The Secret of My Vodka Sauce

Finding a meal that my husband and I like and our toddlers will eat that doesn't consist of a chicken nugget or peanut butter and jelly is like finding water in the dessert.

Vodka sauce, or Vodka Riggies, is sometimes compared to Chicken Riggies, a dish unique to Utica, NY, my home city. My oldest son has always loved the Vodka Riggies from Charlies, so of course I have been attempting over the years to recreate it. (For those who are unfamiliar, this sauce can be paired with Rigatoni, Tortellini, or really any pasta you prefer.)

My Vodka Sauce has two secret ingredients, and (spoiler alert!) neither ingredient is Vodka. Secret number one is that I actually use a sweet white wine (Riesling) instead of Vodka. Shocking, I know. The reason? It makes a sweeter sauce and has more flavor. Secret two: I crisp up bacon in the oven (instead of using prosciutto) and I add the bacon grease to the sauce. It's just so heavenly, there are no words.

Here's the recipe that has my family mopping up all the extra sauce with a yummy chunk of Italian Bread.

Vodka Sauce (a la Julie)

Ingredients
3-4 Tbsp butter
6-8 cloves garlic
2-3 small shallots
1/2 cup of white wine (I use a sweet wine, like Riesling)
3-4 strips of bacon (reserve drippings)
1 large jar of your favorite marinara sauce or homemade marinara sauce (tip: try not to use crushed tomatoes, the marinara sauce keeps the sauce thicker)
1/2 pint heavy cream
1/2 to 1 cup grated parmesan (get a really good grated parm, like they sell at the deli counters)
Kosher salt (to taste)

Heat oven to 400° and place the strips of bacon on a lined baking sheet. Cook the bacon for about 15 minutes, or until crispy.

In a large sauce pot or dutch oven, heat butter,on medium-low heat. Process the garlic cloves and a pinch of Kosher salt in a food processor and add to butter. Next, chop shallots in a food processor and add to butter and garlic, sauteing on med-low heat until translucent. Turn heat to high and add the white wine. While the white wine is reducing, chop the bacon into small pieces and add to the pot. Add the bacon grease, marinara sauce, half cup of parmesan and heat to boiling. Reduce heat to low and slowly add in the heavy cream. Stir, and heat sauce on low for at least 30 minutes.

Serve with Rigatoni, Penne, Tortellini or any other favorite pasta. Sprinkle extra parmesan on top. (Freeze any leftover sauce.)

Served here with Cavatappi

Enjoy!

The Logical Mama

Now, I want to make it clear that by nicknaming myself the Logical Mama, I in no way mean to imply I'm a perfect parent and therefore the most logical choice for being a mother. In fact, my long-term friends might tell you quite the opposite, as one still tells me from time to time, "I can't believe you're a mom!" 

I'm not at all insulted by that statement. I know what she means. I was Miss Independent, Miss I'm-Not-Dating-in-College-Lest-I-Be-Distracted-From-My-Career-Path.  I regarded most children as standoffish, sticky, drooling short stacks and feared any interaction with them. I was the youngest child growing up and had no experience with child rearing. And since I was always ten going on forty, sixteen going on forty, twenty going on eighty... Well, you get the picture. I was child-dense.

Lacking a skill has never stopped me from attempting something new, and parenting was no different. I basically approach this parenting thing the way I would approach a project given to me by a supervisor in my career. In fact, I pretty much treat it like a Marketing Plan. 

Goals
Every marketing plan must begin with clearly defined goals. What do I want for my children? What don't I want for them? Do I want to spoil them? Or should they learn to earn what they have instead? You can't define your parenting style until you figure out what it is you want your children to have, to experience and to avoid. 

I found that when I was working a job I hated, Monday through Friday from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. with one late night (7 p.m.) thrown in for good measure, I was not the parent I wanted to be. I yelled. A lot. And I hated myself for it. After I left, I immediately adopted some peaceful parenting philosophies and saw a noticeable, positive change in my children. So make sure you understand what kind of parent you want to be, and do some research if you also have some gaps to fill.

Target Audience
I've got my target audience figured out. Toddlers. Boys. Most companies can identify the same - but many fail to dig deeper, and in today's marketing environment, that's a huge mistake. You have to know what your audience wants, what makes them tick, what they want to learn about, laugh about, and how. Ask, what does my target audience value? What story do they have to tell? 

