Hilary

So two guys walk into physical therapy. . .

Monday was my first day of physical therapy for my ankle. Let me tell you, I have been looking forward to this for a long time. Then let me say, man, did I do a number on myself! I mean, I realized that recovery was going to be slow going following surgery and the soft splint. And then the hard cast. And then the boot. And then finally getting rid of the crutches. I had no idea just to what extent I had lost muscle and mobility until I was asked to do a few things sans la botte.

I’m laying on my stomach, my feet dangling off the end of the therapy table and I can feel my calf muscle of my injured leg just give up the ghost. I can’t really describe how unnerving that is. It’s like this: Ladies, you ever take your bra off after a long day? Then you lay down in your comfy clothes and your boobs slide like two fried eggs up under your armpits? Yeah, my calf muscle is kind of like that now.

*le sigh*

Anyway, before that great realization took place, I spent about ten or fifteen minutes in the waiting room before my appointment. Already seated were two older fellows who, by the sound of their conversation, were familiar to one another. They kind of reminded me of these guys:

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The waiting room was small and I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. It just tickled me so, I had to share. They both had these super thick Southern accents which made everything they said that much more entertaining. So Statler starts telling Waldorf about how he watched his infant granddaughter while his daughter (dotta) and wife (why-fuh). went out. Here’s what happened?

Dotta: How’d ya do?

Statler: Purty good, ’til Ah had to chay-unge her die-puh! Ah couldn’t find a die-pug peen!

Dotta: Die-puh peen! They haven’t used those in twenty ye-uhs!

Statler: Well no wonder Ah couldn’t find one! Good thing Ah had this here duct tape.

Dotta: You wouldn’t day-uh!

And then Statler and Waldorf both cracked up, just like on the Muppet Show!

Then they moved onto heart attacks.

Seriously. No segue, nothing. Waldorf just launched into, “So, after my second heart attack, I had lost lost 30 pounds because Ah couldn’t swallah. Ah had to eat with a fork in one hand and a glass a woe-tuh in the otha.”

Not to be outdone, Statler says, “Ah can just look at someone and gain weight!” Now, I have never, EVER, heard a man, let alone a full grown old man talk about his weight. Especially not how he can look at someone and gain weight. That sounds like it would be more appropriate coming out of the mouth of his “dotta” or his “why-fuh”.

Next topic of discussion was church, which segued into jokes about death and dying. I’m serious. These two were in rare form. They had to have heard me snickering because the whole situation was just so ridiculous. Here are several of the jokes I was able to remember:

So, a cat dies and goes to heaven. He meet St. Peter at the pearly gates and St. Peter says, “Welcome to Heaven. Whatever you would like to have, just say it and it’ll be yours. So the cat says, “Welp, I’d like a place where there are no kids. Kids were pulling on my tail and my ears my whole life. So no kids. I’d a soft, warm place to sleep and plenty to eat.”

St. Peter says, “No problem. Right this way.” He takes the cat to his little corner of heaven and goes back to the gate. Shortly thereafter, a bunch of mice come up to heaven and up to the gate. St. Peter greets them just as enthusiastically as he did the cat. He asks them what they’d like. The mice confer amongst themselves and decide they’d like a place that is free of mouse traps. They ask St. Peter if they could have some roller skates for their feet because they’re tired from all the running around they did. St. Peter agrees.

Some time goes by and St. Peter goes to check on how everyone is doing. He starts with the Cat.

“How are things, Cat?” asks St. Peter.

“Oh, everything is wonderful!” says the cat. “I feel great. I have a great place to sleep and those meals on wheels were a nice touch!”

*ba-dum-tish!*

Wait, there’s more!

So this woman dies and goes to heaven. St. Peter meets her at the pearly gates (SN: this is a recurring them with Statler and Waldorf, evidently). St. Peter says to her that before he lets her in, she has to spell a word. The woman is confused by the odd request, but she agrees. St. Peter asks her to spell the word “God”.

“G-O-D.” spells the woman.

“Excellent, ” says St. Peter. “Welcome to Heaven. Now listen, I have to run an errand right quick, and I need you to watch the gate for a second. I don’t expect anyone to show up, but just in case, here’s what you do. When they get here, ask them to spell any word of your choosing. If they get it right, they can come right in. If they get it wrong, send on down below. I’ll just be gone a second.” And off he goes.

