Recipe help

So I made this the other night in the crockpot and though it was okay, it needs some tweaking. Tweaking isn’t my thing so I turn to you fine people.

I put in approx:

4 pounds potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced
2 cups shredded cheddar
1 chopped onion
Some chopped cooked ham
1 can cream of celery soup
1 can cheddar cheese soup
1 soup can of milk
some garlic powder and some s&p

It was kind of bland. One of the kids remarked that they thought it would be “something special, but it just tasted like au gratin potatoes out of the box” which, yanno, replicating boxed Betty Crocker isn’t an insult (to me). But how can I make it ‘something special’? Spices, meats, veggies? What?

Oh. I don’t think I mentioned this here, though I could have. Anyway, several weeks ago, maybe even months ago, on one of those days where I was out running errands all day and had no time to cook, I picked up a bag of frozen chicken strips and frozen french fries, which used to be a staple for meals in my pre-Master, non-cooking days, and not a single person was pleased with it as a meal.

In fact, it was said as they poked at it that I’d spoiled them now with cooking real meals and that frozen stuff “tasted like crap”. That just warmed my domestic little heart.

My whole grocery shopping experience is totally different now. I rarely even step foot into the prepared food aisles. I only go in the freezer section for frozen vegetables. I mostly shop the perimeter, starting in dairy, circling to meats and around to produce.

I still need to incorporate more rice and grains into my cooking and move a little further away from pastas and potatoes. None of us have ever been big rice eaters so it’s difficult to figure out how to cook it without having the same tired thing over and over again. Most of the rice dishes that I’ve experimented with have been yucky anyway and with the grocery budget being tight, I find myself shying away from iffy foods and sticking to what I know will get eaten. I’d really like to find a good rice and bean dish though.

I’m also looking to try some whole grain/wheat breads in the breadmaker. I’ve pretty well stopped using the machine since the only thing I could make in it was white bread and white dinner rolls and have been buying whole grain bread. But surely I can make something just as easily, and probably cheaper. So if anyone has a recipe for that, shoot it my way, please.

Also, thanks for all the chili recipes! That’s awesome. Maybe now I can redeem myself from that awful coffee-chocolate catastrophe.

The Question Meme

1. What is your first name?
Teresa

2. Were you named after anyone?
Strangely enough, I was supposed to be named after my dad. What makes it strange (to me) is that I was the 6th child and I’m not a boy. There were two boys born before me, and three girls. Why didn’t THEY get named after dad, huh?

Anyway, my dad’s name is Terry and the shortened form for Teresa was supposed to be Teri. All of my newborn pictures are “Teri sleeping” or “Teri crying”. But Teri never stuck.

3. Do you wish on stars?
No. Even as a child I thought wishing on things or believing in magical things was stupid. I never wished on birthday candles either.

4. When did you last cry?
Yesterday.

5. Do you like your handwriting?
My handwriting is pretty much illegible. Ever since the invention of the printer (well, ever since I got a printer), I’ve typed any notes or letters I’ve had to write and then just scribbled my name at the bottom. My handwriting is terrible.

6. What is your favorite lunch meat?
All through my growing up years, it was ham. Now, I really don’t like ham and I’ll take turkey, please.

7. What is your most embarrassing CD?
Air Supply’s Greatest Hits, I guess.

8. If you were another person, would you be friends with you?
Probably not. I’m not real friendly.

9. Do you have a journal?
Nope. Nuh-uh.

10. Do you use sarcasm a lot?
About as much as I whine. So, like, never. *nods*

11. What are your nicknames?
Tess, kaya, cunt. The usual sort.

12. Would you bungee jump?
Not for a million dollars.

Well, maybe for a million. Off the bed.

13. Do you untie your shoes before you take them off?
God no. My shoestrings are very precisely tied in the perfect spot. Not too tight, not too loose. I hate it when I’m forced to retie them. It takes me forever to get them in the right spot again.

14. Do you think that you are strong?
No.

15. What is your favorite ice cream flavor?
Butter Pecan

16. Shoe size?
8 to 8.5

17. Red or pink?
Pink! With glitter!

I am so sad that bedazzling never really took over the fashion world.

18. What is your least favorite thing about yourself?
My appearance.

19. What do you miss most?
Simplicity.

20. Do you want everyone you send this to, to send it back?
I’m not sending it to anyone so…..

21. What color pants/shoes are you wearing?
Black pants, no shoes.

22. What are you listening to right now?
To the sound of silence, waiting for Babygirl to wake up, which should be any minute now.

23. Last thing you ate?
Dinner last night: baked chicken, mashed potatoes, corn.

24. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
Is there a wtf-color? What a dumb question.