I find it's helpful to consider their likes/dislikes, the age appropriateness of an activity and whether or not the experience will make them excited, happy, engaged.  Sure, I might think a nature walk at the Root Glen would make for a nice outing, but take two boys under the age of five, add in two walking sticks and a bunch of perky spring flowers, and after a few minutes you will be standing in the middle of what looks like a crime scene. I'm talking walking sticks versus flowers, and (spoiler alert!) the flowers don't make it. Instead, I consider their fascination with wild animals and suggest a trip to the zoo.  

Competitive Analysis
Don't. Just don't. Don't compare yourself to other parents or compare your children to other children. It can be disastrous for you and upsetting to your children as well. Do, however, look into new ideas, projects, activities, etc.  And be kind, not judgmental, to other parents.

Someone didn't want to leave the beach.

When I was single, an angry, upset, temper-tantrum throwing child was scoffed at. Now, having been at the receiving end of some of those out-of-absolutely-nowhere-tantrums, I sympathize. I told a mother the other day whose child was melting down that we've all been there and she was doing a great job. We don't expect ourselves to be perfect - why do we expect our children to be?

Sales and Marketing Strategy
Undermine importance of ridiculously expensive toys (Pffft! A robot dinosaur that has wheels for feet? Like THAT would ever happen in Jurassic Park.) and sell them on playing with what they already have.  

My husband and I both will get out some of the discarded, forgotten toys when our children are fighting over an item and start playing. Voila! All of a sudden that toy is super cool again and they already forgot what they are fighting about. 

Subterfuge. I'm all about it.

I'm also all about research, and always have been, no matter what point in my life. I loved research-rich classes in college, enjoyed tackling new territory at any job, and I have an equal fervor for learning all I can about this challenge we call parenting.  

Almost every day, I'm exploring new, fun, educational activities that will entertain and engage my children in learning.  When I wanted to change how I interacted with my children, I did some Googling and came across articles on peaceful parenting. Some things we have an instinct for, some parenting tactics are innate, and others we can seek out, search for, try, fail at and then try again. 

As long as it comes from a place of love.

New Year's Revolutions

The end of the year signals a time to reflect. Often, those reflections result in some hasty resolutions that are devoid of meaning and go unkept.

The past two years have been disruptive to our usual quiet. But the bumps, collisions and explosions we've faced, together, have made us stronger, smarter, and more aware of what we want. And what we don't.

It's caused a revolution.

This revolution, this sudden change, brought us down some unfamiliar paths. So, instead of vowing to do something I probably won't, I'm going to reflect on what has happened, and what it's made me realize.

Home
I'm home, and home is where I want to be. Our move to a home up the street from where I grew up was a huge change, and one I never thought I'd make. We'd make. We love this house, its location and everything it has to offer, including a short walk to drop in on my parents. Our time away in Florida taught us a lot, the move back taught us even more, and now all of that is finally behind us, we have a warm, loving space to call home, and it's never felt better.

Self
I can't really say I've realized some things about myself if they were always there, now can I? But I can say I've embraced what I used to shun, have a deeper understanding, and an awareness that used to escape me. I'm in a really good place, I'm not perfect, but I know what I need to work on, and I will get it done.

Family
I feel closer to my family - and my husband's family - than I ever have and I hope those bonds grow deeper. I thoroughly treasure my relationship with my brother and am blessed to have my parents so close. I am constantly trying to parent peacefully, make sure our children learn every day, and am so proud of my children and what they accomplish each and every day.

Work
I know what I want, and what I don't want. I don't want the corporate grind, I want to work from home, for someone I admire and respect. With a husband that works out of town a lot and two small boys, I want to be here for them and I want them to grow up in this wonderful home, and not in someone else's.

Overall, our lives have changed incredibly in the last year, some good, and some not so good. I wish I could take away the pain my husband feels when it comes to the distance, proverbial and literal, that exists with his oldest child. If there is one aspect of our Florida move that I would take back, in an instant, it would be that change. But I also admire my husband for his resolve that everything will be okay and to take the constant changes in stride.

As for me, I will keep searching, learning, growing, reading, writing, being. I love listening to the giggles of my children, love watching them learn and grow at home, and am excited about what the future will bring, even if that future does seem to be approaching far too rapidly.

Falling Through the Reemployment Cracks

I had a valid reason for leaving my job and filing an unemployment claim when the credit union I worked for changed my hours repeatedly over a two week period, and expected me to be able to adapt to that change despite having two young children in full-time daycare. (Background: Hubby works out of town Monday through Friday; kids are not school aged.) I found a short-term solution when I was told the change was "immediate/temporary" but was unable to find a solution when told the second change was also immediate, but this time permanent.

