I would never go back to elementary school. I have painful memories of kindergarten through third grade. I attended a private Christian school in Orange County before we moved to Oklahoma when I was in the fourth grade. This is where things finally turned around for me.

Years ago, my family took a vacation together to Gulf Shores, Alabama. One night my youngest sister asked my parents what they would have done different raising us. My mother made a comment that she would have gotten involved earlier with the school. She would have talked to the teachers about how I was picked on and what could be done to fix it. She said that at the time she did not know how to handle it and she thought staying out of it was the best thing. I remember that conversation being so difficult for me. I was 26 years old and bringing up memories of school when I was 6-10 years old created a huge lump in my throat. I fought back tears and tried so hard to not remember, just as I do now when I write this.

In the 70’s I think the thought was let kids work it out and don’t get involved. School bullying was not an issue that was dealt with as it is now. I still don’t like to think about what happened and how bad it was for me. I never cried or was a tattle tell I was just ignorant and thought everyone was and would be my friend. I think the fact that I kept trying made me more susceptible. I have no idea why I was the kid that was singled out to be picked on: left to sit by themselves at lunch, no one would let me come near them on the playground, and finding a seat on the bus was excrutiating.

In third grade I was in love with my teacher, Ms. Shedd, and she loved me. She let me eat lunch with her at her desk and instead of recess with the kids she had me to little things in the classroom to help her out. I always thought it was because she thought I was wonderful. But that night, in Gulf Shores, I found out that my mom had talked to her and asked her to look out for me. When I look at pictures I think I was cute and not freaky.

So what was it about me? What was it that made me a target when I was only six and up until I turned ten? I know that initially it was my last name. But I think I just didn't get it and since I didn't get it in the beginning I couldn't change the perception of me nor did I stand up for myself. Anna is in first grade and already girls her age are starting the same crap that all girls have had to endure. My focus for Anna has been to not be the kid that made fun of others. I also have tried to let her know how much it hurts when someone is left out.

This week Anna has been the one to be left out. It has affected everything about her. Her attitude, her clinginess, her ability to follow direction, this has all been a struggle this week. On the advice of my mother I asked Anna this morning what was up? what is bothering her?

Her friends are running away from her. She says she goes up to her friends and wants to play with them. When she does this they all run from her and say they don't want to be her friend. My heart breaks a little and I want to hide her away from the world; but, I empathize and ask her if she has a plan to deal with it? Not right now she doesn't because she doesn't know why they are doing this. They were friends before and she doesn't know what she has done.

Personally, I have some ideas why they are mad at her but she doesn't need to hear that right now. She needs me to be on her side. She needs me to let her know I know this is a real deal. She needs me to understand and hold her. Today I asked her how things went at lunch. Better, she said, Carrington and her played together. Carrington wants Anna to be her best friend but Anna is thinking about that.

When my family moved from California to Oklahoma I had a fresh start. I started fourth grade in a public school where my last name was nothing in comparison to some of the Indian names my classmates had or were exposed to. The friends I made in my new elementary school and subsequent middle school are still my friends today. We have had many ups and downs but we are each others family. I know I am no longer that little girl in second grade that was never allowed to sit at a table with anyone while I ate lunch unless the teacher made them. But I carry her with me and I can never forget no matter how hard I try.

I can't hide Anna away from bullies and hateful little girls, and I can't fight her battles. But I can pray for her and do whatever I can to protect the spirit and the heart God gave her. Because with her personality, her exuberance for friendships, her tendency to be bossy and pout she sure is going to need all the prayer and love I can give her.

My job.......on one hand I am in a coveted position based on salary alone. I make triple what I made in 2000; not hard to do since I took a huge paycut when I moved to Oklahoma from California. However, there has been many studies conducted to gauge employee satisfaction and salary amount scores way down on the list. I could be a poster child for this study.

Here is an analogy of my job if I was a chef:

I have been told that my restaurant will be serving a seven course meal to the President of the United States and all of his cabinet. The date for this is set in stone. And just to punch it up they all have dietary restrictions!

The event planner has thrown out some meal ideas that have not been finalized and are exotic to the US and no one attempted to ever serve in a restaurant before. The President, excited that he will be the first to try, wants two of those new dishes, tweaked to accommodate the dietary restrictions. Hey! No problem.

There isn't even a name for the new dishes just the general idea that it is a new fish---found only in the waters of Iceland--during the last El Nino. The other dish involves a vegetable grown by a native tribe located "somewhere" off the Amazon River.

The event planner and restaurant owner assure the President and his cabinet that their choices are spectacular and everyone will be raving. In fact, the restaurant owner contacts a prominent food magazine and books a photo shoot. This will all happen in seven days!!

The event planner and the owner now approach me, the chef. They give me the menu with comments that it is exactly the same as we have on the menu but with minor changes. I am the chef, I am in charge of producing, I am responsible for meeting the deadline, I am responsible for sourcing my ingredients, and I am responsible.

