Care Bears Count Down 4,3,2,1…

I needed to share this.  I have been slacking severely, but so have all of you somewhere out there in one form or another.  Just forgive me and move on.  Let’s make 2010 a year of forgiveness. 

With that being said, I will forgive my daughters’ obsession with Care Bears.  Well, I will try.  By forgiveness, I mean, I will “accidentally” lose their completely hideous Care Bears “Share a Scare” DVD that I got them for our road trip to SLC this Autumn.  It was $5 and it was at Target, in the check out lane of course, so as a mother, I couldn’t resist because I am a weak, pathetic human being.  Little did I know, it was the looooooongest DVD full of the Care Bears mini stories.  I think that there are about 8.  And it’s the type of DVD where you can’t FF to the MAIN MENU…you have to watch the total bullshit promos of random children’s programming from Australia “coming in 2005!” type stuff.  (Which should have been a red flag to me that this DVD is old as dirt…even older than 2004.) 

The cartoons are the original 1980s Care Bear cartoons, once you FIIIINALLY get to the main menu.  I am sure they are even the same ones that I used to watch back in the day when in 1984 my #1 Santa Wish List item was a BLUE Care Bears wrist watch.  I got it.  I was really good that year.  But, I am sure you can imagine given that it is a) from the 80s, b) there is more than 1 ten minute long story, c) it is all they want to watch, that eventually, the sound of the disc even spinning in the player, and the first 3 seconds of the intro song make me want to curl up in a ball and pull out each of my own fingernails.  I mean, the sound of the music is so so so so bad.  Why they would think even 5 years ago that it was ok to throw these all on a disc without digitally restoring them or whatever shit they do to cartoons is beyond me.  It’s pure torture.  For Gianna and Lillian, it’s crack.

Which brings me to my story.  Sean was on call last night and as much I enjoy ruling roost, I really do love it when he walks through the door at whatever time and immediately gets on the floor and plays “horsie”, “bear”, or “lion” (whichever animal they demand on a 15 second rotation).  But, that didn’t happen last night.  It was just me.  All day with them.  I seriously think they must start to hate me towards the end of the day because although I’ve never directly expressed to them how much I hate the Care Bears DVD, they are very intuitive creatures.  So when I said to them “Come on, let’s sit down and eat dinner.  What would you like, a quesadilla with shredded pork?”, Lillian just looked up at me and said, “No.  Care Bears.”

This is when it gets bad too.  I replied, “Yes I think that’s a great idea.  I would love to heat up some Care Bears, cut it up into little tiny pieces for you, then throw away what you don’t finish.”

Goody goody gosh.  They didn’t think that was funny.

They got a quesadilla with tomatillo salsa and shredded pork (leftovers from the night before and a pretty much staple dish for us).  While they watched Care Bears and faced their fears…because really, that’s what it’s all about.  No seriously…that’s what that entire God damn DVD is all about.  Telling the truth and facing your fears.  Ok, ok, ok, uncle.  I get it.

2010.  Here I come.  Care Bears have inspired me to face my fears.  My biggest fear?  Pregnancy.  Not for other of course.  Just for myself.  So, maybe maybe maybe maybe maybe I will let down my guard next year.  But I really do think that 2013 sounds a lot better.  Just sayin’.

 

Accidents Happen, and That’s OK.

Well, for anyone who is rearing their child/ren towards the big potty with a capital P, the title of this entry may cause you nightmares… Elmo haunting you in your dreams as he revisits the days when he was potty training.  And yes, there is that damn song, Accidents Happen and That’s Ok-ay!

But no, this isn’t about peeing and pooping, although, it’s pretty much all I do these days.  Not the actual act, but the training of…times two.  And if not training I craft, but I have dropped the crochet needles for the night and am sitting in total silence with a glass of wine and have been wanting to tell the world about this– so here it is.

 I have completely, utterly redeemed myself in the kitchen.  Ok, let’s be honest, I never really doubted myself at all and blamed that last dinner entry ENTIRELY on the recipe.  But tonight, it’s a different story.  Tonight I will tell you how I effed it up in the kitchen 3 NIGHTS IN A ROW.  And by effed up, I mean, I effing dominated that shit.  Yes, and I am here to tell you how you can too.

