These measurements are all eyeballed. . .play around with the recipe to find what works for you. This makes a HUGE batch of gravy. I usually end up making a turkey casserole sometime after roasting a turkey and I use this gravy in place of any "cream" soups. I also have added this gravy to homemade turkey soup to thicken it a little bit.
Bloggy McBloggerstein's Turkey Gravy
2 Tb butter
1 small chopped brown onion
2 chopped carrots (or small handful of chopped baby carrots)
1 stalk chopped celery
2 cups red wine (I tend to use merlot when cooking with red)
11 cups turkey or chicken broth or stock (I usually have this in the freezer, but feel free to use cans or cubes)
Any pan drippings from roasting a turkey or chickens (defat if desired, but realize the fat brings the most flavor)
2 chopped cloves of garlic
Handful of sliced fresh mushrooms
Seasonings to taste: salt, pepper, sage, & a little bit of rosemary.
Cooked potato flesh (no skins!) for thickening (or instant potato granules - NOT flakes - if you're lazy like me!)
1. Cook onion, carrots, celery in butter until they begin to brown. I'm assuming that you've just roasted a turkey and you have already deglazed your pan to get the caramelized bits.
2. Add wine, broth (or stock), pan drippings, garlic, & mushrooms and cover.
3. Increase heat to boil for about 20 minutes or so. Feel free to drop the heat and simmer longer, but usually you're doing this while a turkey is resting or being carved and you don't have endless time on your side.
4. Add seasonings & use a handheld stick blender and blend until smooth.
5. Add cooked potato flesh (no skins!) and blend until it reaches desired thickness.
Note: Do not use wine that is labeled "cooking wine" for this recipe. In my experience, you should cook with wines that you'd happily drink because most cooking wines are horrible.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Turkey is Easier Than You Think
I love turkey and I make it a few times throughout the year. My turkey is always moist and delicious. I've noted that a lot of people are intimidated by making turkey and it's really quite simple. Don't be afraid to attempt to roast a turkey; if you can handle a roasted chicken, you can handle a roasted turkey.
Bloggy McBloggerstein's Brined Turkey
1. Defrost the turkey in the fridge. Usually takes around 4 or 5 days for a 14-pounder. Cut turkey out of the plastic and pull the neck and giblets out of the cavities (check both).
2. Brine the turkey for between 12 and 24 hours. My brine recipe is: 1 cup orange juice, 8 cups water, 1/2 cup kosher salt, some salt, pepper, and dried sage. Mix together and add turkey. Put the whole thing in an Igloo cooler and dump an ice-maker full of ice in the cooler. Flip bird over half-way through brining.
3. I use an electric roasting pan instead of using the oven because I don't like heating up the whole house and it seems to cook the turkey faster. Pull the turkey out of the brine (be sure to drain any brine out of the cavities, but there is no need to rinse the bird - besides, that means you'd have to sanitize your sink!) and place directly in electric roasting pan. Put 5 pats of butter on turkey - on both breasts, near the drumsticks, and in middle of back. You don't need a lot of butter because brining keeps the meat VERY moist.
4. I usually use the following seasonings: some salt and pepper, a little onion powder, a shake of granulated garlic, and a sprinkle of dried sage. Sometimes I use a tiny bit of dried rosemary. Sometimes I stuff the main cavity with a quartered peeled onion and a couple peeled cloves of garlic. Sometimes I stuff it with a quartered orange. You can play a lot with poultry seasonings. Of course, you can always stuff some prepared stuffing in the turkey too - but don't pack it tightly in the cavity.
5. Cover electric roaster and roast for 2 hours at 325 F. Then turn the heat up to 350 F for 45 mins to 1 1/2 hours. There is no need to babysit the bird or baste at all. Use a meat thermometer to tell when the turkey is done instead of watching the clock. The turkey is done when the meat thermometer reaches 165 F. I usually test four places in the turkey to ensure it is all cooked: each breast and near each drumstick. Be sure not to hit a bone with the thermometer or else you'll get a false reading.
6. Turn off the roaster and remove turkey to a cutting board and let the bird rest for about 30 minutes. When I'm really lazy I just leave the turkey in the roaster (lid off) and carve it in the appliance instead of dirtying up my giant cutting board (it's a heavy son of a gun!). The reason you want to let the bird rest is because it helps redistribute the juices throughout the meat. If you carve or cut into it right away, you lose much of the juice and get dry meat (this is true with any meat). The brining also helps keep the meat moist.
7. For carving, I usually cut off the wing tips first and then the drumsticks. It is easiest to cut at the joints. Then I begin carving the breast meat, cut the rest of the wings off, then the thighs. I'm not fond of skin and I always pull the skin off as I'm carving. I usually end up flipping the bird over a couple of times to make sure I've picked it clean. Then I use the carcass and skin and make turkey stock so I can make homemade turkey soup a few days later. In case you don't know what to do with the pan drippings, you can use it to make gravy (I have a recipe for that too) or to punch up the flavor of any boxed stove-top stuffing.
Follow this recipe and you'll have awesome turkey each time. Enjoy!
Bloggy McBloggerstein's Brined Turkey
1. Defrost the turkey in the fridge. Usually takes around 4 or 5 days for a 14-pounder. Cut turkey out of the plastic and pull the neck and giblets out of the cavities (check both).
