Category: wifing

Unexpected Breakdowns

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I’m going to toot my own horn for a minute. Don’t worry, it’s not something I do often (unless of course I’ve been sipping on the Tito’s for a while and I promise I haven’t been this morning), but today I feel like it. So I am.

We were dealt a life changing hand September 2018, obviously, or I wouldn’t be writing this. I would say for the first 2 weeks, I was a crumbling mess of tears, nerves and anxiety. But then I put my girl panties on (literally because eating was my coping mechanism and I needed the big girl ones to fit around my fat ass), raised my tits up (thank you Mrs. Maisel) and I dealt with it. I found my inner strength (and maybe Xanax) and we continued to live. We lived the shit out of the last year.

Ash and Jack went to a World Series game in LA thanks to some very dear friends. Jack got to play baseball with Duke’s baseball team. Some of Ash’s best friends from high school came to see us. We went to Jamaica for Christmas. We took Colt to Target for hours one day and let him shop the hell out of it. Ash even bought him some random junk, which was very unlike him! We sold a business. We went to Houston, Ft. Worth, Salado and Austin, TX. Both boys rode a horse. Ash shot guns at cacti. We played countless rounds of family golf! Ash and I went to Durango, CO where we took very short hikes and cried too many tears. We went to another World Series game thanks to an awesome brother in law (and our very favorite Washington Nationals won the whole thing! Like, whoa! Divine intervention. Me thinks so!).

You get the point. We lived. We held our heads high. We did not break down in public. To look at us, you would never know what we were living with day in and day out. Even our closest friends were always shocked when Ash couldn’t come some place, or didn’t feel well or found out he threw up several times a day every day but still pushed through and LIVED. He is for sure my hero (that wasn’t always true and those that know me, know why, how, when, etc.). He was so brave through this fight though.

But guess what? So was I. (Told you I was going to toot my own horn.) Some days were worse than others but for the most part, I was dressed, my makeup was done, my hair looked decent and I was mostly friendly (other than at preschool, something about chipper, bright eyed and bushy-tailed preschool moms made me want to crawl in a hole and never come out, sorry ladies!) I went out with friends, I laughed, I made inappropriate jokes about our situation, took my kids to do fun things, took care of Ash. I can’t take all the credit of course. We have one hell of a support system around here, family, friends and even strangers. But dammit, I was strong. I am strong.

Now you’re wondering where the hell are you going with this, Kellie?!?

So here goes. Saturday, you heard about Saturday. I was an angry elf. And then I was a teary elf. I got the sympathy cards. I had the breakdown. I ended up letting the boys sleep in my bed (not my favorite thing in the whole wide world if you wanted to know.) I stayed up too late bingeing The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (best show ever, go watch it!). At one point, I needed to take a trip to the little girls room, somebody (ie the young boys that I don’t necessarily want sleeping in my bed) used the last of the toilet paper so I opened the cabinet above the toilet to find some more. Nothing strange there, except that it was. My husband’s side still had all his things. Deodorant, cologne that he never wore, some medications, shaving cream, razors, all the normal things a man would have for the bathroom.

And I just lost it. Out of nowhere. Unexpectedly. I crumpled to the floor in a heap and just sobbed. And I thought of all the reasons I was angry at him. He left me. He left the boys. He left the dogs. We had a rule, no more children than there are adults and now there’s only 1 adult, 2 children and 2 dogs. He broke the rule. And I am so mad. He never cleaned up his messes. He was always critical. He never liked my ideas. Until he did, because my ideas are mostly awesome! (haha!). He didn’t clean the garage. He left me in this house where now 2 Jones men have died. And I wanted to write it all down. I wanted to write him a letter and give him a piece of my mind. Tell him all the ways he’s pissed me off. But I couldn’t do that, could I? Because he left me. And our boys. And I know it wasn’t his choice but it doesn’t stop the anger. Or the unexpected breakdowns. Like opening the bathroom cabinet.