Step one…

Befriend a little lady named Amber Fries who lives in Prosser, WA where she and her husband tend to all kinds of farm animals, she drinks lots of wine, writes recipes, and her family is part of the Desert Wind winery, which I have never been to, but when I can, I expect deluxe treatment.  I don’t really, but I like to think so.   I met Amber in late, oh, my god, that long ago…1997?  Anyway, when we were in college.  Ugh.  So long ago.  She attended Linfield in Oregon where my friend Anne (um, read her blog too) went to college and I visited and a grand time was had by all.  I don’t think I’ve seen Amber since 2001 when I lived in Portland, but she is a very intriguing individual and is a wizard in the kitchen, a master of wine pairings, and kills her own chickens.  I made up that last part.  I think.  I can just picture her doing it, so I said it.

 

Anyway, I digress.  Amber is fantastic and so is Facebook because when Amber writes about a recipe she just submitted to a regional magazine, but only says the title of the recipe and doesn’t provide the recipe, and I tell her SEND ME THAT RECIPE NOW BECAUSE IT SOUNDS SO GOOD, moments later, I have the recipe.  And I feel extra special.

Here is is…advanced notice to all you lucky bastards out there….THANK AMBER because this is going to be in  Mid-Columbian Magazine and won’t appear until the next issue (Jan/Feb 2010).  I have made it twice now.  So should you.  Stat.

Dijon Beef Stew with Rosemary Cornmeal Dumplings
For the stew
2 pounds cubed beef stew meat
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 small yellow onion, peeled and thinly sliced
2 carrots, peeled and diced
1 cup dry red wine
1 14.5-ounce can petite diced tomatoes
2 cups beef broth
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
2 tablespoons smooth Dijon mustard, such as Grey Poupon
Salt and pepper to taste

For the dumplings
1/2 cup cornmeal
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup chilled unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
3/4 cup buttermilk
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh rosemary

1. Combine the stew meat and flour in a large bowl and toss to coat evenly.
2. Heat the oil over medium heat in a large stockpot. Add the onions and carrots and sauté until they are soft, about 5 minutes. Shake any excess flour from meat, then add it to the stockpot and sauté until the meat is browned, 8-10 minutes.
3. Add the red wine, scraping up brown bits from the bottom of the stock pot.
4. Add the tomatoes, broth and thyme and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low; cover and simmer for 45-50 minutes.
5. Blend in the mustard and season to taste with salt and pepper.
6. Stir together the cornmeal, flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a bowl. Using your fingertips, blend in the butter until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Add the buttermilk and rosemary, stirring just until the dough is moistened.
7. Drop the dumpling dough by heaping tablespoons onto the top of the stew, placing them at least one inch apart. Reduce the heat to low and gently simmer, covered, until the tops of the dumplings are dry to the touch, approximately 15 minutes.

*** Oh and a little sidenote from Mrs. Fries, which is so true, but still tastes great anyway***
“By the way, this gets a little weird if you try to reheat it since the dumplings sort of mix into the stew and make it all Cream of Wheat-like.”

 

SO take that.  Make that.  There’s night #1.  Done.  I win.

Leftovers.

We had enough leftovers for maybe one huge bowl of stew, but not enough for two bowls.  So, Sean suggested we reheat and serve over rice and I gagged my brains out because it sounded so good over, wait for it…POLENTA.

So, Sean made some polenta which took like 20 minutes
http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/giada-de-laurentiis/basic-polenta-recipe/index.html

…and you will have the cornmeal from the dumplings in the stew (which is why the stew served over polenta works so well anyway) and we had dinner #2.  Top that!

Oh ok, I will.

SO then, NIGHT #3, we had leftover polenta.  I know, I know.  We are really pushing it here, but stick with me.  So, we had leftover polenta, and this is where I am telling you I really effed it up in the kitchen because I was like possessed by the creative dinner patrol.

I opened the fridge, saw grapes (HUGE holiday red grapes), pre-cut butternut squash (thank you Costco), rosemary, leftover polenta.  Then, I opened the freezer, and saw….Italian sausages.  Holy shit.

