Breakdowns Are For Sissies

but go ahead anyway…I won't judge. Can I join you?

I tell you, the baby-head-smell is an intoxicant….

For no good reason at all I am sad today because I can’t have more babies. There is no good reason for this, as I said, because my two youngest were totally and completely annoying tonight and I might have maybe a little bit yelled at them for driving mommy totally insane with their maniacal laughter and wild running and flailing and they were going to break something else and I already had a plumber out yesterday for $512 and it is freaking bedtime already!!!!!!!! Might have happened. Don’t quote me…you can’t prove anything.
And I am sad because I miss my babies being babies. Perhaps because babies don’t act like that, they act like babies and I like babies very much and my friend has one and she is awesome. I would steal her but Jamal would tell on me.

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The things I have to point out….

No…I don’t mean those kinds of things.  I mean obvious schtuff like the words we should choose when we have the option.  Like the -or ending instead of the -our ending if you are not British because to do otherwise is undeniably pretentious.  I think everyone understands this.  Only a stuffed shirt of an American…or Madonna…would spell “favor” as “favour” instead.  To illustrate this truth…Wordpress autocorrected me twice.  Technology has, apparently, no time for affectations.

How about the irregardless/regardless problem?  Suffice to say: irregardless is not a word. Regardless means, in essence…what you just said is stupid and what I am about to say is the only truth.  Yes, it is sort of Sith-like in implication.  Sometimes life hurts.

Finally….I don’t know why anyone uses “gray” instead of “grey”.  Clearly “grey” is much more mysterious and thus sexier and cooler.  Duh.  Why do I have to explain this to y’all? Perhaps “grey” is also pretentious but since I am a language rebel I choose to ignore this possibility.  As in, regardless of the possibility that the use of “grey” instead of “gray” might imply pretension, I will do what I damn well want.  Again…such a rebel.  Now visualize me doing some really cool ninja moves….no…not like THAT….like THIS………………………………see?  Yeah, I thought so.

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My Mini-Me

Anyone that thinks being at home with your kids and taking care of everyone as your job is boring…that is laughable. It is sometimes tedious and sometimes frustrating and often a challenge…but never boring.

My conversations with Alec alone are enough to make me love it. He is so earnest and thus so funny.

“You like dat Shaun de Sheep? When you a boy? Why you not a boy?  It’s a funny show for boys…but you a girl. <deep sigh> I dink you like it anyway. I don’t know why. Maybe you should see it a movie feater.”

And no…his th sounds are not quite right. And yes…all of that was said without pause for my responses. He is most definitely my conversational doppelganger.

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Dear God of Losing my Lardass for a merely Scrumptiously Curvy and Apple-shaped Ass….

For the past week and a half my life has been pummeled with a sick husband, two sick children, a sick me, amazing amounts of sale/Ebates discounted/free shipping/gluten free food ordered in a bleary haze in the middle of the night in a hospital room that then needed to be sorted and stored (took four days), a crazy wreck of a house, figuring out a brand new special diet for Jamal and sweating bullets over it because I am so scared of hurting him, Elijah sneaking a whole tub of strawberries, a whole bag of potato chips, a whole bag of cookies and a whole jar of dates…JUST THIS WEEK, re-starting cranio therapy which meant having to drive hurriedly to the ass-end of town at rush hour and back to get the prescription from our Always There For Us in a Pinch DAN! doc…only to be late anyway, two poop accidents by Alec resulting in baths exactly at the time I needed to be picking up the boys at school and a badly stubbed pinky toe.

My lardass needs a break. I need to workout. Please calm my life the heck down and let me do my stuff, okay?

With chocolate drizzled love,
Chrissy, Lardass Mama
P.S. Please give my thanks to the God of Clean-ish Basements and Storage Areas for the forty-five minutes gifted to me today to finally sift through the mayhem in the basement family room and get some of it into the car for Goodwill. I am 50% of the way to an exercise spot in the corner. I give the glory to God…the one of the Cleanish Basements and Storage Areas, of course. This is not an issue that the God of Souls, Hell, Heaven and Baby Jesus cares about particularly, I would imagine.
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Channeling Forrest Gump’s Mama….

