Season’s Change ….

as does life. I can feel the change coming. The vibrancy and energy of the summer season is starting to dwindle as life slows and things feel like they are getting back to normal. I can see it on my kids faces that they don’t dread the school year. They are looking forward to it. The excitement on my middle child, my son’s face as one aspect of his life starts to end and a more aware and exciting era begins. He’s at that point where boy becomes man. His senior year. I see that sweet, sensitive boy turning into a strong and caring man and find myself in awe at how time is a beautiful thing. He is no longer that angry child. He walks with a surety that I hope serves him well this year.

My oldest started her second semester of college. Determination is in her eyes and the past struggles seem to be dissipating as she grows and learns and realizes that her dad and I really do know what we are talking about. At least that’s where things are right now.

My youngest frets. She is a perfectionist with more drive than the engine of a Formula 500 car fresh of the assembly line. Instead of taking the summer off like most nine year-olds, she decided to hone her craft. She is a dancer and gymnast and my hero. When most adults would quit or when I would try to get her to slow down, she’d insist on going on. “Mom, I’m fine. Let me do it. I can do it.”

My kids are my heroes. They are teaching me that with enough determination, I can do what I want too.

As the seasons are changing and the cycle of life continues, so do we as people. This summer my life was busier than ever but it was the first time in a long time that I still took time to stop, reflect and take it all in. Now, after a busy summer and a fabulous and much needed vacation, I feel rejuvenated. My creative muse is screaming at me and it feels wonderful.

Life is good. Family is forever and season’s are always changing. Changing for the better.

Third time’s the charm

Recently, some very dear friends started their own blogs. A task that makes them blog everyday so they can hone their craft. They are amazing photographers and have given me inspiration. Something that is an easy thing to ignore when one lets the little things overwhelm them. When that happens to me, my muse screams at me, “Find the will and the passion any place you can, Lizzy!” That means, sometimes you have to ride on the heels of those people that are striving to do the same. I’ve also taken it as a great training tool in the never ending struggle off teaching the same abilities to your children. Through finding my own muse, I’m able to learn how to inspire my children and theirs.

So, I would like to introduce you to my inspirational friends. Maybe through their photos, they can help to inspire you too.

Laura’s Project 365 Project Blog

Mindy’s 365 Project Blog

Lisa’s Project 365 Project Blog

Hopefully, as a writer, I can follow in their footsteps. Let’s see how this goes. This is the third continuous day of my blog. Let’s hope there is a fourth. In the meantime, I think I’ll continue on my writing journey. Today’s goal is 15 pages. Wish me a happy journey.

Another Manic Motherhood Monday

Good Easter Monday morning.

It’s 10:00 a.m. and I feel like I have already put in a days work. My alarm clock was the sound of my favorite vehicle, the green and white Peapod truck. The loud and steady beep as it backed into my driveway was music to my ears though I’m sure my neighbors would disagree as it arrived at 6:00 a.m. Trick one to taking the pain out of fighting long lines at the grocery store, have them delivered. It’s the way a lot of stay-at-home mom’s did things years ago. Mind you, I went to bed at one thirty in the morning so I laid down on the couch hoping I would not oversleep. Little one woke up with a tummy ache and a fever so I knew that we would not be making our long awaited walk up to school this morning.

Second ingredient to a manic Monday, putting the groceries away and waking the birthday boy, my seventeen year-old son up to begin his day at 6:30. Then, clean out the crate of a one hundred and ten pound sick Great Dane puppy whom I had just put out at fifteen minutes before. I guess it made more since for her to come back inside and get sick in her crate. I must remember to thank hubby when he gets back from his three to four week long business trip for leaving her in my care. 7:00 a.m., make sure seventeen year-old boy actually has all of his school needs before sending him out the door and then run upstairs to check on little one only to find that her fever has spiked. Add Motrin and tears and we now have frizzled haired Mom meets frazzled nerved lunatic as the doorbell rings and sick dog has jumped neighbors fence again. Apologies are given and the neighbor accepts with a fearful look on their face and thoughts that maybe they should slip a package of Prozac in my mailbox.

