(This is a Seth Anthony song.)

I can pretty much find a song title that I love, to use as a title on any blog post, that suits me. Today, “Reckless” seemed appropriate.

I used to care a whole lot less about my tomorrows. I could be wild and stupid. I’ve cliff jumped, in a rock quarry, where people have died, doing the same thing. I’ve gotten in the passenger seat of cars, driven by people who were in no condition to drive. I’ve rode on the backseat of motorcycles, driven by guys who cared nothing about the laws or speed limits. I had a brand new, V8 Mustang GT, when I was just 18 years old. I don’t even like to admit how fast I found out I could make that car could go…

The moment my first baby was born, I found there was no more reckless within me. Suddenly, I had something to care about, that mattered enough for me to knock off the dumb shit. I’ll be damned if my babies are going to grow up without their Mama! Not if I can help it, anyway. So, it appears those days are long since past. My husband and my babies have “civilized me”. If someone had told me what my life would look like, in my thirties, back when I was reckless, I would’ve laughed in their face. Even though I always knew I wanted this to be my life one day, I never really believed it could be. My family gives me something I didn’t see before. There’s this value, in me, that I didn’t know could exist. It’s amazing that I can matter this much. Knowing that I matter to the people I love, is everything to me, when I’m struggling. To know that there are people who genuinely need me, that makes me press on. I will not fail my family.

That’s not to suggest that I’m perfect. I fuck up. I make my share of mistakes. The difference is, those screw ups matter to me, because they matter to my favorite people. If “my people” disappeared tomorrow, I don’t think I would care anymore. I’m not quite sure if that’s healthy or normal? I just know it’s my truth. I care about my own safety, because I love my family, and they need me. They’re the entire reason I wake up every morning. I don’t wear my seatbelt or take my vitamins, because I give a shit. I do it because they do!

I love my family from the deepest, purest part of my heart. A part of me that I didn’t even know existed, before they did. I have the best time, hanging out with Jackie in my kitchen. I treasure the afternoons, when my kids walk in the door, after school, and they throw their backpacks down, ask me what’s for snack, and hang out with me to chat about their day. I look forward to Adam coming in the door after work, everyday. With those occasional exceptions of nights he’s walking in, and I know I’ve done did it, and he’s going to be calling for a meeting “in his office”. Even then, I always need him to come home. It makes my day, when my Dad texts or calls me, just to check in on me.

I spent my day hanging out with my sister and my niece, Pj. She came over, with the baby, and we hung out, talked, and laughed. I held baby Pj most of the afternoon, except when Adam held her while they took a little nap together, in his chair. It was a lot of fun. My kiddos even had a blast hanging out with their aunt and their newest cousin. I wouldn’t trade days like today, for anything.

I got supper started, as soon as my son and I got home. I like to let my chili soup simmer, for a few hours. I don’t make mine very spicy, like some folks do. It’s the recipe my family made, for generations, though.

1-2 pounds of ground beef or turkey. You can also add in cut up pieces of steak.

Minced onion (as much as y’all like.)

4 cans chili beans (I use 1 hot, 1 medium, and 2 mild. I like to use pinto and kidney chili beans, too.)

4 Tbs chili powder

1/4 to 1/3 Cup of granulated sugar (this adds some sweet to the spicy.)

Diced tomato

48-64 ounces tomato juice

Optional: shredded cheese, and/or corn chips, and/or saltine crackers

I use my Ninja cooker from start to finish, with chili. Brown the ground beef/turkey with minced onion. Once that’s cooked, add chili powder, then sugar, then beans, and then tomato juice. I add some diced tomato into our chili sometimes, too. Let it simmer on low heat, for 1-4 hours.

Adam has to have frito corn chips, with his chili. Him and the kids add them into their chili, along with some shredded cheese. I like to add cheese and saltine crackers to my bowl.

Additionally, this is a Midwest thing, I’ve discovered, but we make cinnamon rolls when we have chili. You can dunk your cinnamon roll into your chili. I know it sounds so weird, but if you give it a chance, you won’t regret it!

That’s a song by “Bug Smo”. We made an old TikTok of Adam, with this song playing in the background, during the Covid madness. He was playing with our kids and their toy trucks, on a play mat of pretend highways. It was pretty cute! We teased that he missed his job 😆

Adam is transferring to the office near us, on Monday. I’m so excited he’ll be closer to home! He’s doing the exact same job, for the same company, just much closer to home now. Instead of getting home at 6-7pm, he’ll be walking in between 5-6pm. Instead of leaving home at 5am, he’ll be leaving closer to 6am. I love that he will be around a little more, now!

