As I have established, food challenge shows have been known to get me into some trouble. Well….home decorating shows have been known to have the same affect. Some years ago, I was watching a decorating show and the interior designer cut the arms off of an old sofa and recovered the sofa in white fabric. The result was a beautiful chic and modern looking sofa. At the time Tom and I wanted to make some changes to our formal living room. We had an old sofa in there and it just wasn’t fitting into the color scheme. I suggested that Tom let me make some minor changes to the sofa. Actually all I got out of my mouth was, “I saw this designer cut the arms off a sofa with a chainsaw.” I’m not sure where I lost him there but I did. He immediately turned around and started to walk away. Well after chasing him down and begging him and assuring him that by simply viewing about 1 minute of TV footage I was surely and expert in sofa renovation, Tom finally gave in and told me to have at it. Actually, I think he said, “Whatever, just be prepared to buy a new sofa when your experiment doesn’t work.” His lack of confidence in me gave me all that much more motivation to prove him wrong.
Bright and early that Saturday morning operation sofa renovation commenced. Since the sofa was extremely heavy and difficult to move out of the room it was in, I decided to hack the arms off inside the house. Tom feared for his daughter’s lives so he ushered them outside for the day. I grabbed a hold of the chainsaw and some safety goggles and let her rip. VVVRRROOOMMM. In hindsight, I realize that for passersby it must have been quite a sight. I was standing right in front of our big front picture window with a chainsaw in my hand, sawing apart my sofa. Wood and fabric were flying all over the place. I am sure I looked like a crazed lady. Come to think of it invitations to neighborhood playgroups did dwindle a little. Anyway I digress, at one point the chain came off the chainsaw which necessitated a trip to Ace Hardware. When the sales man handed me back my newly repaired chainsaw, he said, “Be careful with that Mame.” Perhaps he saw that wild frenzy in my eyes. I was wild with determination that this sofa was going to be fabulous when I was finished with it, and Tom would be eating his words.
After a couple of hours (not the 1 minute as TV land had mistakenly indicated), I had successfully dismembered the arms from my sofa. I had also successfully weakened the back. Who new that the arms helped to support the back of the sofa? I ran out to the garage and grabbed a hammer and some nails. Using wood from the arms, I fashioned some new supports for the back. It wasn’t pretty but I figured it was ok because it would all be covered in fabric. Satisfied with my back supports, I moved around to take a look at my almost masterpiece from the front. It was really something….and it was slanting ever so slightly to the right. Apparently the arms also provide some support to the front of the sofa. Many hours later and lots of nails, screws, and wood later I thought I had the sofa stable. Well as stable as it was going to be for the day because I had about 10 cuts, sweat dripping from all over my body, and muscles aching from beyond exhaustion.
The next day I set out for the local fabric store and purchased my white material. I placed the material over the sofa and attempted to make a new slipcover just as I had seen the designers do on this decorating show many times. The slipcover also turned out a little cockeyed but I was able to make it work by tucking it under the cushions. I screwed the new legs I had purchased for the sofa on, and called Tom into the house to assist in setting my new masterpiece on its feet and into place.
Tom walked in and I could tell by the look on his face that he really wanted this project to be a success. It had encompassed my whole weekend and left behind many battle scars. Not to mention that the failure of my project would mean we had to buy a new sofa. With the sofa righted and in place, we both stepped back to view the masterpiece. We were both a little speechless. The new sofa stood about 8 inches higher then a normal sofa. I’m not entirely sure why that happened. It also still slanted ever so slightly to the right. But, if you stood slightly off center and tilted your head just a little then it looked closer to being straight. Now for the final test, someone needed to sit on it. I briefly considered challenging Tom to a game of rock, paper, scissors to determine who would have the “honor,” but I knew it had to be me. I walked up to the sofa, turned around, and very gingerly sat down on my new sofa. When it didn’t completely give way, I slowly relaxed more of my weight onto the sofa. I let out a sigh of relief. Ha! It had worked. A smile came across my face. The sofa didn’t look exactly like the one on TV, ok it didn’t look anything like the one on TV, but I had executed my plan to the best of my ability. I didn’t care how ugly it looked. I had decided to hack up my sofa with a chainsaw to make a new one and I did it. Tom congratulated me on my accomplishment, and because he is such a great guy he never commented on how ugly it had turned out. Just as I was getting ready to stand up from the sofa there was a tiny shift and the weight of the sofa moved ever so slightly. I suggested that perhaps we should just be careful with the sofa. I also pointed out that since the sofa was in the formal living room, it was most definitely off limits for the girls to jump on. They could save that for the family room sofa. Besides, this sofa was now my masterpiece and any artisan wouldn’t want children jumping on their masterpiece.
