Rebirth.

My skin is unfamiliar.
My heart thumps to a beat that I haven't yet heard, and I can't help but listen to it's beauty.
The inside of my head feels foreign and empty.
Time passes with each exhale and it's weight sits heavy on my chest.
Sometimes I stare into my own reflection, trying to find fragments of who I once was in my gaze,
But I instead find vacancy. She's not there anymore.

There are things that are going to happen in life that make you long to start over. Your spine begins to strengthen and you find yourself standing quite taller than you've been used to. Relationships that have once softened the blows throughout your life now don't bring you the same positive comfort. They become chores, obligations. They're exhausting to even think about. You fall back into your old habits of talking the way you used to, reminiscing on your own past stupidity, but as you listen to the words rolling from your tongue, you hear the voice of a stranger. A follower. Someone who once surrounded themselves with walls made of people to mold your personality for you, because you grew up telling yourself that you lacked originality, individuality. You wanted to blend, but this is a point in your life where you feel the urge to separate. The person you have built yourself up to be is no longer needed, so you shed your skin and move forward into life's newest phase. And that is more than okay. You don't need validation for banishing from life the things that no longer make you happy.

I woke up a few weeks ago and as soon as my feet hit the floor, it phased me that I am entering a new stage of my life where there is only so much room for the past. The border of my comfort zone is retracting and expanding and I am allowing myself to be grow into a woman I am proud of. Someone who has their own back without depending on the someone to take them under their wing. Someone who walks with dignity and grace and who loves with her entire being. Who loves herself and respects her feelings and body. Who knows when to be tough, but can still allow herself to be soft. The unfamiliarity is terrifying, but it's also extremely riveting and nothing more than a sign that a change needs to happen.

So I begin by forgiving myself.
I forgive myself for what I cannot change about my past and present.
I forgive myself for blaming myself for the loss of my second child.
I forgive my body for the feelings of hostility and betrayal.
I forgive myself for denying my true potential and telling myself that I'm not worthy of happiness, love and success.
I forgive myself for building a wall so high and thick that it has taken me years upon years to slowly break down.
I forgive myself for carrying out relationships that I should have left long ago out of fear or change and retaliation.
I forgive myself for thinking that I was broken.
Now I realize that a person does not break, they're just forever mending.

It's what's for dinner: Crackaroni & Cheese.

Macaroni and cheese is like a drug. Scratch that. It is a drug. The ooey gooey-ness doesn't seem to compare with much else on this planet. I'm a health conscious eater for the most part, but every once in a while we all want to do nothing but throw on some eating pants (sweat pants, duh) and go to town on some comfort food. This recipe is rich and creamy with just the right cheese to noodle ratio. I've dug into plenty of different bowls of macaroni and cheese and the texture of the cheese sauce is super important. You want it to be thick, but you don't want it so thick that you have to cut into it like a cake. Unless that's your thing. That's super cool too.

Crackaroni & Cheese

Things you are going to need: 

1lb elbow macaroni noodles (little shells would even be amazing!)

1/4 cup butter

2 tbsp white flour

2.5 cups of 2% milk

7oz bar of white cheddar cheese 

1 cup mozzarella cheese

1 cup shredded parmesan

1 cup Italian bread crumbs

Salt, pepper & garlic powder to taste

1. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Cook your noodles in a large pot of water until they are al dente and set aside. 

2. Melt your butter in a medium sauce pan over medium heat. Once the butter has melted, add in your flour and whisk until the butter and flour are completely combined. Gradually add your two cups of milk while continuing to whisk. You don't want any lumps in your sauce. 

3. Once your milk begins to thicken and becomes hot (don't let your milk boil), break up your block of white cheddar and add the chunks in. If you feel like gratin it in, that's up to you. Too much work for me! Stir to combine making sure all of the chunks are gone. 

4. Add in 1/2 of your mozzarella and 1/2 of your parmesan. Once the cheeses are melted in, you're going to want to taste your sauce and season it to your liking. 

5. Add your cooked noodles to your delicious sauce. Transfer your noodles & sauce into a casserole dish. Top with the remainder of your mozz & parm and then top with your cup of bread crumbs. 

6. Bake for 30 minutes or until breadcrumbs have slightly browned and the sides are bubbling.

7. Enjoy the shit out of it. 

8. Unbutton your pants.

P.S. Sorry the picture isn't the best... We already began eating it before I decided to put it on here!

