A love dream.

I dreamed an epic dream of love last night.  The kind of love that comes in soft silky curls of goodness. The kind of love that you can take a bath in and cleanse everything ugly that ever happened away. The kind of love that makes your insides feel thick and slow and so full of everything you are feeling that it drips out your pores and fills the air with the scent of peacefulness and contentment . This is the beginning of every true love story and the sad and beautiful part of it all is when love becomes family and houses burn down and brothers sleep on couches and everything gets all mixed up and cluttered and there is no way to get back to the very beginning because it was always meant to be exactly this way. There was just a room at first and then another and another until we built a blue house and the rooms started filling up and our lives started closing in around us and we hung sheets over the windows to keep out the light and stay warm and safe and protected and so many people came and babies were born and we tried to find our own little room and the house burned down but we still had everything and the cat and the dog and the baby were not lost and we curled up together in that warm place and tried to remember the beginning but it was so far away and we just touched each others hair and felt the softness slipping away. It was exactly everything.

Rock bottom, or perhaps it was was the top.

They'll say it was selfish.

They'll say it was weak. 

When I try to put the story together it sounds cheap and ugly but when I close my eyes I still see the glowing arch of our last goodbye. 

The stupid cheesed up love story that never even was.

A flame? 

Hot like fire? 

Lit like a candle? 

Standing as tall as a mountain 

Sinking like a rock. 

Damn, see... It comes out all wrong. 

A buzz, a metallic taste on my tongue, a firm, strong hand pushing.

That's all that's left of it anymore.

There are these tiny love stories that happen.

They might not even be real.

The more you remember the less real it becomes.

Sometimes you just have to let it wash over you and suck back into the sea. 

You can't ever find that grain of sand again, even if it's made of everything inside you. 

And then

I'm pretty sure this is my chance to finally, publicly, lose my virginity. I mean the deed has already been done but nobody knows, not even Kristen. She's like the best friend in the movie Fast Times at Ridgemont High, egging me on adjustignmy clothes to show more skin and giving me tips on how to give blowjobs.  She is beyond floored that I haven't done it yet. She's even kissed me on the mouth a few times to be sure I'm doing it right and not freaking guys out or anything. I'm 15 and despite the assumptions made because of my huge breasts and the way I try to act all slutty, lounging around not giving a damn if my legs are crossed or if my pants are ripped just under my ass cheeks, I've only had sex with one person so far and I can't even tell anyone about it because it's a big gross secret. It's the worst. When Kristen introduced me to her older ( I think he's like 23) dark haired skinny new boyfriend a couple of months ago I just about ripped my clothes off right there in her livingroom. I think my mouth actually may have hung open and I might have for real drooled. Clearly we were meant to have sex, immediately, like today. And we did. It was totally gross and awful and I can't stop hating myself even still.  We drove around in his black '84 mustang GT drinking out of a flask and breathing in thick clouds of pot smoke and the entire time I stared at him from the backseat, waiting. It was almost 2 am before finally he said "alright ladies, I need my beauty sleep, time to go home". He took the long way around and headed towards Kristin's house first, casually explaining that he'd drop me off on the way out of the neighborhood. She's too wasted to smell the rat as he walks her to the door and kisses her goodnight. The minute I slid into the front seat as we turned the corner off her street kicking gravel up behind us, his hand was squeezing my crotch and he was leaning over with his toungue hanging out of the corner of his mouth trying to kiss me and drive at the same time. 

A little more

     I met him officially at Kristin's house. Her dad worked long hours in the city and when he got home he always poured himself a glass of cheap brown liquor and lit a smoke and went straight to his bedroom. Kristin was adopted and when she was pretty young her mom ran of with her dad's best friend. The shitty part is they didn't run very far. Kristin's mom and her dad's ex best friend were now happily married and living in a big house at the front of the  neighborhood so Mr. C had to drive by every day on his way home from work. Kristin's house was kind of the neighborhood hang out because we could get away with just about anything and her dad gave us money for food and didn't care too much  when we pilfered his smokes. Winston's, yuck. 

