Moving Day!

That's right, everyone, I'm outta here!

It's been real, blogspot, but I need my space. My own space. And now I finally have it.

My own space is right here! It's a work in progress right now, but I have BIG plans for its future.

Come visit me!

And come follow me on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest (give me your e-mail address if you want an invitation!), and StumbleUpon!

Hooray! I'm so ready for this new chapter of life!

Super Spicy Beanless Chili

For the last month, I have put cayenne pepper in and on EVERYTHING. I can't stop. I'm beyond obsessed with spicy food.

I get food obsessions. They last about two months and then they go away. And God bless Andy for putting up with them, because my last little obsession was with FunDip, and you can't get that in stores anymore.

So the other night, I was going to make this chili, but Andy wouldn't let me because we already had one soup in the fridge, and we don't need another, blah blah blah, whine whine, eat the soup before it goes bad.

Not to mention I told him I was going to put the chili on hot dogs and Andy is not a hot dog fan. Even a little. At all. But that's another story for another time.

The soup is gone now, but I still felt like a little rebel when, while Andy was at work tonight, I made this. I'm not going to lie, it made my lips sting a little, but I wish it was hotter.

The true problem, my friends, is simply that I do not have access to ghost peppers. That and there's only one habanero in my house right now, and I'm saving that for some special recipe that I have yet to make up.

BUT, without further ado, here it is. Enjoy!

Ingredients

1 lb ground beef

2 cloves minced garlic

1 (16 oz) can tomato sauce

1/4 yellow onion, chopped

2 Roma tomatoes, diced

1/2 c. chili powder

1 1/2 tsp cayenne pepper*

1 tbsp crushed red pepper

1 tsp paprika

1/3 c. Frank's original buffalo sauce

1/2 tsp sea salt

*If you're not as big a spicy fan as me, I'd recommend 1/2 tsp cayenne

Directions

1. Brown the ground beef and mix in the minced garlic at the end
2. In a large sauce pan, combine beef and garlic with the remaining ingredients; bring to simmering over medium heat
3. Reduce heat to medium-low, stirring occasionally, and let simmer for 40 minutes, or until desired thickness is achieved

I ate about half a cup of the chili as it cooked. 

I told myself I was making sure I had the flavor right.

Which I did. I totally did.

After I let the chili simmer for a good 45 minutes, I cooked up some incredibly delicious Hebrew National hot dogs (seriously, if you haven't tried them, DO IT RIGHT THIS SECOND. Most amazing hot dogs EVER), plunked 'em right down in some buns, slathered them in chili, then topped the whole thing with a "fiesta cheese" blend. Ole! 

Now CHOW DOWN!!! Then prop yourself up on about a dozen pillows when it's time for bed, cuz you're gonna have some heartburn. But if you're anything like me, the desire for tongue-sizzling chili far outweighs the aversion to a little bit of indigestion. 

Rummage through Rubbish

When I was about 7 years old, I told my mother I wanted to be a garbage collector. When she asked me why, I told her it was because I wanted to be the first person who got to see all the cool stuff people threw out.

She makes fun of me for it to this day.

I wanted to be a lot of things as I grew up; I was totally not one of those kids who knew their dream career by the time they were expelled from their mother's womb. I know plenty of those, and I always felt like there was something wrong with me because for the longest time I just had no freaking clue what I wanted to do or be. Nothing ever felt right.

I wanted to be a math teacher, an English teacher, a history teacher, a garbage collector, a massage therapist, a stay-at-home mother, the President, a Spanish teacher, a writer, a Giordano's dancer, and, of course, a nurse.

I'm not sure I've ever admitted this to anyone, but it was Dr. Jon Dorian and the staff of Sacred Heart Hospital that made me want to go into medicine.

That's right. Scrubs.

I got into the classes - high school A&P, biology, organic chemistry, A&P in college...I love it. I adore it. Every second of it. I can't explain the draw, but I can't avoid it. There is nothing in the world more fascinating to me than A&P and medicine.

Fast forward through my CNA classes, my nineteenth birthday (finding out I was pregnant with Logan), working from 3 - 6 months pregnant, giving birth during a blizzard, then going back to work and back to school.

And there it is. Even writing about it, it's the exact same feeling. It's a sickening anxiety that starts just below my ribs and tightens every muscle as it creeps upward and finally just sits like lead right above my collarbone and makes it hard to breathe.

I am not a fan of leaving my son for long days of school and work. Just thinking about it is terrifying to me. I hate it. And I go back to working, at least two and up to four, eight-hour days per week on August 10.

For the last 5 years, I knew I wanted to be a nurse. Eventually I wanted to get my Doctorate of Nurse Practice. There would be no stopping me.

About a month ago, I wrote about how I wanted A Thing.

I still want A Thing. Because all of a sudden, I have no idea what my Thing is anymore.

I feel like I should still want the BSN and the DNP and the six-figure salary that comes with having a jillion letters behind my name...but what does that mean for Logan? Where does that put him between now and when he starts going to school? And even then, who is he going to come home to?

Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

If I plow through school I'll be leaving my son with babysitters and relatives and (oh my gosh I can't even imagine this one right now) day care providers. Sure, I'll be successful and I'll have a career and a degree and nice high earning potential and blah blah blah, but...who's raising my child then?

But...if school goes slower or I have another child in the next couple years (which, as many know, may not even be medically possible for us) or choose something, anything besides nursing, I know there are plenty of people out there who will think I'm taking the "easy" way out. And, of course, I'll wonder, What if?


What the heck is my Thing now? What am I supposed to do?

I guess if all else fails, I can just be a garbage collector.

This. This is Marriage.

I miscarried a baby at 10 weeks in May.
The nurse who did my discharge paperwork at the hospital wasn't kidding when she said I'd "have some really intense mood swings" in the aftermath. Things at home are still recovering.

Not to mention Andy and I were together a year, got pregnant, lived together, had a baby, then got married.
We did it all backwards. So. There's that bonus.

We've now been married 9 1/2 months. We're still working out what it means to be sort-of-newlyweds and parents AND living farther away from my parents (our strongest supporters) than we ever have. It's complicated, to say the least.

I found this song (and I don't even remember how) when we were planning the wedding. I cry every single time I hear it, and the more I listen, the more I realize that it's truly marriage. Like...it's the way marriage really, actually works.

I may have been married less than a year, but Andy and I have been through a lot, so I think maybe I know a little of what I'm talking about. It sure as heck hasn't been a 9 1/2-month honeymoon.

So here it is. Please listen to it (through the link), because it's a thousand times better when you actually hear it.