 

A Change is Going to Come.

Motherhood has done a lot for me as a person. I find it a lot like coming across old embarrassing photos of yourself and questioning why the hell you ever left the house acting and looking the way you did (parachute pants and 500+ Hot Topic t-shirts anyone?) I think that I have always been somewhat of a pretty laid back and normal person, even in my teenage years. I've never liked confrontation and I always aimed to please others. Aside from smoking cigarettes and the occasional fifth of vodka consumed in a single night with my best friend, I never allowed myself to get into a lot of trouble. I knew right from wrong and was always pretty much 100% honest and open with my mother. I remember the night that I had lost my virginity and I came home and told her right away. Not because I felt guilty about committing the act, but because she had never made me feel like being human was something to be ashamed of. And I'd rather her hear it straight from my mouth rather than from someone else. Sorry for the TMI, mom.

There are people that have slowly fallen out of my life the past couple of years. Some didn't even speak to me nor acknowledge the fact that I was even having a baby. And I was blamed for that. Why, because I had to grow up? Because I had a responsibility to a tiny little human that I would have to raise and love and be there for above all else? I don't regret anything. Was I terrified? Extremely, but that didn't mean that I wasn't excited. My pregnancy was rough for me and I didn't have a lot of people I could lean on and talk to. Now that I look back, I don't really care anymore. Because I grew up. And I've accepted that some just never will. You can't spend time trying to kiss every one else's ass when you have your own thing to do. And when you're there for them through plenty over the years, it hurts like shit when they don't want to be involved in the most important thing you will ever do. I'm not sorry I didn't text more, I'm not sorry I didn't update people on what was happening. Why, so I could get an eye roll and hear from the grape vine that all I talk about is being pregnant? I was on bed rest. I was in and out of the hospital weekly. I had doctor appointments and ultrasounds up the ass to make sure everything was fine. And all that time, even after I had Milo, nothing changed. Even to this day.

I want to be a good mother. I want my son to know that no matter what happens in his life, I will  never not be there. If he one day decides that he wants to pursue art, become a doctor, or even be a girl, I will always be his biggest cheerleader. You're dealt one set of parents and the impact you have on your child's life determines how they feel about others and how they feel about themselves. I want him to feel fucking proud in his skin. I want him to know that at the end of the day, all that matters is how you feel about yourself because no one else will ever know what that feels like. I want his trust and his respect, but I don't plan on getting it without giving him the same. I want him to grow up knowing that everything I have done will be because that's what I felt was best for him. There's so much hate towards one another for our parenting decisions, but we need to put our focus on our kids instead of another's. No one is perfect, and we're all going to make mistakes, but that's the beauty in life. You're not made to be a carbon copy of every other person out there, you're made to be you and we all do the best we can.

Today I'm letting go of all of the grudges, of all of the judgement, obligation and anger that I've let burrow it's way inside of me. It's time for a cleanse and a more positive outlook with less fucks given. Tomorrow is a new day.

The Fat Truth.

I was always considered a pretty heavy set kid. I was taught to eat everything that was on my plate out of respect and not to waste food. Growing up living in and out of my grandparent's house, my diet consisted of what I like to refer to as "The 3 B's":

1. Bacon. (Seriously, whoever thought to fry up this part of a pig deserves some type of award in my book.) Eggs were cooked in the leftover grease every time the two coincided for breakfast. I was always banned from the kitchen when it was being fried or else my little sausage fingers were feeling around on the counter for pieces when my Grandma wasn't looking. 
2. Butter. And lots of it. I mean, I can't be the only kid who used to go in the fridge, scoop a handful of butter out of the tub and fist it into my mouth, right? 
3. Bologna. A fried (in butter, of course) bologna and cheese sandwich was where it was at. Add a little bit of mustard on toasted white bread and bam, breakfast, lunch or dinner.

I wasn't a very active child either, though I had always wanted to be, it just wasn't something I ever enjoyed doing. I wouldn't say my mother was "strict" but we weren't allowed to really run the neighborhood and play and ride our bikes here and there like everyone else. We were allowed a boundary of 5 houses to the right of ours and 5 houses to the left. I didn't have an abundance of friends, either. Play dates had to be scheduled with kids I went to private school with and those only happened every so often. There weren't really any kids to hang out with on my street until I turned 9.

