A shelf in our kitchen with one of my Christmas gifts from Noah & Aja. They found this couple for me when they were in Mexico!
I cooked and baked a lot of food between December 18-30. I haven’t cooked since.
Besides heating up leftovers from the freezer or frozen chicken nuggets and tater tots, I haven’t cooked.
We were invited to dinners at friend’s homes which was well appreciated.
I guess I cooked myself out. I didn’t want to think about food, look at food on my Instagram page, or go food shopping.
So, I didn’t. I was exhausted and listened to my body and rested.
Today, I had an inkling to make Thai food. I made Thai red curry with shrimp and jasmine rice.
Thai shrimp red curry.
Then I tried something new. I make pretty good Thai food for a white girl and understand what a Thai dish needs to be in balance.
I made warm silken tofu with a sauce I never saw or tried before. I never ate silken tofu as an appetizer either.
I loved it. Marty loved the sauce. He had a hard time getting used to the texture but ate it. I think he liked it.
The texture of the silken tofu was like a panna cotta and the sauce was sour, sweet, salty, and an umami flavor bomb.
The time I’ve spent not cooking was divided by reorganizing everything and cleaning.
The house looked like someone took random shit and threw it in every corner of the house.
I had laundry up the ass which I am almost caught up with. Lots of dirty cloth napkins, several tablecloths, kitchen and bath towels, and our regular laundry. Ugh!
My pantry looked like a bomb went off with platters, bowls, and other shit piled up on the floor in front of the shelves.
I’m about 80% done. You have to understand I am a total maniac when it comes to having a clean and organized home.
At one point during the holiday week, I said fuck it and stopped being stressed by the chaos and didn’t care.
I knew everything would be cleaned up eventually. I don’t run around like an energizer bunny anymore and kill myself to get done in one or two days.
Nope, I am not doing that anymore.
I felt free doing things when I felt like it and didn’t dread the chores like I used to.
I rested when I needed to. I realized there are no awards for killing yourself and overdoing it.
We picked up Klaus’ ashes on Tuesday. Marty and I were still shell shocked and happy he was home again.
Neither of us had it in us to open the bag containing Klaus’ memorial package. The bag sat on the window seat until today.
I decided to take things out of the bag and put him where he belonged, next to Otto.
I chose to do it today while Marty was at the farmers market, he and Klaus were very close from the day Marty brought him home in the cup holder of his car.
I moved the shelves around in the living room making a proper space for my boys. I can’t lie I cried my head off while I did it.
Nelly was sitting at my feet and at the bottom of the chair I was standing on. As I took Klaus and his bag of hair out of the bag ahead of me, she got up on her hind legs.
When I was done I sat on the floor with her still crying. Then, the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me happened.
Nelly began to smell my right hand, the one I used to touch Klaus’s hair. She put her paw on my hand and began to rub her forehead on my hand.
She did this for a few minutes. It was so touching to watch and I realized that love really does know no bounds.
My favorite photo of my happy boys with my Aunt Dee. They never both looked so happy at the same time.
Klaus was her big brother who taught her the ropes and they showed each other unconditional love, the way Otto did to Klaus when he was a puppy.
I have a million things to do but I played with Nelly until she was tuckered out, just like Klaus would have done.
She crawled on my lap and eventually settled down with her chin on my hand. I knew she missed her big brother and she now knew he was still here with us.
Are you crying yet? This is my last and final sad post about my boys. Thanks for your love and support. ♥️ ~julz
***No real editing I’ve gotta get back to cleaning and holiday prep and baking.
Well I did have to edit two photos after all. 🤦🏻♀️
I grew up not knowing any of my nationalities. If you have recently joined my blog, I was adopted. People tried to guess my nationality for years.
The number one thing people guessed was Italian, then Jewish and Mediterranean, coming in third place. I honestly thought I was those things myself. These photos are good examples.
My adoptive mother told me year after year that I could wear green on St. Patrick’s Day since “Everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day,” almost rubbing it in because she was Irish and a bitch.
Christmas 1986, did I look Italian or what? I was a full-on Jersey girl guidette who gave the Brooklyn girls a run for their money. Lol.
Our family didn’t have a traditional Christmas anything when it came to food. I remember eating an early snack on Christmas Eve with my dad at his Aunt Fran & Uncle Eddie’s place.
Fran’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Spano, were right off the boat from Sicily and spoke no English. Food and music are universal languages. I loved being around the Spanos.
When I was little, we would go to my great-grandma’s place for Christmas Eve. My cousins were there, and it was fun. I don’t remember anything about food, so it had to be unremarkable, like cold cuts and salads.