No sooner does St. Peter disappear does the woman’s husband show up at the pearly gates.

“What are you doing here?!” she asks him.

“Well, I was celebrating your death. I threw out all of your clothes. I sold all of your jewelry and I took shovel to your prize flower bed. I got so carried away, my heart gave out.”

“Well,” says the woman, “you have to spell a word to get into Heaven.”

“Okay, what word?”

“Chrysanthemum.”

*ba-dum-tish!*

By that point, my name had been called for therapy. All I could do was shake my head and stifle my giggles. I hope they’re back in the waiting room when I go today. If not, there’s always the original!

IN: ON: November 8, 2012 TAGS: funny stuff, random BY: Hilary

Lady Products

This past week-end, the family took a road trip to Northern Virginia to visit with friends. We got a late start leaving the house as the morning was a frenetic mash-up of gymnastics, laundry, and cleaning. I would much rather put in the work on the front end so the only mess I’ve got when I get home is whatever is in the suitcase.

Anyway, the trip to NOVA was going along pretty well until we hit Garrionsville on 95. Then everything just stopped. I mean there were brake lights as far as the eye could see and no discernible reason as to the cause. I can’t call our forward movement “rolling along” because that would imply that there was some kind of forward movement. There wasn’t any.

Miraculously, all of the girls were quiet and entertained. I had a book and the hubs was behind the wheel, plumes of smoke curling out from his ears as he white knuckled the steering wheel, silently imploring the traffic to just vanish so we could zip up the road. He and I both had a a sense of déja vu; four years ago, we were trying to get up to NOVA for an event, this time leaving from Norfolk. We crept along and crept along before the traffic came to an excruciating halt right around Williamsburg. It had taken us 2 hours to go exactly 45 miles. By the time the traffic cleared (if it did at all), we’d have missed the event anyway. So, we detoured to the ‘burg, showed the girls the campus and had a very enjoyable Plan B.

Fast forward to the present: things were looking strangely familiar. Rather than sit on that road to nowhere or bust a U-turn and head home, the hubs took the next available exit. We rolled through towns that literally had one traffic light. There were more cows lolling on grassy hillocks than there were signs for McDonald’s, Starbucks, or Panera. Oh the humanity!

We drove a handful of miles before coming through into civilization and (praise be!) a Super Target. SUPER TARGET!! Sweet fancy moses, that thing is ah-may-zing! To the Target so everyone could have a potty break and a snack break! The hubs took Vivi to the snack bar for her bottle and I took the girls with me to the ladies room.

Normally, when we go to a public bathroom, there are enough stalls for each of us to do our business in private. Unfortunately, we caught the Super Target bathrooms during their hourly cleaning. The only available bathroom was the family restroom. No big deal; we use that one all the time.

The girls and I go in. I take their jackets and my bag and toss it onto the baby changing table. I remind them to line the seats and to wipe properly. I’m trying to distract them because I really don’t want them all up in my business. See, I had some feminine products I need to make use of and I was really too tired to explain the who, what, and why of it all.

As I palmed a Tampax into my pocket, ol’ eagle eye Co says, “Hey! Mom, what’s that?!”

“What’s what?” I ask, trying to camouflage my little bag of stuff in my coat pocket.

“That thing! That thing you just pulled out of your sleeve.”

At this point, I’m trying to re-line the seat so I can go, and also trying to re-direct them to the sink so she can wash her hands. I’m so busy issuing commands (Use soap! Don’t use that much soap! Use the paper towel, not your sweater! Don’t open the door! Don’t you see I’m on the toilet?!), I almost miss Mo enlighten her sister by saying, “I know what those are! Those are tampoons! They’re lady products that come out of the wall.”

And then the two of them proceed to stand next to each other and watch me while I wrangled said “tampoon” from point A to point B, using my coat as a stragically placed lap shield. At the conclusion of that educational experience, they turned to each other like this:

“Hey, so long as she knows what she’s doing.”

Next time, I’m insisting that the hubs take them in the bathroom with him! I can hear it now: “Mom, did you know they giant Sweet Tarts in the mens wall toilet?!” blechhhh!

IN: ON: November 6, 2012 TAGS: fall, funny stuff, my girls BY: Hilary

recipes

Recipe Friday

Yum, yum, yum. Yum, yum, yum.