Darlin’, life ain’t the only thing that is like a box of chocolates.  Having three kids teaches you that they personify that in some wonderful and not-so-wonderful ways.   I am remembering  the day I drove away from my youngest son’s fourth day of school…ever.  He was notably upset.  I knew this because he tried to bite my face and leap out of my arms to get away from the gate into the school playground.  He is nothing if not determined at all times.  Thankfully…no one was maimed.  Slimed with banana-flavored saliva?  Yes, tragically.  Yuck.

So, naturally, after speeding off in my getaway minivan, I started to reflect on whether or not dumping my three year old inside the door of the school with the teacher and a kiss on the cheek, while he is in full-fledged roar, added up to Mama being a trifle hard-hearted.  Thankfully THAT guilt trip screeched to a halt when I came to the following conclusion… = the proverbial box of chocolates.  You never know what you’re going to get when you have them.

I have one that is shy as can be but goes into school bravely and calmly,  the one that is as bright as the sun spent years cowering behind me on the way into school and wailing as I left and now this child….fearless, a daredevil in actuality, never met a stranger, yet, inexplicably…he freaked out about staying at school.  For three hours, most of which is snack and playground time!  Despite the desperate screaming when I was sprinting out the door (Run, Mama, Ruuuuuun!) I called ten minutes later and he had been fine for eight of those ten minutes.  Ha ha!  I knew it!

I like it that they are individuals.  I also like it that they are sometimes high maintenance…then we appreciate the calm days.

BAHAHAHA….had you going there, didn’t I?  We don’t have calm days!  I haven’t seen one of those from fore to aft since before Alec turned three!

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Yay for Play Dough!!!

We have traded out using only clay, which is a pain…ugh…so sticky and messy and it doesn’t “release” from anything so it is hard to use tools on it.  I ordered some gluten free play dough from Discount School Supply.  A 5 1/2 pound tub for $22!  Not a terrible deal, considering it doesn’t make the kids sick!  It has a strong aroma.  Not a BAD one, but it is significant.  At least it isn’t scented like all the other GF doughs on the market.  <eye roll>  Seriously…sometimes the people making these products seem to have about two functioning neurons…which are apparently devoting their energy to yawning and scratchin’ their bellies.  Why in the world would you make a product that people need to be hypoallergenic and then SCENT it?  Next time I have my dad, who has diabetes, over for dinner I will make him some tea and pour a pound of sugar into it.  Genius.

Anyway…this stuff works just like standard play doughs…moldable, non-sticky, pops right out of everything, perfect.  It does have bright colors so if you kid is super sensitive to dye in the topical sense, you might want to have him wear some non-latex gloves or something.  My white kitchen table is now slightly pink from the red dough.  My kids seem okay with the dye thing so far.  No physical issues or behavior issues.  I’ll update if I see any!!

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A little piece of fluff about why it destroys you inside to have a kid with autism….

Maybe this only works if you actually have kids, I don’t know….but here goes.  When you bring a baby home, a cherished little being that you pour all your love and light into all day, every day…that child is pretty important to you.  The most important thing about them is their happiness and their future.  Future as in tomorrow and future as in when they are eighteen and heading off to college and when they are looking for the love of their life and when they have babies of their own and when they are lying on their deathbed at the end of a long and amazing life.  You are 100%, no holds barred, all systems go INVESTED in that future for that tiny person.  Everything that happens to them and for them matters to you.  It matters more to you than anything that happens for you or your significant other, if you have one.  You are all chips pushed to the center of the table on the hand of cards that is that kid.

Now….imagine that at some point down the line you are told that everything you are dreaming about, hoping for, working toward, pouring your heart into…might not ever be able to happen.  The happiness of this little guy or sweet girl is up in the air because, for no reason you can necessarily EVER know, your child is plucked out of the hundred or so to be diagnosed with an Autism Spectrum Disorder.  The lovely person that has to tell you this might say something to the effect of, “Little Johnny/Janie is still the same child you came in here with, he/she hasn’t changed just because you know this now.”  They may be lovely but they are a complete idiot and it is doubtful they have the social skills to be allowed to talk to other humans.  OF COURSE he/she is different…EVERYTHING is different.  What a ridiculous thing to say and thus begins the tradition of talking to parents of children with autism as if they cannot correctly assess a situation and its ramifications.