When we were first married, especially after the babies started coming, I would complain to Adam about being away from home so much. I hated the long hours. I got angry when he missed supper with us. Somewhere, somehow, my mindset changed. I realized that, he isn’t missing time with his family because he wants to! He’s working long hours, because he loves his family. I learned to appreciate the sacrifices he was making. I changed my mindset, so that I understood his better. I supported him in growing his business. I stuck it out. We made it work. With time, he’s been able to be in a position where he brings in a great income, and isn’t away quite as much. Adam has also come to appreciate the value in family time, because I stopped nagging him about it. I want home to be his happy place. I want him to feel love and appreciation from his family. I send him random texts, sometimes. I texted him, yesterday. I sent a screenshot of him leaving our house at 5am, and another of him coming home at 6:30pm, the night before. Our doorbell camera catches him coming and going. I put the two pictures together, and I told him, “This man who leaves before the sun is up, and gets home after it’s gone down, is the reason I’m standing here baking chocolate chip cookies, dancing with my babies, and listening to music in my kitchen, where we’re all warm and dry. I love you”.

Adam has come to know, if I call him, it’s important. I don’t call and bug him all day long, everyday. We text often, but I understand he will respond as soon as he’s able. He always replies as soon as he can. If I call his phone, during work hours, he answers. I only call when I need him now. I don’t nag him about making it home for every little thing. If I do mention something important to me, that he should be here for, he does his absolute best to be here. I’ve learned to “pick my battles”. We’ve come to a place in time, where Adam trusts that, when I tell him something matters, it matters. This arrangement works great, for us. I can’t even remember the last time we argued about him working too much, or missing something important to me.

I wanted to take my son in to see his doctor, yesterday. His elbow injury had started to bruise all down his arm. His PE coach wouldn’t allow him to skip out on any exercises that hurt his elbow, unless we had a doctor’s note. My poor kid couldn’t even do a push up and was getting chewed out by the PE teacher! I expected that we would get him looked at, get a note so he can rest his elbow, and go on our way. I tried to get an appointment yesterday, but couldn’t get him in with the doctor until today. They’d done x rays, last weekend, when the injury happened, but his doctor wanted to do their own. So, we got more x rays done. Imagine my shock, when the doctor came in and announced that “his elbow is busted”!! My son can bend his elbow. He hasn’t complained of pain, other than when he’s putting too much weight on it. He doesn’t screech when we touch him. I was absolutely not expecting to hear that!

We were then sent over to an orthopedic specialist. This office wasn’t able to read the x rays we had just gotten, so had to do their own. We were told that surgery was the most likely outcome, because my son is still growing. They explained a bunch of medical mumbo jumbo, but it sounded like he was going to end up having surgery. To my complete surprise, their x rays were read, and my son does not, in fact, have a broken elbow! Well, they’re almost certain he doesn’t. They believe that, what looked like a broken elbow, is actually just his growth plates. They are still not fused together, the way an adult elbow would be. Therefore, what looks like pieces of a broken elbow, is likely just his growth plates. They applied a fresh ace bandage to his elbow, and made an appointment for us to come back in two weeks. The doctor said, if something they aren’t seeing does happen to be broken, they will be able to see it starting to heal, when we come back. Needless to say, it was a hell of a day!

This is an easy supper! I have lots of potatoes left, so I’m peeling and slicing potatoes to use for tonight’s supper. All you need is

4-6 medium/large potatoes (I just have the plain ol’ Russet Idaho potatoes)

Diced ham

About 1/3 of a 32oz box of velveeta cheese. For my non American friends, I would recommend any cheese you prefer that will melt nicely together with the potatoes.

1 stick of butter

I peel and then dice each of the potatoes into about 8-10 pieces. I like to spray the baking pan with non stick cooking spray, to prevent the potatoes sticking to the pan. Put your diced potatoes into 9×13 baking pan. I cheated, and bought pre diced ham. When I’m using leftover ham, I just cut it into pieces myself. I slice the stick of butter into 12-16 pieces. Mix the ham, butter, and cheese into potatoes. Cover. Bake at 375 for about an hour.

Yum 😋

(This title is a Christian song, by “Stars Go Dim” 😉

I shared my last post with Jackie. This was some of our text messages, after.

This morning, as I waited in the pharmacy drive thru, I got a random text from my Dad.

I’m not alone. There are great people, who truly care for me. I know this, and I spend most of my time focusing on these people. There are just some hard days. I can’t help feeling sad for who isn’t here, sometimes. As a mother myself, it’s so impossible for me to understand how my mother doesn’t see me the way I look at my babies? I tell them all the time, if they could look in the mirror, and see themselves the way I do, they would never have a second of doubt. They’re beautiful, inside and out. When they hurt, I hurt. When they do something amazing, I’m so proud. When they need a hug, or some reassurance, I’m here. I’m not a perfect mama. My babies know how loved they are, though. They will never have to doubt their mama’s love for them, ever. I will not let myself become my own mother. She has definitely helped to motivate me, to be the very best mama that I can be. Missing out on some important things a child is supposed to get from their mother, that’s made me hyper aware of what my own children need from me. And, to tell the truth, I hope they grow up taking it all for granted. I pray that they can grow up and become great parents, spouses, human beings, simply because they don’t know any different.

