Spinach Gorgonzola Soup

I attempted to get to go to work today...

I then very quickly decided I didn't have a death wish.

So what does one do on a snow day with a toddler?

Make soup with said toddler...

After popping Lukas into the ergo I decided to recreate my favorite soup from one of my favorite local haunts. Hammontree's has the BEST spinach gorgonzola soup... So good I made it a point to recreate the recipe at home. Here goes...

 

To start you need:

1/2 medium onion (rough chop)

2 c. chicken stock/ bone broth

1 c. heavy cream

1/4 c. flour

5 oz. gorgonzola

2 c. milk

1 tbsp. sea salt/ kosher salt

4 c. uncooked spinach

Sauté onions on medium heat in olive oil. After the onions have cooked down, add the chicken stock to the pot. Once the stock has heated up, stir in the heavy cream. Once the cream has heated gradually whisk in the flour until smooth. Gradually whisk in the gorgonzola until the base becomes thick and creamy. Stir in the milk, and salt. Allow the base to heat, and stir frequently. Once the base has heated stir in the spinach before serving, allowing the spinach to wilt in the soup. Serve with a side of toast.

I think we have a winner...

Baking bread, and breaking bread

There is something in my need to bake bread.

Something ancient.

Something primitive.

Something beautiful.

"Get a bread maker," I've been told. "It will make things so much easier."

While I'm sure it would, I won't.

Something about combining six simple ingredients binds me to something bigger than myself. Something about the sweat on my brow as I knead the dough connects me to the hundreds of thousands of woman who came before me. 

As I labor over my bread, I am connected to them. I am one with them. We are the same, she and I. As we labor over bread that will sustain our families we are one. 

Six simple ingredients that I am so fortunate to have, connects me to thousands. And after the bread has been baked, it connects me to the ones I hold most dear. The bread that I bake, brings us to the table becoming the bread we will break.

As we sit and eat, our bellies are full. Our lives are full. Our hearts are full.

I belong with you. You belong with me, my sweetheart.

Dear Patrick,

   These past two years have flown by. Our lives are drastically different than they were when we said we do.

   This journey has not been easy. We have dealt with grief. We have dealt with sorrow. We have dealt with things that no person should. We have been through hell and back, and we are still here. We are standing. We are united, and I can honestly say that I love you so much more deeply than I did on that cold night when we said forever. 

    I can't begin to express to you how thankful I am for you. While I can't ever repay you for the way you love me, I can love you with every fiber of my being, and hope that it's enough. I love you. Truly, madly, and deeply. I love you so much it hurts. I love waking up to see your face every morning. I love hearing you laugh. I love seeing joy spread across your face. You are the forever my soul was searching for. You are the song my heart was singing. You are the adventure I longed for, and I am so blessed to have found you. 

   In you my heart has found a home.

   I love you... Infinitely.

        -Victoria 

You made a human, give yourself a break already...

I had a conversation with my best friend recently. She is 3 weeks postpartum, and looks radiant. She gained a completely normal amount of weight, and has a gorgeous little girl now. She is successfully breast feeding, and all is as it should be... Except it's not. She told me how upset she was that the scale wasn't moving, and that she thought her body was ruined.

3 weeks postpartum. 

This is a problem.

I have my own confession to make. When I was pregnant with Lukas I gained an obscene amount of weight. (to the tune of 80 pounds) I ate healthy. I exercised. My body had other plans. I was developing HELLP syndrome. I literally could feel fluid sloshing in my feet. I had major pitting edema. I ended up on bed rest for weeks before Lukas was born. I did not enjoy my pregnancy. 

Immediately after giving birth, I was nursing Lukas, and the nurse came to ask me about food. I vividly remember thinking I didn't want to eat, because I had to lose my baby weight. I had just given birth to my child, and was stressing about losing baby weight.

A few days after I gave birth I decided I was going to ride my bike. One of our friend's daughter asked me if I had another baby in my tummy because I was still "fat." I laughed it off until I was alone, and then I went and cried. I had always been fit. No one had ever called me fat before, and while it was a child who didn't know better, I was so upset. I decided to ride my bike. I made it around the block, and paid for it for several days afterward.

There were times as I was losing the weight that my husband would have to make me eat, because I didn't want to. I would get weak, and dizzy, and it wasn't healthy. I was so concerned with seeing the number on the scale go back down, that I was compromising my health to make it happen.

I would venture to say that I am not the first, nor will I be the last women to be in this situation, and that is a tragedy. It's a shame that as women we feel such pressure to be back in our pre-pregnancy form so quickly. It's a shame that this pressure distracts from bonding with our little one. It's a shame that women are shedding tears because they don't bounce back immediately.

We grew humans! In our bellies! Forgive yourself already... So what it took you 2 years to lose it all! You can get back to where you want to be... Give yourself a break! 

So what you have stretch marks! They will fade, and you can rock a bikini again! 