Two days later, Tom and I were trying to decide where to hang some pictures in the formal living room. We were getting frustrated over the process. Tom walked over to the sofa and sat down. He didn’t throw his whole body weight down onto the sofa, but he also didn’t delicately and timidly sit down as I had a couple days before and every time since that I had sat on the sofa. One dramatic shift to the right and BANG, down went the sofa with Tom tumbling after. The sofa was kicked to the curb and I was sent out to find and purchase a new sofa. I also had to admit that he was right and I was wrong.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Skinny Mirrors
This past winter I had an opportunity to fly out to Las Vegas and meet up with Tom as he wrapped up a business trip. Since it was winter in the Midwest, who wouldn’t jump at a chance to spend a weekend in the warmth of Las Vegas? In preparation for my trip, I went shopping for a few items. Nothing extravagant, just some capri’s and a couple short sleeve shirts. I was looking forward to getting out of the long underwear, jeans, wool socks, boots, turtleneck, and sweater that are a staple for one living in the Midwest during the winter. On the downside, I would also have to shave, but oh well it’s worth it.
I started my quest at a store I frequent quite often and had success finding the capri’s. No such luck finding any tops, so I headed over to a higher end store and decided to checkout the sale and clearance rack. I found a few items to try on including a sweater off the clearance rack. It was late winter and I was tired of wearing the same sweaters and sweatshirts.
I headed back to the dressing room to try on my finds. I started with the short sleeve tops that I had found. After I put one on I decided to see what it would look like with the capri jeans that I had just purchased at the other store. I pulled on the capris and was stunned when I looked in the mirror. They looked really good. I had just tried them on at the other store, but I didn’t recall them giving me such a slender appearance. A smile spread across my face. I decided that the top also looked really good on me, so it was a keeper. I reluctantly took the capris off and put back on my old worn jeans. I also took the top off and tried on the sweater. When I stepped back to eye the outfit, I was stunned again. I thought to myself, “I look good.” Those old jeans never looked so good and the sweater was fantastically slimming. I turned this way and that all the while smiling at myself in the mirror. I was on cloud nine. I had never felt so great about myself.
It’s been my experience that when I am walking on cloud nine, someone comes along and rains all over me. Just when this new found self esteem was really starting to inflate my ego, I heard a woman a couple dressing rooms down yell to her husband, “They have skinny mirrors here.” He answered her by saying, “Of course.” She then said, “Yah so you’ll look great in the dressing room and then get home and look like crap.”
Picture rain falling on my cloud nine. Picture a pin popping my ego and my ego flying like crazy around the dressing room as the air races out of it. Picture the prideful smile changing to instant disgust and fury at the skinny mirror. Oh evil mirror, you built me up only to let my honest mirror at home break me down.
A person wanting to take a stand against the cruelty of the skinny mirror would refuse to purchase anything from the store. A truly passionate person is able to take this kind of stand against the unjust. I on the other hand still bought the short sleeve top and sweater because I would just pretend that they looked as good on me as they had in the dressing room. I went to the nearby cookie stand after I left the store and purchased a sugar cookie to make myself feel better.
When I got home, I stormed into the house. Tom asked me how my shopping trip went. I said, “You will never believe this. Did you know they have such a thing as skinny mirrors?” I proceeded to tell him about my painful discovery. I then demanded that he buy these said skinny mirrors and place them in our master bathroom because, “every woman should have the right to feel as fabulous as I did when I was standing in that dressing room every morning of her life.” I proclaimed this with an Oscar worthy performance, fist thrust in the air, but all I got from Tom was, “O.K.”
I still don’t have the skinny mirrors in my bathroom. I just have the same old standard issue “kill your self esteem whenever you put on anything” mirrors. However, I have been known to go back to that store and pretend like I want to try something on just so I can go into the dressing room and have a little “me” time. It’s good for the self esteem. I highly recommend that everyone find their nearest store with skinny mirrors and enjoy a little therapy with them every now and then. It’s good for the soul, and it’s good for the hips.
I started my quest at a store I frequent quite often and had success finding the capri’s. No such luck finding any tops, so I headed over to a higher end store and decided to checkout the sale and clearance rack. I found a few items to try on including a sweater off the clearance rack. It was late winter and I was tired of wearing the same sweaters and sweatshirts.
I headed back to the dressing room to try on my finds. I started with the short sleeve tops that I had found. After I put one on I decided to see what it would look like with the capri jeans that I had just purchased at the other store. I pulled on the capris and was stunned when I looked in the mirror. They looked really good. I had just tried them on at the other store, but I didn’t recall them giving me such a slender appearance. A smile spread across my face. I decided that the top also looked really good on me, so it was a keeper. I reluctantly took the capris off and put back on my old worn jeans. I also took the top off and tried on the sweater. When I stepped back to eye the outfit, I was stunned again. I thought to myself, “I look good.” Those old jeans never looked so good and the sweater was fantastically slimming. I turned this way and that all the while smiling at myself in the mirror. I was on cloud nine. I had never felt so great about myself.