      I had seen the guy with the Indian tattoo around before, at parties in the corn fields and sitting on picnic tables at the big beach passing bags of weed and flashing his tanned arms and brown front tooth. There were two beaches in te neighborhood. The big beach with permanent year round piers and a musty old clubhouse that could be rented out for parties and neighborhood meetings, and the little beach with just one small seasonal pier that was removed at the end of summertime. Lake Catherine is in northern Illinois and is part of the Chain 'o lakes that is made up of like seven different bodies of water connected by these little channels. The big beach was where kids (and a select few creepy adults) hung out on warm summer nights and drank beer bought at Jack's country store  and made plans and talked shit. Jack's used to be a little  crumbly shack with narrow isles and little baskets of penny candy. Now it's a real deal convenience store with big shiny glass cooler doors and a counter with a hot dog roller machine. Eventually we would make a plan to rob the place with guns and a get away bike and a secret trail but I'll tell you more about that later.  Let's get back to the summer of love, or should I say the summer of stupid fucked up trouble that turned into almost a whole year of bad decisions that ended up affecting the course of the rest of my entire life. 

     I walked into Kristin's room and he was siting there on the floor with a leather covered 3 ring binder that looked like one of those mom style day planners except that instead of plans there were thick sheets of pastel paper inside with perfect little perforations making little 1/2 inch squares and in the little pouch on the inside front cover a stack of teeny tiny plastic ziplock bags. 

Part of the middle.

I was 15. He was 22. I started it and he just couldn't resist. We hid out for awhile in his room at his dad's house, and in the back of his blue van with airbrush painted dolphins and brown shag carpet taped to the walls inside. Once I turned 16 in August he introduced me to a few of his friends. It seemed less shitty I suppose. Banging a hot 16 year old with huge tits and a bad attitude seems mildly more socially acceptable than creeping around with a 15 year old in a molester van. 

     That was pretty much the norm though. Back then all the girls were young and stupid and all the guys were older and dealing drugs. At least that's the way all the people I knew were. 

     I never actually went on a date except for once when this nice kid I used to hang out with who went to catholic school but still smoked pot showed up at my door all dressed up and asked me to go see a movie with him. He had borrowed his parents car and put on way too much of his dad's Old Spice aftershave and I didn't even realize we were on a date until we pulled into the Olive Garden parking lot. I had just smoked a joint and he asked if I was hungry. I figured fuck it, I'm not turning down free pasta. That is until he tried to sit on my side of the table with me and pet my hand. I stood up and said "hey, I need to pee". I went to the bathroom and put on some Wet and Wild dark burgundy #508 lipstick and walked out the front door.  

     I made it a point to never lead anyone on like that again. 

      The one with the van was twisted. He had, well, I assume he still has, a tattoo of a native American in full headdress on his shoulder. He used to talk some shit about being part Cherokee but who knows what the truth was. His mom lived in Hawaii and he lived with his dad who seemed really old like a grandpa or something. He had brown skin all over, thick greasy black hair and a front tooth damaged by a hockey puck. Supposedly he had been a big deal high school jock and had played football and had gone to some famous hockey camp up in Canada. By the time I met him he wasn't good at anything other than pulling up my shirt and selling drugs.  

secrets

     As I walked last evening, I wore the neon yellow reflective belt for safety, slung low across my soft belly, just below the sharp curve of my waist. The hour glass curve, the coveted shape that would become so intense and clear if only I wore the right clothing or lost a little weight. I thought about hiking it up a little, just above the sagging naval and just below the ribs. The part that seems impossibly small in contrast to the wide square hips that spread smoothly across tiny bistro chairs and airline seats and flow just over the edge. It's all in betweens now a days. In between fat and curvy. In between being old enough to smile knowing smiles and still having plenty to learn. Heavy strong legs. A blessing and a curse. Lumbering slow legs, powerful and strong enough to move mountains, well, maybe not mountains but heavy furniture surely. In between letting gray roots and curls do their own wild things and the desire to tame and smooth and press it all down and keep it a secret. With these breasts, these hips, these thighs, this waist, nothing is a secret. I walk on busy well lit roads and wear that blazing yellow belt to be safe and to be seen because nothing, absolutely nothing,  is a secret.