25. What is the weather like right now?
For a change of pace, the sun is shining. But there was frost this morning.

26. Last person you talked to on the phone?
My mother.

27. The first thing you notice about the opposite sex?
Size. I like boys that are tall and bulky and strong-looking.

28. Do you like the person who sent this to you?
No sending. I went forth and gathered.

29. Favorite drink?
Smirnoff Ice. Coffee. Water. In that order.

30. Favorite sport?
None of the above. I dislike sports. I do like to watch the Cubs, though. I <3 the Cubbies.

31. Hair color?
Brown. With a generous sprinkle of gray because it is half past Clairol time.

32. Eye color?
Blue-green. Or green-blue. I'm not sure which is the dominant color.

33. Do you wear contacts?
Glasses. I want contacts, though.

34. Favorite food?
Anything sweet. Or anything starchy.

35. Last movie you watched?
I just watched The Sweetest Thing with Jes the other day.

You mean last theater new-release movie? Avatar.

36. Favorite day of the year?
Christmas Eve.

37. Scary movies or happy endings?
Happy endings. I've enough of the other kind of ending to last me a lifetime.

38. Winter or summer?
Winter. I'm resigned to permanent winter so I might as well learn to enjoy it. Besides, I've forgotten what summer is. Did I mention there was frost this morning??

39. Hugs or kisses?
Hugs. I'm still not a fan of kissing.

40. What is your favorite dessert?
Chocolate anything tops the list. Or a good, gooey, loaded ice cream sundae.

41. Who is most likely to do this meme?
Somebody who is as bored as I am.

42. Who is the least likely to do this meme and comment?
Anyone who thinks memes are lame.

43. What books are you reading?
Origin in Death

44. What's on your mouse pad?
My finger.

45. What did you watch on TV last night?
Intervention.

46. Favorite smells?
Lilacs. Orange or lemon.

47. Favorite sound?
The sound of Master's truck pulling into the drive.

48. Rolling Stones or Beatles?
The Beatles.

49. What's the furthest you've been from your home?
Not far! I'm a homebody.

50. Do you have a special talent?
Drama Queen.

51. What is your ring tone?
The least annoying and most normal phone-ring sound that came with the phone.

On being a tireless cheerleader

I’ve had this page open for over an hour and haven’t started writing. Instead, I’ve been staring morosely out the window. My mood matches the view. Gray and chilly.

So yeah, it’s raining. Again.

I have pms. Again.

Ergo, I’m depressed and hate everybody. Again.

I can always only write what is currently on mind. And what is currently on my mind isn’t pleasant or pretty or sexy or kinky. So skip it if you’re hoping for any of that.

~~*~~

It’s very strange to have such conflicting emotions about Jes. I can’t even say that I’m flip-flopping emotions, because they aren’t changing from one to the other. I’m having both simultaneously.

The two? Irritation and defensiveness. I’m irritated with her but extremely defensive of her.

I know that she’s “fucking up”. I mean, christ, I live here, too. I’m not blind or stupid. I know she possesses every single bad trait that people like to point out. I’ve experienced those bad traits first hand on more than one occasion. I’m AWARE.

And they irritate me just as much as the next person who has to deal with her. I am irritated and frustrated and angry and blah blah blah.

But having those traits pointed out to me in a constant and never-ending stream of lets-bash-jes-today will absolutely bring me to her defense quicker than a ‘Maury’ DNA test result.

I get ANGRY. I don’t know if I’m angry because it’s akin to rubbing my nose in my failures as her mother, or if it’s because I’m somehow expected to have the answers to the complaints. Which I freely admit to not having. Even though I might (MIGHT) agree with what’s being said about her, hearing it pisses me right the fuck off. Why does it need to be voiced? And why does it need to be voiced every. single. fucking. day. We ALL know that she’s this, that and the other. Why does it have to have a spotlight trained on it all the time?

It’s like every time I turn around I’m having to hear “Guess what Jes did today?” or “Guess what Jes DIDN’T do today?” or “You need to tell Jes this” and “You need to tell Jes that” and “Jes needs to start doing -whatever-”

Because really- she knows it already. I know it already. We ALL know it.

So srsly? Shut the fuck up. Just. Shut. Up.

Having those traits pointed out to HER in a constant and never-ending stream of here-is-what-else-you-are-doing-wrong pisses me the fuck off FOR her. Leave her alone. Let her have some peace and quiet so she can figure her shit out. Give her some fucking emotional support. Or else you? Are nothing more than another problem.

Is she everything you say she is? Yeah. Maybe she is. Is constantly reminding her of that going to help change it? No more so than telling the fat chick how fat she is every fucking day. How successful is that move, eh?

