Ditto

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you can’t always get what you want

This is a state park near us. We go to walk, to picnic, to lay about – actually that’s what I go for.

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My family goes there to bike.

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I think I’ve told you before. Haven’t I? It’s no biggie. Everyone has something. Some people can’t eat a peanut. Some can’t have dairy (the horror). Some are diabetic. I too have a debilitating challenge. I can’t ride a bike. Well, technically I may be able to actually ride a bike without killing myself, but I really really don’t want to.

My family tried to have an intervention a couple of years ago. They were horrified for me. My husband lived on his bike throughout his childhood. Both my kids adore their bikes. They gave me a long list of reasons why I’d love it. The freedom! The independence! So I finally caved in and they bought me a fancy bike. Took me out every night to practice. And I tried. I acted excited. I seemed enthused. It was awful.

I don’t like riding a bike. It makes me nervous. It makes me feel out of control. It gives me zero happiness. Freedom and independence are not for me. Sorry.

This causes great sadness in my family. I’m like a traitor among them. An alien. They’ll never be able to ride like a full family.

They’ll get over it.

 

 

 

Do you world Promise?

These two monkeys live in my house and yell and fight and laugh all day long.

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They’ve been at it since she was 5 and he was born.

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They are 5 years apart. Two little Scorpios.

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She was going to be an only child – imagine that! But then we came to our senses and added the ying to her yang.

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They are so different. And so alike. They write each other letters of love and devotion – and then sell each other out at the drop of a hat.

She’s his best friend – says him.

He’s her best friend – says him.

When they tell each other secrets they make a “world” promise. The biggest, most powerful kind of promise. A promise that, if broken, can have dire circumstances. These usually involve hidden candy in their rooms, newly learned bad words or inappropriate videos on YouTube. The usual world promise stuff.

Last night I was writing another blog post and my girl asked what the topic was. When I told her what I was writing about she said,”oh. you should write about me and Jack.” So there you go.

5 Star Problems but a **** ain’t one

I have a problem.

A Tripadvisor problem.

It happens every year.

At about this time, my mind and body starts craving/dreaming/needing a vacation. Somewhere different. Preferably to a place where trains are called metros and where you can stay in a flat instead of an apartment. Or maybe a tropical turquoise retreat where I can drink from a coconut and lay on beach.

A place where I can be Vacation Mom and Vacation Wife. The one that doesn’t worry and nag and yell and order. The one that lets you buy obscenely pricey gum from the gift shop and stay up until you feel like falling asleep. The one that doesn’t care if anyone has brushed their teeth or combed their hair. She’s awesome. I miss her.

But in order to transform into this groovy, go-with-the-flow chick we need to get the hell out of dodge first.

And in order to do that we need to find a place to go.

And every time we find a place I am compelled to that damn website to check out the reviews.

It never ends well for me.

Everyone has an opinion, and I read every last one.

MaryS from Wichita thinks the rooms at a certain resort in Puerto Rico aren’t clean enough.

George from New Jersey didn’t like any of the restaurants but loved the pool at his hotel in Hawaii.

clevergirl8 from Texas loved Peru but had a horrible time with customs at the airport.

I try to focus on just the positive. You can’t make everyone happy, I say to myself.

But then I toss and turn and doubt. And doubt.

Are people just really really picky?

I realize that I could never have been one of those people backpacking through Europe or Asia or Idaho. I need research. Data. Background. I need to know that others have gone before me and had a good time. Or not.

So we’ll make our plans for vacation and it’ll be very exciting, but deep down I’ll be thinking about MikeP from Albany, who thought Dublin was beautiful except for the hotel concierge who was a bit grumpy the whole time.

I give Tripadvisor.com 3 out of 5 stars. Lots of consumer information which usually results in the firm knowledge that no matter where you are going or what you are doing – it could have been better somewhere else.

Something Fishy

Today’s post was going to be a mushy, gushy Valentine cooking post. A step by step of me making my husband’s all time favorite pasta –  fra diavolo.  Shrimp, bay scallops and squid. I was going to talk about my favorite shortcut. Rao’s tomato sauce. It’s $9 a jar – and yes, making real sauce is easy and it costs $2 – what’s your point? I was going to tell you not to be scared of shortcuts, or squid. That it’s no biggie. I’ve done it before. It cooks in a couple of seconds and people are impressed.  And I had pictures…tons of freaking pictures. I was going to show you how brave I am. Buying, cleaning, chopping squid like it was my business. I’ve done it before. No big thaang.  But then something happened.  (if you are my husband, for the love of god, stop reading this).

As I cleaned the squid…I found….gulp….a little baby fish inside!! 

Hold me.

After I stared at it for a few minutes and the nausea had worn off, I washed my hands and did what all smart people faced with oddities do – I YouTubed it, and googled it, and Wiki’d it, and Web MD’d it (just in case).  The people of the internet told me it’s normal. Happens all the time. Feed it to my cat, etc. But even now, hours later, I shiver when I think of it. Maybe the squid had a last meal and didn’t have time to finish, maybe it was the thing they used to lure the squid. Alls I know is, it ended up in my kitchen.

I’ve been changed people. Some sort of gross seafood cherry has been popped. I had to come to terms with it quickly. My kids or my hubby could not/should not ever see this.  You don’t understand. My husband, I love him, but he’s no adventurous foodie.  He gets really grossed out really quickly. And I couldn’t let my kids see it – the horror the horror!

So like every good mother and wife, I got rid of the evidence and pretended all was good.

Now, safe in my bed, I can finally come to terms with it.

