I whipped up a batch of veggie fritters this weekend.  The recipe is up over at Foodie Parent.  I’d love it if you took a moment to go over and read and comment.  Some big stuff happening over there, none of which I can talk about, but  your support there would be truly appreciated.

After spending three years saying “I have absolutely zero interest in watching Glee” I was forced to eat my words this weekend.  I stumbled on it by accident, as some network was running a marathon and well, I fell down the rabbit hole.  I have now watched almost the entire first season on Netflix and I *may* have even bought a song or two on iTunes.  *cough*

I was housebound for a lot of my three day weekend, in part due to the BIG HUGE snowstorm of 2012.  Never mind that we’re barely 2 weeks into the year.  It’s been mostly a non event..oh don’t get me wrong, we got about six inches of snow so far and a lot more than that has fallen and melted, but I fail to see anything to get super worked up about.  My only concern is that I live on top of a hill and getting either to or from my house can be, um, challenging if the roads get too slick.  So I mostly stayed home under my warm blanket.  I did venture out last night to take Ava to dinner.  She was delighted by the huge snowflakes that fell and landed on my head.

Somehow or another, my case for my phone is broken.  Well, cracked. But I’m just OCD enough that the crack is making me crazy.  Also making me crazy?  The 80 bazillionmilliontrillion different patterns and styles of iPhone cases out there.  Too many decisions.  Can someone just mail me one?

I downloaded the beta for Lightroom 4.  For those who don’t know, it is a photo editing software.  Simply put, it’s freaking amazing.  Totally blows Photoshop out of the water in terms of quality and ease of use.  I will cry when my trial period is over, because I’m not shelling out $300 to buy it outright.  What can I say?  I’m cheap.  Why, hello, Picnik.

And just for funsies, a random pick of the Avacakes.  Because this kind of cute just has to be shared.

I don’t want to always feel sad on this day, and yet I do.  I feel sad that as I watch my girl play he’s not there to chase her around the house or terrify her with stories of bugs and wild animals, as he used to do with my cousin and me when we were small.  I call my mother and wish that he was there to join in the yelling of I love yous and I miss yous into the phone line across the distance.

I guess what I miss now isn’t so much for me anymore, as it is for what could have been and what should have been for her.  Sad for him that he never got to witness the impish delight in which she goes through life, finding laughter and smiles in the smallest of things.

He would have loved that she likes to help in the kitchen.

I’m left to only imagine in my mind’s eye the two of them together.  I can see her standing on a stool, next to him, as I once did.  Stirring something in a pot.  I see her under a blanket, being read a story, clutching an old teddy bear that once belonged to me.

I see my past and my present collide so fiercely when I look at her. I see his ears.  Ever so slightly pointy and elfin.  I see his eyes, which are also my eyes, peering back at me under impossibly long lashes.  I imagine how his face would light up when she would come over to play.  There would be tea parties and games of hide and go seek.

I know he’s watching over us and smiling somewhere.  I feel it, I believe it.

Tomorrow I’ll sit down with pictures and my girl and we’ll talk about him and how much I loved him, and how much she would love him too.  I”m the keeper of the memories, now, of the past and all it contains.   I’ll try to bring him to life as much as I can, for her.  And for him.

Those of you who read and as usual, supported me, thank you.  Your words mean so much and I feel each one of them as a warm embrace.

The sheer act of writing has brought about some form of catharsis.  The emotions have shifted to something different, less intense and not quite as crushing.

Life and the act of living it never ceases to ebb and flow.  The waters rush in and bring forth a wave of the unexpected and just as suddenly recede and take with them part of me.

***

I so rarely have time to write in this space now.  I thought after the divorce, it would be the opposite.

Work has gotten busier.

Now only having Ava for half the time, I find myself tethered much less to the online world when I’m with her.  It’s our time, and it’s precious time.  I don’t want her to look back in 20 years and remember me as always on the computer or always checking my phone.