It’s 8:15 a.m. Next on the to do list, shower. Oops, doorbell. The delivery guy delivered part of my order to the wrong address. Sigh. Now I have a few more groceries to put away. At least, I have a moment to have a cup of coffee. Coffee cup you say? Not a clean one in sight. Time to do the dishes.

9:00 am, the doorbell again. The furniture repair guy is an hour early and the landscaping company is pulling up to inspect and give me an estimate. For some reason, I don’t care what the cost is but I have another one coming tomorrow. Did someone say coffee?

Alas, everyone is gone now. What’s next on my manic Monday? Laundry? Vacuuming? Rewrites and edits? Coffee!

Hey, the day has just begun.

Playing with fire …..

…. and hopefully, I’ll get burned.  I am in the midst of rewrites.  The beginning of one of my works in progress just didn’t feel right.  Characters were mewing in my ear that what I was asking them to do just wasn’t working for them.  Like petulant children, the dug their heels into the ground and the harder I tried to pull reign them in, the harder they pulled away.  When that starts to happen, I know that it is indicative of my own inner struggles.  My mind shuts down when the outer world starts to squeeze my creative muse so hard that she retreats.  I think it’s time we both take a vacation but in reality, the only one who really gets to take a break is my muse.  That is where the frustration takes over so once again, it is time to do a little spring cleaning.  But not until tomorrow.  Today, we both took a break to rejuvenate.  We watched a few movies and worked on this blog.  Tonight, we’ll  a couple glasses of wine and let the voices in our head take a vacation. 

But, just to give my muse and me a little push, we let the visual part of us play and dream about the future. This is our story:

First Dance Storyboard

Reaping lifes rewards and the little things that matter.

I apologize. I have been a very bad blogger. Life happens but I am here now.

This morning started much like many mornings in my home. The distant sound of a blow horn grew louder and louder until I rolled over and tapped the snooze button on my iPhone. My little one decided to lay claim to her father’s side of the bed while he is out of town for the next few weeks. She snuggled a bit closer when I moved. Yes, she is eight but they grow up so fast. Who can deny a mother from cuddling her youngest while she is still allowed to do so? I pulled my arm, numb from the elbow down, from under her silky black hair and slumped out of bed, grumbling the whole way to the bedroom door. I flicked a switch on and squinted my eyes to shield them from the sharp assault of the hall light and knocked on my sixteen year old son’s door.

“I’m up. I’m up!” he snarled.

I waited for another minute and peeked in. He wasn’t. I called his name again and told him that I was not going to leave until I saw foot on ground and body upright. When that was achieved, I told him that cereal had been put on the counter the night before. Then, I crawled back into bed to rest my eyes for three more nine-minute intervals of closing my eyes and hitting the snooze button again.

Next, it was baby girl’s turn.

“Mommy, I just can’t get up. I can’t move. Your bed is so comfortable. I can’t get up.” she whined.

Once again, I informed a child to take the first step and dangle the feet over the edge. She is a perkier kid in the morning than her brother. Once her feet hit the ground, she is rearing to go. That is until it was time to actually leave the house for the walk up the hill to school.

We got dressed, brushed hair and teeth, made her lunch and morning to go cup of tea for her and my coffee and hit the road. I wished I had watched the weatherman this morning. We braved fifty mile per hour winds on our journey up that hill. We made it to the corner and said good morning to our morning man candy, Officer Josh. One of the many benefits of living next to a school is that Monday through Friday one of the county’s finest men in uniform helps us cross the road. I love chivalry even if they get paid to do it and we are blessed with a different one every morning. Today was Officer Josh’s day. I digress. But, as a romance writer one couldn’t ask for a better way to start the day.

