The Non-Dinner Dinner

My kids haven't seen the side of a vegetable in weeks. Any side. Not even from a distance. I know that when a vegetable finally appears on their plates it will be like seeing E.T. for the first time. Wide eyes followed by boisterous and repetitive (repetitive) verbal complaints. This siting will be followed by teeth clenching and eye ticks. (That'd be me.)

It wasn't an intentional omission. I am admittedly a slight health food fanatic. And when I say "fanatic" I don't really mean that. What I mean is I prefer a day doesn't go by without at least one vegetable slipping between the lips of my offspring. But our summer schedule hasn't given me much leeway in preparing a square meal since it seems we are more often than not at a swim meet. Most of our meals lately have consisted of some form of either melted cheese (nachos, pretzels and cheese, cheese on a hot dog) and some form of hot dog (hot dog, hot dog with coney sauce, hot dog with coney sauce and cheese, the aforementioned hot dog with cheese and corn dog). When we are at home my reflexes often bring me to the jar of spaghetti sauce in the cupboard and whatever I can find to put underneath it. I do believe however that spaghetti sauce could in some instances be considered a serving of vegetables. I really don't know that, I'm just kinda hoping. I'm also kinda hoping that ketchup and pickle relish fall in that same "almost a vegetable so you shouldn't feel like a guilty mom" category. You know that category. It's right next to the "I just ate my kids M&M sundae because I thought he wasn't going to eat it and then he wanted it" category.

But then there's this other small factor and that is that the cook has totally lost her desire or just plain will to cook (probably due from a lack of greens and an excess of caffeine). So any night that we are at home I ponder for hours about the "non-dinner" I'm going to create for dinner. Last night it was ham or roast beef sandwiches (which I didn't have to "cook" by the way, Tim did it). Tonight it's hot dogs and tuna melts for the adults. (Which by the way also contains some celery along with the nutritious pickle relish.)

Usually after a spell of "non-cooking" I gain back the desire to cook or at least the desire to eat something that doesn't come straight out of a box or plastic wrapper. But I'm honestly not feeling it. And I happen to be pretty in tune with my feelings, especially the non-cooking ones.

Tomorrow's menu: ham wrapped around a hot dog covered in cheese with a side of ketchup and pickle relish. Mmmmm....yum!

Eh.

I'm not cooking chicken tonight. I'm cooking salmon. No chopping involved. It's thrilling.

It's a gray day today. Except now we have a little bit of snow on the ground. So if I were to take a picture right now it would look like a black and white photograph. Very, very depressing. That's why I have a lovely new background. Isn't it refreshing? It's like spring. It's fresh and springish. Springish freshness. Green and fresh and, eh, I'm still depressed.

I might as well go cook some chicken.

Churkey

Why chicken does it to me I'll never understand. It always brings me to my knees. I haven't written a thing in over a month and I find myself in the kitchen chopping up a couple of chunky chicken breasts feeling the need to vent my chicken chopping frustrations. I think it's moments of desperation like these when you reach down deep inside yourself take a good look at your life and realize there is something missing - an automatic chicken chopper.

Now I have a purpose. (Motherhood aside and all that.) I need to come up with a prototype for a chicken chopper. Something that chops chicken, removes the fat and makes it all pretty in half, no, a quarter of the time it takes to manually cut up a chicken breast with a big knife a cutting board and a bad attitude.

Hmmmmm...... I'm not even sure where to begin. You know this is one of those random times when I wish my husband was a butcher. It doesn't happen as often as when I wish he was a firefighter, but that's a blog for another day...

This all might stem from the fact that I'm about to host my first Thanksgiving. Yes, it's true I'm forty... something and I've never cooked a turkey. You can look at that two ways 1) wow, what a lazy butt never having cooked the big turkey meal or 2) wow, she managed to not cook the big turkey meal until she was forty-something, impressive I should take lessons from her. I prefer 2.

