Somehow, I get the impression...

That this person from this week's Postsecret collection might be Belgian or a big fan of Belgium. Not exactly sure how I came to this conclusion. :::snicker::::

Improvised yumminess, tulips and reminiscing.

The Kitchen Sink Casserole 
Thrown together when I had no ideas and a spare Pantry

A package of Apple Chicken sausage
2 1/2 cups of Gruyere cheese (grated)
One of those kid-lunch sized thing of whipping cream
Milk (I just eyeballed the amount)
Some rigatoni-like pasta (I used the short, squanty ones)
Head of cauliflower
Nutmeg
Salt
Pepper
A tablespoon of flour
A tablespoon of butter
A sprinkle of panko

First: Broil the sausages until they're done.
Then: Steam the cauliflower until it's tender
Then: Boil the pasta until it's al dente.

Sauce:
Melt butter in saucepan.
Whisk in the flour to make a roux
Whisk in the whipping cream in dollops to avoid making
unwanted dumplings.

Add salt, pepper and grate up some nutmeg to taste.

Add milk until you have a creamy, only slightly
saucy consistency (it'll thicken more when baking).

Add 2 cups of cheese. I threw in a little leftover block of
sharp cheddar too, and some medium cheddar just
for fun.  I left 1/2 cup of the grated cheese aside.

Whisk the sauce until the cheese is completely melted into it.
(lift up the whisk and there should be no cheesy strings)

Meanwhile, cut your sausage into wheels, put into casserole dish.
Cut your cauliflower into little florets and add to dish.
Add drained pasta.  Mix it up.

Sprinkle with more salt and pepper and nutmeg.

Pour sauce over the food in the casserole dish.
Top with last 1/2 cup grated cheese and panko.

Bake at 450 for 25 minutes.

Enjoy. :)

On Sunday, hubby and I packed the baby into the car, slid by the assisted living facility and picked up grandma Peteranecz (aka Satan) and headed to Woodburn, where there is the Wooden Shoe Tulip Festival.  I expected it to be ... bigger, I guess. I'm used to the fields in Holland, where there are tulips as far as they eye can see... and god it was crowded.  But we still had a lovely time.

Alex was bundled up. It was cool out there.

My baby boy in the flowers.

It was nice. We didn't stay too long, there were a lot of people, and we didn't have money to go and spend in the gift shop or whatever. There was a group of Harley Davidson riders there. I will be honest, I just don't get them. Is there some kind of hidden agreement when they buy the bike that they should look as douchebaggy and dirtbaggy as possible when riding it.  Even the women look that way. They look like skanky men.  They were amongst hordes of families enjoying the tulips, talking at the top of their lungs about crass subjects.  This guy with grizzled hair in a ponytail, decked out in chaps and studs and skulls shouted: Tit inspector! Take 'em out! HAHAHAHA. ::eyeroll:: They were a blot of darkness obstructing a river of families and children flowing around them. They took twenty minutes to leave, finding it necessary to start up their bikes and to rev them repeatedly to make as much as spectacle of themselves as possible.  I don't get the harley types.

Anyway... on the 17th, my little pumpkin completed his fifth month in this world.  I was sifting through my husband's photos, and found these from the morning of November 17th, 2012. Nine-ish. :)  Never mind how crappy I look... I was in labour for over 36 hours by the time he came 'round.

I was tired. So was my baby.

My newest costume project. Farewell wedding gown!

Yes, I am demolishing my wedding gown. My friend Nora came up to visit me on Sunday, and exclaimed her astonishment that I was brave enough to do it. "I'm not emotionally attached to my wedding gown, but I still am not brave enough to just pull it apart."

Well... it's not that I dislike my gown. Au contraire. I was absolutely in LOVE with this style. I found out after I bought mine, that they had a version in ice crystal blue and white that I coveted too.  But, as it is with wedding gowns... what do you do with it afterwards? You store it for indefinite periods, you try to impose it on a daughter or niece or something. I tried to resell it, but nobody was interested. I really didn't want to pay exorbitant amounts of money to preserve it either so it could sit in the attic or closet.  It has been hanging in the closet since October of 2005.  I was looking at it one day, and I observed the pretty gold and ivory tones, the lace and organza overlay and thought... this is the makings of a Regency ballgown. Yeah, sure, it isn't a historical accuracy thing... this is synthetic flat satin. But what the hell. At least it'll get a few more wearings and will get put into the rotation of event costumes again, instead of taking up space in our coat closet.