Rather than lament the fact that your pre-pregnancy jeans dig into your hips, and give you a record-breaking muffin top, go out and get a pair of jeans that make you feel like a million bucks. Put the yoga pants away, and put on clothes that fit. You deserve to feel like you are beautiful. 

As women we have to celebrate what our bodies are capable of, rather than hate our jiggly parts. We are remarkable creatures. We are powerful. We are stronger than we even know ourselves. 

It's time to celebrate what we've gained, not mourn the bodies we think we've lost.

We are remarkable...

Lukas

Yesterday started like a normal day.

Lukas woke up with a big old grin on his face, as if to say "I'm happy it's your day to stay with me!"

We woke up, and got dressed. I made him a 3 egg omelet with spinach, and feta, and he promptly wolfed it down. We went outside and swung on his swing. He laughed, and kicked his feet, and was mad at me when it was time to go in. 

We went inside, and I decided to take him to the park. We load up, and head out. Lukas played for an hour. He was running. He was laughing. He was playing. He was mad at me when I said it was time to go.

We get home, and wake up daddy. 

Lukas plays for a bit. I pick him up to put him down for his nap. He feels warm. Take his temp 101.4. Not too concerned. He's had worse. Give him a half dose of Motrin (we ran out, so Patrick ran to Walgreens) put a cool compress on him. He falls asleep nursing. 

 

. 

I take him upstairs, and lay him down. Aspen goes upstairs, and start licking him, and he wakes up. I smack Aspen, frustrated that she would wake my sick baby. I'm thankful she did now.

He's up and I feel him. He is burning up. I take his temp with our temporal 103.6, take it again because it's rarely consistent. 102.5. Find another thermometer and take it under his arm. 103.4. Give him the rest of his dose of Motrin, and call his godmother, who is a nurse at Arkansas children's hospital. Tells me to watch him, and she would want his temp to go down under 100 with meds. She tells me the risk with high temps is seizures, and I start getting freaked out. Take his temp every 15 minutes, if it's not going down get his butt to the ER. 

Got a game plan.

We watch him. 102.4. 101.8. 100.4. I'm feeling way better about it. 

We make him some soup. He hardly eats, but he had a big breakfast. He's playing with his food, and smiling. He's drinking lots of fluids. I'm okay with how he's doing.

Patrick takes him upstairs for a nap.

I dose off on the couch. 

Patrick wakes me up around 5:15ish to tell me he's getting ready for work, and tells me to go up with Lukas. I get upstairs, and lay down. Patrick goes in the bathroom to take a shower. 

I feel Lukas. He is burning up again. I'm about to get up to get the thermometer when his little body starts shaking. His eyes roll back, and he's gagging on his tongue, and his face is white. I can't remember what your supposed to do in this situation. My thoughts are a jumble. I instinctually scoop him up, and start screaming for Patrick. I kick the door running to the car. I have no shoes. I have no purse. I have my baby in my arms. I hold him, crying the entire 3 minutes to the ER. His jaw is clenched up, and he is in a trance-like state. Patrick is driving like a madman. 

We get there, and she's asking me questions. I don't really know what I'm saying.

"Don't ask me things just fix my son."

The take us to a room, and take his vitals. 105.5. That's all I hear.

I hold my son who is screaming at this point. I nurse him, and he calms down. They give him Tylenol. 

We go to the waiting room. Patrick calls my sister in law and she brings me shoes, and my phone. I call his godmother again, and tell her he had a seizure. She tells me she is calling her mom, who is an ER nurse at the hospital we're at. 

Stacy (the mom) comes in. She feels his head. She says "he's still burning up. I'm going to find you guys a room." 5 minutes later we have a room.

Stacy tells us if we have any problems let her know. An overwhelming sense of gratitude floods over me.

The doctor comes in shortly after. Examines him. Looks for any other signs of infection. Ears-good. Throat- good. Snot-clear. He tells us that they are going to run some tests, because the only sign of infection he has is fever, and the need to figure out what's wrong. He says some other things, but all I hear is chest X-ray, catheter, blood work. That's what we're in for.

They take his temp again. 102.5. It's amazing how cool 102.5 feels.

An X-ray tech comes in, and wheels Lukas and I off to get the chest X-ray. "1 parent allowed." I hear.

As she's wheeling us down, she asks if I have ever seen a chest X-ray for an toddler. I hadn't. She starts telling me they are going to put him in this corset like shielding, and he's going to scream, but he'll be fine... Tears come streaming down my face. They tell me it's time for me to leave the room, so I do, and I cry as I hear him screaming for me through the door.

It's over. And I hold him, and he calms down in my arms.

Back to our room we go.

He falls asleep on my chest. 

A nurse pokes in and tells me she is going to get supplies for the cath, and blood work. She asks how I'm going to be, and decides that it would be best if Patrick handled this, as I'm crying. 