Jaosn Mraz,  Beautiful Mess

You got the best of both worlds
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man and lift him back up again
You are strong, but you're needy
Humble but you're greedy

Based on your body language and shoddy cursive I've been reading
Your style is quite selective, but your mind is rather reckless
Well, I guess it just suggests that this is just what happiness is

Hey, what a beautiful mess this is
It's like picking up trash in dresses

Well, it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don't mind my nerve, you can call it fiction
'Cause I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear
'Cause here we are

Here we are

Although you are biased, I love your advice
Your comebacks, they're quick and probably have to do with your insecurities
There's no shame in being crazy
Depending on how you take these words
They're paraphrasing this relationship we're staging

And it's a beautiful mess, yes it is
It's like we're picking up trash in dresses

Well, it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades 
And the kind and courteous is a life, I've heard
But it's nice to say that we played in the dirt
'Cause here...here we are

Here we are...

We're still here

And what a beautiful mess it is
It's like taking a guess when the only answer is yes

And through timeless words and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds, not of this earth
And tides, they turn and hearts, disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together
And we tore our dresses and stained our shirts
But it's nice today


Oh, the wait was so worth it.

Buffalo Chicken Fingers

So I don't think there's any secret that I like my food really spicy...all the time. I think half my tweets (limited though they are at this point) are about how much I like spicy food.

Last night, there was a Man vs. Food marathon on the Travel Channel. I watched until my eyes bled. Adam Richman is a HUMAN GARBAGE DISPOSAL. Seriously?! Seven pounds of Italian food in ninety minutes?!


Anyway, in one episode, he was re-doing his very first spicy challenge thing, because the first time he tried it, he couldn't get past the first bite. Holy. Crap.

Before I was pregnant, I could pretty much Hoover any spicy foodstuff I wanted. I'm not kidding, I ate a salsa called "Baptism of Fire" when I was ten years old. I don't know what was in it, but my dad said his coworkers couldn't even handle a pinky-tip-dip of the stuff. I loved it.

Then when Logan screwed up the level of every single hormone in my body, the fluctuation managed to make my taste buds betray me in the worst possible way: I hated spicy food. I couldn't handle a jalapeno. Heck, I couldn't even handle On the Border's "forgive us for taking forty-five minutes to make your food" time-waster salsa. It was pure palate devastation.

FINALLY, though, now that my son is seventeen months old, I not only like spicy food again, I crave it. I desire it the way Snooki desires one of those nasty, orange, steroid-filled guidos.

Guys, I put cayenne pepper and hot sauce in that chicken and dumpling soup from last night. WHO DOES THAT?!

So, the combination of my insatiable need for spicy things and watching Adam Richman devour pounds of straight chili extract and ghost peppers drove me to do this tonight, at 9:30 pm. Enjoy. Recreate. Give me your input and variations.

Homemade Buffalo Chicken Fingers


Ingredients:
Vegetable oil
3 chicken breasts, thawed
1 1/2 c. flour
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp chili powder
1 tsp crushed red pepper
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp lemon juice + milk (2% or whole) or cream to equal 1 cup.*
1/2 - 3/4 c. flour
1 tsp hot sauce
1 bottle Frank's RedHot Original Buffalo sauce

*or 1 c. buttermilk

Directions:
1. Fill a 2- or 3-quart pot halfway with vegetable oil, cover, and set to medium heat.
     IMPORTANT: Once the oil comes to a boil, be sure to keep something in the pot to keep the temperature from getting too high. It will start a fire, and I speak from experience. I recommend chopping up a potato and dropping the pieces in, because by the end you'll have buffalo chicken AND fries. And that's never a bad thing.

2. In a large bowl, mix together 1 1/2 c. flour and all the dry spices. Whisk them all together.

3. In another bowl, mix together the milk and lemon juice and let it sit for about 5 minutes. This acts like buttermilk. I don't know about any of you, but I'm way more likely to find milk and lemon juice in my fridge than buttermilk.

4. After the milk and lemon juice have sat for five minutes or so, add the hot sauce and flour until the consistency is about the same as that of paint (my husband gave me that...he's the imagery master). We stirred in an extra few shakes of cayenne and chili powder. Like I've mentioned about five thousand times...we like spicy.

5. Trim the fat off the chicken breasts and slice them into chicken-finger-sized strips. I didn't measure because I figure most of you have had a chicken strip before and know the size you prefer.

6. Coat the strips in the buttermilk/flour batter, then dredge each in the flour and spice mixture. 

7. Place the strips in the oil (the fries should be done by now), but try to only cook one breast at a time. The strips will cook quicker and more evenly.

8. Pull them out when they look like this on the outside:

and are appropriately cooked through on the inside.

9. Take the chicken out and place on a dish lined with a layer or two of paper towels, to let the oil drain off, then transfer to a large bowl for coating with buffalo sauce.

10. Dump a whole mess of buffalo sauce all over the chicken strips and "toss" until they're well coated.

Serve with bleu cheese dressing and an icy cold beer.

Ahhhhh...that's the good stuff.

Do you have a cool variation on buffalo wings? I'd love to hear it!

Thanks for reading!

Andy's Easy Chicken 'n Dumpling Soup

I've said it on my Facebook more than once. Mostly because it's totally true.

I am married to the awesomest cook ever. I don't know where he got it from, honestly. Neither of his parents have ever cooked for me. He HAS worked in the food industry for over a decade, though, so I have a funny feeling that's where the majority of it comes from.

Anyway, I figured out a super awesome way to get completely original recipes, super easy and free, for my little blog here: follow Andy while he cooks!

So here's the first of his many recipes.

Easy Chicken 'n Dumpling Soup

Prep time: 20 minutes

Cook time varies (approx an hour)

Ingredients:

2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

2 chicken bullion cubs

1/2 chopped yellow onion

2 - 3 tbsp olive oil

2 - 4 celery stalks

10 baby carrots (or 2 - 3 regular carrots)

2 ears corn

1 tsp minced garlic

thyme

parsley (dried)

sage

cayenne pepper (optional)

salt

pepper

2 1/4 c. Bisquick

2/3 c. milk

2 tbsp fresh parsley, finely chopped

Directions:

1. Fill a large pot halfway with water and add bullion cubes and chicken breasts (trim fat off chicken breasts first). Bring to a boil over medium heat, adding the spices to taste. Andy and I love spicy food, and Adam Richman was doing the "Suicide Six Wing Challenge" on Man vs. Food and it looked amazing, so we decided to add a few shakes of cayenne pepper. We also added 4 shakes of thyme, 4 shakes of dried parsley, and a pinch of sage.

