And so it begins

Last weekend was the first weekend that I actually, emotionally felt like there is a baby on the way. Not to say I haven’t known.. on the contrary- that has been clear from day one – the first trimester mood swings that were grounds for temporary insanity, the onset of second trimester loveliness such as heartburn and food aversions and cravings... and the lesser known and more taken for granted things that are associated with daily tasks that are now inhibited by this growing being inside me – previously underappreciated movement such as easily bending down; sleeping through the night; the ability to take a deep breath, and so forth that have in the last few weeks prompted the start of a list titled “things I wish I could still do with ease”. But up until our amnio and getting the results back there has been a sort of hidden harboring of fear, a weird sense of non-reality that has been lurking out there. Well- it’s gone!


While of course we always will keep that type of thought carefully tucked away at the back of our minds, the real deal of preparing for baby has begun. It was a weekend filled with oven roasted pulled pork , a big old hunk of filet last night that wasn’t cooked to the point of being a hockey puck and was something out of my wildest dreams, and the MOST long awaited part of all- the start of baby shopping!

Now in my hey-day I was known to be able to rationalize the purchase of any item- necessary or not.. $500 on a pair of pink satin stilettos? Sure! No sweat, you would be surprised at the number of uses you could get out of THOSE... $350 to get highlights done every 4 weeks, a MUST..weekly manicures and pedicures at $60+ a pop? Duh... but now things are different. Not to say that these above tasks have been forgotten, but dropping a car payment on a pair of shoes has now been replaced with adding them to an ever growing wish-list and in their pink passion place is pale paint for the nursery. Mani’s and pedi’s to pretty myself up have been swapped for do it yourself soaks and polish and picking fabric for window treatments and crib bedding(going with a preppy but uber ‘soon to be a big boy before we know it’ preppy royal navy / a grassy kelly green and white by the way ).

But in the throes of all of this planning, painting and preparation there is still a part of me that is remaining from the first trimester and that is the financially sensitive girl who had put off or found alternative resources for all of the afore mentioned splurges in order to squirrel away our precious duckets for the good stuff that I have dreamt about – a nursery. So now faced with crib shopping, fabric buying, room designing, what art to put on the walls and details to incorporate there is a part of the rationalization me that is having a hard time swallowing the expense associated with having our first child. I mean $400 for a crib? First knee jerk reaction - YIKES! Back up thought process that I am fighting with now... $400 is nothing.. I mean nada in the grand scheme of things and especially since I have been looking at these items online for weeks, months, years. Now it is time I should be thankful that the crib I desire is only $400... and not the $1200 version that I also looked at and decided that no fiscally conservative or aware parent should allow their small child to lay their precious head on.. unless you are the child of a celebrity or ridiculously loaded - who this stuff is OBVIOUSLY made for... but wait- couldn’t I rationalize everything? Didn’t I? I am fighting with my inner-self over money for a crib when previously I had no problem spending a boatload of hard earned pennies on frivolous things in the world of shoes that I realistically wore once and are currently taking up space in the closet? This is a CRIB for crying out loud- something that heir Goetz will sleep in for a loooong time! So I am now faced with the task of re-learning to rationalize... what to spend money on, what to ask to borrow, what to wait for as a gift... this is a whole new realm, It’s like planning a wedding on crack. Now it is not just a new part of OUR lives we are starting but we are building the groundwork for someone else’s.

Will he know what his crib costs? No... will he care about the color scheme in his nursery / room? Absolutely not- I could paint the damn room fuchsia and chartreuse and he will probably still be happy. Will I? Absolutely not.. so I bring this on myself- the reorganization of thought process and approach to spending... not to go nuts and have a show house-ready room ripe for a photo shoot, but to have a space that feels like a comfy, warm, womb of its own to start this little boy’s life and nurture and grow and build memories in. Urgh.. and I thought I had learned it all  Anyway, off today for lunch with mom mother and future sister in law then to Franklin Mills to scour the racks for things only a grandmother should drop dough on – Can’t wait!!!

And the pork turned out great by the way – which, considering I have been having problems eating anything rich or with flavor for that matter recently was a coup.. Recipe is below.

Whew, are we finding a balance here? God I hope so.



