We will never forget ....

Today is 9/11. It is a day to remember our fallen heroes and the victims of the terrorist attack.

We buried my great uncle this morning. He served overseas and had a military burial. Around the time of that one of the towers fell, we were sitting in the funeral home chapel, paying homage to my great uncle, a war veteran. We listened to stories of the things Pop Pop Charlie had done. I wanted to stand up and say something, but I felt that what I had to say paled in comparison. The only thing I could say was "He was the only one who always called me Caitlin Bridget. Always." because, you see, three months before I was born, my cousin Caitlin, spelled the exact same way, was born. So to him, I was always Caitlin Bridget. It was how he made me special in a world full of people with the same name.

My brother, a Airman in the US Air Force, stood in his dress blues and saluted my great uncle's casket while TAPS was played. My great uncle was also his godfather and my brother felt it proper to pay him homage this way. He looked so handsome standing there in his dress blues, at attention, his hand up in a salute.

I had almost forgotten what day it was today, being so wrapped up and emotionally strung out from the wake last night and the funeral today. And for some reason, seeing my baby brother (okay so he's 24 but he'll always be my baby brother), I just started bawling. How did he get to be so big? Will something happen that will send him overseas to protect us because we've  been attacked again?

Everything is up in the air, but tonight, I do know one thing. My Pop Pop Charlie, my Grandpa, and their brother George are all reuinted together. Even more important, I know that my Pop Pop Charlie and his beloved wife, whom he lost in 1974, are sharing a dance that's been a long time coming. While it's hard for us to lose him, I know he's missed his wife every day since she passed and it must have felt like coming home again to see her there when he stepped through the gates of Heaven. I have no doubt that she was waiting for him.

I didn't get a picture of the casket with the flag on, but I did get one from the window of the car as we were pulling away. There's a simple sort of beauty to the display of love in this picture. While I don't like the idea of him in a box, it's a beautiful box, much like he was in life. He has so many who loved him and will continue to love him until we see him again.

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

(traditional Gaelic blessing)

What Truly Makes Life Worth Living

I'm a very lucky girl in a lot of ways. I have amazing friends that I have the pleasure of calling family. Amazing little ones that I get to call my nieces and nephews and who call me Auntie even though we don't share any DNA. I love those kids just as much, if not more, than the people whom I do share DNA with. These last few weeks have been really hard on me. I've been in a place in my life where I don't really know if I'm coming or going. I can't decide what the next step is. I can't decide where I want to go next.

I'm 26 years old, I have a job that I would love if my boss wasn't such a narrow minded irritant. I only have an associates, yet I am nationally certified in what I do. I want my bachelors. I want to find love. I want a family. I'm envious when I log onto Facebook and see all of these friends I went to elementary and middle and high school with who have found their lobster and are married, have kids, or are about to have kids.

I feel like I've been wasting my life. What have I been doing? What do I have to show for the things I've done? What are my achievements? And you know what I've come to learn? 

Being a good person, doing things for others without expecting anything in return, wanting mankind as a whole to be better simply because I know they can be? That's a damn good achievement. Having people in my life who KNOW they can count on me, people who know they can pick up the phone and ask a favor and I'll be there for them? That's a damn good achievement. 

You see this little dude right here? This is the Birdman. His mom and I were friendly in high school. She was a year older than I and I always admired her. She was strong, the kind of girl I wished I could be. Randomly, last October, she was in need of a sitter for Calix and I offered. I'd worked daycare, I wasn't a total stranger to her. Let me tell you. Best. Decision. Ever. Made. I have a date tonight with Birdman and I'm excited. I'm excited every time I see him.  I get the biggest hugs and the sweetest kisses and he snuggles up to me on the couch and says "C'mere, I just wanna hug ya" and when I pick him up to carry him to bed his little arms tighten around my neck and his little voice whispers "I just love you so much, you know that?"

