Massengill Cocktail

A couple of my girlfriends and I were hanging out the other day under the umbrella on my nice clean deck sipping on Coors Light when the topic of conversation turned to douche. Yes, douche.

Who does that anymore? My friend, K. asked.

I recounted the story of the girl at Wal-Mart stockpiling double packs of Summer’s Eve.

I was picking up supplies from the sanitary aisle and there she was. Hurriedly throwing two of this and one of that and three of the other into her cart. She was one of those women who just didn’t look clean. Surely you’ve seen the type – no matter how many times she washes her hair, or showers, or douches for that matter – she just never looks clean. Now, I can’t be sure what issues she may be having with her odiferous lady parts, if any, hell – maybe all that douche wasn’t even for her – but, I am sure that that amount of douching isn’t going to help anyone’s smelly vajayjay.

I quickly glanced into her cart as I strolled by on my way to the toothpaste aisle. In addition to the thousand boxes of scented douches, I noticed baby wipes and candles. Somebody had an interesting evening planned.

My girlfriends were quick to chime in with their opinions on the matter because our Gyno has taught us that douching is harmful. There’s no need for it. The vagina is self-cleaning and doesn’t require spraying anything into it beforehand.

In fact, if you have something going on with your lap flounder the last thing you want to do is exacerbate the problem by squeezing a scented liquid concoction up in there.

Besides, who wants to taste like vinegar a la sourpuss or musk a la skunk?

And then Jim came outside with his bag of Lays Salt & Vinegar chips.

Rainy Days

I was sitting in the family room this morning sipping my hazelnut coffee and listening to the traffic outside the large east window splash through the puddles in the street. I couldn’t help thinking about how much I love that room. Not only is it the first room you enter from the front of the house, it also overlooks my cozy front porch. With two large windows providing ample natural light, Tuscan inspired furnishings and captivating walls swirled with hues of spice, terracotta and olive, even dreary days like today make me feel warm and comfortable. Peaceful.

We were blessed with three consecutive gorgeous days in Ohio, much of which the family and I spent preparing the porch and deck and yard for summer. I know it’s coming…

We also spent a couple hours of Saturday morning wheelin' & dealin' - at yard sales. I spent less than $30 on ALL THIS! I know the photo doesn't look like it, but I had 6 large bags FULL. Mostly clothes for Corbin. And toys. Oh, and Jim found a bread maker in mint condition for $4 (not in the photo because he had already cleaned it, went to the grocery store for supplies, and started "baking"). He has since made a fresh loaf of bread every day. The hawaiian sweet bread is my favorite so far.

And I can't forget to mention that our favorite tree guys were back. Twice.

Or about Corbin's playdate on Sunday. I think he's infatuated. He was persistent...and it paid off.

Top 6 on Saturday: Uncomfortably Numb

This week at momdot.com the topic is “6 things other people do that make you personally uncomfortable.”

1. Fighting. I’ve had enough drama of my own to last a lifetime and I get uncomfortable when I’m out with friends who start arguing in public. I don’t like being forced in the middle of their chaos. Take it home!

2. Have you ever had two girlfriends that you get along with just fine, but for whatever reason the two of them can’t stand each other? It’s hard to invite them both over at the same time, or plan a night out because of the tension it causes.

3. Rudeness. I detest rude people, and being chronically late is rude in my book. If Obama can make it to a meal on time so can you. Get over yourself already! And, it’s also rude not to tell me if I have parsley stuck in my teeth.

4. It really grinds on my nerves when I’m out in public and hear a parent cursing at their kids. It makes me wonder what they do at home when nobody else is around.

5. Hypocrites bug me big time! I don’t care if you don’t like me; just be honest so that the next time I walk up behind you I don’t hear you talking shit as you turn around with a fake smile on your face (that I really want to slap off but don’t because I’m a little classier than that) and say, “oh hi!” like I’m your best friend, bitch!

6. Misc. discomforts for me include, but are not limited to: eating with your mouth open and spitting food at me. Not taking a shower or using your deodorant before asking me to dance. Asking me for a sip from my drink (or a bite off my plate) grosses me out - I don’t even share drinks or utensils with my kids. Not washing your hands after using the bathroom and then thinking you’re gonna stick those nasty thangs in the tortilla chip basket I’m supposed to share with you. Getting right up in my face to talk to me when you have stinky breath.