Slow Roasted Pulled Pork

1 Medium Sized Pork Roast

2 Tbslp Canola Oil

1 Tsp Smoked paprika

½ Tsp Salt

2 Tsp Ground Cumin

¼ Tsp Ground Cayenne Pepper

1 Tblsp Liquid Smoke (Cheater sauce)

2 Tsps Ground White Pepper

½ Yellow / Sweet Onion sliced thinly

8 Ounces of Apple Juice

2 Ounces of Apple Cider Vinegar

1 Cup of BBQ sauce of your choice- If you want a more bbq flavor- the pref. Should have a smoky flavor- this time around I used Stubbs Mesquite.


• Preheat your Oven to 325 Degrees

• In a bowl combine the spices and liquid smoke.

• Heat the Oil in a Dutch Oven (Cast Iron or Enameled Le Crueset). When it is almost smoking add the pork roast and sear brown on all sides.

• Remove the roast from the pan and set aside. Add in the Onions and sauté until browned.

• While these onions are browning – baste the seared pork with your spice mixture.

• When the onions are nice and brown deglaze the pan with the apple cider vinegar. Make sure to get all of the good pork bits off the bottom of the pan. When simmering, add the basted pork roast back to the pan and move around to incorporate the seasonings into the liquid.

• Add in the apple juice and stir until combined. When simmering , cover the pot and transfer to the oven. Let cook covered for 2 hours at 325 then reduce heat, move lid to the slide a little to vent and cook for another hour at 300. Be sure to check it every 45 minutes or so and flip the meat as necessary and stir the sauce it is cooking in.

• Remove from the oven and let stand a minute or so to cool jus a smidge. When you are ready to work with it, take a fork and break apart the pork meat and incorporate into the sauce. If using - Add in the BBQ sauce and stir to combined – season to your liking with more BBQ, salt / pepper etc.

• If you MUST serve immediately – heat the Dutch oven on the stovetop burner (medium heat to start) and let simmer a little until heated all the way through and the bbq sauce is up to temp.
• The preferred way is to let the pork marinate for a little in the juices and bbq sauce. Then just before serving bring up to a light simmer/ heat on the stove top.

Serve on big old buns with Southern coleslaw and extra bbq if you want.

Martha Stewart can kiss my....

I have a long standing love / hate relationship with Martha Stewart. This is by no means a personal contact type of relationship- we haven’t sneered at each other from across a restaurant as our girlfriends back us up with witty and evil repartee, I never tripped her in a hallway or put a laxative in her coffee while smiling brightly saying “what a great idea Martha!”  This is all on me – she has no idea who I am.

From the day I found out who Martha was about 15 years ago I have harbored this deep seeded form of competitive dislike for the woman. She is perky, she has these insanely great ideas that when you watch her, or see them in the glossy page print of one of her countless magazines or books you think, “DANG IT - I COULD HAVE COME UP WITH THAT!” Even though you didn’t…”Martha” did. 

The gist is, the bitch does everything right – perfectly in fact. Her slightly accented and poised voice telling you how (insert a typical Martha-esque lock jaw here) to do things HER way… the ‘look down her nose’ way she tells you, the viewer or reader (this is possible if you are Martha- to look down your nose at someone in print) and pretends to surreptitiously share her secret to making the perfect mid week goat cheese soufflé. Or how to actually tie greens during the holidays so they don’t come apart every third day and die a needley death on your floor in front of astonished and flabbergasted guests…  or how to make scones using the eggs from your own chickens that you get up at 5 am to get in order to have these warm steamy sugary treats on the table before your first family member even stops dreaming of sleeping more – I say this and we HAVE chickens- and it still makes me nuts.  Anyway, you name it- she has always just irked me.

I come from a mother who is uber-crafty. I mean REALLY crafty - crafty to the point where, if she and Martha were to go head to head back in the day it would have been a toss up who would have come out on top- My mom was WAY more realistic though, which may have done her in (that and she never publically tried to be crafty- she just WAS / Is).

So - What i am trying to say is that I have a serious history of do-it-yourself in me : decorating, cooking, creative brainstorming… you name it- which is actually the main reason I became an event planner, darn it -  to single handedly make parties prettier one glitter dipped and preserved Hydrangea Macrophylla at a time. I mean come on Martha- BRING it.