Yesterday I started cleaning out the garage. My dad’s boss let me borrow his dump trailer. My husband is a bit of a pack rat. He never throws anything away. Why throw it away when we can just lose it in a heaping pile of other junky shit in the garage. So it was a big task. My brother and mother helped because they are angels on Earth! But I found something again. Another letter. (also $25 in Canadian money so I’m probably a little rich now). It was a letter from Ash and my boys for Mother’s Day and it was just thanking me. Thanking me for “all you do for us everyday: laundry, dinner, groceries, special sandwiches!, coffee, paying all our bills on time so we don’t go to jail!!!!, letting us know when we need to go sit on the stairs, keeping our daily schedule intact, always showing us love and patience (okay that isn’t even possible) – but you are always there when we need you, when no one else will do.” It goes on to say other many nice things, and while it brought tears to my eyes (Ash didn’t do nice, really – unfortunate that my love language is words of affirmation. His wasn’t! Makes me laugh now – we somehow made it work, though), it also dissipated some of my anger with him. Had he been given a choice, he never would have chosen cancer and living our entire life in one year and leaving when everything was so good. The last sentence of this letter that I found is “God put us together for a reason and he made you a mother for a reason.”

I sure wish I knew the reason why He didn’t keep us together for longer. More unexpected breakdowns are in my future, but for the most part (other than in writing), you won’t see them. You will see me smile and laugh and make inappropriate jokes.

The Chaos of it All

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It’s been a while. We opened a business and that consumed our lives. It was fun. It was difficult. I stopped cooking a lot because of the nightly hours of said business. And now, that business is for sale.

It’s funny how you can be living, surviving, doing all the things we all do on a daily basis. And then BAM, you are hit with news that forever changes everything. That’s what happened to us.

My husband and I were working a lot last summer. We barely saw our kids, but it was ok, we were building something, showing them what hard work was with the hope that all that hard work would pay off.

It’s August, we’re both exhausted, but my husband more so. He has an autoimmune disease, so had some belly pain, too, which we equated to all the long hours and lack of sleep on top of the primary sclerosing cholangitis (PSC). We’ve lived with this for years now, so it’s nothing new.

Only this time, it was something new. The pain didn’t go away. As a matter of fact, it actually got worse. So bad, that he became couch ridden. He couldn’t tolerate laying flat in a bed, so the recliner is where he spent his time. He lost 25 pounds, couldn’t eat, wasn’t sleeping. I kept telling him to go to the doctor, call the doctor, do something. He still refused to believe it was anything other than PSC symptoms until that fateful September day where he finally called. He started with his liver doctor (where he’s seen for the PSC). Liver doctor says it sounds like a bowel obstruction, go directly to your local ER, do not pass go, do not collect $200. While that news wasn’t thrilling, it felt like relief to have an answer and be on the path to feeling better.

We knew our ER doctor from around the community. We were having fun in the ER. Laughing, joking, making the best out of the “shitty” situation if you know what I mean! Husband was taken for a CT to confirm what we were already certain was true – bowel obstruction. He comes back. still laughing, still joking.

We have a bit of time to ourselves before the results come. Husband may have dozed off for a few. I may have looked at Facebook for a few. But then the doctor comes back, and we can tell that something is different. His tone, his facial expressions, his mannerisms. He’s not easy going, fun doctor from our golf leagues last winter. He’s serious. He’s somber. We’re scared.

Bowel obstruction would have been great news. Hell, a lot of other things would have been far superior to the news we received. Although, on that day, we still didn’t know how bad the news was going to be. What we did know was cancer, all over the abdomen, don’t know where it came from and our local hospital was not equipped to figure it out. So, husband was transferred to a larger hospital about an hour away. And that’s where our journey begins.

We are 36 years old. We have 2 young children. We are devastated. We are hopeful. Cancer sucks but it’s cured all the time. He’s young and otherwise healthy. Everything will be just fine. That’s what we keep telling ourselves.

I can’t say that the care we received at the bigger hospital an hour away was anything to write home about. It was sterile. We felt like just another case. Nobody seemed to care about the news we were still reeling from. Our nurse smelled like a damn brewery from her fun the night before. We had to get out of there. They did all the necessary tests and we hightailed it as soon as we could.

We knew there was better out there and we were determined to find it. And we did. We eventually landed at Duke Cancer Center. What I can tell you is those are some of the most amazing people I have ever encountered in my 36 years. I will get to more on that in a later post, should I actually stick to posting again!

For now though, my friends, let me share with you the news we were given in regards to my 36 year old husband with 2 young children and a nearly thriving business.  Cholangiocarcinoma, also known as bile duct cancer, Stage IV, terminal.

TERMINAL. Terminal. terminal.

And that’s why I’m here writing now. I need somewhere to vomit my thoughts. I need somewhere to scream, shout and let it all out. I need somewhere to cry. I need somewhere to laugh. I need somewhere to protest the sheer bull shit of it all. I need somewhere to be where I don’t have to be quite as strong as the front I’m putting on every day.