2. Brine the turkey for between 12 and 24 hours. My brine recipe is: 1 cup orange juice, 8 cups water, 1/2 cup kosher salt, some salt, pepper, and dried sage. Mix together and add turkey. Put the whole thing in an Igloo cooler and dump an ice-maker full of ice in the cooler. Flip bird over half-way through brining.
3. I use an electric roasting pan instead of using the oven because I don't like heating up the whole house and it seems to cook the turkey faster. Pull the turkey out of the brine (be sure to drain any brine out of the cavities, but there is no need to rinse the bird - besides, that means you'd have to sanitize your sink!) and place directly in electric roasting pan. Put 5 pats of butter on turkey - on both breasts, near the drumsticks, and in middle of back. You don't need a lot of butter because brining keeps the meat VERY moist.
4. I usually use the following seasonings: some salt and pepper, a little onion powder, a shake of granulated garlic, and a sprinkle of dried sage. Sometimes I use a tiny bit of dried rosemary. Sometimes I stuff the main cavity with a quartered peeled onion and a couple peeled cloves of garlic. Sometimes I stuff it with a quartered orange. You can play a lot with poultry seasonings. Of course, you can always stuff some prepared stuffing in the turkey too - but don't pack it tightly in the cavity.
5. Cover electric roaster and roast for 2 hours at 325 F. Then turn the heat up to 350 F for 45 mins to 1 1/2 hours. There is no need to babysit the bird or baste at all. Use a meat thermometer to tell when the turkey is done instead of watching the clock. The turkey is done when the meat thermometer reaches 165 F. I usually test four places in the turkey to ensure it is all cooked: each breast and near each drumstick. Be sure not to hit a bone with the thermometer or else you'll get a false reading.
6. Turn off the roaster and remove turkey to a cutting board and let the bird rest for about 30 minutes. When I'm really lazy I just leave the turkey in the roaster (lid off) and carve it in the appliance instead of dirtying up my giant cutting board (it's a heavy son of a gun!). The reason you want to let the bird rest is because it helps redistribute the juices throughout the meat. If you carve or cut into it right away, you lose much of the juice and get dry meat (this is true with any meat). The brining also helps keep the meat moist.
7. For carving, I usually cut off the wing tips first and then the drumsticks. It is easiest to cut at the joints. Then I begin carving the breast meat, cut the rest of the wings off, then the thighs. I'm not fond of skin and I always pull the skin off as I'm carving. I usually end up flipping the bird over a couple of times to make sure I've picked it clean. Then I use the carcass and skin and make turkey stock so I can make homemade turkey soup a few days later. In case you don't know what to do with the pan drippings, you can use it to make gravy (I have a recipe for that too) or to punch up the flavor of any boxed stove-top stuffing.
Follow this recipe and you'll have awesome turkey each time. Enjoy!
Monday, November 21, 2011
Middle-Aged Adolescents
I think that anyone who knows me at all or reads what I write in this blog can agree that I'm fairly direct and to the point. I have a low tolerance for bullsh*t and little interest in drama. I try not to engage in gossip and I try to be a kind & giving person even toward people who I just don't care for all that much. Indeed, I try to keep those negative thoughts to myself because I believe in treating others the way I'd like to be treated.
Yeah, I know, I sound like I'm The Last Girlscout. I'm not trying to say that I'm oh-so-evolved as an individual, but I most definitely do not suffer from emotional retardation that makes me act as though I am still a snippy teenager running the mean girls schtick. I'm 36-years old and it would be ridiculous if I were still behaving like it's the early-90s. I don't feel the need to try to push down others to elevate myself because that's a fool's way to get a temporary lift and it's just not my style. I am who I am, I know who I am, and I like who I am. Anyone who has a problem with that can just suck it.
I'm usually a good judge of character and I don't exactly shrink away from rolling in the mud with b*tches and that's why it surprises me when one chooses to square off with me over a completely chickensh*t reason that makes absolutely zero sense. Life can be so full of crap and I truly value honesty in relationships. It may sound naive, but I think it's a shame that all women don't feel the same way. I get that sometimes others are spoiling for a fight and there are certainly times that I've launched myself in the ring, but I have flesh & blood family who I haven't had a single word of contact with in over three decades and there is no way that I'll hesitate to burn down a relationship with a friend if I feel that they are not genuine with me or if I feel that they are actively out to sabotage my happiness.
Of course, using the word "friend" is debatable because friends don't try to cut down other friends. Friends don't give their friends ultimatums regarding other non-mutual friends. Friends don't ignore special times in their friends' lives; special times like birthdays, buying new houses, having a long desired baby. Friends don't make up outright lies to try to eject their friends from social groups - particularly when the lie is completely unnecessary. And friends sure as heck don't pull this c*nty behavior in the weeks and short months after their friend suffered the unexpected death of a young family member, after a friend moved to a new house while in the third trimester of pregnancy, and after the friend's mother just spent 40+ days in a rehab facility to relearn how to walk.
As I list out all this behavior, I've come to believe that this friend is impossibly pathetic and I'm surprised that I feel mainly indifference rather than righteous fury toward her unwarranted attack during what anyone can see is a difficult time in my life. Her childishness is rather lame and I feel pity more than anything at the moment. On some level I'd like to blow the lid off this situation and get others involved too, but ultimately that's her style and not mine. And I guess that I just don't care. If someone wants to act like a douche toward me, well, that's their choice. What am I supposed to do about it and why would I want to? I choose to move on because life is too short and I'm too good of a person to deserve that kind of treatment.