Newsflash: Most Parents Do Not Have 24-Hour Day Care Options
The new hours I was being mandated to work fell outside the hours of operation for my children's daycare. Instead of receiving understanding or compassion, I was questioned. "Can't your mother-in-law or someone watch your kids?" said one dumbfounded looking supervisor.

That was the thing. She already did. I couldn't afford to place my children in a regular daycare program that would cost between $300 and $400 per week. Cripes, at that rate, I would have had no paycheck to bring home at all and would have constantly been in the hole. What my supervisors didn't understand, and didn't care to understand, was that the family members who were free during the day to watch my sons had jobs outside the home too and were only available until 6 p.m. The other catch twenty-two was that the majority of professional daycares in Central New York are not open past 5:30 p.m., let alone 6 p.m.  And, obviously, even if I could find one, it wouldn't matter due to the affordability issue.

Parents Should Be Comfortable with Their Daycare Options
This expectation from employers that we should just drop our kids off with whomever, whenever, so we can trudge in to work whenever they deem necessary is completely ridiculous. I learned that lesson the hard way in Florida, figuring all day cares are alike, until my sons started screaming as soon as the daycare came into sight. They had never done that in New York. The only thing worse than the screaming at drop off, was the crying at pick up. My oldest son, who was two going on three, said "Mama," in a trembling voice when I picked him up, and would unsuccessfully fight back tears. I hated dropping them off, I cried all the way to work, and I couldn't stop asking what the hell was happening to them that they were so unhappy there? I vowed then and there to never pick a random daycare ever again.

Yo-Yo Schedules
Employers need to understand that when they hire a person, whether they have children or not, there should be limits to the schedule changes. Being asked to completely change that schedule around, up and down, on a daily basis, constantly having it altered when you have other people's schedules to consider too, is just so unrealistic and uncaring that I refuse to work for someone who has that attitude. It was unfair to me, it was unfair to my children, and I just couldn't do that to them anymore.

The Other Unemployment Gap(s)
I find the lack of compassion from the reemployment counselor I'm forced to see every few weeks frustrating, tiring and unnerving. I tried explaining that starting my own business and working from home is ideal due to the situation I just detailed above. He had me apply for a program (SEAP) that helps unemployed folk like myself start a business. Guess what? I didn't score high enough to qualify for the program. Guess what else? I never filled out any paperwork for the SEAP program or took any sort of test, so how is my score being determined?

All right. So, let's talk about me going back to school then. If I went for an undergraduate degree, I might get some help with the 599 program, although currently there's a waiting list for funds, so can't count on that. How about grad school? That would make the most sense, since for my specific field (PR/Marketing/Communications) I am over qualified for entry-level positions and am being deemed under qualified for director positions. The 599 program mandates you take twelve credit hours each semester, only lasts 26 weeks, and grad school advisors recommend you only take two classes each semester, which would obviously fall short of the twelve-credit requirement and would run way past 26 weeks of school.

So what options, dare I ask, do professionals like me have in this reemployment setting? No one wants to help me start a business or work from home, no one wants to help me better myself by going back to school for my master's degree, and because I took a job outside of my field by working at the credit union, I'm expected to take ANY job, no matter what industry, AND take a pay cut on top of the pay cut I already took with the credit union just so unemployment and reemployment can get me off their books.

I even asked if I could teach a few seminars at the local reemployment office on how to use social media (and how not to) when job hunting, but was told there was no need at this time. Gee, thanks. Because the workshop I was forced to attend was so helpful? Some pompous guy in a bad shirt and jeans who offered nothing except personal anecdotes and kept saying he was from California? Whatever formula the labor department and these employment agencies have concocted in order to get people back to work do not make sense for every single person that comes through the doors.  Is no one considering that there's a market of people out there (like moi) that they are completely failing to help? The formula is flawed. There is quite obviously a time requirement to the appointments, since my counselor always stretches a five-minute conversation into at least 30 minutes.  Does he ask me any questions, other than Are you back to work? No. My reemployment counselor searches for jobs that A.) I've already applied to, B.) I'm not at all qualified for, or, C.) That I can't take due to all the reasons I've been ranting about.  Also? He fills out paperwork that could be filled out well in advance of our meeting. Making me sit, silently, while you fill out your required paperwork does absolutely nothing for my mid-life career crisis.

