Proof that I am definately No Martha

Happy Halloween!
A few weeks ago the Hubs, Peanut, and monkey went pumpkin and apple picking at Terhune Orchards with two of our most favoritest people, L and C. Aside from the two large carving pumpkin and two small painting pumpkins, I also picked up a different kind of squash.

  

This is called a "Blue Hubbard". These were in a bin out front of their little store along with Cheese pumpkins with a big sign above touting how they (along with the cheesy ones) are much better in pies. I was skeptical last year when we saw these mutant BLUE squash (I mean, how many things in nature are actually BLUE!?) but last year, L grabbed one and said it worked out well, so I figured I would give it a shot. 

                                                                         

                                                                        What. A. Disaster. 

First of all this sucker was almost impossible to cut into. If I had a hammer and chisel I probably would have had a much easier time of it, but since all I was armed with was my array of different kinds knives, it proved to be a very difficult undertaking.

After almost slicing various parts of myself numerous times, and arm muscles that ached as if I just finished doing a hundred sit-ups, I was finally able to get it into the pan to roast in the oven (in many different uneven chunks). I believe this is where the it started to go down hill.

I am pretty sure I may have over cooked the thing. Everything I read said to cook it until its soft enough to slid a knife through the (previously impenetrable) outer skin, but every time I attempted this I was met with some resistance. Eventually I decided there was no way it WASN'T ready, and took it out. Then, while it was cooling on my work table, I was distracted by the two smallish people needing me for something. When I eventually came back, they were cooled, but the top layer of the flesh was dried out. I said to hell with it( my crisp Serv-Safe sanitation class certificate shuddered at that exact moment) and sliced off the dry part and the rind. Of course, at this point it was late so I tossed it all into a rubbermaid , the rubbermaid into the fridge, and off to bed I went. 

I didn't get a chance to make the pie crust for the "pumpkin" pie or apple pie until this weekend, so it sat in my fridge for over a week. After pre baking my pie crusts, I put together a recipe I found on a website.Usually I only use recipe's from blogs that document the entire process they went through and the outcome, if possible with pictures, but this time I strayed. Shoulda' realized there was a problem with the recipe when I noticed there was no nutmeg in it. It came out too sweet,and had wayyy too much allspice and clove. When you add in the dried, gritty squash, it was not very palatable. My parents, and even the Peanut picked up right away on how awful it was.

                                                              Hubs thought it was great.

Straight out of the fridge after adding some to the mixer.

Even my hard core Kitchenaid couldn't mush up the clumps. Ended up having to put t into the blender!

Left over dough and filling.

Looks can be deceiving...so can smell. This looked and smelled amazing.

At least the pie crust came out wonderfully. These were made from scraps that were overworked, yet STILL flaky!

Thing is, in small bites with a LOT of whipped cream, it was edible...so not a complete waste.

Since the filling was such a disaster, I won't share the recipe or the source. I am not going to share my pie crust recipe , cause I wanna keep it a secret....or I am just too lazy to get up and get it. What I WILL share with you are a few tips on making a beautiful flaky crust. 

Make sure all wet ingredients are COLD. Cut up cold butter then put it back into the fridge. Make up a glass of ice water and measure you water from that cup. Even your eggs should be straight from the fridge.

When it comes time to mix the wet with the butter/flour mixture, drizzle the wet around the EDGE of the bowl, using a fork to gently mix. A lot of recipes say to make a well and pour in the center, but my pastry instructor pointed out that by doing this you need to mix more and longer to get it all incorporated, and in turn making a tougher crust.Not surprisingly, shes right.

After everything is just barely incorporated, dump half onto plastic wrap, push together, flatten into a disc, wrap and put in fridge. Repeat with the rest.

 After rolling it out, putting it into the dish, docking(or poking holes on the bottom with a fork), put in the freezer.

If you are making a pie with out a top crust, pre bake. 

