I Miss my Childhood-RemembeRED

I  miss my childhood.  I miss the days where I had no responsibilities.  I miss being naive and believing people were inherently good and didn't hurt others to make themselves feel better.  I miss the excitement I could find in the mundane, as only a child can.  I miss being small and innocent.

"Mommy, I want to stay 3 forever!" I exclaim in front of the video camera, pirouetting for good measure.

"I'd like that," my mom replies.

It's the middle of the day and I'm excited.  My ballet recital is coming up soon, and I get to wear a neat blue and white striped costume with a tutu and matching umbrella.  I get to dance to the song "The Yellow Rose of Texas," and I am the first girl in line.  I love the spotlight.

I ham it up some more in front of the video camera.  "Mommy, look at this!" I run to the bookshelf and grab my folder of books I've written.  I pull out the most recent book, "The Adventures of Molly Colly," which is a series.  I show my mom all the pictures I drew and read her the story.  She is so proud of me.  I love showing everyone my stories, but my friends don't read and write yet like I do, so I show any grown up I can find.  They usually seem impressed.

I continue to twirl around the living room before getting bored.  "Mommy, I'm hungry.  Is my next meal lunch, or dinner?"

My mom smiles at me, shaking her head.  "We already ate breakfast and lunch.  You can have a snack, and we will eat dinner later."

I rush to the kitchen to find a snack.  I love food, and I make sure every day that I get all my meals.  I grab an apple and yell for my dad.  He always takes the first bite.  When I finish the apple, I put on my shoes and go outside.

I enter my playhouse.  The rest of my afternoon is spent pretending I'm a mommy too, and my dolls are my babies.  I can't wait to grow up so I can have my own house, and do everything myself.

Now that I am a grown up, I look fondly back on those days and wish my childhood could have lasted longer, or that I could have savored it more.  I miss my childhood.  But now I can make sure my kids won't miss theirs.

This post was written in response to this week's remembeRED prompt, to write a memoir piece beginning with the words, “I miss my childhood”.

Coco-Lime Cheesecake- Savvy Homemade Monday

I know summer has officially ended this weekend, but I want to keep it alive with my awesome cheesecake bars.  I made these for my birthday party in July, and they were so awesome, I ate half the tray myself.  There is nothing more summery than coconut and lime.  I stole this recipe from Betty Crocker and tweaked it to make it better.

Ingredients
Crust layer
1 pouch Betty Crocker sugar cookie mix
2 Tbsp. flour
1/3 cup butter
1 egg
(or you can make your own sugar cookie dough if you have time.  Or use premade, refrigerated dough if you don't have enough time to mix the package mix)
Filling
2 packages cream cheese
16 oz cream of coconut (I found this in the aisle where the drink mixers are-they also sell it at the liquor store)
2 limes, juiced (or use 3 Tbsp. of the lime juice in the jar shaped like a lime)
4 packets of True Lime
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 eggs
Frosting
8 oz. cream cheese
1 stick softened butter
1 cup confectioner's sugar (you can use up to 1 1/2 cups to taste)
1 tsp. vanilla extract
2 packets True Lime
(if you don't have time to make frosting, you can use canned cream cheese frosting, and just add True Lime to it)
Topping
1 1/4 cups toasted coconut
zest of 2 limes (you can use more if you want)

-Heat oven to 350°F. Spray bottom and sides of 13x9-inch pan with cooking spray. In large bowl, stir cookie base ingredients until soft dough forms. Press evenly in bottom of pan. Bake 15 to 18 minutes or until golden brown. Cool 15 minutes.

-Meanwhile, in large bowl, beat cream cheese with electric mixer on medium speed until light and fluffy. Beat in cream of coconut until well blended. Beat in lime juice, true lime, vanilla and 2 eggs until smooth. Spread over cookie base.


-Bake 40 to 45 minutes or until set and light golden brown on edges. Cool 30 minutes at room temperature. Refrigerate 1 hour to cool completely.

