New makeover, Fiji style

I’m trying to be sensible these days.  We operate on a budget, we try to not dine out, and I quit buying Fiji water.  Even though it tastes like rain from heaven.  Even though I, alone, was probably supporting the entire island’s economy with my water slogging.  And it made me feel all rich and fancy carrying around those square bottles.

But now, all that’s changed.  I darkened my hair.  I need to lose ten pounds.  I drive a messy mom car and always forget to pluck my eyebrows. My appearance is becoming slowly mundane and dreary. I went to Target to find myself some new clothes, and thought to myself that those little shirts they sell up in there are pretty darn cute.  Tiny little flowers actually affixed to the knit?  Capri pants with drawstring waists?  Brilliant!

It’s Target, people.  I need an intervention.

I used to wear flashy jeans and maintain dark tans.  My hair was blond against my long back and I’d cackle with overly-white teeth. Now, I’m lucky to get a pedicure when my mother-in-law comes to town.  I’m convinced those Vietnamese ladies are not talking about soap operas but instead laughing about my calloused, dark heels. Maybe I was just being paranoid and they were complimenting my new shirt.   You know, the one with the tiny flowers.

I think it’s time for a makeover.  And some exercise.  Today, I found myself eating a hot dog for lunch.  It was organic, but still.  No adult needs to be eating a hot dog unless this person is at the ball park drinking a beer wearing a large oversized nerf hand.

Strike that.  Under no circumstances should anyone really be eating a hot dog.

I’m sick of feeling self-conscious in tight-fitting t-shirts and feeling like I have frumpy hair.  I have great hair.  So today, it ends.  I washed my car even though a rainstorm is coming.  I cleaned out the clutter and went through my house wiping and dusting.  I’m going to figure out how to start working out, even if I’m down on the floor doing push-ups to a Jane Fonda video.  I don’t think I’ll ease back into the cackling, no matter the condition of my teeth. That just sounds weird and witch-like.

So from this day forward, I’m going to steal back the woman I know is inside of me, aching and yearning to escape.  I want to feel strong and powerful again, not lumpy and soft with mouse-brown hair drinking tap water in my kitchen.  Where is the glory in that?  I might have to take on a part-time job to afford all that fancy water and highlights, but it will be worth it.  I’m cleansing.

My two-year-old probably won’t notice the impending change.  My husband might.  But Fiji certainly will.   It’s really all about the island people, after all.  I’m doing this for you.

xoxo,

Amanda

P.S.  I have no idea where Fiji is.  I should know this, since they inspired my new resolve.

P.P.S.  The more I think about it, they don’t give two rips if I’m blond.  As long as I buy their water, I could be bald with bad teeth for all they care.   That’s disappointing to think about.  I thought we had something.

P.P.P.S.  I looked it up.  Fiji is northwest of New Zealand.  As it turns out, they are looking for a tall blond woman with an occasional southern twang to lead their nation into a new and bright economic era.  Floral shirts are a plus, but not required. Who knew?  Who freaking knew?!

P. . . S.  I’m moving to Fiji. Don’t bother to call.  I’ll be working out.  Or eating a hot dog.  One of the two.

Fire!

Last Tuesday night, I ate bad frozen pizza.  I rocked my son to sleep.  I trimmed my nails and waited for my husband to get home from work.  All fairly normal things folks do on Tuesdays.  Until I heard a bomb go off over our house, consoled our screaming children, saw my husband rushing inside wearing his suit with a look of terror on his face, and noticed huge billowing flames in our back yard.  Then, after three fire trucks, water leaks, and a night spent at Embassy Suites, I can honestly say it wasn’t a normal Tuesday.  We normally have tacos on Tuesdays.  Life was in all kinds of disarray.

With all the fires in Texas lately, I’ve played the “what would I grab if my house was burning down” game plenty.  You map out in your head the route you’d take.  Grab the computer.  Load up the guns.  Great grandma’s clock will probably not make the cut and that’s just life.  All your stuff falls like cards into some sort of loose priority order. Eventually, you just sigh with the realization that life’s not easily replaceable no matter how you slice it, but you have a pretty good idea of what you’d grab.

Until it actually happens.

The minute I saw our back yard ablaze – lightning had struck our house and back shed and all I could see through the kitchen window was one huge ball of fire – I did what any normal person would do in this situation.  I went to the pantry and started stocking my purse with nutri-grain bars.

Instead of remaining calm, I shrieked at my daughter, who was standing right next to me.  “FIRE!,” I wailed.  “PUT ON YOUR SHOES!”  Balancing on son on my hip, I grabbed a bag and with superhuman strength, loaded it up with crackers and squeezable fruit.  I then filled up a sippy cup with water, threw in some diapers, and if I remember correctly, I think I might have actually dug up some underwear.