So, here’s the recipe for whatever the hell you want to call this…

POLENTA WITH OVEN ROASTED GRAPES AND SQUASH WITH ITALIAN SAUSAGE

Dinner --- Success Once Again

1 package (5 links) Italian sausages sliced into quarter size pieces
12 red seedless grapes halved
2 cups diced butternut squash
2 Tbs. fresh rosemary (you will have from rosemary dumplings from the stew)
2 Tbs. fresh sage (which is my only herb still standing in the backyard)
2 Tbs. Grapeseed Oil (or Olive Oil)
Salt and Pepper

Preheat oven to 375.  Cook Italian sausage slices on stovetop until almost entirely cooked, but still a little pink.  Mix the grapes, squash, oil, salt and pepper together and place in a roasting pan.  Add sausage to the top of the mixture.  Roast for about 40 minutes or until the squash is done.  Reheat the polenta and add mixture to the top of polenta.  Dish up and you have successfully dominated dinner 3 nights in a row.

Oven Roasted Grapes are Good Everyone.

 

Kidney Failure…err, I mean Dinner Failure

So, typically I write about meals that were a huge success(!) and hit(!) with friends and family, but this week, I am  feeling a little defeated, but at the same time want to find some sort of redemption.  Redemption in the form of telling you not to make the same mistake I made, even though by mistake I mean following the directions exactly, well, then, I made no error, but whatever.  Here we go.

Let me start with the recipe:

From FOOD NETWORK MAGAZINE, NOVEMBER 2009:
SLOW COOKER ASIAN PORK WITH NOODLES

Sounds delicious right?  Just the title alone made me want to try it.  Then I saw the picture.  So, I made it.  Here are the ingredients.

3 POUNDS BONELESS PORK TENDERLOIN
2 TBS VEGETABLE OIL
4 CUPS LOW-SODIUM CHICKEN BROTH
1 CUP SOY SAUCE
1/2 CUP DRY SHERRY
1/4 CUP PACKED DARK BROWN SUGAR
2 TBS TOASTED SESAME OIL
1/2 TSP RED PEPPER FLAKES
2 STAR ANISE PODS
1 CINNAMON STICK
5 GARLIC CLOVES, SMASHED
1 2-INCH PIECE GINGER PEELED AND SLICED
6 TO 8 WHOLE DRIED SHIITAKE MUSHROOMS
1 POUND RAMEN OR SOBA NOODLES
1/4 CUP WATER CHESTNUTS SLICED
2 FRESNO CHILI PEPPERS SEEDED AND THINLY SLICED
2 SCALLIONS, SLICED
1/4 CUP FRESH CILANTRO

 

Soooooooo, not rocket science, right?  Very easy and sounds delicious.  The aromas wafting through the house starting at noon made me hungry by 1pm.  It was a long afternoon.  I couldn’t wait to devour this dinner.  I was ravenous by 6pm, served it up, ate one bite and said to Sean, “This is so effing good!”.  After the second bite I said, “Oh my god, this is so damn salty.”  I couldn’t eat any more.  Two bites.  That’s it.  Done.  After all that.  Defeat.  Sean ate his because that’s what courteous husbands do.  The girls…not really.  They nibbled on A NOODLE I think.

So upon reflection, here’s what happened.  I’ve gone back over and over again.  Did I use regular sodium chicken broth?  I dug through the recycling…no it was low-sodium.  Well, shit.  Then it was the soy sauce.  And the salting of the pork.  And the salting of the noodle water.  And the poor mushrooms just sat in that salty broth and soaked up nothing but salt all day so they were just ruined.  The pork was amazing.  It really was.  It was a beautiful caramel color and the flavors were unreal…I think browning it first protected it from the salt invasion. 

Here’s what I would recommend from here on out because oh yes, I will make this again.  I will.  I will not let you break me down Food Network Magazine.

3 POUNDS BONELESS PORK TENDERLOIN******NEXT TIME I WILL ONLY PEPPER IT, NOT SALT AND PEPPER*****
2 TBS VEGETABLE OIL
4 CUPS LOW-SODIUM CHICKEN BROTH
1 CUP SOY SAUCE 1 CUP LOW SODIUM SOY SAUCE, OR MAYBE EVEN LESS.  LET’S TRY 3/4 CUP
1/2 CUP DRY SHERRY 1/2 cup REAL SHERRY— Make sure you use the real sherry, like from a wine store.  I used the sherry for cooking, which is loaded with salt.  Loaded.
1/4 CUP PACKED DARK BROWN SUGAR
2 TBS TOASTED SESAME OIL
1/2 TSP RED PEPPER FLAKES
2 STAR ANISE PODS