2. At the same time, saute chopped onion in olive oil, with the garlic and pepper to taste, for about 3 minutes (to keep onions crisp)

3. Once the water is boiling, turn heat down to medium. Add sauteed onions.

4. Chop the vegetables and add to the pot. This is where you can get creative. Carrots, onions, and celery are sort of the standard, but you can as many and whatever kind of veggies you want. The more veggies, the heartier and more stew-like your soup will be. 

Carrots, chopped by my wonderful hubs.

Fresh corn cut off the cob

Broccoli florets. We cut off the stem things because, seriously...who wants them?

Headed for the compost pile!

(broccoli stems, leftover celery, coffee grounds)

5. After about 40 minutes, the chicken should be cooked. Pull the breasts out of the pot and check the  insides; make sure the insides are white and the juice runs clear. Pull breasts into smaller pieces with a fork.

Pulling the meat apart instead of just chopping it gives the soup a homemade texture.

6. While the chicken sits for about ten minutes, mix the dumplings together; they're just Bisquick and milk. Andy LOVES parsley (I totally don't, but it's his recipe), so he chopped up a bunch of parsley (which ended up being 2 tbsp once it was all chopped) and mixed it all into the dumplings. 

7. Add the chicken back into the pot and stir. 

8. Add the dumpling dough into the pot by spoonfuls (or, in Andy's case, by hand).

Don't worry, his hands were nice and clean. I think.

9. Return water to a boil, but turn the burner back down to medium after 5 minutes. 

10. Simmer (uncovered) around 20 minutes. This lets the soup thicken up; the water will boil off and the dumplings will make the broth richer.

Ta-da!

Mucho deliciousness. :)

I'm Not This Weird in Real Life, Maybe

I thought of something the other day.

I'm really, super, without a doubt, completely and totally awkward. And, you know, there are so many people who are totally aware of their awkwardness, but they OWN it (but not like Oprah...I can't even look at the word "own" in all caps now without getting annoyed that she bought out my favorite channel EVER), which makes it less awkward and just way endearing instead. Then they're just comfortable to be around, because you can always count on them to blurt out whatever they're thinking, or to spill the coffee, or trip on the escalator, or ask that lady when she's due, but it turns out she's not pregnant, she just has that very unfortunate body shape.

I am what I think is the worst kind of awkward. I end up sounding like a jerk A LOT and I end up looking very smug VERY OFTEN and I look like an idiot THE MAJORITY OF THE TIME because, well, somehow I missed that part of growing up where you learn how to interact with humans in a way that doesn't make you look ridiculous and douchey. 

For example, about a week ago, I was called to the Springs to fill in for three days at my old job, because technically I'm still employed at that company. My client's aunt and two cousins had just moved into her apartment, and they were there for my whole first 10 1/2 hour shift. They moved from a Spanish-speaking country, and although the aunt knew English just fine, her two kids only knew a few phrases.

First, my client's younger sister had picked about four movies for us to watch...and they were all Disney princess movies. Finally, I forced her to let one of her cousins (a boy) pick a movie. He was laughing when she got mad that he picked Cars and said, "She only wants to watch movies with princesses in them," except he said it in Spanish, and I'VE TAKEN OVER 4 YEARS OF SPANISH AND I KNEW EXACTLY WHAT HE SAID, but instead of responding with, "Well, she chose The Incredibles, and that one doesn't have a princess in it," (which I ABSOLUTELY know enough Spanish to say!!) I nodded and laughed like a huge idiot who, I'm sure, he assumed was just pretending to know what he was saying. 

People, this was not an isolated incident. This went on for THREE 10-1/2-HOUR DAYS. I completely understood the gist of absolutely everything they said, and I could have responded every single time, and I would have been understood with the four-plus years of Spanish I've had and a few "charades"-type gestures. But what did I do? I sat and nodded and laughed at the appropriate times, and otherwise stayed absolutely silent, except for the time when the older cousin was trying to tell me "I don't want my brother to be picking her up too much because he has a cold (or a cough, I couldn't tell which he was pantomiming)" and I was an idiot and all I could freaking say was, "toz?" (Spanish for "cough"). 

Brilliant, Kristen, just brilliant.

There are also the incidents (which are far too numerous to count) where I pass someone on the street or alone in a hallway or something, and the person smiles at me and says, "Hi!" and I do this weird little corner-of-the-mouth twitch and grunt out something that kind of sounds like "hi," but is mostly not even close to being a word at all. I then avert my eyes very quickly and either chew on my cheek or pretend to be getting a text.

I picture it in my head, and I look like some junkie who hates interacting with humans. All twitchy and shifty. 

AND THEN there are the super fun times where I talk to someone who isn't way super close to me, like commenting on their picture or status or something on Facebook, and then I get this anxiety like, OMG I'm sure they totally don't want to talk to me and they're insulted that someone like me would dare to talk to them on the largest social networking site out right now (you have a way to go, Google+...you have a way to go) even though they agreed to be my friend, I mean how dare I initiate conversation, I've only known her for five years...

Wah, wah, wah, anxiety, insecurity, self-consciousness...

Basically, I feel like, with the exception of maybe a dozen people (out of the 260 ish friends on my Facebook)...

If I talk to you, you probably don't want to talk to me, and I'm probably bothering you, and I'm really sorry, but deep down it'd just be cool to have you as a friend, but I'm sure you don't want to be my friend, I mean look at you, you have like 3,941,983 friends on here, so why would you want to take time to be friends with me, but that profile picture you just put up is super cute and how do you get your hair to do that, because I really wish mine could look like that, I'm totally not saying I want to be like you cuz that'd be weird, I just really like your hair, and I'M NOT STALKING YOU, I PROMISE I'M A COMPLETELY NORMAL PERSON, I JUST HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO INTERACT WITH HUMAN BEINGS WITHOUT BEING REALLY ANNOYING APPARENTLY.

...be my friend?

Pepperoni with Jalapenos, KTHXBYE

So hey there. Once again, I have been remiss in my self-imposed blogging "duties" and haven't written since Thursday (well, technically Friday...after midnight sometime).

Wanna know how I remember? I know that I posted that recipe with the hot dog/beef/biscuit bake one night, I ate the leftovers the night after, and we left to go camping the morning after that. I basically keep track of my days based on what I ate when or when I last did laundry.

Why does the whole hallway smell like armpit and corn chips? Oh, that's right...it's been like three and a half  weeks since I washed any clothes.