It’s been my experience that when I am walking on cloud nine, someone comes along and rains all over me. Just when this new found self esteem was really starting to inflate my ego, I heard a woman a couple dressing rooms down yell to her husband, “They have skinny mirrors here.” He answered her by saying, “Of course.” She then said, “Yah so you’ll look great in the dressing room and then get home and look like crap.”
Picture rain falling on my cloud nine. Picture a pin popping my ego and my ego flying like crazy around the dressing room as the air races out of it. Picture the prideful smile changing to instant disgust and fury at the skinny mirror. Oh evil mirror, you built me up only to let my honest mirror at home break me down.
A person wanting to take a stand against the cruelty of the skinny mirror would refuse to purchase anything from the store. A truly passionate person is able to take this kind of stand against the unjust. I on the other hand still bought the short sleeve top and sweater because I would just pretend that they looked as good on me as they had in the dressing room. I went to the nearby cookie stand after I left the store and purchased a sugar cookie to make myself feel better.
When I got home, I stormed into the house. Tom asked me how my shopping trip went. I said, “You will never believe this. Did you know they have such a thing as skinny mirrors?” I proceeded to tell him about my painful discovery. I then demanded that he buy these said skinny mirrors and place them in our master bathroom because, “every woman should have the right to feel as fabulous as I did when I was standing in that dressing room every morning of her life.” I proclaimed this with an Oscar worthy performance, fist thrust in the air, but all I got from Tom was, “O.K.”
I still don’t have the skinny mirrors in my bathroom. I just have the same old standard issue “kill your self esteem whenever you put on anything” mirrors. However, I have been known to go back to that store and pretend like I want to try something on just so I can go into the dressing room and have a little “me” time. It’s good for the self esteem. I highly recommend that everyone find their nearest store with skinny mirrors and enjoy a little therapy with them every now and then. It’s good for the soul, and it’s good for the hips.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Beach Bumming
I hate to work on Fridays. I know most people hate Mondays, but for me it has always been Fridays. I would gladly work a 10 hour day Monday thru Thursday if it meant I could have Fridays off. When Tom and I were first married, we couldn’t afford to take vacations, and Tom was an independent sales person so he did not get any vacation time. I was incurring vacation time at my job, but I couldn’t go anywhere with it so I chose to take Fridays off during the summer. I loved those Fridays. I look back on them now with such longing.
Tom worked a lot of hours back then. He would work until very late at night and on occasion started work early in the morning. I was pretty much on my own most of the time. I would sleep in on my day off. After waking up I would take Murphy for a walk. This was my only form of exercise back then. I hadn’t found my passion for running yet. After a long walk with Murphy it was off to the beach. I grabbed a bottled water, book, music, towel, and sunscreen. I was fortunate to live 45 minutes from one of the most beautiful beaches around. I spent my afternoon lounging in the sun and working on developing what would later become “suspicious sun spots”. But hay, I was young and skin cancer was not even a thought in my mind. Not in the minds of the hundreds of other people at the beach either. After an afternoon of soaking up the sun, I would head back home, shower, and then grab my scrapbooking things and go to my favorite scrapbooking store for a night of preserving memories. It was an added benefit that a dear friend of mine worked at the store. This way I was able to spend time with my friend and work on what was then a serious hobby of mine. Around midnight I would arrive back at home and in complete bliss over my practically perfect day.
I don’t have those Fridays anymore, and my trips to the beach have changed considerably. Back in the day I could be ready and out the door to the beach in a matter of 15 minutes tops. Now, 13 years and two kids later a trip to the beach is a major undertaking. On beach days there is no sleeping in. Actually there is no sleeping in on any day. Rather then take Murphy for a walk, I bypass that and set right to work gathering up everything a family of four could possibly need for one day at the beach. It’s a little something like this: hot dogs, buns, ketchup, mustard, grill, 4 bottles of water, 2 juice boxes, 2 cans of diet coke, chips, cookies, fruit snacks, frozen yogurt tubes, paper plates, napkins, plastic utensils, whole roll of paper towel, trash bags, sunscreen, 4 beach chairs, 1 Frisbee, 2 boogie boards, 3 softball gloves, one softball, 8 beach towels, 1 beach blanket, 2 pair of goggles, 1 beach ball, 2 water guns, 2 foam noodles, 2 inner tubes, 1 inflatable teeter- totter, 1 bag of sand toys, 4 bikes, 2 bike helmets, and one roll of toilet paper- just in case. Have you seen beach bath houses? You will notice that there are two things missing from this list that were a staple in my younger days, a book and music. Hmm, yah, enough said on that.
