Stay-cation!

I'm on a "stay-cation" this week. My mission is to chill out, enjoy the 100-degree days and get my laundry done. But oops, we had a little dryer mishap and I can't restart the dryer unless I want to barbecue the house. The appliance gods have been called.

So I am playing like I stay home all the time and Husband1 goes off to work, even though he works in an office 20 paces from the backdoor. The first three days of this staycation I barely managed to get dressed. But now, I think I can stay awake for more than four hours at a time.



Witness this dinner: spaghetti and meatballs from scratch (with a small romaine and avocado salad) and strawberry shortcake.

[Okay, so I lied. These are actually from two different days. The strawberry shortcake was dinner for the Fourth of July for color reasons, and the spaghetti was yesterday for no reason.]



On strawberry shortcake. The cake shouldn't be too sweet or cake-y, in contrast to the sweetness of the strawberries. Hence, the biscuit approach, which is from "The New Basics Cookbook," written by those SilverPalate gals Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins before Julee's father had a heart attack and she got religion and published A Fresh Start.

DISAPPOINTMENT. I am measuring flour for the slightly sweet biscuits and Husband1 says, "You know what would be really good? If we used Twinkies instead," and he is serious. Based on this alone, I don't think we will ever be featured on the eharmony.com commercial.

Anyway, I didn't go all out with the whipped cream from scratch because I didn't want the calories. I used reduced fat Cool Whip. But if you came over, I'd use the real stuff because food = love and I love using beaters anyway.

I did use half wheat/half white flour for these (the flour already comes this way), which I think makes them taste better but those same teensy weensy flecks of wheat that I love only make my family suspicious of anything I set in front of them. Oh, and shake up the baking powder. I read it on the can.

WHAT YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT MEATBALLS. Meatballs are serious to an Italian girl, and I make them from a recipe {if you call it that} from my mom along with some tips from the Barefoot Contessa Family Style cookbook by Ina Garten. Ina is fat, so it makes sense to trust her with stuff that tastes good.



Things I have learned: I didn't realize that you only have to brown the meatballs; for years I thought they had to be cooked through at this stage. Nope, that's what the simmering all day is for, and a crockpot works well for this. Meatballs should not be the size of baseballs.
They should be smaller than pingpong balls but bigger than marbles. If you go half-sies with ground turkey and ground round, no one will know. If you use fresh breadcrumbs (couple of spins in the food processor), the meatballs are a lot fluffier and do not resemble small rocks or turds. When making the sauce, you might saute a little onion, right? Well, I sautee a little onion, celery and carrots in a little olive oil and garlic, and I do this because, you guessed it, I didn't have a damn onion, but I DID have one of the those frozen meal-starter veggie groupings, and it worked great. When everything was softened, I added a little merlot (or any red wine alcohol) and after it boiled off, I threw it all in the crockpot along with a 28-oz can of crushed tomatoes, some kosher salt, pepper and a smeck of nutmeg. I used some of that whole-wheat penne pasta and no one complained. Of course, by the time this was finished, there were only three people to eat it, one of whom shared that she didn't really feel like spaghetti and gave half to the dog. Still, I feel like a champ. And not just because I left a big mess for my offspring to clean up.

PS: {If you think I should include actual recipes here, tell me and I will, but I can't really believe someone would be that interested so I haven't done it.}

Today I might use the vacuum cleaner or take clothes to the cleaners. Then again, I could fold clothes and put them away. It's all so new!

Musical dog amnesia

This child has stopped talking altogether. She sings everything - and everything is a line from a musical. It's like a bad dream where I'm trapped in the audience for Lion King and I can't find the exit. I don't want to discourage anything here, but if I want her to empty the dishwasher, I just want to hear, "Okay," not, "It's a Hard Knock Life" from Annie.



On the good side, tap lessons are paying off. Glad to know I could send her downtown with a cardboard sign and tap shoes to help feed the family. She took a few days of fight choreography, so now she can throw a punch and slap your face like a pro.

Adam took off for six weeks in Crested Butte. He is supposed to be sending us a photo a day with a description of what he's doing. The reality: blurry photo of mountainside and "Gonna bomb down this hill..."

Update: Just $814 later, the Apple computer is back. On the counter. Right there next to a glass of ice tea. I could scream.

Thoughts on why I wouldn't be so good in an emergency...

