Mine mine mine, all mine

despite my posturing, i do sometimes in fact cook me up a winner

Sometimes I actually like to cook.

I'm sure as Drew goes older and actually learns words other than "mine", "no" and "mamma", my enjoyment of cooking will diminish as he expresses his appreciation of my hard work with words such as "yuck", "gross" and the ever-popular "ewwww."

But for now, I can actually entice him to eat things that his father never imagined ever feeding a child of his loins.

Growing up in the rural South, Charles was served fried foods in abundance, and the primary vegetable of his childhood household was a potato. Usually fried in some manner.

Now, his stint on active duty for the Army taught him much appreciation for a wider array of cuisines. (please don't ever ask him what he ate in that restaurant in Seoul. you don't want to know) 

One of the things I love about him is his willingness to try new things. Since we've been married, I've served him such fare as couscous, peanut sauce and sushi (not all together, duh), and one time I went on a vegetarian kick for two weeks until he woke me up one morning at 3 a.m. and said, "Me. Need. Meat. Now. Me Go Kill Animal. Make Meat."

So it makes me happy to foist new dishes upon him, just to see his reaction, (here, try this raw fish wrapped in seaweed) and now, increasingly so, I'm intrigued by what Drew will and won't eat.

This week, Drew took an intense liking to, of all things, grilled zucchini. But he turned his nose up at grilled chicken. He adored parmesan couscous and sneered at the lemon grilled fish. He can't get enough of chocolate-chip rice cakes but he'll hurl a graham cracker to the floor in contempt.

I have, however, found what I think may be the world's most perfect springtime recipe. It's easy to make, it's healthy, the ingredients are minimal, both my husband and my child absolutely adore it, and, best of all, it makes absolutely fabulous leftovers for lunch the next day.

Because I am a wonderful human being who wants to do whatever I can to make your life easier, I will share the Perfect Spring Recipe with you, my dear readers.

It's called Angel Hair with Feta and Sun-Dried Tomatoes

Yes, it sounds kind of girly and frou-frou, and you're wondering if you'll ever get your husband to eat it.

That's easy. Don't tell him what's in it.

My husband professes a profound distaste for anything tomato. He grew suspicious when he saw bits of red in the dish, but I told him they were sweet peppers. He figured out pretty quickly that I was lying, but he still didn't know it had any kind of tomato in it.

Here's what you need:

• 1 (16 ounce) package angel hair pasta
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• 3 ounces sun-dried tomatoes
• 1 (8 ounce) package tomato basil feta cheese
• 1 cup grated Parmesan cheese
• 1 bunch fresh cilantro
• salt and pepper to taste

And here's what you do with it:

Cook the pasta as directed on the box and drain.
In a blender or food processor, lightly chop the sun-dried tomatoes and place them in a large bowl.
Put the feta in the blender or food processor and lightly mix until it's smooth.
Add to the tomatoes in the bowl.
Finally, add the cilantro to the blender or food processor and chop.
Add to the feta/tomato mixture in the bowl.
Place the drained pasta in the bowl and mix thoroughly with the feta/tomato/cilantro mixture.
Pour olive oil over and toss to coat. Top with grated parmesan and salt and pepper to taste.

That's it! It takes me about 20 minutes total to make this - which is just about the limit of time I'm willing to spend cooking anything.

Drew especially loves the tomatoes - he'll pick them out and eat them by themselves when he gets tired of the pasta.

Monday Madness

Monday Madness

Name 5 Things that:

Make you smile:
1. Drew saying "Nie nie" when I put him in bed.
2. Finding out that my sister Jennifer and her husband Paul are going to have a baby! Drew is getting a cousin!
3. A really kick-ass song on the radio - you know, the one you do the car-dance to, while passing motorists point and laugh. You know you've all done it. I've pointed and laughed at you.
4. Planting flowers that actually bloom into something beautiful instead of dying from dehydrated neglect.
5. Drew showing his anger at me by hurling his teddy bear to the floor and stomping on it. That'll show me, yes indeed.

You can see on your desk right now:
1. A half-empty can of Diet Coke. (the can of Diet Coke is always half empty, never half full.)
2. A bottle of Burt's Bees Milk & Honey Hand Lotion.
3. Approximately 213 pictures of Drew. Would that count as one item or 213 separate ones?
4. A leather camel. No, it's not a kinky sex toy. It's a...well...a camel. Made out of leather.
5. An ugly green lamp.

