Monthly Archives: September 2011

Today’s PSA: The Drawer

Posted in Guest Posts, I'm Still Learning by

*This post was originally published as my very first ever guest post over at Multitasking Mumma. With permission from the gloriously wonderful Leighann I’m reposting in case you missed it, because I care about you and want to save you from making the same mistake I did years ago. 

There are many drawers in my house. They hold my clothes, my silverware, my antacids and toothpaste. I even have a drawer for things that don’t belong anywhere and are lumped in together with all the other household misfits – tea candles, spare keys, miniature screwdrivers.

But then there’s The Drawer. The one next to my bed. The one that holds several objects that require batteries, objects with pearls and rabbit ears. There might be something fluffy that has its own tiny key that must not, under any circumstances, become lost. It’s possible there may be several tiny bottles and tubes of slippery, flavored goo as well.

Perhaps you have a Drawer too, though I’ve heard recently that there are many out there who do not. I’m not sure what these people are using the internet for, but I think they’ve missed some important websites that offer free shipping and inconspicuous brown-paper packaging.

If you’re one of those people, tuck this away for later. It’s important. You’ll need it for when, if ever, you do have a Drawer.

Anyway, for those of us who do, indeed, have a Drawer, listen up. You need a friend who knows about The Drawer. A friend who has a key to your house. It should be someone you trust, someone loyal and discreet.

A friend who can sneak into your house in the event of your untimely demise and empty The Drawer, disposing of its contents in a manner that will prevent your granny from whispering “Since when did they start making such tiny back massagers?” during your eulogy.

A friend who will be over in an instant if your home catches fire or strong winds blow a tree onto your roof to remind you to empty The Drawer before an insurance adjustor arrives to catalogue your damaged property.

(Though in rare cases, you may want to claim your lost goods. Some of them can be expensive!)

“No,”  you’re thinking. “That sort of thing only happens in the movies!”

Oh, but heed my warnings, and let this story serve as a terrifying example of what can happen if The Drawer is not protected.

Three years ago, a hurricane blew through my town, sending 10 feet of sludgy water into my house. Everything was ruined.

After two days of sorting through my stuff, I was spent. I gave most everything up as lost and left my dad with instructions to haul it all to the street for FEMA to pick up.

But you guys, I had forgotten about The Drawer. I had just gotten married months before, and it was fully stocked with an outrageously embarrassing loot, thanks to my girlfriends and their idea of a “classy” bridal shower.

So I’m at my mom’s house, resting after 48 hours of grueling, extremely emotional work, comforted by the knowledge that my father was taking care of business when the phone rang.

It was my dad. He had a box of things he was unsure of whether or not I wanted thrown away, and could I drive over real quick and check it out?

Yeah. You know where this is going.

I speed over, get out of the car, peer into the box…and die.

My dad begins to chuckle, removes his glasses to wipe the tears out of his eyes as the snickers turn into snorts, the snorts into gales of laughter.

“I wasn’t sure if any of this had sentimental value,” he roared.

My dad’s an asshole, we can all agree.

But see? If I had thought to designate someone to remind me of the need to dispose of The Drawer before turning dear old dad loose on the house, I would not have been in the uncomfortable position of having to restrain myself from slapping my father upside the head with a plastic purple penis.

Consider yourself duly warned and prepare accordingly.


Messmaker, Messmaker, make me a mess

Posted in Monkey, Parenting by

Confession: I might be a bit of a neat freak. And by “might” I mean definitely. And by “bit” I mean, “Don’t you dare leave those cabinet doors open again, husband of mine, or my head will spin around and I will spew forth a Technicolor yawn that thou has yet to see the likes of. “

So, ok, I like things organized. Symmetrical even. Certainly clean and unable to be described as sticky, dusty, or ‘Gak, what did I just step in?”

And because of this, I’ll spend the majority of the week putting things in their places, scrubbing stains and messes and folding stuff. Even though I recognize the futility of the task since it must all be done again the next day. Even though I’m pretty sure no one living here cares but me.

But today was different. Today I hightailed it out the door with a friend to hang around downtown. (Pro-tip: The best way to get over your fear of getting lost downtown is to just go ahead and get lost downtown. It’s not so bad.)

After spending the morning navigating several districts and learning about bubble tea, my pal and I took our kiddos to the park, walked around the pond a bit, and headed home for naptime.