I was always the fat friend in middle school and high school, and my friends were always thin, beautiful and full of personality. I mean, I had a killer personality, too, but I was a loudmouth not because I wanted to be funny, I had just wanted to draw attention to something other than my body. While my friends would try on clothes at the mall, I'd nonchalantly walk into the other room or pretend to have to go to the bathroom to save some myself from the embarrassment of not being able to fit into anything. I'd swoon over the "popular" boys who would turn me down or not give me a second look because of how heavy I was. If I had a dollar for every time I was told I had a pretty face, I'd be loaded. I had my first "real" boyfriend in the 8th grade. I didn't feel self conscious with him and he was honestly the first guy that made me feel beautiful and worthy of someone's time. Even after it had been years since we had dated and I was at my heaviest (that he had seen), he'd continue to tell me how great I looked. If there's a small chance that you ever stumble upon this, I can never thank you enough for being a real man.

My favorite is when people comment about your weight, but they think they're criticism is constructive or that they're paying you a compliment. When I graduated high school and was roughly 285lbs, I was having a hard time finding a job outside of working at a fast food joint. Since I wasn't planning on going to college right off the bat, my parents wanted me out of the house around 9am each weekday to go out and apply for as many jobs as I could until something came along. I remember being once told that people didn't want to hire someone who was obese because it showed employers that they didn't care about their appearance. That if they can't care about themselves, how are they going to be able to care about a job and handle its physical demands? Luckily I found one, but those words have stuck with me every single day since then and they've made me question everything I aspire to do. You become even more self conscious than you thought possible and slowly lose any small amount of confidence you might have had left.

There was a boy I met when I was 12 who I would swear up and down that I was going to marry. It was one of those things like out of a rom-com: girl sees cute boy, boy steals girl's hat and skates off with it, girl meets boy and falls head over heels, boy moves away but always comes home and things pick up right where they had left off. I remember the very first time he had kissed me. He was heading back out of state where he was living at the time with his father. I was walking him out of our garage door going over in my head how I was going to say goodbye without crying like a stupid idiot when he turned around and kissed me out of nowhere. If you would have asked me later that night if I saw fireworks, I would've said yes. And then I would've clocked you in the jaw if you would've told me otherwise.

Years passed and he finally decided to give our relationship a shot when I was 19. Everything was going perfectly for a little while. He was home for a few months for Christmas visiting his mother. He ended up meeting all of my family and we were inseparable. I would have bruises on my arms from pinching myself throughout the day because I had a hard time believing that after all those years, it was really happening. One night in the middle of January, we were sitting on my bed and I was staring at him, taking it all in. His blue eyes, curly blonde hair... was this really happening to me? It was snowing and we were looking out my window watching the soft white flakes quickly pile on my roof when he asked me if I had ever seen the movie Shallow Hal (you know, the one with Jack Black where he's a total dick and dates a 350lb woman but can only see the beautiful person she is on the inside). Of course I said that I had, not understanding where this conversation was headed until his words came out like bullets into my chest, "That's how I feel about you."

I was going throw up. I could feel the bile moving in my stomach and my face turn bright red. Hot tears rushed out of my eyes feeling cool on my flushed cheeks. How could I have been so stupid? How could anyone be with me and not pay attention to the size of my body? I kicked him out right then and there. I made him walk home in the blizzard and I didn't come out of my room for 3 days, except for work and at night to binge eat my feelings away. I felt worthless, miserable and most of all, I felt like I would never be capable of being loved by anyone. Oh, and if there's a chance that YOU happen to have stumbled upon this, fuck you.

It took a few years before I'd allow myself to take a chance on anyone else, and I thank God daily that I found my husband before having to date another fool. He's never once made me feel like I was less than perfect, and even when we have days when we're getting on one another's last nerve, he still tells me I'm beautiful. And there are moments that come where I second guess his compliments, trying to convince myself that he's only saying it because it's routine now, but I have to stop allowing myself to continue to knock myself down. He loved me at 276lbs before I had gotten pregnant with Milo. He told me how gorgeous I was after I had the baby and topped out at 315lbs last May, and he continues to tell me after I've lost 100 of those pounds.

The point is, one day when you stop obsessing about the way you look and your weight, everything is going to fall into place and you will find someone who loves you despite of the way you feel in your own skin. I love my stretch marks, I love the curves of my hips, my soft stomach and my olive skin. Start loving yourself. If you don't, you're never going to be able to let someone else.

