My Seat at Magnolias Table

[somemilanlove]

Lemon Bundt Cake

Day 4 - I’ve decided to make something from the back of the book instead of going page by page in the front. Two reasons for breaking from the page by page playback of this book.

1. I don’t know how much longer the kids are going to be enjoying breakfast for dinner. 2. I didn’t get to the grocery store today for the heavy cream & mushrooms I am missing for the recipe. The truck is still in the shop, and the Land Rover is still awaiting its repairs under my carport.

I chose the Lemon Bundt also base on two reasons. Other than chocolate, lemon is my next favorite choice when it comes to desert and I also had all the ingredients to whip it up.

It was a super simple recipe and like the strawberry jam, I stayed up until 3 AM baking it. I feel like I work more efficiently when all the kids are asleep, and my husband isn't snoring next to me. So I sat on the far end of my recliner up until 10:30 working before I decided to get my workout in (that again turned into a double) showered & finally took myself back into the kitchen closer to 12:30.

I didn’t start baking right away. I cleaned up the kitchen and started to process my thoughts as I washed the dishes. I’ve been listening to a new book on Audible that really makes me evaluate myself and reflect on whether or not I’m on the right track for me or if I’m just checking off the boxes. Maybe you’ve read it too -Becoming Michelle Obama.

Today, she lost her father. I cried as she retold her story and I noticed a slight quiver in her voice as she read from her pages. It reminded me of my loss, not of my father, but of my grandfather. He was the closest thing I had ever felt of a loving father and I wondered if he would be proud of who I had become.

When he passed we weren’t as close as I wished we had been. I had been caught up in the mess life I was living. Juggling 2 toddlers, full time college student, and full time nurse. I would see him only on the occasions that I had managed to pick up some hours at the McDonalds back in our home-town. My real father & his new wife would agree to watch my boys while I worked.

It was sort of a way to pay me back for all the years he was absent and for his failings as a father to me. Sometimes I would get to see my grandfather on my way passing through. It would have to be at my dad’s house since I wasn’t quite comfortable being around my grandmother at that time. A tale for another time I’m sure.

He was a hard working man, never complained about anything & always joking as his Marlboro red hung out the side of his lip.  He had lived a hard life as most Mexicans his age had. Being a migrant worker all his life his dark skin was hardened by the sun. He hid his silver streaked curly hair beneath his white sombrero & always wore a long sleeved shirt when he went out. His hazel/amber eyes would look almost green when the sun hit them & always danced  with a smile when he spoke.

Even after 20 years he looked the same as I remembered him holding me when I was four. Every morning for the time my dad was around he would come over for coffee and woke everyone up with his joyful voice always saying “arriba todo lo que no sirve” (up everything that is no good). Only hispanics can say that and it be a loving way of saying wake up. I’m guessing. I would sit on his lap and he would share his coffee with me, joking that I wouldn’t grow if I drank it. I doubted it was true. I would ask him for a piece of chicle (gum) before I scooted off his lap and ran off to my room to lay back down and drift to sleep as he and my dad quietly chatted about their day.

I guess I too did not want to see the cold hard truth that his body was tired and he had become weak from his refusal to take responsibility of his diabetes and high cholesterol. We lost him right after Christmas, on my Dad’s birthday. I didn’t get to say goodbye or even tell him how much he meant to me. It was something we just don’t do in our family.  For years I just told myself that I had grieved his death before he died, knowing it would come soon.

Now I find that I just ignored my feelings about a lot of things missed out on so much of his life because of it. And he missed out on so much of mine as well I find I miss him the most when it rains. I see him in Addison’s eyes, which are a blessing and a constant reminder he is with me. She looks like him the most, amber eyes and dark curly hair, even his same quick wit & dancing smile in her eyes.

I miss him the same as any person misses a loved one that has gone, I suppose. I decided it was only natural that I think of him as I bake a cake, since he always like something sweet with his coffee. No matter what time it was.

I popped the cake in to the oven feeling super drained and set the timer. I drug myself to bed and lay next to Demarcus who didn’t notice I was still up. I  figured 50 min is plenty of time for me to take a cat nap.

It was a risky business but I had to rest my body. I shut my eyes only to open them again and feel freaked out! I leapt off our bed and ran into the kitchen. I thought for sure I had burned the cake!!