When my cute little sleeping monkey awoke, he was in the best mood I’ve seen in days. And sure, the house was a bit cluttered and the kitchen was certainly grody, but you know what I did?

I said screw it.

I left the mess.

And we made more of it.

We climbed around in piles of clean laundry. We emptied baskets of all their content and used them as sailboats to navigate the waters of the living room. We disemboweled the toy box, the entertainment center, and the bookshelf.

We might have gotten a little carried away.

But it was a blast. And although I know that tonight I’m going to be up late cleaning, it was worth it for this face.

Monday Meals: Chicken Spaghetti

Posted in Noms by

Last year I signed up to be a part of this SAHM group here in KC. Now, it’s rare that I’m actually able to make any of the meetups, but there is one thing I can always be a part of that counts as my participation for the month and therefore saves me from getting kicked out. (Which is awesome, because you do NOT want to be ostracized from a mommy group.)

Each time someone in the group has a new baby, we all sign up for a day on the calendar to bring them a meal. I bring the same thing every time – this chicken spaghetti – and it never fails that I get an email the next day asking for the recipe.

This is a great dish to feed a crowd, it can be made using those wonderful rotisserie chickens and you can even make most of it in the microwave.

Chicken Spaghetti

1 lb spaghetti noodles
3 cooked & shredded boneless, skinless chicken breasts OR 1
deboned, skinned and chopped rotisserie chicken (Speeds things
up!)
1 small onion, diced
1 tbsp minced garlic
1 tbsp butter
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can Rotel
1 lb Velveeta, cut into cubes
1 cup shredded cheddar
1 tsp celery seed (Sometimes I add chopped celery in with the onion & garlic if I have it)
salt & pepper to taste

Boil noodles in a large pot of salted water.

While noodles are cooking, in a large saucepan, sauté onion and
garlic in butter. Add soups, Rotel, Velveeta, celery seed, salt and pepper.
Continue cooking until Velveeta is melted. Stir in chopped
chicken. (This can all be done in a microwave safe dish as well!)

Drain noodles, combine with sauce. Pour into greased 13 x 9 in
dish, sprinkle cheddar over the top. Bake @ 350 degrees until
the cheese is melted and the sauce is bubbling.

But what about the consonants?

Posted in Marriage by

*This was originally posted on my anniversary earlier this year. I edited it a bit to share again with Lovelinks. Click here for a chance to win a slot in The Bloggess sidebar for a month sponsored by freefringes.com. I’m also linking it with Theresa’s Wednesday Words of Wisdom at A Mountain Momma. 

I knew someone once who used to talk about how seriously she took her “marriage vowels.”

Now, I was pretty serious about my vows, but I never really contemplated my vowels.

After much thought, I figured it was important to take the AEIOU-and-sometimes-Ys pretty seriously.

Acceptance: What starts out as flutters in your chest at the mere sight of your loved one in the beginning will eventually turn into eye-rolls of annoyance later on. You don’t share a bed, a bathroom, or children with someone and not want to smack them occasionally. But if you accept one another for the beautifully flawed creatures you are, and understand that you’re no prize catch either, it’s easier to forgive when your spouse forgets to pay a bill on time, take the trash out, or farts on your leg in bed.

Empathy: Recognizing and sharing your spouse’s feelings leads to compassion. Much of the time, we get caught up in what we want, what we need, and forget to put ourselves in the other person’s shoes. Sometimes I actually have to sit down and concentrate very hard to see things from my husband’s perspective. I tell him it’s difficult because I have a hard time shoving my head that far up my ass, but he knows I’m kidding and that I’m really making an effort to understand what’s he’s dealing with.

Intimacy: Yeah, I’m talking about sex in this case. I’m gonna go ahead and say that it’s important to make the beast with two backs as much as humanly possible. I don’t think that people were meant to get freaky only for the sake of bearing children. If you’re not burning a hole through the bed on a regular basis, you’re missing out. Any time my husband and I are not getting along, I can always correlate our spats with a dry spell. And although many would say correlation does not imply causation, I’d say in this case, the more often you’re sharing your body with your spouse, be it in tip-top physical condition or flabby, fuzzy and dimpled, the happier you guys are going to be. (It’s really hard to stay mad at someone if you’ve recently seen their “O” face.)