You know your baby and you feared this day and that you would hear these words but until it happens the dreams you have for them stay fixed in the sky, a north star you move toward as you try to help them talk to you, make friends, cope with their anxieties, learn how to grow up….   Now that you know this situation is REAL and that you can’t look past it toward that star?  Everything inside of you is burnt to bones.  You are instantly a vestige of your former self.  You are heartbroken and afraid and lost and desperate…so desperate.  How did this happen?  How could this happen to this beloved child?  What did we do?  What didn’t we do?  It is so unfair.  And if you didn’t know, you can feel it when your heart breaks.  It hurts inside your chest and you can almost hear it, snapping into pieces and hitting the floor.  Nothing is ever the same again.

Let’s say you spend the next few years spending all of your time, money and energy learning ways to help your child and let’s say….because we are still, after all, wildly hopeful…that your child recovers.  In a sense you are given a gift because every step forward you have seen is joyous, every success is sweeter and since you can feel the abyss just behind you, beckoning to you to make a mistake and ruin it all…you are never, never, never taking a thing for granted again.  Now, let’s be frank, having gratitude is great and good for your character and all of that but nothing can compare to the feeling you once had that all was possibility and that you had some ability to protect your baby.  None of us have that power.  That loss of innocence is forever and it will hurt just as long.

So, when the parent of a child with autism says something about guilt or fear or resentment or anger, know that they know something that perhaps you do not.  Maybe, instead of telling them not to feel that way, though that is kindly meant, instead tell them that you would feel the same way and perhaps then you can just let them talk about it.  They need to talk about it.  I just did.

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Leftovers = Deliciousness

Sausage Skillet

  • leftover sausage, about a pound, doesn’t really matter…it is leftovers cooking,  being picky is outlawed, our sausage is homemade, recipe forthcoming….
  • 1 onion, finely chopped so it cooks into gravy, essentially
  • 3 or so ribs of celery, finely chopped
  • butter…I put in probably 4-5 tbsp….this isn’t about losing weight, it is about making a yummy dinner.  low fat is for Nazis…just sayin’.  And no, margarine isn’t the same, it is made out of industrial oils, you heathen.
  • about a tsp of sea salt, same thing as above when it comes to regular table salt…that stuff is loaded with chemicals..blech!
  • pepper to taste, my taste says that more is better
  • 1 tomato, seeded, finely chopped
  • 1 cup or so of frozen broccoli florets…none of that stem action.  Yucky.

saute onion and celery in the butter and salt until translucent and softening, add leftover sausage, sliced up, add pepper and let it all heat up and the sausage will brown up a little…don’t let the onion brown though

add tomato and stir in, cook until tomato starts to break down and add broccoli florets, turn heat down to almost nothing, cover it and let the broccoli steam

serve over rice, preferably. 

My husband douses it in hot sauce…the Rooster is his sauce of choice for this item.  My kids pronounced it super yummy and from Nathaniel that is quite a compliment.  He thinks most things are marginally edible.


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No wonder we don’t dance well together…..

For all that my husband and I are in sync, in love and in for the long haul…we really don’t work well together on almost anything.  Is this descriptive of anyone else’s relationship or just for our amusement?  Anything we try to accomplish takes twice as long and we typically end up in a tense conversation at some point along the way.  By “tense conversation” you should read: mumbled expletives and rolling eyes and a lot of ‘Are you freakin’ kidding me?’ and ‘Why don’t you listen when I talk?’ accompanied by face making and annoyed gesturing.  Of course, I am doing most of the face making and gesturing.  I am a fun time like that.

Putting the kids to bed?  On our own it takes about 45 minutes…that is three stories, teeth brushing, a tuck in and snuggle for the older boys, a song and rocking for Alec and his five minute process of getting his blankets and pillow just right.  Together?  It can take up to 2 hours on a bad night OR MORE.  Again….ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  We spend a lot of time trying to get the other one to do what we don’t want to do…we are mature like that.  Also, Nathaniel and Alec, our drama kids, are noticeably more difficult when they get two of us.  Elijah is basically the same regardless, he is easy and currently the favorite child.  We are thinking he is the one that will get the good car when he gets his license.  Definitely not Alec, he breaks everything, just like Mama and Daddy.