Sorry, I get a little excited when I’ve got something good going on in my belly.
I just had my umpteenth Tall Nonfat Salted Caramel Mocha from Starbucks.

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It was so good, I’m doing a little dance in my chair here and “Oh, Happy Day!” is spooling in my head. I’m a little more than obsessed with this drink, which is perplexing on so many levels. I didn’t really start drinking coffee until we were gifted with a Keurig two years ago. Even then, I was strictly a Donut House Decaf kind of coffee drinker. After several coffee talks with other moms at Starbucks, I started getting more adventurous. Enter the Mocha Frappuccino Light. A delicious cold drink, but once the fall hit and all things pumpkin went into effect, it became the Pumpkin Frappuccino Light. As the temps dropped, I moved onto something warmer and here we have my current obsession. I never thought I’d be “one of those people” who trolls around for Starbucks. Alas, here I am. It’s to the point where this should have been the girls costumes for Halloween.

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Gah! How cute is that?! Not as cute as Mo, Co and Vivo, but still, pretty close. This year for Halloween, the girls decided early that they wanted to be Cleopatra (Mo) and a Greek Goddess (Co). They put their heads together with their grandma and came up with some extraordinary designs. It was all systems go for yet another fashion-tastic Halloween. The 31st rolled around, but the costumes hadn’t arrived. My mother-in-law worked diligently on them, late into the night for several nights, I know. She mailed them overnight express on 29th, but in the wake of Hurricane Sandy, the box never left the shipping center.

I had a feeling that with Sandy raging up the coast, things might not work out the way the girls had hoped. Talk about a teachable moment, trying to explain to the girls how the effects of the hurricane are so far reaching. We turned on the news and they were able to see the devastation that Sandy wrought on New York and New Jersey. I haven’t lived in New Jersey in over 15 years, but I felt like I’d been punched in the gut seeing what remained of the shore.

It was a sobering conversation for sure, but we managed to turn things around because when you have little girls, chances are there is an abundance of dress up clothes lying around. Sure enough, Mo and Co were able to resurrect some princess costumes, throw on some wigs and a bit of lip gloss to go trick-or-treating. They had a great time, scored a ton of candy, and even had quite a bit left over after I took out my trick-or-treat tax. The next day, the postman delivered the box and we had another Halloween celebration.

Cleopatra

Greek Goddess

Co, Vivo-Bee, and Mo

The costumes are awesome; I really think my mother-in-law needs her own shop on Etsy or something. I’m thinking that next year, we may have to do a group thing like each of us go as a character from The Wizard of Oz or Scooby Doo or something because I’m kinda thinking that I want to dress up!

Anyway, earlier this week, I gave you guys a preview of yet another food goodie that I’d whipped up: Pancake cups! Yes, I have Pinterest to thank for this, although, I do wonder why when I look at the cupcake tin, all I see are cupcakes instead of endless possibilities. Seriously, it’s like I just can’t see past those little paper lined wells. It’s a cupcake tin! Must make cupcakes! In truth, there are way more things you can make. Here’s a smattering of ideas, and I’m doing it off the top of my head (not off of Pinterest, though I’m sure there’s an influence at work).

1. Lasagna cups (which I have made and were delicious)

2. Bacon, egg and toast cups

3. Fruit filled ice cubes — I cut up some lemon slices, some orange slices, and some key lime slices. I floated the fruit in the wells, added more water and froze them. Looks good in a glass, though beware of the key lime slices. They kind of turned a weird shade of green and my mom thought I had put a frozen pickle slice in her iced tea.

4. Macaroni and Cheese cups – me + cheese? nope, but I’d make it for someone else.

5. Mini Turkey Meatloaves – I did make these and while it worked out well, the recipe for the turkey meatloaf was pretty blech. Meatloaf need meat, like the moo kind of meat.

6. Mini chicken pot pies

7. Taco cups

8. Cookie Dough Cups filled with Pudding topped with Sliced Strawberries

9. Ice Cream Balls — so easy and your guests will be very impressed when you whip out these balls (heh!) at dessert time. Buy a gallon of your favorite ice cream and let it soften a bit. Line your cupcake tin with your decorative liners and then drop a scoop of ice cream into each well. Pop it in the freezer. At dessert time, you’ve got single servings of ice cream and you don’t have to wrestle with the scooper and container!

and one non-food item:

10. Take all the broken down crayons you’ve got lying around. Peel off the wrappers, fill up the cupcake wells part way and melt them down. When they cool, you’ve got a jumbo, multi-colored crayon!