Originality: You and your spouse are an original creation. There is no one else like the two of you. So don’t get caught up in the trap of “keeping up with the Joneses.” It’s easy to go from being a free-thinking person to being a lemming. You don’t need a Lexus, a McMansion and a yearly trip to Necker Island to be happy. Having the latest and greatest when it comes to stuff is definitely fun for awhile, but it’s not going to make you happy, especially when you realize you only bought it because you saw someone else had it. You’ll eventually see yourselves working so hard to fit into the mold of what an American couple should be that you could miss out on what the two of you really want out of life.

Union: You’ve been (hopefully) voluntarily joined. No one frog-marched you down that aisle into the arms of your spouse. You held some sort of ceremony to mark your intentions of becoming a single unit. Remember that when you’re upset with your partner and you want to vent to others. You wouldn’t betray yourself, so be careful not to betray your other half. Nothing is more pathetic than a grown up who still runs to their parents every time their spouse pisses them off. People are going to talk, so even though you think you’re speaking in confidence, you’re not, and what you thought was a private look into the innermost workings of your union is going to be public. I personally know way too much about others’ marriages, and you can’t “unknow” something. It’s really difficult to sit across the table from someone and not think, “That dude needs Viagra,” or “He’s a big fat liar.” Guard your marriage. Be careful what you share with others.

And sometimes, Yield: Even if you don’t want to. Even if you think you’re completely, totally justified and holding all the cards – give in. Because as a wise man once said: “Do you want to be right? Or do you want to be married?”

If you’re so inclined, you can vote for this post here until Friday. Thanks! (Update: We made it into the top 10% again. Thanks!)

Wednesday

Monday Meals: Cheesy Chicken & Spinach Lasagna

Posted in Noms by

Sometimes, I only prepare a meal as a means of a cheese delivery system.

This is one of those times.

Sure, there’s some chicken in here, and some spinach so we can call it “healthy.” But let’s be honest. This dish is all about the three cheeses that make every bite a rich, calorie-laden, scrumdiddlyumptious mouthgasm.

The original, adapted from an old Better Homes cookbook, can take awhile to prep, so I’ve included a few tips on how to make this a little easier at the bottom.

You will need:

9 lasagna noodles
1/2 cup butter
1 onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 cup flour
1 tsp salt
2 cups chicken broth
1 1/2 cups milk
4 cups shredded mozzarella cheese, divided
1 cup grated Parmesan cheese, divided
1 tsp dried basil
1 tsp dried oregano
1/2 tsp ground black pepper
2 cups ricotta cheese
2 cups shredded cooked chicken
2 (10 ounce) packages frozen chopped spinach, thawed and drained
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley

*I usually make my own broth when I’m boiling the chicken because it’s less salty than the store bought cartons. Since I had some left over after the dish I just poured it into ice cube trays, froze it and then popped it into bags to store.


Directions

Preheat the oven to 350. Boil, drain and rinse the noodles.


Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Cook the onion and garlic in the butter until tender, stirring frequently. Stir in the flour and salt, and simmer until bubbly.

Mix in the broth and milk, and boil, stirring constantly, for about a minute. Stir in half the mozzarella and parmesan. Season with the basil, oregano, and ground black pepper. Remove from heat, and set aside.

Spread a little of the sauce mixture in the bottom of a 9×13 inch baking dish. Layer with 3 of the noodles, half the ricotta, half of the chicken, and half of the spinach. Pour about 1/3 of the sauce over the top.


Arrange 3 more of the noodles over the chicken, and layer with the rest of the ricotta, chicken and spinach. Pour another 1/3 of the sauce over the top.

Place the last three noodles over that, pour on the rest of the sauce, and sprinkle with the remaining cheese. Top with the parsely.

Bake 35 to 40 minutes in the preheated oven until the cheese is browned and bubbly. Let it rest for several minutes on the countertop to set.

To make this easier: Buy a rotisserie chicken from the deli. Use a jarred sauce.

To make this meatless: Skip the chicken and replace with sliced mushrooms. No need to sauté them first. Just layer them in.