If you notice that the holes are a bit too big, or you have a particularly wet pie filling, sprinkle pie crust crumbs for old crust or scraps. If you don't have any, use UNSALTED saltine crumbs.

Today's life lesson? Sometimes things don't turn out the way you expected, and sometimes they are even downright awful...but with enough whipped cream, you can get through anything.

Nine eleven

Everyone said, they would never forget, but sometimes it seems like so many have.

Nine years ago today I was woken up by my mother telling me that my friend was on the phone. I told her to tell her I would call her back, but my friend was insistent so I grabbed the phone. As soon as I said hello, she tells me we have been attacked. While I loved my friend dearly, I knew she was prone to go to the extremes and over react sometimes so I had her explain. I still just assumed that it was an accident and went down stairs to turn on the tv. Eventually it became clear that the USA had indeed been attacked.

I was born in NY, but grew up across the bay in NJ. My hometown is not technically the "Jersey Shore", but is only ten minutes away. Years later I would meet people who lived right on the bay across from NYC who not only saw from a distance the horrible scene, but had ash and smoke in their front yards. My hometown lost the most people in NJ in 9/11, and there were many more that are here today to talk about either how they got out, or that for some reason, they didn't go into work that day.

The weeks that followed showed such an amazing amount of patriotism and tolerance in the people of America. I remember hearing stories of how gangs in the city were working together handing out water to the people helping at ground zero. It was then that I really understood how wonderful it was to live in this country, and not only because of how the people of this country came together. I also came to realize how lucky we are as Americans compared to the rest of the world. This was the most devastating attack on our soil from another country. Pearl Harbor was devastating, but the magnitude was nothing compared to this. Yet in other countries, they have already been attacked many times in recent history. Air raid sirens here were used for drills, but the ones in England were for bombs. Even recently I have heard on the radio of a town in a country that's government has shut off their power, and another where civilians fight daily to survive. And here we were, in a country that has protected us for so many years, kept us safe to the point that we became arrogant.

Nine years later, my daughter is 11 years old, and my second is the same age as my first was on 9/11, almost to the day. Nine years later and I am still afraid for what the future will be life for my daughters. Everyone said they would never forget, but nine years later we have gone from being united as a country, with a strong sense of patriotism and tolerance, to a country that is consumed with nothing but about how what one person is doing will affect them. Three years after the towers fell, people were still being courteous and thoughtful, but by seven years after, a woman in a rush in the cereal aisle at the supermarket smacked into my six month old daughters head while she was sitting in the cart, all because she was in a rush. The woman turned and saw what she hit then kept going. And that is not the only experience I have had.

We, as a country, need to REMEMBER 9/11 and how it brought us together, that we are IN this together. If we don't have respect for each other, how can we expect other countries, who have publicly admitted to hating us, to have respect for us.

I am proud to be an America. I am thankful for running water, indoor plumbing, having a car, the freedom to have my own religious beliefs that are not a part of any organized religion, that I am able to vote every whenever I want to, that I have the freedom to look up anything at the internet that I want, from how to make a perfect meringue to devil worshipping and witch craft if I want to. That my daughters can run around outside in the sunshine with nothing more than a bathing suit on, that I can tell my wonderful husband to shove it where the sun don't shine whenever he pisses me off, that I can leave the house without my face and hair covered, that if another woman wants to leave the house with their hair and face covered they can, all without risk of severe punishment. That everyone is entitled to an education no matter their gender sex age ethnicity or religion, that anyone can love anyone else, that my government actually keeps us safe and protected. I am thankful to have lights on in my house, heat in the winter, a roof over my head, food in my belly, and my children being vaccinated. I could go on and on, but I think you get the point.

God Bless the USA

RIP all the victims in the 9/11 attacks, and God bless all those who survived that day. Thank you to all those who did so much for the victims and families. For you I will teach my children to be polite and courteous, to respect themselves and others, to be grateful for the gifts we have in our lives, to appreciate every moment, to not feel a sense of entitlement or think that someone somewhere somehow owes them something, to work hard for themselves and for others, to always know that I love them every day and to make sure they know to let those they love how they feel daily.