My gown was about $675... a Maggie Sottero. It was called the 'Rowena'. Here's what it looked like on the catalog on a skinny model.

Here is my gown before I started picking it apart.  The gown is a flat satin in ivory with an organza overlay edged in dark gold, almost brassy lace with swarofski crystals here and there.

The front.

Closer look at the back.

I began by removing the lace on the bodice.  It is
embroidered on a very sheer net and was easy to remove.
They used some spider-silk fine thread to attach it.

Here is a picture of the embellishment piece
made for the front. I also removed two from the back.
I left the rest on the organza because I plan to use it as is.

The lining is of the same fabric, which is advantageous, because I want to add fullness to the skirts and need to build a Regency bodice and I want to make some detailed sleeves.  I'm excited to get started, although today was proof it's going to be a long road, because every time I put the baby down in his bouncy-seat, or on his play mat, he would fuss, so I got nothing done except to spread out the separated panels onto the dining table.  I haven't quite figured out my strategy yet, but I will begin to document it as I go along.  I hope (emphasis on HOPE) to get this done for April 26th's ball. Hahahahahaha!  argh. I HOPE (emphasis on HOPE) that I can get this done by the April 26 ball. I'm laughing at my ambition, considering how little time I Have between baby fussings to do anyhthing... but I will TRY.. Emphasis on TRY. Either way, whether it's done by April 26 or not (probably not), I will document my progress and post another update that will detail my progress and a photo when it's done. I hope. I will try. ::LOLing at herself::

Incidentally.... The perfect Regency shoes have arrived! American Duchess has created the dyeable satin 'Highbury' complete with ribbon loops! They are discounted for pre-order, so be sure to order yours now!

They're here! Order yours today!

Five years of randomness and weirdness

Here's to many more! Woohoo!

Bitter blast from the past

Baby J is growing up too quickly! Almost five months already!

Opinions change. At least mine do. Maybe back in the day, when was still in my impassioned, idealist twenties, I might have resisted this notion, but now that I’m over 40… you realize that sometimes, you can be wrong about things, and sometimes, you have to give the benefit of the doubt.  I realized this recently. I already have the challenge of my introverted nature to battle in order to create and maintain relationships with people. I've had social anxiety for all of my life. What ‘cured’ me of it… or more accurately, what forced me to deal with it, was my job with the Merrimack Valley Community Service Corps, and namely, my gregarious and often charismatic boss, Terry.  Terry is/was one of the most outgoing, social, open person I had ever met, and mind you, I grew up in a saddle club with a bar and club house.

Since I can't illustrate this narrative, I'll just post pictures
of my baby. :)

Some folks called Terry a ‘dry drunk’. Someone with all the behaviours and narcissistic habits of an alcoholic, but without the booze. He was a drinker and partier in his youth, and when he dropped it, he still had to be the center of attention. I was okay with that. I adored him. He was and still is the best person I have ever worked for—even if it was exhausting. Every day, Terry would hold court. I only was able to spend time in my own office when he was out or on the phone. Thankfully, because he was such a chatty attention whore, he as on the phone a lot. Hahaha. His sparkly blue eyes, strong English/Irish traits, and his super-strong New England accent, this charming son-of-a-bitch could only rip me out of my shell.  He did it the moment I started working for him.  Around Terry, I learned to be open, to laugh, to joke around, to chat, to interact, and to be open and less fearful about engaging other human beings.  I love Terry for that, and for so many other reasons.  These days, this normally slim walker has pudged up a bit. His hair has turned white and he’s growing a white beard. He looks like a Springtime Santa. I haven’t seen him in person for many years, but he does drive-bys on my Facebook account occasionally to like the innumerable photos of Baby J.  Terry is a community theatre ‘star’… has an amazing singing voice and is as melodramatic and charismatic as anyone can be. I miss him all the time.  You can probably find him with Pentucket Players.  He is still doing the same job.

First time having solids (brown rice cereal). I decided to
wait it out because he became constipated. His
digestive system just isn't ready.

