Domestic Revolution

The only cookie recipe you will ever need

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 04:50:00 +0000

I really like cookies. This is a fact. At least once a month I will make a batch, bake up 1/4 of it and freeze the rest so we can have some in a time of cookie shortage. If I don't do this, I will eat all of the cookies. ALL of the cookies in the world. When I want cookies, I want them immediately and I want them to be delicious.

This is a recipe I invented tonight on just such a cookie requiring occasion. I have been craving perfect oatmeal cookies for awhile now. I kept trying to make them with less sugar or vegan or whatever. Tonight, I said screw it, threw caution to the wind and made me some oatmeal cookies with healthy stuff in them that are in no way healthy. The original recipe can be found here this is my variation with bonus witty asides. Enjoy!

Ingredients

3 eggs, beaten

1 cup mixed fruit and nut mix (ours was cranberry, pumpkin seed, almond, sunflower seed and cashew)

1 teaspoon coconut extract (out of vanilla)

1 cup butter, softened

1 cup brown sugar

1 cup white sugar

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

a dash of ground clove

the zest and juice from two mandarin oranges

2 teaspoons baking soda

2 cups rolled oats

Directions

In a small bowl, combine the eggs, fruit and nut mix, and vanilla. Cover and chill for 1 hour (or 10 minutes if you are hungry and don’t really care about trivial things like directions) .

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). You can also forget to do this, and shove the cookies into the un-preheated oven adding an extra five minutes to your timer and hoping for the best.

In a medium bowl, cream together the butter, brown sugar, and white sugar orange juice and zest. If you are me, the zester was in the dishwasher so you simply scraped some skin off the oranges with a knife.

Pick the large chunks of skin out of the bowl, forget to turn the mixer off, shout “Fuck” again and again until you realize, you should probably turn the mixer off.

In a separate bowl, combine the flour, salt, cinnamon and baking soda; some would advise you measure the salt...I say, throw caution to the wind and just shake it a little, see what happens. Also, by combine i think they mean sift, I don’t sift, I fork. So fork together those things.

Add the forked mixture to the creamed mixture and stir until all of the things are one thing, do this gradually or else cover yourself in flour. Also, put the gaurd thingy on your mixer, or else cover yourself in flour. I am currently covered in flour.

. Next, stir in the egg and fruit and nut mixture, realize here that in the originaly recipe you found on allrecipes, the nuts weren’t supposed to be soaked in anything becuase they didn’t use a mix, just raisins and nuts separate. Hope to hell that doesn’t do anything wierd to them...then stir in the rolled oats. get covered in rolled oats.

Eat approximately ⅛ of the dough

Dough will be stiff. Drop by ice cream scoop fuls (it said teaspoons originally, but who are we kidding) onto an unprepared cookie sheet. That means not greased. But if yours look like mine ,that means black stuff on the bottom of them, so put some foil on the thing to protect them.

Bake for 10 to 12 minutes in the preheated oven, or 15-17 min in the non-preheated oven, until the edges are golden, or you can’t wait any more. Scald tongue repeatedly eating cookies before they cool. Shout, “I win at baking!” while writing a blog post about your superior cookies.

serve with beer and chocolate milk, because everything is better with beer and chocolate milk.

I get the gist of it...

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 02:58:00 +0000

I have a problem. It is a problem very common to 6 year olds, meth addicts and people with dementia. It can be at its worst crippling, at its best, mildly annoying. There are no ribbons for this particular affliction, no 10k walk/jogs and no mediocre celebrity telethons. I have...

A short attention span.

Now now, I'm no hero, just your average mom dealing with a life altering affliction on a day to day basis. No big deal. Whatever.

Really, my problem is impatience, impatience and this overwhelming need to do ALL OF THE THINGS. Because I am a Capricorn, I can't just do all of the things all at once, no. I have to do all of the things, one at a time, to completion. So rather than take my time and do my best, I rush through each thing, balls out screaming and hope for the best so I can move on to the next thing and repeat.

To illustrate this issue I offer the following examples;

1) I am incapable of making a recipe properly the first time. I will inevitably not cook it long enough, be missing a key ingredient, or figure I can jimmy rig some integral utensil or cooking method and just kind of... "figure it out". Ultimately, it turns out poorly.

2) I am no longer allowed to do kitchen math. This stems back to the Thanksgiving where I quadrupled every part of the mashed potato recipe, except for the potatoes.

3) I often forget to read the WHOLE recipe. I get the gist of it...I started doubling last nights cauliflower pizza recipe assuming I would certainly need 6 cups of riced cauliflower, if 1 head made 3 and the recipe said to rice 1 head. I was halfway into my second cauliflower before Boss stopped me, scrolled down a half inch and showed me the part where she only uses 1 of the 3 cups of riced cauliflower for her pizza...oops.

Eventually the pizza turned out like this, so clearly, I figured it out. Take that math!

You can see where I am going with this.

It seems to me that too many of us are caught in this same loop these days. We are so interested in getting to the last step that we forget all of the steps in between. Knowing that patience is a struggle for me, I am looking at projects that will help me to go slowly and wait for the desired outcome, rather than my typical plan of "bust my way through until its done..ish".

The first of these projects is our much talked about vegetable garden. In years past, if something didn't blossom immediately, I lost interest and moved on. This year, we are investing a lot of time and money into making a viable vegetable garden that we can actually maintain and hopefully eat from. We also made a compost bin nearly bursting with various plant goods just waiting to be turned into worm poop and plopped upon my tender young vegetables. But you know how long we have to wait for it to be useful worm poop? like... A YEAR!!!! talk about patience.

I remember my mom always telling me as a kid, "patience is a virtue in this life." She said it so often the words lost meaning until very recently. Even The Buddha said "the greatest prayer is for patience."

Our garden is my great prayer for patience. The energy that I put into the land, along with the love and dirt and sweat and worm poop will, eventually, yield amazing results, if only I stop...put in the effort, and wait. Good things come when they are meant to come, the universe knows when that is, I do not.

What is a challenge for you moving toward a more simple existence? Already there? What was the biggest transition for you and your family?

My Favorite Monster

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 16:00:00 +0000

Herman is amazing. Herman is my pet, Herman is my confidant, Herman is my constant companion...Herman is my sourdough starter.

My latest fascination is with fermentation. Over the last several weeks I have become obsessed with the idea of pickling, krauting, canning,kambutchaing, keifer...ing? I want to make stuff and I want it sour and I want it stewing in its own juices! This all really began with Herman.

About two months ago I ran across a recipe for a sweet sourdough stater whilst looking for bread recipes and I decided to give it a shot. I remembered my mom constantly trying to keep something she called "Herman" alive and eventually forgetting all about it in our pantry until one day she would throw it out with a look of disgust. Most people I asked about sourdough starters, including Mom told me not to bother, I would certainly forget about it and kill the thing before any tasty treats would be made. My mom however does not have the obsession with "making shit happen" that I have. As soon as you tell me to forget something, it is pretty much a guarantee it will become my new passion.

If you have ever made a sourdough you know the basic recipe. Yeast, flour, water. Stir. Stir. Stir. Stir. Feed. Lather, Rinse, Repeat, culinary delights ensue.

I had never made a sourdough starter before. I picked the first recipe off the web and went to work. Research is NOT my thing.

The original recipe I had called for milk and sugar every 5th day. On the 15th day of the stir, stir, stir, stir feed, stir....cycle, I was super excited to make some breads and get me some sour-dough in my face. We used a recipe from Instructables to make a no knead sourdough artisan bread. We made chowder to have it dipped in. The house smelled outstanding. We were ready for that first bite, I slathered it in butter, took in the aroma, put it in my mouth...It tasted like...nothing. Not even bread really. It had the right texture. The right chew. But it had nothing in the sourdough department or the yeasty bready department we were looking for.

Fail.

Never one to give up, I fled to the internets and searched for a reason. Turns out, most sourdough recipes do NOT call for sugar, nor milk. I was aghast. Perhaps READING the recipe, other than the instructions and ingredients may have prevented this...but who is to say really?

I started immediately eliminating the milk and sugar from Herman's feedings and instead adding only water and flour. The flour itself has enough sugar to keep the yeast going without any other help. I went back to my 4 days stir, 1 day feed schedule for 2 more weeks before attempting another experiment in Herman cooking. (so violent)

After 2 weeks, I found a recipe for sourdough pancakes that made my mouth absolutely water. Please see said recipe HERE. Warily, I approached Herman's jar. Upon opening the lid I saw that he had that fine layer of liquid on top the interwebs had said he would. He smelled like a miner from the 1800's and definitely evoked the feeling of fermentation I had been looking for. We had a talk. We decided that sourdough pancakes were too cool to pass up. It was time he and I got down to business and started working WITH each other, and not against. We came to an accord. In the end, the pancakes were AMAZING. Sour, light, delicious. We top them with brown rice syrup or honey and we don't get that nasty carb hangover we always got from buttermilk cakes.

Over the last month Herman and I have been trying some new things. I have switched him to an entirely whole wheat diet. This seems to agree with his digestion more than the white bread flour I was using. He is always hoochy and bubbly. I also haven't divided him since like the second week I made him. I gave some to a couple of friends and then no one wanted the responsiblity of an edible pet monster so I haven't handed any out. Because I am pathologically incapable of throwing away food (or most things really) I haven't divided him at all since. If anyone knows whether this is causing my bread to mutate into some sort of yeast beast I would like to know because all I know is he tastes awesome.

To date we have made using Herman:

Sourdough Cinnamon Rolls

No Knead Sourdough Bread (whole wheat and white) both awesome

Sourdough Whole Wheat Bread

Sourdough Tortillas-whole wheat, we are still perfecting this one

and Sourdough English Muffins

Herman an I have grown rather fond of each other. Boss refers to him as another member of our family. Pinkone takes her turn feeding him and talking to him to make sure he is well loved and cared for. In return he fills our bellies with delicious taste treats at least once a week. There are thousands of links for creating your own starter if you only consult the Oracle. I would post mine here...but it doesn't actually exist.

Here is one that is similar from My Sisters Kitchen or you can take the Gnowfglins Sourdough E-course and learn about ALL OF THE THINGS!!!

Tell us about your favorite monster?

*update: prior to this posting Herman passed on. His jar was contaminated by some unknown substance. We have not ruled out sabotage by other bread products wishing to be as awesome, or possibly the dog, looking for attention. Either way, Herman 2.0 has been created today and will hopefully live up to his predecessors delightful flavor. RIP Herman.

[caption id="attachment_975" align="aligncenter" width="540" caption="quite similar to Herman"][/caption]

The Weird Kid

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 03:30:00 +0000

Anyone who has either met our family, or read our blog with any regularity is painfully aware that Pinkone is a kid who marches to her own drummer. Her unique brand of "Pink-ness" is kind of taken for granted as normal by the lot of us who are in the trenches with her every day. Generally, there isn't a problem until she, or we, are forced to interact with the world at large. Suddenly her new found love of Swedish Black Metal is looked at as a cause for concern rather than totally bad ass.

We had parent teacher conferences the other day, always a source of anxiety for me. The teacher had already called us a couple of weeks ago to let us know that apparently, our kid had a disconcerting odor. This was news to me, as she was given a shower that very morning. When she came home, it turned out that she had decided that simply standing under the water and not actually using soap was an adequate means of cleaning ones self. As I have mentioned in previous posts, it is still shocking to me that hygiene is not something all people are inherently born with.

So after a long and detailed discussion on how to properly wash ourselves and the importance of clean socks, we sent the child back to school thinking all of our problems were solved. Parent teacher conferences come up and Boss and I go like the good Queer-rents we are. Pinkone show's us her desk, her illustrated guide to the life cycle of a spider and the book of wacky learning songs she uses every day. We see the chart illustrating the teeth lost by each member of the class, see the quiet reading corner and learn about Kelso's choices. Kelso usually chooses to not be a jerk, so we like him.

Then comes the part where Pinkone goes to play with the student teacher and we sit down to talk to the teacher one on one. She starts off with all of the stuff we already know. Pinkone is great at math, she is super smart, has a little trouble focusing sometimes, but is generally doing very well academically.

Then we get into the bits we did NOT know. Apparently Pinkone has an issue with sneakiness. After work time the kids are supposed to bring a crayon to the magic carpet and circle the answers they got wrong. Pinkone brings her pencil and erases the answers and writes the correct ones on the paper instead. They are supposed to put the math blocks in the box after math time, Pinkone quietly stuffs them in her pocket and takes them home with her for no apparent reason. Teacher is concerned about the amount of sneakiness Pinkone is displaying, did we think there was something going on we weren't aware of? Did teacher need to be brought in on some sort of deep family trauma that resulted in the stealing of math blocks?

Awesome.