The last time I watched him, he started calling me Auntie on his own. Up until now, I'd just been Caitie. And without warning or preamble, he was calling me Auntie. Not even "Auntie Caitie" just Auntie. And let me tell you, I already thought this boy couldn't make my heart swell anymore than he already has. I thank my lucky stars that his mom and his dad entrust him to me. They trust that I'm going to take good care of their boy and love them when they're not there. They know I'll attend to his hurts and soothe bad dreams and I'll do everything they would do if they were there. Because that's what Aunties do, you know. They love you like your parents, keep secrets like nobody else, and they help to keep you in line.

It's not about blood or DNA or any of those things. It's about the organ that sits in your chest, eighteen inches from your head. It's that organ that clenches tight at the sound of a wail and explodes into a million pieces with a sweet little kiss.

There's another little three year old that I watch. I call him Mac. He has a baby sister, who's nine months old, and a bit of a clingy girl. She hates when Mama's not there and sometimes she takes up a lot of my attention, leaving the older two to play together or watch a movie. And I always feel bad. I feel bad that T takes up so much time and that I can't play with them like I want to.

Last Saturday, I was watching them and Little Miss T needed a bath. Sweet potatoes stain blond hair, you know. And Mac came into the bathroom with me, wedged his little body right between the toilet and the tub and put his little hand on my shoulder. "Caitie? You take such great care of my sister. Thank you for taking care of her," and he kissed my cheek as I was knelt over the tub, trying to wash apricots and sweet potato from the giggly girl's hair.

And you know what? It's not about the degrees you have or the job you do or anything like that. It's the way the people in your life make you feel and the way you make them feel. I posted these last two things on Facebook the other weekend. The first one was while I was watching my nieces and nephew, aged 8, 6, and 2. The second one was while I was taking care of Mac and his sisters, aged 5, 3, and nine months. Said nieces and nephew are in that pic at the top of my post. The little dude in my lap, and the two girls in pink right beside him. The dude in black with the goofy smile is my actual brother. He's 24. 

Anyway, it's late and now I am officially rambling. Here are those two facebook posts and with those, and this post, I finally feel like maybe ... just maybe ... I've been on that right path all along.

Things I Have Learned Today: (8/24/12)

*I hate driving in traffic. (I knew this, but it was reinforced.)
*2 and a half year olds are AWESOME birth control
*Telling said 2 and a half year old "Jay Thomas, you sit down or take that pop out of your mouth!" gets me a twenty minute "Who Thomas? Thomas Train? Why you say Jay Thomas?"
*Grateful little girls who say please and thank you make me want to give them the world.

*My boobs are apparently the perfect aiming target for aforementioned toddler.
*Playing Call Me Maybe is the PERFECT bribe to get a 2 year old to pee in the potty. Also, Junior Mints help too.
*Listening to my little nephew's voice telling me sweetly "Hi, Auntie. You home now. We go Chuck E Cheese. I play games" as the first words out of his mouth when he woke up and saw me makes me want to take him and let him play ALL the games.
*I still want kids, but I want a few more years of sleep.

Things I Have Learned Today (8/25/12)

* Accidents cause traffic even if the accident isn't on your side of the highway. I HATE RUBBERNECKERS.
* I have FINALLY learned the difference between T's mad cry, hungry cry, and sleepy cry. THIS ONE IS A BIG WIN FOR ALL.
* I love snuggling post bath, freshly smelling babies who want ALLTHESNUGGLES.
* I have a very melty heart when a very adorable 3 year old says to me "Caitie? You take such great care of my baby sister. Thanks!" as he pats my shoulder and kisses my cheek as I'm knelt over the tub giving said baby sister a bath.

* Don't ask a 3 year old a question unless you are REALLY sure you want the answer.
* There is nothing sweeter than listening to a big sister read bedtime stories to her little brother.
* There is also nothing better than two VERY understanding big siblings who understand their baby sibling needs a little extra TLC and do their best to help me and/or occupy themselves without killing each other, the cats, or destroying the house.
* Zo-Li sip cups are the most amazing invention ever and they get fussy baby to take mama milk without fighting me and the bottle.
* Ticklish almost 9 month olds have the best laugh in the world.
* A quiet house, with three sleeping children and the sound of lullabies playing from upstairs makes me feel accomplished and eager for another night to do it all again with them.

xoxo,

Caitie

Clam Cakes and Auntie Maur

So, I've been told that clam cakes are a New England thing. Or, rather, a coastal New England thing. Rhode Island, Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Maine. I love them. I've loved them for as long as I can remember. It's a family tradition to have chowder and clam cakes on the 4th. My beloved aunt Maureen, who passed away in 2003 due to ALS, was the one who used to make them for us.