I took a chance and started doing something I enjoy – food blogging.  I don’t know where it will lead, if anywhere. But I’m having fun doing it, most of the time, although it does seem to take up time that I used to spend here, writing.

I’ve been working on learning how to use the fancy camera I bought for myself a couple years ago.  I would love to be able to take photographs that are frame-worthy, instead of  “Oh, dear, I think we’ll just delete that one”.

They say that 40 is when a people really start to know themselves.  I’ll be 39 in less than a month, and as I approach that number, I see that there is definitely some truth to that.   I think it’s also an age in which we are more easily able to identify the disingenuous in others as well.  I see things, and people so much more clearly now than before.  Sometimes it comes as a great surprise to know that in which you have counted on was not in fact, what you ever thought it was.  Or maybe you did, but you convinced yourself otherwise.  It gets harder to lie to one’s self as you age, I think.  It’s harder for you brain to play along.

I find I’m much better able to pick my battles.  I find myself backing away from things more often, knowing I would be fighting a losing battle.

I rediscovered the pleasure of sleeping alone.  At first it was strange, after sharing a bed for 12 years.  But after the oddness wore off, I found how much I love it.  I can stay up late watching tv in bed, or reading a book.  I can toss and turn and not worry that I’ll wake anyone.  I don’t have to worry that my body pillow and I are taking up too much room.  There is no snoring to keep me awake.

Of course, I enjoy cuddling with Ava on our “sleepover nights”, which happen once a week.  It’s nice to be able to reach out and have her hold on to my hand as she sleeps.  I’ll savor that for as long as she will let me, for I know the day is coming when even a hug from me will seem “uncool”.

I enjoy a girls’ night out with a friend now and then.  Something that I never used to do, but I find now to be immensely fun.

I got on a plane last year for the first time in several years.  It was terrifying and thrilling and I can’t wait to do it again.

I discovered the kind of friends that all women should have: honest and steadfast.  The kind that will tell you when you’re being a jackass, hold you up when you’re falling down, and find places to bury the bodies.  The kind of friends that will be around in 50 years when we’re all hard of hearing and are yelling at each other over the breakfast table at I-Hop.

When you’re alone, especially after a life changing event, it’s almost impossible not to do a lot of navel gazing and introspection.  I’m not perfect and a lot of my failures and flaws led me right to where I am today.

I’m getting better and discerning what truly makes me happy and what was just filler for when I wasn’t.  Maybe that’s the secret of life.

Wishing you all a wondrous holiday season.

May 2012 be a happy healthy year.

So grateful for having all of you in my life.

Head here to see all the other wonderful holiday cards. Thanks to Meghan for doing this again this year. So fun!

I’m still blogging weekly over at Foodie Parent.  We’re featuring holiday cookies over there, so head over and check it out.  You might find something that will become your new family favorite.

Somehow it’s 9 days until Christmas.  I swear this month has gone by so fast.  I think I’m as ready as I’m going to be.  I don’t have to host a huge Christmas dinner this year, which feels like a huge relief.  It’s a lot of work and stress and for once I’m glad it’s someone else’s responsibility.

I am having a small gathering on Christmas eve.  It’s going to be low key.  Simple food and some family and friends.  After miss Avacakes goes to bed I will go about setting out the Santa presents and filling her stocking.   I can’t wait to see her face come Christmas morning.

Mostly I am looking forward to this year being over and 2012 beginning.  I’ve settled in to this new life, and new routine fairly well.  It’s been seven months, and I think we have the hang of it now.  There are still days that are hard to make it through, but those are far outnumbered by good ones, and for that I am very grateful.

I’ve put myself out there in a couple of ways that I wouldn’t have even dared to in the past and have met with positive results.  I am proud of myself for having the courage to step outside of my comfort zone.  I had a lot of opportunity to stay in my shell, but that’s not fair to me or to Ava, and so I push myself.

This year has been a mix of good, odd, horrible and strange.