Flashback Friday: The Twenties - Part 2

Feeling rejected and alone after my marriage fell apart I descended into a deep hole and wallowed in self-pity. It was my own doing; I know that. I was selfish and indecisive during that period in my life, and the price I paid was hefty.

In 1995, I was a twenty-six year old single-but-not-quite-divorced working woman with a five-year old son. J and I co-parented. His life had taken a new direction and he was seeing a woman with a daughter the same age as John.

One Friday night as a favor to a friend, I reluctantly agreed to a blind date with a friend of her then-boyfriend. We were going as a group so I figured “what’s the harm?”

My first impression of *B was not positive. I thought he was an arrogant, self-centered jerk who bragged about his influential family and all the money they had. I couldn’t wait for the night to end.

The next day at work I received a dozen red roses via delivery from the local floral shop. Shocked, I read the card, “I’m so glad I have a new friend. - B” I was taken aback for a second and then thought, well, maybe he had just been drunk or nervous, or pissed he had been forcibly fixed up. Besides, I thought, everyone deserved a second chance. So when he called me later that afternoon, I agreed to an official date.

I wasn’t looking for a relationship; hell, I wasn’t even divorced. I was only out to have a good time, and consume as much alcohol as possible to numb the emotional pain I felt, and being around people filled the vacancy in my life.

Only a month into dating this guy, I wrote in my journal:

“The first two weeks of our friendship was awkward, but exciting and adventurous. I don’t understand it at all. My life seems to have become so fucked up lately. I had my future all planned out, and now I don’t have a clue as to what is going on or what will happen. I’ve always felt fairly confident and self-assured and secure with myself, but since I’ve been seeing B I have all these weird, negative feelings inside of me and I hate it. He seems to be irritated at me about something all the time. I hate how our arguments leave me feeling helpless and inadequate. Insecurity is an emotion I don’t normally experience.”

Three months into the relationship I wasn’t looking for, I wrote:

“I realize B and I have some serious problems. I left work early because I started having chest pains and was unable to breath. I went to the walk-in clinic and Dr. Baker told me I need to run…as fast and as far as I can. Apparently it takes a lot of force to bruise a chest cavity. It must have happened the night B shoved me over the glass coffee table. I also have an ulcer, which is stress related. Dr. Baker put me on a leave of absence for six weeks and told me to rest, relax, get some exercise, and go talk to a counselor. He also gave me an Rx for Prozac. I don’t know how I let things get this far. B can be so gentle, tender and loving and then in an instant he turns into Satan; yelling, screaming, throwing things, punching things, pushing me, slapping me, pulling my hair, and kicking me. He told me my new haircut makes me look like a dike. Everyone else likes it. What’s his problem? I seriously hate the way he makes me feel. But, most of all, right now, I hate myself for knowing this isn’t a good thing and still allowing it to continue.”

I tried to break it off so many times. I knew we weren’t compatible. I knew he needed help. But time and time again I was lured back by the tears and empty promises.

“I agreed to meet B for lunch. I planned to break it off, but once I sat down I couldn’t talk. My throat was in knots and when I attempted to open my mouth I felt like I was going to cry. I couldn’t find the words to express why – because there are so many reasons this relationship is not healthy for me.”

Maybe at the time I believed deep in my soul that what he offered up was all that I deserved. That was my karma. My payback.

“B got drunk last night. Again. At my company Christmas party. He made an ass out of himself and embarrassed me in front of my boss. And I’m up for a promotion. Nice! I had to drive his drunken ass home. I was so tired and I was going to stay at his place but he wanted to have sex and I didn’t. I just wanted to sleep. When I told him no, he told me to get the fuck out. I started gathering my bag and headed for the door with my stuff because I just didn’t have it in me to fight, and he tore the bag out of my hand. He broke my hairdryer in half, threw me on the bed and pinned me down so hard I couldn’t breath. He wouldn’t let me up until I promised to stay.”

And more...

“He tried to shame me, belittle me, make me feel guilty and unreasonable for standing up for myself. He had the nerve to ask me for the golf shoes back he bought for me because I gave him a hard time about canceling our dinner plans. I threw the box at him and it set him off. He got physical on Monday and it was worse than its ever been before. I’m looking at myself today and I wonder where…when…did I go? I have a black eye, bruises around my neck, arms, legs and ears. He tried smothering me with a pillow and I gasped for air, trying to tell him I couldn’t breath, and his eyes were so dark black and he said SO WHAT! He dragged me into the kitchen and slammed my head on the ceramic tile floor, kicked me in the ribs and punched my leg so hard I’m bruised from my left hip to my ankle. One big black and blue blob. I shouldn’t have thrown the box of shoes.”

