Also important to note is that I cook foods minimally (except meat, which I cook the everliving snot out of) to retain the highest nutritional content possible and I similarly avoid microwaving food as heat saps food of essential vitamins and minerals. I use the smallest amount of water possible and whenever I can, I retain the cooking water for use in thinning the puree because it has nutrients in it that have leached out of the food.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Pass the Peas... Please
Also important to note is that I cook foods minimally (except meat, which I cook the everliving snot out of) to retain the highest nutritional content possible and I similarly avoid microwaving food as heat saps food of essential vitamins and minerals. I use the smallest amount of water possible and whenever I can, I retain the cooking water for use in thinning the puree because it has nutrients in it that have leached out of the food.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
My Anger Migraine
There isn't a lot I need to cope with. Really. I read lots of blogs and I know lots of people. And you know what? I am the first to admit that I have it easier than so many others, and also the first to be thankful for that. I mean, I am CONSTANTLY thanking God that I am as blessed as I am... and maybe that helps me cope too.
Pardon me, this is going to be a bit brain-dump-ey...
BUT every once in a while I get to the point where I need to vent. I have one of the longest fuses out there. BUT. But, that nagging little article of speech everyone dreads... But. If you read my blog on any kind of regular basis
And compounding the mad is the guilt I feel because, as I've said, I really don't have it bad at all. Roof over my head (albeit, a crappy, 100-year-old roof), food on the table, clothes, health... all good. So there's just this amorphous, directionless, vague anger bouncing around inside making me feel... well, ugly. Not in the sense that I feel like I could use a good makeup artist but in the "I don't like who I am" sense. I'm angry at my husband's job. I'm angry at the house I'm stuck living in. I'm angry at people who expect the world to take care of them regardless of effort or lack there-of to do anything about a situation. I'm angry at lazy people. I'm angry at... well, I don't even know, and that's the problem. I'm just mad.
Like, constantly.
And I'm doing my best to not take it out on people who don't deserve it, but that gets to be so damned difficult because I can't possibly take it out on those that do or that which does deserve my wrath. (And, for future reference, my wrath is NOT something anyone ever wants to see. I'm very good at being mad.) So the mad inside just stays there. Bottled up, bouncing to and fro, waiting to leak out through a harsh word or a barked command at my toddler or to turn my sigh of frustration over a crying baby into a scream of anger. It's always there, pushing at the edges of my conversations with my husband, trying to hone my words into weapons and wound with intractable insults.
But why? This isn't me. I'm not an angry person! I hate - hate- this mad in me. I want it out and I want it to not come back. I want to not look at the clock and be instantly furious. I want to step into my kitchen and not have fury flash into my heart over the cold, damp awfulness that my landlord allows to seep in through the non-functional door. I want to watch the news and not want to commit assault when I hear about the multitudes of people looking for someone else to blame for problems that can be over come with hard work. I. Just. Don't. Want. To. Be. Mad.
I don't want to growl angry hateful words about people who don't do their jobs and make my husband pick up their slack. I don't want to compare our paycheck to someone else's and think about how much more work we do to earn ours. I don't want to leave one job behind for another and have bitterness and scorn taint the good memories we've made.
Grrrr, go away, Mad!
I am happy with so much in my life. Beyond happy. I'm completely content and, as I said, so grateful for so much, that I guess I should probably embrace the stupid mad and be thankful that I can be mad that my husband works absurd hours because it means I want him here, home with us, instead. I guess that anger highlights how much I love him and his presence. I should learn from the frustration with this house and apply it to the next time we pick out a place to live...
But come on; I don't need week after week of a crappy work schedule or cockroach roommates to teach me life lessons! I get it!
Grrr!
I don't mind being mad when I can use it to do something positive... to be proactive or to make a change or something like that. But this mad just sits there... it's like the pain of childbirth versus the pain of a migraine... one is productive and has an amazing outcome and the other is just plain, stupid, pointless pain. This - what I'm dealing with - is like an anger migraine. Pointless and painful for no good reason.