Lucky

These days it is really hard not to compare yourself to others on a daily basis. To be honest, that is something that has been around since the cavemen when Ug constantly compared the size of his cave to Oog's cave in the mountain next door. Today, though, the measure for comparison is no longer just about the size of your things, but about how many things you have and how much they cost. Society, at least around here, has made it so hard for people to appreciate all that they DO have. People are made to feel lacking in some way if they don't drive a new car, have the latest designer purse, or have the most expensive TV. Forget about thinking you're a good parent too. If your children are not signed up for multiple sports teams, clubs, classes, and camps throughout the year where they can bring home more "stuff" to validate their worth, you are depriving them. And if you don't spend the few seconds of free time your children have in between all of their activities spending money on them, well then you are just the meanest parent EVER. It has come to the point our own children are being taught that everything will be ok, as long as you throw money at it. No wonder there is a higher rate of depression in kids today! They can't change the family financial situation, yet they are also being punished if their family is not financially stable.

On a daily basis it is brought to my attention all the things that I am lacking in my life, all the ways my life is wrong somehow. I find myself constantly comparing myself and my life to people around me. Strangers, friends, and especially my enemies are used to measure my "success" at life. It is like my self worth can be added up and totaled in dollars and cents like the numbers on a receipt. I am no longer comfortable around people like I once was because I feel like I am constantly being judged based on how much my car is worth or how much my clothes cost. Making sure my kids are dressed nicely with their hair combed and teeth brushed is no longer about pride in myself and my children, but about making sure they look like they come from a financially comfortable middle class home. No longer do I just roll my eyes or condemn people who are rude, obnoxious, or even downright mean. I find myself getting angry that these awful people have so much, yet I personally know so many wonderful people who have next to nothing, people who tried HARD to be GOOD and genuine.

I don't have a lot of money, not even close. My husband and I don't drive the right cars, and one of them is even a used older one. I don't carry around a COACH bag and I have never owned a pair of shoes that have cost more than $80. All the jewelry in my jewelry box is either sterling silver or costume, and the only diamonds I have are the tiny ones in my wedding band that we purchased from the "estate" case at a discount jewelry store that still has someone else's wedding date engraved on the inside. I give myself and the Peanut mani's and pedi's at home in our living room, with cheap nail polish. My make up drawer is filled with discount or discontinued make up and our medicine cabinets are filled with store brand pain relievers and cough medicines.

What I DO have a husband I love with everything I have who loves me back just as much. We have two daughters who, for all their driving us nuts, are really exceptional kids. I have a "pre-teen" who is in no rush to grow up and a toddler who will randomly hug me and say "Mama, I love you". I am blessed with parents who, after all these years and all our mistakes, love me and each of my four siblings (as well as their four "in laws") unconditionally. My father who worked hard all our lives for us, that made sure we all knew he loved us, even though he was rarely affectionate or verbal about it. A mother who stood by me and defended me through years of issues with mental health, even refusing to hospitalize me during a particularly bad bout of depression in my teens and made sure that everyone of us knew that no matter how mad we made her, she loved us so very much. We have a roof over our head, food in our bellies, and clothes on our bodies. I have had very difficult times in my life that have taught me so many things and forced me to learn to look around at the beauty that almost everyone misses on a daily basis. I am grateful to my anger at those awful people who have so much more. Because of them, I was motivated to move forward in my life, take chances and do things that I never thought possible.

So, boys and girls, today's life lesson is this: Take the time every day to look beyond the money in your bank accounts or the limit of your credit cards. Open your eyes and see all the things you have that REALLY matter. Then go outside and look at all the gifts the day has given you, from the song from a bird, to the way a rain drop looks when it falls in a puddle. These things are what real wealth is all about.

