. I've never seen myself pregnant again. I am done having babies. I realize now that there are phases to marriage and child-having. I've spent the last 9 years making babies and nursing babies and changing babies and planning the next baby. Of course, watching them grow, helping them grow, and all the blessings that come with that. But now, I look toward my family's future and I don't see anymore babies, only big kids. I'm so excited about this phase! This new phase of only big kids, and all the fun THAT entails. I can't wait.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Knitting Anxiety
I wanted to learn to knit and crochet. When I was a little girl, I remember watching my mom turn balls of yarn into comfy, cozy blankets, hats, and other yummy things. I thought she was a magician. When I was 12, she tried to teach me, and I think it took about 2 days for me to throw the needles down in disgust and walk away. Knitting was for old ladies and I was not an old lady.
This summer, I decided to give it a go. It took some doing, but I am now confident in my emerging yarnworking skills.
Somewhat confident. Well, like, 35% of the time.
Okay, I have severe knitting anxiety. I have yet to cast-on a project and finish it without frogging at least two or three times. I have balls of yarn I've started a few times, made a little progress on, and then either (A) found a mistake too far back to really fix, or (B) realize this yarn is not right for this pattern or project. I have a decent stash, especially considering the big box of yarn my friend Jamie sent me. I do small projects here and there. For about 2 months there wasn't one day I didn't at least start a project. Now I got maybe a day or two in between. I've never really had a hobby. Something I did, was good at, and kept at. This is a hobby. I love it. LOVE IT. I'm completely addicted. I love yarn. I love hooks. I love needles. I love Ravelry, and I love Knitpicks, and I love the soft, yarny things I have created for my friends and loved ones.
Why did I want to learn to knit and crochet? I have this afghan. It's a ripple design, made with a super soft cotton yarn. It's white, pink, two shades of turquoise, and a cantaloupe color. When I was 12, I asked my mom to make it for me. She finished it just before my first year of girls' camp, and it went with me every year. It's not exactly square, and one end of it is slightly dingy and always has been. I don't know why, but I also don't care. I love that afghan. I will always love it. I will keep it until it's in tatters because my Mommy made it for me. I wanted that. I wanted to make things for people. For them to use the things I made and think, "I have this because Betsy loves me." I always feel loved when I wrap up in that afghan, and I want to send my love to the people I love. Like a tangible hug. And now I can, and it makes me incredibly happy. It may be cheesy, but I absolutely love it.
And it gives me anxiety. Is it normal to frog several times before really buckling down and finishing? And as I'm knitting, I think, "Is this the right color? Does this look alright? Do you think it'll fit? Do you think she/he'll like it?" And that's the big one. Will they like it? Will they know how much I loved crafting this? Will they appreciate the work and frustration and anxiety that's gone into it? Will they wear it? Will they follow the care instructions? Will it last? My poor sweet husband is so patient with my knitting insecurity. I don't know how he does it, but he always smiles and pats me on the head and tells me how great it is and how great I am at it. It's weird; I am confident that I am a good knitter. But I'm also incredibly insecure about it.
I love it, though. Maybe I'll become less anxious as I get better and more experienced. And maybe next blog I'll showcase all the great stuff I've made.
This summer, I decided to give it a go. It took some doing, but I am now confident in my emerging yarnworking skills.
Somewhat confident. Well, like, 35% of the time.
Okay, I have severe knitting anxiety. I have yet to cast-on a project and finish it without frogging at least two or three times. I have balls of yarn I've started a few times, made a little progress on, and then either (A) found a mistake too far back to really fix, or (B) realize this yarn is not right for this pattern or project. I have a decent stash, especially considering the big box of yarn my friend Jamie sent me. I do small projects here and there. For about 2 months there wasn't one day I didn't at least start a project. Now I got maybe a day or two in between. I've never really had a hobby. Something I did, was good at, and kept at. This is a hobby. I love it. LOVE IT. I'm completely addicted. I love yarn. I love hooks. I love needles. I love Ravelry, and I love Knitpicks, and I love the soft, yarny things I have created for my friends and loved ones.
Why did I want to learn to knit and crochet? I have this afghan. It's a ripple design, made with a super soft cotton yarn. It's white, pink, two shades of turquoise, and a cantaloupe color. When I was 12, I asked my mom to make it for me. She finished it just before my first year of girls' camp, and it went with me every year. It's not exactly square, and one end of it is slightly dingy and always has been. I don't know why, but I also don't care. I love that afghan. I will always love it. I will keep it until it's in tatters because my Mommy made it for me. I wanted that. I wanted to make things for people. For them to use the things I made and think, "I have this because Betsy loves me." I always feel loved when I wrap up in that afghan, and I want to send my love to the people I love. Like a tangible hug. And now I can, and it makes me incredibly happy. It may be cheesy, but I absolutely love it.
And it gives me anxiety. Is it normal to frog several times before really buckling down and finishing? And as I'm knitting, I think, "Is this the right color? Does this look alright? Do you think it'll fit? Do you think she/he'll like it?" And that's the big one. Will they like it? Will they know how much I loved crafting this? Will they appreciate the work and frustration and anxiety that's gone into it? Will they wear it? Will they follow the care instructions? Will it last? My poor sweet husband is so patient with my knitting insecurity. I don't know how he does it, but he always smiles and pats me on the head and tells me how great it is and how great I am at it. It's weird; I am confident that I am a good knitter. But I'm also incredibly insecure about it.