Adam and I hear all the time, from people, that the way we look at each other is magical. The way we love each other, and our children, is literally felt by the people around us. I couldn’t count how many times I’ve heard our friends tell us they would die to have what we do. It’s not a “show” we’re putting on, here. We argue, sometimes. I know we can seriously piss each other off, but there’s never even a thought about leaving. We’ve never thrown out the “D word” (divorce). It isn’t even an option. Even when we’re angry, it’s because we love each other. I want our children to grow up with memories about how amazing their childhood was. I hope they can always look back and see all of the love.

~ “If you just walked away, what could I really say? And would it matter anyway? Would it change how you feel?”…. “I am the mess you chose. The closet you cannot close. The devil in you I suppose, because the wounds never heal.”… “But everything changes, if I could turn back the years, if you could learn to forgive me, then I could learn to feel.” ~

I know that song is written more about a failed romantic relationship, but it also makes me think of my mother. These lyrics speak to my soul. A lot of different song lyrics can do that to me. Music is a big part of how I express myself. It can be a huge “release”, when I’m full of pent up emotion. It can express words I’m not yet able to form for myself, in the moment.

I still consider reaching out to my mother. I’ve thought of writing her a letter. Then, I think of how that worked out when I was a child. She threw away letters I’d written, without even reading them. She read one poem I wrote her, on Mother’s Day, when I was about 10 years old, and she never stopped making fun of me about how dumb the rhymes were. I never wrote her any poems, after that. I imagine writing a heartfelt, emotional letter. I picture myself addressing it. Applying a stamp in the right corner. I would carefully put it in my mailbox slot, with the flag up, alerting the mail carrier to take my letter. It would travel several states, until finally, it landed in her mailbox. She would see it was from me, her oldest daughter. In my fantasy, she would excitedly open it, and read my words. She’d have tears in her eyes, as she felt and understood my words. She would feel something. Sorry? Maybe she would miss me? Or, maybe she might sit and write me back a truly heartfelt expression of her feelings. She might describe a version of her story that could help me to understand her. Words that I could read that would give me a sense of security, that she does love me. At the very least, some closure.

My realist brain is aware of how this would actually play out. I’d spend days pouring my heart and soul into a letter to my mother. She would see it in her mailbox. She’d probably open it, because her curiosity wouldn’t be able to prevent that. She would probably laugh at me. Then, if I heard anything back, it would be hateful. She would rip my heart into pieces even smaller than she already has made it into.

Adam, my beautiful babies, Jackie, my Dad, my sister…they have helped me to put the pieces back together. If you imagine a torn piece of paper. You could glue or tape it back together. The image is still there, but there’s marks where it’s been ripped apart. The tape is showing, where it’s been pieced back together. You can still see the original drawing, but you also know it’s been damaged, and repaired. I can’t allow myself to give my mother the opportunity to damage my picture anymore than has already been done. For this reason, I simply hang onto the fantasy. It helps me to get through, on the tough days.

My family love when I make my meatballs for supper. I’m not a big measurer. I kind of just throw things together, but I’ll do my best to guesstimate the amounts here!

2 pounds ground beef or turkey

1 cup breadcrumbs

1/2 cup of milk

1 egg

BBQ sauce (our favorite is “Sweet Baby Rays”)

Grape jelly

Mix the ground beef, bread crumbs, milk, and egg in a bowl. Shape into round meatballs. I usually make my meatballs pretty small, but you can do them however size you like. Place your meatballs in a large baking dish. Mix equal parts grape jelly and BBQ sauce. I’d say it’s about 1/2 cup grape jelly and 1/2 cup BBQ sauce. Pour your jelly and BBQ sauce mixture over meatballs. Bake at 350 for about an hour.

I’m making mashed potatoes, to go with. I peel my potatoes, boil them, mash them with a hefty amount of butter and some milk. I also like to throw in some cream cheese. It makes your mashed potatoes sooo yummy!

I also had some bread dough I shaped into small rolls and let rise, this afternoon. I’m going to make that into our dinner rolls.

This is tonight’s supper, at our house 😊

Yesterday evening, I was talking to Adam. He was heading home from work, and I told him I needed to call the billing department at our daughter’s doctor’s office tomorrow. Several weeks ago, I’d gotten a bill claiming we owed money for her visit’s copay. I knew I’d paid her copay. I always do, before we even go back to see the doctor. I emailed them two separate statements of proof that it had come out of our bank account. It was only $25, but it was the principle of it that made me fight. The lady I’d spoken to had been an arrogant bitch, so that had me arguing even louder. Well, we got another statement, in mid December, again claiming we owed this $25. Adam wanted me to just go ahead and pay it. I wasn’t willing to give in, though. I assured him that I’d handle it. Then, the holidays and all the craziness that those bring, came along. I kind of just pushed it aside. I realized that I am going to need to schedule our daughter an appointment to see her doctor soon, and it reminded me that I needed to get back in touch with their billing department. When I mentioned all of this to Adam, he said “damn it, Eve, that’s a spanking”. He told me that should’ve been taken care of by now. While I hear what he’s saying, I still felt frustrated because that wasn’t my fault they couldn’t get their shit together!