Ham & White Cheddar Chowder.

My lovely aunt invited Kevin, Milo & I over a couple of nights ago for a delicious ham dinner including a giant doggie bag to take home! JACKPOT. All I could think about was split pea soup with ham. That subtlety and smoothness of the peas with the flavor burst of salt from the ham.. Ugh. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. I had a grocery list written out ane ready to go the following day for my husband with all that I needed for dinner when he dropped a bomb on me; He didn't like split pea soup.WHAT?! And we're married?!

While I cursed him under my breath, I frantically started rummaging through my fridge and pantry trying to find things I could work with that he'd approve of. I found some white cheddar, potatoes, milk.. and then it clicked. Ham and white cheddar chowder. Boom.

4 medium russet potatoes, peeled & diced

2 cups cubed ham

2 bay leaves

3 tbsp butter

8 oz white cheddar cheese

1/2 chopped onion

1 cup frozen mixed veggies

2 cups water

2 cups milk

1 cup sliced mushrooms (optional. I just have a mushroom addiction)

1/4 cup flour

salt, pepper & garlic to taste

1. Take your water, potatoes, mushrooms, bay leaves & onion and heat in a large pot over medium heat until the potatoes are cooked through (roughly 10-15 minutes).

2. While your potatoes are cooking, grab a medium sized sauce pan, melt your butter and then whisk in your flour. Gradually add your milk while continuing to whisk to avoid any clumps. Allow the mixture to come to a slow boil.

3. In the meantime, grate your cheese into a small bowl. Once your milk is boiling and has thickened, slowly stir in your cheese until it's all melted together. Remove your bay leaves from your potato pot and pour your cheese sauce in without draining the potatoes. You want to keep the water in there to thin out the soup a little.

4. Add in your ham and mixed veggies and continue to cook until the ham is hot and your veggies are cooked through. Season with your SPG & serve!

Twenty-four.

With my birthday not too far down the road, I always find myself in a bit of a "rut." It drives me crazy when I see people I grew up with graduating college and becoming successful. I'm not jealous of them per se, but it doesn't hesitate to make me question the choices I've made in my life thus far. What would have happened if I had never taken a break after high school? If I hadn't skipped all of those college courses I took, where would I be? I guess it's better to get my shit together now than never, but honestly, I need a game plan.

When I started first started college, I was in a really unhappy place in my life. It began with a guy whom I was so in love with, but I was also far too naive to handle it properly. We dated, I acted like a typical indecisive teenage girl who was full of insecurities and wasn't mature enough for a serious relationship. I handled things the wrong way, we broke up, I wallowed in my self pity for a couple of years, blah blah blah. After that, I came to the realization that I was just wasting time allowing myself be miserable, so I took my ass to a local community college and signed up for fall semester classes. Soon after, my Grandmother was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer and I felt the all too familiar hole in my life resurface. I started skipping all of my classes just to drive around aimlessly and pretend everything was fine. I shouldn't have let that effect my schooling, but I didn't know any better. I simply couldn't concentrate on anything else at that point in time. I had never even told my parents that I stopped going. I'd continued to get up every day, hop in my car, grab a coffee and a pack of cigarettes and just sit at a park getting lost in my thoughts. I guess I didn't have my self together as much as I had thought.

                                          

My grandparents both moved in with us around Christmastime that year and by May, my best friend and grandmother was being made comfortable by hospice staff. Nurses were coming and going day and night, family was visiting constantly and those honestly felt like the longest couple of weeks of my life. I stayed home from my job that entire time to help my mother and aunt take care of things around the house. The first day my mother had made me go back to work after her condition came to a standstill, I was there for a total of an hour before I saw my uncle walk through the door to tell me she had passed away. I was angry, lost, confused... I had so much frustration and grief that I didn't know what to do with.

Every day I think about what she would have thought of Milo; whether or not she would have been mad at me for getting pregnant without being married first. I wonder if she'd think I was a good mother. I make sure to sing him all the songs that she once sang to me and I always tell him who she is every time we pass her hanging picture. He needs to know how much of a beautiful person she was and how she made such an impact on my life.