Kickin' ass and takin' names.

I'm kind of a hard person to be friends with. I pretty much hate everything. Okay so maybe not eeeeeverything, and maybe its not hate, but it is in my nature to question everything. So heres a little bit about me that might give some insight into why and how I learned to ask so many questions, see things from every angle, question every rule and authority and speak my mind whenever I damn well feel like it.

I've lived a lot of life in my 37 years and have pretty much made all the mistakes people ever make. All of them.  Once, when I was 16 got in a car with with a bunch of older boys who were drinking. Obviously it ended badly and we were damn lucky nobody died. It's actually kind of a funny story to tell but the reality is that I will forever live with scars, inside and out. I have pretty much screwed up in every way that a human can screw up and I have a million regrets, but..... I also have power.

 I'm gonna make that cute husband of

mine very happy here and quote Spiderman.
 I learned very early on that- "with great power comes great responsibility"

 I had all the power.
 I had all the freedom.
 I did every awesome, silly, stupid, reckless thing a person could do.
Some of it was great. Some of it hurt. There were times I was ignored, discarded and attacked with both fists and words, but the freedom of being a kid with no rules, no adults around who weren't already wrapped up in their own dramas and addictions to set any boundaries, was also kind of amazing.
    
I also had the opportunity to really learn from my mistakes and experience life on my own terms.

Green and purple and every other color  you can think of  hair
short skirts and combat boots
midnight showings of Rocky Horror
standing at podiums reading poetry with clove cigarettes hanging from my lip
sex 

drugs 
skinny dipping
punk rock music
traveling
all the things I ever wanted to do, I did.

I was allowed to form my own opinions about religion and politics and  art and education and  friendships and love and how humans should treat each other and all of the really important things in life 

Despite the fact that nobody ever talked to me about what was happening to my body and my mind I held fast to my own values and formed my own ideas about justice and fairness based on the way I experienced the world around me. I am often reminded of the great responsibility part and try to use all the things I've learned along the way to make a positive impact on my family, on my community and create a legacy of truth and kindness that will live on past my time.  

 So when you think I am speaking up just to be contrary, just to be different, just to stir the pot, it's because I am different. It's because I know what it is to have to fight for my rights and I refuse to just agree and conform to other peoples standards.  I question everything because I've seen almost everything and don't buy any shit about how am supposed to be. When you've lived like I have you understand fairness intimately and insist on it in all things. My freedom planted seeds of doubt about everything but it also taught me to stand up for myself and work hard and appreciate everything. 

I refuse to forget the girl with the bad ass attitude and combat boots. She has come a long way but shes still there, kicking ass and taking names.

Oh coffee

I'd never even had a sip until I was nearly 30 years old. That's more than 8 years ago now. It was my doctor who started it. Just after my son was born, and just 17.5 ( yes the .5 is important) months after the girl baby came along I was facing some very serious medical issues. My doctor reeling with disbelief at the caffeine intake box checked 'no' asked if it was a religious thing. He leaned in close and looked me square in the eyes and said "if you need a little something to keep you going try coffee, trust me".  So, he's a doctor. I trusted him. I was sure I was dying anyways so I might as well start experiencing new things. 

    I was only sort of dying. Slowly and painfully bleeding and having my internal organs crushed over the course of about 14 months. 

*Spoiler alert, I lived*

   
  I was so sick, in so much pain that the awful taste didn't bother me. I just wanted to be able to stay awake long enough to feed the baby and play with the almost toddler and maybe sit outside on the back porch in the biting cold Chicago winter air and breathe. 

     Of course there are a million things that helped me pull through that scary sad time in my life. The surgery didn't go as planned and things got scary. Blood transfusions and visits to the VA hospital and being pushed in wheelchairs and waking up in hospital beds happened more often in those few months than anyone should ever have to experience but the one thing, the simple pleasure that stuck with me is coffee. It's an addiction for sure. Morphine and Oxycontin are pretty addictive too but somehow I managed to wean myself off of those fairly quickly and just coffee remained.