Why would I want a false friend? Why would I waste my energy exposing the ugliness when women like that usually do a good enough job exposing their own ugliness? Given enough rope, they do eventually hang themselves. Life is challenging enough so why would I want to stay in a group where this kind of d*ckish and duplicitous behavior occurs? Why spend my time with thoughtless and inconsiderate @ssholes?
It would be one thing if this behavior was simple insensitivity and I've pondered this possibility at length. I know that I am a hot-head and I have a tendency to fire first and ask questions later. After bouncing the entire situation off my hubs at length, I've determined that I'm neither overreacting nor reading into anything. It simply is not the case that someone is being a clueless twit. This was designed to be intentionally hurtful and that's what I can't accept and will not tolerate. While some people thrive on their own maliciousness and drama, I do not. Again, I believe it's pretty pathetic to act this way at my age and certainly at hers. I received her message loud & clear, therefore, I think I'll do this person a favor and tell them to go f*ck themselves.
Have you ever had to tangle with a middle-aged adolescent? How did you handle the situation?
PS If you think this is about you, it's a good clue that it is not. In my experience, people like this come up with all kinds of dumb excuses to justify and ignore their own shockingly bad behavior.
Yeah, I know, I sound like I'm The Last Girlscout. I'm not trying to say that I'm oh-so-evolved as an individual, but I most definitely do not suffer from emotional retardation that makes me act as though I am still a snippy teenager running the mean girls schtick. I'm 36-years old and it would be ridiculous if I were still behaving like it's the early-90s. I don't feel the need to try to push down others to elevate myself because that's a fool's way to get a temporary lift and it's just not my style. I am who I am, I know who I am, and I like who I am. Anyone who has a problem with that can just suck it.
I'm usually a good judge of character and I don't exactly shrink away from rolling in the mud with b*tches and that's why it surprises me when one chooses to square off with me over a completely chickensh*t reason that makes absolutely zero sense. Life can be so full of crap and I truly value honesty in relationships. It may sound naive, but I think it's a shame that all women don't feel the same way. I get that sometimes others are spoiling for a fight and there are certainly times that I've launched myself in the ring, but I have flesh & blood family who I haven't had a single word of contact with in over three decades and there is no way that I'll hesitate to burn down a relationship with a friend if I feel that they are not genuine with me or if I feel that they are actively out to sabotage my happiness.
Of course, using the word "friend" is debatable because friends don't try to cut down other friends. Friends don't give their friends ultimatums regarding other non-mutual friends. Friends don't ignore special times in their friends' lives; special times like birthdays, buying new houses, having a long desired baby. Friends don't make up outright lies to try to eject their friends from social groups - particularly when the lie is completely unnecessary. And friends sure as heck don't pull this c*nty behavior in the weeks and short months after their friend suffered the unexpected death of a young family member, after a friend moved to a new house while in the third trimester of pregnancy, and after the friend's mother just spent 40+ days in a rehab facility to relearn how to walk.
As I list out all this behavior, I've come to believe that this friend is impossibly pathetic and I'm surprised that I feel mainly indifference rather than righteous fury toward her unwarranted attack during what anyone can see is a difficult time in my life. Her childishness is rather lame and I feel pity more than anything at the moment. On some level I'd like to blow the lid off this situation and get others involved too, but ultimately that's her style and not mine. And I guess that I just don't care. If someone wants to act like a douche toward me, well, that's their choice. What am I supposed to do about it and why would I want to? I choose to move on because life is too short and I'm too good of a person to deserve that kind of treatment.
Why would I want a false friend? Why would I waste my energy exposing the ugliness when women like that usually do a good enough job exposing their own ugliness? Given enough rope, they do eventually hang themselves. Life is challenging enough so why would I want to stay in a group where this kind of d*ckish and duplicitous behavior occurs? Why spend my time with thoughtless and inconsiderate @ssholes?
It would be one thing if this behavior was simple insensitivity and I've pondered this possibility at length. I know that I am a hot-head and I have a tendency to fire first and ask questions later. After bouncing the entire situation off my hubs at length, I've determined that I'm neither overreacting nor reading into anything. It simply is not the case that someone is being a clueless twit. This was designed to be intentionally hurtful and that's what I can't accept and will not tolerate. While some people thrive on their own maliciousness and drama, I do not. Again, I believe it's pretty pathetic to act this way at my age and certainly at hers. I received her message loud & clear, therefore, I think I'll do this person a favor and tell them to go f*ck themselves.
Have you ever had to tangle with a middle-aged adolescent? How did you handle the situation?
PS If you think this is about you, it's a good clue that it is not. In my experience, people like this come up with all kinds of dumb excuses to justify and ignore their own shockingly bad behavior.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Best Birthday Present EVAR!!
For much of my life, I have had extraordinarily disappointing birthdays. I wouldn't go so far as to curse the day of my birth, but it has been decades since I've looked forward to my special day. To put it mildly, it has most often left something to be desired.
My husband knows the reasons why I feel particularly unloved and uncared about on my birthday and, to his credit, he has always tried very hard to make that day a good one for me. Last year, he was out of town for my birthday. . .other than when I was attending my brother's service, it has been the only time we've slept apart since we got together. It wasn't all badness & sadness though because I met up with some friends at a local theme park that day and they treated me to a very tasty funnel cake.
My birthday this year wasn't all that great, I swear that my son went out of his way to make me cry that day, but my husband certainly came through with what can only be called The Best Birthday Present of All Time!