So it is with a heavy heart and head hung low that I write this post. Because, dear friend (to the one reader I may realistically have - which oddly makes admitting this so much easier) I am here to admit the unthinkable. The personal travesty of my creative lifetime - I secretly LOVE Martha.

Okay, in the recent months I have been coming to terms with this on my own. Enough inner personal therapy and little voices that say to me – it’s O.K. to like the woman (Note: and her staff because we all KNOW that they are the ones who actually DO all of the work and sourcing and creative brainstorming and I KNOW she just signs off on these insanely fabulous ideas that her “peeps’ snake from unsuspecting crafters nationwide).

I have reached this decision after moths of tribulation- infighting with my inner demon and angel who say at the super market check out line as I quickly thumb through each issue of Living hoping that no one sees me – “go ahead – BUY it- ooooh – look at THAT – a hand tied garland of paper flowers with ribbon leaves and stems! How great!!!” And the demon who on the other shoulder says “put it back Pippa- enough is enough,  you don’t need her ideas – you have your own… nothing good can come of putting that in your cart!”

99.9999% of the time the angel wins- and curiosity gets the best of me. And until recently- I would bring these magazines or books home…and hide them. Under other magazines, in amongst the throngs of cookbooks I already own… anywhere but out in the open where I would have to admit that she was right, that she rocks, that I read her, and / or pay attention to her… I’ll be damned if I let THAT woman get the best of me.

Well, you’ve won Martha- I am officially, and publicly out of the closet …I dig your stuff.  I have reached this decision through many months of trial and, frustratingly, no error. Attempting countless recipes that all infuriatingly WORK perfectly (including this year’s Christmas cookies, and the damn popovers that I made the other night from this month’s issue that despite being pretty much the same recipe I have used for years rose sky high and more beautifully than ANY I have made before – URGH!) . After realizing that I don’t just ogle your do-it-yourself crafts from the safety of the checkout lane - but have actually been doing them. After I find myself sitting in the Michael’s craft store parking lot going over my list of Martha products to pick up and then standing in the aisle drooling over the snowflake hole punch that no one in their right mind ever should own as at $19.99 a pop it is a frivolous expense– but I do.  You win. I use your recipes, I do your crafts and love the results… and I could cry. Of course on the contrary, if you ever decide to retire and would like someone to take over the business- call me – I’m available.

Inside the Gift horse’s mouth…

So not to be picky, or take the fact that our amnio results came back today and we aced everything (yah!) and are expecting what we know to be a healthy baby… I am feeling very guilty… and I mean VERY. Please pause as I try and recall for you the conversation with the cute genetic testing girl on the other end.

Her: "Your amnio results look great you have blah blah blah for results.. which is GREAT! (insert super chipper sweet voice here).”

Me: 'Fabulous! I am so happy! '

Her: "The last question is- would you like to know the sex of the baby?"

Me: (Giddy and so excited I feel like I might pee my pants - the moment of truth, the one we have been waiting for..) 'YES!'

Her: "It’s a …. BOY! Congratulations! "

Me: 'Oh… darn... I mean - really? Great!(somewhat fake enthusiasm)Thank you so Much!'

Me again - Hang up phone and want to cry… mope for two seconds, call husband to “share the great news”. Get same type of response I gave cute genetic testing girl, granted he WAS in a meeting.

There is a lesson to be learned here, I just don’t want to admit it quite yet… I can say it though- don’t look a gift horse in the mouth because when you do you will see ugly oat chomping teeth and smell hay breath.

I am happy - I AM!! ... I promise… we will hopefully have all stars align and have a healthy baby, and at 35 that is a LOT to ask for… but a BOY? We were convinced we were having a girl…and I really wanted it to be a girl. I am sure we may receive a few therapy bills for this poor child in the future if and when he finds out that we really wanted a girl.