 

Heinz

In fifth grade, whenever anyone missed a day or so of school, our teacher would set aside some time to work with them and help them "Heinz", or Ketchup. 19 years later and I still remember that, among many other things from that teacher. So this is my "Heinz" post, the post where I catch you up with what has happened since my last post.

First off, I graduated for the first time in my life. In case you have not done the math, I was 18 when The Peanut was born, 17 when she was conceived and married her father (disaster marriage numero uno ). I found out I was pregnant in September of my senior year, we were married that October, and she was born that May. It was just becoming acceptable to continue to go to school while pregnant, but I wasn't ready for that. I tried a few times to get my diploma or GED , going so far as to take the first part of the GED exam, but never made it. Finally, in 2009 at 28 years old, I finished the GED test and passed. It was a great feeling, but I still felt like I was missing something. That something came this past May, when I sat with the other graduates of the class of 2010, in my grey cap and gown, my tassel hanging down occasionally tickling my cheek, eventually walking up and receiving my Certificate in the Pastry Arts. Two month later I decided that that wasn't good enough , and will now be starting back to school again in the fall to go for my A.A.S. in Culinary Arts. There are two neat things about that: 1. That means I will be graduating again in May 2011, and 2. If all goes as planned, I will be graduating with the hubby.

Not long after that, I received that phone call that no parent ever wants to receive. The Peanut is 11 and has been walking alone to the bus stop since she was 8 and I was pregnant with The Monkey. We recently switched schools, and she shared a bus stop with her friend Liv and Liv's brother Rome. Liv is two grades younger than The Peanut, and Rome was an 8^th grader. The three would stand alone at the bus stop every morning, occasionally accompanied by Liv and Rome's mother, if she got out of her night shift early enough to say goodbye to her kids. One morning I am laying in bed with The Monkey and Hubs trying to get as much more sleep as possible before The Monkey got bored with Mickey Mouse and demanded we go downstairs. As I lay there, my cell phone rings on my night stand. I roll over and look at the display and see a number I don't recognize. I answer and on the other end is a strange woman asking if I am me. In the back ground I heard loud noises, crying, and chaos. I remember exactly what the woman said, and although she spoke at a normal pace, it was in slow motion to my brain, sinking in little by little. "There's been an accident….at the bus stop….The Peanut is ok…But…another child has been hit…" I tell her I will be right there, and fly out of bed with only enough thought to change out of my thin tank top. In bare feet and PJ's I fly out the door and run as fast as I could around the corner. A man on his way home after working all night fell asleep at the wheel of his minivan, went off the road, over the curb, hit a fire hydrant, and then went through the telephone pole Rome had been leaning on. On this particular morning, his mother was there, parked with The Peanut and Liv in the backseat, all of them witnessing this. It was also the day of his 8^th grade graduation. The next day he was declared brain dead, but was kept alive for another day so that his organs and skin could be donated. The Peanut and I have been having a tough time with it, but we are getting through it. A few weeks ago she went away for a week to a 4-H sleep away camp two hours away and loved it. It was REALLY hard for me to let her go, but I am so glad I did. If you have the opportunity to send your kids, do it. It is and experience they will remember and love.

Now we are just all stumbling through, day by day, thankful for every one. School starts September 7^th for all of us, which means the insanity of last year will be returning, possibly even worse. The Peanut is entering 6^th grade as well as adolescents. Monkey is transitioning from the terrible two's to the even worse three's. I will have a heavier workload with school, including a Chemistry class. I am determined to do better than last year, which won't be easy since I ended the year on the Deans List with a 3.74 GPA. Hubby will also have a lot on his shoulders since he will be entering the Respitory Therapy program next semester. Life may be crazy for us, but we will get through…we always do. See, happiness isn't about everything being perfect. It is about being able to look beyond the imperfections. That's one lesson I love to live every day.