The other morning, I woke up to helicopters swirling overhead. I thought, well, just another {awfully close} aerial search for a criminal and went back to bed. Then the doorbell rings, and I realize Bruce is probably in the office and it's up to me to get up and be the he-man in the house.

All I remember seeing is a German shepherd the size of a small burro in my frontyard. There was a sheriff standing next to it, but I hardly notice him. I did get the point that he wanted to search our backyard for a gun. {How CSI is that??} And he wants me to get my dogs inside. So I go running out the backdoor like a cowboy with a lasso trying to get the herd rounded up, and the dogs are going berserk.


As I am doing this, I am wishing I was not wearing these particular pajamas, but there is no time to make it better. I fill a bit like Pioneer Woman left alone to defend the homestead from Indians in my underwear and the rifle is across the way leaning against the barn.

All dogs are inside except for Wayne {of course}, but guess what, it is at this moment I cannot remember Wayne's name. I know he is named after a movie, but the only movie with names in it I can remember is Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice, and I know it's not one of those.

By now the sheriff is at the back gate ready to take Thor off the leash -- I can hear him talking to him in German - and I am stopped mid-backyard looking dazedly at Wayne, willing him to come to me nicely, but I can't THINK OF HIS NAME.

It's at this moment that husband enters scene from office and nonchanlantly starts conversing with sheriff (it's three guys on the loose and one was caught hiding on the property directly behind us - and they robbed a tattoo parlor, took off in a van, were chased by police, crashed into a gas stand at a nearby gas station and took off on foot. They think one guy maybe tossed a gun over the fence into our yard.) Note: we do not live near a tattoo parlor.

Luckily Husband remembered our dog's name. Personally, I was disappointed that Thor did not find a gun. All were apprehended.

June Book Report

F-I-N-I-S-H-E-D

In the car:
Divorced from the Mob: my journey from organized crime to independent woman by Andrea Giovino with Gary Brozek. All I can say is, Andrea’s mother (a piece of work if I ever met one) had her stealing from the corner store to feed her family at five years old. No wonder she didn’t meet an engineer from Texas Instruments and her kids aren’t on swim team. She has a worse mouth than Sophia S. from my hometown, which is saying a lot. She’s got guts, and I give her credit for writing a book. She probably sells real estate now, and I’d be scared not to buy whatever she showed me, even if she is straight now.

On my night table:



Word commix: poems by Charlie Smith. I picked this up because I liked the cowboy on the cover and the typeface for the title. Charlie, I think you’re depressed and you’ve never gotten over the fact that your marriage is over. Aside from that, your poems are impenetrable to me, but your bio photo isn’t half-bad. I think I am too simple-minded for your world, but keep working at it, as I am sure others aren’t as daft as me.

Perfectly imperfect: a life in progress by Lee Woodruff. Quite appealing. This is a collection of essays by Lee, wife of CNN correspondent Bob who got himself blown up in Iraq a couple years ago. (He is doing fine now.) The essays are about everyday life with three kids, a husband who works too much and a sensible mom. They’re funny, well-written, poignant, all that stuff. Good job, Lee!

In my backpack:
Before you put that on: 365 daily style tips for her by Lloyd Boston. Well. I had no idea that a pair of white denim jeans could be so vital. I loved the artwork (also by Lloyd), but the book tired me out after about Tip 36. I just could not stand to think about clothes so intensely for so long. Plus, the book must weigh four pounds.

I-N P-R-O-G-R-E-S-S
In my car now:
This just in: what I couldn’t tell you on TV by Bob Schieffer. I like this guy, and for the car, I have to pick stuff that Husband1 and I can both listen to and not fight about or get bored with. We are in the Vietnam War era right now. I like to hear my life explained to me 30 years later.

In my backpack now:
Eat, pray, love by Elizabeth Gilbert. It was at Half-Price Books, so the price was right. I was v-e-r-y skeptical of this, as I thought it might be preachy and written by someone much holier than thee, I mean, me. Plus, it was very popular, which is not a good sign either. But I am pleasantly surprised. I am only in the "Eat" phase, but Elizabeth and I would be besties. I am a bit jealous, though, as I think she is perhaps funnier than I am.