Anyway, about a week ago, I decided I was going to do this one blog one night, tell this other story the next night, and then make this other recipe the third night. It was awesome. I had it all planned out and I was so proud of myself for my forethought, but then everything went in the toilet when the manager of our old apartment lied about a big refund we had coming and we got invited on a last minute camping trip with Andy's brother and his wife and their (FOUR) kids (along with our squirmy little one), and all of a sudden, oh hey, Kristen, I'm your blog...remember me? Don't you love me anymore?

That's right, boys and girls. My blog talks to me. Get over it.

I dare you to find someone whose mind is more scattered than mine right now. Seriously.

So the story I was going to write tonight is a story I've told fifty gazillion times, but usually I tell it in person, and have the luxury of the people I'm talking to being able to see my brilliant hand gestures which, I assure you, totally give the story a certain...something.

Annnnd therein lies my problem. I cannot force funny out of my fingertips tonight. Not even a little. So my brain is mush right now and I can't even manage to pry out of it a story that will probably remain etched in my mind forever and ever amen.

If you didn't get that last line, you don't listen to country music, and I say shame on you.

So anywhosies, if any of you out there in Readerland would do me the honor of commenting (you don't have to have your own Blogger account to "Follow"!) and giving me...anything. Encouragement?

Like I said, my brain is about 42% pudding and 33% residual child scream echo and the rest percent desperate, unrequited need for pizza at this moment.

Obviously I'm having insecurity issues and I'm like WAY FREAKING SUPER NEEDY.

Tell me I'm pretty and smart and funny, okay? Okay, thanks.

Also, if someone wants to bring me a pizza? That'd be way super great and I'd love you forever and do your taxes for the rest of forever, but only if you never want a return ever again and you'll probably get audited.

PS - I got a job today. Praise me for that, too.

Beef, Hot Dog, and Biscuit Bake

Alright, reader peoples, I've been gone for, like, 3 days I think? Not okay. I have all sorts of fun plans for what I'm writing about for the next couple nights, and I'm going camping for the next couple nights, so I better get crackin'.

Yesterday was long and stressful and lately I've been insatiably hungry for maybe a week now and we have a bunch of random half-eaten ingredients in our fridge and, naturally, that led to my making some kind of variation of this "Beef & Bean Roundup"thing my mom made for us all the time growing up. One of my favorite dishes ever. You can make it with all sorts of stuff that you probably have in your fridge and pantry. So here's the version I had:

Beef, Hot Dog, and Biscuit Bake
or I've Gotta Get this Crap Out of My Refrigerator Before it Goes Bad
Prep time: 15 minutes
Cook time: 20 minutes
Bake at 350 degrees


Ingredients:
1 lb ground beef
1 ish bottle of barbecue sauce (I say "ish" because I only had about 2/3 of one left and it worked just fine)
1/2 pack Oscar Meyer wieners (really, you can use any hot dogs you want, I just wanted to be able to write the word "wiener" as many times as humanly possible in a single post)
Bisquick
milk
cheese of your choice (preferably shredded)
spices (your choice)
chopped onion

Quite obviously I added ingredients as I went, but these are the basics.

Directions:
1. Brown the ground beef, throwing chopped onions in toward the end - it keeps them crisp!

My perfectionist stepbrother-in-law saw the beef on the cooktop and asked if I wanted to fix it because it was "so imperfect!!" I told him I was leaving it there because it was how I felt. Yesterday was a bad day. 

2. I also stirred in these spices as I browned the meat. Just for me. Because I can:

3. Slice up the wieners into you-could-safely-feed-them-to-your-17-month-old-sized slices
4. Combine the beef, onions, and hot dog slices into a 9" x 13" x 2" baking dish

Well, crap...maybe not.

...okay, let's try a 9" x 9" baking dish?

There we go. If I didn't mention before, I'm making this up as I go along.

5. Empty the entire bottle of barbecue sauce into the baking dish and stir into the meat*

6. In a medium bowl, follow the instructions on the back of the Bisquick box to make biscuits. It's just Bisquick and milk.

Of course, I got to this step in the cooking process last night and realized zOMG WE DON'T HAVE ANY MILK WTF?! and had to run to the store in the middle of dinner prep. So...if my prep time is sort of like, you know...off...now you know why. And you're not allowed to get mad at me.

7. Scoop dough on top of the meat, in regular sized biscuit portions, to cover the dish

8. Place the dish in the oven (350 degrees) and bake for 20 minutes.

9. Immediately after removing the dish from the oven, sprinkle biscuits with shredded cheese. Or, if you're like me and don't realize until the moment you take the dish out of the oven that you have no shredded cheese of any kind, do something like this:

with a cheese like this:

Then scoop onto a plate like this:

And enjoy!

*instead of barbecue sauce, you can use one of those really big cans of baked beans. Choose the bean flavoring (maple, hickory smoked, etc) on what spices you did or didn't put in the meat while cooking it. I would have used hickory smoked baked beans  if we'd had them!

Hope you like it!

...On The Floor

I had one of those I'm the worst mom ever moments today.

It's similar to a moment I had around the time Logan was 9 months old and I was trying to transition him from bottle to sippy cup (a process which I completed a whopping six weeks ago...don't judge my parenting). I accidentally forgot to put the little plug thingy, which ONLY allows him to drink if he sucks on the sippy spout, into the top of the cup, and that meant that when he tipped the cup up to his mouth, the juice in it just trickled into his gaping pie hole without him having to work at it. He was thrilled.

Quickly I realized my terrible parenting misstep and freaked out and went charging across the room at him in slow-motion, screaming, "Noooo!" (but it was all low-pitched and dramatic and I was running like Pam Anderson in Baywatch. Was that too far? Yeah, I thought so too.) I snatched the cup away from him, crammed the plug in the lid, handed it back to him, and held my breath...and he couldn't figure the cup out.

All I could think was Oh my gosh my child is never ever going to learn how to suck juice from his sippy cup and he's going to go to kindergarten with a bottle in his lunchbox and all the kids are going to pick on him and call him a baby and he's going to drop out of school at 13 and run away from home and get addicted to crack and meth and painkillers and he's going to rob banks and become a murderer and I RUINED MY BABYYYYY *insert sobbing*

Of course, about 2 weeks later, he was gunning around the apartment sucking down juice like he was about to cross the Sahara. I guess we dodged the middle school dropout/drug addict/murderer/bank robber bullet THAT time.

But then there was today's moment.