After five or so years of casually looking and ten months of serious looking, we bought another house. Not only did we buy another house, but we bought a FREAKING AWESOME house that is exactly what we both wanted. It is the perfect place to raise our boys and we both fell in love with the location, the floor plan, the backyard.
When did escrow close on this house? On my birthday. As I said, best birthday present ever!
My husband has already told me that I shouldn't expect him to buy me another house for my birthday next year. . .geez, what a cheapskate! Ha!
My husband knows the reasons why I feel particularly unloved and uncared about on my birthday and, to his credit, he has always tried very hard to make that day a good one for me. Last year, he was out of town for my birthday. . .other than when I was attending my brother's service, it has been the only time we've slept apart since we got together. It wasn't all badness & sadness though because I met up with some friends at a local theme park that day and they treated me to a very tasty funnel cake.
My birthday this year wasn't all that great, I swear that my son went out of his way to make me cry that day, but my husband certainly came through with what can only be called The Best Birthday Present of All Time!
After five or so years of casually looking and ten months of serious looking, we bought another house. Not only did we buy another house, but we bought a FREAKING AWESOME house that is exactly what we both wanted. It is the perfect place to raise our boys and we both fell in love with the location, the floor plan, the backyard.
When did escrow close on this house? On my birthday. As I said, best birthday present ever!
My husband has already told me that I shouldn't expect him to buy me another house for my birthday next year. . .geez, what a cheapskate! Ha!
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
What Exactly is "Normal" Down Below?
Have you missed my blog posts about sex in general or vagina in particular? Well, then you're in luck! Prudes need not read any further - you've been warned.
I've noticed for many years that most porn actresses sport nearly identical looking nether regions. Not only is there a specific "look" in porn videos, but print photos apparently received the same memo and reveal much of the same predictable result. What is the preferred look that our X-rated friends are hustling? It is a snatch that is totally devoid of any hair and with an utter lack of any labia minora visible.
From an aesthetic standpoint, I can see why the hairless look is more popular for men and women. After all, one watches porn to see people screwing. . .not to see what looks like a woman giving birth to a baby bear. Hair obscures the vision and porn is all about visual stimulation. I get that and I'm okay with it. Of course, this grooming style spilled over to the general public a long time ago and I'd wager that nearly all women under the age of 30 keep up a bald vulva. Whether or not they realize that they were manipulated into doing so by the porn industry (either through a significant other suggesting it or them doing it on their own after seeing it represented) is debatable and it doesn't really matter. Speaking for myself, I think variety is fun and see nothing wrong with a rotation between shag, hardwood, or Berber.
The absence of labia minora is more puzzling and, I think, it has far more damaging consequences for women in general. After all, hair can grow back as pubic fashions change and removing hair is a much easier proposition than removing excess labia. Depending on the media, there are a few options: one can tuck in their labia minora, have their labia minora digitally altered to look smaller or disappear entirely, or one can have a labiaplasty. Obviously, cutting away a sensitive part of your genitals is the most extreme example and it's the one that I see becoming the result of exercising the first two options.
The more times that women see a tucked labia or a photoshopped vulva, the more times that she'll feel unusual or weird for not looking the same way. Ultimately, she may well end up seeing a plastic surgeon to "fix" what was never broken in the first place. She seeks to be "normal" when, in fact, she already was the normal one.
It's like breast implants. Heavily padded bras are one thing, but getting a surgery to alter your body is an entirely different animal. Once women and men began seeing the result of breast implants, more women sought them. The motivation behind the surgery makes no difference because the result is the same. As more women get big fake boobs, women without big boobs begin to feel increasingly bizarre. The natural women probably realize that they are being manipulated to want something unnatural, but the fact is that the natural woman looks weird at a certain point (and in certain geographic areas or work industries) rather than the other way around.
Breast augmentations have become very popular and quite common. Is labiaplasty the next plastic surgery craze? If so, where do we put down our foot and say "ENOUGH!"
Natural is no longer necessarily "normal." Our sense of normalcy is being changed by surgeons, one cut at a time. I can't blame the surgeons for filling a need. The surgery most often wouldn't even be considered if it weren't for the porn industry normalizing an unnatural look.
A designer snatch. A customized c*nt. A perfect p*ssy. I respectfully submit that such things aren't worthy of pursuit. As I say about most (certainly not all) cosmetic surgery, I think the money would be better spent with a psychiatrist to find out why you're so unhappy with your own self. To find out why you feel the need to surgically alter (mutilate, enhance, or whatever you want to call it) your body in an effort to find peace and contentment.
I think my husband said it best when he said that no man is going to refuse to have sex with a woman because her p*ssy lips protrude. Indeed, I'd suggest that having at least a little protrusion makes sex more pleasurable for both men and women because the labia are an extension of the vagina and the stroking friction feels good. That said, there is a wide range of normal and warm & wet feels good no matter what the rest of the packaging looks like.
I write all of this knowing that I'm a hypocrite. I've often thought that I'd like to do one specific thing to my snatch. My husband, and every other man who I've mentioned this to, thinks I'm absolutely nuts. I know I have a great little p*ssy and I logically realize that my emotions on the matter have been manipulated by the porn industry. However, there is still that part of me that thinks it would be so much better if I just do this one little thing.
Thank goodness I have the number of a good therapist!