How about “I’m proud of you for going to work everyday” or “you’re doing good with your counselor even though I know it’s hard” or “Good luck at class and on your test”, instead of a litany of what she should have been doing? I mean, goodness, let’s try a different approach since OBVIOUSLY this one isn’t WORKING.

She is 18. Not 30. Not 40. Let’s keep some realistic expectations here. Christ, we’re well older than 18 and we still ain’t got it all together ourselves.

She acts like a teenager because she is one. Having had a baby did not magically catapult her into a more mature and responsible age bracket.

Not only is she still just 18, she’s not even a healthy, well-adjusted 18. She wasn’t a healthy, well-adjusted 13 or 14 or 15 or 16 or 17 either.

THIS IS NOT A NEW PROBLEM. This is not a surprise. This is not a shock. She’s been struggling for years.

We’ve stuck our heads in the sand. We’ve turned our backs and let other people deal with her. We’ve tried wishful thinking, ignoring, deflecting, excusing, rationalizing, pretending, denying. We’ve done everything but face it.

Let me repeat. She’s been struggling for years. Now? It just has a name. Go on and deny the validity of the label all you want. It doesn’t change a fucking thing. She’s still struggling and still going to continue to struggle, just as she always has done all her life.

You know what I was doing at 18?

First, let me highlight what I was NOT doing. I was not in school. I was not working. I was not responsible or mature or making good choices.

I was in the psych ward of the hospital trying to figure out if I could do enough damage to my veins with a drapery hook to bleed out enough to DIE.

I ran medical bills up so high, some several hundred thousand dollars AFTER insurance, that I ruined my parent’s credit and they had to file bankruptcy. The ramifications of which took them years and years and years to recover from.

Thank GOD that neither my mother nor my step-father gave up on me. Thank GOD they had faith that I’d figure my shit out someday, even if today was not that day.

Never did they rub my nose in what I was costing them. Not ONCE. Never did they make me feel like I wasn’t worth every second of heartache, every hospital run, every night of angst and emotional outburts and turmoil I put them through.

Thank GOD I had someone I could count on, no matter what. No matter how shitty I may have acted, when I needed them, they were there with open arms.

I couldn’t tell you how many times I woke them up because I needed to talk to someone or because I was having an anxiety attack over the meaning of life. How often their plans had to change because I was “having a bad day”.

And that was without the added pressure of a baby. A miracle in itself because I sure as hell wasn’t doing much to protect myself from having one.

Never, ever, did they say “I give up. I quit.” Because if they would have? I probably would have, too.

I will NOT give up on mine, though it would sure be nice to not have to be there alone. Either way, I will be there, even after she’s put me through the wringer. I will not focus on the mistakes and the failures. I do not have to give voice to them to know they are there. I will applaud the successes and the reached milestones, few and far between, and seemingly insignificant, though they may be.

She probably won’t be a college graduate on her way to corporate success in 4 years. She may very well be only slightly ahead of where she is now. For some, success is defined as still breathing at the end of the day. And sometimes that has to be enough. For yourself, and for everyone else.

Someday, just as I did, she’ll find her way. I will not be just one more obstacle that she can’t wait to break free of.

You Win Some, You Lose Some…

First, the losing part-

I came across a chili recipe in the livejournal crockpot community that sounded hella intriguing. It had coffee and chocolate in it. I figured there was just no way to go wrong with coffee and chocolate.

Wrong. Oh it can so go wrong. It was horrid. Awful. Disgusting.

Master said he liked it, however, he was exhausted (didn’t get home from work until 9pm) and starving (probably hadn’t eaten since breakfast). I told him his opinion was invalid on account of he was under duress at the time of consumption.

The winning part-

My deliciously sexy friend, zille, sent me a link to a chicken cream cheese crock pot dish that I finally got around to trying, and it was pretty yummy. Fattening as all get out but then the best dishes usually are.

I served it over noodles cuz my Man is a Pasta Man through and through, and it was very fettucini-alfredo-ish. I think it would do great over rice, too. And I suppose one could lessen the fat content using fat free cream cheese or whatever.

A hint though, if you do try it- 3 lbs of chicken is WAY too much. At the last minute I even doubled the sauce and it was still too much chicken. And though it says 6 servings, it’s much more than that. I served 4, the kids and Master had seconds, I packed some in his lunch, and there is still a bowl of it in the fridge.

But thumbs up on the taste. Way better than chocolate-coffee chili. *shudder*

~~*~~

Today, I have to take Am and B-man to the dermatologist for what should be Am’s last appt. She is done done done with accutane. B-man didn’t start at the same time so he’s still got a couple of months to go. I will be so glad when it’s all over. The side effects are ridiculous. But the results are worth it to them.