We crested the hill. The brutal assault of the icy wind pushed us back. It felt like Zeus was trying to drive us back home. I looked across the street. There was a flock of geese standing strong against it in the high school parking lot. The leader, Attila, as we call him squawked at us be I was not going to let a group of foul fowl deter me. We carefully crossed the icy high school parking lot and my daughter says, “Mom, are you staying for the assembly?”

I inwardly grimaced. “What assembly, Sweetie?”

I was then informed that my little one was speaking at an assembly on honesty. Well, there went the excuse I was going to pull out of my ass. It was a good thing that I dressed tastefully instead of throwing on the mom sweats. It was also a good thing that I wrapped my scarf around my head.

The blustering wind would not stop our quest. We finally made it to the elementary school. I signed her in and sent her to class and then sat in the lobby until it was time to head to the gym.

The bell rang and the halls grew silent. I stared down the glistening white hallway and let my eyes take in every image. Posters, paintings, drawings and crafts canvassed the walls like Skittles strewn across the purest of snows. I closed my eyes imprinting the visions on my mind and listened as the stragglers started to arrive. Children bolted through the heavy door. Exasperation creased their mother’s voices. The words, “You see what happens when I say we have to go. When I say go. That means go!” My eyes opened. Not one of those moms stopped to kiss or hug their little one goodbye. I remember days with my oldest children; days when I was frustrated and tired and didn’t pause for the little things and my heart broke a little.

Today was not going to be one of those days.

One little girl caught my eye. She was so like me as a child. Watching the quiet sadness behind her eyes, I began to ponder parenthood and my life’s evolution from bright-eyed child to world-worn adult to finding my happy place. Now, even the little things that make me smile and lately, I’ve been ecstatic.

Last week, my littlest one had a great week. She brought home a remarkable report card and competed in her first dance competition. She and the three other girls in her routine won two awards, first top place and highest pointed awarded in her age group.

This week, I had a great week. It ended with a cuddle, a walk and reaping the rewards of the little things.

Food For The Soul ….just in time to wash away the pain.

I’ve had an interesting week.  One filled with a lot of new and old family drama which means it should be a spectacular writing week.

It’s time to pick up all the piles of dirty laundry and chuck them out the door.  Memories are like old clothes and I’m beginning to realize that maybe the best way to heal old wounds is by taking the junk I’ve stored away in the deep recesses of my mind and systematically go through all of it and organize it.  What get’s thrown away?  What do I keep?  Why am I keeping it.  Why have I held on to it? And why am I just finding it now after all of these years?

I had a very interesting conversation with my sister and realized that my mind had blocked out so many things that happened to me as a child.  I don’t know why that happens to some people.  Is it God’s way of protecting a child’s mind until they are strong enough to face things?  What I do know is that for some reason, I’m seeing things clearly and am looking forward to remembering both the good and the bad things that have happened.  Now let’s hope I have the courage to find my way to the wardrobe that holds the answers.  I can see the light at the end of that tunnel.

It’s time for something to lift the spirits.  Get it right and it will be light and airy.  Get it wrong and it might sink but will still be tasty in the end.

So this week’s recipe is:

GRAND MARNIER SOUFFLE with help from Cook.com

1 c. milk 4 eggs, separated 1 tbsp. Grand Marnier 1/3 c. flour 1/3 c. sugar Dash of vanilla extract Bring the milk to a boil. Mix flour, egg yolks, sugar and vanilla extract in a bowl. Pour the hot milk into the egg mixture while whisking it. Pour back into the pot and cook at low heat, beating with a spatula until thick and smooth. Beat the egg whites until they almost have soft peaks, then add one tablespoon of sugar, continuing to beat until peaks form*. Gently fold the batter into the egg whites, trying to deflate as little as possible. Place about 2 tablespoons of the souffle mixture onto the top half of the crepes and lift lower half over it (1 fold made). Then fold again to form the crepe into quarters (second fold made. Place them on a cookie sheet and bake them in a 400°F oven for 15 minutes. Sprinkle some confectioners sugar over the crepes when they come out of the oven and serve.

WTF Wednesday? Back to writing down the bones.