We all know life doesn't go as expected, but I'm just now finding it a lot easier to come to terms with. Did I plan on having no degree, being a young parent and being a stay at home mother when I turn 24? No. Not even close, but I do know that I'm a mother for a reason. If I had waited 5 or so more years to have a child, it wouldn't be the crazy little curly-haired boy sleeping in the other room. I'm sure I still would've loved that child with my whole heart, but it wouldn't have his laugh or his smile. I'm so thankful for him. He doesn't know it, but he has truly been my saving grace.

I'm also a wife for a reason. No one can drive me crazy like my husband does, but no one can love me like he can, either. I didn't spend two years of my life trying to convince him to love me for nothing! I don't have to explain myself to him, he just understands me. Kevin allows me to go through my phases of irrational ideas and rants and mood swings and stubborn fits. He's okay with me staying home and raising our son until there's an opportunity that could potentially benefit us in the long run. It's something so many women want to be able to do and I am so blessed that I can. After all, if it weren't for him, I wouldn't even be a mother.

The point is, this year I'm over making resolutions I'm going to be disappointed over if I don't keep. Instead, I want to make a change in my life for the better. Though they may seem fairly reasonable and simple, they're of great importance to me. 

1. I will go school and become a nurse of some kind.
2. I will find a hobby that I can get myself lost in.
3. I will allow nothing to get in to way of my love for my children.
4. I won't lose focus of my health or the health of my family.
5. I will make more time for my marriage.
6. I will never take anything God has given me for granted. 
7. I will always be proud of who I am.
8. I will never lose sight of what's important.

 Thanks for listening.

It's What's for Dinner: Mushroom & Garlic Chicken

I don't mean to brag or anything, but I probably have the greatest mother-in-law on Earth. Not only is she one of the sweetest women alive, but she got me a kick ass 5.5 quart dutch oven for Christmas! CHA-CHING! Naturally, being someone who has never used one of these fabulous things before, I turned to the Pinterest Goddesses (and Gods) to hunt for the most bomb ass chicken recipe I could find. I stumbled upon this recipe for chicken thighs cooked in a garlic mushroom sauce. 20 cloves of garlic? I'll take it! I'm a big fan of adding my own personal touches, but it still ended up tasting out of this world! Not to mention it had my 15 month old shoveling it in his mouth as fast as he could. If you don't like the type of meat, or you have something else on hand, go for it! I'm sure this would taste excellent with chicken breasts as well. We served our over a bed of fluffy homemade mashed potatoes, but some crusty delicious bread would be awesome to try as well. Hell, put it on a sandwich! Regardless of what you do, give this a shot if you want something easy, affordable and something that the whole family will chow.

                         Mushroom and Garlic Chicken

3 tbsp butter

3 tbsp EVOO

20 cloves of garlic 

1/2 chopped onion

16oz sliced mushrooms

1 package of whole chicken

1 cup chicken stock

1/3 cup half & half

1 tsp thyme

1 tbsp flour (optional)

1 tbsp fresh parsley

salt, pepper & garlic to taste

1. Heat your dutch oven (or large pot) over the stove on medium low and add butter & EVOO. Once everything melts together, add your chicken pieces. Let them cook for 3 minutes on one side before flipping and cooking on the other side for 5 minutes. Remove chicken from the pot and set aside on a plate.

2. Add onions, mushrooms & the cloves of garlic to the pot. You're going to want to stir constantly while making sure not to burst the garlic. Once the mushrooms are browned and the onions become translucent, remove them from the pot and set aside in a small bowl.

3. Pour in your chicken stock and use a wire whisk to remove any of the brown bits that stick to the bottom of the pot. Add in your half & half.

4. Add your chicken to the bottom of the pot and cover with your onion, mushroom and garlic mixture. Sprinkle your thyme over top of everything, then cover. Let cook for 45 minutes or until the chicken juice runs clear when pierced with a knife. 

5. Once the 45 minutes are up, taste your sauce. I noticed that my sauce was a little too runny for my liking, so at this point I pushed all of the veggies/chicken to the sides of the pot leaving a pool of the sauce in the center. Add the flour little by little making sure to whisk well to avoid any lumps. Add your salt, pepper and garlic. Simmer for an additional 5 minutes just to allow your sauce to thicken.

6. Take chicken pieces and shred the meat into the pot while removing the bones. Once you've done that, top with fresh parsley, ladle the deliciousness onto your mashed potatoes/rice/crunchy bread/whatever, and eat that shit up!