Thank heavens Master has good prescription coverage cuz that shit is expensive, too.

~~*~~

I was too slow grabbing my camera to snap a shot of the deer that was sitting in the backyard this morning. It was probably the same one who ate all the green beans in my garden, the son of a bitch.

Oh I suppose there is no one to blame but myself. It’s not like I don’t know we have deer running through the yard or that they like fresh green things. I just like to think I should be spared the fate of others. Because I am special.

But alas, I’m not special enough and now, all I have in the green bean patch is short, stubby stalks of emptiness.

In fact, the only thing doing well in the whole damn garden is the onions. I remarked to Master that we have $300 onions. Joy. There is nothing else in there that is over an inch high and with the short growing season, I just don’t see it making it to production before it gets too cold. It hasn’t helped that the sun hasn’t been out in about two weeks and everything is drowned.

Two of the three hanging tomatoes are fairing decently well, though, I guess. I think the third one drowned by poor placement. It’s not only getting rained on every-fucking-day but it’s catching all the run-off from the roof, too, I think. By the time I figured it out, it was too late to move it. Already dead, the poor thing. I’m still not sure how much the survivors will produce but they are starting to flower.

I am not a happy gardener up in this wasteland. Very much not happy. And to think I was going to start to canning my stash in Wisconsin. Now, I can’t even seem to get enough for a meal.

Bah humbug.

~~*~~

We have $214.00 left to pay on Am’s braces. Those were $5,000 teeth. That last payment is going to make me deliriously happy. They’ve been off for about 6 months, she’s down to wearing her retainer only at night and she has one more follow-up appt in October. And then? I am never going to set foot in an orthodontist’s office again.

Of course, when I was there, they pointed out that she needs to have her wisdom teeth removed pretty soon.

~head desk~

~~*~~

Speaking of wisdom, I’ve imparted mine on Fet already this morning. *nods*

~~*~~

I’ve suspended my gym membership for the time being. Things are just too hectic, our car still isn’t running right, I have Babygirl almost all the time- I just wasn’t getting there often enough to justify the fee.

Good news is I can reactivate at any time with no additional cost. Bad news is I do not have the motivation to exercise at home. Not in pushing myself like I do at the gym.

I did go on a bike ride the other day though, probably 7 or 8 miles, which seemed like a lot at the time. Of course I got rained on coming home because, like I said, the sun has forgotten about us yoopers. But even doing 7 or 8 miles, it wasn’t hard. I wasn’t even tired by the end. So I don’t anticipate that bike riding is going to do much for weight loss.

I was never that great at the diet part anyway. I was only losing inches due to exercise. So, I dunno. I’m rethinking the gym thing and wondering if I just need to make it happen somehow. Or give it up and become a lump.

~~*~~

The roller coaster that is Jes continues. I guess we’re unofficially taking guardianship, which just means that I’m not going to go through the courts to do it- yet. Master and I are probably going to make an appointment with her counselor, just to try and get a workable understanding of the diagnosis. We tend to snap at each other about it, and about her, when most of that could be headed off if we had a cohesive idea of what we’re dealing with. At least, that’s the hope anyway.

He’s skeptical that she has anything wrong with her other than being a lazy, irresponsible, manipulative teenager, whereas I think the lazy, irresponsible, manipulating is a part of what she has. He gets growly, I get defensive, blah blah blah.

We’re learning though. We really are. We have to be in this together or not at all. I won’t risk us over any of it.

We’ve sinced moved Babygirl’s crib into our bedroom which is far from ideal but necessary at the moment. We have a split level house and Jes and Babygirl’s room is(was) on the lower level and we’re on the upper level, which is just too far away for my comfort to leave her down there alone at night. Even with a baby monitor to hear her, it bothered me.

We have another bedroom up here, which we can and will turn into the baby’s room if it comes to that (which it likely will). Right now it’s Master’s “mancave” and though he’s okay with losing it, I’m not okay with it until he has another cave to hide out in. That cave will be downstairs, probably where B-man is now because I’ll move him over to Jes’s room whenever she moves out. (It all makes sense to me. Srsly.)

In the meantime though, Babygirl sleeps in our room and that, my friends, means no sex because I think that is hella creepy.

~~*~~

So! There is really nothing to share on the M/s front. It continues to operate quietly in the background, pretty much without thought or effort, which is cool, I guess. I’m getting better at separating that from the kink of s&m, understanding that one does not rely on the other, and that I really can function decently without being beaten.