I've noticed for many years that most porn actresses sport nearly identical looking nether regions. Not only is there a specific "look" in porn videos, but print photos apparently received the same memo and reveal much of the same predictable result. What is the preferred look that our X-rated friends are hustling? It is a snatch that is totally devoid of any hair and with an utter lack of any labia minora visible.
From an aesthetic standpoint, I can see why the hairless look is more popular for men and women. After all, one watches porn to see people screwing. . .not to see what looks like a woman giving birth to a baby bear. Hair obscures the vision and porn is all about visual stimulation. I get that and I'm okay with it. Of course, this grooming style spilled over to the general public a long time ago and I'd wager that nearly all women under the age of 30 keep up a bald vulva. Whether or not they realize that they were manipulated into doing so by the porn industry (either through a significant other suggesting it or them doing it on their own after seeing it represented) is debatable and it doesn't really matter. Speaking for myself, I think variety is fun and see nothing wrong with a rotation between shag, hardwood, or Berber.
The absence of labia minora is more puzzling and, I think, it has far more damaging consequences for women in general. After all, hair can grow back as pubic fashions change and removing hair is a much easier proposition than removing excess labia. Depending on the media, there are a few options: one can tuck in their labia minora, have their labia minora digitally altered to look smaller or disappear entirely, or one can have a labiaplasty. Obviously, cutting away a sensitive part of your genitals is the most extreme example and it's the one that I see becoming the result of exercising the first two options.
The more times that women see a tucked labia or a photoshopped vulva, the more times that she'll feel unusual or weird for not looking the same way. Ultimately, she may well end up seeing a plastic surgeon to "fix" what was never broken in the first place. She seeks to be "normal" when, in fact, she already was the normal one.
It's like breast implants. Heavily padded bras are one thing, but getting a surgery to alter your body is an entirely different animal. Once women and men began seeing the result of breast implants, more women sought them. The motivation behind the surgery makes no difference because the result is the same. As more women get big fake boobs, women without big boobs begin to feel increasingly bizarre. The natural women probably realize that they are being manipulated to want something unnatural, but the fact is that the natural woman looks weird at a certain point (and in certain geographic areas or work industries) rather than the other way around.
Breast augmentations have become very popular and quite common. Is labiaplasty the next plastic surgery craze? If so, where do we put down our foot and say "ENOUGH!"
Natural is no longer necessarily "normal." Our sense of normalcy is being changed by surgeons, one cut at a time. I can't blame the surgeons for filling a need. The surgery most often wouldn't even be considered if it weren't for the porn industry normalizing an unnatural look.
A designer snatch. A customized c*nt. A perfect p*ssy. I respectfully submit that such things aren't worthy of pursuit. As I say about most (certainly not all) cosmetic surgery, I think the money would be better spent with a psychiatrist to find out why you're so unhappy with your own self. To find out why you feel the need to surgically alter (mutilate, enhance, or whatever you want to call it) your body in an effort to find peace and contentment.
I think my husband said it best when he said that no man is going to refuse to have sex with a woman because her p*ssy lips protrude. Indeed, I'd suggest that having at least a little protrusion makes sex more pleasurable for both men and women because the labia are an extension of the vagina and the stroking friction feels good. That said, there is a wide range of normal and warm & wet feels good no matter what the rest of the packaging looks like.
I write all of this knowing that I'm a hypocrite. I've often thought that I'd like to do one specific thing to my snatch. My husband, and every other man who I've mentioned this to, thinks I'm absolutely nuts. I know I have a great little p*ssy and I logically realize that my emotions on the matter have been manipulated by the porn industry. However, there is still that part of me that thinks it would be so much better if I just do this one little thing.
Thank goodness I have the number of a good therapist!
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
I'm Back. . .Maybe
Some of you may have noticed that I've been silent lately. It would be fair to say that I've been, for the most part, stunned silent. It's been well over six-weeks since my nephew died and I'm still unable to begin processing my grief. It's not that I can't handle grief, goodness knows that I can certainly handle grief, it's that I'm afraid to fall too deeply in to that pit of sadness and hurt during what should be - what needs to be - a happy and joyful time in my life.
I know that sounds selfish, but it's not even only for my own sake that I refuse to address my pain. It's for the sake of my children, the one I hold and the one I'm still carrying. For being such a young child, my son has witnessed far too much of my grief and I don't want his mind to somehow connect my pregnancy to my tears and despair because I don't want him to somehow think it's his little brother's fault that Mama is so sad. . .so sad yet again. I don't want my unborn son to be negatively impacted by my own mental state. I know that I don't care for myself adequately when I'm down there and that means that he won't be adequately nourished either. That's not even addressing whether or not a fetus suffers developmentally based upon the mother's depression or stress hormone levels. Without a doubt, my boys would suffer if I allowed myself to delve into the aching depths of human sadness.
Of course, it isn't all selflessness. This baby in my womb only came after two solid years of trying every month, after losing one precious babe, after subjecting myself to hormone treatments that made for an unbelievably stressful first half of pregnancy. After two years of bitter disappointment each month, I want to experience all the joy I possibly can. Is it wrong that I want to try to enjoy what will most likely be my final pregnancy? If it is, then I guess I'm wrong.
I simply can't wrap my head around a 17-year old kid dying from a heart attack. I just can't. It's like something you read about and feel sorry for the family who was impacted by such a fluke occurrence. Only it's not some random anonymous family. It's my family. It's my family who has been hurt by yet another unnaturally natural death. It's such a bizarre and unthinkable thing that I don't know whether to laugh, cry, scream, pull at my hair, or some mixture of all responses.