She comes back with supplies, and a helper to hold down my baby. I lose it. Out in the hall I go listening to my son screaming. And I cry. I go in after the cath, and he looks at me with those big blue eyes, pleading with me to scoop him up. I kiss him, and stroke his forehead, and then back to the hall I have to go.

Then the blood work.. I lost it. The sweet, young, nurse couldn't get enough blood, so she goes to get another nurse, and I hold him while we wait. He calms down. 

Then a very manly male nurse comes in, and puts in a hep lock.. Just in case they need to draw more blood or anything after. 

I hate "just in cases." 

Lukas falls asleep in my arms.

The doctor comes in, and tells me the results of his tests. Blood- clean. Urine- clean. X-Ray- consistent with a viral infection. We just have to let it run it's course. Alternate Motrin, and Tylenol every 3 hours to keep the fever down. Lots of fluids. Follow up with his primary care physician on Monday. 

The nurse comes in to take his temp. 97.7. Discharge is coming soon.

"When can we take the hep-lock out?"

"Mary will do that."

Hep-lock out. Discharge papers. We head home. 

We shower to wash of the hospital germs, and climb into bed.

Lukas slept. All night. No temp. No seizures.

This morning we woke up a tangled nest of three, and Lukas smiled at me a great, big grin. Like nothing ever happened. 

There is a special place in hell for you...

To the inventor of the toddler carrier seat for bikes,

     I would just like to know what kind of sick joke it is you are trying to play? Did you actually think strapping a wiggly toddler to the back of a self propelled two-wheeled vehicle was a brilliant idea? I bet you fall asleep every night laughing at all the yuppie first time moms and dads who fall for your scheme. 

 

       "Look honey, this bicycle seat is just as effective as the bike cart, and a third of the price. Why don't we get it?" 

   I'll tell you why you don't get it you poor, hapless schmuck- because toddler's wiggle when they get excited, and in order counteract the wobble to their wiggle you need more abdominal strength than the entire Chinese gymnastics team combined. 

  

  This is where the sick joke comes in... Chances are if you are a female, and you are trying to take a toddler for a ride in this sick torture device you probably birthed a child... Which means you probably don't have the abs of a Navy Seal... Which means after three minutes or so you probably have muttered every curse word you can think of, and maybe made up a couple for posterity. 

  

     You see this lady? She is a liar! She is not happy, and if she is happy it's only because she isn't moving!

         So to you, Mr. (Or Ms.- I don't discriminate) Inventor- There is a special place in hell for people like you. 

Good day to you!!!

A touch of Southern charm...

A long time ago, in a land far away my husband was a bachelor....

Not the sleaze-bucket kind featured on TV, (am I the only one in the world that finds that whole concept disgusting?!) but rather the my-house-has-hand-me-down-furniture-from-college-and-I-don't-know-what-to-do-with-it kind of bachelor... The answer to that question the majority of the time was burn it! Seriously... Any furniture that was upholstered in any way, shape, or form did not survive our union... With good reason! Anything laminate, we said adios to. What remained from his bachelor days were solid wood pieces, with good bones that needed some TLC. 

Presenting exhibit A... 

My wonderful husband loved this nightstand, and the matching dresser.

They were substantial, traditional, solid pieces. They were also in dire need of a face lift, so after much begging I finally got the go ahead to paint them.

First thing I did was remove the old hardware, and fill in the old holes with wood filler. I let the filler dry over night.

The next day, I sanded the crap out of the drawers and the tops of the dresser, and nightstand. I didn't sand the sides of the pieces because they were in pretty decent shape, and that's the beauty of chalk paint... There's not a whole lot of prep!

I used a home-made chalk paint, because I am not going to pay a bazillion dollars for something that will give me the same result (sorry Annie Sloan)

I went to Lowes and picked out a flat, indoor paint that tickled my fancy, and some plaster of Paris. 

When I got home I mixed one part plaster of Paris with warm water, and then 3 parts paint. It is important to mix the Plaster of Paris with the water first, otherwise you end up with a globby mess.

After I mixed my chalk paint I got to painting. I left the tops unpainted. I love the contrast of wood with paint. I only did one coat on these pieces because I liked how the blue from the old stain came through. 

FYI- this paint dries super quick... Like 30-45 minutes quick.

After the paint dried I took my trusty palm sander, and skimmed over the areas I wanted to distress.

 

Once I got the pieces distressed I stained the tops of the pieces. I picked a dark chestnut stain that contrasted the cream paint nicely.

Last, but certainly not least was new hardware! When I was getting the paint I saw these knobs that were everything I wanted for this piece. Classic. Southern. Whimsical. 

The pulls reminded me of the antique glass doorknobs, and I think they are perfect!

Actually, I lied... There was one more important step... Preserving the pieces.

To do this I used a plain and simple finishing wax by Minwax, and I got my inner karate kid on. Wax on, wax off....

All in all, I could not be more pleased with the transformations.

Until next time... À tout à l'houre!