Let Them Eat Poonchkey!

Even though it falls later than last year, Lent is still coming too quickly. The 40-day period before Easter starts on Monday - yes, we Byzantine Catholics start a few days early, and I am dreading it. The one good thing about the approach of Lent is the yummy goodness that is called pazcki - pronounced poonch-key. If you’re Polish and you know it say mmmmmm.

I am Slovak/Croatian so this delicious pre-Lenten treat has not always been a part of my life. I have made some thing called ceregi (fried dough) but nothing like a pazcki. In fact it has only been in my wheelhouse for 6 years. I remember first hearing about them - on the radio. I was hearing commercials for these pazcki that come in many different flavors. Most of them are fruit related but there are also crème and custard filled.

Around that same time I began noticing the weekly supermarket circulars had photos of these glorified donuts. My husband and I, even before trying them, just liked to say the word and in fact, our pronunciation of pazcki - putchie - became our youngest child's nickname. He was a newborn when we were introduced to these treats and for some reason the name just stuck. Six years later, he is still our little Putchie.

Back to the donuts...the history behind them is that peasants would be clearing out their pantries of forbidden ingredients before the start of Lent, also known in some religious circles as the Great Fast. In the Catholic faith it is a time of serious fasting which on some days calls for abstinence of meat and dairy products. These delights are filled with all things fattening - milk, sugar, butter, etc. and each delicious bite is worth every calorie.

It has become a family tradition to visit a local bakery to get our very own pazcki. Everyone looks forward to it and has a particular flavor picked out before we walk through the door. We usually get them to go because the place is so crowded and there is nowhere to sit. On the ride home the kids hold the pazcki boxes on their laps anxiously waiting the moment when they can sink their teeth into the sugary glazed dough.

 This year we ended up going on a weekday and it made all the difference. For the first time we got a table, sat down and savored one of the final sweets before Lent begins before leaving the bakery. It was a nice change to our normal routine and probably one we will try to recreate. The next step is possibly trying to make them ourselves, but why? We've got a good thing going and I am not willing to mess with that anytime soon.

There is the option to overdo the pazcki experience. It would be nice to get one of every flavor, savor them, rate them, and maybe find a new favorite. But since this is supposed to be part of our Lenten preparation I don't want to be piggish about it. But as I sit here typing I am wishing I had just one more waiting for me to pair with my morning coffee. Ahhh.... but since some dietitians say one pazcki is between 400 to 700 calories and contains 25 grams of fat or more, I'm gonna need 40 days to work off just the one I had this week.

It's Nice To Be Nice To The Nice

Being a parent gives you skills you never knew you had. It all starts at the beginning. There are quite a few things that I didn’t think I could do that I have done. 

First of all, I was worried that I couldn’t go through the delivery of my children without drugs. When I first saw the epidural needle during my prenatal classes, I knew that was a relationship I would not be able to entertain. Seriously, those needles are huge! 

But as things go nowadays women have to keep their options open when they prepare a birthing plan. “If I cannot have the magical birth, where the baby comes out with one little painless push, then I’ll take the painful one with no drugs – spread out over a 15-hr time period.”

I am sure that for my first child I wrote everything out nicely and that an epidural could be administered if the pain got to a frowny face with tears on the faces pain scale. Luckily, I had three births that pretty much stuck to my ideal plan. 

Secondly, I never thought I could love people as much as I love my kids. Yes, they drive me crazy and yes, some days I would just like to drop them off at someone else’s house, but overall I love them enough to share my dark chocolate and cash in a good night’s sleep to cuddle with them at times when the wind is too loud, or the fever won’t go down. 

This month, my heart broke when I found out my daughter was not treated nicely by a few kids at school. My daughter who recently put little notes that said ‘You’re Awesome’ in random textbooks a few weeks ago to anonymously brighten her fellow students' day. (She came up with this idea herself.)

She was supposed to participate in an activity that she had helped plan but missed the memo on what time and where on the day it was happening. By the time she met up with some of the kids who were also involved she was told she was not needed, and that she should leave. 

My daughter did not really let on that she was upset by what had happened and probably would not have made a big deal about it unless I kept fishing for information. I wanted to know all about this event - the one she was so excited about and was excluded from.

The more I kept thinking about it the more mad I became. Why didn’t she stick up for herself? She was supposed to be part of this activity, even though the bulk of the work was over by the time she arrived, why did these girls (who she has known most of her young life) send her away? Why didn’t they include her? Why wouldn't they want her there? So many whys....

I was a timid little girl growing up. Ok wait, I am not sure there is a word in the English language strong enough to describe my level of timidity. Basically my communication was on caveman level if someone spoke to me because I was so shy. In my high school years I started to put sentences together, but it wasn't until college and beyond that I started to express myself - stick up for myself when the situation warranted.

Even now there are times when I let things go when a more outspoken person would not, but I pick and choose my battles. By nature, I'm a peacemaker, but that shouldn't mean doormat. I don't want my kids to wait as long as I did to make their voices count. I want them to be heard now. Although my six year old seems to have a pretty good handle on this skill already, his honesty and straight shooting often make this momma cringe. 

I know kids are cruel and sometimes they don't even realize they have hurt someone's feelings. I know from my own school experience, at times I was bullied and at others I was the bully. I have much regret for the times, which I can recall vividly, when I did not stick up for someone or did not include them. Also, I don't remember anyone sticking up for me when my speech impediment was the inspiration for many an impression. 

All I can do is pass my wisdom on to my children and hope they don't make the same mistakes I did. These days bullying is talked about freely and openly. It has a definition and schools have programs students are exposed to in an effort to curb this awful phenomenon. 