Adam walked in the door just as I was putting supper into the oven. He scooped me up, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me into our bedroom. He spanked me a few times, but he wasn’t seriously angry. He just told me to get it done. Awhile later, when we were in the shower, I’d rolled my eyes at him. He has not been tolerating that, lately! I do it a lot, without even realizing it. This is one thing he’s decided I can’t do to him, anymore. He will instantly give me a hard smack on my behind, when I roll my eyes at him. Besides these little incidents, things have been pretty quiet here.

I got my hair cut today, finally! I was overdue for a haircut. I love the way freshly cut hair feels and looks. I also got the billing situation solved with the doctors office. I put my southern charm on, and I managed to get it figured out, with the help of the woman on the other end of the phone. I was right, I did pay the copay, as I knew I had. It’s settled, thank gosh.

Jackie had a rough day, yesterday. We didn’t get to hang out much last night, and I was gone most of this morning, so I finally got a chance to talk with her this afternoon. I’m in a good mood, so I was able to help cheer her up.

One of my husband’s old friends had a wife from Nebraska. She made this casserole she called “Runza Casserole”. It’s named after a restaurant chain only in Nebraska, or maybe some surrounding states? They have vendors who sell Runzas at the Nebraska Huskers home games, too. Anyway, it’s really good!

Brown 2 pounds ground beef or turkey. Add minced onion. Mix ground beef with about 1 cup of shredded cabbage and 1 cup of mild shredded cheddar cheese. Spread inside a 9×13 baking dish. Top with crescent roll dough. Bake as directed on the crescent dough. It only takes around 15 minutes in the oven. We serve this with onion rings, French fries, or tater tots. I like to add ketchup. Adam adds ranch dressing to everything, including Runza Casserole.

Have you ever seen the Real Housewives series? I used to watch Real Housewives of Orange County. I have watched some others, but not very often. I used to like Gretchen, from old RHOC episodes. Most of those middle aged bitches drove me nuts, though! The most self centered, egotistical, fake women. They waste so much time and money simply trying to look better than each other. I have the biggest house. My boat’s bigger. My Rolex has more diamonds. My boob job looks better. It never ends. I have had the misfortune of meeting plenty of women who’d be perfect for a “Real Housewives of Nashville”. I’m just not interested in their ridiculousness. I can’t stand the fake friendliness that exudes from some people. To the point that, I will call it out and make my way to the nearest exit. In my teens and early twenties, I will admit I could be one of the “mean girls”. I’m way past that shit. These people usually wind up with children who act just like their parents. That’s the last thing I want to teach my own kids to emulate. I keep my circle tight. I have plenty of acquaintances, but I only have a handful of real, ride or die, friends. I’m perfectly happy with that. I never have to compete with my friends. We celebrate each other’s successes, grieve each other’s losses. We never brag about our bank account balances. We don’t judge one another based on superficial bullshit that doesn’t really even matter. We’re the “REAL housewives”.

I hate the socialite scene. It’s boring. It’s fake as hell. We all can’t stand each other. My polite wears thin real fast, when I have to participate in one of these “let’s brag about who has what, and gossip about who doesn’t now” events. For this reason, Adam and I rarely go to these kinds of things. We were at a Christmas party, a few years ago, and I met a friend. She doesn’t come from money, fame, or live a life of privilege. She got tired of a woman insulting her, to her face, and she wound up telling this lady off. A fight began, but quickly ended, when their husbands pulled them apart. Adam is friends with her husband, so we walked out with them, while they waited for their car. I met a friend for life, that night! That was a fun party.

I don’t hire a maid or a cook. I enjoy cooking and cleaning, actually! I’ve never had a nanny for my kids. I do my own hair and makeup, most always. I drive myself everywhere, with rare exceptions. Most of my wardrobe is from stores you’d find in a local shopping mall. I’m just not a prissy kind of girl. I like to look pretty. I enjoy dressing up. I just don’t give a crap about what anyone other than my people thinks, when it comes to how I talk, dress, parent my kids, and live my life. Blue collar, “rednecks”, make the best friends you could ever have. And, I couldn’t care less about what “Bimbo Barbie” has to say about it. She can spend her time with people who will never truly care for her. I’ll stay over here drinking a Bud Light with people who would give me their last dollar, if I needed it. Those are my friends.