She's cool like that. She's cool like that. She's cool like that.

My kid rocks. She's hearty but not a bull, energetic but not exhausting, silly but not annoying, inquisitive, sometimes a little dangerously so, CANNOT sit and watch tv, and gives the best kisses, and by kisses I mean she makes a "muah" sound and moves her face in your direction. She rarely actually touches you, but I think she's just being respectful of your personal space and practicing self-awareness...she knows that there's a 96% chance that she's got snot and spit on her face. So thoughtful.

This past weekend my hearty, little package of Italian robustness fell down the stairs. She hit every.single.stair. I was in her bedroom at the top of the stairs picking out her outfit, and she was playing just out of my reach. Toddlers, like cockroaches, move much faster than you would expect. I looked up and there she was, playing with a hanger (amongst her favorite toys). I looked down to pick out a pair of socks, and that's when I heard a sound that every mother innately knows even if she's never heard it before. It's the sound of your child falling down the stairs. It's a cry, thump, cry combination that can't be achieved with any other activity. I tried to run down the stairs and catch her, but she was always three stairs ahead of me. She finally hit the bottom landing on her tummy...GOD BLESS that big, round, baby tummy that hasn't "thinned out" despite her pediatrician's constant promises. She got up so I knew nothing had broken, and what did my little, frightened, round cherub do while I held her to my maternal breast? Did she cling to me, crying and scared while we shook together, an unspoken sharing of an emotional experience? No. She pushed me away and then yelled at me. A lot. I mean, she gave me a piece of her mind. When she was done disciplining me, she wiggled down, turned around, and climbed back up the stairs. See? I told you. My kid rocks.

Run, Hilary, Run

Today while I was reading one of my favorite blogs, Girls Gone Child, she discussed some emotion-provoking things. Now, as a general rule, I avoid letting my emotions guide my decisions. However, being human, and female, I sometimes fail. She discuses her nostalgia resulting from the moment that mommy-her and young woman-her collide while costume shopping for her kids. Like in the movies, when Dopplegangers collide, the world explodes, and hers most certainly did. This post left me overrun with feeling, a state I prefer not to find myself.

I believe there are two types of nostalgia; the good and the bad. The good kind comes when you think of playing favorite games with your best friend when you were seven (Kath and I could play Barbie vs. My Little Ponies Armageddon Is Coming from sun up until sun down. We were able to make weapons out of clothing that would amaze even the most hardened criminal), the way the house smelled when your mom cooked Sunday dinner (neither my sister nor I could ever recreate those smells because mom could pick up a can of coconut milk at the store, pull some questionable milk out of the refrigerator, find cornmeal in the cupboard and make a seven-course meal...ask Kath!), and what Gram and Gramp smelled like when you gave them a hug (Gram smelled like her cream foundation, soap, and Certs and Gramp like tar from putting in driveways all day). The bad kind comes when you see something that reminds you of friends you once knew in college or find yourself driving by a common hangout from your 20's and are instantly transported back to that place in your life when you were a completely different person. I wanted to move to England, get a job waiting tables, and fill my small apartment with crappy, second-hand furniture. I wanted to travel around the world completely by myself. In the Girls Gone Child blog, she writes about how she never imagined she'd find herself in the position she currently is; with two kids, a wedding ring on her finger, and a permanent residence. I completely agree.

I always wanted to run away; as far and as fast as I possibly could. I never really tried though, and sometimes still today I feel that need to run creeping through me. I set the stage with Jeremy, telling him that I feel the need to get away, that I'm antsy and feel trapped. The whole time I'm imagining packing up Giovanna and myself and heading into the world; two girls off to grow up on the road. We'll meet thousands of people that will teach us thousands of things; ancient family secrets about living healthy, about being minimalists. We'll learn how to cure headaches with thought, grow berries in an old pair of pants, approach a wild wolf and make him our pet, and cure Giovanna's allergies from having a pet wolf with cream made from our ground up pants berries and the wolf's urine. Yes, we had a lot of exploring to do.