Nope, 7 seconds to spare! I pulled it out of the oven and it smelled so good! But even that sweet smell could not convince me to stay up an extra 30 mins while I wait for it to cool & transfer to a rack for more cooling. I left it on the oven and went to bed.

Day 4 ending with my “life's purpose” still a secret especially to me. On the bright side cake waits for me in a few hours. Goodnight grandpa, I love you.

[somemilanlove]

BoBo’s Gravy

Day 3 & I’m def behind for most of the day. Despite being up early  I spent my morning looking for a good body shop that isn’t backed up for months due to the oil boom out here. Demarcus’ truck is leaking oil and it’s up to me to find someone to find out why. I am planning to remake the gravy for dinner. It just wasn’t as good as I know it could have been so I’ve got myself mentally ready, Besides, we still have biscuits and I don’t know what else to do with them.

Demarcus always helps by sending the kids off in the morning. I’ve fallen back into  a night owl routine & fit in uninterrupted work hours. Anyway he hasn’t sent any extra biscuits with the kids like I had hoped he would.

Anyway the day goes by so much faster than I expected, I fit in a few good pockets of work between the “let me check under the hoods” and googling where else to go, but I didn’t get enough done. I’ve made a pact with myself that no work will be done when the kids are home. So as soon as the school kids are home I won’t be on my phone at all until they are in bedtime mode. It’s’ hard for me to do that esp. this week when I’m hosting a behind the scenes look at what a virtual online coach does.. ugh.

Idk if I mentioned but this year my goal is to help 5 women every month learn how to earn an extra $1000 a month, part time. It’s a huge undertaking and I’m def under pressure because a leadership role for me has always been scary. It’s one way to be able to push yourself to achieve big things, but to lead others and help them stick to their goals well not so easy for me.  I’ve always been the quiet one in the group or room, who never spoke up, just remained unnoticed. Leading, as I’m finding out isn’t telling people what to do, per say, it’s more of a teaching thing. You show what you’re doing and set an example. They can follow it or tweak it as long as they find something that works for them and still gets them the results we both want.

As soon as the kids get home I start whipping up the BoBos Gravy (where do these names come from anyway?). The recipe was so simple that I remembered exactly what I needed and how much, the only difference this time is that I’m working with raw Jimmy Dean sausage. This way I get more of the fat reserves from the sausage.

Without dragging out a simple gravy recipe I’ll say that it went really well. I followed the recipe exactly as it was and it came out perfect. The kids were not as excited this time around to have it for dinner.

I really don’t have much to say about the food today or feel inspired to share very much in a hopeful light. . I’m tired more than anything and have of ton of mundane mom duties to get to tonight. To add to it Demarcus and I had a huge argument about how his expensive taste in cars were consuming unnecessary money. I’m not usually one to fight about money these days. Especially since I know it comes and goes.

I think maybe it has to do with the fact that I didn’t have money growing up. We grew up poor with a single mom, usually getting things from salvation army and Goodwill. We never had fancy cars, brand name clothes, and almost always shared a room with one of my four siblings. As long as I had clothes on my back, food in the fridge & people that loved me back I was happy I’ve never cared for flashy or fancy things, but experiences.

DOING things is what I would spend any $$ amount on. To me spending 90K on a car is absurd unless it’s going to pay you back in a way other than getting you from point A to point B.

Earlier this year we traded in my car in to get another. I almost feel embarrassed to say the words traded in. As if its something poor people do. And now in writing that I guess I do have some sense of significance when I own nicer things. My husband had traded his brand new Chevy Silverado in for a more “useful truck”. An F250 Diesel- lightly used and costing twice as much as the other, the year before & I was still sour about it. The repairs on a Diesel are outrages and finding someone to do the work out here, in the middle of a boom? Damned near impossible!

Nevertheless we traded my car in since he would not be giving his baby away. I thought it would be a good way for us to trip the fat off of our spending & get ahead. Makes sense. A one Chevy Suburban for a Jeep Cherokee. We traded in one car only to wreck it 6 days later. Totalled. I hadn’t even received our plates yet. Don’t worry we were ok, but the deer Demarcus hit on our way to Big Bend National park didn’t make it.

We(I) decided to take this as a sign for us to use the extra money to pay off debt and get ahead on other bills like the house payment. (well I decided and spent the next 30 days convincing Demarcus it was in our best interest) That lasted all but 6 months. He just couldn’t keep sharing his truck, he won’t openly admit it but the evidence of 4 kids in he PRIZE truck was/is too much for him to handle.