I don't know. Maybe this will help. Bitching to you
*sigh*
So in the meantime, I'll get my funny on again and find my laugh deep down, underneath the cursing and growling, and step my game on up. Promise. Hold me to that.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Not Me! Monday
I am happy to announce that I'm typing this post at a desk free of clutter and devoid of Halloween candy wrappers (especially since it's pre-Halloween) and empty snack-sized bags of Sun Chips. I would never have made myself a dinner composed of such nutritionally empty foods. Not when I'm fully capable of and enthusiastic about cooking. All the time.
Since my dear husband's job does not demand that he work ludicrous hours throughout the entire week, including the weekend, I am never left trying to cram several days' worth of family activities into one morning, so I most certainly would not have dragged us all to the Pumpkin Patch with the intent of getting at least two good photos out of it and if everything went to hell thereafter, I'd at least have my photos. Therefore, I would never have propped my infant daughters up in a pile of hay, knowing they can't sit up on their own yet and started snapping pictures, regardless of their obvious discomfort. Had I done that, one of my babies might have tipped over and face-planted in the straw. At least, being the excellent mother that I am, I promise that if something like that were to happen, my priority would definitely be to pick her up and make sure she's okay. NOT to snap a picture, howl with laughter and THEN fix her position... I would honestly consider such a person to be a terrible, heartless mother.
She'd probably also be the one who insisted on taking her son, obviously uninterested in goats, into the petting farm so that she could pet the adorable, cuddly little baby goats... you know, the "exploiter"... using her kids for things like free Dum-Dums at the bank drive-up...
Loser.
Anyway... In case you didn't know, I exude sex appeal at all times. I can't really help it. I'm just not at all the kind of woman who would ever be caught dead without make-up or wearing the same outfit for 3 days in a row. So I most certainly did not pick my son up from school one afternoon and have several conversations with several other people and get all the way home before I realized that I had forgotten to snap my nursing bra cup back in place. I, pinnacle of hotness, wouldn't have to worry about being totally mortified when I realized that one boob was supported and in its proper place while the other udder had sagged down with zero support whatsoever. Thankfully, too, since I'm sure that would be beyond embarrassing.
Not to worry though; it's not like I'd get embarrassed about anything, ever.
So it's totally fine when my son wants to pretend he's my father-in-law's dog and "tinkle" every 5 feet on our way to school by lifting his leg on the landscaping in every yard between here and there. And since I'm never in a hurry, clearly, I certainly wouldn't lift my own leg when he demands that "Mama tinkle" just to get him to continue walking. Nah, I'd just stand there clutching my dignity and grace and wait for him to tire of the game. No freakin way would I give in to the demands of a toddler with an active imagination.
Well since I did not let my babies hang out in swings for the last 5 minutes to wrap this up, there's no reason they'd be crying (especially since they're perfect babies who never make a peep) and since I have endless patience, any peep they did make would never bother me even a tiny bit so I'm not going to go scoop them up and read Goodnight Moon to them 15 times even though all they do is drool and smack the pages since they don't understand 2-dimensional versus 3-dimensional yet.
Have a great week!
Make Room on the Mantle...

Goin' Country
Anyway, really what I wanted to share was the amusement I felt when I looked around me and just observed the people around me. I've long been a fan of people watching, but since I'm usually supervising a toddler, I miss 98% of what's going on any more than 3 feet off the ground. Yesterday I got a chance to sit at a bench and nurse the girls while Justin and Jack played on the slides and play... stuff. This place, Hunt Club Farm in Virginia Beach, was such a neat destination for families of all kinds with kids of all ages, and believe me, they were out in DROVES yesterday.
So I watched one family of 3 - Mom, Dad, daughter (4ish years) - sitting together eating lunch nearby. They were all happily chattering about the baby chickens and all 3 were eating Uncrustables with fruit snacks and Juicy Juice juice boxes out of a Disney princess lunch box. Even the dad who had to be 6'5" tall and weigh nearly 250 pounds of muscle. It was so funny to me because I knew that when we sat down for lunch, we'd open our Thomas lunch box and pull out cheese sticks and animal crackers to eat. It's just what we do. And it's automatic and unquestioning. Do I really WANT to eat animal crackers? No, no more than I'm sure Big Dude Dad wanted to eat a once-frozen round mushy peanut butter and grape disk-shaped sandwich. But that's what we do.