1 CINNAMON STICK
5 GARLIC CLOVES, SMASHED
1 2-INCH PIECE GINGER PEELED AND SLICED
6 TO 8 WHOLE DRIED SHIITAKE MUSHROOMS
1 POUND RAMEN OR SOBA NOODLES ****DO NOT SALT THE WATER********
1/4 CUP WATER CHESTNUTS SLICED
2 FRESNO CHILI PEPPERS SEEDED AND THINLY SLICED
2 SCALLIONS, SLICED
1/4 CUP FRESH CILANTRO

1. SEASON THE PORK WITH PEPPER.  HEAT A SKILLET OVER MEDIUM HIGH HEAT W THE VEG OIL.  ADD THE PORK AND BROWN ON ALL SIDES 6 TO 8 MINUTES AND TRANSFER TO A PLATE.
2. COMBINE THE BROTH, SOY SAUCE, SHERRY, SUGAR, SESAME OIL, RED PEPPER FLAKES, STAR ANISE, AND CINNAMON STICK IN A 5 QUART SLOW COOKER.  STIR TO DISSOLVE THE SUGAR, THEN ADD THE GARLIC, GINGER, AND MUSHROOMS.  ADD THE PORK COVER AND PROGRAM TO COOK FOR 6 HOURS ON LOW.
3. TRANSFER THE PORK TO A PLATTER, COVER W FOIL, AND LET REST 15 MINUTES.  REMOVE THE MUSHROOMS FROM THE BROTH, HALVE THEM, THEN RETURN TO THE BROTH.
4. BRING A LARGE POT OF WATER TO A BOIL AND COOK THE NOODLES AS THE LABEL DIRECTS.  SLICE THE PORK.  DIVIDE THE NOODLES AMONG BOWLS AND TOP WITH BROTH, AND MUSHROOMS, AND PORK, THEN GARNISH WITH WATER CHESTNUTS, CHILIS, SCALLIONS, AND CILANTRO.

Salt Broth

Za Pork...in resting mode.

How could I not make you again? You looked so good, and smelled even better. Damn you salt!

 

 

 

 

Dear Costco, Sometimes You Save Me. Love, Me.

The other day, I received the Costco “Connections” flyer in the mail.  Is it sad that I sit to read that, more so than my “Entertainment Weekly” and my actual high school alumni “connections” flyers?  Yes, yes it is.

But anyway, there were two really great sounding/looking recipes in this little catalog of sorts that I ripped out.  Days later, I was s’ing my p’s (I have to start saying that now because when I stubbed my toe 2 weeks ago and exclaimed my usual profanities, my sweet little biscuit Gianna looked right at me and said “FUCK” in the most deadpan delivery.  I laughed.) because I couldn’t for the life of my find the 2 recipes I had ripped out.  Holy crap.  I even asked my mom in Utah to find her catalog and rip out the recipes for me because in my failed Google search attempt, I couldn’t find them anywhere in the world of wide webness.  Ballllllls.  My mom couldn’t find her catalog (maybe under the stacks of 17 home decorating magazines that have gone unread- seriously more magazine subscriptions than anyone in the planet).

So, I gave up. 

Then, we got home from our trip Sunday and on Monday morning I was looking through my cookbooks to plan a menu for a week and ALAS!  Right in between the pages of Sweet and Sour Orange Chicken of my crock pot cookbook, “Not Your Mother’s Slow Cooker Cookbook”….

INSERT: GO OUT AND BUY THIS ESPECIALLY IF YOU HAVE CHILDREN

were my two recipes that I ripped out.  WHAT THE HELL.  This prompted my status update yesterday: that I have completely given up on this tight ship that I used to have control over.  I am completely disorganized these days.

But glory glory Hallelujah!

So, I made this shrimp recipe last night.  I forgot to take a pic because I was so damn hungry, I devoured it so quickly.

It.was.good.  Here it is, in case you also ripped it out and placed it in your crock pot cookbook and forgot that you did.

SHRIMP AND CASHEW CURRY from Costco

2 TBS. UNSALTED BUTTER
3 TBS. CURRY POWDER
1/2 C. CHOPPED ONION
1/4 C. CHOPPED CELERY
1/4 C. CHOPPED RED OR GREEN BELL PEPPER
1/4 TSP. GRATED NUTMEG  (I ALSO ADDED 1 TSP. OF GARAM MASALA FOR ADDED INDIAN-NESS)
1 CUP WHITE WINE
1 CUP PAPAYA NECTAR (THE STORE ONLY HAD MANGO NECTAR, SO I USED IT.  IT WAS STILL GOOD.)
1 POUND RAW SHRIMP, PEELED AND DEVEINED
1 POUND CASHEWS

Melt butter in a saute pan over medium hear.  Add curry powder and saute for 1 minute.  Add onion, celery, bell pepper, and nutmeg (and garam masala if using) and cook until tender.