On my night table now:

The Long Walk Home by Will North. Another book I bought because I loved the cover photograph. I could have saved myself $13.95 if I’d just written in my journal, “I like red and blue together, old stone houses and flowers” and not had to suffer through this insufferable love story. American guy on a walking pilgrimage in Wales to scatter his ex-wife’s ashes meets Wales-ian bed-and-breakfast proprietress whose sheep-farmer husband is an invalid. Can they find love and still think of themselves as honorable people? On par with The Notebook and similar. I don’t know if I can bear to read the inevitable love scene that must be coming. (I am covering my eyes.)

Stiff: The curious lives of human cadavers by Mary Roach. I was fascinated by the idea of this book and looking for post-life options for my body. Here’s the funny part. My friend S writes last week:

I was reading this thinking that Mary would do this subject justice... and then I saw that it's a video .. so I know it's not OUR Mary... but I bet this book is fun to read! :)

http://blogs.discovery.com/nerdabout_new_york/2009/05/mary-roach-and-the-curious-lives-of-cadavers.html

And damned if I don’t already have the book! And if this sounds interesting to you, you’ll LOVE The Dead Beat: Lost Souls, Lucky Stiffs, and the Perverse Pleasures of Obituaries (P.S.) by Marilyn Johnson. A fabulous book about writing obituaries. Really great stuff. Bet you didn't know everyone everywhere already had the Michael Jackson obit ready to roll. And somewhere, there is a convention of obit writers, and they're taking bets on who will die this year. But don't think they're flip or unfeeling. They're absolutely not.

Budapest or bust!

Greetings dahling!
I, Cordelia, cannot leave you for a minute. I don’t have cellphone coverage from Budapest (as you are too cheap), but I am just as happy to write. And to think that my sudden departure was part of the problem!

When I am feeling out of sorts, I simply jump in the dryer and take a couple of tumbles around on “Fluff.” Try it!

Failing that, I think you need some girlfriend time and a little w[h]ine. Hahahahahaha.

More later, my love! There’s a man making eyes at me.

xxxxx
Cordelia

The Blob almost got me

I was in danger of being swallowed up by a big Blob of Depression. A tiny bit seeped into my bag on my way home from work on Friday and then got so big on Saturday it left me grappling for a stick to pull myself out for the rest of the weekend.

It seems to kick off when I am too tired to cook or go out to eat and there is no good food in the house and no kids around to cook for, so I eat crap (which the Blob seems to love – especially Fritos corn chips) and feel worse. From there, it’s a quick jump to, “No, I don’t want to get up (ever) and leave me alone (forever).”


God bless Bruce, as my slings and arrows seem to bounce off of him like bullets on Superman. He disregards everything that comes out of my mouth and seems unfazed when my head spins around and I start cursing. Of course, the bad thing is, he does this when the Blob isn’t anywhere NEAR me, too.

I tried to work on my duvet, so I could check that off my to-do list, but it just suddenly seemed so f-r-e-a-k-i-n-g BIG-ASS now that I was paralyzed just looking at it. (But I did figure out how I’m going to fix it.) And then I got a call asking if Cordelia wanted to go to Budapest and could she leave right away. Normally, that would pull me out of a funk, but it barely registered, and the Blob just burped with satisfaction, settling in around my feet.

Still, I forced myself to give Cordelia a much-needed stent in her neck (an out-patient procedure she tolerated very well), hair extensions and a new outfit. All this took about an hour-and-a-half, and the whole time the Blob was right there, now up to my knees trying to suck me into the abyss, and whispering sweet nothings in my ear:

Have you seen your laundry room? I can’t believe you’re sitting here making an outfit for a doll (sorry, it’s not even attractive. Even Cordelia doesn’t like it) when you have no clean underwear. What is wrong with you? Did you even work out today? The counter. Couldn’t you at least clean off the counter? When are you going to the grocery store or do you have to wait to the last minute like you always do? You don’t even have one flower planted. That’s pathetic. What are you doing about the dog’s ears/the income tax return/Adam’s transfer/the carpenter ants/the unwashing dishwasher/the clogged sink/vacation? You’re still eating beef? Do you know what raising cows does to the environment? It takes you till Thursday to do the easy Monday crossword puzzles. So yeah, just sit there making hair extensions for a doll while Rome crumbles, loser!!!!”

Today I am a wee bit better. I do better sometimes during the week, with a packed schedule. The Blob has to stay in hiding so that others don’t see him. But he is still RIGHT THERE.

I just know I can figure this out

I have been busy, madly sewing yards and yards of fabric, so I haven’t written. Plus, I didn’t want to write until I had the thing finished, so I could say, “Voila, just three days later I have the perfect duvet cover!”