Then, my thoughts are interrupted by my daughter squealing "dada, dada" as she runs around the corner slamming into Jeremy's lap. He asks me what he can do to make me feel comfortable again, rubs my feet with Giovanna's help, all while I sip my apple cider that he's steamed for me to help calm my headache. All of this gets me thinking, maybe I should let me emotions get the better of me. Maybe it's time for mommy-me and young woman-me to meet. I think young woman-me needs a good, hard talking-to. I don't think you ever forget the memories linked to your desires as a young woman, but there comes a time when you realize maybe you weren't right. Maybe you don't really need to know how to cure headaches with the power of positive thinking, or need to domesticate your own wolf, or be taught how to grow pants berries. I mean, I'm sure if I just spent a little extra time on it, I could probably figure out how to grow my own. And if I can't, isn't that what the internet is for?

I'm not sure if I'll ever lose the urge to run, but I need to believe that you reach a time in your life where you realize that running away isn't the only directional option, and alone isn't necessarily the only way to travel. I'll concede that my desire to just go may not be quelled by a tourister's weekend dash through "The Many Ancient Wonders of Rome", but a month in Italy's Tuscany on a mo-ped leasing a small apartment with Jeremy may be just what young woman-me needs.

Getting my hands dirty while soul searching for the perfect job

A classmate of mine truly opened my eyes tonight. I was commenting on her facebook status discussing our clinicals tomorrow, oh dreaded clinicals be damned. There was an exchange between her and another classmate talking about the clinicals for next semester. They were saying how they weren't looking forward to tomorrow, and I mistook their reasons to be because they hated going to the hospital as much as me. However, I was wrong. I did not have an ally in my hate, rather she felt completely opposite. She said she loved clinicals and going to the hospital, and in fact being there all day didn't bother her at all.

WHAT?!? REALLY?!?

It got me thinking... Maybe my dislike (hate) may have less to do with the fact that I'm a poop-wiping virgin, and more to do with the fact that me and this job are not going to live happily ever after. I'm not giving my all to this degree. I do what I need to and then spend the rest of my time playing or doing anything other than school work. We were told to give something like 45 hours a week to this degree...yeah...that's NOT happening. It's so unlike me to disrespect education like this. I got thinking that maybe my desire to puke every morning prior to labs may not necessarily be related to morning sickness. I think I hate life right now. I'm contemplating taking next semester to finish up the last few classes I need to wrap up my Masters in Public Health. I called my mom after the realization that I didn't care if I have to stay home tomorrow with Giovanna because of her icky cough, which would result in my getting kicked out of the program. Of course I'll be more responsible than that, but it did open my eyes. I told her how much I hated wiping large, elderly butt, and how I dreaded that this would be the rest of my life...FOREVER. She told me she didn't think it was a good match when I first told her I was thinking about traveling down that path. REALLY!! That would have been AWESOME information THREE DIARREHEA-LADEN, FAT, ELDERLY BUTTS AGO!! I'm now picking up my life's lessons and continuing down my neverending path of self-discovery. My thought is, I might as well finish up my masters and get paid to do a job I don't love rather than spend money working towards a degree so at some point I can work a job I hate even more. What a challenge this "being an adult" thing is...

Pumpkin Spice Whoopies!!

I got this recipe in my email the other day. Usually, I immediately open these emails and check out the fantastic recipes they include, and this was no exception. I had no idea what awaited. There were recipes upon recipes, 21 total, of some of the most fantastic-looking treats. Pumpkin fudge, Ginger Pumpkin Mousse, and Pumpkin Pound Cake, oh my! I've been battling some challenging morning sickness lately, and after eating one of these yesterday, which was proving to be my worst day yet, I had a solid hour of respite. For any of you that have dealt with morning sickness, you know that an hour during a bad day is equal to a little slice of heaven on earth...or a delicious Pumpkin Spice Whoopie! (picture courtesy of nubbycakes etsy page)

Ingredients

• 1 cup canned pumpkin
• 1/3 cup butter, softened
• 1 package 2-layer-size spice cake mix
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 cup milk
• 1 recipe Marshmallow-Spice Filling (see recipe below)

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 375 degree F. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper or foil (grease foil, if using). In a large mixing bowl beat pumpkin and butter with an electric mixer on medium speed until smooth. Add cake mix, eggs, and milk; beat on low speed until combined, and then on medium speed for 1 minute.