I know I'm lucky that I was able to leave a very negative and derogatory job behind. There are people out there who don't have that choice. I also know that there are many people who benefit from the services offered by local reemployment agencies. I realize this is a valuable service for many, however, my argument is that for a specific portion of the workforce, the services offered are too cookie-cutter, one shoe fits all, and I am neither a cookie, nor a foot.

All through grammar school, I was bored. The teachers didn't know what to do with me except allow me to read a book when I'd finished my work miles ahead of everyone else. I feel the same way now, that I am once again not fitting the norm, falling outside of some predetermined box, and waiting for this poor guy (who is probably very overworked and underpaid) to finally throw his hands up in resignation.

Next time, I'll just bring a book.

The Letter Heard Round the World

So a mother wrote an open letter to her daughter's stepmom, and it went viral. Of course it intrigued me and I read it, hoping to find a glimpse of something in there that would give me an "aha" moment.

Before my Counting Years blog, I sat down almost weekly and wrote for my Stepmother Stories blog, an outlet for me over the course of two and a half years during a period of mass chaos for our households.  Through the course of our entire relationship, of course, there have been ups and downs, highs and lows, but for the two plus years I wrote Stepmother Stories, there were only lows.

I was encouraged when we were all in agreement to end the court appearances and talking through lawyers and work this out ourselves, and for, most importantly, the child involved. Actually, all of the children involved, as we realized we did not want the chaos and misguided hate affecting their lives as well.

Slowly, I thought a friendship was building, and, it probably was. But life events turned everything upside down, and now, peace seems fragile, and my relationship with my stepson's mother is virtually non-existent.

For many years I wished it would be that way, but now, honestly, it saddens me. I don't know what tipped the cup, but now I am completely on the outside, and it's a strange place to be.

There have been a lot of wrongs committed. A lot has been done to me; a lot has been done to her. I'm sure if she was speaking, she could recite a long list of what I've done that she didn't like and vice versa. I'm not concerned with that.

What concerns me is that I've been so reticent over the years to admit to some hard truths, like the fact that her freezing me out over the years, and now, hurts my feelings. It was damn near impossible for me to tell her she was right. Ever. I've been very headstrong in doing things my way without consulting her. I see now that was wrong. But it's hard for me to apologize, it's hard to say now I understand what you were saying, it's hard for me to bridge the gaps that still exist, because when it comes right down to it, I can't do it alone.

So here's my open letter to my stepson's mother, even though I'm still not sure, as I write this, what it is I want to say.

To My Stepson's Mom
I was never the kind of little girl to put a pillowcase on her head, grab some flowers and walk down the hallway, pretending I was playing wedding day. I was outside in the mud.  

So no, I didn't ever dream of my wedding day. I did, however, have some passing thoughts.

When I briefly thought of marriage, or children, I certainly didn't think I would marry someone who already had been. And I definitely thought when I held my baby for the very first time, it would be his first time too. 

It was not.

These facts were hard for me to deal with, hard for me to process, and I dealt with it the best I could, which is to say, probably not very well. At all.

I know now that I should have consulted you more, that I should have encouraged my then boyfriend/now husband to coparent, as you desired. But it felt better to do it our way, because for me it was gaining back that piece of control I had lost by not being the first.

I did not expect the first child I would raise would not be my own, and I did the best I could. I tried to make him feel he was with a motherly figure when he wasn't with his mother, but I knew the truth, every minute of every day, and that truth was that I was not his mother, and that he wanted to be with you. The only part of that scenario that bothered me, just a little bit, was that I didn't get the unconditional love that comes with being a biological parent. Now that I'm a mother I see the undeniable bond I have with my children that cannot be duplicated. And it's not that I wanted to replace you. Ever. There was just something to be said about doing everything that a parent does, but not being one. There was always something that felt...absent.

It doesn't help that we are such opposite personalities. I hope one day we can learn to gain strength from those differences. It took me a long time to learn that the way I prefer to do things is not the right way, it's just my way. I do allow for differences, but I can still be harsh. Judgmental. I try not to be. I'll try harder.

My wish is for a mutual respect for each other's lives, our differences, and for an open dialogue even during the times when we all vehemently disagree. Our situations are all difficult and our lives have all changed - keep changing - as the years go by. 