-Place cream cheese for frosting in a medium mixing bowl. Using a rubber spatula, soften cream cheese. Gradually add butter, and continue beating until smooth and well blended. Sift in confectioners' sugar, and continue beating until smooth. Add vanilla and true lime, and stir to combine.

-Carefully spread frosting over filling. Sprinkle with coconut and lime peel. Cover; refrigerate 30 minutes. For bars, cut into 6 rows by 4 rows. Store covered in refrigerator.

Photo courtesy of Betty Crocker, since I ate mine before photographing them

Too Big, Too Soon

My kids are growing up too fast.  Especially T.  He is starting preschool on Wednesday, and it's at the point where I can no longer deny it.  My anxiety has been through the roof this past week, partly due to family problems, and partly due to feeling like my oldest is going to leave me.

I know he's only going to preschool for a few hours a day, and I know he needs it, and he will still need me, but I'm still fighting the feeling of abandonment.  I've struggled with anxiety problems for the past 13 years, and I also have Borderline Personality Disorder, which I know contributes a lot to me feeling like this.

I know he will love preschool.  He went to speech camp for a month this summer and had a great time.  It also helped him be more vocal, which is great.  It is still pretty much impossible to understand most of what he says, though, due to the speech apraxia.  I'm just happy he's even trying to talk.  He had no words at all until after he was 3.

We had to fight tooth and nail to get him into this special preschool.  We still have to fight to get him OT so someone will help him with the behavioral side of things, but it's a start.  I will miss him so much while he is gone.  It just feels different than if he were to go visit his grandparents for a few hours. 

He's old enough to go to school.  He's not my little baby anymore.  I can't remember him as a baby.  At all.  I see pictures and I know he was that little, but I can't specifically remember anything of him as a baby besides giving birth to him.  The next memories I have are when he was close to a year old.  I feel like the time is flying by too fast, and I just want to slow it down to savor every moment.

At the same time, I want him to learn and be able to talk like the other kids.  I want him to make friends and be normal.  He's never had a playdate.  He's met kids at the playground and, since he's big for his age, the older kids wonder why he doesn't talk and won't play with him.  The younger kids won't play with him either because he is always too close to them and doesn't respect their personal space.  He cannot grasp the concept, and, although the other parents understand when I explain, the kids are uncomfortable around him.

I want him to be normal, or at least be around other kids who have similar issues, or who aren't bothered by his.  I want this school to improve his speech to the point where he can go to regular kindergarten.  I've thought about holding him back from kindergarten a year so he and his sister can be in the same grade because she understands him.

I want him to grow up and go out into the world, but I want to protect him.  I'm afraid kids will be mean to him like they were to me growing up.  I'm afraid he won't fit in.  I'm afraid I won't know how to handle anything going wrong with him because I'm such an emotional person, and when I'm upset, I know I'm not at all rational.

But I don't want my fears to affect him.  He doesn't see me crying at night because I feel like I'm going to lose him as he grows up.  He can't see my anxiety behind my forced cheer when I tell him about school.  So, on Wednesday, I'm going to dress him in his new school clothes, with his pirate backpack, and drive him to school.  I'm going to walk him in like all the other parents, give him a kiss, and wish him good luck.  And hopefully, I will make it back to my car before I burst into tears in front of all the other parents.

Seasons of Change- Surving Post-Partum Depression- Red Writing Hood

There have been many seasons of change in my life-the transition from popular kid to outcast, loner who no one spoke with to college student with eclectic friends, miserable and engaged to single and pregnant, drug addict to sober mother.  But today, I'm going to tell you my story of change from post-partum depression sufferer to functioning and loving mother.

It's hard for me to describe how post-partum depression felt.  I'm sure those of you who experienced it can relate, but if you haven't, let me just tell you how awful it is.  I had no bond with T or Princess when they were born.  It was worse with T.  I felt nothing.  I didn't really want to even hold him- it was like someone handed me an alien and was trying, unsuccessfully, to convince me that it was mine.

I went through all the motions, feeding him and cooing over him, but I knew it wasn't supposed to be like this.  And it kept getting worse.  After a few weeks, I started to have awful thoughts running through my head.  I couldn't handle it when he cried.  I would cry and scream at him.