I gave in, tired of hearing him complain about crumbs and the miles I was putting on his truck,  and agreed to choose a car, nothing new, and something that would fit all my babies. I didn’t want new because that would automatically come with a high payment and I had ZERO interest in paying interest for the next 5 years.

I found a fully loaded GMC SUV of sorts, nice enough for Demarcus to agree & big enough to lug my kids and all their things in. Mileage was so so, and it was made in the USA.  It was priced around 11-12K so totally affordable, which made me happy.  I thought this is the one, but nope. Demarcus had other ideas.

Long story short we ended up with a 2008 Land Rover. I know what you’re thinking. Who would complain about a Land Rover? ME.

Not only was it not what I had picked out, it was a year older, with more miles and foreign. Despite every I came up with to convince him this was NOT the one, that’s what I ended up with.

Buying a used car is a gamble as it is, but anytime you add a label to it becomes an expensive gamble. Not even a few week in I had to pay for an oil change.

$500!! We live in a small West Texas town with 1 person to do repairs on this thing. A few days later, turns out I need 2 new tires. “You can’t replace just 1 of the tires ma’am, because of the suspension sensors on this thing.” its a special made car, $600. We still hadn’t made the $300 car payment on this thing and I was out 1K!! FML.

A few weeks later --check Engine light -- catalytic converter. $440 a piece (it has two). A repair my husband pretended was optional and could wait. Now my “mom car” sits under the carport awaiting an $3000 repair factoring in labor.

So yesterday as I drove around desperately trying to find a Diesel mechanic with time to get the oil leak fixed in his truck I lost it. I tried to explain to him that it’s not the money, or the fact that a car needs repairs. I am fully aware of the fact older cars need repairs & that with maintenance a vehicle will last longer. What I was so upset about is that we were paying high end prices for these repairs. I’ve owned 4 other cars in my life time one used and 2 new so I totally get it!

My Nissan cube had the same issue with catalytic converter a few years back & it cost a fraction of the price to repair.

My husband is the kind of man who wants physical proof of how hard he works, big house, big truck, big guns. Maybe to compensate for the things he didn’t have growing up. idk , but Not me. It baffles him that I don’t “ooo” and “ahhh” at the fancy cars. He is totally confused how I could turn down the change to drive such a “classy car” and why I wasn’t happy when he got this car for me.

So that was it. Our huge battle over paying too much for basic things had me under stress. I was tired. Not inspired in anyway to make my mark on the world and certainly not any closer to finding my purpose as I poured extra creamy gravy over soft flakey biscuits and thick bits of sausage.

Maybe tomorrow’s recipe will bring me more luck.

[somemilanlove]

Pop’s Strawberry Jam

Yesterday (Tuesday) was officially day 2 for me.I spent the morning getting the mundane things of the month cleared off my calendar. Paid the bills, made new “To Do” lists, cleaned up a bit & listened to my personal development. I worked for a good 2-3 hours clearing out my IG messenger & reminding myself to eat.

By 3PM I had finally showered and made my way out of the house. I set out to grab some fresh strawberries at our local supermarket. A small store in town (15 min. drive for me) that has a decent selection of what we would need to make good wholesome meals, some organic produce & and even a few “fancy” items you might find at an inner city market. Everything is usually more than slightly overpriced. The price you pay for small town living I guess.

Next thing I know it was 5:20 P.M. and we had already been in town for a few hours earlier in the day,(waiting in line at the post office) , visited the grocery store once before to pick up more Fish & mangos for the taco tuesday idea I had planned, only to realize I did not grab strawberries.  I had just come from picking Jonas (my oldest) up from his Future Problem Solvers competition at school. Apparently he had called me a few times and I ignored the call.” I never answer phone calls from numbers I do not recognize,” I reminded him. “You should have left me a voicemail.”

I’m not sure if that was an event parents could or should attend but clearly I didn’t make it if it was. We also had cub scouts meeting that night for him, so I figured I could make dinner quickly after the meeting and start my jam when they were all in bed. I rushed into the store, grabbed 2lbs, priced almost $2 more than my curbside price, some Jimmy Dean sausage & jelly jars. I had a ton of mason jars I picked up 2 years ago for a friends baby shower but had no idea where the lids were or if they were the right size. I spent more on those 3 items than I do for fresh fruit and veggies on my weekly grocery list. Clearly Joan and I still have very different lifestyles.