My home needs an entire overload.  I can’t continue to clean up after four other people and maintain my sanity; I woke up this morning with a million things running through my head and came downstairs to chaos.  Dishes were strewn all over the family room like trash along a run down highway.  The kitchen looked like chicken enchiladas had a frat party and I wasn’t invited.  So, I handed the scene over to my oldest child, told her it was a lesson in sharing the load, walked downstairs and started to type.

I have decided that I will take a little time each day to write a personal journal.  Hopefully through writing down the basics, I will find a way to open my mind and dig through whatever crap has been burying me from the inside out and by getting to know myself, I will get to know my characters better and teach them how to do the same thing.

There are a lot of things that are bubbling underneath the surface in my psyche and I just don’t know which hole to start digging first so I guess I’ll start from the most recent.  Right this second, a chill is running up my spine and my eyes are starting to tear up.  The fear of letting the emotions I’m feeling at this moment, whatever they may be, is starting to stifle me but I am going to try to write through the fear and see where it leads me.

My husband and I recently went through a tumultuous time.  Not one that would lead to a breakup.  I think it would take something of biblical proportions to do that.  But circumstances in the lives of our children, specifically, the teens made us question ourselves as parents.  We came to the conclusion that we are good parents but it took us having to ask for help to prove that.  First we had to get over the obstacle that being a good parent sometimes means asking someone professional and on the outside to give you some useful tools.  In the grand scheme of things, we did the right thing, I think, but it was hard.  We came out of the storm a little stronger too.

Our oldest had a difficult time dealing with the prospect of growing up.  It’s amazing how your teenager fights you at every turn wanting to be a grown up and when faced with the challenge of actually becoming one, they panic.  It’s happened to us all even if we didn’t realize it then but when you are on the other side of it, having already done it, you fail to see the signs of fear and think of it as rebellion.  I (having had a mother, well let’s just call her the mother of all mothers and leave it at that) am just glad that my maternal instinct, those feelings in our gut that we are born with and not taught, told me that it was not about me but about helping my children and that my husband was strong enough for the both of us to realize that we needed help.

Help for us came in the form of a therapeutic ranch in Utah and it came for our son and through some self-reflection while he’s been gone, it came for us as well.  I wish we had known about it before our daughter reached eighteen but we did learn some tools to help her there as well.  While worrying so much about the actions and lack thereof of our oldest, our son got a little lost in the shuffle which led to defiance, lack of motivation and into a descent that as hard as we tried, we couldn’t pull him up from.  I remember taking him to the airport and wanting to see him off.  I wanted to walk to the gate and watch him fly off even though part of me wanted to hold him and coddle him and tell him that everything would be alright only to get up to the gate and realize that the ticket agent forgot to give me a pass so I could get past security.  I wanted to cry but couldn’t because I wanted to teach my son that he had the ability to go out into the world without having to have mom hold his hand.   I also wanted him to know that I would be here to catch him if he fell.  Funny thing is that when I got in the car that evening, I hadn’t realized that yet and I was livid at my husband because he made me do that even then I knew that wasn’t it and it took me going to visit him to realize that everything I was feeling at that airport gate was right.  My instinct took over when my head screamed against it.  I am so grateful for the man I married for loving our family enough to do what was needed to heal us and for my instincts for taking over when my heart was faltering.

As I sit here typing, I realize what is causing the fear and the tears to bubble up.  First, it is the fear of how putting my inner most thoughts out there for the world to see might come back to bite me on the ass and yet I’m still going to do it.  Then, there is the fear of digging through the emotions that led my life to where it is now and how all of that will affect my life and my writing and finally realizing that in order to get to where I want to go, I have to find where I came from and take the introvert that I strive to be and become the extrovert that I need to be in order to be a better me, wife, mother and writer.

So, let the journey continue.