I came home from work (I'm filling in at my old job in the Springs for 3 days) today and Logan was running around in his wet bathing suit (he'd been in the kiddie pool on the deck). My mom saw him grabbing his "boy parts" and asked if he needed to go potty. He said, "Pee-pee," and ran toward the bathroom. She put him on the potty and he didn't go, so she put his trunks back on and he came trotting back out to me, grinning like crazy. A few minutes later, he did the same dance with me, and I asked if he needed to "Pee-pee? Poop? Potty?" not sure which one he'd recognize most.

"Pee-pee!" he screeches and hauls tail back to the bathroom. I strip off his clingy trunks and perch his cute little hiney on the big-person toilet seat (no baby seat yet...again, don't judge) and say "Go pee-pee!"

After a few moments of him sitting...then fidgeting...then fussing, I let him scoot himself off the toilet seat and rationalize, Okay, if he had to pee, he would have gone, right? Like...his thingy has been exposed for long enough that he would have gone already, right? (shut up, I didn't say it was a good rationalization) and I let him take off, bare-cheeked, into the living room.

After about 90 seconds, he screeches, "Pot!" ("potty") again, and takes off for the bathroom. I trail behind by maybe eight seconds because I figure (see earlier rationalization) he's just trying to open the toilet lid and drop something worthless (like my bra or my car keys) in the water. The kid cannot resist water, and above all, potty water. I don't get it.

I arrive at the bathroom door to see my child standing in a puddle of his own urine, all smiles. "PEE-PEE!!"

...and here's where I win the Worst Mother of the Year award...

My first reaction is "Uggggghhhh, Logan, seriously?! On the floor?!" which startled him.

Frack. Frack frack frack.

See, he'd been telling me THE WHOLE TIME that he had to pee. He KNEW he had to pee (and almost-seventeen-months is on the earlier side for that knowledge). So he kept going to the bathroom because, here's the best part, my son is smart enough to have figured out that that is the room in which you make pee-pee. And I just used my "I'm so tired of your tomfoolery" voice with him.

Frack.

Of course, similar to the Sippy Cup Incident of 2010, I realized .2532 milliseconds after I said it that I TOTALLY SHOULD HAVE JUST PRAISED THE FREAKING CRAP OUT OF HIM FOR BEING (almost) 17 MONTHS OLD AND KNOWING THAT THE BATHROOM IS FOR GOING PEE-PEE, KNOWING HE HAD TO GO PEE-PEE, AND PUTTING THE TWO TOGETHER AND MAKING IT TO THE BATHROOM.

Frack frack frack FRACK.

So then I start into this ridiculous over-compensatory, high-pitched whine, praising and praising and praising him for his feat.

Me [an octave below that range of sound only dogs can hear]: OH MY GOSH BUDDY YOU WENT PEE-PEE IN THE BATHROOM YAYYYYY *claps like an idiot* I'M SO PROUD OF YOU I'M SO PROUD OF YOU YOU'RE THE AWESOMEST KID EVERRRR!!!

Logan: *confused stare*

Yeah so...my kid's going to wet the bed until he's 12 and need a lifetime of counseling, probably. Hopefully no murders, though.

Of Superficiality and Ugly Non-Prescription Glasses

I'm speechless. Seriously, I don't even know how to preface the horrors and absolute asshattery I'm witnessing at this moment. And who would've guessed that I'm watching it on MTV?! Shocker, right?

True Life: I'm a Sugar Baby. Huh say whaaa?

Olivia, 21, is looking for a sugar daddy. Why? Because "Like...I like having, like, nice stuff...but like, I really don't feel like...you know...doing anything for it." I'll give you a minute to soak up that brilliant mind-gem. Now I'm gonna encourage you to go get a drink of water or read a Shakespearean sonnet, or really anything that might encourage a few brain cells to regenerate, ok?

So she needs a man who will wine and dine her and buy her expensive clothes and jewelry and, oh hey, I'm looking to go to Italy and the Caribbean and, well, basically everywhere in the entire world staying at 5-star hotels, so how's about you fly me all around the world, mmkay? Peachy, thanks. Oh, but I'm trying to get back with my ex, so can we have your condo while we mend our relationship? Great, you're just aces, gramps!

GG, 21, is in LA, trying to launch a music career while teaching hip-hop in stripper heels (I have no freaking clue). Apparently stripper-heel-hip-hop hasn't quite caught on like she would have hoped (or, more likely, hallucinated) it would, and it doesn't cover her bills, or the investments she needs to make in order to begin the music career she so desires, oh, or of course there's the lifestyle she desires, full of $500+ pairs of shoes and purses and sunglasses that just get HANDED to her.

THE KICKER: These girls expect their sugar daddies to pay for every dinner, piece of jewelry, flight, hotel, VIP lounge night, and bottle of champagne whose name people like me are too poor to even be allowed to know how to PRONOUNCE...completely willingly, without hesitation, and with no expectation of any physical relationship with them. One of them even said "That's just gross!" after getting off the phone with her SD who said, "This relationship needs to have some give and take. It's a two-way street."

Now let THAT sit there and soak into your brain matter. Uh-huh, that feeling is your brain twisting itself in knots and gajillions of neurons firing at the same time to try and make this compute. Little hint: it won't compute...ever.

But somehow she gets money and gifts and he gets sex and it's not prostitution.

Krystina...WFT?!

Well, who'd want to, I guess...

And then there's Shaun. Dear, sweet Shaun.

Shaun, 22, is looking for a sugar-mama-cougar because, similarly to Olivia's completely reasonable statement regarding employment or furthering herself as a human being in any way, "I work at a computer software company right now, but like...I don't want the nine-to-five work lifestyle." Apparently earning anything that's out of his reach in life is "just not him."

One of his equally intelligent friends (who I almost thought was gay when he came flouncing in front of the cameras the first time, but by the end I couldn't tell) tried to play wingman/life coach/fashion consultant/dating-a-cougar guru and took him to a club that was known to be heavily laden with those classy ladies who obviously spent way too much time in the sun when they were younger (you know, before they invented skin cancer) and have had obvious botox and facelifts and have that teeny bit of a pooch above their jeans that just screams, "I used to be super hot and in shape and I want you to still believe I'm that fit, but I have a child who graduated high school two years behind you!" You know. Those fine, upstanding women that are probably at a club like that to have one last affair before their baby-making parts lose the battle with gravity and fall out of their bodies and onto the ground between their feet one day in the middle of Bergdorfs (I had to Google that place to make sure I was on target with the whole rich-middle-aged-woman thing...appreciate the work I put into this, k?).