Though there is no question that I function better with the occasional beating. Just sayin’. :D

Almost-but-not-quite-homemade…

…tomato sauce that is almost-but-not-quite made in your slow cooker.

I can’t remember if I posted this here or not. I don’t think I did. I posted it on the Domestic Blog a few months ago, but not here. Anyway, if it’s a repeat, I’m sorry. I got an email a bit ago asking for recipes and we had this for dinner last night, so I’m posting it.

From babies to bruises to bomato sauce (sorry. got caught up in the alliteration of it all).

I wish I could figure up the cost comparison between this and Ragu but I’m too lazy it’s too much thinking for 6am on a Tuesday. Having to price out a single carrot or stalk of celery is… bah.. I dunno. My gut tells me this is cheaper, my mouth tells me it tastes better, my body tells me it’s healthier, therefore- this recipe is way better than store-bought. Like that logic? :)

So what you need, to start, is a bottle of red wine.

Open it. Pour about 6 oz in a cup and set it aside.

Pour the rest in a glass and start sipping on it. Don’t worry. It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.

Then take a couple of diced up carrots (I use 3), a couple of diced up stalks of celery (I use 2), a chopped onion, some minced garlic (I use the handy stuff in a jar) and a tablespoon or two of evoo.

This is the homemade but not-slow-cooker part:

Toss all of those aforementioned ingredients in a pan and saute the shit outta them.


(Do you see that chip there on my brand-spanking-new stove? Right there in front of the pan? Know where that came from? A bottle of wine! I know, right? We have toooo much wine in this house. The cat jumped up on the cabinets, knocked a bottle off and it dented my stove! AND left a dent in the floor. Didn’t break the bottle though. That’ some seriously well-bottled wine!)

You really gotta saute this for awhile. Everything has to be nice and soft. This gives you plenty of wine-sipping time.

I have tried to rush this part before and not let the carrots get soft and I only ended up with crunchy sauce. Really not the texture I was going for. So, don’t rush. Take your glass of wine, put your feet up, and sip ‘n’ saute.

When everything is tender, open up one small can of tomato paste and dump that sucker in.

Here, we conveniently run into more drinking time because you’re going to want to sit back and let this heat up a little bit. Let it even get a little fried and brown looking. Stir it around now and then, between sips, and just smell the garlic-y, tomato-y goodness. Depending on how fast you’ve been sipping, you might even start talking to it. S’okay if no one else is home. If there is someone else home? Whisper.

Once it’s all cooked through and starting to scrape off the pan a bit, remove the pan from the heat, take your reserved 6oz of wine (don’t tell me you dipped into it because then you’re forced to open another bottle and at this point, you should probably walk away from the stove. Shut it off first though.) and pour it in the pan to deglaze.

Scrap all that browned bit of goodness together, set it back on the heat and let it bubble merrily away.

This is where it starts to smell so. fucking. yummy. Kinda yeasty, very earthy, very heady, intoxicatingly delicious, room-spinning — wait. Maybe that’s the wine talking.

Nevermind.

While that’s heating through, we’ll move on to the not-homemade but definitely slow-cooker cooking part.

Open up 3 cans of diced tomatoes and 2 cans of stewed tomatoes and dump them in the crock.

Carefully pour in the sauteed wine mixture. Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you’ve sipped too heartily. That shit is hot.

Add in a couple of bay leaves, a generous shake of oregano and basil (or whatever other italian-y spices you want), and a teaspoon or so, maybe a little less, of sugar to cut the tang of the ‘maters.

Stir it all up and set it on low for about 4, 5, 6, whatever hours.

Finish your wine. Or, if you’ve already finished it, go take a nap, ya lush. Jeez. Can’t take you anywhere.

While that’s cooking, let’s chat.

This is the part where I figured I could cut short on the saute time and the carrots and celery would finish getting mushy in the crock. It works with roast and soup so wtf-chuck? Well, it didn’t work and I have no idea why. Fail. I ended up straining out hard bits of carrot and that was a bitch.

I think you could probably add almost any sort of vegetable in the sauce to sneak some in to your family because here in a bit, we’re going to blend it all up and they will never know. It’s like when a recipe calls for cream of mushroom soup and my kids think mushrooms are akin to little flecks of fungus-y poop and won’t eat a thing that is even in the same room with a mushroom so I dump the can of soup into the blender and eradicate the tiny gray lumps and they don’t even know it’s in there. Dumbasses. Heh.

But I digress.

I bet zucchini would be awesome. Maybe even cauliflower. Oh heck, you could add a lot of stuff. Go hog wild with it. But like I mentioned before, make sure they are sauteed into softness or else they don’t blend worth a shit.