The crazy thoughts got even worse, and one day, I really wanted to throw him out the window.  That is the moment I sought help.  I felt so horrible that I even thought about hurting my baby.  It was awful, and I knew it wasn't really me thinking those thoughts.  I went on medication, and things got better.  I felt like I finally loved T, and the thoughts went away.


Then I found out I was pregnant with Princess, and I had to stop the medication.  I had been such a mess that I didn't even realize I was pregnant until I was showing.  I had to have an ultrasound to determine how far along I was (20 weeks-who the heck doesn't realize they're 20 weeks pregnant?).  I was hormonal and had my ups and downs, but things seemed pretty much okay until she was born, exactly one year and two days after T.  This time, I started medication at the hospital and was evaluated before I left.  I thought I was fine, and the psychiatrist agreed.  Everything changed when I got home.

I wanted to spend all my time with T.  I didn't want to look at or hold Princess.  The boyfriend had to quit his job because I couldn't take care of her.  We moved in with my parents, and for a good 6 months, they completely supported us.  I went back to my part-time job less than 2 weeks after she was born.  I couldn't wait to get away from her, but I missed T.  It was a strange and awful feeling.

When Princess was a few months old, I started having the same crazy thoughts I had when T was a baby.  It was so upsetting.  I found  a doctor and got my medication changed, and thankfully, it worked.  I finally loved both my kids.  I found a balance between work and being a mommy, and I enjoyed being with my kids and watching them grow up.

Things were really good until I found out I was pregnant again.  Princess was 9 months old.  I was excited to be pregnant, but physically, I felt horrible.  I went to the doctor and was given the awful news that I was miscarrying.  It totally spun me for a loop.  I felt like I  fell right back to the bottom of the hole I was in right after my kids were born.

My anxiety and panic attacks that I thought I conquered came back with a vengence.  It started affecting my job.  I felt like nothing was going to get better.  Around Christmas, I was having horrible back pain and ended up in the Emergency Room.

I found out I was pregnant again.  I was in shock, and in so much pain that I cried for 2 hours straight.  I didn't know whether to be happy or sad.  When I got an ultrasound, the OB/GYN on call told me that there was a lot of bleeding and an 80% chance I would lose this pregnancy as well.   I assumed the worst would happen and moped around my house for a couple weeks.  I wasn't functioning at work and kept getting in trouble for forgetting to do things that, after almost 3 years, should have been automatic.

I made it past the 12 week mark.  Then I made it past the 16 week mark.  My doctors told me at this point that it looked like a normal pregnancy and I was out of the woods.  I was so elated at that moment.  It was when everything changed, and life was on an upswing. 

I couldn't get enough of my kids.  I wanted to play with them and go places with them and do as much as I could.  I loved the baby that was growing inside of me.  Life was finally great.  Even our apartment flooding when I was 9 months pregnant couldn't bring me down.  I had to temporarily move into my parents with the kids while the boyfriend packed our stuff and tried to clean (I attempted to go back to the apartment one day, and the mold smell assaulted me before I even took 2 steps into the living room.  I ran out of that place, and never went back).

Since the landlords I wouldn't even look at the damage, I looked around for a new place, and found a great 4 bedroom house for rent down the street from my parents.  The landlord liked me so much that even though he already had someone coming that day to sign the lease, he told me that we could move in.  I left my job to get the house ready since the baby was due in a week.  Thankfully, Goober was 10 days late, so I had enough time to paint (it was low VOC, and I wore a mask, even though I HATE them) and decorate the upstairs (curtains are decoration, right?).

Since the rent was so high, we split the rent with the boyfriend's mom.  She lives downstairs, and we have the upper 2 floors.  We share a kitchen downstairs.  So far, it has worked out pretty well.

I went into labor with Goober and stayed home until the last possible minute.  At the hospital, he came so fast after my water broke that they didn't even have time to prepare the stirrups and get all the equipment ready before he was crowning.  I adored him from the second I had him.  It was like a mini vacation in the hospital, and he and I were the only 2 guests.