Pinkone went through something of a Hudson Hawk phase shortly after her bio-dad left as well. There were several instances of finding small toys and things in her pockets after returning from her friends houses. She would return the toys, apologize and be grounded, eventually the phase seemed to subside and we hadn't had an episode in months.

Has our child become a criminal mastermind? Is she a tiny sociopath in training?

I don't think so. The deal here is that Pinkone has embarrassingly developed a habit I myself, and most of my family seems to have. It is an issue with scarcity. Though we have never had an instance in which we have had to truly want for anything, we are all always afraid that there will suddenly not be enough of it when we want it. If we don't get this thing NOW it won't be there when we legitimately can get it. This is the issue that most often results in shop lifting, hanging on to abusive relationships, and disordered eating.

Where does this issue come from? I see it in myself, I see it in my family, and now here it is in my daughter. I take portions bigger than I want because I am afraid the food won't be there if I want more. I hold on tight to my partners whether I want them there or not because I am terrified they might disappear at a moments notice and I won't be able to get a new one. I either buy whatever it is I need the MOMENT I can afford it with NO research whatsoever or buy nothing at all.

While swiping the math blocks may not have been a huge deal in the grand scheme of things, the anxiety that goes along with the desire TO swipe the math blocks has the potential to be a life long issue if we don't nip it in the bud ASAP.

Pinkone has also been on a kick lately where she keeps trying to convince Boss and I that we should get married. She has even offered up her own pink plastic butterfly ring if only he would be willing to propose to me. While incredibly sweet, we aren't planning to get married any time soon, or possibly ever, its not really a priority for us. After her 11th request for us to get married. I asked her the other day, "Honey, are you worried that Boss is going to go away if we aren't married?." She admitted that yes, that was her concern. We had a long talk about the differences between commitment and marriage, and that the two do not always have to equal the other. Her bio-dad and I were married and it didn't stop him from leaving. Just because Boss and I are not married does not mean we are any less committed to each other than any other couple. She attended the "document signing ceremony" of our dear friends with us and we reminded her of what they told her that day. "Our relationship is no more valid today than it was yesterday. We are just letting the state of Washington know that we plan to file our taxes together next year". A fantastic lesson the true meaning of marriage if you ask me.

As I am telling her this, I realize that I have thought and felt the very same sense of urgency regarding my relationship, whether I have said it out loud or not. If we aren't married, or working toward getting married, our relationship seems somehow...less than. That is not OK.

What do you DO when you see your kids playing out your own issues in front of your face? How do you correct a behavior in them that is so ingrained in yourself? I didn't even realize that this was a problem for me until very recently. I have been trying to expend my energy reminding myself that if I don't have something RIGHT NOW it will either be there when I am ready for it, or if it isn't, then it wasn't meant to be. How to communicate this to Pinkone? I didn't realize I was communicating my scarcity issues to her in the first place so how do I communicate my attempts at eradicating them from my own life?

Have any of you been shocked to see your own issues mirrored in your kids? What did you do to correct it?

Tah-Boo-Lee!

noreply@blogger.com (AlixJ) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 05:41:00 +0000

I love Levantine cuisine. Everything from the basic olives, Hummus and Shwarma to the more "adventurous" like Shashlik, Dolma and Kibbeh and if you have never tried Baklava you have never truly lived. Often some of these foods can be difficult to prepare, I mean who has a Shwarma spit in their kitchen? (one day it will be mine, oh yes it will be mine!) However, one of my favorite dishes from the Levant region of the world is Tabbouleh. Originally from the mountains of Syria and Lebanon, tabbouleh has become one of the most popular salads in the Middle East. Traditionally made with bulgur wheat, Tabbouleh is a super easy and delicious salad that can be served as a main dish or a side. One of the best things about it is that you can make a large amount, store it in the refrigerator in a tightly closed container and its flavors develop more and more as the days pass. We are trying to reduce the amount of gluten we eat in casa DR and experiment with new grains and seeds so I have adjusted my usual tabbouleh recipe to use quinoa instead of bulgur, this give it a softer texture but I really like the taste and this recipe could be used to make tabbouleh with almost any grain.

Fun Fact!

The largest recorded dish of tabbouleh to date weighed 4,324 kg and was created on 13 November 2009 by the Yaldy Association at Alaayen Elementary School in the Arab town of Shefa-Amr in Israel.

Here is my recipe for a traditional tabbouleh with a few of my own tweaks.

So for this you will need:

1 cup dry quinoa*

3 ripe Roma tomatoes

1/2 long english cucumber

1/2 red bell pepper

1/2 yellow or orange bell pepper

1 bunch Italian Flat leaf parsley.

1 cup kalamata olives

1/2 red onion

2 cloves of fresh garlic

2 whole lemons

1 cup quality olive oil

1 tsp ground cumin

1/2 tsp sea salt

1/2 fresh ground black pepper

*You can make this with either cooked quinoa or raw sprouted quinoa. To see how to sprout quinoa visit our post on sprouted grains or if you are going to cook the quinoa, here is a great tutorial on how to do just that! If using cooked quinoa I recommend cooking it at least 3 hours prior to making the salad so that it has plenty of time to fully chill. The best is to let it cool in the fridge overnight.

To begin, put all your cooled quinoa in a large mixing bowl. Chop up all vegetables with the exception of the onion,garlic and cilantro in small cubes, I find the smaller cubes work better than large chunk vegetables to maintain a consistency of texture and to ensure you can get a bit of each ingredient in each bite! Add all chopped veggies to the quinoa.

At this point I attack my parsley. Usually I will wash it and trim off the bottom third of the steams. Also pick through it and make sure there are no wilted, blackish bits...trust me, you do not want to get one of these in your bite..very foul! After I have made sure it is all good to go I bunch it up tightly together as if I am going to do a chiffonade of the bunch. The tighter you hold it the smaller pieces you can cut it in the first go around, otherwise it tend to explode and go everywhere!

Toss it in with the quinoa and veg. Now, on to the dressing which brings this all together in a mess of tangy freshness. Combine your olive oil and lemon juice, add in the salt, cumin and pepper. Whisk well so that the lemon juice and olive oil combine. Cut up onion in a small dice and mince both garlic cloves, add to lemon and oil mixture. Whisk well to incorporate. At this point my mouth usually starts to water as the heady garlic and onion and the tart lemon scent hits me. Pour dressing onto salad.

Slice up your olives and combine with your salad, mix well. Now comes the best part...the taste test. Take a big spoonful, close your eyes and..NOM!! This salad just gets better as it sits so usually I will make it at least 1 hour ahead of time and cover it and put it in the refrigerator to chill and let the flavors mingle. Drop me a comment and let me know how yours turned out and what, if any, adjustments you made. Enjoy!!

Apple Butter Business

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 11:39:00 +0000

Two weeks ago I started a campaign on craigslist for canning supplies. Preserving is my cause du-jour at the moment. I am getting super excited about things like canning, fermenting, and dehydrating. Oh the possibilities!

During my quest for free canning supplies, I was contacted by a person that worked for an older gentleman with a plethora of canning business cluttering up his shop since his wife passed on. Boss and I immediately planned a trip out to the nether reaches of the county to pick up our free swag and start the canning fun times.

When we got there, we found the COOLEST gentleman either of us have had the pleasure of meeting since our own grandpa's (who are both extremely awesome mind you). Farmer Jim had not only canning supplies, but an industrial rock tumbler, gads of shiny rocks from all over the US, a stuffed owl and so many amazing handy craft projects I think etsy would blow up if it allowed him to post to their site.

Farmer Jim loaded us up with jars and a canning set up and also sent us home with a HUGE bucket of apples to start off our adventure in canning. Boss now has his old gentleman mentor, and I now have my canning supplies...all in all, a prosperous trip.

[caption id="attachment_943" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="above: a veritable shit ton of apples"][/caption]

When I got home, I couldn't decide what it was I wanted to DO with these nifty canning supplies and all of these apples. We are big fans of apple muffins in this house, but it seemed a little silly to make 600 of them just to use up my apples. After a quick offering to the Oracle, it was decided that apple butter would be the coolest thing we could make with the ingredients we already had on hand.

The process begins with a veritable shit ton of apples. We used two bags from the grocery store as well as 10 of Farmer Jim's far superior apples. We filled the crock pot with tiny chunks of apples and thought smugly...this shall make thousands upon thousands of gallons of delicious apple butter! MWHAHAHAHAHA! It of course made...2 pints of delicious apple butter. According to the interwebs, if youw ant to make gallons of the stuff, you will need to keep adding apples as it cooks down and you will need far more than like 30 apples. SO the recipe I am posting here is for a small yield batch that you can do in a weekend with your crock pot. The apple butter purists will do it in gigantic pots over fires and such. I am no apple butter purist.

Let us begin.

Ingredients:

A bunch of of apples (30 or so) -cored and chopped. I leave the skins on because they cook down and it doesn't make any difference to me. Plus...the lazy...

[caption id="attachment_944" align="aligncenter" width="225" caption="like-a-so"]
The original recipe calls for 4 cups of sugar...which is a god awful amount of sugar. So We changed it to 1/2 cup of honey and it is perfectly sweet and spicy.

mix up 2 tsp cinnamon, 1/4 tsp ground cloves, and 1/4 tsp salt and sprinkle over the apples

Cook on high for 1 hour, then reduce heat to low and cook for 9 hours ish until warm and soft. I take my immersion blender to it at this point and smoosh it around until its liquidy and thick. Let it cook for another hour with the lid off.

[/caption] When you can take a spoon-ful and put it on a plate, and there is no halo of fluid around it, it is apparently done. [caption id="attachment_948" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="a poor example of this is illustrated here"][/caption] Spoon that delicious mess into your jars nice and hot. We don't have a canning funnel so we used a regular one, which worked but it was a little slower going. [caption id="attachment_949" align="aligncenter" width="225" caption="nom a nom a nom"][/caption] Use your favorite water bath canning method to preserve your new awesome apple butter. Because we ended up with only 2 jars, we didn't bother to can it, though the heat from the butter sealed one of my mason jars anyway so that was an added bonus! Be sure to leave about a 1/4 inch of room at the top to allow for expansion. We spread it on toasts, we eat it on our museli in the morning, we bathe in it...wait...too may secrets revealed...ENJOY!

Change Is Scary and Good

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 01:06:00 +0000

You may have noticed a bit of a change here at what was once Mediocre Mama. What was once a blog that was meant to help me make sense of the sometimes baffling and often hilarious world of motherhood, has become something more in recent months. The reason for this? I have become something more. Through the duration of this blog I have been growing up, learning about myself as a mom, and feeling less and less insecure about my place in the universe.

Mediocre Mama followed me through a HUGE transition in my life, from early motherhood, to working mom, to suddenly single, to coming out and finding a life I didn't know I could have. Through it all I have kept my sense of humor and my relationship with my daughter has grown stronger with every passing year. Reading back blog posts is like reliving those moments of my life all over again, for better and for worse. There was never much focus other than my extreme desire to feel less alone in a world that sometimes felt increasingly isolated.

The world I am living in now is very different. I am very quickly becoming the best version of myself I have ever been. I look around me and see only the potential for love and mutual support, and do not feel so alone and isolated as I once did. While I am still utterly baffled by Pinkone and am pretty sure the world made a terrible mistake in allowing me to raise a human being without proper supervision, I am fairly confident in my ability to do so effectively at this point. I know what kind of mom I am, what kind of mom I want to be, and neither of those things is Mediocre. Mediocre Mama was supposed to be tongue in cheek, a play on the insecurities that we all feel about parenting and growing up. Really, it was me hiding behind self deprecation and giving myself an out to be less than the parent I knew I could be. Am I perfect? dear god no. Do I plan to be perfect? nope, perfect is boring. Am I mediocre? nope, and I never was. I am the best mom for my kid, and the best mom I want to be today. What more could I want really?

The new phase for Mediocre Mama, which shall now be known as "Domestic Anarchy" is really exciting for us. Boss is going to join me in chronicling our adventures in "Unintentional Bohemia" or what I am also referring to as "The DIY Revolution". We made the decision to change our lives, partially out of necessity (I may have mentioned once or twice that we are broke asses) Partially because we want to be closer to the roots of where our food, clothes, materials and whatever else we can come up with, comes from.

We intend to write about our adventures as amateur urban farmers, canners, seamstresses, and what my work boss is now calling "Faux-mish". We also intend to continue writing about the strange and wonderful world that we inhabit with our daughter Pinkone and her many eccentricities. There will still be plenty of "WTF" moments starring our favorite precocious pink headed monster and never a shortage of pug related anecdotes.

Hopefully those of you who have always enjoyed my blogs will continue to subscribe, and hopefully I will be better at posting more consistently now that Boss and I are working together on this. Feel free to contribute your own DIY revolutionary ideas, most of mine are pilfered from the internet anyway!