You know ... I often wonder if things happen unconsciously for a reason. Like if there's something in the back of your brain that's telling you "You have to do this. Now. There won't be time again." The summer before my aunt was diagnosed, I asked to help with the clam cakes. I'd never helped before but that summer, there was something in me that NEEDED to help her do this. So from start to finish, I watched. How much batter mix went into the bowl. How many cans of clams and how much clam juice. (we never have enough. I've told my grandmother we need at least three cans and she only ever buys two. NEEDS. MORE. CLAMS!)

Anyway, that July, I watched. And I watched her stir the batter into the right consistency. You need it thick, like spackle. And it has to stick. If it's not sticking to the spoon and the bowl, it's not right. It can't be too thin but it can't be too dry, either. I can't explain it, because there's no set recipe. It totally depends on the weather outside. If it's humid, you don't need as much liquid. If it's dry and hot, you need a bit more than normal. It's all by sight and touch.

In October, she was diagnosed. I'll never forget the night we found out. It was the first time I had seen my dad cry. He hung up the phone and kind of just slid, all boneless like, into a dining room chair. His face was white and his green eyes had tears in them. They told us that most ALS patients have about 5-10 years to live - but she had already had symptoms for a lot of years. From the time she was diagnosed, we had three years with her.

ALS, also known as Lou Gherig's Disease, is a horrible, terrible disease. The long and short of it (without getting too technical) is that the nerves basically die, rendering the muscles useless. For my aunt, it started in her legs. Feet problems, I believe it was drop foot that initially had her realizing that something was wrong. It took years for her to get diagnosed. I believe it was almost two (I could be wrong on that, it's been awhile).

Slowly, over the course of the next three years, my aunt became increasingly more paralyzed. She was eventually wheelchair bound and at the end, she couldn't move anything. Not her legs, not her hands, nothing. She passed away in the evening hours of Thursday, November 6, 2003. It was both heart breaking and a blessing. It was so hard to lose her, but at the same time, I knew she was up above us, dancing around and using all those muscles and limbs of hers.

Anyway, I got off on a tangent there, as I tend to do sometimes. The summer after she was diagnosed, I made the clam cakes for the first time under her supervision. She told me she was having trouble stirring and let me do it all. The clam cakes were a success! And from that moment on, I've made the clam cakes every single Fourth of July. It's a bitter sweet task for me. I love doing it. I love that I can make them. There's nothing like scooping batter off of two teaspoons into hot oil and listening to them cook. The whole experience just screams Fourth of July to me.

But it makes me miss her. The kitchen of the house where I currently live, my grandmother's house, is the same kitchen where she taught me how to make them. And every time I'm in there alone on the 4th, mixing the batter and heating the lard to fry them, I always think of her and that last 4th we had together, working to make the clam cakes. So many things have happened since we lost her nine years ago. Her daughter, my aunt, got married. She blessed the family with two gorgeous, amazing kids. I graduated high school and college. My brother joined the Air Force and has since been to both boot camp and tech school.

There are lots of moments throughout the years when I miss her, but nothing makes me miss her like making clam cakes on the Fourth of July. We love you, Auntie Maur, and we miss you terribly. I hope you're having fun wherever you are.

How To Make Clam Cakes!

Step One!

This is what you fry your clam cakes in. 

Scoop it out and get it hot while you make your batter. 

Step Two!

Melting lard. It really looks gross.

And kind of makes you feel like a fat ass hahah!

Step Three!

Your ingredients! I forgot to take a picture of the batter mix.

We just use a local mix that's for fritters and clam cakes.

Like I said above, you REALLY need at least three cans of clams.

They weren't as clammy this year as I like, so next year, I'll make sure to get three cans.
 