Anyway, I digress. I loved Terry. I loved him because he taught me to figure out who I was, and taught me to find enjoyment in interaction with other people, even if it was hard and daunting.  All these years later, I have grown so much socially. The ORS is proof that I can overcome the crippling introversion that has hampered me, and yes, I do talk too much about myself, and I do overshare, but I’d rather have that and be an interactive, engaging person, than just being the hermit my nature keeps trying to make me.
With relationships… hell, with people, you have drama. I’m not a big fan of drama. I remember being a dramatic soul myself in my twenties. I look back with some measure of embarrassment as I see how my penchant for it affected the relationships I did have at the time.  I lost a couple of good friends who got tired of it. I wish I could find them to apologize.

In my circle of friends, I have had people who have rubbed me the wrong way. I have had to do a lot of soul searching to understand what it was that did, and what it would take for me to confront that dislike and understand it and in some cases, overcome it to come to the realization that most of it is contrived and cultural. Most of it is fabricated. And given a chance, the people I initially find irksome, are often really great people who just do things differently than I do.  I change my mind about people. It happens, I guess. It’s something I realized about myself and I can say with pleasure, it’s something I can be proud of. I can get over myself and give people the benefit of the doubt. I guess it comes with maturity.  It makes me aware of how much energy and emotional baggage holding grudges and bad feelings for people exacts from me as a person. I feel so much more liberated knowing I can just let that resentment go and move on.  Life is too short to spend it being bitter.

The other day, I got a message in my Facebook inbox from a woman who claims to know me from middle-school when I was at the International School of Brussels. Her message was a diatribe of concentrated bitterness… something that had been held onto, something that festered and grew dark and viscous… something she just couldn't let go. From what she told me, I was someone who had done something awful to her.  She hated me.

         “You are the worst human being to ever walk the earth and you ruined my life.” 

Yes. She wrote this. Now the worst part? I have NO idea who she is. I have no memory of her; her face on her Facebook profile is completely unfamiliar to me. Mind you, I was in no way, not even possibly, a mean person. I was an introvert. I kept to myself, and was picked on myself by pretty much everyone, from students to teachers. I had very few friends in school, and didn't interact with many people, so how I could have somehow caused someone to hate me, and so efficiently that she would hold onto it over twenty five years after graduation, still feel compelled to hunt me down on Facebook using my maiden name, and then write a giant seethingly furious missive of anger and bitterness …. It is completely impossible for me to grasp.  I would think this is a case of mistaken identity … but she named me by my maiden name (no easy task… Peteranecz? Who remembers that let alone remembers how to spell it?). So whatever it is I did, it was obviously inadvertent. I don’t want to feed her delusion by addressing it, so I've ignored her. Oh, did I mention that she had to have paid $1.00 to send me this message because Facebook is requiring that if you want to message people into their main inboxes if they are not your friend.

Anyway, it was a surprise to have this woman come out of the woodwork. It made me realize how much *I* let go, even through my twenties. I do have a lot of resentment towards some folks still, but my way of dealing with that is to ignore their friend requests on Facebook, or to avoid engaging in conversations with them on other peoples’ pages. I sure as hell don’t send a bunch of embittered $1.00 messages going on furious tirades about things that happened thirty years ago or more. It’s kind of pathetic. We were kids, and I’m pretty sure, even the worst person that treated me badly in school is dealing with their own issues and has explanations for their stupid behavior as a kid.  I forgave most of them years ago. I let it go, and I just avoid opening the door with them again now that Facebook has arrived. I have gotten friend requests from a couple of my former bullies, but I just delete them. What’s the point? I don’t need their apology. They can come to terms with themselves without my help. In the meantime, I live on.

I have to look at people differently now. If they are doing something that grates on my nerves, I need to just get over it. It’s not all about my nerves. It’s not all about me.  I grew up. I guess that’s what maturity is. Because of that, my life is richer. I am lucky to have interesting characters to enrich my life. And it’s a hell of a lot less complicated when you’re not busy holding grudges and reminding yourself why.