Thanks for all of the support over the years and here's to a new age!

<3 The formerly Mediocre Mama

Sprouted What Now??

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 08:00:00 +0000

Have you ever heard of sprouted grain bread? Yeah, me either, until Boss mentioned something about it one night whilst basking in the romantic light of my laptop. Apparently he was quite fond of a certain type of bread called "Squirlley Bread". It is a bread made with sprouted grains, which according to http://www.organicsproutedflour.net is like the best thing ever. The website has a big ol' list of health claims most of which amount to "this is both tasty and good for you!"

Boss began waxing poetic about this bread, making me desperately want to try them. At $3.00 or so a loaf I of course was skeptical (and also cheap). So rather than rush out to the Co-Op searching for this bread, I did what I now often do and said "Shit, I can do that. To Google!"

Whilst Googling, I found a recipe for making your own sprouted grain breads, the method for sprouting said grains and the tools with which to grind the resulting sprouts. I had all of the things, shit was gone get sprouted up in this joint.

The recipe for sprouting grains is located HERE at the mother of all DIY awesomeness, Mother Earth News . The basic principle is to get the grains to sprout little tails, which means they are rehydrated and growing again. You can apparently do this with any unprocessed seeds or grains. Our first endeavor involved red wheat berries. The resulting bread was...damp? but sweet and nutty, also delightful with soup. The next goal was to make a gluten free version of this delightful buisness so we tried our hands at Quinoa sprouting.

Thing the first: Do not use the jar method that is mentioned in the Mother Earth article. Apparently with the smaller grains like quinoa (and possibly others but for sure this particular grain) it is easier to sprout them, and drain them by laying them flat on a cookie sheet. Please see below for step by step pictorial instructions!

Step One- Pick a grain!

We picked Quinoa becuase its gluten free and I have a fetish for feeding the starving. A cup of grains will sprout into about a cup and a halfish of sprouts and that will make one small loaf or 8 small rolls.

[caption id="attachment_875" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="nom nom various grains"][/caption]

Second: Soak the grains over night in a jar

(this is where the picture would go if I had taken said picture)

Third:

Drain said grains and move them to a flat surface with which to sprout

[caption id="attachment_876" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="cookie sheets are flat!"][/caption]

Fourth: rinse the grains twice a day shuffling them about so they don't congeal and make yicky mold thingys until they start to make tails. This takes about two days. There is not a photo of the tails because I only have a shitty point and shoot camera with no macro setting right now. So..here is a drawing of what they look like with tails.

[caption id="attachment_878" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="NOTHING else"][/caption]

Fifth: After they have the tails, you can grind the ever loving shit out of them. We use the meat grinding attachment for my Kitchen Aid and it works perfectly. I am sure there is an alternative method so you don't have to go buy a Kitchen Aid...but you should just go buy a Kitchen Aid because they are seriously the greatest things ever in life. I hug mine when no one is watching...Anyway...put the sprouts in the grinder and smoosh them through creating this odd, hamburgery like substance, you can add some flax, some seeds, some other stuff, whatever sounds good to you. When we did the wheat berries, we added flax but when we did the quinoa we kept it pure.

[caption id="attachment_879" align="aligncenter" width="225" caption="No one knows of our secret love Kitchen Aid..."][/caption]

What Step am I on?

Smoosh the resulting pulpy stuff together to make little balls or a loaf and place on a sheet pan. We also rolled ours in sesame seeds because...why not?

[caption id="attachment_880" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="even his hands are handsome...*sigh*"][/caption]

I have completely lost count at this point:

Put a pan of water on the lower shelf of the oven, and the sheet pan on the upper rack. This keeps your bread from drying out. Bake at 250 degrees for...well the recipe said to do it for 2.5 hours and we found that this worked fairly well with the wheat berry bread, but was a bit too long for the quinoa. So, I am going to say check it after 2 hours and push on the top, if it is crusty but springy, its done. If its still fairly smooshy, give it another 10 minutes. There really isn't an exact time to this. The resulting nibbles look something like this:

wait...I forgot to take a picture of that too... well they look like the ones boss is rolling only cooked.

The judgement:

So, we quite liked the wheat berry bread, particularly when paired with soup. It was nothing like the squirlly bread, we think becuase they not only sprout their grains, but then dry and mill them or mix them with other grains to make flour...basically its more like bread. These loaves taste breadish, but in the case of the wheat berry bread, its very wet on the inside and hard on the outside. We may not have squeezed out enough of the water from the grains before smooshing them. As for the quinoa, we over cooked them but they had this very pleasent nutty flavor that we think would make an excellent cookie. We plan to incoporate some brown rice syrup next time and see what that is like.

Over all, sprouting: successful! Using said sprouts to make bread: Moderately successful and definately boast worthy. I mean, who do you know that is running about sprouting things and making stuff from them? Not enough people that is for sure!

Give it a try, use some other grains and let us know how it goes. What works best for you? Any alternative grinding methods? Next up, sprouted grain tortillas Oh yeah...that is happening!

Food! F*ck Yeah!

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 01:29:00 +0000

Like many of my generation, I have spent most of my life eating what can only be called "processed food type products." Everything I learned to cook was either soaking in cream of stuff or smothered in cheddar cheese.

Oddly enough, I have often not felt like the healthiest person in town. Having one time been something of an athlete, it was right surprising when I became a grown up and doing my own cooking coupled with far less of the sports things, and then found myself exhausted, breathing hard, and often unnervingly sweaty.

I have made many a half hearted attempted at healthy living, and have made a few full hearted attempts at self sufficient living. Usually I have given up after a few short weeks and a couple of misshapen bread loaves. The reason these experiments fail varies, but overall I think the uniting factor has to do with my reasons behind doing so. When I would try to eat healthy it was because I wanted to lose weight, go on a trip and look like what I decided pretty was. When I would try to make my own foods it was because I was broke or needed some kind of escape from a crappy life.

When Boss moved in, we both expressed our desire to start living more healthy lives. We wanted to have more energy, be less reliant on processed foods and have a better understanding of what it was that we were putting in our bodies.These seemed like better reasons than any I had had before.

The decision made, putting it into action became something else entirely. As I mentioned, I was raised on mayonnaise based salads and margarine, my idea of eating healthy was buying things full of health claims and shiny photos brought to you by Nabisco and Winston Salem. I was still desperate to find the food loop hole that would allow me to continue eating cheese as often as humanly possible and feel awesome about my choices while doing so. Unfortunately, that loop hole does not exist, and believe me, if it did, I would have found it. I fucking LOVE cheese.

We went back and forth and in and out of good habits, nothing really sticking for any significant amount of time. We would buy the better versions of boxed foods, skinless boneless frozen chicken parts, and things smacking of Omegas and what not. We didn't feel any better, our wallets were still pretty damn empty and we couldn't tell you from one day to the next what exactly it was that was going into our foods. This seemed counter productive.

*Tangent*

As poor people, we have been told again and again that we don't deserve to be healthy, that we don't deserve to have delicious, healthy foods to put in our bodies that don't come from brightly colored boxes. Healthy, organic foods are not affordable, not readily available and not marketed to your "average" family making only slightly more than minimum wage. The shelves at Wal-Mart (where all us poor folk shop) are chock full of chemical laden sugar drinks and vegetable flavored fried corn puffs. As there is no money to be had in actual carrots, rarely will a carrot be seen (the carrot lobbyists are few and far between).

As fat people we are told that its our fault we are fat, that we can't possibly be both healthy AND fat. Society tells us the two are mutually exclusive. We are told that the only way to be healthy, is to be thin. That the only way to be thin, is to give our money to a diet organization, or subscribe to some new chemical fad that will change our bodies to work in a different way. Does NO ONE see how FUCKED that is? If we give money to someone to make us thin, does that someone benefit in any way from actually making us thin? If we are all thin and staying that way, where will they get their money? Will Jenny Craig just brush her hands off and say "ahhh, now that was fine days work, on to cure cancer!" WHY would we willingly alter the chemistry of our bodies and reroute our internal organs in order to eat less shitty food, but shitty food all the same, instead of leaving our bodies the perfect energy plants they are and filling them with real, actual food that is also fuel? And why can't that be fun?! and social?! instead of a source of contention and angst?

We as a society have been told that we are helpless slaves to multinational corporations that know what is best for our families and that the food we have always eaten isn't good enough, or healthy enough. That their lobbyists and scientists know better than our bodies and our ancestors do. Do you see Charles Ingalls eating re-hydrogenated food type products? HELL NO! Charles Ingalls would be like, I want chicken, I'm gonna go get me an actual chicken. Caroline, grind me some flour! You know why? Because Charles Ingalls is THE MAN....

*End Tangent*

SO the point I was getting at is, we got sick of it. We started making changes.

Change the first:

Stop buying what has commonly been referred to as "bread" but is really a mishmash of refined chemicals and flours and a metric ton of sugar compressed into a bread like shape. That one was easy. I love making my own bread. Its this very zen thing for me. I knead the dough and become one with it, there is nothing but me, and the dough. I have begun the search for the most epic of all bread recipes. Stay tuned for that adventure.

Step the second:

Vegetables are expensive and keep spoiling before we eat them, this is both wasteful and annoying. Solution? Don't buy any meat, then you have to eat the vegetables and also have more money to spend on them! We also turned to the family oracle (Google) and found better ways to store our veggies and things to do with the bits we don't eat (stay tuned for this also!) So no veggies are going to waste!

Step the third:

Foods that contain less chemicals seem to be more expensive, this is what we in this house refer to as "bull shit". Solution? figure out how to make it yourself. Again, the family oracle provides us with solutions. Want gluten free bread? Don't want to pay 9bazillion dollars for 12 kinds of flour? Make sprouted grain breads. Have a hankering for egg salad, don't know what "disodium edta " is and don't particularly want it to be part of your dinner? Make your own mayo. The internet is literally SWARMING with people aching to share their recipes and tips for making the perfect whatever. This has become what I call culinary truth or dare, and what Boss calls "Food Alchemy". I have saved about $100 a month by cutting out meat, and making my own everything but vegetables, yeast, almond milk, and flour. And if that grain mill comes in for my kitchen aid at a reasonable price...

Step the fourth and final:

Quit fucking apologizing for being awesome at life. We feel amazing since we have started instituting these changes in our lives. The energy shift in our home is palpable. Pinkone is happier, cleaner, and is far less of a goth kid in training. Boss and I are playing with her again, teaching her how to do the things we are doing and are able to use every meal as a science experiment or math lesson. There are some days where I start to feel silly, or self conscious for going to the co-op buying bulk quinoa or grinding my own oat flour or...whatever. Like suddenly I am one of those people from California Woody Allen makes fun of. Then I stop and think about it. Fuck You Woody Allen! (not really, I seriously love you Mr. Allen) But, really, that kind of thinking is me apologizing to (someone?) for living the kind of life I want to live. Living this way only looks ridiculous and feels like work when I decide it is ridiculous and feels like work and don't remind myself that not only is being relatively self sufficent super fun, but a great way to keep my brain in shape learning new things. Fuck Yeah Learning!

So basically what I am saying here is that my family is making the choice to engage in food related anarchy and non conformist living. We would like to share that with you, the people of the internet in the hopes that you might find it informative, entertaining, or at the very least, amusing. If you have any awesome ideas for self sufficent living, food related anarchy, or just a general comment or gripe, please feel free to send it to the following address: pinklilybit@gmail.com

Stay tuned for more adventures in MediocreParenting, in which your hero continues to feel less Mediocre by the day!

29 Full Steam Ahead!

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 03:18:00 +0000

This may come as no surprise to anyone who regularly reads my blog, or knows me in anyway, but sometimes I feel like I might be a crazy person. As I age, I care about whether or not this is true less and less, but the thought still crosses my mind from time to time.

Tonight I was reading bits of a blog that Boss linked me to, The Non-Conformist Family. In reading Josh's familial manifesto, I am starting to feel a bit like less of a crazy person, and a bit more like one of the lucky people in the universe that has managed to start figuring out that our world is actually more than just the next thing on the to do list. Boss calls this tapping into the universal love stream. I love that. We aren't out here alone being nuts, we are part of the stream of people out here being nuts together!

Over the past couple of years I have made some really insane choices. I decided that living genuinely was more important to me than living safely. While this was not an easy choice to make, and resulted in the end of my marriage, the end of several friendships, and skeptical eyebrow raises from many a family member, I wouldn't change that decision for anything. In NCF, Josh talks about taking risks, and by coming out, ending a crappy marriage, and taking a flying leap off the love cliff with someone that lived impossibly far away, I think I may have one or two things to say about risk taking.

So yesterday was my birthday, and as is my custom, I looked back on the previous year, looked forward to the next year, and did a little of the "yes this, no that" game with myself. What did my life look like this time last year? quite different for sure. What did I want it to look like this time next year? Similar but better...so as you can see, I'm totally deep.