 

 

Once a cheater, always a cheater

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Is this true? I don’t know. But I’m not talking about the bad kind of cheating where you want to rip your spouse’s nads off for putting his tool in another chamber so to speak. I’m talking about cheating at making dinner. Coz as we all know, this mama loves a good dinner cheat! (Not a spousal cheat, this mama doesn’t love that! Duh!)

Anywho, on with the cheating. Hubby grilled steaks the other night. And they weren’t just any steaks. They were NY Strips about 3 inches thick. That’s a lot of beef for two people. Now, I don’t know about you, but reheating a steak and eating as a steak is not so good. I do not enjoy it. I find it a bit on the nasty side (no offence if you like it, to each her own and all that jazz). So, what does one do with a leftover slab of beef? I’ll tell you. You make steak quesadillas. That’s what you do. They’re easy. They’re delicious. They’re cheap. And did I mention they’re easy?!

I made these easy, delicious, cheap and easy cheater quesadillas last night. Everybody loved them and we didn’t waste all that delicious beef (coz it’s what’s for dinner!). All I did was cut up the remaining steak into little cubes/squares/whatever; throw it in a hot frying pan, cover with salsa (I used Pace thick and chunky coz I like my salsa like I like my body!!!!!); get it all nice and warm. Meanwhile, I have a big ole skillet I’m heating on medium-high heat. The trick with quesadillas, if you don’t have a quesadilla maker (which, what a waste of money, again in my opinion, which as we know are like assholes, moving on) is to make sure your pan is nice and hot before you put the quesadilla on it. So meat’s simmering in salsa, skillet is heating up…I like to use the big ole burrito sized flour tortillas, lay it on the counter, cover half with shredded cheese of your choosing (I used the 4 cheese Mexican blend, reduced fat, coz I really don’t like being thick and chunky…), cover the cheese with the meat, then added some shredded cheddar on top of the meat (coz, fuck it, maybe I’m meant to be thick and chunky) and really, you want your quesadilla a. cheesy and 2. to stay sealed/together/whathaveyou. So fill it with your ingredients (I like to sometimes add spinach, black beans rice and/or corn but mama didn’t have these supplies on hand so just simplicity last night), spray  your super hot skillet with cooking spray and cook quesadillas on each side until browned and crisp. Last night I served them with a side of pinto beans and called it good.

Yummy stuff y’all! Great way to use any kind of leftover meat, really. It’s hard to go wrong with a Mexican dish in my opinion.

So, today is my 7 years of marital bliss with the hubby day. And of course, this mama ain’t cooking! I’m going to feed the kids early, put them to bed early and hubby is going to bring home some takeout and we’re going to eat child free, which is always a treat. This is actually the first year ever we haven’t gone on an actual date on our anniversary but hubby has to work late and I’ve used a lot of babysitting (ie my parents) lately and feel like they probably need a break! So, late night date night at home it is!

Until next time friends….xoxo

steak quesadilla

Fever! Fever all through the night!

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Not really. Well, it could have been all through the night but it’s all gone today! Woo hoo! I’m talking about  Colt of course. I did take him to the doctor yesterday (go me!) and the doctor actually broke out his text book and was all like “I think it’s this!”. The “this” is called roseola and it affects 90% of children between the ages of 6 months and 2 years of age. It’s apparently caused by the herpes virus – types 6 and 7 – (ew) and presents as a high fever for 3-5 days and then a rash (that does not itch) that breaks out on the “trunk” of the child once the fever is gone. We are moving into rash territory today folks! The little red bumps are popping up all on that boys trunk. But he’s quite happy today and we even managed to play outside for a bit this morning. Until he fell in the dirt, looked at his hands, realized they were dirty, threw a bloody fit and we went back inside. Such a charming child!!

Last night, as you may recall, I made crock pot pork tenderloin. I find cooking meat in the crockpot to be tricky. In my experience, if you don’t get the timing exactly right, the meat turns to dust in your mouth. It’s like out of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation when they cut open the turkey and it all shrivels up and then they either to pretend to eat it or have to wash it down with copious amounts of water. The pork wasn’t quite that bad but I didn’t find it that good either. My husband liked it. Jack liked the meat, not so much the potatoes and Colt hated it. Although, he hated pretty much everything yesterday so I’m not sure we can trust his opinion. I thought it was edible but nothing I’m dying to eat again. I’ll share the deets with you and you can be the judge. Maybe you know exactly how long to cook pork in the crock pot and yours will turn out amazingly well. If so, hook a sista up with some tips, would ya?!