     Just a few months after surgery. The surgery that took away a piece of me I wasn't ready to give up just yet, we moved thousands of miles across the country to a place where coffee rules. It became a huge part of my healing. In the state of Washington coffee is social, it is friendly, it warms hearts and hands and gives people an excuse to venture out under wet gray skies and seek out the electric buzz that some of us need to live. 

       I'm in Hawaii now. Humid mornings and hot coffee don't always mix and my body is perfectly healthy, better than ever in fact, but I don't think I'll ever be whole without a fresh hot cup. 

Notes on Hawaii.

Nothing particularly new to say here but I figured I'd gather some of my bitchiest crybaby crap thoughts here.

But first...- a quick list of things that are awesome.. Because really there ARE ton of awesome things and I am often reminded in life that looking on the bright side and maintaining a positive attitude is super important in order to be a proper and well adjusted adult human being. Am I right? (Duh I'm always right)

1. Beautiful beauty wrapped in a snug blanket of more super pretty beautifulness with a flipping cherry on top.  Majestic green mountains with waterfalls and palm trees, hibiscus flowers and unreal beaches with white sand and crystal blue water where sea turtles reside and tropical fish of all different magical colors swim. High fives all around for awesome fantastic 

beautifulness 

Sounds great right? I mean it's a magical place that millions of people visit every year. A place of aloha dreams and mahalo Shaka brah, shoots and leis and Dole pineapple whip that folks save for and plan romantic honeymoons to and stuff. 

and yes, that's my whole list jammed into one little paragraph.

Except I kinda hate it a little bit (or a lot, whatever) 

Here is an example of a typical day in my life.

Wake up and cover all exposed skin in loads and loads of sunscreen. 

Take kids to school and try to get in a workout before the blazing hot fireball in the sky starts shooting it's laser beams at me and burning the shit out of me leaving oozing weeping blisters and a tender coating of red inflamed flesh on my entire body. 

Go to my safe air conditioned lonely bedroom to cool down. 

Do some housework and work on my business. 

Realize that it's nearly time to venture out to pick up children and start panicking. 

Get in vehicle and drive past a bazillion brave and acclimated people riding bikes towards the school to pick up their children and wonder how the hell they are not being sizzled into tiny bits of charred flesh and start to feel like some sort of freak for not being able to handle a bike ride outdoors at 2pm without burning and sweating and crying. 

Start crying, avoiding awkward eye contact with all other parents while waiting for kids in fear that if anyone talks to me I'll blurt out "I hate Hawaii please help me escape!" 

people here are so damn nice. So so nice. Inviting me to the beach and to come work out with them in the middle of the day... outside. Um no. I can't. Really. For serious. It's not fun. 

Also, sand is annoying. 

Okay okay I know....

How bout this? I'll make ya a deal. I'll write something happy next time. Maybe.  

So, tell me. Have you ever lived somewhere you didn't like? Why were you there and how did you cope?

Oh yeaaah. This.

I feel like this is something people do-start a blog, promise to keep up and then  totally forget about it. Obviously it's something 'I' do. So here I am again, making promises to try to keep writing. I even thought about starting a whole new blog but figured why bother if this is still floating around out there, I might as well just go with it. Okay, so, done with the explanations and excuses. Most of what I've written about in the past is about being a mom, and a wife and a woman who is just trying to figure shit out as I go. I suppose that's a good place to start. I feel like I have important stuff to say sometimes and nobody to say it to. So this is my solution. I guess I'll just dive right in with some crap- I live in Hawaii now and I don't super love it. I feel guilty and stupid even saying that, which only adds to my misery. Sometimes I want to lay it all out on Facebook but again that just adds to the feeling stupid part. So here's a big long thing I wrote and then decided was too annoying for Facebook but is perfectly okay in a blog (right?)   depression is like living in a deep dark place with no proverbial 'light at the end of the tunnel'. But there is another kind of sadness. The kind that is not like living at the bottom of a well. The kind where we CAN see the light but it's really far away and while we might have all the tools and all the support and all the hope and knowledge to know for sure it's going to be alright,  it's still really really hard. Part of it is very specific to being a military spouse. That feeling of instability, of being uprooted, ungrounded. Sometimes it feels so light, so free, so good to know I am capable of just packing up and moving on and making a great life wherever the Navy sends us and making a lasting impression of positivity and love anywhere we go. But there is a dark side. Laying all that love on the line, putting in all the work and positivity and then having to leave it behind is hard. What's even harder is seeing those communities and friendships and things you once were a part of thriving without you. Moving forward and expanding and becoming exactly what you had hoped they would but not being there to partake in the fruits of your labor. I suppose this is what true love is. Looking back and appreciating that you had the opportunity to be a part of it to begin with  and fighting the urge to be hurt by growth in your absence and knowing that you still have a million chances to do other great things.  