For my birthday this year, I asked for one thing. Boss and I don't have any money to speak of, so lavishing me with furs and jewels was not totally in the realm of possibility. Rather, I asked him for a weekend of us time, or as we say, "mantics". We spent the weekend baking, cooking, talking, watching movies, and just being together. In doing this, not only did we get some prime 'humpin' in, but we also managed to really connect on a deeper level. It was super awesome to remind myself exactly why I took the insane risk of moving this person out here to live with us from a foreign land, with full knowledge that they would not be able to work and may possibly turn out to totally hate everything about me. It reminded him why he left a comfortable job, socialized healthcare and a boat load of friends for a capitalist dictatorship populated with individualistic hate mongers, I might be paraphrasing there a bit, but you get the jist. The point is, in my 28th year I took some crazy ass risks, many of which did not sit well with those I love. In the end, the most important thing was that I went in fully informed and came out into 29 the best version of me I can be today.

Birthday List of Awesome Things I Plan to Continue into 29

1) Making as many things from scratch as humanley possible

Cooking has become the ultimate game of double dog dare with myself. Being super poor, but also something of a foodie poser, I like to pay close attention to what I stuff in my face hole and that of my little family. I have grown to LOVE making things that normally come from a box or a can or a bag, myself. There are few things more cathartic than kneading bread. I also love finding vegetarian and vegan alternatives to favorite foods. I feel like I plant a giant middle finger in the face of corporate greed every time I master a new recipe.

2) Becoming more socially aware

There was a time when I was a bright eyed, idealistic little college queerling with lots to say about lots of things. I read newspapers (remember those kids?!) and I had witty and insightful comments to make about the things I read in them. That time passed with the discovery that the amount of weed I was smoking at the time directly correlated with the level of wit that my comments actually contained. Also, I had a kid and stopped caring about anything other than the contents of her diaper for like...5 years. So I made a pledge to myself at 28 that I would start taking care of myself intellectually and in doing so, be more aware of the world around me. I'm getting better, I learned about the Occupy movement only like, a month after it started so thats better than most of my country men. In my 29th year, I plan to learn about things as they happen and start forming opinions again, this time without the aid of recreational drugs whenever possible.

3) Be the most involved parent and partner I can be

I modified this one slightly because going into 28, i had recently been unceremoniously dumped by my last girlfriend so i wasn't really thinking in the partner realm at the time. Luckily however, I was e-ogled by a charming young thing a mere 3 days later which turned out to be the gentleman I am currently sharing my life with. Last year I decided that I would do everything within my power to be the best parent I can be. That means to me, answering questions, taking time for Pinkone and I to be together just us. Encouraging her special brand of awesome, taking time for myself so that I can be better prepared for mommying when the time comes. Also, to be the best parents we can be, Boss and I need to be the best partners we can be. We have both dealt with tons of life altering crap this year, and chances are there will be more in the near future. Our relationship has to be a priority because we have a little person that is counting on us to be together and with it so there will always be two happy people helping to guide her through life. The best gift we can give our daughter is a happy and healthy set of parents.

4) Be nice to myself

I am terrible at this. I don't like to buy myself things, I say awful self deprecating things about my body and my various issues and I don't take time to just relax and be. Going into 28 I promised myself I would start to work on this. I would make peace with my body, I would find time and energy to center myself and I would take time to just BE for once. It was really hard, because I am not good at that kind of thing. Going into 29 I am renewing my commitment to myself. I am changing the way my family eats, doing things I enjoy for not reason other than I enjoy them, learning to say no when I simply don't feel like doing something and not apologizing for it, and taking time to meditate and reflect on a daily basis.

5) Be the change I want to see in the world

God, so trite, but whatever. I am a person that has always been into the flakey hippie dippy BS that my dad would roll his eyes at. I would get super into energy healing and tarot cards and aura reading for like, 6 months, start to feel stupid and back off. Well, no more. I know that we in this world are all one, we are all apart of a greater, universal energy and if i sound like an idiot when I say that, its only because the person hearing me isn't ready to hear me. So what this means for me this year is that I am going to live my life knowing that the energy I project into the world affects everyone and everything around me. I am going to tap into the love stream as Boss says, and I am going to throw love out my every pore to everyone around me. I am going to say wonderful things to the wonderful people around me and I am going to find a way to give back to the world in a very real way.

So those are my personal goals for 29, I also plan to learn to sew and master sourdough at last, just in case you were looking for something less abstract. What are your goals for this year?

The Non-Conformist Family

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 02:28:00 +0000

The Non-Conformist Family

Nouveau Poor

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 22:24:00 +0000

I have been formulating this blog post in my brain goo for awhile now. The other day, Boss and I were standing in line at the food bank (yep, the food bank) and I was watching the people come and go with their boxes of food. One woman shoved her way to the front of the line, dressed to the nines, entitled as hell, loudly proclaiming without saying a word that THIS (the food bank) was only temporary. SHE was not one of US (the poor). As I silently slam her head against a rock with the power of my thoughts, I start to think. In college, I was like, cute, bohemian poor, college poor. Living on ramen because my education forces me to work shitty jobs poor. Then, i was new parent poor, all my money goes to diapers poor. Then, I was single mom poor for a little bit, noble poor. Now, standing in line at the food bank, I'm like, dude, i am almost 30, and I am just poor. I wasn't raised poor, so I prefer the term "nouveau poor" I was actually raised quite well off, which is probably why I am poor now, I never really learned how to be frugal or budget. I'm like, dumb white girl poor, which is a totally different world of poor from people who actually suffer.

Believe me, I hear all of the white whine in this blog post.

Because we live in a relatively affluent city with a high population of organic markets and Trader Joe's, our Food Bank is surprisingly well stocked. Sure, you get your potted beef tounge from time to time, but you also get a large selection of farm fresh produce, eggs, soy milk and a surprisingly wide selection of vegetarian options. So we are quite lucky in that regard. The rest of the time, when we can actually afford to buy food, we try to do so, so that the stuffs at the food bank can be there for those who just plain can't that week. Here is where we run into issues. How many of you have tried the following:

Being healthy

Eating a predominately vegetarian diet

Eating more organic and additive free foods

Being fucking poor

These things are not congruent. You want to know why (Western Society) poor people are generally fat? Its because food that is healthy, is expensive as hell.

Boss and i were sitting down tonight to discuss the state of our pantry. Its not awful, but it could be better. There is a wide assortment of boxed side dishes, several cans of cream of stuff, and some white rice. The fridge isn't much better, housing a cavalcade of 80% fat meat product, chicken pieces, and more cabbage than my intestinal tract would care to admit. Also, many beets. We like beets.

Our poor diet has often troubled us, as well as or sedentary lifestyle (but that's another blog post all together) and so we sat down to make a plan, a list, a budget out next weeks pay check for food stuffs. In doing so, I did what I always do, and turned to the Internet, our family oracle. When entering in the sacrificial search term to google of "how to eat healthy on a budget" I learned something startling.

Anyone who write for these websites has never been poor, has at least one parent working from home, and has apparently never entered a Wal Mart.

Not every suggestion is bad. Eating at home rather than out, is one obvious, but still valid idea, other than that, I'm just as lost as ever. All suggestions are coming from the same article, because 1) i am lazy 2) i was super pissed after reading it and began immediately blogging and 3) this article is pretty representative of every other article about eating healthy whilst broke. All suggestions can be found here

Suggestion the first:

1) "Skip the processing. Steer away from foods with lots of additives, chemicals and packaging; they're often not as good for you, and they can drive up the cost of your groceries. Instead, opt for foods that are as close to their natural state as possible. That may mean you have to spend a little more time preparing your meals, but I've included helpful tips below on how to make that more convenient."

Okay, totally. That is EXACTLY what we want to do...but wait. Have you ever looked at the boxes of brightly colored crap that adorne the Wal-Mart shelves? Have you noticed that two boxes of store brand MacNCheeze food product costs you about 75 cents a box, and you use about a half cup of milk and a half cup of butter to make sauce (about .50 cents give or take), add a can of tuna (89 cents) and half a cup of peas (25 cents) and you have dinner for a family of three, relatively balanced, for under 5 bucks.

As opposed to say, making your own mac-n-cheese for dinner. Noodles, if you don't use the whole bag, will cost you about a dollar, half a cup of cheese ($1-1.50 i like a lot of cheese) Cream or in some cases Velveta to make it "saucy" is going run you another 3-5 dollars, and if you don't use all the cream, you have cream sitting there being all "use me" and you're like...for what? Mustard powder, becuase that's regualrly around the house, again with the special ingredients ($2 and you are only going to use like, 10 cents of it so again, its like what else can i make with cream and mustard powder? so already, this one dish has surpassed our processed nightmare of a dinner by several dollars, and doesn't even have a protein or a vegetable involved yet. You see where I'm going with this. Shitty processed foods are super cheap because they cost like half a penny to make, contain very little actual food, and can be replicated in a lab rather than on large tracts of land with sustainable farming practices and chickens that are regularly hugged. Beans from cans are cheaper than beans from bags, are cheaper than beans from plants. The less actual food, in your food, the more of it you can cram in your mouth hole for the least amount of money. Thanks capitalism!

Suggestion the Second:

Demote meat. Beef, chicken, pork and fish often take a starring role in American meals, whereas in less-wealthy countries they're often supporting players or make only cameo appearances: Think bowls of rice or grain topped with lots of veggies and a few bits of meat or seafood. Or you can skip meat entirely for much cheaper protein sources, such as eggs or beans (a half cup of beans has as much protein as 3 ounces of steak).

She isn't wrong here, but please also note that in other countries they also eat bugs, which i could totally get behind if only i could catch the little fuckers. Again, we come across the problem where the bulk of foods she suggests purchasing, are not, in anyway, cheap. If I had my own garden full of farm fresh veggies I would eat the hell out of them every day and night. But I don't. I have the local grocery mart. In the summer, we were able to load the fridge up no problem with local, inexpensive organic produce from our local farmstand. Seriously, we could get a weeks work of fruit and veggies for like 30 bucks at this place it was amazing. It isn't so easy in the winter months though. Beans and legumes are time consuming to soak and prep and not as cheap as you might think to buy canned, one can is about 1.35 and it takes at least 2 or 3 for every meal, so, again it adds up when you only have say, 50 bucks for the next week. That said, I am fortunate enough to have a partner at home that can spend his days soaking my beans so at least there, I am ahead of many families.She also suggests nuts as a viable source of protien. Go to the store. Price nuts. Come back and tell me about it. Seriously, go. I'll wait. EXPENSIVE!!! Almonds are INSANELY overpriced, pine nuts are like, 7 bucks for a 1/2 cup! Nuts? screw you nut conglomerates!

Those are the only two I'm going to post for now. Feel free to read the rest of the article and tell me I'm nothing but a privileged white girl who is incredibly lazy, believe me, I've already thought it. The bottom line is, being poor in America is a very real thing for more people than ever. Even if we aren't like, "real poor" or "3rd world poor" we are still getting further and further away from what was once considered to be the middle class. It is harder and harder to find, good, healthy, inexpensive food that will actually nourish your body and not completely deplete your bank account. The world needs to catch up and instead of throwing more money into cramming synthetic fish oil into everything we eat, how about subsidizing something OTHER than corn? How about working with farmers to grow organically on a larger scale? how about making it the standard to not inject our beef with hormones and antibiotics and whatever else it is they are cramming into our food that is causing 8 year olds to start menstruating? and i'm on a tangent.

The point is, Its not easy. All I want is to keep from getting to my "kill yourself weight" be able to say I am feeding my family the best food I can get, and do it for under $200 every two weeks. Is it really so much to ask?

Also, I tried "how to eat well when you are fucking broke" and that didn't turn up any better search results.

Thoughts? Suggestions? Quirky anecdotes?

this article is actually useful:

http://www.mainstreet.com/slideshow/smart-spending/where-find-cheap-fresh-produce

Most people's pantry. Also mine, minus the premium Red Mill flours, we use store brand in this house!

Jason's Life Lessons

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 07:47:00 +0000

There are a lot of things I have somehow managed to escape doing in my life. I only just learned how to properly use bleach in laundry like, a month ago. For whatever reason, there are a great many life altering happenings that most people take for granted that I, for whatever reason, was not exposed to over the course of 28 years.

Some of the most glaring, and for some reason, personally insulting to many of my friends and loved ones, ways that I have apparently been living in a bomb shelter, is my lack of exposure to classic movies. i don't know who to blame for this. It could be that my parents were just not really movie buffs. Though, my dad and I did watch a lot of fantastic mafia movies and cowboy flicks. It just seems that for some reason, I was never exposed to what most of the world deems influential cinema of the 20th century.