I am not naive enough to think my kids will be treated fairly every day or that they themselves have not bullied someone else.  But I hope they are able to take moments like what recently happened to my daughter and learn from them and become stronger. But what I truly hope is that they remember how they felt and will never purposely be the cause of someone else's sadness. 

All You Need Is...

After 17 years of marriage and three kids, Valentine's Day has become more of a family event. We have a special family dinner with some type of heart-shaped, chocolate dessert and we express our love for each other. This evolved from what I experienced when I was growing up. My parents always did something special for us kids. My dad would have a little gift for both my sister and I, and my mom would have something special for my brother.

I remember one very special Valentine's Day a few years before I had my first boyfriend. My dad took me out on a Valentine's Day date. He told me before hand that we would be going to the movies to see Give My Regards To Broad Street - a film starring Paul McCartney. I had cheerleading practice earlier that day, but once I was done we were going to go. I was so excited. I really wanted to see that movie and getting to go out with my dad, just the two of us, was something that didn't happen often.

Before going to the movie he gave me my special present, the soundtrack album. This is a record I would listen to over and over and the fact that it still plays is remarkable. The movie itself was not that memorable, although at the time I didn't know it was panned by the critics. It wouldn't have mattered to me anyway. I had a day spent with my two favorite guys and life was good.

The first Valentine's Day I had a boyfriend was hard for my dad, although we've never talked about it. My first boyfriend did not take the holiday lightly and there was an abundance of gifts throughout the day. Flowers, chocolates and even a gold necklace- yes, it was more than I ever expected.

 The huge box of chocolates I received was filled with caramels only. Each piece was my favorite, no taking a bite and putting it back. I didn't even know anything other than samplers existed!

The funny part about that day was all I had to give in return was a poem that I wrote. I was 15, I didn't have a lot of money and I did not expect the shower of gifts I received that day. I was a little embarrassed by the whole ordeal and in fact my dad's sullen attitude around the house did not make it any less uncomfortable.  

It probably would have been a little easier for my dad if the day had involved just one little gift from my significant other. I am sure my dad also got me a gift that year (as he has never missed a Valentine's Day) but I am sad to say, I don't remember what it was. It was overshadowed by everything else.

Of course what played out 27 years ago was supposed to happen. The window of time that my dad would get to be my exclusive special valentine was limited. Now my husband's window is closing and one day in the near future, our daughter will have a special someone to share the holiday with. My husband doesn't want to talk about that, but he is planning to make this holiday weekend a special one for our only daughter. There happens to be a movie out that she wants to see (Beauty and the Beast), which has special significance for the two of them, and I foresee it playing out much like my date a few decades ago.

Although there will be other valentines in her life, I know that my husband will always be her special 'beast'. And I can see her movie date with dad holding more weight than any tangible gifts she will ever receive. Nothing in the world can top the feeling of being "Daddy's Girl" even if only for a short time.

I Like What I'm Hearing

One of my favorite pleasures is listening to music. It doesn't get better then when I am in the car...alone and I can turn up the volume to my heart's content. Monday was a cold, dreary day and I needed Paul McCartney's voice to soothe my sadness.

I was listening to The Beatles Revolver album, which I never actually purchased. It is a remnant from my husband's bachelor days. It belonged to one of his roommates and being the fan that I am, it never made it back.

I was travelling on Lebanon Church Road in West Mifflin when I came to a red light. I must have been really into a particular song because I did not know I had company. The music must have been so loud that the driver next to me could hear it too.

I am very conscious to not subject nearby motorists to my musical jukebox. I think I have pretty awesome taste in music and I would love to start my own musical revolution but I am realistic - there are people out there that do not enjoy the occasional tune by Barry Manilow or Gary Lewis and Playboys.

So with that being said during the warmer months I usually keep my volume at a decent level. But in the winter time, windows are up and all bets are off. My musical bubble is like a personal security blanket which I shared the other day with a stranger.

Just when the French horn solo wrapped up in the track "For No One" I noticed the driver in the car next to me was trying to get my attention. I thought he wanted to get in front of me when the light turned green so I nodded and waved him forward. I looked up to see if the light had changed but it was still red. I looked back at the driver and he was now motioning for me to roll down my window.

I always think the best of people and while common sense dictates better judgment I rolled my window down. For a split second an element of fear crossed my mind but I truly did not think this Dave Grohl look alike would harm me.

"That's the best song on that album," he says just as the light turns green. As we begin to accelerate he continues sharing his feelings about the album. I am trying to be polite and I genuinely wanted to hear what he had to say, but I also wanted to avoid getting into an accident.

Our conversation only lasted a few seconds and ended with me giving him a thumbs up. Which by the way I never do, but I wanted to incorporate as many non-verbal methods of communicating as possible since I was trying to keep my eyes on the road.

I had to chuckle as I arrived at my destination about the moment I had just shared with that man. In my 25 years of driving I have never had a conversation about music at a red light. It made me feel a little weird that I had accidentally invited someone into my musical bubble but in the end I am glad it happened.

We come in contact with people we don't know everyday. Usually we are too caught up in our phones, our lives, in driving safely, to really notice our similarities. To get through these trying times it might be a good idea to reach out and let people know, "Hey, I get you." No commitment - just a quick acknowledgement and be on your way.

I'll probably never see that guy again but now when I listen to Revolver I know I'll remember that conversation - yeah, the one that almost resulted in a call to Flo the Progressive lady. But I'll remember how the world got a little smaller and how music can persuade us (if only for a few seconds) to come together.