That smarmy attitude has come back to bite me. I actually have pretty much kinda finished the duvet cover. There’s just the matter of the closure to deal with, whether I want ties (recommended for beginners), or Velcro dots (bet it won’t hold) or buttons (the most European look, I am told) or a zipper (I haven’t put one in since I accidentally inserted one where the skirt hem should have been).


But there is something else. And that is, it doesn’t fit the *&^%* bed!!!!! Oh it fits the king-size comforter from the Marriott just fine, like a giant pillowcase. (And we’ll not talk about how difficult it is, in fact, to basically crawl into a huge pillowcase with a comforter in your mouth and drag it inside for four yards and get it to stick while you back on out.) But when I put the duvet-clad comforter on the bed, it doesn’t cover the sides. So okay, you’re thinking, I put it on the wrong way. Just turn it clockwise a quarter turn. (And didn’t you try this before you started sewing?)



But I don’t want it to GO that way. The two vertical stripes should go lengthwise down the bed. Now they go across and I can’t cope with that. Oh where did I go wrong? I will just pretend for now that everything is just fine and everything I hoped for.

Everyday Math Lesson: If Adam has one retainer and puts it in his back pocket and throws himself into a couch, how much money has Adam spent? Show your work.

Pea brain + retainer + couch = $175 + 2(trip to orthodontist)

Biblio-angst: when I can’t figure out what to read next

An incredible lightness of being

I am pleased to report that the lead-en quilt is out of the house. Yes, it was like moving a body, but I did it!

I took it to my favorite Value Village, and parked in the handicapped spot {oh c'mon, what would you have me do -- roll the thing across the parking lot?} and a guy comes up, "Are you returning that?" Like people return things to Value Village. I immediately returned home to begin the next phase of my momentous project.

Remember my swell trip to London in January? While there, I slept in a wunnerful bed at the Marriott Whitehaven with the perfect-weight down comforter. Sure enough, I could get one just like it online. So I ordered one, and now all I have to do is make a duvet cover for it.

Simple enough, eh?

So I had this Kaffe Fossett quilt kit [from QuiltFest 2007 that I had to have] that could be adapted to this duvet cover, and I'm looking at the pattern and looking at the gabillion fabrics, and looking at the pattern, and looking at the fabrics, and wondering, doesn't it seem a little stupid to cut up that beautiful fabric into itty bitty tiny pieces and then sew it all back together again?

Lately my patience factor is like -20, so what are the odds I could make this beautiful quilt and maintain my sanity and have a completed duvet cover by Christmas? Not good. So plan B. Using the 80/20 rule, I have sewed together a more elementary duvet cover, and I just need to get the fabric for the flip side. I started to freak over the color combinations and trying to match this to that, and then I thought, what the heck, throw caution to the wind and just start sewing and hope it works out.

Pictures tomorrow!!!!!

This aside, Offspring 3 spilled some kind of Black Currant Clementine drink on Offspring 1's Apple computer, paid for in hours of forced cheerfulness at Pappadeaux's - "Hey, welcome to Pappadeaux's, a server will be right with you..."

Katy knows death is imminent and bursts into tears. I feel like crying too (and I'm the one who told her 1) stay away from J's computer (especially after she downloaded that damn Thoroughly Modern Millie soundtrack) and 2) get that *&^%$ drink away from that computer). Luckily Jessie the ice princess took mercy on her and allowed her to live. She is taking it to the Apple store tomorrow to see if they can do CPR on the thing or something. She says she has a warranty, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't cover dumping a drink on the keyboard even if it was 100% organic and full of antioxidants.

Adam came in second at the Concrete Rodeo in Ft. Worth over the weekend. Some kind of skateboarding thing. Did I mention I'm going to be homeschooling the monster? Yes, well, I didn't have enough to do so I decided to take on the secondary education of a skateboarding dyslexic. I am going through all the stages of grief with this decision - and I guess I am approaching acceptance. That must be it. I must remember though, the last time I thought I was going to teach the kids interesting stuff over the summer. The vision: the three little stinkers would finish their breakfast and gather at the table with shiny expectant faces waiting for me to share the day's lesson on seashells!!! The reality: I could not even get them to sit at the table at the same time. Something tells me to readjust my expectations with this homeschooling stuff or I will be crying my eyes out nightly.