After Great Grandma passed away, we moved to Iselin, 15 minutes away from Elizabeth, NJ. My Aunt Fran and the rest of my dad’s side of the family didn’t want us to move away.
My mother didn’t like any of them, including my Mema. She couldn’t wait to get away from them. I was sad and afraid when we moved; I was nine.
After we moved away, we went out to eat on Christmas Eve. I hated it and would look at the other poor children in the restaurant. They probably had a mother that didn’t like to cook too.
When Marty and I got married, I wanted to be sure we began our traditions for the holidays. However, It took six years for that to happen.
Our first Christmas tree was in 1989, and our first barn apartment was decorated for Christmas.
Right from the start, both of our mothers would ruin every holiday by fighting over who got us and putting unfair expectations and obligations on us. It was awful.
It got so bad one year, and we were tired of it. We decided the following year not to celebrate Christmas at all. No gifts, no tree, we ate Chinese food like Jewish people did on Christmas.
After that year, I volunteered to work on Christmas Eve and open the store I worked at bright and early on the 26th. That solved the problem we had. We would visit sometime in mid-December, and the pressure wasn’t as bad.
This tree is the year Noah was born in 1985. We decorated it long before he was born.
The year Noah was born, on December 18, I told everyone that my children would always wake up in their own beds on Christmas morning.
Since he was born a week before Christmas, both sets of parents and Marty’s brother Andy were at our place for the holiday.
The whole thing was a complete blur to us, and quite frankly, I didn’t give a fuck what anyone did, ate, or if they were fighting or killing each other.
The following year, we finally celebrated the holidays the way we wanted, which was wonderful! We always had a real tree, something I never had, and collected ornaments for the boys as they grew
We could have more grown-up meals when the kids were a little older. I decided we would do the Italian Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve.
I usually make clams, shellfish, calamari, and maybe flounder this year. I always make fresh pasta, gluten-free, of course.
Marty chose his family tradition of pea soup for Christmas Eve lunch and his traditional breakfast on Christmas morning, German pancakes with lots of fillings and toppings.
Homemade split pea soup with a balsamic reduction and German pancakes hot and fresh.
We decided on prime rib, popovers, and a potato and vegetable dish for Christmas dinner. Look at that gorgeous Christmas dinner! I’m drooling just looking at it. That year, I made a spinach souffle that turned out perfectly for my first time making one.
I learned about the Feast of the Seven Fishes from my Aunt Fran and some Italian friends I worked with. I went to their homes and saw the preparation in full mode. Oh, how I wanted to stay and eat with them and not in some restaurant.
You don’t have to be Italian to celebrate the feast. I was looking for something that felt traditional to me and made me feel like I belonged somewhere.
The Feast of the Seven Fishes originated in Southern Italy and Sicily by the Roman Catholics. The practice is known throughout Italy and Italian homes here in America.
The Christmas Eve meal is very serious business regarding religion, but more importantly, it’s all about the food.
This is an understatement. Family members start prepping the food days before. Everyone has certain dishes they are in charge of, and of course, there is a lot of loud talking in the kitchens.
I don’t think I know any Italians who don’t talk loud; it felt natural since I am a big mouth.
While the feast name has seven fishes, some families have three dishes, others as many as 9 or 11. The number always has to be an odd number for some reason.
Why seven fishes, you may ask. Most people believe seven represents the seven sacraments in the Catholic faith. It makes sense since I had to know those sacraments in and out when I attended Catholic school.
Roman Catholic people always fasted on Fridays and before the big holidays like Easter and Christmas, eating only fish as a vigil. That’s how it started in Italy.
Not growing up in an Italian family, I wasn’t introduced to a variety of fish like salted cod, other varieties of fish, eel, baby octopus, squid, and more.
I can’t even fathom eating an eel or watching it being nailed down to a cutting board and the skin peeled off. 🤢
Calamari and shellfish I knew, along with a regular Friday night supper of fish sticks or Gordon’s Fishermen’s breaded cod fish filets. I loved them, and fish sticks with lots of tartar sauce.
I usually make at least three fish on Christmas Eve. Like others in the past, this year’s menu does not have authentic dishes, but that doesn’t matter. Here’s my menu:
When planning a holiday meal, I like to visualize what the colors of food will look like and what vessel I will serve them in. This is super fun for me.
I’d love to hear what some of your traditions are. You can email me directly at julziestyle@gmail.com. Food and traditions are an excellent way of connecting with people.
I am 78% Irish for new readers, which was a shocker to me, but I am happy to be part of two beautiful biology Irish families now.