Not to say a boy is BAD. Nothing close to that at ALL. But, honestly, as far as I have ever known (until now of course) boys play with trucks, they eat worms and bring home snakes (the latter of which is my LEAST favorite thing in the world), their pants fall down and they don’t like being fussed with to look nice. Boys don’t wear pretty smocked party dresses with matching bows in their hair, they don’t want to play dress up with mommy’s high heels and play with her lipstick or dolls and fairies and make frilly iced cookies and oogle over shades of pink and read Madeline and Eloise (well most boys anyway)!

So, today I have been getting used to the fact that my husband is excited to teach “the boy” how to fart, how to properly aim a gun, pee outside, bait a hook and all of those “man” things that require one on one ‘dad and lad’ bonding time. Actually, not a bad thing if you think about it.  I might actually get a little ME time out of this first child.. wait- this isn’t sounding so bad at all! Boys and their mothers usually have a very close bond, so not only do I get that rockstar part of things, daddy can take him to the firehouse and mom can maybe do something like get a pedicure, shave her legs, read a few pages of a book!

All in all, this boy thing is getting better by the minute- and who know, with all fingers crossed this wont be our last little one so my chances for party dresses and pink ribbons are not gone for good, just taking a backseat so we can raise her a fabulous older brother who will nurture her and protect her just like big brothers do.

Can you hear me now?

As we wait semi- patiently for the results of our amnio to come back (this is KILLING us by the way), and as we try to do the million and one small tasks that have been sitting on the home repair t- do list before the appraiser comes this week, I have let my mind wander to the more than un-documentable amount of advice I might potentially offer to our soon-to-be born child and any that may potentially follow. I am sure that this is common. At least I keep telling myself that other mothers to be MUST think of this type of thing- or obsess over it such as I feel like I am suddenly doing.

Aside from not running with scissors, sitting too close to the television, not turning the volume up too loud or you’ll go deaf type of motherly advice, I have realized that there are small life lessons that I might be able to osmosis-ly pass on to our baby in advance. I mean if you can fire up a baby speaker and blast baby Einstein type stuff into the old belly than why cant I try to spread a little wisdom? Yes, this seems to fall into the sort of a “if I knew then what I know now” type of approach f parenting.

So if I had to write down these pseudo life- lessons, or speak them, or think them and our baby would listen, what would I actually SAY? Is there a limit? Is this one of those, baby can only absorb so many things at once so try and keep it to less than a handful a day type of situations? Maybe… so for today here are my life lessons:


•    Never schedule meetings before 10 am if you can avoid it.

•    Always call your parents and see them whenever you can regardless of anything that you might try and use as an excuse – trust me on this one.

•    When you spill water on your keyboard do NOT try and use a hairdryer to speed the drying process- it will melt.

•    Girls love flowers- from anyone, and for any reason. I bought myself tulips this weekend and cant stop staring at them.  If you are a boy – buy girls flowers often. If you are a girl- don’t wait for someone to buy you flowers - as nice as that seems and as much as you think that they will regardless of who they are – just get them for yourself and your day will automatically be brightened.

•    Don’t bite the ankles of bikers passing by. They are not trying to take over the world one suburban property at a time- they are just out for a joy ride. We all like to do different things to make us feel happy- don’t chase after or nip someone if they are doing something you don’t know how to do or understand. (This one is direct from Boudreau our black lab who is now on a 10 day quarantine for biting a cyclist over the weekend. He apologizes profusely and admits he never thought he would actually “catch one”.

Love, Mom

Oh yes, and I finally found a little love for cooking again this weekend after what feels like weeks of reheated meals and carbo-loading... homemade tomato soup for dinner last night- yummmmmm, tiramisu (thank you uber-basic Giada DeLaurentis food network recipe for reminding me of the simple process of making such heavenly goodness) - my rainy sunday night was complete.

Oops ... I Did It Again!

Nope, I am not channeling Britney here, more so apologizing (to myself maybe?) for allowing yet another long lapse in writing happen. The holidays were great:  hectic, organized chaos that reoccurs annually and stresses us all out just enough to complain but not enough to change our plans each year - yet anyway.