It takes a couple of hours to gather up everything and get it into the back of our vehicle. It looks like our family is headed out of town for a week long vacation rather then a day at the beach. We make the drive to the beach and drive around the parking area forever looking for a close parking spot because Tom is not walking “five miles with all that stuff.” After finally finding a reasonably close space we set out on the task of emptying the contents of our vehicle. Of course the princess daughters arms are “full of stuff” after we hand them one thing to carry. Once we finally get to the beach and unpack all our belongings, it is then a constant stream of demands. Will you play catch with me? Will you take me in the water? Will you blow up my inner tube? Did you bring my goggles? Will you blow up the beach ball? Is there anything to eat? I don’t feel like hot dogs. Didn’t you pack me a PB&J? I want to play on the teeter totter. Can you blow it up? Can you help me make a sandcastle? Can we go on a bike ride? It’s important to note that this all occurs over the span of the first 15 minutes.
After a few hours at the beach, the daughters are ready to go home. Tom and I must begin the daunting task of packing up all our contents which are now scattered all over the beach for as far as the eye can see and haul them back to our vehicle. The daughters then hop in the truck followed by Tom yelling, “Don’t get in the truck until you have cleaned the sand off your feet!” The daughters respond by saying, “Ooops.” Every time this happens. Every time. Why can’t they remember to clean off their feet? They can remember that 4 years ago I sold a pink sweater in the garage sale, but they can’t ever remember to clean their feet after a day at the beach. This is followed by a rant from Tom on how it is impossible to keep his truck clean. Welcome to life with kids. You mean you still haven’t figured this out.
Needless to say by the time we arrive home and unload the truck, I am not feeling complete bliss from a practically perfect day. Instead I am collapsing into bed completely exhausted and wondering why we put ourselves through such torture. But, we all know we’ll enthusiastically set out to do it again in a few weeks.
Tom worked a lot of hours back then. He would work until very late at night and on occasion started work early in the morning. I was pretty much on my own most of the time. I would sleep in on my day off. After waking up I would take Murphy for a walk. This was my only form of exercise back then. I hadn’t found my passion for running yet. After a long walk with Murphy it was off to the beach. I grabbed a bottled water, book, music, towel, and sunscreen. I was fortunate to live 45 minutes from one of the most beautiful beaches around. I spent my afternoon lounging in the sun and working on developing what would later become “suspicious sun spots”. But hay, I was young and skin cancer was not even a thought in my mind. Not in the minds of the hundreds of other people at the beach either. After an afternoon of soaking up the sun, I would head back home, shower, and then grab my scrapbooking things and go to my favorite scrapbooking store for a night of preserving memories. It was an added benefit that a dear friend of mine worked at the store. This way I was able to spend time with my friend and work on what was then a serious hobby of mine. Around midnight I would arrive back at home and in complete bliss over my practically perfect day.
I don’t have those Fridays anymore, and my trips to the beach have changed considerably. Back in the day I could be ready and out the door to the beach in a matter of 15 minutes tops. Now, 13 years and two kids later a trip to the beach is a major undertaking. On beach days there is no sleeping in. Actually there is no sleeping in on any day. Rather then take Murphy for a walk, I bypass that and set right to work gathering up everything a family of four could possibly need for one day at the beach. It’s a little something like this: hot dogs, buns, ketchup, mustard, grill, 4 bottles of water, 2 juice boxes, 2 cans of diet coke, chips, cookies, fruit snacks, frozen yogurt tubes, paper plates, napkins, plastic utensils, whole roll of paper towel, trash bags, sunscreen, 4 beach chairs, 1 Frisbee, 2 boogie boards, 3 softball gloves, one softball, 8 beach towels, 1 beach blanket, 2 pair of goggles, 1 beach ball, 2 water guns, 2 foam noodles, 2 inner tubes, 1 inflatable teeter- totter, 1 bag of sand toys, 4 bikes, 2 bike helmets, and one roll of toilet paper- just in case. Have you seen beach bath houses? You will notice that there are two things missing from this list that were a staple in my younger days, a book and music. Hmm, yah, enough said on that.