So how am I handling my grief? I'm not. I push it back down whenever it comes up and I generally pretend that it does not exist. Is this healthy? No, not by a long shot. Is this the most sensible way I can handle it at the moment? Yes. I know the time is coming where my grief will begin to manifest itself in other ways and I'm already having difficulty pushing it from my mind when it comes to me, but thus far only the silence of midnight's moon has been the witness to my weeping so I'm thankful my son has been spared. It's a scene that he's seen before, but I know it frightens him and he's seen it altogether too often.
Why do I cry in the night? Why else? It's when I say my prayers and I can't help but cry when I pray for my nieces and nephews. Most nights I automatically put his name in there, my mind still unable to accept that he no longer has need for any of my prayers, and that's when it hits me the hardest. I begin to play the highlight reel - tears always come when I think of him joking and clowning around - and I have to muffle my cries in my pillow and begin praying that sleep comes mercifully soon.
Perhaps I'd be well on the road to healing if I'd been able to attend his funeral? I don't know and it doesn't matter since I was unable to attend. My mother fell and broke her hip just days after his death (she only just returned home), I wasn't keen to leave my little boy because it really messed with his head when I did so to attend my brother's service last year, and my OB wasn't wild about the notion of me traveling 3,000 miles away when I was still having bleeding episodes in this pregnancy. So I didn't go. I wish on some level that I had, but my parents and my children needed me to stay here and I did.
I don't know that I will be able to continue blogging, but I will make an effort. Though I have always been brutally honest in this blog, I won't be able to address these emotions because they need to stay bottled up for the time being. The way I see it, I probably have plenty to write about without participating in a bit of free therapy. So I'm back. . .maybe.
I know that sounds selfish, but it's not even only for my own sake that I refuse to address my pain. It's for the sake of my children, the one I hold and the one I'm still carrying. For being such a young child, my son has witnessed far too much of my grief and I don't want his mind to somehow connect my pregnancy to my tears and despair because I don't want him to somehow think it's his little brother's fault that Mama is so sad. . .so sad yet again. I don't want my unborn son to be negatively impacted by my own mental state. I know that I don't care for myself adequately when I'm down there and that means that he won't be adequately nourished either. That's not even addressing whether or not a fetus suffers developmentally based upon the mother's depression or stress hormone levels. Without a doubt, my boys would suffer if I allowed myself to delve into the aching depths of human sadness.
Of course, it isn't all selflessness. This baby in my womb only came after two solid years of trying every month, after losing one precious babe, after subjecting myself to hormone treatments that made for an unbelievably stressful first half of pregnancy. After two years of bitter disappointment each month, I want to experience all the joy I possibly can. Is it wrong that I want to try to enjoy what will most likely be my final pregnancy? If it is, then I guess I'm wrong.
I simply can't wrap my head around a 17-year old kid dying from a heart attack. I just can't. It's like something you read about and feel sorry for the family who was impacted by such a fluke occurrence. Only it's not some random anonymous family. It's my family. It's my family who has been hurt by yet another unnaturally natural death. It's such a bizarre and unthinkable thing that I don't know whether to laugh, cry, scream, pull at my hair, or some mixture of all responses.
So how am I handling my grief? I'm not. I push it back down whenever it comes up and I generally pretend that it does not exist. Is this healthy? No, not by a long shot. Is this the most sensible way I can handle it at the moment? Yes. I know the time is coming where my grief will begin to manifest itself in other ways and I'm already having difficulty pushing it from my mind when it comes to me, but thus far only the silence of midnight's moon has been the witness to my weeping so I'm thankful my son has been spared. It's a scene that he's seen before, but I know it frightens him and he's seen it altogether too often.
Why do I cry in the night? Why else? It's when I say my prayers and I can't help but cry when I pray for my nieces and nephews. Most nights I automatically put his name in there, my mind still unable to accept that he no longer has need for any of my prayers, and that's when it hits me the hardest. I begin to play the highlight reel - tears always come when I think of him joking and clowning around - and I have to muffle my cries in my pillow and begin praying that sleep comes mercifully soon.
Perhaps I'd be well on the road to healing if I'd been able to attend his funeral? I don't know and it doesn't matter since I was unable to attend. My mother fell and broke her hip just days after his death (she only just returned home), I wasn't keen to leave my little boy because it really messed with his head when I did so to attend my brother's service last year, and my OB wasn't wild about the notion of me traveling 3,000 miles away when I was still having bleeding episodes in this pregnancy. So I didn't go. I wish on some level that I had, but my parents and my children needed me to stay here and I did.
I don't know that I will be able to continue blogging, but I will make an effort. Though I have always been brutally honest in this blog, I won't be able to address these emotions because they need to stay bottled up for the time being. The way I see it, I probably have plenty to write about without participating in a bit of free therapy. So I'm back. . .maybe.
Friday, September 23, 2011
My Ironic Nickname
Here's a real quick English lesson before the post: Irony is the opposite of what most people think it means. You'd expect a big guy to be called "Fatty" so that is not ironic, but calling him "Slim" fits the definition. I've always been clumsy and accident prone and my parents bestowed upon me the ironic nickname "Grace" at an early age. After my OB appointment yesterday, I think I have earned a new ironic nickname. Just call me "Class" from now on. It all started a couple of days ago. . .