When I mention this to people they must see the fear in my eyes because they all tell me it will be ok. And I just nod my head in agreement saying yeah, my mom is coaching me. Tim has picked up on my tension. (That's like saying Tim noticed that brick with turkey gizzards attached that I threw at his head the other day) and has pretty much taken over the turkey preparation. Actually there's no pretty much about it so far it's his baby, uh, turkey and I've decided I'm going to keep my nose out of it and let him take his turkey and run with it. ( I just like to picture that image in my head...)

So no, he's not a chef or a cook or a butcher or a firefighter for that matter but this Thanksgiving he'll be joining the ranks of turkey cooks across America and I will still be a turkey virgin. (Haven't used that word in ..... oh, never mind.)

Is It Cold in Here?

I used to have dreams all the time where I was topless. It wasn't like a dream where you are suddenly naked in a crowd of people it was much more subtle than that. I would be going out somewhere with friends and I would just decide that my outfit that evening was going to be a topless one. It was like "should I wear the black shirt or the brown shirt, Oh! I'll just wear the NUDE shirt." And so I would go out with my friends feeling quite the fashionista. I might get a little chilly and then I might realize no one else had the same color of shirt on as I did, if-you-know-what-I-mean. People would kind of stare and not in a "wow, look at those" kinda way. More of a "oh.... dear" kinda way. And then it would dawn on me that I was ok, a little embarassed by my fashion choice and, ironically, freezing my ta-tas off.

So I went to the gynecologist earlier last week. (This is where all of you male readers are jumping ship after my nudie ta-tas story.) I saw the nurse practitioner and I must say I had never been completely felt up in a less amount of time. I often see different nurse practitioners and I've found them all to be incredibly effecient but this lady had a gift. When I told Tim how fast she was he said "wow, that's faster than me." Kinda had to agree with him there.

So I knew when she said "ok, get dressed and I'll be right back" that I had to be quick. Like an idiot I started to dress by the order my clothes were laid on the chair. Underwear.... jeans.... knock on the door and in walks my nurse practitioner. So I act casual because while I'm not wearing a stitch of clothing on my top she had just been there, if-you-know-what-I-mean, so no big deal right? Well, as she hands me a flyer that has to do with, believe it or not, breast health, I start to get a little unsure of my semi-nakedity. I think it was when I put my hands on my hips in an attempt to suggest "yeah I'm half naked but I'm ok with that" that I realized, this really isn't right.

Fortunately because of her speedracer ability the whole incident didn't last long although honestly it felt like 10 minutes of my 15 minute appointment. She told me to "have a great day!" on her way to her next appointment as I'm casually trying to put my bra on in front of her. I think I might have even stopped and gave her a finger wave. I don't know I was feeling a little dizzy by then.

So what I guess I'm saying here is don't put your clothes on in the order they are laying on the chair after your yearly exam. It is possible that dreams really can come true.

Beef... It's What's For Dinner

I should be cooking chicken right now instead I'm here, blogging. I got the chicken out of the freezer, placed it in a microwave safe dish, defrosted it for 6 minutes and then left it. That was an hour and a half ago. I can't seem to get back to the chicken. I'm having a chicken aversion tonight. Go away chickie, chickie.

Not that I don't like chicken. I do. Chicken is tasty. I even like real chickens. Chickens are hilarious. This blog is starting to feel like a deja vu. I need to let the chicken go....

So things have been relatively calm in the Johnson household lately. I guess that's why I'm blogging less. I'm not in need of as much writing therapy. I think we've all finally adjusted to being back in school. My mom always said it takes two weeks to adjust to being out of school and two weeks to adjust being back in school. It has taken us, let's see.... I'm counting.... hold on..... 6 weeks. I think that's a record on the slow to change category of family dysfunction.

But we're finally here so I'm not going to complain. Well I might. Ok, here I go...

No, no, no. I'm not going there. Hey! Good news! Dancing with The Stars is back. Have you seen Maks? I have. Have you DVR'd Maks and played it over and over again? I have. Have you paused when there's a good shot of his pecs? I have. Have you tried to dance along with Maks pretending to be his partner in short shorts and a tank top? Ok, you need therapy. That's over the top.