So, I am giving everyone a chance. It doesn't mean I will take anyone's crap. I don't. And there's only so much intentional BS and drama directed at me that I can take before I start cutting ties. But if it's not personal, and there's room to communicate, then I'm okay with it.  I won't hold onto things, and I won't allow others to make me hold onto things because they haven't gotten there yet.  It's their lesson to learn. Not mine to teach.

In the meantime, I am focusing on my small family, finding a strange new relationship with my mother (talk about not holding onto bitterness... this is proof I'm capable of forgiveness, because I am actually forging a good relationship with my mother because of this baby that has graced our lives). Baby J has given joy to someone who was seemingly incapable of it.  I'm a full on atheist, but I don't mind using the word 'miracle' when it comes to this. It's not a deity that affected this change, it's the plain good vibes a sweet, unmarred, innocent baby emanates.  I have come to find that love for my mother (the good love, not the obligated love one feels for a difficult family member) again. I feel forgiving. It feels good.

She spends a full day with us at least once a week. We do things together. She stays and plays with Baby J while I cook us all dinner. It's not bad.  Not bad at all. It's the relationship I wanted with her.  Who knew it would take a little baby boy to achieve it.

Baby J's room is almost finished. I'll be posting about that soon, because it's reaaaaally cute (at least to me). I'm waiting for some fabric from Spoonflower to finish off some details, and Dan has to replace a window so I can finish painting the bay window area. When it's done, I'll do a whole post on the baby's room.

A whole lotta TMI.

I actually miss my OBGYN. Yes, I’ll admit it. I never thought I’d think that, ever.  Who misses the person who routinely spelunks your nether region?  Well, if you are a particularly amazing person, who makes an effort to make her patients comfortable and relaxed, who pays attention to the individual issues, then there will come a time, after the regular appointments of a pregnancy, where that patient realizes that they actually like being around this particular health care provider.  She is just a positive, cool person, and I like her, and I like her staff. When I go there, I'm not all tied up in knots of worry about what is going to happen... I'm looking forward to the friendly people.

As I realized this today, it put me in mind of the doctors I don’t miss. And one in particular who pretty much soured me for the already trying experience of the Obstetrics and Gynecology facet of medical care. 

Being a woman sucks. Guys get all freaked out about the prostate probe but that is tame next to what women have to endure just for routine examinations. Some women handle it with little issue, and could happily lie there while reading a magazine, but for most women it is an invasive procedure. It is a procedure that requires women to bare the most intimate part of their being to a virtual stranger, and to relax while this stranger roots around inside her.

For most women, it’s tolerable, but for some it isn't at all. I know it is over-sharing  but I will come out and say that as a child, my mother took on an affair with a younger man. That younger man was purely attracted to her because she had young daughters. That resulted in my being extremely sensitive about anything south of the equator, and I do not like to go to the OBGYN at all. Ever.

A few years ago, when I was diagnosed by my primary care physician with PCOD/PCOS, he referred me to an OBGYN in Portland. I scheduled an appointment as directed, and showed up on time. I had no idea what to expect, and nobody told me what I should expect. I arrived, and was given a clipboard containing a small stack of new-patient forms to fill out. I dutifully filled them out.  One of these pages was a history questionnaire asking a number of pertinent questions; questions that would ultimately have an influence on how the doctor approaches the appointment. One of those questions was: Have you ever experienced sexual trauma/abuse?  I checked the yes box. It’s not the first time I had to check that yes box, and so I did.

Now, this office was set up to be the most efficient OBGYN office possible. Set up with the efficiency of a cattle stockyard, designed to funnel women through with order and accuracy. Come in, pee in a cup, go down the corridor to your room, get your exam, move on to the desk for instructions, and then out the door.  I was greeted, I filled out my papers, which took me a good quarter of an hour, I was sent to pee in a cup, and then directed to sit in a tiny exam room, wherein I sat for a good twenty minutes undisturbed.

Then a nurse came in with a fresh-faced young man in a white doctor’s smock in tow. “This is a student doctor. Is it okay if he asks you a few questions?” she asked. I nodded, and the student doctor settled in on the roll-stool and lifted up the clip board, and proceeded for the next quarter of an hour to ask me the exact same questions I spent the first quarter of an hour answering in the waiting room, including that fateful question about being abused. It assured me that they would know this, and approach me appropriately.