Some examples:

Indiana Jones (any of them)

Braveheart

Dances with Wolves

None of the Superman movies

None of the Terminators

I haven't made it through a single Lord of the Rings movie

Rambo

Rocky

pretty much anything staring Stallone really

and the coupe de gras...the one that nearly gets me dumped every time Boss is reminded of it, I haven't seen even a single one, of the original trilogy. yes. THE trilogy. We won't even get into how through a travesty of friendship failings I have still managed to avoid seeing these movies and get to the actual point of this blog post.

Along with all of these other iconic films, I also managed to go my entire life without having seen a single slasher flick. Unless you count Army of Darkness and Evil Dead parts 1 and 2, because I did finally get to see those about two years ago. Throughout the last six months since Boss has been living here, it has been his personal mission to make me less lame in the movie department. He has taken it upon himself to expose me to the Indian Joneses, Mel Gibson and Kevin Costner's finest inspirational speeches, and we are working our way up to sci fi any day now. So in keeping with his mission I have now been shown the first two of the apparently 10 Friday the 13th slasher flicks and the first two Nightmare on Elm Streets. Freddy, Jason and I are getting to be BFFs.

So again, slasher flicks are an entirely new thing for me. I have had a vague concept of the mythos surrounding them thanks to pop culture references that I have continuously been exposed to throughout my media saturated youth. So I kind of figured I would get it without seeing it. I was wrong. There are so many valuable life lessons that I had been missing out on! Below, a list of important take aways from new found education in slasher flicks.

5) It is okay to suspend reality

Apparently, I am not a fun person to watch these kind of movies with. Most people, having seen them again and again throughout their lives, usually beginning at a young and impressionable age, are able to just deal with the complete lack of congruence in the slasher universe. For instance, if Jason drowned as a boy, leading Mrs Voorhese to avenge his death, how does he come back in Parts II through X to avenge hers? Is he supernatural? If so, how did he get that way? Was it a steady diet of fish blood and lake water that turned him into a flesh craving monster? How did the guy in the wheel chair get up all those stairs in the first place so he could macheted in the face and fall down 8 flights of them? Why wouldn't blonde broad number 2 ram the pitch fork inside Jason, set hs corpse on fire and then blow up the camp as she hightailed it the fuck out of there instead of stopping to contemplate her good fortune at the lake after merely bludgeoning him with a lawn chair? Like a lawn chair bludgeoning is going to stop JASON, dude survived like 20 years in a goddamn lake! Also, he seemed to still be a kid monster in part I but somehow became a full blown grown up monster in part II, riddle me that? Anyway, what I learned whilst irritating Boss to no end with my barrage of questions, is that questioning the reality of the slasherverse is like questioning God. We aren't meant to know the truth. If we do, our heads will explode. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the gore. This is not an easy task for me as i am sure you will see by the next 4 life lessons.

4) If you are in your underpants, and its raining, you gone die.

In both parts 1, and 2 of both movies so far, there have been multiple scenes of young, sexually precocious women prancing about in their underpants in completely inappropriate fashions. And she who remains fully clothed manages to stay alive if not frightened to death. In both films multiple ladies can be seen wearing rain coats and underpants, and once a sweater and underpants, venturing forth into the darkened wilderness to shut windows, use the bathroom, check a fuse, investigate a noise, whatever. The one thing they all have in common is that they eventually die, horrifyingly gruesome deaths, in their underpants. As a person who went to camp for many years I can not remember a single instance of running about outside in my underpants, and I did a lot of strange things at summer camp. I have concluded that this is the only reason I am still alive to this day.

3) Always listen to Crazy People

You know that guy that is lurking about, ominously chanting "you're all doomed...DOOMED I TELLS YA" everyone seems to disregard him as "crazy Ralph" the local nut who's just crazying it up over there. Ralph appears to understand what all of the supposedly "sane" teens in the town do not, Camp Crystal Lake is full of head chopping murder-ness that should generally be avoided. The same goes for Nightmare, where "crazy Nancy", the one kid that knows the true nature of Freddy's ability to turn a bed into a teen eating garbage disposal and she is literally barred into her house to keep from spreading her crazy about town. If there is one thing you should always keep in mind, when headed up to a desolate place you have never been, or experiencing mysterious deaths that look like all natural laws have been violated, it might be time to listen to Ralph.

2) Don't be an absentee parent

The kids that seem to be listened to the least, taken care of the poorest, and have parents with closet drinking problems, all seem to end up fighting for their lives against supernatural villains all alone in the end. Why? because their shitty ass parents either didn't believe them, shipped them off to summer camp so they could spend the summer doing god knows what or are too busy with their cavalcade of boyfriends to listen when their kids are screaming for their lives in the middle of the night. Kid wakes up with cuts all over their arms after screaming profusely all night long? Looking for attention. Leave mummy alone so she can hump in peace. Parents, don't let your babies grow up to be victims. In this same vein, negligent parents and babysitters are also the cause of our beloved killers, not only their victims. The bastard son of 1,000 maniacs became the man that haunts our dreams, somehow i don't see those maniacs attending many little league games, do you?

1) Of course, remain a virgin and don't do drugs

What are slasher flicks if not morality tales? It isn't often that the virginal, non grass smoking teen winds up stuffed in a television set or with a machete through her face. I don't really even need to tell any of you this one, unlike me, you have all probably seen enough horror movies to know by now that if you are making sexy times at camp with your recently stoned boyfriend in your underpants in the rain, you gone die.

As of finishing this blog posting, i have now watched 2 Jason's and 3 Freddy's, moving on to Texas Chainsaw Massacre as soon as I finish the Craven trilogy tonight.

What is your favorite horror flick? What lessons did you learn from the slashers?

Apocalypse Training 101

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 14:57:00 +0000

Many of you may remember an internet fueled hysteria earlier this year regarding the inevitability of the fabled biblical rapture singling out all of Gods winners from the rest of us poor saps in an epic game of cosmic dodge ball. You may also remember that come the date of the supposed reckoning, a whopping "not a damn thing" actually happened, much to the delight of atheists and heathens everywhere.

We scraped by that particular threat of global annihilation, but another is on the horizon if you go in for the whole "Mayan Calendar 2012 Dooms Day" theory. In all likelihood, that day will pass just as quietly and with as many twitter trends as the last one. I may sound like someone who is skeptical of these purported prophecies, laughing it and joking at the rapture party with the rest of the heathens, but there is one global threat that wakes me up cold in the middle of the night...one potential societal down fall that gets me prepped to horde food water and guns and plot my over throw of the local Wal-Mart...

Zombies.

Boss and I have never really made a secret of the fact that we are prepping ourselves for the inevitable zombie apocalypse. Boss works on their hand eye coordination and killing speed by playing copious amounts of first person shooting games (though admittedly their training is falling behind due to a negligent lack of gaming system at the moment) and PinkOne is often found working on her various zombie destruction devices along with honing her ninja skills.

When you watch as many horror movies as we do, and believe pretty firmly that biological terrorism is going to be one of the many downfalls of society as we now know it, its not hard to see the undead walking among us, hungering for brains as a very real possibility.

Are we ready? Not even a little bit, but we've started the process, and the process begins with freezer bags.

Zombie apocalypse or no, we are poor, and have started this new habit of hording food for the indeterminate future in which we may not have any. It all started with spaghetti sauce. I had this brilliant plan to buy a flat of tomatoes and solve the household sauce crisis in fell swoop. 60,000 tomatoes and like a bazillion hours later, we had a whopping 8 bags of sauce. Good sauce, but not exactly apocalypse hysteria resolution amounts of it. So I moved on to soup, tomatoes proving to be both time intensive and expensive, not to mention the possible lack of pasta come the day of reckoning. Soup however, needs no vehicle, it is a self contained food stuff.

We made Pea Soup, Chicken Noodle Soup and Red Pepper/Garbanzo Soup, all quite good, though the second batch of chicken noodle has now been re purposed as "cream of stuff" due to a soggy noodle disaster. After the soup, we have sort of gone...some might say overboard. Our freezer is now stuffed with bags of frozen concoctions. From noodles and beef to blanched and frozen fresh veggies, we are going to be sitting pretty when we finally run out of money/food/ability to go to the grocery store and I actually allow someone to eat my precious stores.

I have become the Gollum of the freezer. No one is allowed to touch my treasures. What if we need them? What if the day that the car explodes and we have none dollars and every last scrap of food in the house has been devoured and the zombies are groaning toward us at an alarming rate, and we say to ourselves "all that will fix this is some of Mom's Red Pepper and Garbanzo soup" only to open the freezer and find that we had frivolously eaten it one day because we were too lazy to cook something fresh. How will we all feel THEN I ask you?

I've already gone through my jam from last summer, and I haven't a clue what we will do with out that when the world comes to an end. Its dry toast for everyone since you didn't heed my warnings about squandering jam.

This latest bought of crazy is often met with eye rolling from Boss and PinkOne, not that I blame them, we all know in the end, the power grids are going to fail anyway and there won't be a way to heat my precious soup, but, its always good to be prepared.

Grumble

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Wed, 20 Jul 2011 12:14:00 +0000

I am getting old. Its official. Not in that, "I am actually closer to death and therefore questioning my own mortality" way, more the "why does everything ache more than it used to, and the didn't this used to be FUN?" kind of way. I am very nearly 30, an age which seemed impossibly old when I was in high school, but now just seems like something people are as I get closer and closer to it. Yes mom, I know if I feel old, how do I think YOU feel? Probably pretty damn old I'm guessing.

I have never been one to worry about aging. I don't have a skin care regimen to speak of (despite Boss's attempts at correcting this) I smoke (I know I know spare the lecture) and I only remember my vitamins when PinkOne brings them to me at night time and forces me to take them. I've always figured, old is what you make it, and why fight what's meant to happen?

While getting ready this morning, I looked at my eyes, they have always been one of my favorite features (next to my boobs which are also not quite as fabulous as they once were) and damn. You know that thing you saw your mom do, where she pulls the skin back on her face to see what it would look like if it were just a bit tighter, just a bit younger looking? Yeah, I totally did that. I looked like Mickey Rooney in Breakfast at Tiffany's so I stopped, but seriously, these are not the eyes of a young person anymore.

Things are popping, things are cracking, bedtime is getting earlier and earlier and I am starting to resent all of those young whippersnappers out at all hours of the day and night. Who are they to be galavanting?

With the exceedingly stressful events of the last year, I think my age is finally starting to catch up with me. I think back to what it was like when PinkOne was first born, and all I remember is being exhausted. Boss and I have discussed the possibility of future multi color headed children, and I wonder to myself, dear god if I was tired at 22, whats it going to be like at 29, 30? I'm tired just thinking about it.

Give me some hints blog-o-verse, what do you do to feel young again?

What they forgot to tell me...

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 20:49:00 +0000

When you have kids, there is this long contingent of people queuing up to let you in on "the things they don't tell you" about parenthood. From the minute my belly started to show (which was when i was already 8 months along, fat chicks grow wide before they grow out) obscure relatives, strangers on the bus, and every elderly woman that's ever even heard of a baby was desperate to pat my belly and advise me on all of the amazing and also troubling things that will occur before, during and after the birth of my blessed miracle.

"Your feet honey, they will never be the same, and they don't tell you that!" says someones grandma

"Your sex life, its going to be non-existent, they don't mention that one in What to Expect" says great aunt of a casual acquaintance

"Sometimes you poop on the table! bet the OB forgot to mention that!" says the woman at the grocery store.

and so on and so on ad nauseum until i had heard every episiotomy story, every "I nearly died..." anecdote and every philosophical waxing you can ever imagine about poop.

So once the kid was born, I thought that I had heard every version of what may have been forgotten to be mention in the copious books on birthing, rearing and not breaking, my new squirming and confusing infant. I have since discovered however, that there are still things that have not been mentioned.

After doing this parenting thing for 6+ years, I kind of thought that this would stop surprising me, but now that Boss has moved in, from a formerly childless universe, I am starting to see all of those "things they didn't tell me" once again.

1) Swimming is no longer relaxing

We took Pink One to the local pool today, and I'm not sure what was expected, but I think Boss was a little surprised by the stark contrast of going to the pool as a childless adult vs an adult with a small child in tow. Gone are the days of one bag, some sunscreen and a cool drink with an umbrella watching the pretty girls go by. A trip to the pool with a 6 year old means kick boards, frantic bathing suit searches, knees and elbows in every orifice and watching for the umteenth time as she does a "swan dive" (cannonball/belly flop combo) off the side of the pool drenching every person in a 10 mile radius. Cries of "throw me! Catch me! Watch me!" accompanied by flailing arms and legs nearly causing irreparable brain damage to the both us highlight the trip. The sheepish hightail to the parking lot as you dodge the kid she nearly drowned is highlighted only by the fact that your bra is soaking wet and you forgot underpants.