If the flames reached the house and burned it down, taking with it all our treasures and family heirlooms, don’t you tell me we wouldn’t have plenty of applesauce and underwear to remind us of our past.   Because we so totally would.

I then grabbed the photo albums and threw them all into a box and set them by the door.  I was set.  At least we would have food, water, diapers, photos, and underwear.  Then, with tears on my face and nutri-grain bars in my purse, I left everything sitting neatly inside the house in one neat pile and went rushing out to the neighbors in some sort of anxious frenzy, my daughter running behind me wearing sparkly sandals.

“There’s a fire!” I yelled as I banged on my neighbor’s door.  “Big!  Big fire!”  I had resorted to caveman speech, apparently, and pointed in the direction of our back yard.  Our neighbors, bless their hearts, are nearing sixty, but they ran out toward our back yard like spry sixteen year-olds, the wife jumping the fence in her housecoat to help my husband fight the flames and her husband (recovering from knee surgery) turning on the water. Only then did I notice that my daughter, who was standing beside me, was sobbing uncontrollably and was holding my son’s diaper bag with white knuckles.  “He might need a diaper,” she said amidst the sobs.  I so love her.

Finally, three fire trucks came and I directed them to the back, all the while convincing my daughter that her daddy did not, in fact, perish in the flames.  Only until she saw him, standing there wearing a sweat-soaked dress shirt, did she believe me and stop hyperventilating.

Eventually the flames were extinguished and we went back inside, allowing firemen to stomp through our home in mud-soaked boots, peering in attics and corners and closets for evidence of secret fire pockets.  We eventually calmed down our exhausted kids and thought the drama was over.  Until such time as we discovered our carpet was a subtropical wetland and things were sloshing where in fact there should be no sloshing.  Hmm.  Slab leaks.  Six of them, from the size of the puddles.  My husband rushed to turn off the water, we navigated the automated maze of the insurance 1-800 number, and at some point a company appeared like Batman with fans and dehumidifiers and water damage information (we just nodded and promised never to turn the fans off).  I put the kids to bed on a mat upstairs and was ready to call it a night.

At midnight or so, my husband came in the room and instructed me to find a hotel.  “But the kids are finally asleep,” I moan.  “Can’t we do that tomorrow?”  He looks at me, his face soaked with sweat, still wearing his suit and nice shoes (now ruined).  He throws up his hands, and it hits me that perhaps now is not a good time for this discussion.  The “we’re a team” mentality is really the way to go in this situation, so I nod in agreement with any single thing that comes out of his mouth. Perhaps he’d like to shower. Perhaps he’d like to go someplace that might not burn up.  Perhaps he’d like to talk in a normal tone of voice instead of screaming over large fans that make our living room sound like an airplane hanger.  Yes, yes, yes to everything.

At 1 am, we loaded up our kids and headed downtown to a hotel.  They were thrilled, and my daughter asked if it’s really true that we got pancakes for breakfast. “It’s really true,” I said.  I heard her mutter something about it being wonderful as she nodded off in the car.

So now, a week out, we’ve had six plumbers give us all different ideas of how to completely re-plumb our house.  They all do agree on one thing, which is “this is a pretty big deal” and “don’t expect an easy fix.”

We are living in our second rental, soon to be third come Tuesday, and I think about our week.  The uncertainty and the contractor decisions and the reality that we are homeless gypsies for a while.   But mostly I think about how lucky we are.  Many people aren’t in the situation we’re in with a home to come home to. We have each other.  We have great insurance.  We have a problem that can be fixed.  But most of all, we have nutri-grain bars.

Life is, indeed, very good.

what’s for dinner?

This evening, I fed my daughter scrambled eggs with broccoli.  She said it was gross and why do we always have broccoli and I’m really annoyed that you put the broccoli with the eggs and finally, my stomach hurts.  I didn’t have any excuses really, except to tell her that some children were starving and she was lucky she had food and that I did her a huge favor by adding cheese.  She just stared at me like really, mom.  Don’t do me any more favors. My husband walked in and stared at the skillet with disgust.  “Is this supper?” he asked.  I told him he could just have cereal.

I enjoy cooking.  I like to make really complicated dishes involving demi-glazes and stuffed pork and sautéed vegetables.  I love shallots and herbed chicken and thick cheesy potatoes and fresh thyme.  It’s soothing to have the time to roast and baste and present things on woodland spode platters.  And there’s nothing like pumpkin bread fresh from the oven.

But when I’m home late, my son’s pointing to the high chair and shrieking at the top of his lungs, and my daughter’s begging for more applesauce (“I’m starving to death.  To death!” she says), I’m in total panic mode.