Ta-da! So, that pancake cups.

(can’t get much easier than this)

Pancake Cups (found on here)

1. Use your favorite mix

2. Pour into muffin tins

3. Add fruit, nuts, sausage, bacon…

4. Bake 350 for 12-14 min.

Personally, I like the bacon topped pancake cups because you get a little sweet and a little salty at the same time. As for the pancake mix, get as fancy as you like. We had Hungry Jack in the pantry and you just add water. Get your Bisquick, you Aunt Jemima, or whatever. Get as fancy as you like and add vanilla extract, pumpkin butter, whatever. Have fun and be sure to save one for me!

Happy Friday, y’all!

IN: recipes ON: November 2, 2012 TAGS: baking, cooking, dress-up, fall, food, om nom nom, pinterest, recipes BY: Hilary

A Response

The other day, I read an article over at Mommyish by Carinn Jade entitled “I Lost By Baby Weight In Three Weeks But I’m Still Not Comfortable In My Post-Baby Body.” By the time I finished the last paragraph, I felt like I could have written that article myself. Not that I lost any baby weight from any of the girls in the three weeks, but I could strongly relate to the author’s feeling that her outward appearance was not in sync with her inner self. I started commenting at the end of the article, but it turned into something more.

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When I first saw this quote, I thought, “EXACTLY!” Ugh! I was so disrespectful to my pre-baby body. I have been disrespectful to it for a long time. I went to an all girls high school, where unbeknownst to probably everyone, I never felt like I fit in. Of a class of 66, I was one of three Black girls. Being Black made me stand apart from the other 63 classmates who weren’t. Being a fair-skinned separated me even further from the two other girls of my race. Let me explain: I doubt the other two girls had to defend their paternity to our history teacher during Black History month. My teacher declared that my father had to be white because:

1. He has green eyes.
2. She saw him. –> her actual quote, “He must be white! I’ve seen him!”

Oh, okay. Thanks that dollop of mortification on top of my precarious confidence.

High school is hard enough with fluctuating hormones and constantly trying to find your place in the ebb and flow of the social hierarchy. Back then, I felt very obvious. That made me continuously see ways in which I was lacking. I wasn’t the crush of the right boy. I didn’t have the right hair. I didn’t wear the right size; whatever it was, it was bigger (in my eyes) than everyone else. Everything just wasn’t right. When it came to sports, activities and school-work, I threw myself into it. That was something I knew and I could do. Self-confidence about being a teenage girl was elusive. I was grasping for something that I thought could be conferred on my by someone else.

When I thumb through my yearbooks, I look at myself and think about the time I wasted. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed high school. There were dances, proms, holiday brunches, sleep-overs and the like. There were plenty of distractions to pull my attention from cataloging my perceived deficits. Besides, the list was private; I’m sure if any of my classmates were reading this now, they’d be surprised. I realize now, how much more fun I could have had instead of wasting time thinking about how to be cuter or prettier or (and I’ll admit it) skinnier. I should have been nicer to myself, but since I can’t change that, I can change how nice I am to who I am now.

I worked hard to get to a place where I was comfortable enough to not have my body be my own for nine months. I worked hard to get back to that place after each of the girls were born. With every subsequent pregnancy, there was almost an implicit challenge among other pregnant women and moms about how quickly one could shed the baby weight. We were all (and continue) to compete against one another for a prize that doesn’t exist.

Think about all the scrutiny that surrounded Jessica Simpson and her never-ending gestation. When she did have her little girl, all eyes turned to the scale and the ticking clock perched above it. The sooner a woman loses weight after giving birth, the bigger a hero she becomes.

When Beyonce popped out Blue Ivy (if you didn’t believe the pillow conspiracies) and popped up on a date night a few weeks later looking better than she had before, you could hear the collective groan from the mommy-verse. She set the bar way high for the rest of us, came the refrain. But did she really? I don’t think she turned to Jay-Z and said, “You know what? I’mma make it rain on these broads. Ka-Pow!” Don’t even get me started on the Victoria Secret Triumvirate that is Adriana Lima, Alessandra Ambrosio, and Miranda Kerr. The bottom-line is it’s their job to look good.