Coming home was chaos, in my mind at least. We had spent way too long at the cub scout meeting, where I’m sure I dropped way to many F bombs for the moms. We are planning our boys CrossOver ceremony and sharing ideas, opinions, and volunteering for what we can do. I did not grow up doing extracurriculars much less having parents involved, I also have a hard time feigning interest in things like this, keeping a fake “I have it all together & want to be here face” lately. Especially since my mantra this year is “Fuck it”. I’m betting the double shot of espresso in my coffee I had just chugged had a lot to do with my even more laid back attitude about how we should handle things.  

Amongst other things on my mind I thought it would be a good idea to have a conversation with Jonas about how he should expect to assume more responsibility over his activities and communicate more effectively with me and his father so we can all plan according to what’s going on. This did not go well at all. It left me tense and frustrated, wondering if he pretends to not get what I mean or if he just really doesn’t grasp that he is 2 years from the teenage realm and maturity is part of that.

Tacos were made, but  not by me. Demarcus had taken it upon himself to whip up some ground turkey tacos and feed the littles that were at home & my sister in law (she stays with us M-Th for nursing school). I almost gave way to a poor attitude where that goes & picked his tacos apart but I caught myself pretty quickly this time.

8 PM rolled around pretty quick, kids were showering & getting ready for bed, my weekly team call was wrapping up & I had managed to get a little more work done. I was almost ready to get started, but I didn’t. It was 10 pm pretty quickly and while everyone slowly fell asleep I worked a little more, scrolled the new Fabletics line & ordered an outfit. Not the most productive use of my time. I know. It’s something I am working to improve.

It was close to 11:30 when I finally decided I better workout get my 20 min it. So I did then I did an extra 20 since I was still hopped up on caffeine and was feeling pretty good.

I finally made it back into the kitchen close to 12:30 and started going over this recipe. Thinking as I had in the store that it was such a waste to see these beautiful strawberries turn into jam. As part of my healthier habits I have learned to appreciate how sweet fruit is on its own & although I do indulge on sweets, it’s rare that I indulge in a jam. Oh well, I made a commitment.

Washing & hulling the strawberries was no big deal. I ate the hulls as a kind of apology for what I was about to do to the entire batch of fruit. I pulled out my jars, washed & set to dry. Ingredients were pretty simple sugar, pectin (not sure what this is but I bought it) and butter. Yup, so far so good.

Canner? Jar lifter?Yeah, I don’t have those so I’m going to improvise. I’ve seen Sweet Home Alabama too many time to know that there’s another way to do this. YouTube is my best friend if you don’t already know that about me. So the next 5 min go to finding out what I have vs what I need. It took me another 30 min to find everything I had and could use to make this shit happen. It was now 2AM and I was ready to begin boiling more than just water.

I blended, stirred, boiled and sugared the strawberries just like the recipe asked. I boiled jelly jars in a huge pot I once used in an attempt for tamales (I failed btw). I used a rubber oven-mit instead of the Jar lifter to pull and fill jars, burned my thumb with wayyy to hot for your hands jam. Maybe it’s the strawberries  way of telling me how dare you turn me into Jam. Maybe I’m finally off my caffein high and getting tired.

Jars filled, tightened and placed back into the large tamale pot to boil. It was now 3 AM and I was tired. I forced myself to eat dinner, because I had totally skipped it and was just now realizing it. Sat down and watched Game of Thrones reruns as I waited for the water to come to a rolling boil. Which took forever btw!

Finally 45 min and 10 trips to the kitchen to see what the hold up was we had a rolling boil!! Yass!! 10 more min of boiling and 5 min of waiting to cool. The timers rang and I peeled my but off the Oversized lazy boy recliner I had been sitting in. Pulled every jar out carefully and placed them on a towel, where they will sit for the next 24 hours. I made note that NO ONE is to touch or move these jars for 24 hours!!

I dragged my ass to bed, closed my eyes not feeling proud, not feeling accomplished just extremely exhausted. I forced my mind to shut down bc it was still going and going random thoughts crossing my mind. Not tonight I need sleep. 

5 hours later I’m up again. I let the dogs out, offer Addison breakfast which she quickly declined with a NOPE, and checked on my jam.