Ingredients:

2 lb pork tenderloin

1/4 cup soy sauce

2 tbsp. yellow mustard

2 tbsp. olive oil

3 tbsp. maple syrup (seriously! not joking at all)

1 chopped shallot

1 tsp onion powder

1 1/2 tsp garlic powder

Directions:

Put tenderloin in the crockpot (yes, you must put it in there, it will not cook otherwise!!!!). Mix the rest of the ingredients and pour over tenderloin. Cook on low for 6 hours. Flip the tenderloin at 2 and 4 hours for even cooking.

I also cut up some baby red potatoes and threw them in for the last 2 hours. They were actually quite good so I think if I can cook the tenderloin for the appropriate amount of time, this meal will be a tasty one that’s entered into the rotation. We shall see.

I obviously forgot to take pictures yet again (I’m soooo good at this!) but it was none too pretty anyway so you’re welcome!

Tonight I’m making one of my favorite meals of all time. The recipe is actually from a restaurant in the area that shut down several years ago and I was lucky enough to have my dad that knew a cook there and shared it with us! So on tonight’s menu – Quag’s chicken enchiladas, refried beans and Spanish rice. I’ll share all the yumminess with you tomorrow. Probably. If I remember. Until then, stay hungry my friends (ala the most interesting man alive but with hunger, not thirst)! xoxo

How to ruin Valentine’s Day

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Hello friends. Sorry it’s taken me a while to return. Although, to be fair, I did say that I wouldn’t be returning all weekend. Unfortunately, it wasn’t for the amorous, romantic reasons I had hoped. To be fair, we did get in the couples massage, an afternoon nap and probably one of the best dinners I’ve ever had in my life. And just before the dessert arrived, I started feeling a little rumble in my tumble, if you know what I mean. And if  you don’t, I felt like upchucking the glorious meal I just consumed. Mr. Wonderful looked at me, said do you need some air, I said of course not, I’m fine, actually I’m going to go back to the room, see you later.

So, I make my smooth get away, all balanced on my heels and holding back the chunks. I have to ask how the hell to get out of the damn restaurant since I can’t find the damn door on my own. I step outside to the glorious, frigid night air; I round the corner, finding a quiet spot so as not to disturb anyone with the nastiness that I know is coming, and then I relieve myself of $75 worth of dinner and $30 worth of wine. Not my finest moment, especially when I look up and realize I just puked in front of a panaromic window full of diners trying to enjoy they’re ridiculously delicious (not to mention expensive) meal. Yikes to me.  I then sauntered off as if nothing ever happened and there was absolutely nothing to see. Because, quite frankly, what else was I going to do. Perhaps a bow, a tip of my metaphoric hat? No chance. Wasn’t happening.

So, I get back to my gorgeous room with ocean views, change into my fat girl pajamas, lie down on the bed and wait for my husband to return, which he does, accusing me of drinking way too much and throwing my Valentine’s meal down the drain. No honey, not down the drain, in the bushes, in front of a huge window, at a super classy restaurant. Get your damn story straight. And at first, I agreed with him. I must have drank/drunken/drunk (what the hell is the appropriate word, I have no idea! Sorry, Mr. Ervin, in case you ever read this again! I know you taught me better than this!!!) too much wine and my body was just rejecting all the rich food. Until after an hour of sleep, I was up again, same story, different venue. And another 45 minutes after that. And so on and so on for the next 10 or so hours and 9 rounds of vomit later. And it wasn’t just coming out of that end either but you don’t need to know about that just like you don’t need to know that it’s still happening. What, aren’t we all friends here?!

And that my friends, is how to ruin Valentine’s day! Now, I know I promised you all the deets on the pot roast I made on Friday and I will share it with you. Just not yet. The belly is still too delicate to think about that. Plus, I can’t find what I did with the damn recipe. It did turn out well, if you like pot roast (not really my favorite) but my husband loved it and the kids tolerated it. So, once I find it, I promise to share (for those that care and for those that don’t, f*%& you! (Just kidding))!

I will also be trying a new recipe tonight that I got from my wonderful friend Emily (hi, Emily – I assume you’re reading this, if not don’t tell me, I’ll live in my own little fantasy world and pretend you are!!). It’s called poppyseed chicken and I’m pretty excited about it.

I’ll be back friends (ala the Terminator – but not as Austrian or big or scary or political). Until then, order takeout or follow someone’s blog who cooks way better than me! xoxo