My job? Keep the kids alive and if they become worldly, well-rounded, well-adjusted, contributing adults, consider that a bonus.

I kid, of course. My job is more complicated than that.

My pre-baby weight is gone, but so is my pre-baby body. There’s a difference between the two. I’m grieving the loss of the body way more than the weight. It’s not a death sentence, though. Sure, I’d prefer that some things be where they used to be (or at least a little bit higher) and that other things would be more firm, less poochy. Things have settled differently; it happened after Mo, it happened after Co, it happened after Vivi.

Because I’m aware of how my body has changed, I’ve always dressed it appropriately. I’m not going to squeeze myself into two sizes two small just because I can pull it up, close the clasps, and zip the zipper. And I’ll admit it, I’ve got Spanx — multiple pairs (would that be Spanxes? Spanxi?). Whenever someone would tell me how wonderful I was looking, I would immediately explain it away with something like, “Oof! You wouldn’t believe the scaffolding I’ve got going on under here!”

I felt like I didn’t deserve the compliment. I didn’t want another woman to feel less than because of how she saw me. I wanted that woman to know, “Hey! It’s a facade! I’m still ten shades of crazy and everything jiggles when I walk. My boobs must be having an affair with my belly button because when I take my bra off, that’s where they go to hang out!”

But I couldn’t say that. I had to be like the Great Danton and maintain the illusion. I felt like I was the only person who was doing so — then I read Carinn Jade’s article. She said,

“In clothes, everything superficially looks the same. This mistakenly prompts people to remark “you look fantastic!” or “I can’t believe you’ve had two kids!” It’s always nice to receive a compliment but this one feels more like a jab. The truth? I am so uncomfortable with this new body. Other mothers tell me how lucky I am to look the way I do. What they see on the outside doesn’t match what I feel on the inside. They assume I am confident, that I don’t struggle somehow — because I’ve dropped the baby weight? The truth is I am confident about very little since becoming a mother.”

Hah! I’m not alone! I could have kissed her after I read that! Who among us knows what we’re doing with absolute certainty? I don’t. I’m doing the best I can with what I know how. I’m relying on my own experience as a daughter, folding in tidbits that I glean from parenting books and magazines and conversations with others. Do I get it right all the time? Nope. Do I get it right some of the time? I certainly try.

When I was trying to get back into shape after Vivi, Mo saw my Weight Watchers foodstuffs in the pantry and the fridge. She asked me why she couldn’t eat it, why was it only for me. Hello, teachable moment. So I told her how my body grew to make room for Vivi, to ensure Vivi would be healthy and strong. I told her that now that Vivi was out and about, I didn’t need to carry this extra weight around any more. She seemed satisfied with that answer, but also told me that I needed to share the snacks.

When I was pregnant with each of the girls, every night I would pray that they would have all of my strengths and none of my weaknesses. As I would roll those words around my mind, I could readily call up weaknesses I wanted them to avoid. Over time, I decided I needed to call up the strengths instead. I have to inoculate my girls against low self-esteem. I have to boost their self-worth, remind them that it’s not tied to a number on a scale, a number in their jeans, the length of their hair, the color of their eyes or the color of their skin. They will learn to take a compliment, not explain it away. I can’t guarantee that these things will happen, but I can pray that they will. Often times one wry word from an outsider can tear down these ministrations, but I will build them back up. And when they see me do that for them, they will learn to do it for themselves and each other.

That’s my job, and it begins with me.

IN: ON: October 31, 2012 TAGS: honesty, my girls, self-esteem BY: Hilary

Oh, Sandy

So, the hatches have been battened down. The electronic devices have been fully charged. The pantry and fridge have been stocked and the perishables cooked up to nosh on throughout the impending weather fiasco.

Hurricane Sandy is coming to town. Also dubbed, “Frankenstorm”, the “Perfect Storm”, and “Hurricane 2012”, unless you’ve been living under a rock, you know that Mother Nature has been churning up a doozy of a weather system to bring the majority of the eastern seaboard to its knees.

It’s not like I’ve never experienced a hurricane before. I can vividly recall Hurricanes Andrew, Hugo, Katrina, Gaston, and Irene. This is the first time, however, that I have ever been expertly outfitted and prepared. Oh, look at me, all grown up! Maybe my maternal instincts are kicking in — better late than never — or my pre-disposition to Darwin, but either way, when news of Sandy’s imminent arrival became more and more prevalent across social media, I was patting myself on the back for having my little bitty shiggity together.