Ok, I've wasted some time and liberated my Maks libido at the same time so now I'm heading back to the kitchen. I'm really not feeling like chicken anymore though. Wonder if I have some beef...

The Seven Stages of Grief

Sometimes life deals you a lethal blow and you have to adjust, learn to live with it, change your old normal to a new normal. Well, I think Olive can relate. In a desperate attempt to control my increasingly psychotic dog when we are on walks I have purchased a Gentle Lead. Since I couldn't find the harness style I got the one that slips over her snout. Now, mind you, this doesn't hurt her and she can bark, chew, lick (unfortunately) with the Gentle Lead on.

It's going to take a while to adjust to the feeling so I've compiled a short visual journal in this process.

Stage 1.....

Denial

Stage 2...
Depression.... No she's not sleeping (faker).


Stage 3...

Acceptance???

Stage 4....

"She can't make me go outside and she probably can't even see me behind this shoe."

Stage 5...

Denial in the yard...


Stage 6...
"Maybe I can squeeze myself under this gate, rip this thing off my head and go live in the woods with Lassie."

I realize there's suppose to be a 7th stage but frankly I don't think we're going to get there.

Birthday Bash

Well, the girls' birthday came and went. It was a full week of celebrating the 12 year mark. As a surprise for their birthday I redecorated their room. This was a bit of a challenge to pull off. The Saturday before their birthday Tim and I painted their room which they knew about. We painted the ceiling white (it was blue) and the walls a lovely shade of cream. Maya asked if that was it, just beige walls. I told her they were cream walls and maybe we'd get some colorful throw pillows or something. She looked at me like I was a pathetic excuse for a decorator.

So Monday night Tim helped me hang curtains and shelves in their room while they slept out in the family room. I locked the doors to their room Tuesday morning and said they couldn't go in because I had caulked and it smelled really bad. This was a fabulous excuse because they don't know what caulk is and they weren't really that interested so they didn't ask. I spent the day putting up wall stickers and dusting and rearranging and hanging up their ribbons and pictures on cork board a complete makeover with a zebra print rug. It took me all day. But of course I still couldn't let them in their room until Tim got home for the big reveal. Maya began getting suspicious but amazingly we pulled it off. At 7:00 we had the big reveal but we forgot to yell "move that bus!". Oh well...

This is the only angle I can show you because their beds haven't been made since reveal day.

Then that same night Tim took them to Target to buy a Wii with their birthday money and money they had been saving. All that excitement carried us until Friday when we sat down for Maya's requested birthday dinner of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Eva's was spaghetti and meatballs which we served at their party Saturday night. By the way KFC means Klean and Food-Free Colon to me from now on. I tried to tell myself how it's good to sometimes cleanse the colon even if it is 3:00am. Anyway... Tim's sisters Robin (and her daughter Emma) and Susan (and her fiancee Tom) came over to celebrate with us and Robin and Em brought all their fun Wii games. They brought their dance mat and I have an injury. And that's all I'm gonna say about that.

The Audience...

Of course, Emma ended up spending the night and the kids spent most of the day wrangling some kind of secure ticketed entry into our birthday party Saturday night...



It's amazing what you can do with jump ropes and Post-It notes.

The party was a hit. The girls had great fun and got some very nice presents (which I keep threatening to send back if they don't write their thank you notes.)


Sunday morning we got everybody up (mostly on time) for church to be followed by religious education. On the way to church I cut right to the chase and told them that they would be going to religious education directly after church and there would be ( and I quote) "under no circumstances a side trip to grab donuts. And if anyone puts up a fuss or asks for a donut at the end of mass I'm going to slug you. Understood?!" And then this is where Tim leans over from the driver's seat and whispers in my ear "by the way, it's their birthday." So, I immediately turn around and yell "Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!" And for some reason they all looked at me like my hair was on fire and they were utterly completely speechless.

I wish I had a picture of that.