(Not Quite) Controlled Chaos

  When the Peanut was a toddler, she was very well behaved. We had little trouble with potty training, temper tantrums, or any of that. She was unusually quiet, but would rarely scream. In fact, she was very afraid of loud noises. I would talk to other mothers and listed to them go on and on about how their little angels demons were impossible to handle and driving them crazy. I would see children in the stores screaming and grabbing and knocking things down. I was horrified, pitying the poor children for having mothers who couldn't handle them, not understand how these parents could "let" their children act this way. I was convinced it must be that I was an amazing mother, despite being much younger then them.

                                                               Then the Monkey turned 2.

  It didn't happen overnight, but little by little until one day our little angel was replaces by this little monster. She began to grunt when she wanted something, and scream loud enough and shrill enough to shatter glass. She would ignore me completely while looking straight in my face, and refused to come when called. If directed to walk in a direction she did not want to go, she would scream and cry as if we had beaten her and let her legs go out from under her so she was hanging from where our hands were clasped. No longer would she stay close by if put down in a store, instead sprinting without fear throughout the isles and hiding, laughing hysterically the whole time.
  I looked forward to nap time and bedtime every day, needing those hours to prepare myself for the next round of insanity. I couldn't even have the Peanut keep an eye on her anymore because it would always turn into the Monkey not listening to the Peanut (or the Peanut teasing the Monkey), the Peanut scolding the Monkey, then the Monkey biting,pinching or hitting the Peanut, and coming in hollering at them both. The only peace I could get was when the Monkey was sleeping. That is, until she decided she didn't want to go to bed or sleep anymore, at least not without me or dad sitting in her room with her.
  We tried everything. The super nanny technique, consistently putting her in bed over and over again without saying a word. She was tireless and refused to give in until finally, sometime after midnight (4 hours after putting her in bed), I caved and sat on the floor and waited for her breathing to even out. We put a gate up, but she got over it. We put up a taller gate. She scaled that as well. Moved her bedtime, stuck to schedule, turned off tv at 6, cut out dessert and juice after dinner, and got her running around and playing outside all day long and still she refused. The last attempt was to put one gate above the other in the door way. I was skeptical but desperate so we gave it a shot. The first two nights it worked. It kept her in her room screaming and yelling and trying to talk us into taking the gate down until she finally exhausted herself and fell asleep in her bed. Night number three she got so angry she started to bang on the top gate. Purely by accident, she knocked the gate down. We put it back up. She knocks it down. This goes on 5 more times until finally I give in and sit with her. We then sat with her for a few nights until I had an idea. I would switch the gates around, putting the one that was originally on bottom on top and vice versa. First time was last night and after screaming for only an hour, she went to sleep. Tonight was even better, with only minimal whining before falling asleep. I only hope it, at the very least, lasts through tonight.
 
  A word about the Peanut. She was an amazing baby, a great toddler, and a wonderful kid. Shes still amazing in  a million was and impressed many people regularly about how "good" she is. But, bottom line? She is a preteen. She talks back, disobeys, tells us no, and is an all around pain in the butt. She is a good kid though, with a good head on her shoulders. She still talks to me about things she doesn't understand or is curious about, things most kids would never ever talk to their moms about. I hope I can keep this kind of communication going as she sinks deeper and deeper into puberty. Really, the only thing that I can do is hope and pray that we taught her all the right things and instilled all the right values to help her make all the right decisions.

Between our two girls, there is never a dull moment in this house. When you add in everything else life throws at us, we often fall into bed at night wondering, not only how we made it through the day, but how are we gonna make it through the next. Then I remember when the Monkey, out of the blue, say "I love you Mama", and the Peanut gives me a hug for no reason. Thats what gets me through the days.

If you melt sugar, it will melt you back!