“The big boss was in town today. I didn’t know she was coming. She told me she could tell from the way I looked that I’ve been focusing on things other than work. I didn’t get the promotion. And she pretty much told me my job was in serious trouble.”

B had me convinced that everything was my fault. It was my anger. My insecurities. I was the one who needed to get a grip. I needed to get a life. If only I would do this, he would be fine. He wasn’t difficult. He wasn’t demanding. He never put demands on me. He never tried to control me. If only I would recognize my shortcomings, our relationship would be perfect.

“This relationship has brought me so much more pain than pleasure. I know I need to let it go once and for all to save myself. *J told me if I keep allowing him back in I will end up like Nicole Brown Simpson. He’s scared for me – and John. He fears this abusive relationship is affecting our son. He bought me pepper spray for my key chain. It’s painful to stay…painful to let go. I’m afraid, scared, insecure, unsure…but, I feel these same emotions with him too. What really sucks is that I’ve put more energy and effort into this…this mess with B, than I ever had to in seven years with J. That’s fucked up!”

I reached a new low during that period in my life. I was a desperate and pathetic mess. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I threw up constantly…it was horrible. I went from a size 10 to a size 4 in a month. I cried a lot. I prayed.

I also grew a set of balls and finally pressed charges after he attacked me in front of my son. I went to counseling. I moved.

I learned that everything I ran from in my early twenties was the one thing I craved as I drew closer to my thirties. Family.

Nosy Neighbors

I was startled awake this morning. At 7:30. Directly outside my bedroom window was THIS going on.

My heart was racing as I jumped out of bed and peered through the window. With my eyes half open I dragged my tired ass down the stairs and into the kitchen where I started my morning pot of coffee and turned on the monitor. Sure enough, Corbin had been agitated awake by the accelerated motors, loud grinding, and shredding of wood. I could hear him chatting with himself.

I slowly hauled myself back up the stairs and made my way to his bedroom where I discovered a wide-eyed little boy, soaked, and chilled to the bone. He peed through. Again . "Did.....that?!" He said to me with his serious face pointing toward the window. I'm his mom. I know he was asking me "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah, boo-boo. Momma can hear it!" As I removed his damp clothes and stripped the saturated sheet from his crib, he was focused intently on the noise coming from outside his window.

We trotted back down the stairs and into the kitchen where I poured the first cup of life-saving hot liquid for myself. I offered Corbin a sippee cup of cold milk and a bowl of dry Kix. That's our morning routine. He sits on the floor, drinks his milk, and munches on his dry cereal while watching Special Agent Oso. I drink coffee.

Except this morning he was more concerned with what was happening outside.

So, I did the unthinkable. I opened the blinds and allowed him to stand on the love seat.

Wordless on Wednesday: Sweet Sixteen!

This is a photo journey of Corbin from birth through his first sixteen months.

Have a great day, everyone!

ETA: Okay, I'm officially pissed! I don't know why the damn video will not load. I only pissed around with the stupid ass thing for like, ummm, TWO HOURS, adding a cute song and all of these photos (plus a few more) for 1:58 of which you would have enjoyed. Immensely. Yes! BUT...since Corbin is awake from his nap already (I hear him talking to himself on the monitor sitting next to my desk) I have to stop F*!#*&^$% with this thing and put my mommy hat (and smile) on so I can sit on the floor with Corbin and let him use my legs as a racetrack for his dump truck and my head as a basketball hoop for the new ball Jim bought him yesterday.

A Mother's Worth

A fellow blogger posted yesterday about an article in Salary.com in regard to mothers and their worth - stay-at-home working moms AND mothers who earn an income in addition to their full time mommy status by working outside the home. It seems we’re ALL being a little short-changed.

I read something similar a few years ago, but curiosity got the best of me this time because Salary.com has a handy dandy calculator which allows input for such things as the number of children you have, their ages, whether you work outside of the home, and how many hours per week you spend around your house maneuvering motherhood duties such as cleaning, cooking, carpooling, washing laundry, etc., and then it computes your annual earnings. The bonus: Salary.com allows you to print out a check. It's not real, of course, but there is the benefit of seeing it stuck to the refrigerator with a cute picture magnet of your family for those days when you feel you have a thankless job.