Add wine, nectar, and shrimp.  Simmer on super low heat for about 15-20 minutes or until the mixture thickens.  Add cornstarch if needed to thicken.

Gently stir in cashews.  Serves 4.

The other recipe you will have to see how that turns out, as I have yet to make it.  It’s a PISTACHIO CHOCOLATE TORTE and you’re on crack if you don’t think that sounds good.

 

Because I Want to be Her…

Just read it…

http://www.epicurious.com/articlesguides/entertaining/partiesevents/halloween_sedaris

 

Patient Came into the ER Complaining of Foul Smelling…

Apple picking lover face

And this is why I love my husband.

Well, let me back up a little.  My brother is in Iraq and he sent me a message the other day letting me know that I come off like a bitter old housewife whenever I talk about Sean.  Well, really he said that I make Sean sound like a “doodle” which I guess in my brother’s world, that means douchebag.  It made me cry.  I’m not going to lie.  It hurt me to think that what I say and what I write about Sean could be interpreted as me hating his guts and resenting everything he’s ever put me through.

Trust me when I say that I may bitch about Sean, but good lord, I love him to death.  He’s completely oblivious sometimes, but when you work some weeks 85 hours a week, or 72 hours a week at the minimum, you’d be a little spacey too, and for that, I forgive Sean.  Everything I ever write about him, if it’s a real zinger, it’s always in jest.  Just know that.

So upon reading my brother’s email, I’ve been very reflective over the last 72 hours on all the badass things that Sean does that make me love him even more.  Because let’s face it…I’m a few ants short of a picnic at times and anyone who can love me makes me love them even more.  It’s all part of my batshit crazy genes that I got from both Mama Bear and Rat Dick Suck Nut Papa Bear.

Here are a few things that have stood out for me lately…
and by the way, I am not sure when HUSBAND APPRECIATION DAY is, but I hereby declare today, it.  So, Happy H.A.D.

1)  Sometimes, I eat so much and get so bloated and fat, that I think I am pregnant because I tell myself, “there’s no way that this is natural- there has got to be a baby inside of me to make me look like this” so I go and buy pregnancy tests and they come back negative (yea!) and I look at Sean and say “Holy crap.  I’m crazy.”  And he just shakes his head and laughs.  And then asks me nicely to not buy anymore pregnancy tests because when he sees them in the bathroom cabinet, he cries a little bit on the inside.

2) The other night I was sitting on our armchair, Sean on the couch, and I am sure I was making him watch The Rachel Zoe project (another 2 reasons why I love him…he watches it with me, grudgingly, and he’s not at all like Rachel’s husband Rodger) and during a commercial break, I lifted up my shirt, grabbed my Kangaroo pouch of extra skin on my tummy tum tum by the fistful, made a farting noise while I grabbed it, until Sean acknowledged me, then put my shirt back down.  And all Sean said was “Yes, you have that extra skin, but look what that extra skin gave us” as he nodded toward the girls’ bedroom.”   Hmph.  Ok.  It just takes a little bit of perspective like that.  I may fit back into my pre pregnancy jeans, sometimes they are even too big for me (I forget to eat sometimes), but there are definitely reminders that I used to be 63 pounds heavier and everytime I feel icky about it Sean reminds me how lucky we are that I was able to even gain that weight to carry 2 lives and I am put back into my place because I know he’s right.

3) Again, the other night, girls were asleep and after a 15 hour work day, Sean was dictating his summaries on his patients over the phone.  He had me mute the tv while he did it, and I was forced to listen.  And this is where the title of this entry comes into play…and where I threw up a little in my mouth.  So he goes on to say “Patient Came into the ER Complaining of Foul Smelling… cysts on his groin and inner thighs”  yada “>yada yada yada because that’s where I stopped listening.  After he hung up, I just stared at him.  “Sean, I love you.  But, for the love of Christ, can you please warn me when you go into some sickass description like that?”  And Sean got this look on his face that was so sad, and he said “Sarah, it was so gross.  This poor guy.  It was so painful and sad.”  So I guess this guy has such bad acne that it is all over his body (balls, buttcrack, and legs) and the acne gets so large and so infected that it is ER worthy and as Sean is telling  me this, I am just thinking “holy shit, I have so much respect for you for even looking at that, let alone touching it”.  You have to love someone who can talk about that kind of stuff without cringing or throwing up.  You just do.