It takes a couple of hours to gather up everything and get it into the back of our vehicle. It looks like our family is headed out of town for a week long vacation rather then a day at the beach. We make the drive to the beach and drive around the parking area forever looking for a close parking spot because Tom is not walking “five miles with all that stuff.” After finally finding a reasonably close space we set out on the task of emptying the contents of our vehicle. Of course the princess daughters arms are “full of stuff” after we hand them one thing to carry. Once we finally get to the beach and unpack all our belongings, it is then a constant stream of demands. Will you play catch with me? Will you take me in the water? Will you blow up my inner tube? Did you bring my goggles? Will you blow up the beach ball? Is there anything to eat? I don’t feel like hot dogs. Didn’t you pack me a PB&J? I want to play on the teeter totter. Can you blow it up? Can you help me make a sandcastle? Can we go on a bike ride? It’s important to note that this all occurs over the span of the first 15 minutes.
After a few hours at the beach, the daughters are ready to go home. Tom and I must begin the daunting task of packing up all our contents which are now scattered all over the beach for as far as the eye can see and haul them back to our vehicle. The daughters then hop in the truck followed by Tom yelling, “Don’t get in the truck until you have cleaned the sand off your feet!” The daughters respond by saying, “Ooops.” Every time this happens. Every time. Why can’t they remember to clean off their feet? They can remember that 4 years ago I sold a pink sweater in the garage sale, but they can’t ever remember to clean their feet after a day at the beach. This is followed by a rant from Tom on how it is impossible to keep his truck clean. Welcome to life with kids. You mean you still haven’t figured this out.
Needless to say by the time we arrive home and unload the truck, I am not feeling complete bliss from a practically perfect day. Instead I am collapsing into bed completely exhausted and wondering why we put ourselves through such torture. But, we all know we’ll enthusiastically set out to do it again in a few weeks.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Cook Off
There are advantages and disadvantages to spending hours upon hours stuck to your sofa viewing multiple episodes on the Food Network channel. I ought to know because based on the sinking of my sofa and the well worn 1-1-0 on my remote control, I think it is safe to say that I have quite possibly surpassed the world record for the number of hours spent watching one channel.
The clear advantage to my obsession with Food Network is the number of fantastic meals my family gets to enjoy. Tom has often raved to people about my cooking and commented, “We have something new every night.” A clear disadvantage to my obsession with Food Network is the number of disgusting meals my family has to eat. Tom doesn’t rave about those so much.
A real danger is the increasing number of shows that are about cooking challenges. I watch these and I begin to get crazy ideas about entering, say the Pillsbury Bake-Off, Chili Challenge, or Wedding Cake challenge. I think the last one is most definitely never going to happen. The biggest cake I ever decorated was a sheet cake sporting the Lizzie Maguire cartoon. On the few occasions when I have made a regular two layer cake the top layer always appears to be leaning ever so slightly to one side. This could probably be passed off as “trendy” if I had half a clue how to even pull that off. So cake decorating may not be the way to go. I seriously get crazy ideas that I should come up with some bizarre yet fabulous recipe and enter it in a cooking contest and win the million dollar first prize, become debt free, take a vacation to Hawaii, and hire a maid to clean my bathrooms.
One day last summer, Megan marched into the kitchen and slapped a piece of paper on the counter and said, “Could you please pick these things up for me at the grocery store?” I asked her why and she informed me that she had “created” a recipe, and she was going to make it for the family for dinner that night. I looked over the recipe and must admit that I was a little freaked out at first. Chopped carrots, cinnamon, orange juice, Oriental 5 spice. Is it freaking you out a little? It should. Not one to dampen my daughter’s creativity, I picked up the ingredients at the store and watched as Megan carefully mixed her marinade and placed it over chicken. I convinced Megan that it would be a good idea to let the chicken marinade for 24 hours so the flavors would really have time to develop. The reality is that I was very hungry that night and not optimistic that dinner was going to turn out well. I suggested we go out to eat that night. The next day we grilled Megan’s chicken and to my shame I must admit that it was fantastic. Tom, Hailey, and I were completely shocked at how flavorful and delicious Megan’s chicken had turned out. I think Megan was even a little surprised. We have since made her chicken many times and it never ceases to amaze me how wonderful it is.
Since we have established that Tom does not cook and has no real knowledge of cooking, I assumed that Megan must have gotten her brilliance in the recipe creation department from none other than me. So when Hailey caught me after a Food Network Challenge show and stated she wanted to come up with a new recipe for dinner on Friday night, I thought myself totally capable of assisting in the creation of this new recipe. In hindsight, I should have either let Hailey come up with the recipe completely on her own, or I should have suggested that she talk with her sister about recipe ideas. Hindsight is 20/20.