For instance, did you know that for every hour you spend doing laundry you have the earning potential of $9.68 per hour? I don't know about you, but I do at LEAST two loads of laundry A DAY. That alone adds up to over $7,000 a year. And just think, the really important folks like Madonna dish out that kind of money, which is really nothing compared to what they earn, just to have someone wash their panties.

Considering how much overtime I put in this weekend washing windows, dusting ceiling fans, scrubbing carpet and furniture, and rearranging cabinets, my paycheck should be more than enough to cover getting my weave done.

Top 6 on Saturday: Animals

This week at Momdot the topic is animals. 6 animals (domestic, wild, or exotic) you think would be fun to own as pets.

At this stage in my life I have to be honest and tell y'all that I don’t like cohabitating with animals. It’s not that I dislike them, per se, but c’mon, I have a toddler who hasn’t even had all of his shots yet, he isn’t housebroken, he likes to pee and poop on the floor, and he chews anything close to his mouth. That’s honestly all I can handle at this time.

But, since I do enjoy the zoo, let’s go with these top six animals that I think are fun…to watch.

Enjoy your weekend!

Flashback Friday: The Twenties

As I gained entrance into adulthood I didn’t do anything the traditional way. Come to think of it, I’ve always been sort of a non-conformist. I learned lessons the hard way, and still do to some degree, although not in as massive a serving. I’d like to think I have achieved balance over the years as the pendulum in my life has relaxed, but I don’t know.

In 1988 I met a very charming man at work. I was a pharmacy tech at the time and he was my mature, educated, intelligent, and nineteen-year-my-senior boss with two daughters and two ex wives under his belt. I was young, naïve, and in search of something. With my big hair, counterfeit tan, and fake ID, we became fast friends over drinks at the pub across the street from the pharmacy he owned. He took pride in educating me on the significance of Dylan and The Beatles and The Grateful Dead.

Quite the intellect, he wrote for me love letters and beautiful poetry. This is a sample from a card he made for me in 1993:

My love - I’ve found myself experiencing the same feelings of euphoria with you
as when we first were falling in love. Like a comet – on its endless path
through the heavens – burning brightly – endlessly – for all others to gaze in
amazement – at its wonder – as it makes its timeless journey, its never ending
display. My love – with you I have felt and seen what others could only
have dreamed. My love – I love you desperately.

My twenties were forever changed. We had a baby in 1990 and married six months later. His guidance transformed my beliefs and actions, and I wanted so much to be the person he desired me to be. Not a shoddy imitation, but the real, authentic woman he believed I was capable of growing in to. He encouraged me to believe in myself. He was patient and loving, cheering me on in any endeavor. I went back to school, first taking English and journalism courses. I received a degree in accounting, and then went back for a certificate in computer office management. I went to church every Wednesday night, and every Sunday morning; and I led a bible study group for women at the church once a week. People who know me now laugh when I tell them about that period in my life. I can’t possibly understand why.

After seven years together I grew resentful. Maybe I was bored; perhaps I needed some adventure. Feeling stifled, suffocated, and disillusioned, I moved out and into a two-bedroom apartment overlooking Lake Michigan. I spent months trying to figure out how everything got so messed up, as well as pondering what the future would hold.

We spent time together and regularly talked on the phone during our sabbatical, but I wasn’t ready to move home. Despite his impassioned painful pleas, over and over, I was indifferent. I was having the time of my life, or so I thought, getting to know myself, living alone, being independent, and meeting new people.

I will never forget the day I called him, six months after I moved out to tell him I was ready to come home. He said we could discuss it over breakfast so we met up at Cracker Barrel an hour later.

I literally lost my breath when he told me it was too late. He was void and empty and in a very dark place. He told me he had contemplated suicide – he lost his fear – and knew he needed to get help before he killed himself. As much as he wanted to have his family reunited, my leaving changed him and he couldn’t go back.

It still hurts to this day when I think back on that time in my life, knowing I caused such pain and hurt to someone who only had my best interests at heart. Someone who only wanted to love me, take care of me and see me succeed.

I took for granted his love and expected him to welcome me home with open arms on my timetable, and when I was ready, but his patience had been extended beyond repair.

“Spread your wings and fly, Sagittarius. You’ll go far!” As he tearfully embraced me… and said goodbye.

* To be continued...

Spankin' the Monkey & Moppin the Floor

I can't write today. My brain is on overload. I can't think straight. And as I'm slowly typing these keys because my fingers are working in slow motion, I am seeing spots on the screen. Jim fears my diabetes has come back because I haven't been eating right. I think I need a new laptop!