2. By the heaping tablespoon, drop mounds of batter 3 inches apart on cookie sheet; keep remaining batter chilled. Bake 15 minutes or until set and lightly browned around edges. Carefully remove from parchment or foil; cool on wire rack. Repeat with remaining batter, lining cooled cookie sheets each time with new parchment or foil. If desired, place cookies in a covered storage container with waxed paper between layers to prevent sticking. Store cookies at room temperature for 24 hours. Prepare Marshmallow-Spice Filling up to 2 hours before serving. Spread about 2-1/2 tablespoons filling on flat side of one cookie; top with a second cookie. Repeat. Serve immediately or cover and chill up to 2 hours. Makes 15 whoopies.

Marshmallow-Spice Filling: Up to 2 hours before serving, beat together 1/2 cup softened butter and one 8-ounce package softened cream cheese until smooth. Add 2 cups sifted powdered sugar, 1/2 of a 7-ounce jar marshmallow cream, 1 teaspoon vanilla, and 1/2 teaspoon each ground cinnamon and nutmeg. Beat until well combined.

Keep refrigerated because it makes the Marshmallow-Spice Filling amazing!

No patients for patience

So...I'm working on my RN degree right now, and I think I hate everything about this experience. I have lab clinicals every Friday, all day. During clinicals, we are assigned a patient and our job is to just generally take care of them. We give them a bath (I hate touching people), change and make their beds (I don't make my beds at home), and then tend to their issues for which they're in the hospital. Of course I can't really discuss the patient, but I can tell you, between my pateint and the roommate, that I spent my whole morning cleaning up elderly person poop and wiping said large fanny, and the amount was astonishing. Can I really do this for THREE MORE SEMESTERS?!? I took a second to consider what other kind of patient I would have preferred. I asked myself, "Hilary, if you could "design" your own patient, what would you want?" I thought about the patients that the other students had. Would I rather change colostomy bags? Perhaps dressing weeping amputations? Maybe I'd rather monitor the urine output of the jaundice patient and his dressings on his pancreatic drain? I was confident answering a resounding no. It all grosses me out. I started to think that maybe I hadn't really had such a bad patient, until I remembered how it felt when I heard, "I made a mess again". Aw man...really?? AGAIN?? You were only clean for 15 minutes. How could one person have that much to eliminate?? Now I'm scarred. Every time I walk through stores where large people are riding on those electrical carts, mostly Wal Mart, I now think, "I'll be wiping your butt in a couple years. For God's sake woman, get up and walk to get your hot dogs, frozen pizzas, and Little Debbies. Have some dignity!" Perhaps I'm not the best candidate for this position. I love the idea of becoming a nurse practitioner, but you have to work a year as a nurse before you can apply to that program, so I'm stuck butt-wiping. I'm hoping to find a good school nurse position in which to gain experience. I can handle little kid puke, lice, and pants-wetters...and summers off! Three more semesters, three more semesters, three more semesters...

Granola and Alton Brown, two of my greatest (current) loves.

I'm not really clear about the copyright laws involving recipes. Can you post a recipe to which you've made minor (I mean VERY minor...so minor they may not even be noticeable to the original recipe creator) changes? I have fallen in hardcore-teenage-first-love-of-your-life love with this granola recipe. I want to share it even though it's *technically* not mine. I have to make a confession though. I, much like one of my favorite food bloggers, http://foodblogga.blogspot.com, have an unrequited love for not only the food but the man behind the food...Alton Brown. Anybody who knows my husband and Alton Brown knows that this isn't exactly a huge jump for me. They're both uber geeks that are near-experts in their field. I'm going to go ahead and do this...post this recipe. As far as I'm concerned, what's the worst thing that could happen? I get an email from Alton Brown telling me that I need to remove his granola recipe? You bet I can handle that! So here's my first recipe share...try it, you'll like it!

• 3 cups rolled oats
• 1 cup slivered almonds
• 1 cup crushed walnuts
• 3/4 cup shredded sweet coconut
• 1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons dark brown sugar
• 1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons maple syrup
• 1/4 cup vegetable oil
• 3/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup raisins

Directions

Preheat oven to 250 degrees F.

In a large bowl, combine the oats, nuts, coconut, and brown sugar.

In a separate bowl, combine maple syrup, oil, and salt. Combine both mixtures and pour onto 2 sheet pans. Cook for 2 hours, stirring every 20 minutes to achieve an even color.

Remove from oven and transfer into a large bowl. Add raisins and mix until evenly distributed.