The student doctor concluded his redundant questioning, and exited, and then the doctor entered, took one look at me and turned around to shout at the nurse that I wasn't ready.  I heard some chatter outside the exam room door, and a nurse came in holding a packet containing the paper gown for me to put on, and the paper blanket they give you to cover one's bottom.  “You need to be undressed.  You can leave your socks on…” she says before shutting the door. I stand there for a second in shock. I was not told I’d be examined at all. They didn't even ask me if I was cycling. But I complied, my skin clammy cold and my stomach in a tight knot of anxiety as it always is when  go in for my pelvic exams.

Just as I clamber up onto the table, and cover my legs with the paper blanket, the doctor, the student doctor and two nurses all cram into the room, and they enter pushing what turns out to be an ultrasound machine. The doctor, between his various barked commands, informs me he is going to look for a cyst on my ovaries. I expect he is going to use the little device to slide around on my tummy to see inside. I am told to lay back, and to relax, in spite of the small horde of people all crowded around the table. I’m already on the edge of tears from this.  I then see the doctor lift up the pelvic ultrasound wand. This was my first encounter with this device. He slathers it liberally with KY and without any warning or ado, he just woopsies it right in there.

My reaction is to stiffen up, and immediately, my eyes fill with tears.  The nurse grips my hand and while he roots the thing around roughly inside me, this doctor, who expressly asked me TWICE in his forms whether I had experienced sexual trauma, proceeded to tell me, “Relax. Stop crying. I know this doesn’t hurt.”  I was sobbing by the time he confirmed and measured out my egg-sized cyst encasing my right ovary. With a disgusted sigh, he finally reprieved me of the invasive pelvic wand, and the horde filed out, one nurse telling me over her shoulder that it was okay to get dressed. Shaken and harried, I stumbled through the corridor chutes to be scheduled for surgery by the desk.

I can’t say he was a bad doctor. He was an older gentleman who obviously had been doing this job for a very long time, and who saw countless women day after day. He was getting on with business, and the operations he put in place to avoid the kind of experience I had were ignored and glossed over. If those questionnaires were not created for this purpose, they *should* be. The fact that he is a man probably also has something to do with his utter lack of sensitivity.  I had my surgery with him, and had one follow up appointment and after that, I chose another doctor in a smaller office where my personal issues were considered each time, and I didn’t leave sobbing and feeling like I’d been violated all over again.

Dr. Jill Shaw was the antithesis of that kind of care provider. She makes a concerted effort to make her patients feel comfortable, and when I expressed my issues, which I have now learned to do from the start, she handles me with sensitivity, and expedites anything down south so that she’s in and out as quickly and efficiently as possible. She remembers this about me, so I don’t have to remind her. 

That is why I miss Dr. Jill. Because she gives a crap. My pregnancy required many such invasive events, and Dr. Jill made it as painless and smooth as humanly possible. Otherwise, I think all of the additional appointments required for an ‘advanced age’ pregnancy, which includes a number of pelvic ultrasounds, would have otherwise been a terrifying and horrendous experience, ruining what should have been a joyful time.The efforts I undertook to conquer this infertility issue I have caused me to face these psychological problems every time. It was hard enough working up to the pregnancy for eight years, exposing myself to procedures and doctors and discomforts I cannot begin to describe. My pregnancy was challenging as it was. I didn't need to have trauma added to it too. I am grateful every day for Dr. Jill and her friendly demeanor and wonderful staff. I'm so glad I found her.

My advice to the hurried, insensitive Dr. Ds of this world… slow down. You implemented the paperwork, read it.  Look at the faces of your patients, and pay attention to what they are trying to tell you. And don’t turn their appointments into a three-ring circus.

Comicon in Portland

My birthday came and went rather quietly this year. Hubby insisted on taking me out to dinner, and S2 took me out for wings at lunch. Other than that, it was low key. We did however have plans for the weekend, and that was to attend a day of the first Wizard World Portland Comicon. It was my first comicon and I confess... I'm hooked. We had SO much fun. Even Baby J had a blast--even if he did come home with a bit of a cold.

Matt and Amy Roloff showed up to capitalize on the crowds. Amy looked
as snooty in real life as she does on TV. Matt looked as adorable as ever.