I’ve watched my little girl grow so much.  She’s so much more girl than baby now.  She’s potty trained.  [YAY] She sleeps in a regular “big girl” bed.  She has opinions! She also has sass and attitude.  Thankfully, she’s still more sweet than spice, and I hope it stays that way.  She’s still my snuggle bunny, my kitchen helper and  my cleaning assistant (although her results in this category are dubious at best).

I really didn’t intend for this to be a 2011 retrospective when I started writing.  I just let my fingers type.

It’s not that I don’t want to talk.   It’s that using my words is too hard some days.  If you’ve never experienced it, you’re unlikely to understand it.

It’s not a cataclysmic event propelling me into a place of quiet. It can be old memories flooding back, creeping into corners I thought had been cleared out.

Small things, little things.  Mundane life, death, grief, panic, contentment.  The jumble, the tumble of emotions that any given day can wash on shore.

The death of a friend, who left behind a daughter close in age to the 17 year old me who buried her father.  The things that never quite get packed up at put away, no matter how many locks you turn and how many walls you build.

The upcoming holidays, which will be different from all previous ones.  In some good ways, in some ways that could be better.  The uncertainty of how it will feel.

Darker days, shorter days.  Cold and cloudy.  It fits my mood.

I want to retreat into my shell, except, I don’t.  I take breaks, and know that I”m lucky enough to have three best friends who understand, and let me hide for a bit.  But never for too long.  They always coax me back out into the sunlight.

They get it.  They get me.  And I need to thank them publicly for that.  For supporting me.  For picking me up when I fall down.  For lying down with me when I couldn’t get up.

For understanding when words are too much work.

As of September I’ve been  blogging over at Foodie Parent.  It’s something I’m super excited about.  Food and cooking are huge passions of mine, and getting to write about it along side such a talented and awesome crew is such a wonderful opportunity.  I’m grateful and humbled to be a part of something so amazing.

My posting schedule is every Thursday, although occasionally I’ll have content up a bit more often, depending on need and my ability to get off my ass and photograph when I’m cooking.

Today I’ve posted my very own recipe for meatloaf.  I’d be honored if you’d all go over and check us out.

Foodie Parent

Well, I started mine in October.  What can I say, I’m a rebel.

It all started with a glance at the television.  An ad for Toy Story 3 on Ice.  Ava adores Toy Story.  She loves Jesse and Buzz fiercely.  I researched ticket prices and found that they weren’t as astronomically high as I feared.  I asked some friends about taking Ava, wondering if 3 1/2-ish was too young.  I got great feedback that, no, this is the perfect age.

So, I hit purchase.

Now, that is not the scary part.  Nor is the fear of emptying my wallet on merchandise.  (although, yeah that happened too, and I may be eating Ramen for the rest of the month)

The show was in Portland.  At the Rose Garden.  On the easternish side of town, which requires crossing the river.  ON  A BRIDGE.  DANGER WILL ROBINSON, DANGER.

Because we all know that bridges are scary, scary death traps.  Cars fly off of them daily and every second one collapses and people plunge into icy waters, right?  No?  You sure?  Because that’s what my brain has been signaling to me for 38 years.

It’s not the bridge itself, really.  I can do certain bridges without issue, as long as they are not too elevated, or have girders that encase the traffic as it goes across.

It’s the high ones.  And Portland has a couple of doozies.  Thankfully, this one was not the worst of the bunch, and frankly I’m not sure I could have done that one, even if it was for Ava. I just don’t know. I’ve always had a problem with heights, for as long as I can remember.  I don’t even like standing on a chair.  My palms get sweaty, my heart races, my legs and feet get tingly.  My brain does some odd mixture of shutting down and screaming in blind panic.  It’s not a pretty sight.  My ex had to pull over on a freeway once, convinced he was going to have to slap me back to reality, ala Cher in Moonstruck.

This bridge  had the added features of height, PLUS! an open airy feeling all around.  Not a lot was put into vehicle-stopping devices on this sucker.