 Step Four!

This is what your batter should look like. 

This year it ended up being the two cans of clams (PLUS their juice) and half the bottle of juice.

It's really sticky and when you pull the dough out on spoons, the dough stretches kind of like pizza dough.

Step Five!

Fry the little suckers hahah.

The really cool thing about these is that they cook themselves. Honestly!

When they're done, they flip themselves over. After they flip, give them about two-three minutes.

Then remove them from the lard with a slotted spoon and dry on paper towel! 

Step Six!

Dry and serve! 

They're so hot when they come out that I just pile them on top of each other on the paper towel.

They keep each other hot without being "burn your mouth" hot.

I personally serve mine with some cocktail sauce and/or dip them in my chowder broth!

I hope everyone had a lovely and relaxing Fourth of July! Here's to the rest of a great summer!

Healing Up

So ... I had foot surgery on April 13th. My last post spoke of it, but I was so doped up on meds, it probably doesn't make sense!

We thought it was just a simply ganglion cyst removal. Welp, when I came out of surgery they told me it wasn't a cyst but it was filled with blood and they didn't really know what it was. And OH, by the way - here's some crutches and stay off your feet for a week, don't change the bandage for at least five days, and here's some Percocet cause it's gonna hurt.

Saturday and Sunday of that week were a BITCH. I was in so much pain I pretty much stayed drugged on Klonopin and Percocet so I could sleep. Percs didn't make me sleepy, they made me high as fuck and it gave me headaches so I took the K-pins to sleep. Rest of the week was okay, didn't do much, slept a lot. Went back to work this past Monday after being out for six freaking days, had my first post-op appointment tonight.

Turns out it was a ruptured blood vessel. Which, apparently he knew that SOMETHING had happened to the blood vessel when he closed my foot up cause the whole point of crutches for a week was because he didn't want my putting pressure on the foot and rupturing those sutures in the vessel. So he thinks that somehow the blood vessel got injured and then the injured part swelled and that's what was bulging out of my foot. So basically, what they cut out of my foot was the injured part of the vessel but they didn't know that at the time of surgery. They thought maybe it was a tumor or something. So they took it out, stitched the vessel closed, sent the part they removed to pathology, and here we are.

Unfortunately, they don't know WHAT caused it. I don't remember any trauma or injury and I would think that I would have had to have bruised my foot pretty badly for it to have happened. Since we don't know what caused it, we can't be 100% sure that it won't happen again or that it won't happen in the other foot. So much fun, right? Stitches are out though and in a few days I can stop bandaging it and give it a good cleaning. It's super bruised and there are still marks on it from the surgery pen.

Pre-Surgery:

Post-Surgery:

the perils of foot surgery.

Day ... five of laying in bed like a lazy ass. Stupid frigging foot surgery. I should have known that this would happen. It always does. First, the surgery was delayed four hours. (OMG I was so frigging starving!) and then it turns out that it wasn't a ganglion cyst like they thought, they don't know what it is so it's been sent to pathology, and oh by the way ... you have three times as many stitches as we thought you were going to have and you're going to be on crutches for the next ten days. Not to mention the excruciating pain and the being unable to put pressure on my foot.

Luckily, I have wonderful parents who make food for me or else I would starve to death. My brother was wonderful though. He took me in for the surgery and brought me back home and fed me and made sure I had my meds and he even carried me through Walgreens to get my meds so I didn't have to use said stupid crutches. Percocet? I highly recommend it. Seriously. So good.

But I had feeling dependent on people and I hate having to hop, on legged, into the bathroom and then back from the bathroom and being exhausted and needing a nap because it takes SO much energy to move around. And I have to be back to work on Monday, healed or not, cause someone else is already out on Vacation. I might be napping instead of eating come lunch time. Stitches come out Wednesday, though, hopefully so I hope there's more progress between now and Monday.