4) I like to talk about poop.  I do.  I am fixated on poop.  When I don’t know the words to songs, I make up lyrics to the tune of the song, lyrics about going poop.  One day this summer, now this is gross so stop reading if you get grossed out easily, I had the worst chachies.  The worst.  I pooped so hard for days.  And then, one day, a worm like thing came out of my ass and I thought I for sure had tapeworm.  I thought it so hard, that I googled it.  Called Sean who was working overnight, and he told me to put it in some tupperware and he’d look at it when he got home.  Ummmm, what.  Yes, my husband asked me to save a sample of my stool and he would look at it.  So, I did.  And he did.  And I didn’t have tapeworm.  But come on.  That is love right there.

5) I get tonsilliths.  Don’t know what those are?  I didn’t either.  Until I had Gianna and Lillian and I started to get them…again showing Sean another byproduct  my body was producing.  He looked it up.  And this is what they are.  The only way to get rid of them is to get my tonsils out, which I should have done when I was a wee child but my parents wouldn’t let me.  So yes, I blame you mom and dad.  For this at least.  But Sean says he doesn’t think I have bad breath because I ask him at least once a week.  Good God, he puts up with a lot from me.

6) and finally, the grand daddy of them all, the main reason why I love Sean and how I know he loves me…..

he went to the Michael’s craft store opening with me yesterday at 10:30 am on a Sunday because he “wanted to spend extra time with me”.  I needed to go to get more yarn to make the creations that I peddle on www.buonasarah.etsy.com (plug). The line was INSANE.  It was so jam packed with old ladies stocking up on craft goods and Sean, ever the strategist, stood in line with Gigi chatting it up about craft pumpkins with the lady behind him while I shopped with Lillian and by the time I was done, he was at the front of the line.  God, I love him.  Is that cutting in line?  No, I don’t think so, but I still felt dirty doing it.  He did that though, all without complaining once. 

So that’s that.  Sure he’s gone a lot.  Sure he’s tired when he is home.  But the other day I came home from my eye exam and he was on the living room floor folding laundry, watching football, and his beer was within arms’ reach.  So, he gets shit done.  And I love him.

And guess what?  He gets a get out of jail free card tonight because he doesn’t have to watch Bravo with me.  That’s how much I love him.

 

Who Moved My God Damn Cheese?

Microplane...a lesson in sharing.

I think it’s nice that I make dinner.  I do.  I make dinner when Sean says he’s on his way home and 90 minutes later he’s still not home, but dammit, I’m making dinner anyway because I think it’s important for Gianna and Lillian to sit down with me at least and eat dinner like a happy god damn family.  So, last night I made tortellini with some tomato sauce that I made (slaved over) with tomatoes from our garden.

Moments into sitting down and busting out the wedge of Parmesan and the Microplane I realized my G.O.B.-esque “huge mistake”.  Once a kitchen tool has been flashed in front of my sweet little biscuits’ eyes, there’s no going back…and there’s no focus on dinner. 

Truth be told, I was very entertained by my kids while at least I ate my dinner, and they, between the two of them finished 3/4 of a wedge of cheese.  It’s got dairy, and it’s got fat, and it’s got some nutritional value, right?  Right?!

Gigi moved quickly from trying to grate to just taking huge bites.

We’ll see just how nutritious when I change some diapers today.  I think I will serve a wedge of cheese every night for dinner on those days that I’ve just given up.  So, everyday.

Lillian's got that "I'm gonna cut you bitch" look.

 

On that note…I forgot to mention that a couple of weeks ago, I forgot to take the sticker off the pear that Gianna ate.  I realized this about 24 hours later.  Guess how?

 

The MMH Invasion

My mom was in town for five days…Wednesday to Monday.  Her 61st birthday was on Friday, and of course she was all, “Hmmmm, if there’s one place I want to be on my birthday, it’s Omaha, Nebraska”, so she came. 

My mom is one of the more unique people I’ve ever met.  I forget just how unique until I see her in person, and then I just want to hug her and squeeze her because she’s my momma bear,  and sometimes shake all that nonsense she jibbers about sometimes.  Such as, ipod glitches, computer glitches, the happenings at her local Starbucks, the latest cooking class gossip, etc.