I have done some research and I know what I need to order. I call all my vendors and ask for a RUSH/EXPEDITE for these rare ingredients. They laugh. I contact National Geographic, they laugh. I contact the delivery driver, just in case.....he can do it!! I don't know how, I don't know from where, but I have to give it a try, OH! it will cost a pretty penny. I have been told to make this happen no matter what, drop dead dates, no room for mistakes, the restaurant's reputation is on the line.

I prepare my staff and try to get recipes finalized. Somehow someway the ingredients have arrived. We start to assemble the menu for the photo shoot. It will not pass the dietary restrictions specified in the booking contract. We only have enough ingredients to make the meal one more time for the photo shoot and the main dinner. And I am responsible.

Have I mentioned that the restaurant is still open the normal hours and booked solid up to and beyond the President and his cabinet's dinner???

The meal gets prepared. The photo shoot has a few hiccups but nothing that food coloring and garnishes won't solve. The meal gets served without a hitch only because the President and his cabinet arrived one day later than planned.

Now for the fun part, the recap. The restaurant owner and event planner want to know why the invoices add up to more than the President's meal??? How could the chef, who is responsible, let this happen? What is this expediting bill? What is this extra labor cost? What can the chef do next time to prevent these overages??

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I am going to be in meetings all this week going over cost reduction analysis. I can give a few ideas right off the top of my head how to reduce cost. Don't let Sales know what Engineering has in research and development until it is developed, sourced, product structure in place, drawings on line, and tested!! GRRRRRRR

These pork chops are moist and delicious after braising in the crock pot all day. They have a slight Asian flare that kids will love. Serve with brown rice and a green salad and you will have a dinner that will tast like it took a couple of hours to prepare.

The ingredients:

• 4 thick bone-in pork chops
• 1 can Pineapple chunks in juice
• Soy sauce
• Thai sweet chili sauce
• Garlic powder
• Ground ginger
• Salt and Pepper
• Lemon juice
• Onion
• A bell pepper (red, yellow, or orange are sweeter than green but green will work)
• French or Catalina Dressing (not pictured)

Coarsely chop the pepper and onion. Put them in the bottom of the Crock Pot. Season the Pork Chops with fresh cracked peper and garlic salt. I do not trim the fat off the pork chops in order to keep the moisture and liquify the fat while cooking.

Brown the pork chops on both sides in a little bit of oil. I used bacon grease.......of course. After they are nice and seared place the pork chops on top of the peppers and onions.

In a separate bowl mix the juice from the pineapples (keep the chunks), 2 tablespoons of Lemon Juice, 4 tablespoons of soy sauce, 4 tablespoons of Thai Sweet Chili Sauce, several dashes of ginger, several dashes of garlic powder, and salt to your taste. Whisk this all together and pour over the pork chops.

Place the pineapple chunks on top of the meat and drizzle Catalina/French dressing over all. (this is the secret ingredient for the sweet moist taste) Depending on your timing for when you want to eat, set the Crock Pot on Low for 8-10 hours--the meat will be fall apart tender or High for 4-6 hours--meat will still be tender and moist but stays on the bone. Cook brown rice in chicken stock and prepare a salad.

Be sure to reserve the juice with the onion and pepper mixture and place over the top to serve. So good!!

I found this recipe today while looking through TD's mother's recipe books. She collected old recipe books some from the 1800's. She passed away when TD was a Junior in college so I have never met her but I have heard about what a great cook she was.

The hole that is left in my husband's heart from his mother passing away is...deep...that is the only word I have to describe his acute sense of loss. When I come across her writing on a particular recipe I ask TD if he liked that dish or if he remembers it. Sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn't. This recipe for Italian cookies sounded familar to him but he was not sure.


I decided to make it. I had no idea what the cookies would look like, how they are suppose to taste, and as you can see from her notes I wasn't sure how much flour it would take until tacky, how big they were suppose to be, drop on the sheet? cut with a cookie cutter? how long do they cook? This did not deter me and Anna from trying this recipe. I made some notes on the recipe so that I can make these cookies again.

I had to add quite a bit of flour to get this tacky. 5-8 cups (I lost count) but add a little at a time. Once the batter is more of the consistency of bread dough form into a ball on a lightly floured surface. Roll flat to about 1/2 inch thick and cut with a 3" biscuit/cookie cutter. Place on an ungreased cookie sheet and bake for 10-12 minutes. They come out looking like this:

They remind me of tea biscuits. TD's family is from Modena, Italy so I assume this is a legitimate Italian family recipe. They are pretty, have good form, slightly sweet, and would be GREAT with a light icing. I am going to work with this recipe more adding honey, macadamian nuts, brown sugar....I don't know, but it is such a great platform to start with. Try it and give me more ideas.

After looking for more info on these cookies I found a link Paris Breakfasts and these might actually be an Italian version of a Macaron cookie??? Look and you tell me. I think Chocolate icing would be perfect. Maybe roll thinner put some jam in the center top with another cookie?? So good.