Kept you busy this weekend:
1. Trying to keep Drew from incurring additional scrapes.
2. Putting antiseptic on Drew's additional scrapes that were incurred anyway despite my diligent care.
3. Putting antiseptic on scrapes incurred by husband when he decided to weed the brambles beside our house while wearing shorts.
4. Buying more antiseptic.
5. Trying to plan a week-long menu that can consist primarily of ground beef, tuna fish, spaghetti and bread. (yes, it's a non-pay-week.)

You'll be doing this coming week:
1. Finally trying on my costume for the Georgia Renaissance Festival, where I volunteer with a Greyhound Adoption group. Please God, let it fit.
2. Finishing putting away the winter clothes and hanging up the spring clothes.
3. Probably something involving antiseptic.
4. Working some more on Drew's scrapbook.
5. Kissing Drew whenever I can hold him down long enough for him to let me.

You've said to make someone else smile:
1. "If I wasn't married to you, I'd think you were totally hot" - to my husband.
2. "Drew wants to talk to you" - on the phone, to my mother.
3. "You really should go hunting more often" - to my husband.
4. "You have the best cleavage ever" - to my friend Nan.
5. "Cookie?" - to Drew.

what first-aid kit?

Yesterday afternoon, I came to the sudden realization that we are woefully inadequately prepared to be parenting an active toddler.

Oh sure, we have plenty of diapers and a sturdy crib and lots of healthy snacks, which all heretofore have served us quite well in caring for our bundle of joy.

But yesterday, we concluded that we are sorely lacking in what, in all actuality, are probably the most essential ingredients for parenting a toddler.

Band-Aids.

We have no Band-Aids. Anywhere. We have nothing that even closely resembles a Band-Aid or that could suffice as a substitute for a Band-Aid. Not even scotch tape or duct tape or any kind of adhesive substance.

We became cognizant of our deficiency after Drew took a tumble.

At first glance, it appeared to be unnoteworthy as far as tumbles go. There were no great heights involved, nor were there any sharp objects present either in his hands or lodged firmly in his mouth waiting to choke him.

There were, however, two minor differences from his other tumbles - 1. He was wearing shorts. 2. He was running down the driveway at the time.

Obviously, this particular tumble resulted in Drew's very first scraped knee - the first of what I am sure will be thousands in his lifetime. I considered briefly taking a picture of it, but then decided that would be taking this scrapbooking thing just a wee bit beyond the boundaries of acceptable taste into something bordering on near-schizoid obsession.

We don't want that.

To his credit, Drew was quite the man about the whole incident. He pouted briefly, allowed me to hug him for 0.02 milliseconds, and then he ran off across the yard, heedless of the blood oozing from his knee.

Meantime, I began scouring our bathroom cabinets for first-aid supplies. After 10 minutes of drawer-slamming, I managed to find one desiccated tube of antibiotic ointment that was four years past its expiration date.

I ended up washing his scrape with plain soap and water, which disturbed him primarily because it involved him having to sit relatively still.

So now I guess it's time for a trip to the pharmacy to stock up on Band-Aids and ointments and Bactine. Perhaps some tiny knee pads, too.

this is why we had him

 

We used our long Easter weekend to thoroughly
indoctrinate our son as to what we expect of him.

Son, we said, you need to start pulling your own weight around here. Being cute and entertaining may suffice for a puppy, but we humans have to work for a living.

Upon completion of his painstaking task,
we rewarded him with bunny-shaped marshmallows...

And stuffed animals...

And then we allowed him a brief rest.

Notice the sugar-induced glaze in his eyes. Think we gave him too many marshmallows?

I could pretend that these pictures were all taken at my house, and that yes, I do have a perfectly landscaped and manicured lawn just like that, but alas, dear readers, I cannot mislead you.

This is merely my summer vacation home.

Also known as my parents' house.

meh, what's 15 pounds?

So. While blowing off work and surfing the Internet  diligently applying myself to a work-related online task, I found this nifty little website called My Virtual Model, in which one may create an avatar of oneself using one's own measurements and then virtually try on clothes from a variety of stores.

It's like shopping without the bright, show-off-every-bulge-and-pucker dressing room lights, and without having to actually take off any clothes or look at yourself in a mirror in any way.

The problem is, there's quite a tendency to...well...um...cheat.

I mean, really, my waist isn't that big...is it? I could just trim off a couple of inches and nobody would ever even know, right? And my boobs. They could stand to be a bit bigger. All it takes is the click of a mouse and I can have the 36-Cs I always wanted! Trim an inch off the thighs...add another inch to the bustline...there. Perfect.