One other thing I also forget is how much, and I mean this as no insult whatsoever, a parent can seem comparable to a toddler.  My mom wakes up, she wants her coffee and cream (toddlers want their milk), my mom wants her bowl of Cheerios (hey, so do the toddlers), my mom likes to know what’s in store for the day (toddlers work best when under a strict schedule), my mom needs to use the restroom at the most inopportune time, like at the park because she forgot to go before we left (toddlers do this too, but my kids still shit in a diaper), my mom points out billboards and signs on the road and reads them out loud ( the toddlers point out the animals on the signs and posters too!), my mom gets thirsty, hungry, cranky all within 15 minutes of expressing need to use the restroom; read: meltdown, but in a really passive way by saying things like “What were we planning on for lunch again?”  We weren’t. (hey, the toddlers have meltdowns too!  what a koinkydinky).

It’s an interesting role to play.  Now that I am a mother, and my mother is a guest in my house, I don’t know what role I should play.  Hostess, mother, daughter, caregiver.  Should I have brought a bottle of water with us on our walk to the park?  Yes, probably, but I also thought maybe if my mom wanted some water, she would have ASKED for a bottle before we left.  Should I have packed snacks for Gianna and Lillian, and also my mother?  Probably, but I honestly haven’t seen my mom in so long, that I don’t know her schedule and when she needs to eat before the low blood sugar takes over all personalities and I’m left standing there talking to Zuhl, because there is no more Dana.  It’s frustrating.  But also hysterical at the same time.  She just downright makes me laugh.  And then she does the Marguerite Special which is a laugh that you just have to see to believe, which makes me laugh even harder.  I just look at her and think, “Please, just do whatever you need to do and don’t be shy about it.”  Ask for the potty break.  Tell me what time you want to eat.  Tell me when you need to drink water. 

After the park, I put the girls down for a nap and sat on the couch with my mom. We were watching Martha, which I never  ever ever watch but because my mom was in town and she pushed me out of her vagina 31 years ago, I was willing to watch Martha make salmon burgers with my mom, to which my mom kept yelling at the tv “Ugh, where’s the binder? What did they use to bind the salmon?  Where are the bread crumbs? Uggghhh, Martha”.  It’s amazing to watch how worked up she gets watching a show she claims to like.  Oddly, similar to watching Gianna and Lillian become enraged with Dora the Explorer when that Swiper sonofabitch tries to swipe shit.  Hmmm, the similarities just don’t stop.  Oh and the best part, after getting so worked up about the Ciabatta that was used for the Salmon Burgers, I turned to my mom and said “If you need to nap, totally go for it…”  She refused.  Even scoffed.  3 minutes later, I looked over at her on the couch, snoring.  Naptime.

My mom is awesome.  I love her to death.  I love that she is a grandma and still tries to act like she’s not old enough to be a grandma.  I love that when I wear something that she gave me years ago, she points out “I gave you that, remember?”  Yes, I remember that.  It was 5 straight days of her pointing out things she gave me and things she gave the girls.  It’s one of her things that she does.  It’s…endearing.  It forces me to be thankful for the item right there on the spot, much like I was the day it was presented to me.

My mom, unfortunately, has me for a daughter.  She flies to Omaha, buys my children their snow boots for the Winter, buys all of our dinners and lunches, and even buys her own God Damned dinner out on her birthday because we are too poor to pay for it.  Ugh, for that, I am a horrible daughter.  Well, that and other things.  Like me writing this entry about all the funny things momma bear does.

I am thankful for my mom everytime I talk to her on the phone because of the fodder she provides.  I am thankful for my mom for all the recipes she’s engrained in my noggin’ and the tips I’ll never forget.  I’m just thankful for my mom in general because I have friends whose mothers are sick, or have passed years ago. 

I’m especially thankful for my mom for coming up with a fantastic cocktail for the night of the Emmys.  I took one sip of it, and declared it “heaven in a glass”.  I looked at my mom and thought “holy shit, you are genius”.  I thought it, but I didn’t say it.  But I am saying it now.  Mom, you’re genius.