I have kept every piece of "art" that Anna has every created. I thought if I didn't, I would be a horrible parent that didn't see the significance of macaroni glued on construction paper. I even kept the finger paintings that just looked like one color of stiff tempera construction paper. But maybe there was meaning in the swirl of paint? What if she asked me for that particular "art" piece later? Would I single-handedly have destroyed a future artist's career by admitting I threw it away?

But then there were the folders that came home every single day in kindergarten and the after school day care at church. Her art was taking over rubbermaid bins. My OCD won out over my bad parent complex. From then on I would review her artwork and decide if it was a keeper or not; praising her and telling her how wonderful she did. After she would go to bed I would throw away the pieces that I did not want to keep. She never noticed! Typical of a single mom, worrying about the future guilt that will be heaped upon me just because her father and I didn't work out......bleh!!

A couple of weeks ago someone had a great idea for storing kids art work on Works For Me Wednesdays at Rocksinmydryer. Saturday I went to Hobby Lobby and bought a Memory Album and some extra inserts. I divided up Anna's artwork by age and put it in the folder by category.

Isn't it great? Easy to see, easy to look through.

Look at that Q-tip snowflake and puzzle piece Christmas ornament. Is there a more talented child than mine???

Once I had filled the pages from her preschool days when she was four I put the back cover on.

Obviously, I still have some issues with guilt. TD suggests zip ties........

We were all treated to an impromptu dance routine tonight after dinner. We have learned our lesson from past performances to limit the number to ONE dance. We have endured watched so many different interpretations of High School Musical numbers and Hannah Montana performances.

Anna loves to perform dances or cheers and lives for applause. TD's daughter is more of the choreographer and she can really sing.

I have always jokingly answered the question, "What do you want for your daughter?" with "I just want to keep her off and out of anyplace with a pole." Real flippant of me and half way joking.

However, watching the routine tonight I think I might have to really take up that cause. The moves were downright SCARY. Even TD's daughter has picked up some of the moves. Not quite to the extent as Anna but the backbend with a twist on top of the ottoman was a shocker. Anna sliding down into the splits while flipping her hair.....I can't even write it because it freaks me out.

But they love to perform and they love to perform together. I think the first 30 seconds of each "routine" is the best and then it breaks down into "the moves". We want to encourage them in all their talents. TD's daughter might be a natural runner and she definitely could be in her school or church choir. Anna loves to draw and paint. She has always loved to dance and has copied moves she sees on TV since she accidently watch Coyote Ugly was three.

But if they don't start making their interpretive dance routines more family friendly and less, "I dance for dollars", they might not make it out of the house once they hit puberty!

When Anna was born it was a welcome relief. Not just because I was hugely pregnant and miserable being nine months pregnant during the late summer in Oklahoma. No, it was more because my sense of fear and the anger of having to do this without a husband no longer seemed to matter. The embarrassment of going to Lamaze with my mother was such a distant memory. This baby girl was so perfect I had no idea why I was worried.

My pregnancy was nine months of riding an emotional roller coaster. After the initial shock of finding out I was pregnant and telling my husband, who had a vasectomy appointment scheduled, I had some major ups and downs. Mostly downs. Being served divorce papers at 10:30 p.m. just before leaving the next morning for Oklahoma was quite the downer. I thought I was going home to my parents so we could work through this.

It never happened. Many, many phone calls later it was a done deal. To this day I can't hear the factory Nokia ringtone without my stomach lurching. The conversations always ended the same way, that I was choosing a baby I didn't even know over him. We had an agreement don't you know. No. Kids.

Fast forward six years.

Last night TD, Anna, and I went to Target. They had both gotten out of the car before me and were walking toward the doors. When I came around the vehicle there they were. Holding hands. She had just automatically reached for his hand. He automatically took her hand. When she saw me she took mine too and the three of us walked hand in hand through the parking lot.

(Until she swung up so hard that she about ripped both our arms out of socket....but that kinda takes away from the moment)

The love of a step parent and step child may never be the exact same as the biological parent but watching the fondness progress to love is a humbling and gracious experience.

TD has stepped in to help me when I lose my cool. Like I did during my cousins wedding reception this summer. But this picture was taken soon after and she doesn't hold anger toward him like she sometimes does to me.

He has taken the time to teach her what Fly-Fishing is while on vacation with my dad and his wife. TD has so much more patience then I do with her.

He took her for Dads and Doughnuts day at her school. Those special times I knew were coming and my heart was breaking in advance.

She can irritate like no ones business. And spazzes out without any warning. He takes it in stride and waits for the moment to pass.

She is still not sure what to call him. She has tried out Daddy but she said that didn't seem right. She refers to him as her dad to all her friends. But right now it is his first name that she uses. Her stepsister, TD's nine year old, has said that Anna can call him dad because she doesn't have one and so it won't hurt the feelings of anyone. He already has two kids call him dad another one won't matter. We all still struggle with mine, yours, his, and theirs but eventually we will get it.