Of course, now I can't use the virtual model for its real purpose, which supposedly is to get an idea of how the clothes would actually look on me. You know. The real live small-chested, had-a-baby-waisted me.

Here is Virtual Amy, with my true-to-life measurements. Yes. My hair really is that perfect. Don't be jealous.

For comparison purposes, on the right is me after "losing" 15 pounds.

Is it my imagination or is there no difference whatsoever?

So why, therefore, am I denying myself chocolate cookies? For what? If I squint, I can maybe...MAYBE...see an infintesimally small difference in the circumference of her thighs.

Certainly not enough to warrant cookie abstinence.

See how handy this little tool is? I just saved myself countless hours of needless suffering.

And, just to make myself feel even better, here's me right after I gave birth to Drew:

Wow. Check out that butt. You could park a Volvo on it.

And yet...my hair is still perfect, even after major abdominal surgery and much leakage of various bodily fluids.

Oh, sorry. I digress.

So, see how far I've come in only...(counts on fingers...) 18 months?

Surely I deserve a cookie.

A quicky

First, a haiku:

Flowers in Springtime
My nose doth runneth over
Claritin sucks hard

---------------------

And now, a meme, from my dear friend Nan:

Go to Wikipedia and look up your birthday (excluding the year). List three neat facts, two births and one death in your journal, including the year.

November 4:

Three neat facts:
Since I was born in the first week of November, my birthday falls on election day every so often. No, I won't count how often this happens. Do it yourself.
1) 1884 - U.S. presidential election, 1884: Democrat Grover Cleveland defeats Republican James G. Blaine in a very close contest to win the first of his two non-consecutive terms.
2) 1952 - U.S. presidential election, 1952: Republican Dwight D. Eisenhower defeats Democrat Adlai Stevenson.
3) 1980 - U.S. presidential election, 1980: Republican challenger Ronald Reagan defeats incumbent Democrat Jimmy Carter by a wide margin.

Two births:
1) 1969 - Matthew McConaughey, American actor (yummy! now I have a conversation starter, you know, in case I bump into him.)
2) 1946 - Laura Bush, First Lady of the United States

One death:
1995 - Yitzhak Rabin, Prime Minister of Israel, recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize (assassinated) (b. 1922)

More tomorrow!

thank god for psychiatrists

Yes, I fell off the map for a bit there.

Nobody told me that selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor antidepressants like Lexapro could just suddenly poop out on me, after five years of faithful service, leaving me a crying, lumpy, sodden mass of fatigue.

So after two weeks of denial and another week of trying to find a damn psychiatrist who would actually see me NOW and not in a month after I've already been committed to the asylum, I'm starting to feel somewhat more human.

Basically, I paid the doc a $30 co-pay to tell me to start taking two pills a day instead of just one. But it seems to be working so far - it's been a week and I'm noticing some small improvements. Enough improvement to get me to get off my ass and start posting again.

I figure I will start small, and work my way back up to my former magnificence.

Allow me, then, to briefly share with you Drew's new favorite word.

Are you ready for it?

I bet you can guess what it is.

Let's see, he's 18 months old. He's square in the throes of toddlerdom and only half a year from two.

So, therefore, his current favorite word is..."no."

He says "no" to everything, even things he likes, such as baths, chocolate and sippy cups full of milk.

He doesn't say it meanly, or even brazenly or stubbornly. He says it as if he's tasting something new and interesting, usually with a grin on his face.

"Drew, it's time for bath! Look! Your rubby ducky is waiting for you!"

Grin. Giggle. Naked baby dance.

"No!"

Giggle giggle giggle.

It's really hard to take his defiance seriously.

The plan for the weekend WAS supposed to be working in the yard, which desperately needs TLC. My parents WERE supposed to come up to help us, as tending a large yard and a defiant toddler at the same time is, let's face it, way beyond my still-fragile capabilities at this point. And Charles is about ready to leave us both on the side of some backcountry logging road while he makes a break for freedom, so I'm not about to ask him to handle the yard all by himself.

However, checked weather.com, and wouldn't you just know it. The only damn day it's supposed to rain for the next seven damn days is tomorrow - the only day my parents could come up to help us. I told my mom I'm about to just give up, throw gravel over the whole thing and call it a parking lot.

Could be just the medication adjustment, though. Maybe.