Later, I was pushing my stroller, aimlessly wandering waiting to find Justin and Jack post-hay-ride when I ended up behind a Mom walking hand-in-hand with her son (one of my favorite things to do, by the way) wearing her very sexy Lightning McQueen backpack as proudly as my trendy little sis carries her Coach purse to work every day. It made me smile because I know I get some ridiculous looks when I don Jack's monkey backpack on the way to school because he's tired of wearing it and insists that I put it on my own back. That Mom probably didn't think any one would notice, or if they did wouldn't judge her... that is, if she thought about it at all. And, in all honesty, she probably didn't.
Standing in the pumpkin patch watching Jack try with all his might to scoop up one very round, very too large pumpkin, another two things occurred tome. First, most kids are exactly the same when it comes to pumpkins. What child have you known that doesn't immediately go for the biggest one he can find? And second, what is it about children and pumpkins that is just so darn, irresistibly cute? I mean, you know how you associate things like jingle bells with Christmas or party blowers with New Years' parties? I now associate pumpkin patches with the sound of camera shutters clicking furiously. I mean, not that I'm innocent...
...or anything, but I saw more babies and kids propped against these magnetic orange gourds on Saturday than I think Santa's lap sees in one season. I mean, newborns swimming in their "My First Halloween" onesies leaning against carefully arranged pumpkins, faces squished in the sun... just-barely-sitting kiddos straddling short, squat pumpkins... those "I can't walk but I can stand up finally" aged kids balanced precariously amidst soon-to-be Jack 'o Lanterns galore... Even sullen 'tweens sulkily holding a pumpkin for Grandma's home-made calendar. It just cracked me up.
And I'm not laughing because I'm judging! Good lord, no! I'm laughing because I'm right there with everyone else. I'm laughing because I get it. Because 4 years ago I would just have been walking around staring at the chaos and being a little overwhelmed and wondering why on earth anyone would gag down an Uncrustable (if I even knew what that was) or have imagined that I'd be right there in the middle of it shooing roosters off the front of my 29 foot long stroller and asking my own child to please not stomp in the puddle of goat pee.
Every once in a while I am dumbfounded by the realization that there are so many people out there doing the same things I do and having the same feelings as I am and we're all just trying to get by and do the best we can with our families - with that little niche of humanity we've carved out and live in. We are so alike and it's such a vast community and yet most of us never come in contact with one another and if we did we'd always have so much to talk about that it'd be like we were old friends.
Damn. That's intense.
And all of this - all of these musings - occurred on a sunny Saturday afternoon on some local farm with Country music coupled with children's laughter as the soundtrack
Friday, October 23, 2009
Honestly? Honestly.

So this award really means so much to me because it's my way of (in the most mature manner possible) sticking my tongue out at him and stamping my feet and saying, "Toldya!"
AND the cool part is, I can give thanks to some of the many other ladies in my new-found circle of bloggy friends out there who inspire me to, you know, let loose with it.
Here's how the award works:
1. Thank the person who gave you the award and link to their blog.
2. Share 10 honest things about yourself.
3. Present this award to 7 other whose blogs you find brilliant in design or content.
4. Tell those 7 people they have been awarded.
Now about this "Ten Honest Things" part... Yikes. I've been totally swamped this week and have been meaning to do a post that shares some things about who I am, so this works out just perfectly. Here we go:
1) I used to be kinda slutty. STOP LAUGHING. Seriously. I had a TON of boyfriends. I especially liked older guys (you know, in high-school, I was the one dating college guys) and I never stayed with anyone very long. Until I met my husband. Well, he wasn't my husband when I met him, obviously - how weird would that be? - but you know what I mean. I dumped 3... yes, THREE, guys on the off-chance that Justin would ask me to a dance. Absurd. I think I had really skewed perceptions in my teen years of my worth as a woman, but that's a whole can of worms I need a licensed psychologist to be present for the opening of...