Last year, with Irene, we went out and got a few things, but we weren’t prepared for the impact that was several days without power and hot water. We were able to snag a generator and keep the fridge going, as well as power up the computers so the girls could remain ~~alive~~ entertained. Still, after coming through it, I told the hubs that I was going to put together an emergency hurricane kit. Call it forewarning, but several weeks before Irene mad landfall, there had been an extensive article in Parents magazine about disaster preparedness. I tore it out, filed it with some other things that I had planned to get to, and then promptly forgot about it until the school closings were rolling across the bottom of the television screen. By that point, it was too late to do anything, but jump headlong into the fray to try to score whatever remnants of batteries, water and bread could be had.

Following the return to normalcy, I set out armed with my article. I purchased a new can opener, a variety of canned goods whose expiration dates I cataloged. I bought wipes, plastic utensils, matches, rain gear, Pop-Tarts, and assorted other non-perishable, essential items to fill a big ol’ rubber maid tub. This past Friday, as the frenzy started kicking in, I pulled out the tote for an inventory. I think we’ve got batteries from A to Z, matches, a first-aid kit and an extra land-line phone. My father-in-law was kind enough to grab extra water, an additional loaf of bread and some formula for Vivi. I think we’ve got everything covered. The car is gassed up, the grill has been pulled in, and now it’s just a waiting game.

Yesterday morning, the sky was overcast and it was day that called for a really comfy type of breakfast or a hearty stew, possibly both. I had been feeling crafty as of late and decided to make some pancake cups (come back on Friday for the full story).

Mmmm. . .bacon, nuts, chocolate chips. . .

So good, so easy and so very quickly consumed. I figured, the dark clouds were gathering, time to belly up to the fridge and make sure stuff doesn’t go to waste. Friends of ours had the same thought and they came by with enough provisions to feed a small army.

Quality time Mar and Char!

The football game was on in the background, the girls were floating around the house in sugar-induced stupors, Vivi was in her element being passed from hand to hand and lap to lap. There was food. There was Sam Adams and Kendall Jackson. There was lots of laughter. An impromptu pre-hurricane party to take some of the nervous energy down a few notches. I doubt any of us really anticipate being blown away by gale force winds. None of us relishes the idea of being without power for any extended period of time, but we can deal with it. The one thing that gives me pause about storms like these are the trees that sway like those inflatable balloon men outside a car dealership. It’s one thing to see a tree standing firmly planted in the ground, it’s boughs reaching up to tickle the sky. It’s quite another to see that same combination of bark and foliage nestled into the roof of someone’s home, a rootball the size several grown men blocking a driveway. We had a tree fall during Irene that took out a chunk of fence in the backyard. I remember watching it go, the wind just giving it nudge after nudge until it grew bored with the process and just shoved it into the yard. There wasn’t any sickening crack, it just pitched over, felled by thousands of licks of air.

But, I don’t want to create something that will come to pass. So we circle the wagons, scoop more dips onto our chips, and keep the party going until the rain starts to fall. School has been cancelled. There’s no where to go, anyway, so I’m thinking it’s going to be a mani/pedi kind of day. Maybe we’ll do summer in the wintertime – the girls put on their bathing suits, I fill up the tub and they flip and float like they’re on the Cape. I’m sure there will be a movie or three in their future, along with some quiet reading and dare I even say it? art & craps. Oy.

I’ve called my parents, my brother, my friends and everyone is good to go. I’ve got on my comfy sweats and my hair in pigtails. I’ve got some chicken tikka and jasmine rice on the stove. I’ll roast up some asparagus and/or some brussel sprouts with that garlic vinaigrette. I’ve got a blondie mix, but sadly no butter (that’s like ham with no burger!), but I do have a jar of cookie butter and a big ol ‘ spoon so my sweet tooth can be quieted — at least for a little while. I’ve got a book to read, three little chickies to cuddle with, and a nap on the schedule. I don’t need to see reporters get blown around like wayward leaves as they shout into their microphones, “Yes, the winds out here are really picking up in strength and speed!”

Sandy’s coming.

I’m rolling up the welcome mat and dead bolting the door.

Sandy’s coming.