2) Snot is just no longer an issue

When you have a kid, there just seems to be a thin layer of slime on like...everything. She will sneeze on your face, directly into your mouth, you will wipe it with your bare hand, and it will likely encrust 84% of your wardrobe. Pre-Pink One, the first person to sneeze in my eye would have been beaten with in an inch of their life and i would have spent the next hour bathing in a 30% bleach solution. Post child, snot is like the morning dew on the front lawn.

3) Hygiene is simply not inherent

The first time you have to explain to a person, albeit a tiny person, that fully wiping their own ass is necessary and important, you realize that the general hygiene you take for granted as an adult is simply inconvenient to a child. "you mean, I have to wash my hair AND body? UHHHHHH" "well why should i have to brush my teeth?" And for some reason, "because I fucking said so" just doesn't seem to cut it as an answer. Also on the list of things NOT to tell your child, "Nobody likes the stinky kid" and "I will beat you if you ask me again". As a childless adult you just assume that every person is born with an innate sense of what is, and is not clean and or healthy for you. Kids just don't get it, which is why as adults we have to teach them that toothpaste is essential, underpants are worn every day, ALL day, and even though snot apparently tastes delightful, it should never be put in ones mouth intentionally.

4) Genitals are no longer exciting nor subversive

[caption id="attachment_773" align="aligncenter" width="240" caption="http://www.likalounge.com/monkey-bars-upside-down/"][/caption]

I have seen more genitals since becoming a parent than all of my swinging college party days combined. Every night, a squealing, naked child does her "toodie time" touch down dance on top of the ottoman while we beg her to get in the damn bath already and try not to laugh. Childless friends can not seem to get used to this, and though we often attempt to convey the importance of propriety and reduce the amount of vag flashed at non-family members, every once in awhile someone is bound to get an eyeful. Honestly, I don't even notice it anymore. When watching other friends kids I have seen tiny hands all over tiny wieners and positions only before seen on late night skin-a-max attempted without hesitation on the front lawn. The day you wake up with a tiny butt in front of your nose and your first reaction is not "how much did i have to drink last night?" but "Well, it must be Wednesday..." you have crossed over into parenthood.

5) Things that were once erotic, are simply not okay when done by your kid

Lightly nibbling an earlobe can be fantastic, until your kid is the one doing it, then its just plain skeevy. Pink One regularly insists on 1) tweaking my nipples 2) licking my neck and 3) prancing about in shorty shorts and high heels. How do you explain to her that "if a 22 year old girl were doing the same thing, and it turns me on, its not okay for you" when she just thinks she's being amusing and adorable? Pink One has come out of her room wearing outfits only the most high class of street walkers would dare to don. This child has legs for days and her shorts and skirts become too short for comfort in a matter of weeks. She chooses to pair them with tube tops that must have fit at one time, but now create the air of a tiny, pre-pubescent tramp out for a bad time. Once, a friends 5 year old nephew attempted to tongue kiss me for god knows what reason, and all I could think to say to him was "its simply not okay for kids to kiss like that" while I shivered with both heebies and jeebies for the next 1o minutes.

Parenting is always rife with surprise, something that makes it both interesting and exciting in its way. Every day I find some new element to the whole experiment that just shocks the hell out of me. Tomorow, I may think I've got this whole thing in the bag, there ain't nothing that can surpise me anymore, and then Pink One will emerge from our bedroom holding something that is CLEARLY not a children's toy and demand to know why the flashlight won't turn on...

[caption id="attachment_771" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="http://othejoys.blogspot.com/2006/09/my-daughter-fang.html"][/caption]

What was your biggest parenting surprise?

The Vicious Cycle of Crafting

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 13:29:00 +0000

Boss took it upon themself to clean the kitchen the other day. Not just clean, but CLEAN. While this is fantastic on so many levels, it has let Boss in on a deep, dark secret that I have attempted to hide from all but my closest of kin. I am, something of a hoarder. *shame*

Not the like, 2 dozen cats and 20 years worth of newspapers appearing on A&E kind of hoarder, but the "I'm totally going to use that at some point..." kind of hoarder.

It all started with my mother. The Martha Stewart of recyclable's. I like to fancy myself something of a crafty individual, able to create useful objects from various and sundry bits of crap found around the house and the local dollar store. I have NOTHING on my mother however. Every event was a potential treasure trove of crafting paraphernalia, every recycling bin fair game. Soda cans? a little spray paint and some googly eyes and they become ghosts for a festive Halloween wreath. Plastic forks you can't seem to unload? No problem, add some lace and spray starch and you have a delightful wall hanging just in time for spring! Plastic bottles, hospital grade plastic tubing, bits of this and yards of that, everything had crafting potential. It all lived (somewhat) neatly, in our garage in the receptacle termed affectionately, "the junk box". No Camp Fire meeting was complete without Mom pulling out a bag of what one would assume is garbage, dousing it in glitter and tempera and returning with art.

I always admired my mothers ability to both save, and create and I have attempted to model this behavior in my adult years. The saving, that I have down, the creating however, not so much. When Boss began the process of cleaning out the kitchen, this became...rather apparent. The most abundant source of craft-ables (this is my new term for shit I intend to craft with) are plastic grocery bags. I have saved plastic grocery bags since i began to grocery shop. My mother would save them in artfully created fabric sleeves with drawstring, conveniently placed about the kitchen for use as garbage bags, lunch bags, impromptu over night packs etc. I however, do not have the patience to create artfully designed fabric sleeves with drawstring, and instead cram them in whatever bit of space I can find in my kitchen and bathroom.

When questioned about my hoarding of said bags, my response is always;

"I'm saving them"

"For what?" Boss asks quizzically.

"I don't know, something...." and I wander off hoping the question will die and the bags will go unmoved. No such luck.

"I googled some ideas for their use" Boss says helpfully. Apparently such a thing as "Plarn" or Plastic Yarn can be made from my stock pile of grocery bags. This "Plarn" then can be crocheted into useful objects like reusable shopping bags! genius, I can do all of those things and save the environment to boot! I have a mission, the bags have a use, Boss can no longer justify throwing them away...conversation over...No such luck.

"Will you actually do this?" Boss asks, eyebrows raised.

"Totally!" an edge of doubt in my voice betrays my optimistic reply and enthusiastic nodding

"Honey, will you ACTUALLY do this? or will they continue to collect here, awaiting your use, until one day I open the cupboards, they fall on my head, and before I kill you, say once again, 'honey, WHY are you saving these?'

"Well..."

"I'm throwing them out."

"Wait! I might do it!"

"I'm throwing them out!"

And this is how it goes. With my bag of dryer lint that I promise to one day turn into fire starters, my 16 boxes of super cheap paraffin just right for making candles with the 6,000 broken crayons I have stashed in PinkOnes craft drawers (never have to buy Christmas presents again!) My vat of almond oil and bags of dried herbs and flowers I've procured for making my own scented oils, the 2 dozen egg cartons I inexplicably stash about like a junky hiding from the narc squad and the inexplicably large amount of flower-less plastic stems left over from my frenzied need to create 40's era hair clips from dollar store silk flowers.

Dude was not successful in liberating me from my treasures, Vulcan had a little more success, getting me to move them over to my friend Monica's who (luckily) has an equally cumbersome trash fetish with infinitely more space in which to hide them. Boss however, does not accept my plaintive cries of "no really! you should SEE the hair bows I can make out of that!" and tosses them anyway, like...well like trash.

While I will never take up my mother's reign as Queen of Recyclable Crafting, I do now have actual counter and storage space in my kitchen. I find it challenging to release my habits. Particularly these sneaky, potentially useful ones. I still dream of a day when my mother will say to me "well isn't that lovely! Where DID you buy it?" (we are of course wearing Victorian garb and speaking with affected British type accents while sipping tea for no apparent reason) and I can reply, "Why mother! don't you know? I MADE it!" (she will then gasp in awe and commend not only my crafting prowess, but my thrifty nature as well, there may be applause involved, I haven't decided)

But, as Boss says, "If I let you keep these (insert garbage-esque item Boss is unable to see the crafting potential in), the vicious crafting cycle will continue. You will stash it away, look up something to do with it, stash it away with a plan in mind, forget the plan, and then 6 months later come across them again and say...'gee i should look up something to do with that..." Boss is, as usual...correct

Oooh...2 liter soda bottles....

House Wif-ery Day 1

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Tue, 31 May 2011 12:03:00 +0000

As many of you may or may not know, I am now officially unemployed. My last day at work was Friday, and I am now joining the masses of former claims analysts wandering around Bellingham aimlessly looking for something to do during the day. Today is my first official day as a house wife/stay at home mom, a role I have only adapted once before in my life, and to be honest, kind of sucked at. I have never been the "plan a day full of cleaning and activities rife with education and fun" kind of parent. I am more the, "watch TV until you can't take the guilt any more and then go to the park and read" kind of parent. But ever since learning of my impending unemployment over a month ago, I resolved that this time would be different.

Any historical foray's into the land of domesticity have failed after a day or two of poorly risen loaves of bread, one super clean room of the house, and an ill begotten field trip to the railroad museum that ends in both of us crying. Within a matter of days we are back to frozen veggies and ICarly. All of these attempts at active parenting leave me stricken with guilt and feeling inadequate once again. I console myself with lack luster promises of doing better next week, and excuses surrounding my work schedule. Eventually I have myself convinced ALL parents are this inadequate and Parenting Magazine is simply a ploy brought to us by Pottery Barn and LeLeche League designed to convince us that we should be shiny happy soccer moms with perfectly organized organic households to guilt us into buying color coordinated plastic bins and nurse until our kids are in college. Fascists.

I awoke this morning totally ready to execute the plans I'd been making for the last month. We would arise early, do some mother/daughter yoga, make muffins (organic whole wheat of course!), and walk to school. I would then return home and think smugly to myself "what a fine parent I have been! all other mothers simply pale in comparison!" it would be fantastic.

I failed to mention that I rose about an hour later than I initially planned...so that cut into my muffin making time (-5 mom points) but I did get PinkOne up by 8, and for the first time in...ever...she woke without argument and dressed herself (in matching clothes) without complaint. (+5 mom points!) Instead of the delightful dried fruit protein muffins I intended to feed her (-3) she got a bagel with cream cheese, but the bagel was homemade (+2!) and whole wheat (+2 more!) While she ate, I got started on my muffins, so those were in the oven by the time she was done eating, and we were ready for yoga via YouTube. We did like...20 minutes of awkward, chubby mom and awkward tiny person yoga in the living room before we both decided this was toates hard and we should try again tomorrow. (plus 5 for yoga -2 for not finishing the tape)

So the first batch of muffins are done, (+3) and the laundry is in the washer (+2) and the kid is fed (+3) and dressed with combed hair and brushed teeth (+a bazillion) and its 9am. Just the right amount of time for us to walk/ride out bikes to school at a leisurely pace whilst idyllicly walking the dog and sipping my coffee. Maybe I'm not so bad at this house mom thing after all...

We mount the bike, the dog is leashed, I have the coffee, and we head out. This is where the trouble starts.

1) my dog is the WORST leash dog in all of the land. Picture attempting to leash and properly walk a drooling, snarfling, snake that weighs 30lbs and wants to smell EVERYTHING. My leisurely walk quickly turned into a brush with death. There was a leash wrapped around my ankles, a pug under the bike tire, a pug on the sidewalk, a pug in the neighbor's yard, a pug stopping to snarfle every 2 and a half feet, just in case there was some sort of variation in smell from 2 and a half feet before. She also had to pee every 4 and a half feet, and crap at least twice on the 1/4 mile walk (and guess which irresponsible pet owner forgot the doggie bags? sorry neighbors!) Once the peeing, crapping, snarfling and attempted murder by leash was complete, there were still other dogs to bark at, small children to demand pets from and the occasional invisible danger to alert the town to. Once we returned home, Idgie was whipped from all of the activity, and so was I.

2) PinkOne is probably the LAZIEST six-year-old I have ever encountered. Now, I was a lazy six-year-old, despite being into sports from an early age, I was NEVER one to choose movement over more sedentary activities. However, I did enjoy the occasional bike ride, especially short distances. PinkOne was very excited about the promise of getting to ride her bike to school today and was all helmeted and back packed and smiling ready to rock when the pug was leashed and I had my coffee in hand. Fast forward approximately five minutes. We reach the 7-11 parking lot and all I hear from about 10 feet in front of me (while attempting to untangle myself from the dog yet again) is: "DIS IS TOO HAWD!" PinkOne is standing next to her training wheeled pink and purple bike of awesome with a look of utter defeat and irritation, the Disney Princess helmet sitting askew on her head.