I remember a time not too long ago when you would stop over after work to watch The Voice, and just hang. I miss that, and I hope someday in the future that can be a possibility again. What I don't want is for negative situations to affect what is said between us. The decisions made between you and my husband are yours, not mine. I think in the past where it has fallen apart is when one side feels scorned, and I am the one who is vented to, by both parties. At least that's how it used to be. Now I just feel like a stranger, and sometimes like a stranger in my own home. 

I love your son and I have always tried to do my best for him. I will always do my best for him, no matter what. 

I'm not warm and fuzzy, but here goes nothing. You have done a great job with your son. He is an amazing, caring person who is turning into an incredible young man. I see a lot of you in your son. You have been very accepting of me over the years and have told me time and again that I was doing a great job, or that you were happy I was in your son's life. Thank you. It really means the world to me to hear that.

Now, here's my plea: Don't give up on us. Don't give up on me. 

I am still learning, still growing and still figuring some things out. Thank you for always giving second chances, and thank you for being there for me all of the times I've needed it. 

-Stepmom

Call Me Lady Loner

Like the greats before me - Emily Dickinson and J.D. Salinger to name a few - I am a loner. This does not mean I'm plotting some sort of Miss Havisham-esque revenge or talking to a hundred cats all day long. It just means, well, I like to be alone.

My version of alone is more that I like to be left alone. After all, I love being with my family and having my parents a stone's throw away. But after first disengaging from the social scene I used to immerse myself in, to now disengaging from a work-social scene, I find that I rather enjoy the quiet my life has taken on, and I prefer it to stay that way. I do enjoy spending time with my family, but cultivating friendships? Eh. And the more I think about it, the more I realize I've always been this way. The only long-term friend I have is one I met in college, and there was an immediate friend connection that we both recognized and nurtured. We also understand each other's busy schedules, and are there for each other when needed, but not touching base every day. And that's ok. Other than that, when I look back, I realize other people have sort of adopted me or included me in their groups, where I never quite felt like I fit, and the fact that those people are no longer a part of my life is no big surprise.

And where I used to question my lack of belonging, I've now come to embrace it. I feel I have enough to interest me and many of the hobbies I enjoy are solitary adventures, which got me thinking. What is it that makes a loner like me ok with lonerdom? Here's my list of what made me realize that I am a loner, that being a loner is cool, and that being a loner does not mean you're going to end up wearing shades, a hoody and harvest a deep-seated desire to make bombs.

Personality Score
My four-letter type formula according to Carl Jung’s and Isabel Briggs Myers’ test is INTJ, which for women, is pretty rare.  Basically, this is like being knighted as a loner in the psychological world. 

Rules, limitations and traditions are anathema to the INTJ personality type - everything should be open to questioning and reevaluation, and if they see a way, INTJs will often act unilaterally to enact their technically superior, sometimes insensitive, and almost always unorthodox methods and ideas.

To me, this means that while I may be an extrovert when needed (i.e. for my career), what I prefer is quiet, solitude, and room to do some serious pondering. It also means I can be blunt, which can come off as insensitive, and I don't care.

Work Doing Stuff at Home
My personality and affinity for being alone is why I'm an ideal candidate to work from home. Ever since I left my crappy corporate job, I have been active all day long. Since I left my job, every day, Monday through Friday, has been spent in my home office. I am networking, researching, writing and doing some piece work, not to be confused with "working," a term which would cause the UE division to dock my ridiculously teeny tiny UE earnings. (Seriously, you are not encouraged to be entrepreneurial at ALL. I was told if I even spent 15 minutes in one day "working" on being self-employed, even if I wasn't getting paid, such as working on a web site for myself, that is considered one day of work and I wouldn't get paid for that day. To that, I give the UE office a big, fat middle finger. See? There's that bluntness rearing its head. Oh well.)  So my days at home are not spent on the couch in sweatpants. In fact, I don't even own sweat pants, thank you. My days are spent, well, being active. Doing... stuff. At home. With my kids. Alone. Ish. 

I Don't Care
I don't care about celebrities. I don't care about TV shows and I couldn't name one reality star if you offered me a million dollars. I was completely lost to the references offered up in My Fair Lazy, and if I had a water cooler, which I don't, I'd probably be lost to the chatter around that as well. I don't engage in nor do I care about the melodrama people tend to create. I never have. I think that's why I've had so few female friends (sorry, but it's true - women tend to gossip more and stir the pot). I don't care who did what to who or why you're telling me behind whose back. Huh? Exactly. Don't care!