I stayed home with the kids for 6 weeks.  Goober was never out of my sight.  He will be a year old in 2 weeks and I've only spent one night away from him (there was a bad storm when I was with the other 2 kids in the Catskills, and I am terrified to drive in the rain).

Work didn't work out.  I wanted to be home with the baby.  I couldn't focus, and my boss' illness was making him more and more volatile.  After I forgot one little thing and got chewed out for it, I knew I wasn't going back.  I called out the next day (it was a Friday and would have only been a 4 hour workday), and my boss had my coworker call me to fire me.  I was mad I got fired, but it was also awesome.

I get to stay home with my kids.  I see them all day, every day.  I love being with them all the time.  Even when the older 2 get on my nerves (I never knew how willful toddlers could be!).  I wish I could have enjoyed them as babies like I enjoyed Goober.  Part of me feels I'm hogging Goober from his dad and grandparents because I want to make up for the lack of attention I gave the older kids as babies.  But now I want to make the most out of every minute with them while they're still little.

Surviving post-partum depression is one of my biggest accomplishments.  I transitioned from feeling like a horrible person to being a great mom who, although not perfect, does the best I can for my kids.  I love my life and feel like all the pieces are finally falling into place.


This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge.
This week, with Labor Day and the end of summer rapidly approaching, we asked you to write about a season of change for your character or you. It can be literal or metaphorical.

My Oma's Story-Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop

My Oma (that is German for Grandma) played a huge role in my life.  My first memories are of her and her dog, Heidi, who was a German Shepherd/Husky mix.  I loved that dog.

My Oma was born in 1920 in Germany.  She was the oldest of 9 children, and was responsible for most of her siblings' care.  When she was 17, right before the beginning of WWII, she left Germany for the United States.  She was the only one of her family to come.  She and a friend traveled together.

Once in the States, my Oma settled in New York.  She lived in Queens and worked as a babysitter/nanny.  My Oma married an Austrian butcher, who died of cancer 2 years before I was born.  I hate to say it, but I do not even know his first name.  She had my father in 1944, and my uncle 5 years later.

The family eventually moved to Wallkill, NY.  I remember going to my Oma's house here from the time I was a little girl.  I loved it there.  Her yard was full of flowers, fruit trees, and currant bushes.  In her windows were African violets and aloe plants, protected by green plastic, which she said made them grow better and gave part of her living room a green glow.

Whenever we visited, there was always great food waiting for us.  Goulash with mashed potatoes, liverwurst sandwiches, linzer cookies, fruit tarts, and apple strudel in abundance.  One of my biggest regrets is not learning how to make her strudel before she died.  I tried it a couple times and could never get a hang of stretching the dough thin enough without ripping it, so I gave up.  Since she knew the recipe by heart, I have no written record of it.  Her chocolate chip cookies were amazing also.  They were shaped like Hershey Kisses and were super crunchy  Although I do have this recipe, they never taste the way hers did.  She always put so much love in her food.

Oma also had a house in the Catskills.  Every summer, my dad, my sister, and I went to the cabin all summer long.  It is still one of  my favorite places to be.  Oma took us to the flea market every weekend.  We went to Church on Sudays and stopped at the grocery store on the way home for Entemann's Crumb Donuts.

I remember when Jurassic Park came out.  I begged my Oma to take me to see it at the giant multiplex near her house.  She had no idea what it was about, and agreed.  I was 9 years old.  It is one of my favorite movies ever, and I still watch it whenever it is on TV.  When we saw the T-Rex for the first time, my Oma peed her pants.  Thinking about it still makes me laugh.

When I was in middle school, my Oma had a heart attack and needed triple-bypass surgery.  Once she was released from the hospital, she stayed with us for a few months.   The surgery never even slowed her down.  She used to joke that "they cut me open like a chicken."

My Oma was always feisty and a spitfire, no matter how old she got.  Even when her body was slowing down, her mind was as sharp as ever. 