All in one piece, unmoved jars, note in place. Maybe they read the note maybe no one else cared about my jam, but in this moment I felt proud and once again the word accomplished flashed in my mind.

I’m beginning to wonder if the reason all these years I’ve never felt proud of what I had done was because of my upbringing. A quick thought goes to how different my childhood was compare to my kids. I’m definitely a very different parent than I had, for the short time I had them. I love on them, discipline them, encourage them & allow them to be proud of themselves for doing things well.

I guess I’ll never know what it would have been like for me to have those things, but I can learn to own my accomplishments & allow myself to feel right along with them.

Up next, the Gravy train! 

[somemilanlove]

JoJo’s Biscuits

Day 1 coincidently fell on a Monday. I am not the kind of person who has to start something at the beginning of the week in order to make it happen. Truth be told this little journey of mine started Friday or Saturday night when Demarcus and I were watching Netflix, enjoying the quiet hum of the kids playing in their room. You see I had been tiptoeing around the conversation of lacking passion and purpose in my life for almost a month. Opening a window and bringing it up casually with him or close friends who would listen. I would ask them how they knew they had found their passion? What was it like? How could you be sure? I wanted something to light my fire in the same way his pilot training does for him, or the way coaching or photography does for others.

So here goes, day one, JoJo’s Biscuits. Not exactly a recipe I wanted to make since right now. I am following a 6 week program & its meal plan to lose 20 lbs I gained over the holidays and determined to get a physical transformation to prove 20 min a day and healthy eating can make it happen. That means as tasty and buttery as these things might turn out, mama gets to taste test only. Oh well. Here goes nothing.

Putting the dry ingredients together seems easy enough. It’s a simple recipe of self rising flour and baking powder and soda. The tricky part happens when I make my move to adding the final 3 ingredients.

It’s time for the butter. 3 Cold Sticks it reads. My mind says “this is def not a healthy recipe”, my mouth says, “I bet these are going to be some bomb ass biscuits”(oh yeah, I am leaving my filter off so if you’re easily offended, we may as well part ways now). I read the line and paused. “Shit!! I don’t have one!” I don’t have the tool mentioned here. I’ve never needed a “pastry blender” before and must have missed it when I read over the materials needed the night I ordered my curbside. After all I did not have biscuit cutters and had noticed in time to order those.

Well I better improvise. I read that you could shred the butter using a box cheese grater. Nope I don’t like using that thing. The butter will become melty in my hands and I don’t want to wash that thing! In hindsight i totally could have pulled my electric grater out off the top shelf where it silently waits to be used once a year. But instead I opted for slicing the butter into thin slices and using the end of my whisk as the “pastry blender”. Worked well enough too! I felt proud of myself for improvising on the spot and hurried to add the last 2 ingredients.

Eggs and buttermilk come easy enough. I measure making sure I don’t add too much buttermilk or let Addison accidentally drop whatever she’s playing with into my dough. She ,if you do not follow me on other social realm, is my headstrong 3 years old daughter. Getting her to settle down and slow down is almost near impossible without a threat to take her to her room and take a hand to her bottom. So I let her play next to me on her stool as she watched carefully asking what I was doing and played with whatever she had in her hands.

We wrapped the dough with freezer wrap and left it to rise while I got my workout in. When I came back our dough was ready for the next step & I started to think about the old training videos I watched as a young McDonalds employee.

Did you know they used to make their biscuits from scratch every morning? Yup, I must have buried that memory, but as I started to roll my hands in flour it came flashing in bits and pieces. I wondered if the biscuits were healthier the way I was making them compared to now. Do they add preservatives to them too? idk .

I hand rolled, patted and pushed and pulled at this dough ‘til it was perfect. Then the fight broke out.

I had not yet opened my set of the Chef Cuisine biscuit cutters, and now I couldn’t figure out how! They were a set of 3 white with red trim, one placed inside the other, held together by idk what kind of vacuum pressure and plastic cover. This godforsaken puzzle had Zero instructions. I looked and looked there was no twist this or pull that written anywhere! I jacked with it for a good 10 min circling and circling the little white pieces which seemed impossibly stuck to each other. A couple of WTF’s ‘& seriously though’s  later, I finally I started to pick between the clear plastic lid and the red rubber trim that lines the middle of the largest piece. Finally!! Aha!! its moving! My boys who had come home from school were looking at me like I was crazy and Jonas sarcastically comments “finally got it to move huh?” Yes! Yes I did! Ok !! here we go! We were back on!