Life’s Lessons: Pride & Joy

Posted in Lists, Monkey by

Even though it was full of WTF moments, this week was certainly much better than last. On one hand, I was definitely schooled by the fence-eating dogs and learned that yes, you can have strep throat without feeling sick. On the other hand, there was so much happiness and laughter squeezed into the last seven days that I never frowned for longer than a few seconds. Here’s a few of this week’s lessons.

1. While some of my dogs are definitely jerks and are still grounded, others have turned out to be really great babysitters.

Easy cleanup after lunch! Who needs baby wipes?

2. I had been all excited to find cute little crayons with round handles for chubby hands and figured my kid could get an early start on becoming the next Picasso.

Instead, he’s well on his way to being that kid who eats paste.

3. My husband missed a lot of time with his son this week because of work commitments and some personal issues with one of his friends who was in crisis. Add to that the fact that I now keep another child during the week, and our little Monkey was in need of some one-on-one time. We ended up leaving him with a friend who could look after his needs last night while we went to the Foo Fighter’s concert, but today has been full of some serious Daddy/son time to make up for it.

4. This has obviously exhausted him, because we sat him in his chair for a random lunch of yogurt, toast and hummus, graham crackers and cinnamon-dusted sweet potatoes, and before long, it got quiet. Way too quiet.

He’s never done that before. I think my heart might have quadrupled in size when I saw him all passed out, snuggling his Simply Go-Gurt. His dad cleaned him up and is rocking him right now as he sings a chirpy little sleepy baby song.

5. Oh, and speaking of that concert. Wow. I thought nothing could top the Pearl Jam concert we went to when I was pregnant, but Dave Grohl is a force of nature. With a lead singer who was a drummer and a drummer who’s also a lead singer, guitarist and pianist, the Foo Fighters produced a tight, beastly sound. The guitars and synth create this wall of sound that you crash up against, until each brick in that wall turns into dust that permeates every pore in your body. As each cell in your skin vibrates along, you suddenly realize that what you thought was your heartbeat was actually Taylor Hawkins and his monstrous thumps.

It was a completely euphoric experience. They played a 2.5 hour set, complete with little moments of F-bomb laced comedy as Grohl exchanged what must have been a dozen different guitars. I admit, even though his music speaks for itself, it doesn’t hurt that he’s full of shaggy-haired sex appeal. And oh my gosh, when Hawkins came back onstage with no shirt on? Swoon.

I love skinny, dirty, long-haired rocker boys. Sigh.

Oh, and a bonus: The Westboro Baptist Asshats were at the Sprint Center earlier that evening to protest the Foo, so the Foo said Eff you, Fred and performed a little song for the haters. You can see an amateur video of it here.

Anyway, right now it’s chilly and wet outside, but my house is warm. Football drones on the tv in the background, soup simmers in the crock pot and I’m padding around in fuzzy socks.

It’s the perfect ending to a pretty much perfect week.

I wish the same for you.

Tell us about your week over at Rach’s place. Link up with Life’s Lessons!

Life With Baby Donut

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

Posted in How was YOUR day? by

Yesterday? Yesterday was crap. When I wrenched myself out of bed and hobbled downstairs to let the famous pissing wiener dog outside (on the off chance that he hadn’t already irrigated my carpet) I noticed something awry.

Can you spot the problem?

The big dogs ate the damn fence. Didn’t dig out, didn’t jump over…ATE. Ingested. Masticated and swallowed our beautiful, one-year-old fence.

Then they ran away.

But did they have the good sense to stay gone? Oh no. The jerks came back, all butt wags and tongue slurps, happy to see us and asking for food.

Oh, no, shitbags. No food for you. Here, have some more FENCE. I hear cedar goes well with being grounded to your room ’til Christmas.

Santa isn’t bringing bully sticks this year, y’all. Just a sack full of cheap kibble for obnoxious fur brats.

Today? Today has been awesome. I found out that BlogHer featured me as a Spotlight Blogger for The Nap Commandments. I’d like to thank my son for not letting me sleep that day and inspiring that piece.

Also, I’m competing against my friends in a series of Lovelinks for a spot in The Bloggess’ sidebar. Now, I love my friends, but I’d also love to see my name in hot pink without having to pay for it.

Vote for me? Pretty please? (Update: Voting has concluded. I was in the top 10%, so I get to advance to week 4. Thank you!)