Some Baby J love.

I love this little dude.

Smooch!

Baby J was the star, really. All of the celebs we saw were charmed by him (except maybe Brent Spiner, who I suspect isn't charmed by very much except himself these days--sorry, but that's the impression I got). How could they not be? He's flippin' cute. It's too bad I couldn't find a little Jayne hat or a little STNG uniform to put on him for that day. Maybe next year.

One of the highlights of our time there. Norman Reedus (Daryl from Walking Dead) took Dan's
Camera and shot this little picture.

We were able to meet Norman Reedus, James Marsters and Brent Spiner. We also brushed elbows with Henry Winkler and Bruce Campbell, but didn't speak to them (but Henry Winkler said hello to Baby J, who seemed entranced by the pastel sweater). :D I feel like such a name dropper... but it was so fun to meet these folks. Most of 'em anyway.

Dean Cain was hamming it up with folks because his line
wasn't too long.

Brent Spiner was a bit jealous that Norman's line was at one point,
4 hours long. So he crashed his side of the signing area and photobombed
some chick's visit with Norman. He said: "Zombies aren't anything
against the Borg..." before leaving.

Norman Reedus was really all around a really decent, genuine guy. He had by far the longest line there. We thought at first it was for Stan Lee, but it was for him. At one point, it was four hours long. We stood for about an hour and a half, but I was chatting everyone up nearby so the time passed pretty quickly.

Norman had a pile of gifts on the table given to him by his fans. On that pile was a knitted pillow with two boobs on it. It was hilarious. When we got there, he looked at Alex and cooed at him, and said: "I wonder what he's thinking right now?" He then leaned back and grabbed the pillow and presented it to the baby, and everyone laughed.  He was allowing people to take cell-pics free of charge, unlike any of the other stars there, and his line was a mile long.  He was nice, and funny and just plain cute.  Loved him.

Henry Winkler looks like someone's mischievous grandpa.

There was a nearly-naked woman in line behind me,
so Brent Spiner wasn't wasting any time on me and Alex.

Brent Spiner just gave off the aura of all around annoyance with the whole thing, honestly.  He was forcing his fans to do a fist-bump instead of shaking their hands like every other celeb was doing. When he spoke to me, it was sort of cool and insincere. It was very disappointing. When I found out he was going to be there, I was sooooo happy, I am such a TNG nerd. I wanted to hug the shit out of him when I saw him, and ask him about his online movies.  As I was standing in line, a woman built like a sylph slid in behind me. She was, no joke, about 98% naked. She had a teeny little triangle of coverage on her crotch and two bands over her nipples. He saw her and the line sped up.  He hurried us through.  Stupid skank.

He tried briefly to get Alex to smile, but Baby J was
unimpressed.  I think it's because he saw Brent forcing his
fans to fist-bump instead of shake hands.  It's called hand-sanitizer, dude.
They paid $40 minimum to say hi to you, the least you can do is
not be a douche.

Let me sign this quickly. Naked chick awaits!

Kthnxbye.

Bender, and Frye behind him. There were a
couple of Leelas roaming around too.

Henry Winkler walked up to us while we were in line for
Norman Reedus and gave Baby J a huge smile and a
twinkling Hello.

My two favourite boys.

'Inara' from Firefly had her little dog with her. She is so beautiful,
good god. I told her I loved that she brought her puppy with her.
She said it was her version of what I had in my arms, and gave
Alex a smile.

We also saw Lou Ferigno, Bruce Campbell, Dean Cain, Sean-Patrick Flannery, that third guy from Boondock Saints, and the dude that plays Merle in Walking Dead.

In line for James Marsters. Squee!

We weren't allowed to take pictures, but
Dan sneaked this one in.  He was really nice--although obviously
primed to create quick, empty conversation and to get you
to move along. His gorgeous curly-haired son was helping out too.

James Marsters started randomly talking about using the Buffy community to sofa-surf. Okay. He did play with Alex and he did evoke a smile from the little one.

All in all, we had a freakin' blast. Lessons learned? Eat more. Drink more. Get a goddamned table there to sell books! Omagerd, so many people!  Awesome costumes were seen. I am totally doing it again next year.

Baby Boba

Hate Girl

Go away Thelma!