Hailey said she wanted to make a Sloppy Joe. I saw an advertisement on the TV for contestants to send in their favorite peanut butter recipes. I suggested to Hailey that we try a peanut butter and jelly Sloppy Joe. Hailey looked at me with great skepticism. I guess my delusional confidence won her over because she agreed that we should give it a try. We decided that ground chicken would probably compliment the PB&J better then ground beef. Hailey went to work browning the ground chicken while I feverishly mixed equal parts peanut butter and jelly. When the meat was ready, Hailey stirred in the sauce. We made sure it was well incorporated and then we both sampled our creation. I’m not sure there are words to describe the look on our faces after we tasted the PB&J Sloppy Joe mix. I guess it was a cross between disgust and an unwillingness to admit defeat. We raced to the refrigerator and grabbed ketchup, Worcestershire Sauce, and then to the cupboard for brown sugar. A little of this, a little of that, a lot of that and we had something that was, well, something we could possibly eat for dinner.
We had an agreement that we were not going to tell Megan and Tom what was in the sauce. We wanted them to at least try it before they formed a negative impression. When we sat down to eat what we decided to call “Sticky Joes”, Tom took a big bite, chewed quickly, then very slowly, then very quickly again. “What is in this?” I anxiously spoke up and said that Hailey had helped to create the sauce. With this mention his face softened and he looked lovingly at his little daughter. “It’s very different.” Hailey beamed at the praise from her adoring father. Tom and I managed to get our Sticky Joes down, but Megan and Hailey claimed to be full and passed on dinner that night.
My lesson learned from this failed attempt at food creativity. First, next time Hailey wants to be creative in the kitchen, give her full rein. She can’t do any worse then I did. Second, maybe I’m not quite ready for a Food Network Cook Off. Although, I did have this interesting idea with horseradish and peanut butter....
The clear advantage to my obsession with Food Network is the number of fantastic meals my family gets to enjoy. Tom has often raved to people about my cooking and commented, “We have something new every night.” A clear disadvantage to my obsession with Food Network is the number of disgusting meals my family has to eat. Tom doesn’t rave about those so much.
A real danger is the increasing number of shows that are about cooking challenges. I watch these and I begin to get crazy ideas about entering, say the Pillsbury Bake-Off, Chili Challenge, or Wedding Cake challenge. I think the last one is most definitely never going to happen. The biggest cake I ever decorated was a sheet cake sporting the Lizzie Maguire cartoon. On the few occasions when I have made a regular two layer cake the top layer always appears to be leaning ever so slightly to one side. This could probably be passed off as “trendy” if I had half a clue how to even pull that off. So cake decorating may not be the way to go. I seriously get crazy ideas that I should come up with some bizarre yet fabulous recipe and enter it in a cooking contest and win the million dollar first prize, become debt free, take a vacation to Hawaii, and hire a maid to clean my bathrooms.
One day last summer, Megan marched into the kitchen and slapped a piece of paper on the counter and said, “Could you please pick these things up for me at the grocery store?” I asked her why and she informed me that she had “created” a recipe, and she was going to make it for the family for dinner that night. I looked over the recipe and must admit that I was a little freaked out at first. Chopped carrots, cinnamon, orange juice, Oriental 5 spice. Is it freaking you out a little? It should. Not one to dampen my daughter’s creativity, I picked up the ingredients at the store and watched as Megan carefully mixed her marinade and placed it over chicken. I convinced Megan that it would be a good idea to let the chicken marinade for 24 hours so the flavors would really have time to develop. The reality is that I was very hungry that night and not optimistic that dinner was going to turn out well. I suggested we go out to eat that night. The next day we grilled Megan’s chicken and to my shame I must admit that it was fantastic. Tom, Hailey, and I were completely shocked at how flavorful and delicious Megan’s chicken had turned out. I think Megan was even a little surprised. We have since made her chicken many times and it never ceases to amaze me how wonderful it is.
Since we have established that Tom does not cook and has no real knowledge of cooking, I assumed that Megan must have gotten her brilliance in the recipe creation department from none other than me. So when Hailey caught me after a Food Network Challenge show and stated she wanted to come up with a new recipe for dinner on Friday night, I thought myself totally capable of assisting in the creation of this new recipe. In hindsight, I should have either let Hailey come up with the recipe completely on her own, or I should have suggested that she talk with her sister about recipe ideas. Hindsight is 20/20.
Hailey said she wanted to make a Sloppy Joe. I saw an advertisement on the TV for contestants to send in their favorite peanut butter recipes. I suggested to Hailey that we try a peanut butter and jelly Sloppy Joe. Hailey looked at me with great skepticism. I guess my delusional confidence won her over because she agreed that we should give it a try. We decided that ground chicken would probably compliment the PB&J better then ground beef. Hailey went to work browning the ground chicken while I feverishly mixed equal parts peanut butter and jelly. When the meat was ready, Hailey stirred in the sauce. We made sure it was well incorporated and then we both sampled our creation. I’m not sure there are words to describe the look on our faces after we tasted the PB&J Sloppy Joe mix. I guess it was a cross between disgust and an unwillingness to admit defeat. We raced to the refrigerator and grabbed ketchup, Worcestershire Sauce, and then to the cupboard for brown sugar. A little of this, a little of that, a lot of that and we had something that was, well, something we could possibly eat for dinner.