Tomorrow? Tomorrow will be legendary. My husband bought tickets to see the Foo Fighters several months ago, and it’s finally time! The Monkey is staying with his Nana and we are going to enjoy a night of deafening rock music and drunken concertgoers.

And it’s going to be fabulous.

What about you? What are your weekend plans? Also, do you have any wood you need cleared and would you like to borrow a dog or two on a long-term basis?

I’m going to link up with Rusti over at My Life As An Officer’s Wife for S.H.I.T. Click over to see what that acronym is all about.

Photobucket

Getting back out there

Posted in I'm Still Learning by

Growing up, I might have been a bit of an overachiever. So maybe I researched, wrote and published a family newsletter during my summer vacation between third and fourth grades. Perhaps I competed with a fellow student or two hundred and seventy when it came to grades in high school. But where’s the harm in trying to be your best, right?

In college, I got my first taste of failure. Trying to juggle an honors program, a work-study job and this new thing called a social life kicked my ass. After my sophomore year, I began my first downward spiral.

I missed a few classes. I partied too hard. I got mono and had to be driven back to my parents’ house to recover.

Faced with this gigantic lack of achievement, I fell apart. I left the big state university I’d wanted to go to so badly. I enrolled in my hometown’s university where I gave a half-hearted attempt at a couple of different majors, but mostly I majored in drinking.

I hung out with the wrong crowd. My boyfriend was a drug dealer. (In my defense, I had no idea. I just thought he was really popular and had friends who like to pop by all the time. I was ridiculously naive.) I continued earning those big fat F’s on my grade reports.

That Christmas, my grandfather gave me a lump of coal and a letter. In that letter, he told me that it was my birthright to be successful, and to turn away from that was only going to continue to bring me heartache.

More than ten years later, I still have that lump of coal.

When I start to feel like a failure and the dark fingers of depression reach for a hold inside my gut, I turn to my shiny little reminder of what I’m supposed to be. It’s not always a quick fix, but it’s definitely a tangible means of reinforcement.

These last two weeks, I was in danger of beginning another downward spiral. There was just way too much going on, and to top it all off, I was in pain every single day because I’d injured my knees trying to get in shape.

Day after day of constant physical pain will screw with your head. Hobbling around while trying to wrangle a toddler and an infant, attempting to keep the house from falling into shambles and dealing with being housebound because it hurt too badly to walk more than a few feet at a time added to the size of the large gray cloud that was following me everywhere.

I cried because I had to send my husband grocery shopping. I cried because I couldn’t stand walking up the stairs one more time. I cried because it was Tuesday.

I was beginning to get on my own nerves.

Then one night I was chatting on The Twitter with my friend Jacqui, and the subject of the lump of coal came up. I sent her a Twitpic and told her the story behind it.

Just holding it brought back memories from my early 20s, when nothing was going right and I was losing my grip.

It took the rest of the week and a few false starts before I’d mustered up enough strength to decide, meh, screw it. I vented on a blog post and took a whole damn Saturday to wallow in my misery, just slathering on every bit of boo hoo I could come up with.

Then Sunday morning I woke up, limped my sorry self to the grocery store, hobbled on back and spent the day cleaning every square inch of my filthy house. My hands stunk of bleach before the day was done, but this place sparkled like a palace. I folded mountains of laundry, managed to cook a meal that didn’t consist entirely of frozen, pre-prepared junk and then cleaned the kitchen again afterward.

I blogged, I played on the floor with my son, and I made at least 47 trips up and down the stairs.

At the end of the day, my knees barely registered any discomfort.

This morning, I was a little sore, but nothing like I’d been feeling for two weeks, which made me wonder: I’m sure the pain was physically manifested in the beginning, but how much of the lingering malaise was mental and emotional instead? How much of my self worth is attached to my level of productivity and achievement?

Anyway, I’m glad to be nearly back to 100%, and looking forward to getting my uncooperative body back on the running path this week. I know I need to be careful to not overdo it, and to be sure to add in some strength training for my needy knees. I used my awesome Dick’s Sporting Goods Klout Perk to order this hoodie, which I’m hoping will come with magical mood-lifting powers like my little lump of coal.

It would be awesome if it kept me warm, too. At the very least, I can tie it around my waist to cover up my jiggly butt as I get lapped by that determined PawPaw as he runs past me for the fifth time.

I can’t wait to get back out there.