I've written about how I primp before a doctor visit and, knowing that I had an upcoming appointment, I decided to get reacquainted with my razor. All was going well until I got to the main attraction. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned the dangers in shaving areas that you can't see after I cut my labia a month or two ago. That sucked, but it was a clean slice and it healed quickly.
So I've established that shaving by touch alone can be hazardous. This time around I not only couldn't see because my belly obscures my line of sight, but also because I've been wearing my glasses and I obviously don't wear those in the shower. Even if I could see my sn@tch around my belly, I wouldn't be able to see it without working eyes. I was blind x 2 and using a sharp instrument on tender areas - what could possibly go wrong?
I passed my razor over what I thought were the edges of the hedges. A rinse revealed to my fingers that I had instead cut a hole right around the middle of the turf up top. How I so badly misjudged where my razor actually was, I have no idea. I might add that things aren't so bushy down below that I could just fluff things up with a hair pick later to disguise the damage. That's right; I may be a hippie, but I still don't sport a pubic 'fro. Figuring that I was probably thinking it looked worse than it really did, I left well enough alone and put my razor away. I actually went to bed and forgot about it.
As is customary, I surveyed the landscape the next morning as I was getting dressed and HOLY CRAP! I had a giant freaking hole in the middle of my pubic hair. I stared at it, wondering how to fix this horrible hair cut when the obvious solution came to me. In for a penny, in for a pound. Yep, I decided to shave it all off.
After I removed every last hair, I remembered why I had used the razor in the first place. I had a dang doctor's appointment. I might tell my doctor about my spontaneous orgasms, I might smile during breast exams, but I have NEVER presented a completely bald vulva for a pelvic exam and the very thought of someone other than my husband seeing EVERYTHING made me feel terribly uncomfortable.
It's not that my vulva is weird or anything (well, any weirder than any of them look), but I just feel ultra-ultra naked when I go totally bare. What woman wants to be ultra-ultra naked with a stranger fingering her in front of her husband? Actually, that might fly in certain circumstances but not with a doctor who I like and trust. Not only that, but friction tends to engorge the area when I don't have a little bit of hair up top to help buffer things and that leaves me feeling extremely turned on and/or looking extremely irritated. I wouldn't care if I was all red and inflamed looking, but I sure as heck don't want the doctor to think that I'm presenting a wet & horny looking pu$$y because of the stupid pelvic exam.
I could have tried to reschedule the appointment, but his schedule is usually very full and I didn't want to risk losing the appointment I did have. I was trying to think when the last time was that I had a pelvic exam and why. All I could come up with was it was when I was still having significant bleeding problems in this pregnancy and I think the last one I had was right after I had completed my first trimester. I decided that I probably wouldn't need another pelvic exam although I'd experienced another spotting episode over Labor Day so I kept my appointment.
You know, I did not have a pelvic exam yesterday so all my worries were for nothing. That's not to say that I didn't do something so totally boneheaded that I still cringe to think of it. Read on. . .
Yesterday was a hot day. It may not have felt all that hot to the non-pregnant members of the population, but it was hot as the blazes to me. When it's hot out, I prefer to nap wearing as little as possible. With this in mind, I stripped off my clothes (including panties & bra) and slipped on a nightgown when it was naptime. I've been sleeping poorly now for weeks upon weeks so I let naptime last as long as I possibly could before having to jam over to the doctor's office.
My hubs woke me up and said that I had to get dressed because we had to go. He grabbed our son and, while getting ready to put our boy in the car, our dumb dog ran out of the house. This happened as I was pulling a dress out of the closet. The yelling, barking, and resulting mayhem caused me to slip the dress over my head and run outside. I grabbed my son, fearing that our dog might become roadkill, and pulled him in the house while hubs dealt with the dog. Hubs got the dog under control and put back in the house. He put the kiddo in the car while I grabbed my shoes and hopped in the car.
Observant readers may notice what I did not put on. What was I not wearing? Panties.
A bare vulva, no panties (bra was missing too, BTW), and a dress. Class, man, pure class. When did I notice my missing undergarments? When we were half-way to the office and were already running late. Wonderful, just wonderful.
I did not have a pelvic exam so one might think that my whorish attire wouldn't be noticed, right? Wrong! Remember that I was wearing a dress? That means that I need to lift my dress to expose my abdomen so the Doppler can amplify the sound of my baby's heartbeat. Generally, my doctor grabs a sheet and tucks it in the waistband of my skirt or pants while performing this part of his exam.
Guess what? There was nothing for him to tuck the sheet into yesterday. Not only that, but he also took a fundal height measurement and that most definitely revealed that not only was I not wearing panties, but that I was ultra-ultra naked down below.
Ever the professional, even with who I assume is his nuttiest (and perhaps sluttiest) patient, he inquired if there was a reason I'd disrobed and if there was something I wanted him to check out. Uh, no Doc, that's pretty f*cking far from what I'd like because now I feel ultra-ultra naked and hella embarrassed. It was like I was the only one who showed up naked on the nude beach. Sure that I could see my husband's smirk in my peripheral vision, I gave a dismissive wave of the hand and simply said, "No. It's a long story." The doctor wisely kept his mouth shut.
I'd say that I'm officially "that" patient and I have most definitely earned my new ironic nickname. Have you ever had an embarrassing mishap while visiting the doctor? Please share and help me feel like I might still have some tiny lingering shred of dignity left intact.