I’m putting my quilt in the dryer to get it nice and toasty before fashioning it into a cape about my shoulders.

Sandy’s coming. Be safe and I’ll see you on the other side.

IN: ON: October 29, 2012 TAGS: advice, fall, pinterest BY: Hilary

recipes

Recipe Friday

I’m a picky eater. There are so many things that I don’t like to eat, or will only eat if they are prepared a certain way. Another personality quirk to add to one of my lists, right? Here’s an example: I don’t like cheese. I won’t eat a cheeseburger or a grilled cheese, but I will eat pizza and lasagna. When the hubs and I were dating, rather than tell his mother that I’m a loony tune, he told her that I was allergic to cheese.

Then we had pizza for dinner that night. Talk about a great foundation on which to build a relationship, right?

When I set my mind to eating more healthily, I try to incorporate more veggies into my meal prep. However, the finicky person that I am, there are only certain vegetables that I want to eat. It’s not that they have to be fried, swimming in butter or dressing (and definitely NOT topped with cheese). I like my veggies well seasoned, steamed, roasted or raw. The short list of acceptable veg?

Broccoli/broccolini
Brussel Sprouts
Green beans
Peppers
Asparagus
Celery
Collards
Kale
Carrots
Potatoes
Corn
Tomatoes
Onions

Well, maybe that’s not a short list after all, but when compared to the myriad of vegetables that exist in the world, this is really kind of sad. That coupled with the one or two vegetables that the girls will eat, it can mean some very clever culinary acrobatics to get well rounded dinners on the table. If Mo had her way, it would be sushi every night. As for Co, she’s a snack-a-holic, so if it involves anything resembling crackers, cookies, or bite sized goodness, she’s all about it.

So how do I get the recommended five a day covered for all of us? Here’s a hint: it starts with “p” and ends with “-interest”.

There are a crap-ton of recipes that I’ve pinned, most of which I’ve tried. As I culled through them, I realized that most of them are for one pot meals that involve few to no vegetables. The ones that were heavy on produce mostly involved avocado or brussel sprouts, two things that I’ll eat with reckless abandon. The rest of the family? Not so much. So, I was looking, looking, looking and saw something that looked easy, flavorful, and worth a go.

I give you Roasted Cauliflower Slices with Kalamata Olive and Garlic Vinaigrette

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Cauliflower? I know, it is an unlikely choice, but with the olive and garlic it was awesome. Well, at least, I thought so. The girls gave it a courtesy bite and then kindly moved onto the rest of the food on their plate. I should have cut it up and speared it with toothpicks. A little touch of fancy always get things consumed. As for the hubs, he was wavering between me and the girls with respect to his enthusiasm over it. I think he couldn’t get past the cauliflower part. More for me! Even still, the olives and garlic dressing would be great over some roasted asparagus or green beans. I’m gonna get some greenery into our systems one way or another!

Happy Friday, y’all!

Roasted Cauliflower Slices with Kalamata Olive and Garlic Vinaigrette (recipe found here)
(Makes about 4 servings, recipe adapted slightly from a recipe by Melissa Roberts for Gourmet Magazine.)

Ingredients:
1 medium head cauliflower
2 T olive oil
salt and fresh ground black pepper to taste

Vinaigrette Ingredients:
1/2 tsp. minced garlic
pinch sea salt
2 T fresh-squeezed lemon juice
2 T extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 cup finely chopped kalamata olives

Preheat oven to 450F/200C.

Instructions:

Remove leaves from cauliflower, then use a large knife to cut the cauliflower into slices an even 3/4 inch thick, slicing through the core. Cut core section away from the slices and arrange cauliflower slices in a single layer on a baking sheet. Drizzle both sides of cauliflower with olive oil and season with salt and fresh ground black pepper. (I used a generous amount of pepper, but not too much salt, since the olives are salty.)

Start cauliflower roasting while you make the vinaigrette, and let it roast 15 minutes without turning.

While cauliflower roasts, mash garlic and sea salt in a mortar and pestle (or use a fork and a bowl), then rinse the garlic and salt mixture into a bowl with the lemon juice. Stir in the olive oil, whisking until the dressing is emulsified. Stir in olives and let the vinaigrette ingredients blend while cauliflower continues cooking.