I finished the final step, 3 rows of white semi-fluffy dough lined up ready to bake. I brushed them with egg and buttermilk, smiling the whole time and finally popping them into the oven feeling accomplished! Yes! They looked kind of like the picture in the book and I felt confident that they would be amazing. While they baked I made BoBo’s Classic gravy (a few pages away) which came out well enough but I will be remaking on its own day. I felt it could be better so it will be.

Part of this blog is to push me to excellence. I feel like I often to do things well enough, just enough to get by, but not ever excellent. And while I know perfection doesn’t matter and certainly has never mattered to me in particular, it’s not exactly what I’m striving for at all, it is something in me that I feel might be keeping me from hitting some pretty spectacular goals in life. From finding that one thing that so many people call passion.

The oven timer goes off, I flick the light on and boom!! Beautiful, golden brown biscuits! Are they all the way done? Are they mushy on the inside? Ugh!! I guess only one way to find out. I pull them out and they are PERFECT!! Zach walks by, smiles and asks “are those for us, because I’m hungry.” Completely unaware of the amazingness that just happened here.

I felt pretty accomplished at that moment. Proud to have done something all the way right! “Yes those are for you.”

I’ve often felt good about myself for completing something challenging and difficult, but Accomplished? Never. I don’t ever recall using the word or feeling that way. Nope, not until today. And i’ve felt and used it twice!

I’m curious now, how is it possible that something so simple can give me that feeling? I completed a 12 month nursing program taking 18 hours a semester, while juggling a new born & working 2 part-time night jobs (against everyone’s recommendations), a 4 year degree in 3 taking summer classes, enduring a pregnancy & juggling 2 boys as a single mother, working 2 jobs in my early 20’s. Walking across the stage I felt proud of my hard work, excited, nervous, scared and even embarrassed but not accomplished.

I’ at the time, had felt and still do feel I could have done better. My grades could have been all A’s, I could have chosen to attend a more challenging school, I could have chosen a more difficult minor. I could have joined clubs instead of growing a family.

Somehow even then I felt as if I had slacked during what most would see as my most difficult part of my life. Was it the failed marriage? The single mom of two status? The days I was late to class or how I rolled my eyes at my rude Chemistry professor when someone asked a question, knowing he would only berate them and never answer? Maybe it’s because of the few times I mini napped between checking on residents so I would be awake in class the next day? Why do all those little things take away from how well I had done?

I guess we will find out. Maybe. In the mean time i’ll have a biscuit. 

[somemilanlove]

What Am I doing at the Magnolia Table?

Hey there!! 

If you’re reading this you’re probably asking yourself if it’s a post worth your time and hopefully your 5 sec scroll, scroll, stop attention span has given you time to pause here with me. My name is Rachel, a small town west texas girl, mom of 4 little humans who are my everything and also take my everything to keep up with. I am a former high school science teacher who now fancies herself an IG Public Figure, Entrepreneur, Fitness Influencer.  My life is pretty busy filled with to do lists, laundry, homework, & parent teacher meetings on top of the additional daily tasks of my Mom-Boss side hustle.

It’s because  of this non-stop mania where I serve others, seemingly, all day long  that I’ve decided to spend the next 365 days very much like Julie Powell did back in 2002. If you’ve never seen the chick flick Julie & Julia then add it to your watch list on Netflix because #1 its a good one, and #2 this blog will make so much more sense to you when you do. I happened to watch this movie a couple nights ago with my husband (who sat through the entire thing with me almost as in to the movie as I was btw) when she to found herself uninspired and wondering what her purpose and happiness in life was to be found.

Unlike Julie I am not a writer, I did not go to school to become a journalist, novelist, or professional blogger of any kind. I’ve worn many hats in my short 33 years of life but never those. The closest I come to being a good cook are the “fancy” meal ideas I make for Xmas and Thanksgiving  from my hand-me down Home Living Cookbooks.  Which i usually eat happily while the others around me would much rather enjoy a Sonic burger. Before that my cooking skills came from my grandmother, who made simple meals of meat and potatoes, or your typical Mexican dishes with beans and rice usually being the main course since money wasn’t always available for the meats. I added to those “skills” working for McDonald’s at the age of 14 and continued on learning by reading recipes as  the internet became more available to me.  Showing my age there huh.