She always had her German sayings for everything.  They usually made me laugh.  As a child, I was fluent in German, although I have pretty much lost my understanding of it (well, when I hear it and people speak slowly, I can usually understand, but I can't read it or write it at all).  My favorite saying was "mit gegangen, mit gefangen, mit gehangen" (this may be spelled wrong).  A rough translation is "you go with them, you get caught with them, you hang with them." 

She and I went out to California together to visit my uncle.   The airport was a disaster.  My uncle bought the tickets, and we had so much trouble getting them because he was not there with us (and this was pre-9/11).  They eventually called him to straighten it out, even though it was only 4am where he was.  Then a man who was rushing to catch his flight ran into my Oma and knocked her down.  I was furious, but thankfully she was okay.  Then she got searched by security and gave the man such a hard time for making her take off her shoes (again, this was before these things happened regularly at the airport).  Once we finally got to California, though, it was a great trip.

She was so happy when T was born.  I wanted him to know and love his great-grandmother like I did.  However, it was not to be.  I got a call at work that she was being airlifted to a trauma center.  She had gone to the church rectory to get a mass card for her friend (the one she came to the States with) who recently died.  On her way out, she supposedly fell and hit her head on the stone steps.  No one knows how long she was laying there before the priest found her.

I say supposedly because there was an entire lawn and sidewalk between where she fell and where they found her keys (under a car on the street).  I truly believe someone hit her and tried to steal her car (Newburgh is a rough place, and there are a few reasons I think this).  However, I can't prove it and the police say it was just an accident.

She had a brain hemorrhage and fractured skull that was too bad to be operated on. My Oma was on life support at the hospital for 3 days, until my dad and uncle decided it was time.  She was buried next to her husband, in 2008.

I have so many wonderful memories of my Oma.  She was such an amazing woman.  I know I would never have had the courage to move overseas, away from my family, at age 17.  I love cooking and baking because of her.  She gave me a love of nature, although I do not have a green thumb and kill every plant come in contact with, except one of her African violets.  My Oma was such a huge influence on my life, and I still think of her every day.

This was written in response to a prompt for Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  The prompt was: tell your grandmother's story.

Wordless Wednesday-A Day in the Mountain Air

My Best Friend-RemembeRED

I enter the house, excited.  My happiness dampens a little when I am handed the mask.  I put it on and am immediately stifled.  The air becomes hot and stale.  I feel like I'm suffocating.  I try to ignore the feeling.

Once I'm ready to play, she comes out of her room.  Erin is my best friend.  She has leukemia.  But today is a good day for her.

We run to the basement, giggling and squealing.  I want to play Nintendo-Erin has Zelda.  All I have at home is Duck Hunt and Mario Brothers.  Erin wants to play dress up.  We pull the bin of clothes and accessories from its storage spot.

I choose the green floral dress like I usually do.  It is pale and long and covered with flowers.  My mom once wore it as a bridesmaid.  Erin picks her clothes and goes to the bathroom like she always does to put them on. 

I rip off the mask and gulp as much sweet, fresh, cool air as I can.  I cannot even tell you how much I hate this mask, but I know I can make Erin sick if  I don't wear it, and she's sick enough already.

Erin comes back into the room in a dress, hat, and boa.  We giggle and play.  We end up rolling on the floor, wrestling.  I try to roll Erin off me, then it happens.

Oh my God, I panic.  I made her hair fall out.  Erin's hair lay on the floor.  I burst into tears.  I didn't know how I did it, but I knew I made her hair fall off her head.  I was terrified. Erin ran upstairs, distressed.  I thought her mom was going to yell at me.

After calming myself down a little, I slowly trudged up the stairs, still in tears.  Erin was at the kitchen table.  Her hair was back on her head.  I learned that day that your hair falls out when you get treated for cancer.  Once I was assured I did not make her hair off by wrestling with her, everything was back to normal.

We ran downstairs to play Barbies. 

This post was written in response to this week's Write on Edge RemembeRED prompt.
Your assignment for this week is to write about a memory of yourself WITH someone else.

Note: Erin meant lot to me, and I will be writing another post about her soon.  I wrote some of it for this, but there were too many memories and more than 600 words.