After about 15 minutes, carefully turn cauliflower pieces with a large turner. Put back in oven and roast 10-15 minutes more, or until cauliflower is slightly crisp and nicely browned, and done to your liking. Serve hot, with Kalamata Olive and Garlic Vinaigrette drizzled over cauliflower.

IN: recipes ON: October 26, 2012 TAGS: baking, cooking, fall, food, om nom nom, pinterest, recipes BY: Hilary

List

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I’m a planner. I like to make lists. I like to cross things off of my lists. I like to make a list and transfer non-congruent items from one list to another list so that like items are grouped together.

It’s a little OCD. I know that and I’m cool with it. I’ve got a list of reasons why (kidding).

I was on Twitter the other day, which in and of itself is an action I still can’t believe I’m about. Anyway, my girl Yo ~~twatted~~ ~~twittered~~ tweeted that an entry on her bucket list is to “dive off of a yacht”. I love everything about that and all that implies. It’s not like you’ve got a yacht in your backyard, right? Well, maybe you do. For us mere mortals, in order to get to a place where you are diving off of a yacht, you have to consider all of the dynamics that get you from where you are sitting right now, to looking over the edge of a luxury sea vessel, about to do a Greg Louganis into the ocean.

Seriously, I read that tweet and was completely overcome by a feeling of delicious luxury and indulgence as I pictured myself doing a swan dive from the bow (prow? — let’s call it the back). In my head, I’m a bronzed, bikinied, vision of aquatic strength, but we all know, I’m more likely to take a running leap and cannonball into the ocean. Whatever, I’m sure I’d be all Andy Samberg about it.

(FYI, these lyrics are NSFW)

But back to the idea of yacht diving and it’s place on a bucket list. When the movie of the same name featuring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman came out in 2007, there was a considerable upswing in conversations about the creation and fulfillment of bucket lists. In 2007, I was a 26 years old, a new mom, so ideas of squeezing in lots of stuff in before I die wasn’t high on my list of priorities. I ended up seeing the movie several years later, probably one lazy afternoon as I plowed through several buckets of laundry. The premise, for those of you who don’t know, is about two terminally ill men who take a road trip to fulfill some longstanding adventures before they “kick the bucket”. A Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman road trip movie? Not bad. Still, I didn’t feel compelled to make a list of my own.

The hubs and I created a board several years ago of things and experiences that we’d like to have. It didn’t matter if we didn’t achieve these goals before we die; I doubt me and my halo would be floating on a cloud with my lip poked out. The board we dubbed the “S#*! I Want” board. Classy, right? It was kind of like an art project. The hubs and I sat down with some magazines one day and just cut and pasted things ~~shit~~ things we’d like to experience. The hubs put a picture of the US Open because he’d like to take his dad to all of the Grand Slams. I put a picture of a piano because I’d like to learn how to play. He put a picture of some gold bars to represent financial security. I put a picture of the Rosetta Stone language system because I’d like to be fluent in French (quelle surprise). The tri-fold board stayed in our closet and we would look at it from time to time, checking off images if we accomplished them. We shared the idea of the board with some friends, one of whom made one and began steadily ticking things off, much to her and our delight.

When we moved, the board came with us. Over time, with the demands of work, children and daily life, it just sat, a cardboard sentinel keeping watch over our clothes and shoes in the closet. As we settled into the house, the board was soon hidden behind stacks of winter clothes and blankets, or summer clothes and beach bags, depending on the season. Pretty soon, all that you could see of it was the uppermost left corner and a meticulously cut, pasted on image of a pair of red-soled Bianca’s (guess who pasted that up there?). Fast forward to several months ago and the great closet re-do. When everything came out of the closet, so too did the board. The hubs and I looked at it, running our fingers over the things we’d seen and done, as well as those things that were still left to do. Somehow, by some unspoken agreement, we decided to say good-bye to the board.

While the hubs may have outgrown the need for a physical reminder, I still like the idea of having something to reference when I’m feeling like the light at the end of the tunnel is the express train to CrazyTown. So, I’m making my own bucket list, and because I’m all craft-tastic, I got on Pinterest and found this. . .

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Part of me feels like this list is going to be personal, that it should be kept private, but I do love a Pinterest craft challenge! I suppose having some ideas (beyond yacht diving) to put in the bucket would help.

I guess I’m going to have to come up with a list for that.

IN: ON: October 25, 2012 TAGS: calgon moment, fall, me time, pinterest, sharing BY: Hilary

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