I've written about how I primp before a doctor visit and, knowing that I had an upcoming appointment, I decided to get reacquainted with my razor. All was going well until I got to the main attraction. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned the dangers in shaving areas that you can't see after I cut my labia a month or two ago. That sucked, but it was a clean slice and it healed quickly.
So I've established that shaving by touch alone can be hazardous. This time around I not only couldn't see because my belly obscures my line of sight, but also because I've been wearing my glasses and I obviously don't wear those in the shower. Even if I could see my sn@tch around my belly, I wouldn't be able to see it without working eyes. I was blind x 2 and using a sharp instrument on tender areas - what could possibly go wrong?
I passed my razor over what I thought were the edges of the hedges. A rinse revealed to my fingers that I had instead cut a hole right around the middle of the turf up top. How I so badly misjudged where my razor actually was, I have no idea. I might add that things aren't so bushy down below that I could just fluff things up with a hair pick later to disguise the damage. That's right; I may be a hippie, but I still don't sport a pubic 'fro. Figuring that I was probably thinking it looked worse than it really did, I left well enough alone and put my razor away. I actually went to bed and forgot about it.
As is customary, I surveyed the landscape the next morning as I was getting dressed and HOLY CRAP! I had a giant freaking hole in the middle of my pubic hair. I stared at it, wondering how to fix this horrible hair cut when the obvious solution came to me. In for a penny, in for a pound. Yep, I decided to shave it all off.
After I removed every last hair, I remembered why I had used the razor in the first place. I had a dang doctor's appointment. I might tell my doctor about my spontaneous orgasms, I might smile during breast exams, but I have NEVER presented a completely bald vulva for a pelvic exam and the very thought of someone other than my husband seeing EVERYTHING made me feel terribly uncomfortable.
It's not that my vulva is weird or anything (well, any weirder than any of them look), but I just feel ultra-ultra naked when I go totally bare. What woman wants to be ultra-ultra naked with a stranger fingering her in front of her husband? Actually, that might fly in certain circumstances but not with a doctor who I like and trust. Not only that, but friction tends to engorge the area when I don't have a little bit of hair up top to help buffer things and that leaves me feeling extremely turned on and/or looking extremely irritated. I wouldn't care if I was all red and inflamed looking, but I sure as heck don't want the doctor to think that I'm presenting a wet & horny looking pu$$y because of the stupid pelvic exam.
I could have tried to reschedule the appointment, but his schedule is usually very full and I didn't want to risk losing the appointment I did have. I was trying to think when the last time was that I had a pelvic exam and why. All I could come up with was it was when I was still having significant bleeding problems in this pregnancy and I think the last one I had was right after I had completed my first trimester. I decided that I probably wouldn't need another pelvic exam although I'd experienced another spotting episode over Labor Day so I kept my appointment.
You know, I did not have a pelvic exam yesterday so all my worries were for nothing. That's not to say that I didn't do something so totally boneheaded that I still cringe to think of it. Read on. . .
Yesterday was a hot day. It may not have felt all that hot to the non-pregnant members of the population, but it was hot as the blazes to me. When it's hot out, I prefer to nap wearing as little as possible. With this in mind, I stripped off my clothes (including panties & bra) and slipped on a nightgown when it was naptime. I've been sleeping poorly now for weeks upon weeks so I let naptime last as long as I possibly could before having to jam over to the doctor's office.
My hubs woke me up and said that I had to get dressed because we had to go. He grabbed our son and, while getting ready to put our boy in the car, our dumb dog ran out of the house. This happened as I was pulling a dress out of the closet. The yelling, barking, and resulting mayhem caused me to slip the dress over my head and run outside. I grabbed my son, fearing that our dog might become roadkill, and pulled him in the house while hubs dealt with the dog. Hubs got the dog under control and put back in the house. He put the kiddo in the car while I grabbed my shoes and hopped in the car.
Observant readers may notice what I did not put on. What was I not wearing? Panties.
A bare vulva, no panties (bra was missing too, BTW), and a dress. Class, man, pure class. When did I notice my missing undergarments? When we were half-way to the office and were already running late. Wonderful, just wonderful.
I did not have a pelvic exam so one might think that my whorish attire wouldn't be noticed, right? Wrong! Remember that I was wearing a dress? That means that I need to lift my dress to expose my abdomen so the Doppler can amplify the sound of my baby's heartbeat. Generally, my doctor grabs a sheet and tucks it in the waistband of my skirt or pants while performing this part of his exam.
Guess what? There was nothing for him to tuck the sheet into yesterday. Not only that, but he also took a fundal height measurement and that most definitely revealed that not only was I not wearing panties, but that I was ultra-ultra naked down below.
Ever the professional, even with who I assume is his nuttiest (and perhaps sluttiest) patient, he inquired if there was a reason I'd disrobed and if there was something I wanted him to check out. Uh, no Doc, that's pretty f*cking far from what I'd like because now I feel ultra-ultra naked and hella embarrassed. It was like I was the only one who showed up naked on the nude beach. Sure that I could see my husband's smirk in my peripheral vision, I gave a dismissive wave of the hand and simply said, "No. It's a long story." The doctor wisely kept his mouth shut.
I'd say that I'm officially "that" patient and I have most definitely earned my new ironic nickname. Have you ever had an embarrassing mishap while visiting the doctor? Please share and help me feel like I might still have some tiny lingering shred of dignity left intact.
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