Anyway (yeah, I know. What a way to start a sentence, huh?) I figured today would be a great day to share some photos of my house. I know y'all have been chomping at the bit wondering what in the world I would reveal today, and I tried - I really tried- to write something endearing and humorous and have it posted by 9:00 a.m., BUT, by 9:00 a.m. I had already mopped the floor. Twice.

The first time was due to Corbin tipping the trash can over which resulted in wet coffee grounds beneath my feet. I can't stand a dirty floor. So, I mopped. THEN, while I was having my first cup of coffee and checking in with the Twitter folks, Corbin decided to play with a can of Pepsi. It was keeping him occupied for my fifteen minutes of "me time" I so desperately need every morning. Whatever works, right? So he was walking around with it, shaking it, talking to it, licking it, petting it, then all of a sudden he dropped it and punctured a hole in it, and Pepsi was spraying everywhere, squirting me...and him, and he was stepping in it, sliding in it, and trying to lick it off the floor. So, I mopped.

That's what I do when I'm stressed. I mop. I clean. I organize things.

I told Jim that Corbin is going to be extremely confused this summer when he visits the zoo for the first time. You see, I am one of those twisted parents with a warped sense of humor. Corbin has learned how to remove his diaper. With that milestone, of course, comes the discovery of his little boy parts. He really likes his little boy parts! You moms know what I mean, right? He's not even two yet and I'm afraid he's going to pull it clean off. So, what is my response? "Quit spankin' the monkey!" He thinks it's funny. I laugh. He continues whacking himself...right there. I laugh. "Quit spankin' your monkey, Corbin!" He runs from me, still hitting himself in the willy, giggling so hard he begins to tinkle on the carpet. Shocked, he looks down at himself, then at me, and I'm still laughing. I hear Jim from the kitchen, "Carrie! Carrie! You need to stop encouraging him."

I guess I better stop calling his willy a monkey before we go to the zoo, huh?

So, now I will mop. Again.

Does Stress Cause Pink Eye?

My husband woke up this morning in excruciating pain. His right eye was swollen shut. Late last night he started complaining that his eye hurt, and thinking maybe a stray eyelash or piece of hair was stuck like cement somewhere in there, he went to the bathroom and tried operating on himself. When he returned to the family room with watery eyes and blurred vision, he said he retrieved puss.

After spending four long hours in the waiting room of the ER this morning, he was diagnosed with pink eye. He was given a script for drops to be applied four times a day and sent on his way with instructions to wash his hands frequently so as not to infect the rest of us.

I believe it’s a result of his being highly stressed lately. He’s been laid off since December, and numerous attempts at finding winter work haven’t panned out. His claim for unemployment was denied, as he is still serving out a 16- week penalty for being over-paid a couple years ago. We had some money set aside, not as much as we needed though, because lay off happened so much earlier this year than last. We bought a new house last August, which took an enormous amount of money right off the bat: new hot water heater, carpet, bathroom floor, appliances, and paint. I spent two months and most of the money in our savings account to prepare it for move-in condition. I love my new house. My biggest fear is losing it. His biggest fear is disappointing his family. The bank has worked patiently with us over the last few months, but expect us to resume our normal monthly mortgage at the end of April. And, we have approximately $128 left in our account.

Jim received a phone call from his foreman two weeks ago and was told to be ready…they would be heading out any day. Still. Nothing. Of course, this unstable Ohio weather doesn’t help either.

I know we aren’t the only family in America struggling right now. It seems as though I hear of yet another family suffering daily as a result of company downsizing, positions being eliminated, businesses going bankrupt…it’s difficult to witness so many of my friends hurting while knowing I am in no position to do a damn thing to help.

I also know there is a time for everything.

This too shall pass.

And, I hope it passes without Corbin or me contracting pink eye.

Down With OCD

I will never forget the first time I allowed Kara, then 7, to spend the night at a friend’s house. It was her first big girl sleepover and while she was ecstatic with her newfound sense of independence, I was a nervous wreck.

I didn’t know the parents, they were not friends of mine and we didn’t hang in the same circles. Kara went to school with their daughter, Mackenzie, and joined their family several times for youth group on Wednesday evenings. From what I knew of them, they seemed like nice enough people. The father was a pastor at a local church in our community. Still, a parent can never be too cautious. I’ve watched the Dateline specials on “How to catch a predator…” you know what I mean? I’ve also watched hundreds of those Lifetime movies.