Now I'm off to eat my yummy bagel sandwich consisting of ham and cheese that my daddy made me so I don't starve to death. 

winter in new england

so much has happened in the past few weeks and most of it i can't say in public simply because i don't know who i can trust and i really cannot afford to bring any bad things down upon me so .... pictures! i took these this morning. it's our first TRUE snowstorm of the season and we've already gotten 5+ inches. they say we're only supposed to get 8, but it doesn't look like it's stopping any time soon! anybody out there got warm weather and wants to send it my way??? so not a snow fall kind of girl. i'm looking forward to my 80 degree days again!!

xoxo,

caitie

I don't want to be in love with you anymore.

I'm so sick and tired of being in love with you. I don't want to love you anymore. I don't want you in my thoughts anymore. I don't want you invading my dreams. I can go months without thinking of you, without remembering how you made me feel. I can meet another man and not want to compare him to you. I can develop a crush and not feel guilty about it. And then, out of nowhere, you come slamming back into my life. Why? Why can't you just STAY gone?! I don't want to love you anymore. I don't want to be in love with you.

I know you're not the person I fell in love with. That person doesn't exist. I don't know if he ever really did. Logically, I know that he wasn't a figment of my imagination. After the assault, you were everything I needed you to be. You soothed the hand shaped bruises left on both flesh and psyche. You were the strength I needed when I didn't even know who I was or who I wanted to be. When I was lost and couldn't lift my head above the current, you were the raft I needed. When it all crashed down the first time, I convinced myself I didn't need you. I convinced myself I was better than you and your love.

But you came back in. And you shook my entire world up. I admit, part of that was my fault. I was so incredibly stupid for seeking you out in the first place. But I had wounds that I needed healed. I needed that closure. I should have known you'd never give it to me. Instead, you stirred me back up. Instead, you made me fall in love with you all over again. To see you with your little girl, to see you being the man I always knew you could be ... how could I not fall in love with that? I could hardly breathe when in your presence.

Was it a lie? Was everything a lie? You're not that person and I know this. Logically, I know that you are not who I think you are. You never outright lied to me. You never pretended to be something you weren't. But with me, you were always different. You weren't the manwhore everyone expected you to be. You were quiet. You were calm. You balanced out my crazy. You were one of a few people who could put me in my place without hurting my feelings. You did it with tact and grace while still being firm.

You are selfish. You are arrogant. You care more about the things you think will make you into the person you want to be. Why couldn't you see that we were both in the same place? Didn't you realize that we could've helped each other to find the place we wanted to be? I finally came to see you would never be anything more than a man-child. Forever, in my heart, you will be the one who pieced me back together. You will be my first love, until the day I die. But I don't want to be in love with you anymore.

I want you to stop invading my dreams. I am sick to death of dreaming of her. She will never be OUR daughter. I will never have children with you. So why, when I dream of her, are you always there? I don't want you there. I don't want you tainting those moments. I don't want to dream of you anymore. I don't want to dream of her either, to be honest. I suppose in my mind, she'll always be yours. My blue eyes, your jet black hair, and chubby rolls. I'm sick to death of it. Would we have made a beautiful child? Of that, I have no doubt. But it will never happen. You are not meant to be the father of my children. I wish you would just disappear. I wish I could control my dreams.

It's easy to realize all of this when I'm awake. It's easy to be logical when I'm awake. I'm tired of hurting over you. I'm tired of letting myself fall back into that same pattern. I so badly want to unblock your profile from Facebook. But I won't. I can't stand to see the pictures. I want to tell myself that I am over you. That you were nothing more than the older boy that my high school self was in love with. But you couldn't let me have that, could you? You had to tell me that you were in love with me too. You had to tell me that I'd be a lucky catch for any guy and that you'd be forever jealous of the man who got to have me as his wife and the mother of his child.

Was I supposed to be flattered by that? Was that supposed to make me feel good about myself? Because in reality, all it did was piss me off. If you're so jealous, then why couldn't you man up and be that man? Another crush told me that I was good enough to fuck but not good enough to date. Is that how you see me as well? I'm good enough to fool around with but never to settle with? You can pick up the broken pieces and glue them back together but you can't stick around to see how well the glue dries?

I don't want to be in love with you anymore. I'm sick and tired of thinking of you. I want you gone from my life forever. Why can't I seem to get rid of you, even after all these years?