"Potato," I say with love, "you can do this, it's not far at all to school"

"Its SOOO FAR!! Don't you SEE? The school is ALL the way up THERE!" she points to the school, which is within sight, and a distance of approximately five minutes away by bike/foot.

Eventually, I coax her back on the bike, having to push it with my foot every ten or so feet, while disentangling myself from the pugsnake monster, as she groans her way through the ride. We arrive at school just after the first bell (-5) and she is safely in the building after a begrudging hug and kiss. I walk home feeling accomplished and relatively happy with myself.

Fast forward two hours. I have completed the muffins, they are pretty delicious, served Boss their morning coffee and begun this blog feeling like, hey, I might be able to get used to this house wife thing, when my phone rings. Boss answers it and its Jolinda, the friendly office lady from PinkOne's school. PinkOne apparently has crippling stomach pains that will not subside no matter how long she rests in the office and simply MUST come home as soon as possible and be cared for. We run to the school to pick her up, where we are greeted by PinkOne in the parking lot, hamming up the "I'm just so terribly sick I can only be revived by copious amounts of Nickelodeon and Sprite." What PinkOne did not count on, was that I INVENTED the fake sick so you can stay home and watch TV in my youth. I can spot a fake sicker a mile away. She is relegated to her room sans television to recover as I write this.

So, my first day at house-wifery hasn't completely failed, but I'm thinking there is still a lot of room for improvement.

Tomorrow's goal: get PinkOne to school on time, and keep her there. Also, not bringing snakepug with me, who is happily snoring next to me recovering from her big adventure.

Not Quite...Not Really...

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Fri, 13 May 2011 11:25:00 +0000

Will someone please just oppress me already?

This white liberal guilt is simply killing me and I don’t know if I can go on much longer with nothing legitimate to complain about. I straddle this line between the “acceptable” and the “undesirable, but tolerable”, a line that leaves me uneasy and teetering somewhere between both sides looking desperately for something to hold on to; something like a sense of community, a validation of who I am and my experience, a slightly knowing nod at least.

I live in the land of “not quite enough” “not really but…” and “a little too…”

I live in the land of “where’s your…” and “aren’t you?” and “sure you are…”

I blend

I am assimilated

I am the lower middle class white suburban privilege that I taught myself to demonize during my fully paid for liberal arts education. Eating dorm food and chastising my parents for their wasteful capitalist ways.

I am too femme to be a dyke

Too lazy to be a femme

Too fluid to be either gay or straight

And devoid of easily read, brightly colored labels

And so I blend

Short of one incident at a Trader Joes last winter, involving orange juice, the small of my girlfriends back, and a hissed warning from a man in a trucker hat, tolerance has been handed to me on a silver platter. Not that I give a shit about being ‘tolerated’, as it were. I’ve never been particularly interested in ‘tolerance’.

If I blend in nicely with other Outback driving, Starbucks drinking, CampFire leading moms that politely ‘tolerate’ the presence of my partner at social functions, and look to me for ‘diversifying’ their cocktail parties, I couldn’t care less. I want to be embraced, or shunned. I want to be Loved or Hated, I want definition, clear lines, so I know who to avoid and who to welcome. I have no interest in merely being ‘tolerated’ by anyone.

Fucking Adore Me or Fucking Avoid me, just don’t Fucking Ignore Me.

Too young to be old

Too old to be young

Too white to be oppressed properly

Too bi, too femme, too recently ‘straight’

Too many responsibilities to take time for dance clubs or political rallies

Too monogamous, too traditional, too assimilated

I am the non-threatening, non-descript, sexually ambiguous mom at the back of the pick up line, I am invisible.

So I don’t get to complain. I am not forced to wear to my labels like neon signs by accident of birth or right of passage. I graduated from college 7 years ago, so my time for outrage is over. I don’t encounter hate and potential violence every day. For that I am grateful, don't get me wrong. But becuase I am not bombarded with anything other than ambivilace on a daily basis, but find myself in a state of outrage anyway, i don't feel justified in my anger, don't feel that my particular brand of oppression is validated.

What I do get, is to come out of the closet every damn day of my life. To get blank stares when I refer to my “partner” instead of my “husband” or “girlfriend” or whatever the proper term is for whomever I’m sharing my life with at that moment based on who I am speaking with and where and when and whatever label feels least sticky at that time….

What I do get, is completely ignored by all of the women and those elsewhere on the spectrum, that I find so incredibly sexy and smart and desirable, because the gay-dar don’t beep when I’m come walking by.

What I do get, is the assumption that I am slutty (though I have been known to be…) and down for a three way, or ready to let you watch…or better, not the kind of girl you’re going to want to take home to mom once you know the truth about who I am. Not the girl you want to introduce to your friends, with all those icky bi-sexual leanings…what WILL they think?

What I do get, is a constant barrage of eye rolls, and head shakes, and ‘whatevers’ when I am forced to give a definition of who I am, and who I fuck, and why I do so. While I’m cool with out a label, no one else seems to be okay with out me having one. The labels that I am able to cobble together, a cut out ransom note of familiar phrases that seem to loosely fit emotions that i still don’t completely understand, are some how unsatisfactory, less than just not quite neon enough.

What I do get, is to hear some AWESOMELY offensive remarks, jokes, and stories because “I’m not one of THOSE queers” and when I am offended, I’m told to lighten up, “don’t be like THAT, one of those PEOPLE that take EVERYTHING personally”. How dare I feel momentarily impassioned?

I don’t get to be a feminist apparently, because I like being the one to cook dinner, raise the babies, and wear heels and an apron. So many forget that aspect of “choice” that is a central tenant of feminism, extends to those of us who CHOOSE a quiet life of making lasagna and folding laundry, those of us who find it kind of hot when their partner smacks them on the ass, calls them a bitch and demands another beer. Those of us who do not see the need to deconstruct and politicize our every leaning and desire, and find nothing oppressive about watching porn in our marabou heels while eating meat and granola that may or may not be fair trade (but still feel adequately guilty for it later).

I don’t get to be counted as a traditionalist, because my partner is of a non binary gender, so our relationship is somehow ‘less than’ in the eyes of other traditionalists. We don’t do the church thing, we let our daughter get a ‘boy’ hair cut, and we hold hands in public and smack each other with things in private. No child of theirs will be attending our tea parties. And yet, somehow, we are too traditional for the rest of the outsiders. What with tiny child in tow, non descript family sedan devoid of rainbow bumper stickers, and a sensible, wash and wear haircut, we are often left off the mailing list for the political rallies…not that we’d have time to go, the baby has a piano recital that day. Forgotten to be invited to the clubs, though we have to get up early the next morning to hit up the Costco before it gets swamped anyway…

And so I toe the line, accidentally assimilated just by being myself. I feel the need to shout at the top of my lungs on a daily basis: “ME TOO! LOOK! OVER HERE! KINKY QUEER CHICK WITH SCADS OF LIBERAL GUILT! LOOK! I COUNT! CAN I COME PLAY TOO?! NO, REALLY! I SWEAR IT! LOOK, I’LL WEAR A RAINBOW BRACELET IF THAT HELPS?! HELLO? Anybody…”

If only I didn’t look so stupid with a faux hawk….

The Sweib

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Wed, 11 May 2011 14:32:00 +0000

My PinkOne just turned six the other day. How this happened directly under my nose, I’m not entirely sure. I could have sworn she was still a swollen mass of milk and hair just yesterday…

With six come some new and interesting challenges in the arena of child rearing, especially in the new world order that Boss and I are attempting to establish. For those of you not in the know, Boss is my partner, who has recently moved to the land of the free and deep fried in the interest of establishing something of a life with Pink One and myself. We are going on 1 week since she has arrived, and despite a couple of “honey, did you know having a family was both hard and exhausting?” moments, she’s settling very nicely.

Part of being a Mediocre Mama, such as myself, is the ever present knowledge that you are kind of phoning it in about….63% of the time when it comes to parenting. Personally, I’ve made a tentative peace with that, Boss however, coming from the land of no kids and only personal responsibility, is not ready to admit defeat. Thus she demands more of herself as a potential co-parent, which also means she demands more of me, considering I am the ACTUAL parent, and its been made clear that as far as Pink One goes, I’m in charge. But if you can’t tell by her internet pseudonym…well she’s the Boss pretty much everywhere else.

Okay, so I jest, but really this is a very good thing for all of us. Pink One has gotten away with A LOT of shit over the past six years. Mommy is SOMETHING of a pushover when it comes to her baby…I think I have far too much estrogen in my body or something. She does this thing…she looks at me (typically after I have demanded she do something she finds inconvenient at the time) with those big brown eyes, and those big buck teeth and says “but mommy, I just wanna be with you…” I swear to god, she can even muster tears should the mood strike her, and I either completely snap out of exhaustion or weep uncontrollably…or somewhere in between the two.

So Boss finds this ridiculous…as I suppose most outsiders would, because it is completely obvious that Pink One is manipulating her squishy, soft hearted…yet somehow irrationally volatile mother to whatever it is she requires at that moment. We have now instituted a code word for when this is occurring and I am on the verge of either weeping or selling her to gypsies. The code word is “buttons”. Tell no one. When this word is uttered, it is meant to snap me from my estrogen and wide eyed stupor and bring me back to reality, sticking to my guns and moving forward with new found resolve for whatever request/threat I have laid down.

Along with the fun of discipline and consistency, Pink One has discovered a sense of fashion in her 6^th year. Until recently, her wardrobe has predominately consisted of hand me downs from various friends, thrift store finds, the occasional tye dyed shirt, and whatever her auntie has picked up with the latest pop idol emblazoned across the front of it. Her hair, while technically no longer pink, had light touches of the dye I used over 2 years ago just at the ends and had become an un-manageable mane of crazy. Looking at her…well she absolutely SCREAMED 5 year old. Boss and I decided that it would be a good idea to take her in for a hair cut and some new clothes to celebrate her entry into the world of six. Besides we were fucking sick of telling her to quit chewing her hair or we would shave her head, and if she tried to wear the I heart Beer t-shirt to school one more time…well it wasn’t going to be pretty. Also, somewhere in the last year she developed a rather strong aversion to underpants…no matter how big they were they were somehow too small…I don’t know, and because, like I said, I phone it in 63% of the time, I was willing to let it go for quite a while. But now we are six and underpants are part of being six. I read about a brand they have at Old Navy that supposedly works well for kids with sensory issues so I thought what the hell, we’ll give it a shot and see if we can’t make this child at least APPEAR normal.

When we arrive at the salon, Pink One is completely stoked to tell the lady EXACTLY what sort of hair cut she wants. Up until last week, it had been a battle to even suggest that the hairs be cut because our latest obsession was growing our hair ala the movie Tangled for use in escaping our bunk bedded prison. Boss, being ever so much smarter than I am sometimes, reminded the Pink One that long hair equals long mornings of washing, drying brushing and styling, and if there is one thing Pink One hates more than doing what she’s told, its effort of any kind. Suddenly, a haircut seemed like the best idea in all of the lands.

So please note the exchange between Pink One and her new BFF the stylist at Master Cuts.

Stylist: So what do you think kiddo? How do you want your hair?

Pink One: I want Justin Bieber hair

Stylist (looking from Me to Boss and back again as we nod in compliance with Pink Ones wish): Oh yeah? Well that’s my favorite haircut to do, so you are in luck!

Pink One (very serious): good, I want the bangs, and I want to look just like Justin Beiber and I want Aravis (her friend from school) to be totally jealous

Stylist: ok, I haven’t done this cut on a girl before, but I think we can manage it!

(snip and cut and snip and cut and final pink hairs to the floor later)

Stylist: There you go! What do you think?! Can you do the hair flip?

Pink One (appraisingly): *moves head from side to side slowly, brushes perfectly waxed bangs to the side* Yes…Aravis will be SO jealous…I looke JUST like Justin Beiber

And then she TOTALLY does the hair flip…if only there were a way to properly illustrate this moment via text…it was inspiring. She positively strutted from the salon and on to Old Navy where she procured a new jean skirt to compliment her pink cow girl boots, and a pair of white rhinestone sunglasses ala Kurt Cobain circa 1992.

My. Kid. Is. AWESOME.

She was so excited to go to school today and strut her stuff you wouldn’t even believe it. Some may find her desire to get what may be considered a “boy” haircut curious, but we are not ones to enforce uneccessary gender roles and I’m pro her expressing herself in whatever way she deems appropriate, as long as she’s wearing underpants.

Besides, I will take wanting to BE Justin Beiber over wanting to DATE Justin Beiber any day of the week.

(Beibs) (PinkOne Sporting her new Sweib)

A Poor Decision...