So anyway, a cougar walks up to this guy, WHO, I might add, is not attractive in the face, sweats like Nixon did in that one black-and-white Presidential debate against Kennedy like fifty years ago (the date on that one was NOT Googled, I just threw a big number out there), and is grossly out of shape...and wears a puca shell necklace, and asks "How old are you, anyway?" What's his response? "How old do you think I am?"

*record scratch* Is that not a game guys played in that awkward middle school-to-high school transition when they were trying to grab some 11th grader's boob? And didn't she always roll her eyes and walk away feeling slightly better about herself, but slightly worse at the same time?

Anyway, the woman with whom he tried to play 13-year-old, acne-faced, 11th-grade-boob-grabbing games made it abundantly clear that he was in no way ready for a relationship with a woman who was old enough to not need a fake ID to purchase the pinot he'd later roofie. She called him "the epitome of a Scottsdale douche bag," turned around, and strutted her suspiciously young-looking backside far away from Shaun.

Cheers, you cradle-robbing "Real Housewives of Southern Arizona"-wannabe. You tell him.

In the "since the filming" section at the end of the show, I was very pleased to know that Olivia has a boyfriend her own age, GG has a full-time job with some accounting firm as a customer service rep and still has not put out an album and DOES NOT have a sugar daddy now, and Shaun's sugar mama got laid off (I wish I'd seen how that conversation went) and she then accepted a job in California...a very long way from Shaun.

THIS IS LIFE LESSON TIME, FRIENDS, SO LISTEN THE HECK UP!

Don't be stuck-up and shallow and expect to be handed anything you may want for nothing. People will not like you.

Or they'll at least want you to get naked for them. So I guess...if you like that kinda thing...go get yourself a sugar daddy/rich cougar?

The (Not-So) Funny?

Brittany Gibbons is funny. Not just "Oh, that's silly" funny. She is "I just laughed so hard I snorted and possibly may have pooped my pants an eensy bit" funny. Seriously, check her out here: http://barefootfoodie.com/

I try to read her stories to my husband, and I think because of all my laughing and snorting, the humor in the story is lost. HOWEVER, since you don't have to sit through my rendition of her anecdotes, you'll probably find them as funny as I do. So go...be amused. And if you're a fan of poop humor, read "Backed Up."

I am not Brittany-Gibbons-funny. I wish I were, because then I could make a bunch of money writing stream-of-consciousness stories about how my 17-month-old is driving me crazy or how my husband will probably NEVER, EVER hang up the shower-water-soaked towel he uses when he's done with it. Because that's my life right now. Be jealous.

So here's the deal. Right now I'm watching My Strange Addiction on TLC and like...are they serious? Some guy eats bullets and champagne glasses. One guy is married to a silicone sex doll. This woman can't stop picking her scabs.

And I come to a sudden, blinding realization: I could never, ever be a therapist. I'd honestly either laugh at my clients or I'd just stare at them in judgmental disbelief. Um...of course it's not healthy to eat drywall, you lunatic.

Anywho, that's all the cleverness I can wring out of my little brain for the evening. Puh-leeeeez stick with me. I promise I'll get cooler and funnier.

Oh, and also follow me on Twitter: @KSchinsky

PS - any of my friends on Facebook who saw the picture I posted earlier of my "Habanero Cheese" (what the crap, right?)...totally not worth it. At least not on a burger with sour cream and Lays potato chips.

Buh-bye!!

"Ewww..."

There are things you expect to hear out of your 16-month-old's mouth. For instance, with Logan, I expect to hear things like Mama, Dada, "'mote" (remote), car, "Bob" (Spongebob), and Elmo. Earlier today, though, I heard a new one.

I was in the kitchen, cleaning up the last of my dinner mess from last night, when I heard Logan in the living room.

"Ew," he says, playing with his blocks.

"Ew? What's ew, buddy?"

"Ewwww." He looks over his shoulder at me and laughs.

"Ewwww!" I grin and laugh back at him. Then he gets up and trots into the kitchen.

"Ewwwwww! Mama!" Suddenly he looks very concerned and is squatting over and pointing excitedly at his behind.

Ohhhhh. Now I get it. So I pick him up, and sure enough...ewwwww.

I think this sort of epitomizes life with a toddler. Ew.

Delicious Dinner...and a Whole New Blog!

Well, here it is, folks - a whole new blog for a whole new chapter of life!

I am now very gladly taking suggestions for my young woman

of God/young mom/new wife/housekeeper/future nurse blog. I'm thinking easy DIY house fix-ups, crafts you can do with kids, cheap/easy clothing ideas, day trip ideas, recipes (food and drink...I am married to a bartender, after all!)...things like that.

Thank you all in advance! Here goes nothing!

Cheese-Stuffed Shells, "Almost-from-Scratch" Marinara Sauce, and Garlic Toast

Prep time: 30 minutes

Total cook time: 1 hr, 45 minutes

Bake at 350 degrees

Now, I'm not going to lie, I am no pro when it comes to timing the cooking of multiple dishes so they all finish at once. However, I am trying! I'm fairly sure that will be a main theme in this little corner of the Internet...working on getting this whole grown-up/wife/mother/student/woman of God thing as close to "right" as is possible. Anyway, the point of that is this: I'm not exactly sure how long this whole meal took to put together, but I have some pretty good estimates for each recipe.

"Almost-from-Scratch" Marinara Sauce

Prep time: 10 minutes

Cook time: 1 hr, 10 minutes

Ingredients

• 1 (24 oz) jar spaghetti sauce (I prefer Prego)
• 2 (14.5 oz) cans peeled and petite diced tomatoes (teeny little cubes!)
• 1 (6 oz) can tomato paste
• 1 yellow onion, finely chopped
• 2 1/2 tsp garlic, minced
• 1 tsp dried thyme leaves
• 1 tsp dried oregano leaves

Directions

1. Cook onions in spaghetti sauce for 10 minutes over medium-low heat.
2. Add all other ingredients and continue to cook over medium-low heat, covered, for 30 minutes.
3. Uncover and turn heat to low, and cook another 30 minutes. Stir frequently while cooking. Ladle into ungreased 9" x 13" x 2" baking dish to 1/4 inch deep.