Here’s what I went through folks. Happy f’ing Valentine’s day…

I’ll start with the harmless ones first.  Prepare yourselves. Here’s the shrimp/sauce/squid.  I forgot to take pictures of the scallops because – did I mention – I found food inside the food!! It’s like a bad M.Night Shyamalan plot twist. Back to my sordid story.

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Please note that my cutting board is…well..it’s all cut-up. These are not just props people. This stuff gets used!

Here’s the fresh squid. Yes, it looks slimy but there’s no smell and it handles easily. It also easily cuts into the calamari ringlets.

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And then, as I clean it. I notice this little guy or gal or it. Do you want to hurl like me?

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I want my mommy.

Reason number 8,222,329 to be a vegetarian: I’ve never found a carrot in the middle of my bagel. Or an almond in my banana. I’ll stop now.

 

 

 

Ode to Sunday

Keeping it real.

This is a clean laundry.

I am triumphant!

Sadly, these clothes will sit here for a few more days. Maybe more.

Soon we’ll start using this pile like a makeshift closet.

I’ll feel guilty for about 2 seconds a day.

Then, around Wednesday, I’ll make the kids put the clothes away.

That’s why I had them.

Hairy Issue

I’m not sure what’s happened.

Besides turning 40, working full-time, and having kids – absolutely nothing has changed about me.

Except my hair. Actually this is not my hair. This is brillo that started growing on my head about a decade ago.  The hair that I was born with has left the building. I shrug and pretend not to care – while being totally and completely obsessed with it (sound familiar? story of my life?)

Last year – I found gray brillo.

So I decided to take the leap and get my hair highlighted – something to jazz myself up a bit.

You will or won’t be shocked to find out that coloring your hair results in über brillo hair. Who knew?

Apparently everyone but me knew. So I’ve been on a mission to debrillo.

I’ve tried expensive shampoos, deep conditioners – I’ve slapped on the Keratin, the agave, the coconut oil.

If you are my husband reading this – I’ve spent almost no money on all this. If you are everyone else reading this – I’ve spent a small, compact, American made car’s worth of money on it.

I think I’ve found it. IT. Actually – two its.

First of all – you can buy whatever shampoo/conditioner you want. . I think that all shampoo is the exact same.  And if you think it’s different or have proof otherwise, please don’t tell me.  I use a 2in1 in the shower – come out and use this little baby. About the size of a quarter’s worth worked through my hair. Smell it once – you’ll be hooked. It’s like my hair’s true soul mate. They belong together. I meant to take a picture when it was still full – but I use it fanatically.

Then, after you Biosilk it – but before you blowdry/iron/tease/shellac – spray this baby on.  You don’t tease your hair? You aren’t a 60′s housewife? Stop trying to edit this blog please – and read on.

And it really is a 10. It’s perfect in every way.

My hair isn’t what it used to be pre-kids, pre-marriage, pre-life … but it’s better. It’s less heavy-duty scrub pad.

oh boy

Trouble, trouble, trouble.

That’s what we should have named these three.

Watch out 3rd grade – here they come.

Actual overheard (ok, eavesdropped) conversation between them:

Trouble 1 – “You know what we should do? We should take our bikes to the river and catch fish with our hands.”

Trouble 2 – “What river? Oh you mean the pond?  There’s only dead fish there. Once I did that and brought home a fish and my mom screamed.”

Trouble 3 – “Yeah – let’s make them scream!”

Then they get distracted by building the greatest Lego city that ever was, have a juice pack and call it a day.

Love them.

Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah

Letters! We got letters from both kids!  One was fantastic – and one makes my heart hurt. Guess who wrote which?

Here’s my daughter’s letter – full of honesty and excitement and positive thinking.  I did so good with her.  My husband played a part too, I guess. She commented on the food because I’ve been asking in all my letters. I need to know!  I plan on giving her 1,000 kisses when she gets home.

Now for the other letter.  My boy must have had a tough week.  My husband read the note and laughed – hard. I read the note and felt sick to my stomach. I read the note and felt like driving to get him that very second.  I read the note and had some wine.

Only 3 things kept me from scooping him out of camp today and tucking him into bed with me:

1) the letter was sent on Tuesday. I’m hoping things got better and happier.

2) homesickness is common among campers the first few days, it’s normal, it doesn’t mean he feels unloved, abandoned and alone.

3) my husband wouldn’t let me go get him.

Here’s his letter.  Notice the line about crying.  Twice.  Lord. Help. Me.

(not sure what he means by losing his “hamper” and that I’ll have to wash the clothes? sob sob)

Pizza Palooza

 

We dropped the kids off 48 hours ago.  This post is not about the kids. But did I mention that I miss the kids? Waaaaa.

Since then my husband and I have been living like frat boys (except for the annoying jobs that we can’t ignore) – there’s been no cleaning,  no cooking, no making our beds, nothing.  We’ve had pizza for 4 meals so far.  Only two of our meals have contained a vegetable (there was some arugula on one of the pizzas so I’m counting that as one).  Does the wheat in beer count as fiber intake? Is having a persecco-a-day the same thing as having an apple-a-day?

Last night we decided to drive 20 minutes to try a new grocery store. Cause we could. Ok – so maybe frat boys don’t do that. And we have showered and brushed out teeth daily – so no need to panic.

I was planning on doing a cooking post this week.  Not going to happen.  Maybe I’ll do a “cereal of the night” post.

I feel like I’ve already gained 5 pounds.

Here’s some photos of our balanced pizza diet – are you jealous or are you worried for us? Don’t tell me.

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