Halloween Haiku

Halloween is too

loud and crowded and sticky

despite the candy

Never liked it much

even as a kid, and a

chubby one at that

I know I should put

on a show for my kids' sake

but I don't, I won't

Because I hate it

Maybe, probably 'cause I

couldn't get a date.

Amen.

A Snapshot

So, I'm giving the vegetables about five more minutes to roast.  The kids are at the kitchen table with their homework.  I'm at the stove with my wine.  All is as it should be.

S:  Mom, want to hear a chemistry joke?
Me:  Sure.
S: I would tell you a good chemistry joke, but all the good ones are gone.

Wait for it.  Argon?

And she gets offended when we tease her about band.

Wow.

I Am A Bad-ass

Ghastly IPhone lighting, but still.
Impressive, right?

So, early last week, I made a cake.  From scratch.  As in flour, butter, eggs, the whole shebang.  And it was awesome.  Cream cheese buttercream.  Lemon curd filling (more on that later).  Almonds on the side to cover up the really hideous frosting job. And it was awesome.  Not everyone liked the cream cheese frosting.  Not everyone liked the lemon curd.  Not everyone had a leftover piece at lunch and at dinner for three days.  What?

And then later last week, T and I finally made the leap into the cash-only-everything-accounted-for-beans-and-rice-hard-core-like-when-we-lived-in-an-Airstream-trailer-because-we-had-no-money budget process that we like to call getting ready to pay for college.  And let me tell you that every $18 purchase you ever made because it was only $18 makes you feel really, really stupid.  It is amazing how much money I was spending on absolutely nothing.  They were nothings that I thought I really wanted/needed, but they were nothings nonetheless.  So, in less than a week, I have become an obsessive, miserly shrew. "No, you can't have new Vans, we don't get clothing money until November 9." "Okay, I've bought five bags of candy for Halloween, but we're only opening them one at a time.  I need the $7.50 if we can return the ones we don't use."  I'm not wearing this at all well.  Financial discipline is not my color.

But the short of this long story is that the budget COMBINED with this project is turning me into some kind of Depression era loony, as if the massive amount of canned goods in my pantry weren't enough evidence.  The cake recipe called for 5 eggs -- one whole and four whites.  Now, I buy the organic eggs from chickens with beaks and access to sunshine.  It's important to me, not as much to others.  I don't judge.  I merely point this out because those eggs are almost $5 a dozen, which translates to roughly 41 cents per egg.  Which means that for the four eggs that I'm only using the whites for is a waste of 82 cents, if you assume that the white is half the egg.  And 82 cents is almost a refill of a Diet Coke at the Sac-N-Pac.  I just couldn't let that kind of waste happen.  It is also possible that I desperately need a job.

So, unlike Washington, I took steps to achieve full utilization.  I made lemon curd.  And no ordinary lemon curd, either.  I made Martha Stewart's lemon curd.  Now, this link isn't the exact recipe in the original bible that is the 1995 Martha Stewart Cookbook (don't hate), but it's close.  And if I were better at math, I could actually verify that it's the same recipe increased by a third.  Potato, potato-ah.  It was good.  Dangerously good.  Heart-attack good.

And this isn't even why I am a bad-ass.  Can you believe it?  All of above was performed in the line of duty as part of my job as amazing, freaky, wheat bread and granola, no-baggies, composting mom.  It doesn't even count.

I am a bad-ass because I discovered today that if you stir one little teaspoon of lemon curd into your low fat Greek yogurt, which you don't even like but are required to eat because you get no dairy and therefore no calcium and because you need the protein, it transforms said yogurt into a culinary masterpiece of untold delight.  And I have convinced myself that such a little tiny bit of cholesterol-laden, sweetened fat droplets is totally okay.

If I'm wrong, I don't want to be right.

Happy

I am not someone who always recognizes happy when she sees it.  As a Type A perfectionist, there's always something that could have been better or faster or more efficient.  But today, right now, I feel happy.  My husband is kind and funny.  My kids are well-adjusted and successful.  And not here.  Even better.  But I'll be so, so happy to hear about the tennis tournament when they get back.

Today was one of those days when I got a lot done.  Nothing major, just the 35 little piddly things that have been hovering over my to-do list for ages.  Things like putting recipes torn from newspaper and already-covered-in-soy-sauce-and-what-looks-like-bread-dough into binders, finishing up some leftover laundry, dishes done, homemade bread made, east side flower bed tilled, weeded, and mulched.  I feel great.  It may look on the outside like a manic-depressive on a tear, but I know you're not a licensed psychologist.

And it's early fall in Texas.  There's nothing else like it anywhere.  One beer, seven neighbors.  As I walked back home for dinner, I realized how blessed my life is. I'm just going to sit back and enjoy it.