We had an agreement that we were not going to tell Megan and Tom what was in the sauce. We wanted them to at least try it before they formed a negative impression. When we sat down to eat what we decided to call “Sticky Joes”, Tom took a big bite, chewed quickly, then very slowly, then very quickly again. “What is in this?” I anxiously spoke up and said that Hailey had helped to create the sauce. With this mention his face softened and he looked lovingly at his little daughter. “It’s very different.” Hailey beamed at the praise from her adoring father. Tom and I managed to get our Sticky Joes down, but Megan and Hailey claimed to be full and passed on dinner that night.
My lesson learned from this failed attempt at food creativity. First, next time Hailey wants to be creative in the kitchen, give her full rein. She can’t do any worse then I did. Second, maybe I’m not quite ready for a Food Network Cook Off. Although, I did have this interesting idea with horseradish and peanut butter....
Friday, July 10, 2009
I Ordered Out
When Tom and I got married, we had an agreement from the start. He would not have to cook, and I would not have to mow the lawn. Tom does not like to cook. He knows how to make one thing and that is spaghetti. He does not have a problem making this on occasion, and it actually does taste good. Anything else and you could be asking for trouble. His dislike and inability to cook is not a problem because whenever I don’t feel like cooking he simply asks, “Do you want to order out?”
I go away once a year for a long weekend with the women on my mom’s side of the family. It is our annual girl’s weekend away, and I love it. I look forward to that weekend for months. It is great just to spend some quality time with my family who I usually only see on that weekend because we all live scattered across the United States. One year we decided to go on a cruise so my time away from home was actually going to be 5 full days. When Megan heard this she went into panic mode. She shrieked, “We’re gonna starve! We’re going to die!” After I got her settled down and assured her that even if I wasn’t leaving behind some pre-made casseroles for her father to warm up, her father does know how to dial for pizza or run through the drive thru. I assured her that there was no way she was going to starve or die. She calmed down and I am happy to report that everyone had plenty to eat while I was away on my cruise.
Now my extreme dislike is mowing the lawn. I know that there are many people who love mowing the lawn. They love the opportunity to get outside in the fresh air and work in their yard. The only work I like to do in my yard is holding down my lounge chair while I soak up the sun. Occasionally I am inclined to turn on the sprinkler in the extreme summer heat but that is usually only when my children request it.
Tom loves to work in the yard. He finds it to be therapeutic. He actually gets a gleam in his eye when spring arrives and the winter snow has all left. There is a giddy sound in his voice as he plans out his Saturday which is full of trips to the home and garden store, mowing the lawn, pulling weeds, planting stuff, and oh yah, scooping a winters worth of doggie no-no. He isn’t usually too excited about that last part which is why there is a winters worth. Anyway, I have never understood this elation anymore then he can possibly understand my excitement over getting all the laundry washed, dried, folded, and put away in one day. Pure joy!
As much as Tom loves his yard work, he does find it difficult sometimes to devote the time he needs to it when work gets really busy. One summer he was very busy with meetings and had no time to mow the lawn in the backyard. I had invited a few friends and their children over for an afternoon of playtime and was distressed when I looked out in my backyard and saw a near forest growing from a two week hiatus of mowing. I had some pretty young children coming over for the play date. They were shorter then my lawn. They would surely get lost in my home grown jungle. How would I explain that to the parents? “Sorry, I lost your child in my overgrown backyard.” I’m guessing that kind of news would spread through the PTA like a California wildfire. Fast and furious. The implications from something like this could be catastrophic. And I’m just thinking about my family, not the poor lost child!
So some of you might be thinking that I either called the play date off or got the lawnmower out and mowed the lawn. You would be wrong on both accounts. I marched across the street to the neighbor boy and asked him if I could pay him to mow the lawn. He accepted.
I have to admit that after he started I am sure he wanted to back out. Like I said, it was a jungle in the backyard. The poor kid was seriously straining to push the lawnmower. He looked like a football player at practice pushing against that padded contraption that they push against. You know the one that the most overweight coach stands on and yells at the players to push harder while he goes for a ride down the football field. Yah that one. Anyway, I did run out periodically with water and coke to hydrate the poor kid who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. A few hours later he was done. I’m kidding, it wasn’t three hours. Maybe 2. I profusely thanked my neighbor boy. I’m pretty sure he will hide if he ever sees me walking across the street towards his house again.