Cleaning the house?  Holy cow…well, it only really happens in a communal sort of way if we are having people over and even then it is high level negotiating over who gets the “bad” jobs like tackling the mountain of odorous dishware or wrangling the kids into picking up.  I don’t mind the latter but Jamal hates it.  I just make him do it usually because I have this crazy dream that one day he’ll know where we keep stuff in this house and the only way that can happen is if he helps the boys clean….because they already know and can teach him!  Still…the whole cleaning process takes hours and hours because Jamal is emotionally attached to frequent breaks for refreshment of the culinary and recreational kind.  AKA snacks and video games, maybe a little online poker.  This defection from the stated goals makes Ms. Hyper Hilda extremely irritated, as she sees the time ticking away and she keeps on keepin’ on while Mr. Happy Hour plays and noshes.  Oh, the annoyance, it is still raw…..

How about packing the car for a trip?  Well, it goes without saying, for those that know us, that Jamal does not pack our bags.  He doesn’t even know where we keep the boys’ socks.  So, I do all the packing, which naturally includes all the food and cooking supplies for our boys’ special diet.  This can mean multiple coolers and half the supplies in our kitchen.  In the past, Jamal would pack up the van, only to come into the house, sweaty and VERY terse and inform me that we wouldn’t be able to fit everything.  I would get mad and disagree and flounce off to pull EVERYTHING out and reorganize it, swearing under my breath about men with no spatial skills.  It is very charming of me, let me tell you, I’m not bitchy at all when I act this way……anyway…what were we talking about?   Meanwhile, he will announce that he has get an oil change or go to the office or get some lunch (these are all real examples) and he’ll be done in time to leave in 20 minutes.  Yeah, right.  Our poor children.  They will regale their therapists with tales of Mama and Daddy fighting over why it is ridiculous to wait until the last hour before leaving to get an oil change.  I get verbiose when I argue and therefore, Jamal gets exasperated.  The boys have to duck so all the big words and crappy attitudes flying around don’t whack them across the noggin.  Now he just piles it up outside the van and I pack it.  That’s automatically half the work!

Weirdly…we move furniture very efficiently, rarely argue about anything that means a damn and there is one other way that we are very…um…sympatico.  But, my dad might read this, so we won’t discuss it.  <wink>

Surely we are not the only ones mismatched like this?  Do any of you play this oh-so-fun tug-of-war?

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Fried Apples

When people find out my kids do not eat sugar, almost zero packaged or prepared foods and we’ve eliminated gluten, dairy, soy, artificial and natural colors and flavors, preservatives, juice and corn….well…they think I am crazy.  Then they ask, “What do they eat?”  Honey….they eat a lot of things.  I just make most of it.  They are 9, 5 and 3 years old and this is their favorite thing to eat.  It can’t be a recipe…it’s too simple.

  • Golden Delicious Apples, peeled, cored and sliced thin, I usually make about 2 dozen to feed the bottomless pits I like to call “children”.  The jury is still out on that.  They “might” be trash compactors.  Hard to say based on the evidence.
  • Coconut oil, unrefined, extra virgin and pref. organic for good measure….I order it by the bucketful from Mountain Rose Herbs, amount is based on preference.  I want them to get all the health benefits and the yumminess too…I usually use about 1/2 a cup.  That’s a lot, but it is delicioso, sister!

-prep the apples

-dump the oil in a large and deep skillet.  You can use a saucepan but it just doesn’t seem to steam the apples as evenly….they tend to turn to sauce easier.  I don’t know WHY, I’m not Alton Brown, okay?

-dump the prepped apples in, turn the heat to med-low, cover with a tight fitting lid and leave them to morph into silky, golden, sweet goodness.

It takes more than ten minutes, less than an hour.  Depends on how thick the apples are, primarily.  My kids adore them.  You could add cinnamon, allspice and cloves for that apple pie vibe, but…my kids react badly to cinnamon too and Elijah reacts badly to all of the above.  No, seriously…we are talking rashes, people.  <eye roll about my crazy life>  Anyway, the lack of spices or any form of sweetening doesn’t seem to slow down the pace at which my boys shovel them into their mouths.  And this love isn’t because they “don’t get anything good”….they felt this way from the first time I made them, before we went on this diet.   A good cooking apple gets sweet without any junk added.  Yay for apples!

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The Happy Housewife™

but go ahead anyway...I won't judge. Can I join you?


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Filing Jointly...finally

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Passionate Homemaking

Living simply & sustainably in order to give generously

The Bloggess

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