My Hubby
My husband always likes to point out that I don't like to share. It's true. I didn't want to go away to college and deal with roommates, and my post-college apartment situation with a roommate lasted about a month. I grew up with my own room and I spent a lot of time in it, because, if it isn't obvious by now then you really need to catch up - I didn't have a ton of friends or a booming social life. And, sometimes as a teenager that sucked, but most of the time I was quite content to dim the lights, light a few candles and listen to Tori Amos or Nine Inch Nails. 

But in my loner state, that doesn't necessarily equate to me not wanting to be around people. The fact that I have a husband should prove that. I just need to find the right ones. My husband has learned that I'm not needy, and that's ok. He can go down to his mancave in the garage and I can work on my writing. It's cool. 

My Children
If ever there are two perfect little faces that can make me feel like a well-adjusted loner, it's my two boys. I do sometimes get wrapped up in writing, reading, or simply cleaning the house, but thanks to my boys I take well-needed breaks to get down on the floor and play. Again, being on the loner bandwagon, for me, just means a lack of a big social circle and a huge group of friends. I would rather spend time at home, with my husband and my children, than be anywhere else. And if I do find myself with time to spare, I don't desire to spend it elsewhere. I have plenty here that keeps me busy and happy.

Social Media
For a self-described loner, social media can be problematic. Unless you utilize the privacy functions. Which I do. A lot. Sorry if you don't make the cut, but I just can't get on board with having so much whining in my newsfeed. Or catfights. Or a thousand pictures of inspirational sayings or crude pictures with even cruder sayings that are someone's (not mine) idea of funny. So my Facebook feed is heavily edited, I have less than a hundred friends, and I don't miss what I'm not missing.

Loner Does Not Mean Selfish
I think somewhere in history, a loner became synonymous with selfish. I'm far from that. Most of my day is spent revolving around other people, namely my husband and our sons. However, in my forever need to question and evaluate, I do take a closer look at certain friendships at times, asking, what is this truly built on, is it a positive interaction, and am I getting back what I give? Sometimes the answers are not positive ones, and I tend to retreat further into my own world, backing off any further social activity. I also feel that as I get older, I simply don't need to cater to everyone else, which is also not selfish, just self care. It just makes sense that as we age, we evolve, and sometimes a person who fit in your life a few years ago, today, no longer does. And that's ok. At least I think that's ok. But I'm a loner, so I would, wouldn't I?

Outside Looking In

As I sit here trying to collect myself after a sobbing fit, brought on when I had to answer the door to a gruff man asking for my husband (like he’s a common criminal) and hands me paperwork for family court. Lucky me, I get to be the recipient, and it’s not the first time. I am especially irritated when asked my name, age and height. I know he’s doing his job, but it took all my strength not to spit back at him, “Would you like my bra size and a DNA sample too?”

Happy effing holidays.

To be fair, this is not out of the blue, and it had to due with state regulations, blah blah blah and I'm sure it's nothing and will hopefully go away. I'm not blaming anyone for having to do the actual paperwork. I'm more upset at the way you're treated when these guys in cheap suits and shitty cars drop off this paperwork to your home. It's not fun.

As for the other stuff, well, I would like peace all year, and it’s something that I thought had been established. During the holidays, I would really like peace, compassion, and if a man is going to show up to my house in the middle of the day, he better be wearing a friggin Santa suit, spreading Christmas cheer, not interrogating me on the whereabouts of my husband.

I guess peace is a fragile thing. Maybe I don’t try hard enough. Perhaps I haven’t tried at all to be friends, let alone friendly, although I feel I’ve made attempts.  Those attempts just happen to feel constantly thwarted and there always seems to be a lack of compassion, understanding, and generosity when it comes to what we are going through.  And when my husband is getting criticized, judged, and attacked, then yes, my urge to be friendly disappears real quick. But come on, what do you expect?

The bottom line is, how do you not feel like you’re completely on the outside when someone has purposely put you there? In a glass box so they can watch, and then judge, everything you do? Use it to build an argument or agenda that you had no idea was bubbling below the surface? It feels like war, and I’m into peace, man. Love and harmony.  Just because I don’t send flowers or a hundred text messages (with smiley faces) each day doesn’t mean anything, except maybe I’m too busy.  Because I can get over getting treated like dog shit, each and every time. I can, I have and I will. But, understandably, it gets harder to want to try, and much easier to ask to be left alone.