Today was my second to last day of school before finishing on Tuesday with a pastry arts certificate. The class I am in is called "Confectionery and Showpieces". Soooo for our final, we had to pick partners and come up with a showpiece of some sort. My partners and I decided to build a piece depicting ducks camping. Well today was the day to "glue" everything onto the base. Ladies and gentlemen, when working with fondant and sugar "glue" can be a glycerin/corn syrup (the least sturdy), royal icing(only slightly stronger), or melted sugar/isomalt(the "super glue" of the lot). Guess which one I chose to go with. To add to my genius, I first grabbed the hot aluminum handle of the pot with bare hands (wound #1), then only used one glove while gluing the pieces on. All was well at first, then, as I was lifting the makeshift parchment pastry bag that was in my only gloved hand, a drip fell from the tip. I watched it happen, almost in slow motion, as my brain was processing what was and what was going to happen. When it hit my hand, it took a minute for my brain to catch up before I felt the searing pain for my skin literally melting. How do I know my skin "melted"? Because when I instinctively wiped the sugar off my hand, it took skin with it. And yes, it does hurt as bad as it sounds.
But, I didn't cry. I grit my teeth, grunted and growled my way through the pain while seriously considering bashing my head into a wall to escape the agony, but I never once cried. This in turn gained me great respect from my younger , fresh out of high school, classmates...especially the men. Apparently I am "badass" and "hardcore". I tried to explain to them that no, I am none of these things. I am just a mom. I wasn't sure if they got it until I notice one little girl  young woman cock her head , thinking for a moment, then begin to nod saying "you know, I can't remember ever seeing my mom cry!".

And this is proof that in a way, mothers ARE superhero's...just without the cool capes.

Let's Start At the Very Begining,That's a Very Good Place to Start...

  Ahh, the beauty of living in the future. Anyone can get online and, with a few clicks and key strokes, can have their very own space in the world wide web. Amazing. So, here I am. Cowing down to society and, like the good lemming that I am, jumping off the cliff (which lemmings don't actually do in real life, for the record).
  Where should I start? I was brought up in a suburb close to the Jersey shore by a hard working, respected father and a loving, kind mother, with my three brothers and one sister. I am the baby by a lot, and I am ok with that. I am married for the second time, although I am a YOUNG 29, and blissfully happy (most of the time). I have two amazing daughters that have 9 years between them and are polar opposites. I will officially be a Certified Pastry Chef in under a week after a long, hard, exhausting year that was so worth it if only because it surprised and dumbfounded many people. I love food. LOVE it. A lot. I also LOVE shopping but, I refuse to pay sticker price for anything because I know for a fact I can and will always find it for less.I adore crafty sorts of things and try to find the time to do something creative. My current obsession interest is amigurumi, the "Japanese art of crocheting small animals or toys". I have spent 2 weeks trying to make a ball, with little success. I love to learn all sorts of new things, especially odd things, things that make my mother and husband  say "why do you want to learn that?". Occasionally I succeed at things, sometimes I don't..but I always come away with some sort of knowledge and/or lesson. To be totally honest, I often end the day armed with more,often useless, knowledge.
  I decided to write this blog because I wanted to share my ramblings, knowledge, experiments, trials , and tribulations in the hope that maybe, just maybe, someone will read it and leave just a little bit more enlightened. At the very least, it should be mildly entertaining.
  As for what will be in these posts, only time will tell. One day I may post a recipe with pictures and the triumphant (or disastrous) outcome. Or links to some amazing sale/deal that you just have to check out. Could be some child rearing tips or even some tips on how NOT to kill your husband when he does something to drive you insane. Then there will be days of pure rambling. To be honest, there will probably be a lot of rambling in every post, no matter what else is in it. Through it all, I most of all hope to impart some of the important life lessons I have come to learn, things that the good, bad, and horrible times have taught me.
  For today's post, I will leave you with something to think about....no matter how bad things are, they can usually get worse...BUT, eventually you will hit the bottom, and then there is only one way for things to go, and that's UP!