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Mon, 21 Mar 2011 14:25:00 +0000

Sometimes I do things that in the moment, seem like a perfectly good idea. Most recently this list of ridiculous includes the cutting of my bangs at 6am…with dull scissors. So while in the moment, my only thoughts are “wouldn’t I look cute with betty page bangs again?” but a few seconds later I’m standing over a sink with a handful of hair and a look of sheer terror plastered across my face. The bangs could be worse, but this particular event illustrates perfectly the type of person I am.

I am impatient and rather impetuous. I usually know what I want and rather than research it and hem and haw on it, I just do it. Sometimes this turns out poorly, other times, this results in some pretty awesome stories if nothing else. Most of the time, i'm fairly happy with the decisions I make, though others around me may doubt the capability of my decision making skills. Below lies a list of a few of the less than perfect choices I've made on the spur of the moment and their humerous consequences.

1) Once decided that because I couldn’t afford a wax, that shaving the arch of my eyebrows would be a good plan. As I’m working on this, my roommate walks in, startling me. This resulted in 1.5 eyebrows where two should have lived.

2) At a party one night, I thought that I might take it upon myself to flirt copiously with a young man who had recently shown up. The last thing I remember was laying my head on his lap. From the accounts afterward, I was drug into the bathroom where I alternated vomiting and farting for about an hour. I know I woke up in my own bed and my friend had me buy her a new rug. Oddly, dude never called.

3) Sisters and I decided to take an impromptu camping trip the day after my dad’s funeral. As the most grownup of all of us, I was kind of in charge of figuring things out. Well, we forgot food, pillows and wood. Eventually a parent showed up and helped, oh and don’t worry, we had the Coleman stove, no propane…but the stove was there.

So, those are just a couple of prime examples why I’m not to be trusted to make important decisions. My daughter, being cut from a similar cloth, makes decisions in much the same way. Does it sound easier/faster/cheaper/more fun than doing it the way it SHOULD be done? Well…then you have your answer.

Room needs to be clean? Well it seems like it would be more fun to throw all of our toys out the window and into the yard than acctually pick them up and put them away. Time to eat dinner? Rather than enjoy our apple sauce, why not add garlic powder, maple syrup and cayanne to it? just to see what happens. Ooh and then ask mom to try it and look sad faced when she refuses.

There is no actual reason for posting this other than to make sure everyone has just a little bit more to make fun of me about ;)

Mommy Guilt is the New Black

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Mon, 14 Mar 2011 10:02:00 +0000

Oh holy hell fellow Mediocre Mamas, it has been a trying couple of weeks around my house I tell you what. I am currently in the process of doing two relatively major things, resulting in a relatively large amount of anxiety and relatively low amounts of sleep.

1) I am starting a new business. Any of you who acctually know me in real life are likely PAINFULLY aware of this fact because it is ALL I can talk about right now. I have been a photo hobbyist since I was but a little person and recently decided to take my hobby to the next level. Mostly, I wanted an insanely expensive camera and Vulcan said I couldn’t get it unless I figured out a way to make money with it. So I bought it, a lighting kit, a backdrop set and a fancy flash and I am now plugging away attempting to learn to use all of this nifty shit and remember all of the things I learned from high school photography. Biggest thing I’ve learned? Having an eye is not enough. You also need to know about color theory, light stuff and all sorts of geometry.

My first couple of shoots were okay, not great. But now that I’ve been playing around with my camera, studying my books and will be taking classes on photography and art theory in the next few months. I’m feeling relatively confident most of the time that I haven't sunk a ton of money in to something I totally suck at.

Of note, if you have a light optimization function on your camera, TURN IT OFF. Its stupid. I’m sure there is some sort of function for this little thingy but all its done for my portraits is blow the shit out of every ones faces and create a lot of noise when dealing with low light. Your strobe will work much better without it on.

2) I has a special friend *shy giggle*

So big thing number 2 is kind of a really big thing. For sometime I’ve been toying with the idea of dating again. I’ve gone out of dates, attempted copulation one or two times with one or two people, all in the name of science. Generally, I jump into things FAR too quickly (last girlfriend and I were an item about….2 days after my husband left so….) so this go round I’m trying to be a little more conservative…yeah to hell with that. I met a woman, she is outstanding and she is Canadian. Not even the right Canada, the one that’s only an hour away. She is from the WRONG Canada which is multiple hours away. At least it is a drivable Canada rather than a flyable Canada. She is coming out to stay with us for an extended period of time in the interest of getting to know the lot of us better and to help me get the business up and running. I wiggle like a giddy school girl everytime I think about it.

Pink One is thrilled. She adores the Canadian who allows her to color with her fancy pencils and play zombie games on her laptop. Also, because Canadian is not used to being around small, pink headed children for extended periods of time, her method of child placation is to just say yes, which Pink One exploits whenever possible.

Seriously though, they get along famously and I am relatively stoked regarding this particular endeavor.

So with all of this change occurring, Pink One is kind of grasping for a little bit more attention. The business in particular is stressing her out. I feel like I have said the words “not now, mommy is busy” about 700 times in the last month. With multiple shoots every weekend, editing to do, books to read and social media marketing strategies to work out Mommy doesn’t have the time or patience she once did for crawling about on the floor playing Monster, Princess and Jon. My already limited patience for nonsense and tomfoolery has kind of dwindled to nothing. Example conversation:

PinkOne: Mom, why do alligators not wear shoes?

Mom: Lil, they have no need for shoes, now go play computer mommy is working

PinkOne: Why?

Mom: why what?

PinkOne: Why do they not need shoes?

Mom: Because swamp mud is soft, go play computer or its time for bed

PinkOne: Why?

Mom: Why what?

PinkOne: Why is it time for bed? I’m not tired. Why is swamp mud soft? Do they have McDonalds in the swamp? (Now sitting upside down on the couch) Can we go to McDonalds for dinner? Can I have some ice cream? I’m hungry RIGHT NOW I can’t wait 5 minutes for dinner? (Now hanging off the arm of the couch with a foot on my laptop) What are you working on? Why is that lady in her underpants? (I take pin up photos) Can I edit a picture? (Jumping up and down on one foot) Look at my Hannah Montana camera Puck gave me! Look what I can do? (Jumping from table to couch and back to table) Why are you making that face mom?

Mom: GO. A. WAY! JON REMOVE THE MINION I'M WORKING!

Inevitably I lock myself in my room and continue to work, interrupted intermittently by inane questions and a need to be reminded that mommy is in fact still present. I’m not proud of this interaction, nor am I proud that my poor baby has eaten mostly sandwiches for dinner the last week. Oh the mommy guilt, like a hundred tiny knives right in your heart. Any advice on balancing exciting and stressful life changes with active 5 and ¾ year old monsters that require constant attention?

Why is Mommy Kissing Girls?

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Mon, 07 Mar 2011 10:01:00 +0000

This is not my usual blog fodder as you may well notice after about 3 seconds of reading it. I am applying for a blogging job for a queer parenting column and this is my writing sample. I figure, lets kill some birds with some stones and post it here too. If you have anything particularly nasty to say about it, please don't, I'm sensitive. And as a bonus, a picture of Pinkone!

When it comes to explaining sexuality to children, our own children in particular, it is never going to be comfortable and the choice to simply not deal with these people again is just available to us. As a later in life queer identified parent, how does one traverse the ever treacherous terrain of coming out to their own children? Every conversation should be tailored to the individual child and family situation, but there are a few universal truths that exist for all of us attempting this particular endeavor.

Be Discreet

Keep your conversation fact based, and without physical specifics. There is not a child in existence that wants to know the particulars of their parent’s sexual predilections. If there are questions asked, you have the right to tell them that the specifics of your sexual experiences are none of their business but (if you feel comfortable) you can give them a broad overview of the mechanics.

Model

A common mistake is making a bigger deal out of heavy conversations than needed to. If a kid sees that you are acting guilty, secretive (unless secretive is warranted, in which case explain this to the child) or treating your sexuality as anything less than perfectly valid, they will do the same. Children look to their parents to model behavior and reaction. If we are proud and matter of fact about our sexuality and lifestyle, our children will see that there is simply nothing to be ashamed of and will react similarly.

Give them Choices-to a degree

They don’t get to choose whether or not we act on our sexuality, it doesn’t work that way, but they can have some choices as to how much they know and who they tell. Kids care about how these changes affect them, so giving them a choice allows them to feel more a part of the decision making process and less helpless in the face of great change. Dad is queer, and that is how it’s going to be, but the kids have the choice as to whether or not they want to tell people in their social spheres about it. Be clear that you are not ashamed and you don’t want them to be either, but it is within their control who, and when they tell about their family situation.

Answer their questions, all of them.

Answer the questions they ask. If the 5 year old asks her father whether this means he will now be wearing dresses instead of slacks, he should explain his fashion preferences honestly. Some questions will be completely out of the blue, others will be thoughtful and intelligent. The questions will continue to come over the years and will get harder as they get older. All we can do as parents is continue to be honest, give them choices, and answer the questions to the best of our abilities. It is also always okay to say “I just don’t know”.

Coming out to kids is emotional and difficult for a parent. The great thing about kids though, they are incredibly resilient. Ultimately, our kids want happy, consistent parents that put their needs first. Coming out may rock the boat a bit, but as parents we are still the anchors. Showing our children that regardless of this new information, we are the same loving, secure and stable forces we have always been will do more to ease the transition than any amount of rational conversation and brand name electronic bribery ever could.

The Decision Tree

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 06:30:00 +0000

A visual illustration of the mind of PinkOne:

I.DON'T.WANNA!

noreply@blogger.com (Mama) — Sat, 29 Jan 2011 17:26:00 +0000

I've decided, I'm done with this grown up nonsense. Paying bills, making reasonably priced healthy meals, doing laundry, it's all bullshit and I quit. Vulcan and I have spent the last hour attempting fiscal responsiblity by making various charts and graphs to track how much money comes in, and how much goes out. All I really know is that my happiness to talking about money ratio is completely out of whack.

As you can see, my desire to discuss financial matters today is only .005 of the whole regarding my desire to do pretty much anything else, as illustrated by chart (1) above.

According to Vulcan's charts, I should have around $500 a month with which to buy groceries, put gas in my car, and to compulsively buy silly knick knacks that I can not live without at the grocery store (that secrets of the zodiac love sign combination candy bar and squirt gun is still the best purchase i've ever made) So here is what I would like to know, where the HELL is that $500 bucks? This payday in particular I am racing about trying to make sure the latest of the late bills are paid and calculating just how much milk should go in each bowl of cereal so we don't run out before the food stamps come in. (That's right dad, we're suckin' off the government teet, you must be turning over in your republican grave.)

If I think about it, I'm fairly sure I can tell you exactly where that $500 bucks a month has gone.

1) My lungs and the lungs of my friends.

Yes, I know that smoking is bad and wrong and gross and disgusting...but I love it so much. I look so cool and rebellious, like James Dean. It's an instant conversation starter. "Can I bum a smoke? Oooh menthol, really? Ugh I need to quit..." all fantastic ways to meet new people and influence others. At nearly $9.00 a pack here in the land of the free and about 5 to 6 packs a week, there's nearly $200 bucks a month right there.

2) Eating above my means

I LOVE going out to dinner and cooking and ordering in...I love all of those food related endeavors. We get about $2oo a month in food stamps which gets us meat and veggies and rice and other staples of living. But, when you have a hankering for salmon risotto on a Thursday afternoon, and you don't currently have chicken stock, white wine, chanterelle mushrooms and heavy cream, not to mention rissotto rice...well it adds up. What better way to celebrate a small victory, like cleaning out the car than buying pizza for your nearest and dearest? Why WOULDN'T I spend $40 on dinner out when I could make mac-n-cheese? What has Mac-n-cheese ever done for me? Red Robin entertains me with their various kitschy objects adorning the walls and pleasant college age staff covered in flair. So, if i do this even three times a month, there's another $150 bucks.

Those two issue pretty much say it all don't they? The last $150 a month goes to things like pull ups (for an incredibly stubborn 5-year-old who shouldn't need them please note) dog food, dish soap, tampons and toilet paper. All completely legitimate expenses, unlike the other two which are purely detrimental to the health and well-being of myself and my wallet.

See what I mean? were I NOT an adult, I could say: Fuck it. I'm going to wipe my ass with rolled up newspaper and buy a pack of smokes instead. Fuck it. bills-shmills I'm taking a road trip to Canada right now. Fuck it. Who really needs tampons anyway? Okay, maybe that one I would continue to procure, but I might do it by knocking over a tampon machine instead of paying $4 a box.

I know realistically that grown up land is the place to be, that my kid, vulcan and I will be just fine if we cut back on the smoking and family chain restaurants, but it still makes me want to stamp my food, jut out my lower lip and throw a pinkone style tantrum of epic proportions. I NEVER get anything I want. I NEVER get to have any fun.

FUCK YOU GROWN UP LAND !