I’ve also used broth in place of wine to see how that tastes, and… meh… the wine brings a pretty unique flavor to it that I missed with the broth. Maybe if I’d have used broth first so I wouldn’t know what I was missing, it’d've been okay.

One other little tidbit about the finished product- for whatever reason, when you’ve plated it, it seems to get a little watery. Like, don’t try carrying your plate across the light beige living room carpet and tipping it just slightly or red tomato water will drip all over the place (Thanks B-man!). I have no idea what to do about it or why it happens or anything. I just ignore it and the kids make snide comments about having “spaghetti soup” for supper. Ungrateful fuckers.

Fortunately, by then I’ve had enough wine that I think they are hilarious ungrateful fuckers.

Okay. Back to the cooking. Keep up with me, lushes, we’re almost done!

If you don’t like chunky sauces (or are sneakily disguising vegetables) AND you’re blessed enough to have an immersion blender like I am (Thank you thrift store. Brand new, still in the box!), then stick it in there and start pureeing that shit up.

Personally, I think I would like the chunky sauce. I’m not sure Master would though because he really doesn’t like chunks of tomato. And I know the kids wouldn’t eat it. They even know what’s in it before I blend it, but they still wouldn’t eat it if I didn’t.

Anyway. Puree it up. Carefully. One wrong tip of the hand-held blender and you have tomato puree flying across the walls, the cabinets, yourself. Ask me how I know this.

It’ll look like this when you’re done. Like you just poured it out of a jar.

Though this is a meatless sauce, I have added meat to it before. Mostly, I find that adding the meat to the sauce makes it greasy. So, if I’m going to have meat with the meal, I cook it separate and add it to the plate and not in with the sauce.

Add something green, some bread, a drink (wine if you have any left, ya boozer!) and call it a meal.

In summary, and sans my witty banter, teh recipe is:

1-2 Tbsp of EVOO
2-3 carrots, diced
1-2 stalks of celery, diced
1 medium onion, chopped
3-ish cloves of garlic, minced
1 can tomato paste
3 cans of diced tomatoes
2 cans of stewed tomatoes
6 oz. red wine, or some sort of deglazing liquid
2 bay leaves
Italian spices of some sort
sugar

1. Saute onions, carrots, celery and garlic in a pan with olive oil until soft.

2. Dump in the tomato paste. Let cook for a few minutes

3. Remove pan from heat, deglaze. Put it back on the heat and let cook until it gets thick and smells yummy.

4. Empty cans of tomatoes in the slow cooker. Add contents of saute pan.

5. Add bay leaves, spices and sugar. Stir.

6. Cook on low for 4 -6 hours.

7. Remove the bay leaves and blend up, or serve as is.

Buon appetite!

I love the look of bruises in the morning

Let’s check that sucker out up close.

Wait. What is that? Oh yeah! It’s a bruise on the tip o’ the nip. Where there should never be one!

These are handprint bruises. One swat, each side. The same marks are still there today.

Tire-tread paddle, rattan cane, lexan cane,… um.. don’t remember what else.

I’m hoping someone else got pictures of the suspension and fire flogging, but I’m not sure. If so, you’ll see them when I do! :D

Oh yeah. We Got This.

So. No question. We still got something. I’m a “bruised up turd” today, to quote my oh-so-eloquent Master.

It was an interesting play session. It’s always different in front of other people, more light-hearted and fun than deep and serious. Neither of us can really manage to reach that intense connection that proceeds deep-n-serious with an audience. Which isn’t a complaint- keeping it fun and playful appeals to me on a different level. I like being able to banter and challenge without fear of reprisal.

Plus, he didn’t have me restrained, which, in my reluctant-masochist opinion, was a clear invitation to fight, so fight I did. I never run far, just dance out of reach now and then. Or with every stroke. Whatever.

From the looks of me, he landed plenty of strokes anyway. Mayhaps I should work on my dancing skillz.

I think it was a perfect ‘reintroduction’ to s&m. No pressure, no worries. Just fun, pain, more fun, more pain, and.. fun.

At one point I ended up in an impromptu suspension, with rope pulling pretty damn hard on my tits. There was rope around my chest/back and knees, too, but, srsly, I’m beginning to think he has a secret tit-removal fetish.

Also, I have a purple bruised welt perfectly dead-center on my nipple. Ou-fucking-ch. I had to remind him, mid-scene, that my body consisted of more than boobs and nipples. Good God man, pick another target already!

We had to bug out of the party early and a couple of the party-goers followed us home where we sat and chit-chatted for another hour or so. I dunno, it just felt good to not be thinking/worrying about kid stuff and to have WIITWD be the focus. It felt…. normal. We let the other stuff crowd out what is good for us and we really shouldn’t.