As any rebel girl does I did not marry out of high school, I went to a small college where I worked two jobs and lived off ramen and campus cafeteria food. Later on I became a nurse out of necessity. I became a mother at age 21 and did the right thing by everyone but me and married young. As a nurse I was following in my mother in laws footsteps ( a woman I very much adore and who I hope to make proud with everything I do.) it was there that I learned a few new things about cooking Mexican food, had cookbooks readily available & more free time to play with a full kitchen.

I have always enjoyed being in the kitchen. Feeding people and gift giving are my love languages. As a young girl I would watch my mom make her simple foods with what little we had, steal a tortilla any time I could, As a teen my grandmother gave in to letting me be the one to help her in the kitchen since no one else would volunteer and she couldnt get rid of me anyway.

Soon after my oldest was born and I was done with nursing school my husband and I realized we just were not compatible, I moved into an on campus dorm with my son in tow and started working on my next goal, my bachelors in Biology. I went to school full time, hired a nanny and worked night shift on the weekends. Just to be able to afford the gas money for my work commute on the weekends & the young college student who watched my son during class. My student loans covered everything in between one semester at a time. Soon after I met the young man who would soon become the father of my second son ( months later)  and 2  beautiful daughters (years later) , my husband, & my best friend.

The next 3 years went by faster than I can remember, with days filled with my own homework, classes, and playtime with my boys, & my nights filled with caring for the local seniors at the retirement home. Any days off were spent working my second job 80 miles a way, managing at the same place that gave me my start. I kept learning new ways to cook, bake & expanded my print out recipe collection.

Graduation came and went like a whirlwind. The day most people are excited about freaked me out. Here I was to leave what had been my home for the past 3 years to go out into the real world. My routine of in and out of campus buildings, familiar fresh paint smells, professors rushing past & lazy freshmen littering the quad between classes was all I had known. The routine of overworking myself and stretching myself thin had also become normal. Checking boxes of what was right by society was also very normal.

After graduation I moved back in with my mother in law. I worked at the local nursing home at my usual night shift & the pressure of finding my own place and being a grown up on my own was on!! And it was heavy!! Not because anyone placed it on me but because I expected it of myself. Within a few short weeks I had applied to jobs using my newly acquired degree as leverage, or so I thought. After a few weeks went by I panicked I spent the afternoon spilling my guts and fears about student loan repayment to my mother in law who suggested I teach. “Just jump into the certification course in Midland, I’ll call Gil Ray.” She was the Head of all the school nurses after all, and new the people who I needed to talk to. Within a week I was interviewed, hired, and on the right track to taking a blitz certification course 2 hours away.

Its seemed like the right thing to do at the time since I was already a mom of two little boys and a single momming it. This is probably the first time I admit this openly to anyone outside of my immediate family, but I had zero interest in becoming a teacher. I was afraid of moving out of the small town we lived in & leaving my family & support system. So I did what looked right & even though I felt less for it. I know it seems I am rambling on and this is supposed to be a dialogue about food and what an amazing recipe is in store for you, but like I mentioned before I’m not here as a writer to dazzle you with my own original new recipes or as an amazing cook/chef or foodie, simply a mama on her journey to figure out her place in this world.

Between the time of my certification and Day 1 of my new job I had reunited with my college flame, baby daddy & did the grown up thing and moved in together. We continued to grow our family & I continued to feed them with loving recipes when I had time, which turned out to be the weekends (when i wasn’t coaching) and  holidays when I would hope to impress friends and family with my amazing skills.

Fast Forward 5 years and you’ll find me leaving that teaching job, working for myself as a virtual health and wellness coach, helping mamas lose that baby weight, eat healthier and do the same for their friends and family too. You’ll find me back here at my table, with a little girl in tow, free time to think about my purpose in life and how I might find what lights my fire. I love what I do but something tells me I am meant for something different in life. I’m not sure what and to be honest, I feel selfish for thinking I have the right to know. Especially when so many before me didn’t have the luxury to even realize they may have been meant for more.

My hope is that over the next 365 days of me doing what I enjoy, what I love may come to mind, I might be blogging one night and spark a conversation with myself and know once and for all “this is it”. 

Whatever that might be.