*Note: I'm not at all a fan of the texture of cooked vegetables, but if you are, replace 1 can of petite diced tomatoes with 1 can (14.5 oz) stewed tomatoes and don't chop the onion as finely.*

Cheese-Stuffed Pasta Shells

Prep time: 15 minutes

Cook time: 30 minutes

Ingredients

• 1 (12 oz) package jumbo pasta shells, cooked, drained, and cooled
• 1 (15 oz) container part skim ricotta cheese
• 4 c. shredded mozzarella cheese
• 5 oz (one half of a 10 oz package) chopped and frozen spinach, thawed and drained
• 1/2 tsp minced garlic
• 1/2 tsp salt
• shaved parmesan (optional)
• crushed red pepper (optional)

Directions

1. In a large bowl, mix all ingredients (except the noodles) until well blended together.
2. Fill cooked shells with cheese mixture and place filled shells into the marinara-lined baking dish. You'll have to pack the shells pretty tightly together; I ended up with about 8 stray shells. Thankfully, my 16-month-old loves cooked noodles!
3. Ladle remaining marinara over shells in the pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.

*Note: If you're a cheese fiend like me, top the dish with shaved parmesan for the last 5 - 10 minutes in the oven. :-)*

Garlic Toast

Prep time: 5 minutes

Cook time: 5 minutes

Ingredients

• 1 loaf of your favorite bread (I chose an Italian artisan bread that looked particularly appetizing)
• Olive oil
• Garlic salt

Directions

1. Cut bread into half- to three-quarter-inch slices. Make as many or as few as you think you and your guests, family, etc, will eat; this is the quick and easy part, so you can make more in no time if you want!
2. In a small dish, stir together enough olive oil to lightly coat the slices of bread and enough garlic salt to fit your taste. Brush the mixture on one side of each slice of bread.
3. In a toaster oven, if you have one, toast the bread until golden and crispy (2 - 4 minutes).
4. If you don't have a toaster oven, place bread slices on a baking sheet and place in the oven immediately after removing the stuffed shells. Turn the oven temperature to 450 degrees, and bake for 2 -4 minutes; keep a close eye on the bread, though, because each oven will heat up at a different pace.
5. Use any leftover marinara to dip the garlic toast in :-)

...and VOILA!!

There you have it! Let me know if you try it, and if you do...how is it? I don't like to brag, but mine was fabulous ;-)

A Thing (opinions sorely needed)

I really, really want to have a "thing." You know what I mean. I want to have something quirky that identifies me and is meaningful and could possibly even be considered cute or endearing.

I'd love to blog. Like...as a job. But how the heck do you do that? Seriously, if anyone knows how you get that gig, let me know. I'm totally interested.

Maybe about something like...my clothes? But I'm jeans and t-shirts one day, leggings and flowy shirts the next, and loose cotton dresses the day after. Maybe some kind of fashion blog about rotating trends? Every day gets labeled something new? Weirder things have made successful blogs. Definitely an idea to keep in mind :)

I could cook, but I'd have to find a niche. Young mom/busy will-be nurse/wife of a bartender...I guess I could find something there. But I'd need an awesome camera (or at least help working mine correctly) to really document and show off what I'm making if I want to be successful.

I could do a "variety show" type blog. Cook one day, make an awesome drink the next, come up with a sweet outfit, write a story, do a cool craft with Logan and show it off, manage to take a cool picture for once in my life and share it. I think I like that idea. Opinions? I mean, the variety would have to be limited-ish, but I think that's my best bet so far.

There is one thing I've decided I'm GOING to do. It just came to me an hour ago. But it's super secret ;) Seriously, though, it won't even be something I'd be able to put online, but's it's an awesome idea and I'm so happy I thought of it.

A couple posts ago, I talked about how I can feel a huge life shift coming for me. I have no idea what it means or where it's going to take me, but it's coming. I want to detail it all. I want a record of it, and I want it to be fun and exciting to look at or read. I really want it to mean something. I just need a push toward it...and an outlet for it.

Any and all comments/advice/etc is greatly appreciated!

-KHS

Life...?

I don't really know how to put into words what it is I'm feeling. Yesterday was stressful and today was stressful, and both for very different reasons. It used to be that I'd have days like these and think, "Wow...I really need to write," and then I'd just sit down and type or write, and all the words would just fall off my fingertips without any effort. I used to enjoy going back the next day and re-reading what I'd written, because I thought I wrote with grace and said things that were worth reading.

Up until I was 16, I thought I was going to be a high school teacher...either English or history. I loved writing and reading, and I adored history (although it was definitely never my forte). And then I discovered the medical world. I did an internship my senior year of high school at Memorial Hospital where I followed doctors, nurses, and therapists around a bunch of different departments. The program was aimed to give those of us who wanted a career in medicine a very raw, real glimpse into the life of the medical professionals we aspired to be like. We were required to make a journal entry with every visit (twice a week), but we weren't given any guidelines on what or how to write. I was a writer who had realized she wanted to be a nurse, and my first journal entry on my first day at my internship sounded like just that. I tried to be poetic and insightful, and then I looked back on it a few days later. They sounded ridiculous, and they certainly were not nurses' notes. I quickly cut back on writing...a lot. I started watching insane amounts of Discovery Health and reading my anatomy book in my spare time.

That was a huge shift in my life, and one of my first times seeing who I was truly going to be as an adult. I really, really hate terms like this, but I guess it was one of my first instances of self realization...or something like that.

Right now, I guess, I'm going through another something like that. We just moved just over an hour away from everything I've pretty much ever known. Just me, my husband, and my son. I guess it's not as hard as it could be - the house we're living in belongs to Andy's parents, and it's basically the Schinsky/Schaetzel (Andy's stepdad) hub because it's right in the middle of the cities they all live in. I've been coming to this house for Schinsky family stuff for almost 3 years and I know where everything is and how everything works, and I've always felt comfortable here. Huge, huge plus. But I know NOTHING about Littleton. No streets, no stores, no nothing.

I can feel it...I'm on the verge of an enormous shift. I don't know in what way, exactly, but I know it's coming, and I think I'm really excited about it. Just have to keep praying through the whole thing. That's one thing I need to come back to in a big way. That's the only thing in my life I'm not feeling okay about now. But I suppose that's another entry for another day. If anyone's still reading, thanks for sticking with my. I'm incredibly scatterbrained lately.

So...here goes nothing. Life.

Why I Never Blogged Before

So hey, I figured something out! I figured out why I never could commit to or follow through with a blog before.

It's because my mind hates me and can't stay put on one topic long enough to write a decent blog entry.

See, a blog is a lot like a diary. Except people can read it and judge you on it. I kept diaries allll the time when I was younger (which was an idiot move because someone decided to read them and make my life miserable for a while), so I figured a blog would just come naturally to me. But it didn't. Because, you see, nobody is meant to see your diary. Ever. Ahem. Hint. Obviously, though, people are supposed to read your blog. And analyze or something. And if it's deep enough, let it touch them and apply it to their lives in the future. Blech. When I think about it that way, cynic that I am, it's pretty egotistical to have a blog. "See, everyone! Look what deep thoughts I think! Look at this beautiful truth I discovered about life that I want all of you to ooh and ahh and fawn over me for. Check out this picture of a piece of a sunrise I took that TOTALLY explains the meaning of life!"