When everyone went home, I ended up stuck under the desk, ass in the air, his dick nestled deep inside, and that felt like coming home, too.

I don’t think this is fixed, by any means. It’s lightened, and it’s reaffirmed that we’re okay, and that we both still want IT. We still face all of the obstacles that were here yesterday and will be here tomorrow. But- we recaptured something, something that we feared we’d lost. The obstacles seem less overwhelming today.

Pictures to come. Maybe. I’m feeling like SUCH a tease today! :P

Still Got It?

He’d been off the airplane for less than 30 minutes and in the house for less than 15 before he had me naked on the bed with my ankles pinned behind my ears and was roughly ramming himself home.

In short order I was trembling on the edge, the very very edge, the breath-holding, face-scrunching, leg-shaking, toe-tingling edge, when he reared back and started delivering short, sharp smacks to my tits, pausing only to deliver equally short, sharp smacks to my hands when they fluttered too close to interrupting the tit smacking.

The pain was delicious.

The orgasms that spluttered out of me were deliciouser.

After, as I was trying to spot-wash the ‘evidence’ off of the comforter and he was drifting off into a jet-lag induced nap, he grinned sleepily at me. “We still got it, babe.”

My red, aching boobs seemed to agree with him.

We’re supposed to be going to a party today, with a very good chance of play. Maybe we’ll find out what we’ve really got.

Wish us luck.

“The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.”

So Master’s out whooping it up in the mountains and casinos of Nevada. Oh sure, sure, it’s a WORK trip (picture me making finger quotation marks around work). Still. He’s there and I? Am not.

*twiddles thumbs*

I’d like to say I’m bored but.. no. I wish I was bored. I’m totally stressed out.

I do think I’ve gained back all of, or close to all of, the weight I’d lost. Meh. I don’t even care.

That’s not true. I do care. I’m supremely pissed at myself for being so weak. I really need to pull my head outta my ass (or, more accurately, spit the food outta my mouth) and remember why I was doing this in the first place.

Jes is in a down swing. And after I’d just bragged her up, too. She’s back to asking us to take temporary guardianship and I’m just so… fucking… I don’t know what. Torn? Confused? Yes. Those.

On the one hand I think if we swoop in and ‘rescue’ her, she’s never going to step up. Because she’ll never have to.

On the other hand I cannot stand to watch the instability that Babygirl is subjected to. Everything else aside, Babygirl needs stability, she needs safety, she needs structure. None of which Jes is capable of providing, at least not right now.

On the OTHER hand (I have lots of hands) I know Jes loves her beyond all reason and I go back and forth on how much of this she is even able to fix or control or do or… whatever. The counseling is on-going, but it’s not a quick fix. And though I want to believe that motherly love will overcome all else, that’s not always the case, is it? Whose sanity and safety would I be risking by giving Jes the ‘sink or swim’ lecture? Hers? Babygirl’s? Mine? How would I live with a bad outcome if my only reason for forcing it was because I thought she SHOULD be able to control what she says she cannot?

And on the other hand, though she’s telling me now- no, begging and pleading with me to not make it be that she has to give her up for adoption (as if we’d ever let that happen anyway)- we’ve gone down this road before and tomorrow or next week or next month or next year, she’s not going to feel like she does right now. This is the mental disorder talking.

On the other hand (last one, I promise), is having to first figure out what the baby-daddy is going to say about it. Because letting us have her on a temporary basis, if it remains temporary, will not be quite the same thing as letting Daddy have her and then trying to get her back when she’s in a better state of mind. I don’t know if he would oppose a temporary custody arrangement. I don’t know if he CAN oppose it, or how it all works. He’s never signed the birth certificate but he did establish paternity. I know his rights would supercede mine, for sure. I also know he’s no more stable than Jes is, and is without the benefit of a somewhat stable family to help. Getting custody from Jes might make things worse for Babygirl in that she ultimately ends up with her Daddy.

Do I just keep stepping in when she’s in the down swing, and step back when she’s not, and let Babygirl ride the waves with her? Do I chance taking a more legal step of temporary guardianship and invest myself into being the primary caregiver, leaving Jes with the option of taking back guardianship no matter what swing she’s in at the moment? Do I chance losing Baby completely to her father? Do I take the chance and fight for more permanent steps from both of them until Jes is stable, has some good therapy under her belt, or… Do I do nothing. Step back. Sink or swim.