Aside from holiday cookie baking(the most things I have actually cooked/baked/made and not just reheated or fumbled through in weeks), present wrapping, on the road again silliness and all of the accoutrement that are associated with the holidays- this year I had a small "and possibly insignificant to the outside world, but means something to me so I'll tell you all about it" epiphany of sorts. We went, on Christmas Eve, to the Pageant at our Church in Chestnut Hill as we do every year. I will spare you the re-occurring story that my mother proudly reminds us all of every year of when I was angel Gabriel (a situation she remains far more excited about than I but none the less a landmark role as it was actually my ONLY role in a public production) and jump right to the moments that the earth shattered, the sun rose and the wind blew. It was nothing pious, nor festively spirited, (or maybe it was – you be the judge) this was a realization typical of no doubt more than an average number of pregnant women at some point along the way.

The pageant includes the little baby Jesus, the manger, the raucous townspeople (who every year crack us all up and who we all wanted to be growing up because we thought they clearly had had some holiday cheer before coming to the party and  they were, well,  adults). Each year I shuffle and  scramble to get the seat at the very end of the pew, the one on the aisle(yes, I KNOW I am 35 - thanks). “ I like to see everything” I will flatly use as my annual excuse – lie –a bold faced lie -  told in CHURCH none the less – so maybe counts as double or triple? Regardless…it's not the real reason- you can’t really SEE from that seat. You actually can’t see SQUAT from that seat actually save for the articulately sculpted pew cap (in order to see anything you actually have to be in the middle or so of the pew… note to self)..

Anyway, the pageant I long to see every year, that oddly I never actually realized until now, was the one portrayed by the countless children who also struggle to get THE seat on the aisle – the little people dressed to the nines in their holiday finery who actually DO want to see the Christmas story unfold before them. Its not just because they are adorable, their little smocked dresses and Christmas short pants make me melt, or the bows in their hair slightly askew because lets face it, they never really did stay put, I don’t care how great the barrette was – all of these are legitimate reasons on their own, and true. But this year that I realized that it is their faces I long to see. The glimmer in their eyes, the wonderment and awe that is seeing, at ground level, something so utterly intriguing unfolding before them, you see Christmas in their eyes. And not just presents or Santa, but the very true to story Grinch-like Christmas spirit that really only whole-heartedly lives inside children who believe. It is like almost like actually BEING Alice in the wonderland.  So much so that it made me tear up and shake my head in amazement.  

The Christmas Spirit was oddly not the earth shattering part. The truly moving element to the whole process was the thought process that followed- that oh my GOD in heaven… I have one of “those” growing inside me… one of “those” adorable little "I believe in Santa" things that I long to absorb into my arms and cuddle with and teach fun life-changing lessons, bake cookies with, make forts with and watch grow up to be a real live actual person is inside ME! Holy Cr*p! Yes, so the true Christmas epiphany was that (and this may be a shock to you all at this point I am sure) I am pregnant! Oh wow…

I know right? As I said- Earth Shattering! Finally at 14weeks (at the time), I figured it out. This whole “no vices” thing clicked- it became real like the velveteen rabbit becomes real… I mean holy mackerel,mother of it all, we are gonna be parents. 

This was only seconded, triplified and quadruple whammied when we got down to Florida (THANK YOU LISA & JOHN!)… Traveling for what may be the last time ALONE… seeing parents traveling with babies, small children, grown children.. uh oh..  we are becoming some of ‘those people’ – the ones with the snot-nosed kids who you don’t want to sit next to on the plane. The ones with the screaming banshees that run around like headless chickens while their parents comedicly (not actually a word, I know) carry on their conversation with their friends only to stop for a bleeding limb much to the chagrin of childless bystanders. But it is not just the “yikes” moments that make the ground rumble. It is also the moments which we/ I  have longed to one day have of our own. Little smiles. Little looks of wonder, confusion, understanding that come from that little sprout that comes maybe only to your knee.  All of these things are within our scope - soon to happen,  not someday in the future and god willing but, some actual day soon! I mean - countable days!!!!! And all I can think of right now is not the long and winding road we will have to travel to get there. Not of the madness, and sleepless nights that are going to plague us and assume control of our once semi- structured-managably- flexible-yet-organized life and will no doubt never actually end. Nor of the ‘life as we used to know it’ routine which has and will no doubt hit us over and over again as we get closer to "D" Day….all I can think right now is… how cool.