I initially told Kara to invite her little friend to our house. Mackenzie’s parents didn’t know me either and preferred Kara stay with them. I begrudgingly agreed. When Mackenzie’s parents came to the house, they got out of their mini-van, approached the door smiling and assured me Kara would be well taken care of. In addition, she would accompany them to church on Sunday morning, after which they would return her home.

In the meantime, Carley had a meltdown because she wanted to have a sleepover too. I quickly took her mind off that by offering up my bed for a slumber party while Kara was gone. My mind wandered the entire night as I lay next to my little bed hog fighting to get some sleep. I wonder what Kara’s doing? Is she sleeping yet? Did she eat enough for dinner? Did she remember to say please and thank you? Oh God, I hope she brushed her teeth before bedtime. Was she offered a bedtime snack? Where is she sleeping? I sure hope nobody looked at her funny…or watched her get undressed…or God forbid, touch her. Maybe I should call. Better yet, maybe I should just go pick her up. Anything could happen.

My mind played tricks on me all night long. As I waited for Kara to return home I busied myself with laundry. I knew church let out at noon, and by 1:00 when she still wasn’t home, I freaked- anxiously pacing the floors and constantly looking out the window. Finally, at 1:30 she was dropped off…starving! I quickly studied her body up and down (kind of like a mother does to a newborn) and she looked fine. As I prepared her lunch I started rapid-firing questions at her… Where did you sleep? What did you do? Did you have fun? What did you eat for dinner? Did you mind your manners?

With a mouthful of bologna, she promptly interrupted where I was going, “Chill out, mom! Jeez!”

Easier said than done.

I have lightened up a lot since that first time, but as a parent I still worry about the “what-ifs.” I just don’t make a habit of expressing it…as often.

If You Want To Sell The House...You Have To Mow The Lawn

Is it true? Women are forgoing their monthly Brazilian bikini waxes and opting for longer locks as a result of the recession? Does this mean that bush is back en vogue?

How one manicures the lawn in that neighborhood is a matter of personal choice. Some prefer the diamond to the dorito. Others like it neat and tidy. Yet many consider the receding landing patch or short runway a fashionable style for today’s busy woman. Quite a few are of the opinion that grass doesn’t grow on a racetrack and opt to go bare.

Since when did it all become so confusing? Like with the1974 big bush, do you have to worry about split ends? What about the landing strip? How thin is too thin? Is thin even in? How does the landing patch compare to the Dorito? And what is the best method for hair removal should one choose to bare it all? Wax or shave?

On Saturday night one of my Facebook friends inquired about personal grooming preferences south of the equator. Surprisingly, people answered.

The results were incredibly hilarious as each person struggled to put into words their preference and opinion on such a personal topic.

I’m a modest kinda girl. I don’t even like going to the gynecologist for my annual pap test. I can’t imagine lying on a papered table to have hot wax spread about my sensitive girly parts by a stranger, or asked to get up on all fours and spread my butt cheeks. I’m also fairly reserved when it comes to sharing details like that with complete strangers; but get me around a bunch of my girlfriends, especially if there is wine involved, and watch out. We could embarrass even the most gregarious soul with our discussions. In fact, we have done exactly that a time or two while discussing trimming the hedges during pregnancy. Talk about a difficult task when you’re so large you can’t even see your feet.

As with any hairstyle, you have to know what works best for you and which style accentuates your assets…and your budget.

Trash Potatoes

I thought everyone knew what trash potatoes were. After posting my top 6 list yesterday about breakfast foods, I received several inquisitive comments and requests for the recipe.

INGREDIENTS

1 bag frozen shredded hash browns

Diced onion

Diced green pepper

Diced red pepper

Diced cubed ham

1 package shredded cheddar or co-jack cheese

DIRECTIONS

On medium-high heat, add a little oil and a few tablespoons of butter to a frying pan (I use a cast iron skillet inherited from my grandma). Add the hash browns, peppers, onions and ham - cover and cook until brown and desired level of crispiness is reached, flipping frequently. You will need to add additional butter to the pan during cooking. Season with course black pepper and season salt. When the potatoes are done, sprinkle cheese evenly on top, turn off the heat and cover until the cheese is melted.

These are so good. I made a batch for brunch this morning since we shared Easter dinner with family yesterday. This is a great dish to make with leftover ham. I hope you have fun with it this week and incorporate it into your meal planning.