Weekly Recipe – Food for the Muse

Whilst I write this blog as food for my soul, I thought that I’d share actual food for the body.  One of my favorite ways to relax myself is by cooking a really great meal.  Cutting vegetables or a really nice piece of meat can be every bit as therapeutic as reading a great book or screaming to the top of your lungs.  Admit it.  We all need to escape from our hectic day.  As a stay-at-home mom and even as a working mom, I at one time hated …absolutely dreaded cooking.  It was one more task I had to endure.  Now, I realize that cooking a really great meal doesn’t take as much time as I thought and if I look forward to it, not only does the food taste better but I am so relaxed afterward.  It helps to have a great glass of wine and someone sexy, my husband, to talk to.  Actually, hubby and I have a great time cooking together.

Well,let’s get this dinner party started.  This isn’t hard to make and doesn’t take an entire evening to make either.  Prepare to dazzle your loved ones and feed your muse.  It’s delicious so let’s dig in.

First, grab a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon and pour two glasses.  Grab your favorite cd and your favorite man.

Bacon-wrapped Cornish Hens with Raspberry Balsamic Glaze
adapted from a recipe in The Gourmet Cookbook by Ruth Reichl
serves 8 from start to finish: 1 hour

Preheat oven to 450*

2/3 cup seedless raspberry jam
1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
16 bacon slices (about 1 pound; I use maple-flavored.  It adds flair)
4(1-1/2 to 1-3/4)Cornish hens, rinsed and patted dry; Can also used full chicken thighs

salt and freshly ground pepper

Combine jam and vinegar in a small saucepan.
Simmer briskly, uncovered, stir occasionally with whisk, until reduced to about 1/2 cup.

Glaze thicken slightly as it cools.

Put a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat to 450*F

Cook bacon in batched in a large skillet over moderate heat until translucent and pliable.  Bacon has to be flexible for wrapping. (I actually save time by putting bacon in a microwavable casserole dish.  Cover with paper towel and cook about 1 minute per slice)

Transfer bacon to paper towel to drain.

With kitchen shears, cut out the back bone from each hen and discard.

Halve lengthwise and season with salt and pepper.

Arrange skin side up in large roasting pan.

Brush hens liberally with some glaze and wrap 2 slices of bacon around each half, tuck ends under or pin with toothpicks

Roast, brushing with pan juices and glaze after 10 minutes and then after 20, until juices run clear when thigh is pierced.  30-35 minutes total.

Discard remaining glaze.

Bon Appetite.  With food like this, you’ll be amazed at what other creative ideas fill you palette.

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Stepping Up The Game, Redefining Elizabeth

I found my “I am woman! Hear me roar” façade, well maybe not façade … demeanor, that’s a better word, taking a header this week. The mother’s guilt started to rear its ugly head as I looked around the house and saw the clutter piling up. It seems that the people I love haven’t quite realized how serious I am and I have let them get away with it.

“Oh, Mom will get that. I have a movie to go to and if I slip out while she’s “writing”, she’ll never notice.”

“Gee, that Playstation game is calling my name, so what if I grab a separate glass every time I grab a new beer and they pile up, Sweetie can get it once she’s done with her little hobby. I’ve worked all day and want to relax.”

I find it really hard to work around mess. I have always thought that the way your house looks reflects the chaos in your life. Well, I had a theory that I was somewhat wrong. The clutter will always be there in one form or another but the burning desire I have to write is constantly growing as well. That is why I am forcing myself into keeping the promise that I made to have and to hold my hopes and my dreams until death I do part.

My husband is quite wonderful though and is struggling through his own insecurities, although deep-seeded, by working on getting to know the woman I am becoming and by helping me find the confidence that he says I always had but am now awakening. I’m starting to like this woman that I’m becoming even if she’s carrying around a little guilt, the guilt of putting herself first for once.

So in keeping my promise and as I self reflect and redefine who I am becoming, I am kicking the clutter aside and delegating duties to others. If by teaching myself that, maybe I can leave the impressions on my kids and loved ones that sometimes to find who you are, you have to help the people around you learn that sometimes the clutter we build together has to be torn down together. Take a guilt-free vacation by asking for help and delegating duties.