Gustatory Longings

Okay, it's 1:30 PM and I'm already over my Weight Watchers points allowance for the day. And I haven't even eaten anything fun. Some grapes, a cup of granola (homemade), chicken soup, half a sandwich....

Someone shoot me, all right? I'm living in a minefield of food.

I keep thinking about things I'd like to eat. You know what I want? What I really, really want? I want one of those sacks of mini-Oreos. I could eat the whole thing and feel very, very happy. Is that so wrong?

Swine Flu

See? It's everywhere.

Theo is sick today, so we all donned surgical masks and threw incense at him. I would have bought hand sanitizer but (no joke) the local Harris Teeter is sold out. Panic much?

Larry is still away, which explains why I haven't been able to blog. Seems that there are a lot of little things Larry does around here that free up some me-time for yours truly. Who knew? I would thank him when he gets back, but he's going away again. So the hell with that.

How about some fridge pictures? Maybe somewhere in that petrie dish I call a refrigerator there is some incipient cure for our latest could-be pandemic. Where are those people from the CDC when you need them?

Here's the picture I took on Monday, when I realized I couldn't wait until Wednesday. You see, the refrigerator replete with food-filled containers was making the kids think there was actually something they could eat in there; and I hated hearing them cry when they took off the lids and found out the awful truth. So I cleaned out early.


Pretty, isn't it, flanked by those vases of dead flowers? Gives it a sort of eco-friendly feel, don't you think? And, hey! We just had Earth Day!

Top to bottom:

1. Oven-roasted potatoes and veggies (called "boppies" in our household, because that is what Theo named them when he was 2 years old)
2. Cranberries left over from a girls' club popcorn-and-cranberries stringing project - the woman who organized the project gave them to me saying, "Here, I have no idea what to cook with these." Apparently, neither do I.
3. You tell me. I haven't the foggiest.
4. Potroast (with carrots) gone bad. That wouldn't have happened if we hadn't gone away over the weekend. Maybe I should hire someone to babysit my leftovers?
   
5. Refried beans that we forgot to freeze

But wait! There's more! Consider it the Swine Flu Bonus edition - here's what I cleaned out today, from the top (again):

1. chopped-up celery that I thriftily saved for another meal - celery shouldn't be brown, though, right?
2. leftover oatmeal (look, it's a compulsion, all right?)
3. a neighbor's baked beans from our neighborhood picnic - that's right, now I am storing other people's leftovers in my fridge because I just didn't have enough of my own.

Over on the left there you see a clean oatmeal pot. I put it in the picture because it was already sitting on the counter. You might wonder why it would be sitting on the counter if it is clean; maybe it should be in the pots drawer under the stove instead? That would make sense to me. Anna, apparently, doesn't agree with that line of reasoning; so, whenever she washes a pot, she leaves it on the counter for the magic dishes fairy to come along and dry it and put it away.

It's so cute when they cling to childish beliefs like that, isn't it?

Still Here!

Larry has had a lingering, flu-like illness for over 2 weeks. Since yesterday, every time he blows his nose or coughs, he adds a few pig-like oinks or snorts. The kids love it. "Swine Flu!" they yell.

I wonder whether his fellow airline passengers this evening will find that routine funny?

Because, yes, Larry is leaving me again. But only for a few days! He has to come home and pack for the 2-week trip he's taking (lucky for him) after Mother's Day.

Mother's Day? I won't want much. How about a fountain coke (with ice!) and someone (Larry) to clean the rotting apples out of my second refrigerator? I'm easy.

You see, I've given up Coke. I was drinking more and more of it, until I was considering filling one of those Camelbak things with the substance and wearing it on my back with the straw in my mouth. So I quit cold turkey. I'll have one on Mother's Day. Another one on my birthday. After that? I'll probably slowly get addicted again. So it goes...

The temps this weekend went from early spring to full summer, a situation which made me realize that my summer clothes barely fit. So I dragged my sorry (big) a** back to Weight Watchers and stepped on the scale. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, so you would think that the person weighing me in would have mentioned that? Would have said something like, "Oh, you don't have too far to go?" No. She said, "Well, it's a good thing you came back in." Making me think I had gained 20 pounds. I got back in the car without even looking at the number she had written down and cried. Thanks a lot, lady!

Turns out it was less than 10. It's just all sitting right on my middle.

You know, losing weight (and keeping it off) would be easy if I weren't feeding children all the time. I think I eat a day's worth of WW points just sampling stuff that I am cooking (for them!) and clearing their plates after meals. That's right - I blame my kids.

Trip to my parents? Oh, yes. Fairly uneventful after a late start caused by the fact that we couldn't get the seating arrangements set to everyone's satisfaction and seatbelt requirements. The tie-dyed cake idea went okay, but it tasted like Playdough to me. Probably because it was colored like Playdough. The kids liked it. Apparently someone else liked it, because it was vandalized before we could sing Happy Birthday to my parents. You would think that the unlit candles would have tipped off the perpetrator to the fact that the cake should not be cut yet. And Uncle Matt is still insulted that he was accused of this dastardly deed. By both Theo and Anna...and, um, me....

You see, we were wrong. It was Grandma. She didn't feel like waiting. And, you know what? When you're 78, carpe cakem may just be a good philosophy to live by.

Bravo for Brassieres

Well! In case any of you felt I was exaggerating in this post of mine lamenting the difficulties of finding brassieres that don't include enough metal to qualify as engineering projects, check out this story on the BBC website. Its headline reads "Bullet Bounces Off US Woman's Bra". That woman wasn't me, but it sure could have been. At long last, I have found an upside to being too well-endowed.

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We're heading up to Grandma and Grandpa's house for their birthday weekend. That means today will be spent doing laundry, packing, and trying to figure out a seating arrangement in the car that will keep people from killing each other. Oh, and baking a cake...and going to the bank...and working at the bookstore...

In fact, maybe I should get off this computer and get started. Have a good weekend, y'all!

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Oh, wait! One more thing! One reader of this blog kindly sent me this video that gives instructions on how to use a rotary phone - talk about a blast from the past!

Positively Prehistoric

Sometime in the not-too-distant past David and I were in Target (shocking, I know) looking to buy new house phones. There was a cute vintage-y looking one that had the push buttons in a circle as if it were a rotary dial. I pointed it out to my 21st-century son and said, "Those were the phones I grew up with. Only they didn't have pushbuttons - you had to dial them."

David's brow furrowed as he examined the phone. "What do you mean, dial?" he asked, with all the professional curiosity of an archaeologist examining some recently unearthed relic.

"You know, dial," I said, attempting to pantomime the action with my finger. "There were little holes where the numbers are, see? And then you would stick your finger in the number and bring the dial around to this little stopper thing. And then you'd let go and it would go back!"

"And then what?" David asked, as if I were explaining a system as complex as that of the Navajo code talkers.

"Well, then you would stick your finger in the hole of the next number and bring that to the little stopper thingie..."

The incredulous look on his face deepened. I couldn't help feeling a tad defensive.

"Look! We only had 7 digits then, all right? And we could go really fast!"

Darn kids - you bring them up communicating at the speed of light and see what happens? David's probably thinking I grew up in the Flintstones Era (What? There wasn't one?), pushing turtle shopping carts and combing my hair with a fish skeleton.

Should I tell him that, when I was little, I totally wanted a Wilma dress?