That’s not even taking Master’s thoughts and feelings into account. He’s less…. understanding and sympathetic to her ‘disorder’. I think logically he gets it, but not really. I suspect he’s still carrying a fair bit of resentment over being thrust into the provider role of yet another child. And while he’d never deny me taking custody and we have talked about the possibility of being in this for the long haul with the baby, I have a feeling that his commitment to “long haul with Babygirl” means sans also doing the long haul with Jes. Meaning, if we take the kid, she moves out. If she lives here, she takes care of her kid. Or.. something along those lines. In other words, he’s not going to assume primary care of her baby just so she can run around and party like a teenager who didn’t have a baby while still living off his dime.

Of course, that brings up a whole ‘nother bit to be torn about because how on earth do I kick out someone who is as fucked up as she is? If she had the capability of making it on her own, we wouldn’t be HERE talking about THIS.

Today I seriously considered calling someone about inpatient treatment. Had she indicated even just a hair more that she was anymore…whatever-the-fuck-she-is, manic, panicked, angsted, *whatever*, I’d have made a call. If I have trouble dealing with her feelings, imagine how SHE feels.

She says when it gets real bad, she just needs to go. She has to get out, get away, leave, run- go somewhere. Babygirl is a leash, a restraint. She feels trapped and tied and that sends the anxiety through the roof and then she gets angry- no, not angry, she rages.

I can’t turn my back on it. Not on her, not on baby. I can’t.

I think Master could, with a lot more ease than I ever could. Maybe not on Babygirl. But certainly with a lot less angst over Jes. I’m pretty sure he still suspects she’s faking it.

Do you have any idea how much it terrifies me that he’ll turn his back on ME because I can’t turn my back on them? It scares me right into the bon bons. I know that everyone, regardless of their honor, their integrity, their intentions, everyone has a limit. There are days that I think I’m at mine so I know that he’s crossed his more times than I care to think about. And now, with the apparent ease that we’re letting the one thing we’ve wanted our whole lives, the thing that brought us together, that made us who we are, we’re so easily letting it slip away…

Think too much? Me? Yeah. Maybe. Hard not to though, you know?

*le sigh*

It’s always something.

Am made a digital story for Babygirl’s birthday (can you believe it? She’ll be a year old in less than a month!). I watched it tonight and just bawled through the whole thing. She’s so innocent, so.. untouched and unmarred by this. So far.

I just don’t know what to do.

Is it any wonder kink is off the table right now? Christ, deciding what to make for dinner sucks up all my resources. Master exhausts his at work.

Bored would be a nice change.

Narrow Miss

We missed the local munch last night because Master got called into work and so he could get things ready for his trip out of town this week.

I went along with him when he got called in. It wasn’t a repair call, just a parts delivery, so I was able to ride-along and keep him company. We didn’t get home until 2:30am. So. Tired.

It was a nice chance to talk though. There’s just so much up in the air lately and the direction of our lives seems… oh I dunno. Directionless?

Maybe that’s just me. I feel directionless. I feel like I’ve lost my navigator.

We talked some about how we’ve put the specifics of bdsm on the back burner, and questioned whether or not we even want it anymore.

Initially, we both were pretty nonchalant about the idea of dropping it completely. It’s so far off of his radar right now, so impossible for us, really, at least in matters of kink.

And of course, for me, it’s always been the kink that made it real.

It all came up because I’d asked what his thoughts were for the extra space we’ll have when the kids move out (if ever!). He said that he’d like a playroom, unless, that is, we weren’t “in the lifestyle anymore”.

Then there was that strange period of both of us confronting our nonchalance over not doing “this”.

Really, trying to imagine it. What would change. What wouldn’t.

Could we even do it.

Right now, we’re M/s…. because he still is the boss and I still am not. He makes the rules, I follow them. I follow them because I choose to, not because he’s standing over me with a whip. The whip is dusty.

What would change right now? Probably nothing. Because to change the dynamic, we’d both have to deny or alter our personalities. He’s still dominant, I’m still submissive. Naturally and organically. That’s how we relate to each other.

The kink is already gone. Has been for awhile. It may come back when circumstances allow, it may not. It may be that we’ve outgrown that need, both of us.

I would not be satisfied or happy in an egalitarian relationship. Neither would he. There’s no question there.

I guess other people do M/s without kink. It’s a difficult thing for me to wrap my head around though because it was exactly the kink that, for me, set us apart from vanilla couples.

What a strange new twist this is turning out to be.

The neat thing, though, is that as we mulled over in our heads to ourselves the very idea of dropping it all: the label, the kink, the expectations, the.. whatever.. and just relating as Scott and Tess, husband and wife, we both had a little sad over it. We both, separately, came to the conclusion that whatever and however this ends up manifesting itself for us, we want it.

We want IT.

Now to pinpoint what IT is turning out to be.