2) ANYWAY... I am totally freaked out by cancer. I'm continually worried that my kids will get cancer and die and I can't squash my nightmares. It is truly, truly horrible. Consequently, I spend a TON of time being so SO grateful for our health and begging and pleading and wheeling and dealing with God to let me keep them. I am a total spaz about it and can send myself into a fit of choking sobs in about 30 seconds flat if I let my imagination run away from me.
3) I really, really, really want another baby. Not yet. Good grief, not yet. But my uterus is aching for another little one like crazy. You know how you sometimes wake up in the morning SUPER hungry after you've eaten a gigantic dinner because your stomach stretches out and you feel hungrier than you normally would later on? I wonder if having twins does the same thing to a uterus... Like, it stretched out so much from having two babies in there that it's now hungrier than it should be? I don't know. All I know is that dear hubby watches me take my Pill every night with a skeptical look on his face because I know he's not convinced it's a good idea. Yet. I'm still working on him.
4) I don't mind doing housework, mostly. I enjoy the feeling of accomplishment that comes from sitting on my couch and seeing order and organization and shiny floors. But there are a few things I hate doing. Hanging up clothes, emptying the dishwasher and refilling the coffee canister. Those three things infuriate me and I will put them off until I cannot stand to not any longer.
5) I love to be creative. I love to paint and draw and take photos and do crafts and cook... I'm just not very good at any of them and don't have time to practice and it drives me nuts. I want to write books and poems and paint pictures and have a photo gallery and scrapbooks galore and I dream of interior decorating... but I never get the chance to do any of it. I don't really mind because eventually I will and I'll be glad to have the time but I get absurdly antsy sometimes wanting to do something creative.
6) Fast cars. Sexy, purring, masterfully engineered cars give me goosebumps and I get excited like Jack with Legos. I drive a minivan (which I love, believe it or not) but one of these days... Sometimes I give my van a little more gas a little sooner than I need to at a red light and leave some townie in his crappy Mustang staring agape at my tail lights and I smile and think, "Wow, I just burned you in my mini, you douche" before I grow up and realize that I just consumed a gallon of gas right there. So I go back to fantasizing about my Nissan Skyline GT-R and press "Play" on the van's DVD player and heat up my seat and be glad I can fit 3 car seats in the beast.
7) I like going to the bathroom. You know... going to the bathroom. As in... you know. I love it. (That's disgusting, I realize, but I'm being honest here.) Sometimes I think about interior decorating and fast cars WHILE I go to the bathroom and that makes it even better.
8) My mom used to let me taste raw hamburger meat that she'd mixed seasonings for meatloaf or hamburgers or meatballs into. In fact, I used to really like it. I used to actually ASK for it. Now, the very thought of it makes me barf a little in my mouth and you know what? I'm pretty sure the barf in my mouth tastes better than the raw meat would. Mom, I love you, but I'm not going to feed raw animal products to my kids. Things must have been safer in the 80's right?
9) I have stuff I want to be able to write about but don't have the guts.
10) I can't watch scary movies. What the heck is wrong with me? I used to be able to. I have no idea when I became a weenie but I can't do it. Humor, suspense, drama, action, whatever, but not horror. Blech. Getting me to watch a scary movie now is probably about like getting me to sit in a dentist chair, except I know I need to go to the dentist once a year and can't figure out a single way horror movies might enrich my life. So I just avoid them. I think my Mom just died a little inside if she read this because she raised me on Stephen King and eats up gory, spooky horror flicks like candy. (Sorry, Mom!)
Okay so that was a little about me. Pretty random, but totally honest. So 7 other ladies who have the cajones to be honest and real (in no particular order):
1. Tamara who cracks me up CONSTANTLY
2. Amber my IRL friend!
3. Candice who has a gorgeous family and thrilling adventures I can only DREAM of
4. Mama M. who inspires me to have hot mom hair one day
5. Misty who got me started blogging
6. Elizabeth who keeps it as real as any blog I've ever read, and...
7. Katie for her absolutely incredible strength!
There are tons more that I could have posted, but I really REALLY need to go start making my chicken parmesan for dinner!