We had the play date. The backyard looked great. No children were lost in the weeds. Tom returned home from his business trip the next day. He walked out into the backyard and a huge smile broke out across his face. He looked like he was on the verge of crying tears of joy. I knew that he had been thinking about how tall the grass was in the backyard and stressing because he had not had time to mow it before he left. I knew that the whole time he was driving home he was thinking about that yard that he had to get mowed. Tom likes to work in the yard, but when he hasn’t seen his girls for a while, he would rather be with us not the yard. I knew he was incredibly happy and thankful that all he had to do was spend some time with his girls. He looked at me and said, “I can’t believe you mowed the lawn! Thank you!” Hmmm to be honest or not. To be a super hero or fess up. In the end I decided that I’m a super hero in other ways so I confessed, “I didn’t mow the lawn.”
“You didn’t? Then how did it get mowed?”
“I ordered out.”
I go away once a year for a long weekend with the women on my mom’s side of the family. It is our annual girl’s weekend away, and I love it. I look forward to that weekend for months. It is great just to spend some quality time with my family who I usually only see on that weekend because we all live scattered across the United States. One year we decided to go on a cruise so my time away from home was actually going to be 5 full days. When Megan heard this she went into panic mode. She shrieked, “We’re gonna starve! We’re going to die!” After I got her settled down and assured her that even if I wasn’t leaving behind some pre-made casseroles for her father to warm up, her father does know how to dial for pizza or run through the drive thru. I assured her that there was no way she was going to starve or die. She calmed down and I am happy to report that everyone had plenty to eat while I was away on my cruise.
Now my extreme dislike is mowing the lawn. I know that there are many people who love mowing the lawn. They love the opportunity to get outside in the fresh air and work in their yard. The only work I like to do in my yard is holding down my lounge chair while I soak up the sun. Occasionally I am inclined to turn on the sprinkler in the extreme summer heat but that is usually only when my children request it.
Tom loves to work in the yard. He finds it to be therapeutic. He actually gets a gleam in his eye when spring arrives and the winter snow has all left. There is a giddy sound in his voice as he plans out his Saturday which is full of trips to the home and garden store, mowing the lawn, pulling weeds, planting stuff, and oh yah, scooping a winters worth of doggie no-no. He isn’t usually too excited about that last part which is why there is a winters worth. Anyway, I have never understood this elation anymore then he can possibly understand my excitement over getting all the laundry washed, dried, folded, and put away in one day. Pure joy!
As much as Tom loves his yard work, he does find it difficult sometimes to devote the time he needs to it when work gets really busy. One summer he was very busy with meetings and had no time to mow the lawn in the backyard. I had invited a few friends and their children over for an afternoon of playtime and was distressed when I looked out in my backyard and saw a near forest growing from a two week hiatus of mowing. I had some pretty young children coming over for the play date. They were shorter then my lawn. They would surely get lost in my home grown jungle. How would I explain that to the parents? “Sorry, I lost your child in my overgrown backyard.” I’m guessing that kind of news would spread through the PTA like a California wildfire. Fast and furious. The implications from something like this could be catastrophic. And I’m just thinking about my family, not the poor lost child!
So some of you might be thinking that I either called the play date off or got the lawnmower out and mowed the lawn. You would be wrong on both accounts. I marched across the street to the neighbor boy and asked him if I could pay him to mow the lawn. He accepted.
I have to admit that after he started I am sure he wanted to back out. Like I said, it was a jungle in the backyard. The poor kid was seriously straining to push the lawnmower. He looked like a football player at practice pushing against that padded contraption that they push against. You know the one that the most overweight coach stands on and yells at the players to push harder while he goes for a ride down the football field. Yah that one. Anyway, I did run out periodically with water and coke to hydrate the poor kid who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. A few hours later he was done. I’m kidding, it wasn’t three hours. Maybe 2. I profusely thanked my neighbor boy. I’m pretty sure he will hide if he ever sees me walking across the street towards his house again.
We had the play date. The backyard looked great. No children were lost in the weeds. Tom returned home from his business trip the next day. He walked out into the backyard and a huge smile broke out across his face. He looked like he was on the verge of crying tears of joy. I knew that he had been thinking about how tall the grass was in the backyard and stressing because he had not had time to mow it before he left. I knew that the whole time he was driving home he was thinking about that yard that he had to get mowed. Tom likes to work in the yard, but when he hasn’t seen his girls for a while, he would rather be with us not the yard. I knew he was incredibly happy and thankful that all he had to do was spend some time with his girls. He looked at me and said, “I can’t believe you mowed the lawn! Thank you!” Hmmm to be honest or not. To be a super hero or fess up. In the end I decided that I’m a super hero in other ways so I confessed, “I didn’t mow the lawn.”
“You didn’t? Then how did it get mowed?”
“I ordered out.”
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