I love it, though. Maybe I'll become less anxious as I get better and more experienced. And maybe next blog I'll showcase all the great stuff I've made.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Nine Years
It's odd to think how different life was 9 years ago. Many things change in that amount of time, but I can't help but have 9/11 on the brain today. I think about it often, which I think is normal in my situation.
I was a senior in high school. I had been married 3 months and had my whole life in front of me. We had just moved out of Aaron's parents' house. I was an office aide, and I remember thinking it was an awful accident as I watched the news, the first tower in flames. When the second plane hit, my stomach dropped and I felt this horrible sense of dread. So many people died that day. Innocent people who were minding their own business, running the rat race, providing for their families. I wonder how many of them had fought with their spouses the night before. How many of them didn't kiss their kids goodbye? How many people's lives ground to a halt that day, as they found out their loved ones had been in the building or on the plane that will never be forgotten?
I think of the fear I felt, and I didn't lose anyone in the attack. I can't imagine the feelings of those who did. Aaron had class that ngiht, and I begged him not to go. I was shaken. My faith in humanity took a hard hard hit, and I thought this was the end of the world. I saw all my plans for the future going out the window. They'd bring back the draft. My husband would be sent to war and killed. I'd never have children. (Um, I was 18, and prone to panic.) Anyway, I needed my husband that night.
A lot of people compare it to Pearl Harbor, and it is like Pearl Harbor. The worst attack on US soil, a cowardly act that killed so many people who'd never done anyone wrong. I don't know the numbers, how many people flocked to recruiting offices on December 8, 1941, but I've heard that there were lines out the doors. It took some serious talking to convince my own husband not to sign up to be a gun-totin' infantryman that very day. He was angry, and he wanted to protect his country. I begged him. I cried. I told him I couldn't handle being an infantryman's wife and that I couldn't stay married to him if he joined the Army. I am not proud of that, but it was honest.
I can't believe where life has taken us since then. Even now, I am sometimes taken aback to realize I am married to a soldier! I always said I couldn't marry a military man, and I'm sure I wouldn't have looked twice at Aaron had he been in the Army or planning to sign up when we'd met.
Tonight, tomorrow, and every single day, my heart goes out to those who lost loved ones in the attack. My heart goes to those who lose their loved ones in the war, and to those who sacrifice so much time and so many life experiences with their families to fight for something they believe in, whether it's the war, their way of life, or even just their own families.
I don't know how to end this.
I was a senior in high school. I had been married 3 months and had my whole life in front of me. We had just moved out of Aaron's parents' house. I was an office aide, and I remember thinking it was an awful accident as I watched the news, the first tower in flames. When the second plane hit, my stomach dropped and I felt this horrible sense of dread. So many people died that day. Innocent people who were minding their own business, running the rat race, providing for their families. I wonder how many of them had fought with their spouses the night before. How many of them didn't kiss their kids goodbye? How many people's lives ground to a halt that day, as they found out their loved ones had been in the building or on the plane that will never be forgotten?
I think of the fear I felt, and I didn't lose anyone in the attack. I can't imagine the feelings of those who did. Aaron had class that ngiht, and I begged him not to go. I was shaken. My faith in humanity took a hard hard hit, and I thought this was the end of the world. I saw all my plans for the future going out the window. They'd bring back the draft. My husband would be sent to war and killed. I'd never have children. (Um, I was 18, and prone to panic.) Anyway, I needed my husband that night.
A lot of people compare it to Pearl Harbor, and it is like Pearl Harbor. The worst attack on US soil, a cowardly act that killed so many people who'd never done anyone wrong. I don't know the numbers, how many people flocked to recruiting offices on December 8, 1941, but I've heard that there were lines out the doors. It took some serious talking to convince my own husband not to sign up to be a gun-totin' infantryman that very day. He was angry, and he wanted to protect his country. I begged him. I cried. I told him I couldn't handle being an infantryman's wife and that I couldn't stay married to him if he joined the Army. I am not proud of that, but it was honest.
I can't believe where life has taken us since then. Even now, I am sometimes taken aback to realize I am married to a soldier! I always said I couldn't marry a military man, and I'm sure I wouldn't have looked twice at Aaron had he been in the Army or planning to sign up when we'd met.
Tonight, tomorrow, and every single day, my heart goes out to those who lost loved ones in the attack. My heart goes to those who lose their loved ones in the war, and to those who sacrifice so much time and so many life experiences with their families to fight for something they believe in, whether it's the war, their way of life, or even just their own families.
I don't know how to end this.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Mondayish
This past Monday was one of those moderately crappy Monday that Mondays are famous for. Nothing major, just one minor inconvenience or bit of bad news after another all pile on top of each other to make, well, a Monday. The capper was when, after taking all damn morning to talk myself into going up to the school to register the girls, I was told that the office was closed for the rest of the day. Well, we had planned on visiting the post library afterward anyway, so we headed there. Next to the library is this big grassy area with a few fat conifers casting deep shadow on the green velvet grass. The high that day was in the low 60's, and the sky was blue as blue could be, with interspersed marshmallow clouds. So we took off our shoes and played.
Emily mostly read her book and rolled her eyes at our nerdiness. It was such a beautiful day. I laughed with my children, and I was struck again, as I am most days, with a sense of deep gratitude that I am blessed enough to live in a place so full of natural beauty. Does life get any better than this? So, yeah, we turned this crappy Monday on its ear.
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