HEAVEN IN A GLASS

X RATED VODKA
ORANGE JUICE
CLUB SODA
MINT MUDDLED WITH BASIL
CUCUMBER (PEELED WITH A VEGETABLE PEELER IN LONG THICK STRIPS)

POUR EQUAL PARTS X RATED, ORANGE JUICE, AND CLUB SODA IN A PITCHER OR COCKTAIL SHAKER WITH THE MUDDLED FRESH MINT AND FRESH BASIL.  POUR AND SERVE WITH CUCUMBER SLICES SKEWERED ON A COCKTAIL STIRRER.  GLORIOUS. FRESH. PINK. HEAVEN.

So, I’ve got a lot to be thankful for.  The fact that my mom even came to visit us should make me thankful.  I know it’s not easy to be a guest in someone’s house.  Especially when that someone’s husband wakes up at 445 am and my mom hears the coffee start, and that someone has 2 toddlers who are a roller coaster of emotions, and that someone makes fun of her mom nonstop. 

Can you tell  I am gearing up for the holidays and realizing what I am thankful for because, the MMH Invasion Round II begins 2 days before Thanksgiving.  For one week. 

Thank you for the visit mom.  I love you!

 

How I Know I Live in the Midwest

Just got back from a quick jaunt to the post office.  Jaunt.  Yes, I said it.  More like, sweaty, hot, sticky, heavy stroller pushing extravaganza.

The entire quarter of a mile walk home, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I just overheard, and then got myself into…

Scene:
Post Office.  Monday afternoon.  330pm.  I had just come out of the post office mailing station (I guess this is what you call it).  Not the lobby, but the annoying area that is much too narrow for a double jogging stroller and has the annoying island in the middle of the station where you are supposed to fill out your shit, but I’m sorry…have that shit filled out BEFOREHAND.  Anyway, so I just came through the inconvenient double doors (that are not handicap automated) and stepped into the lobby area of the post office and I overheard this:

Woman: So…yous not the same as them?
Man: (grunted) Nah
Woman: You knows where I can find one…an office?

This is where I come into help.  I had just turned around so I could see the face of this ill-spoken individual, an elderly woman, hobbling, stabilizing herself on a cane with one hand and a FEDEX envelope in another.

Me: Are you looking for a FEDEX?
Woman: Ya
Me: There’s one on the corner of 72nd and Dodge
Woman: (Blank Stare with a GIANT WART ON HER FACE)
Me: Do you know where the Petco is?  It’s right next door to there.  On 72nd and Dodge.
Woman: Oh, oh, I think I know…
Me: (cutting her off) do you know where Fudrucker’s is?  Right across the street from there.
Woman: Oh ya!  Ya!  I know now…
Me: Ok, then it’s there.  I think that’s the closest one.
Woman: Ya, I don’t know why I thoughts they’s the same as the post office, but I did.
Me: Ok.

AND SCENE.

I don’t know what disturbed me more.  That she thought FEDEX was the same entity as the UNITED STATES POSTAL SERVICE (wtf?!!!) OR that she kept saying “they’s” as if contracting they and was is ok.  THEY WAS isn’t ok, so why would “they’s” be?  Why? OR that fucking FUDRUCKER’S was the point of reference for her.

Isn’t it harder to speak incorrectly?  I mean, it’s exhausting for me to even try to relay what she was saying.  What’s happening to the world?

I didn’t even ask her to help hold the door open for me what with her clearly being entirely out of sorts.

 

Juices are Flowing

Creative Juices.  Get your minds out of the gutter.

I have an insane amount of people in my life who are truly talented.  Be it designwise (Megan), literary wise (Lyndsay)foodwise (my mom and Anne), party throwing/decorating wise (Missy), or full-on legitimate InStyle wedding-type floral designer wise (Val), with my fortunate knowledge of these people, well shit, if we all lived in the same city, we would throw a completely bad ass party.  With me on hand to mix some cocktails, and Megan to design the invites, Lyndsay to write a post-party commentary/article, my mom and Anne catering, Missy to do the party favors and decor, and Val to do the flowers, and a few of my doctor friends on hand in case someone slices their head open from too many of my cocktails, we would be a full service completely bad ass team.  I would call us “Big Night Productions” named after one of my favorite movies of all time…”Big Night” with Stanley Tucci.  Rent it.

Anyway, here’s a list of a few of my favorite people showing off their talents in case you need a reference:

Flowers http://thestellaposy.blogspot.com/

Writing http://unemploymentality.wordpress.com/

Food http://poeticappetite.blogspot.com/  OR www.margueritehenderson.com