Happy Fall!

Why Nothing Gets Done

So, I went out to get my mail one day last week.  Now, I can say in all honesty that I am not very good at picking up the mail.  In fact, I usually stink at it.  As in, I don't pick it up.  The reason for that is there are two things that come in the mail:  trouble and junk.  The former I have enough of in the person of caterpillars, weeds, hard water residue, and muscle stiffness.  The latter makes me fearful for the future of the planet and therefore, crazy.

BUT.  I have been trying to be better about the mail.  Because T. has enough to do without sorting out the wheat from the chaff, so to speak.  So, I went and got the mail every day last week.  And last Tuesday, this was what I got.  This is ONE DAY'S mail.

The stack on the left:  junk mail.  The stack in the middle:  the worst kind of junk mail, the ones with the plastic envelopes that don't recycle. The stack on the right:  mail, as in one magazine, one bill, one coupon, and one check.  Four items out of what had to be 25 were actual, real mail.  When I think of the time I spend going through it all, I feel sick.  When I think of the trees, I feel murderous.

So, this week, I am taking a stand.  You should to.  Here's a great website to get you (me) started.
http://www.41pounds.org

Declutter this.

Reality Check

G has been hit with the reality that is junior year.  She was really freaked out over the summer about the  number of AP and preAP classes (5).  She was really freaked out about AP Spanish IV because she's "luckily" scored the two easiest Spanish teachers for Spanish II and III, which is great when you're in it.  It's not so great when you hit Spanish IV with the rest of the kids who are actually ready for Spanish IV.  Surprisingly, though, this year has been pretty easy for her.  She's had homework, sure.  Some late-ish nights.  But all-in-all, she's had time to watch a little TV, hang with friends, compulsively clean her room.  All the usual things.

You know how life doesn't always space things out for you?  T had the worst June I've ever seen when he had two several hundred-page documents due for work.  Any week that grades were due were inevitably paired with multiple roadblocks, development days, and computer snafus.  It just happens.  And you have to take those weeks as they come, do your best, and move on.

This year, I've been very intentional about how I parent my older child.  I am trying very hard to pull back and let her make her own decisions.  For those of you who know me, you can stop laughing now.  I really am succeeding fairly well with this.  Because I have to.  Because in two years, she'll be gone.  She'll be at a wonderful school, having wonderful experiences, but she'll still be gone.  So she's got to learn to self-direct, self-manage, and self-soothe.  And she's done quite well with that so far.  She has really supportive teachers, and the things that she really feared have not come to pass.

Until now.   And her luck ran out in Spanish IV.  They had a quiz this week.  She stayed up until 12:30 studying for the quiz.  She made a 0.  As in ZERO.  Nada.  Nadie.  Zilch.  I don't even know how to process that.  She said that most of the non-native speakers made 0s, 5s, and 15s.  The native speakers made 25s.  Putting aside the argument that if scores are that low, it might be a teacher issue rather than a student issue, but still.  It's demoralizing.  And scary.  And I hurt for her.  And no matter how much I tell her that I know that she is working hard, she frets.  It makes the next assignment that much more important.  And it's due tomorrow.  And that doesn't include the pre-Cal test.  Or the AP History test.  Both of which are also tomorrow.

And as much as I want to run in and call the teacher and schedule the tutoring for her, that's not what will help her in the long run.  She will get there.  She will be okay.  She will leave me to make her own way in the world.  And sometimes it will be hard.  Failure and struggle are often much more educational than success.  And that's a lesson that I have no control over.

But it still sucks.

Dear Ina,

Okay.  I'm back.  And I'm sorry.  It seems like having no actual job would make it easier to sit your ass down and write, but apparently  I'm wrong. I've made a shitload of notes.  I've started some stories, but other things got in the way.  I'll start filling in the gaps as I can, but tonight, it's time for a love letter to Ina.  Because, let's face it, only Ina can bring you back from the depths of writer's block (or laziness.  Whatever. You say potato).

Dear Ina, 

I love you.  There, I said it.  You probably already knew that since I cook from your books and link to your recipes way more than anyone else.  But I love you more than that.  I love that all your recipes come out looking just like they do in the book.  I love it that you DEMAND that people enjoy themselves while cooking, that you insist that I buy some parts of my dinner party and focus on some really good food.  I love that you've been married to your high school sweetheart for 44 years.  

And mostly, I love it that you're a little chubby.  I love it a lot.  Because no one that likes food and wine as much as we do (see how I called us "we"?) is going to look like Giada.  All due respect to her, but sister ain't really eating all that pasta, if you know what I mean.  I love it that you're real, and that you make fun of yourself.  And I really, really, really love your Basil Chicken Hash, which BOTH of my children ate the shit out of tonight.

Love,
Me