I have exactly one recipe I throw together in a moment’s notice.  I mix together pre-cooked brown rice with raw eggs into a rudimentary batter and fry it up in some olive oil.  We call them rice cakes, and we eat them with sour cream and sea salt.  But that only covers Monday.

So I sat down and forced myself to come up with a list of simple meals that you could assemble quickly.  Many you can do over the weekend, freeze, and literally just forget about.  Until that one weeknight that you need them, and they’d be there like trashy reality tv.

Just consider this post a public service announcement. You’re welcome, people.

(1) Make a truckload of meatballs on Saturday and freeze them.  When you’re crazy busy, you can just microwave them, heat up some sauce, and serve with a bit of shredded cheese.  I also heavily butter and douse whole-wheat sandwich bread with garlic salt and then toast in the oven, which sounds gross but at least your kids are getting some whole grains.  I have also discovered Quinoa pasta, which is quite good if you have the energy to boil water. Which I rarely do.

(2) Put any sort of beef or pork roast in a slow-cooker with BBQ sauce (thanks, Neita!).  You can freeze this as well.  Then, on a Tuesday night, thaw out some hamburger buns, nuke the meat, and ta-da!  But if you do meatballs and then BBQ in the same week, that’s a lot of meat.  Unless you’re from Texas, and then it’s not that much, really.

(3) Cook some really good rolled oats over the weekend – slowly and stirring often –add milk, butter, cinnamon, honey, and raisins until the whole mess is sloppy, sweet, and wonderful. Then swat at your children’s hands as they reach for a bite, let it cool, and put it in the freezer in some Tupperware dish with a lid that actually matches.  Some random weekday, you can defrost it in the microwave enough that it pops out of the plastic tub and plunk it down like a hockey puck into a saucepan.  Add a bit more milk to thin it out, cook on low while you feed your starving son some grapes, and in no time you’ve got a great healthy dinner (even though it’s technically breakfast.  And mostly carbs.  But I doubt your kids will complain.)

(4) I make a ton of quiche.  You can literally hide almost anything in quiche (except, apparently, broccoli) and your kids will (possibly) eat it. Plus, it sounds fancy to say you made a quiche.  Unless you make a ton of quiche, like me.  Then they aren’t so easily fooled. This is a good way to use up lunch meat ham that’s about to expire.  You can also use canned spinach, which is otherwise quite disgusting. It’s super easy to throw together, but it does take a while to cook.  That’s the only downside.

(5) I have discovered that ring sausage lasts for an unusually long time in the fridge.  The expiration dates are crazy far-off, which means that they are probably full of preservatives and perhaps shouldn’t be consumed by humans.  Nonetheless, I buy it and keep it in the bottom drawer for emergencies (until it gets close to expiring, when I’m forced to cook it).  I just sauté bell peppers and onions in oil and then throw in the sliced sausage.  You can serve over rice if you have the energy. My daughter always balks at the onions and peppers, but I tune her out.  I also tune her out when she says she wants to be tinkerbell or a cheerleader, so I have loads of practice.

(6) The other egg dish that my family actually likes is to sauté shallots in butter,  add herbs de Provence, leftover roasted potatoes, eggs, then shredded gruyere.  It really only takes about five minutes. But you have to have the leftover potatoes and gruyere on hand, which isn’t often the case.  Unless you’re a gruyere junkie like me, and most folks aren’t.  Smart thinking, since that stuff’s way too expensive.

(7) Tuna.  I know, it’s basic, but I always forget about it.  Make a simple tuna salad with canned tuna, mandarin oranges, pecans, mayonnaise, and lemon pepper.  Serve with crackers. But be sure to take out the trash.  No one wants to wake up with bad breath, stumble into the kitchen for coffee, and smell tuna cans.  Ick.

(8) There’s always yogurt parfaits, which I’ve done on occasion.  Layer fresh or frozen fruit with yogurt and granola.  Hey – at least there’s some grains, fruits, and probiotics.  Could be worse.  I just tell my kids it’s dessert for dinner and they totally believe me every time.  Suckers.

So these are my humble suggestions.  Just stock your pantry, frig, and freezer with these things and you’ll be guaranteed a week’s worth of meals in no time.

I realize I’ve suggested meatballs, BBQ, preservative-laden sausage, oatmeal, tuna, and a large number of eggs.  That’s a strange listing of food, so your family might say they’re actually full from lunch and why do you always make meatballs because it’s really quite annoying.  That’s your problem to solve.

Tell them there’s always cereal.

Howdy Ya’ll!

Welcome to my new blog!  Hope you enjoy my random musings.  Comment anytime! 

Amanda