Oftentimes, my thoughts are not nice. They aren't deep. I can't tell you how to live your life. I don't have secrets to marriage or child rearing or going to school, or how to put all three together and still have time to sleep at night. I'm not a magic recipe machine, so I can't do one of those awesome cooking blogs. I'm not a photographer. Heck, I didn't even make it into nursing school this time around. Nothing exciting is happening in my life right now. So...what do I blog about?

I feel like your blog is supposed to make a point. As in ONE point. Get ONE message across. Or you can just ramble like I am now, and people just go away from it confused and probably a little annoyed.

So, since I want to commit to blogging at least once...in a while on a fairly regular basis, I figured I shouldn't let a whole lot of time pass before I wrote another one. I'm going to try to hit a happy medium between touching on everything that's been on my mind lately and keeping my wandering thoughts short enough to be palatable. Here goes:

- I'm pissed that I didn't get into nursing school. Like...really mad. I know God has a plan for me that's way better than anything I could ever put together for myself, and that if I don't go through this part of His plan, I won't become exactly the person He wants me to be. But I'm still annoyed. I want to be a nurse now.

- I'm upset that I'm not pregnant anymore. I'm way more upset that there's a good chance my next pregnancy will be enormously high risk, and that that fact is likely due to someone's mistake after Logan was born. We shall see. At the same time, though, it's kind of nice that I can have a "normal" 21st birthday celebration. And then when I think about it, I feel enormously guilty for having that thought. Upset, angry, excited, guilty. Awesome cycle.

- I need to run. I'm absolutely not wavering on my commitment to the half marathon in October this time, and I need to train. I've been way too lazy.

- My hair is at an awkward length for its style and it's bothering me.

- I need to clean my house and do laundry or I will absolutely lose my mind. I can't stand the clutter.

And with that gem of an entry, folks, I need sleep. Deep, glorious sleep. Right now.

- K

The Road (first story!)

I figured I'd start this new blog with something I know I'm good at: short prose.

I wrote this when I was 16 or 17. I wrote A LOT in high school. I found it very easy to write when I was emotionally distraught and I definitely made sure I was sufficiently distraught for those 4 years. I want to get back to writing like this, so here goes!!

by Kristen Schinsky

The whir in my mind finally went blank.

It all fell away and I stood facing Him, a distance away. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I hung my head, ashamed; I had hurt Him.
I took off running for Him, never stumbling, never averting my gaze. He opened His arms. I fell at his feet. I wrapped myself around Him, burying my face in His shoulder, and sobbed wildly.
Warm, strong hands suddenly cradled my face. His thumbs wiped away the stinging tears. All I could do was cough and sputter, poorly managing an apology. Over and over I said the words because it seemed as though no language that may be within me could tell Him how sorry I was. The cries came from a place so deep I had never felt it move before. But now it wept. It heaved and groaned and tried to purge itself with intent and energy that I had no idea I possessed.
Then He spoke.
He spoke to me as to an infant and held me in His arms as though I might break. He brushed my tear-soaked, tangled hair out of my face and spoke straight into my eyes. I could feel Him heal me from the inside out. As the pieces were slowly put back into place, I started to drift off, feeling full and whole. He spoke, I listened. His heartbeat was my steadylullaby.
And suddenly I was dropped onto the cold, hard ground.
Jolted awake, I looked around in confusion. Had He left me? Why would He just let go of me?
Then I saw.
Burly men with long swords had pulled Him away from me. I cried and ran after them, wanting my Comforter back. Through crowds of people, past homes, over hot streets, they led Him. People lined the roads, yelling and throwing things at Him. Every one of them cursed me for following Him. I could not get past His attendants, but I called and called to Him.
“You can stop them!” I shouted. “Make them stop!”
He made no attempts to halt His captors, but instead turned to me and sadly smiled. Such a smile I had never seen before and would never see again. This smile held oceans of compassion, waves of love. Subtle though it was, this smile could heal anyone sick or stop an enemy’s cavalry mid-charge. It was light, faith, assurance, and strength. It was joy, purity, peace, and hope.
They had reached their destination and an angry mob pulsed behind me. They jeered and mocked Him, and yet He remained silent. His guards felled Him violently and manacled Him to a stump.
The leather flew through the air, making sickening sounds upon meeting with His back, legs, and sides. Chunks of His skin and muscle tore away from His bones. Blood flew. A man in purple counted out loud, the numbers getting higher and higher, the whip singing its hollow song of irreverence at each new number.
They took the shackles off. No man, I thought, could have survived that. But He fell to the ground panting. His tear-filled eyes caught my own as he turned His head.
The depth and breadth of what His eyes said and meant could in no way be measured. I was too shocked to cry, but not too removed to empty the contents of my stomach onto the dirt in front of me.
When I had regained some semblance of composure and looked up, they were taking Him away again. The crowd continued to shriek behind me, obviously overjoyed at His impending mortality. I turned and yelled at them, screaming through my sobs, cursing their heartlessness. Not a single person acknowledged me.
Finally we were on a hill. The huge men threw Him onto a wooden plank. His back arched off the beam and He groaned in agony. This drove the crowd into a frenzy. One man at each weakened arm and his shoulders were promptly removed from their sockets. Blood trickled through the dirt next to me, and the front of my clothing was soaked through with my own tears and sweat. I had no voice left and still I yelled.
The men raised hammers, and spikes clinked and crunched and drove their way through His hands and feet. They stood Him up. The post He was on fell into a hole in the ground to keep it erect. It jolted Him and plainly racked His entire being with unbearable pain. His head lolled and He bled. From the ground they mocked Him, and the crowd behind me, though now lesser in number, continued to jeer.
I could hear His rocky, labored breathing and when He surrendered His spirit, it all became too much to bear. I lost consciousness.
A soft light woke me.
Clothed in gleaming, victorious white, He stood before me. He smiled again, assuaging fear, doubt, and unrest within me. We stood together on a long, narrow path. I looked all around me; I saw nothing but Him and the road—stretching itself out interminably in both directions.
He held out a pierced hand. He looked in my eyes, turned a moment to gaze up the road, and then returned his focus to me.
Wounded hand still outstretched He told me, “My beloved, come. Follow Me.”