It didn’t really hit me until after I’d bought the tickets what I’d done.  My brain panicked for a bit, trying to figure out a way out of it.  A different route over a smaller bridge?  Nope, would take too much time.  When you’re in the car with a still potty training 3 year old, time is not your friend.  Renting a car and driver was out, the expense alone made me never even consider that one.  Nobody I could ask to drive us up there, it was too far and the show too long.

Nope, no way out of it.  I had to do it.  This is the thing about divorce.  Before, I could have had my ex do the driving while I sat in the backseat and covered my eyes.  Or hunkered down on the floor till it was over.

(yes, I actually did that once-on this bridge)

But being a single parent means that option is gone, and it’s on me to put on my big girl panties and deal.

So I did.  I warned one of my best friends that I might be calling her before we crossed, just to have some distracting chatter in my head.  You know, to drown out the internal shouting of “OH MY GOD WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE”.

But I didn’t need to.  I stared at pictures of it for two days prior.  I mentally pep talked myself.  “You can do this.”

Our minds conjure up the worst imaginable and I think that is so that when the actual event occurs it’s never as bad as our imagination has led us to believe.

I memorized the number of feet.  I calculated speed.  I knew about how many seconds I’d have to be up there.  I never looked to my left or right, I kept my eyes straight ahead.

I never panicked.  I never even broke out into a sweat.  I felt a rush of exhilaration when it was all over and I could not stop grinning.  Ava smiled back at me in the rearview mirror, not having a clue what I was so slap happy about.  I just whispered to myself ,”I did it.”

I did.  I made that bridge my bitch.

What’s up next?  I don’t know.  Right now I’m still on a high from conquering a long held fear.  Pun very much intended.

Bitch, I'm a BUS!

**Ava was enthralled with the show.  It was definitely worth all the anxiety.

I stop my car, putting it back in park and wait for her to select one from the leaf cluttered lawn.  She carefully looks them over and then chooses the one she likes the best.  With grandmother or daddy in tow, she runs over to my open window and hands it to me.  I place it on the seat beside me and thank her for her gift.

I have a shoebox full of leaves.  Carefully selected by Ava to give to me each morning and afternoon as I leave her to head to my office.  I don’t save them all, but a chosen few, waiting for a shadowbox to place them in.

Why do I save them, you may be asking yourself.  They’re just dead leaves.  Except?  They’re not.

At three years old, Ava has no concept of wealth or money or materialism.  She sees something she thinks is beautiful and chooses it to show her love and affection.   To her, a fallen leaf from a tree is as worthy of being a present as a new phone, or computer or piece of jewelry might be to us as adults.

When do we stop seeing such beauty in ordinary things?  When do we start thinking of displays of love as being synonymous with price tags and shopping malls?

I can honestly say that some of the best times I’ve spent with Ava involved not a single cent being spent.  No toys purchased, no movies, no games.  Just the two of us, hanging out and being silly with each other.

My three year old girl looks at leaves and sees treasure.  I save those leaves because I want to remember that lesson.

But something clicked in me this morning.

I need to bump the negative out of my life.  The sour grapes.  The whiners.  The complainers.  The chronic malcontents, who, no matter what are always determined to find the dark side of everything.

I’m not saying life is all sunshine and rainbows.  I know it’s not.  I’ve done my fair share of twitter bitching, for sure.  But you ever notice that for some folks, that is ALL you hear?  Nothing is ever good enough.

Well.  ENOUGH.

I’m done with it.

I’m going to focus on the positive.  The people who are kind, loving and helpful.  The people who engage and participate in give and take, and not just take.

I’m going to say a kind word when I see someone  who is having a genuinely hard time.  Instead of skipping over it like I am all too often apt to do.

It’s time to encourage and lift up my fellow man.  Even just a simple “I’m sorry you’re having a rough time” can mean so much to someone who is having a crappy day.

So, who is with me?  Let’s start supporting and encouraging each other.