Oh and here is a picture of a beautiful butterfly in my yard- it's symbolism or whatever. 

Notes on Kindergarten from a Mama bear

I try hard to be, hard, tough, unwavering and serious. In fact I have read a few of these sorts of blogs already this week and told myself I was wayyyy too cool to write one myself (fail). All this because really, I am scared to be uselessly incompetent at all of those things and I feel like its my job to make an effort to uphold some sort of good front.  This is my style in life and particularly my style of parenting. I make rules, set boundaries, push for maximum effort and expect that things be done properly and in a timely manner, but really I'm a big ball of mush at the core and all these things are put in place to keep me chugging along with a sense of purpose and certainty that all of my efforts will pay off in the form of bright successful polite little children. So far its working out great. Tomorrow is a whole new ball game though. Tomorrow I send my five year old son off with a healthy lunch packed, some quarters to buy chocolate milk and walk away as he enters a new place with new people I've never met to have new experiences that I have zero control over. Up until now I have made all the choices. His circle is quite pleasantly small, his needs are simple and always met. I have been his teacher and provided him with the basic core values that are meaningful to our little family. Tomorrow he will ask questions and get answers from people with all different background and beliefs. Tomorrow he will be a part of something that I am not, tomorrow I will have nothing to do all day. These are all good things, things I am of course, in my open minded and rational level head, quite pleased with, but...but...the Mama bear part, the the piece of me that sees him as all mine will have a tough time walking away tomorrow.

love.

its more important that I ever imagined. really. it's huge.
so many ways.
fear, joy, despair, loneliness, smiling, laughing.
connected at the core.
a jumbled ball of string whose end is tucked away deep where it might never be seen.
just unravel it a bit then wrap it back up haphazardly.
or maybe you can lay it out straight and run your fingertip along, pressing hard to leave a scar.
sway it loosely, as if teasing a cat, then yank it away at the last second.
bound.
tie me up in a neat little bow...and
love me.

and again.

Publish Post

I read somewhere that dreams are what happen while your brain is busy filing memory into neat little compartments...or something like that. And that things get, mixed up, confused, out of sequence and while the rest of your brain is busy  dreams float on the surface flashing daily dramas and mundane nicety and sometimes unspoken fear. Reoccurring dreams are some sort of glitch, the filing drawer left open or the memo never read. It's always the same, a place with so many rooms that all feel strange and yet, familiar . Opening doors and knowing what I think will be behind them and sometimes its easy and I'm right, but sometimes I'm wrong and I feel embarrassed or ugly. My dreams so often have to do with rooms, big houses, mazes and confusion with a spatter of triumph and comfort  here and there. I suppose that's how it goes.

Almost as good as Granny's Chicken and Dumplings

My husbands Grandmother is from the south, Tennessee to be exact. She cooks like she is from the south and shes an outspoken, hard workin, take no shit kinda lady. The first Christmas eve I spent with BJ and his family , about 15 years ago, I was treated to the most wonderful meal and a house full of about 75 people waiting on Granny's famous chicken and dumplings. She worked all week making chocolate pies , ham and green beans, biscuits, and of course the famous chicken n dumplings which turned out to be made with flour tortillas, what a great idea! About 3 years ago we were back home in Indiana visiting when Granny called down to my in-laws house to inform us she was not feeling up to making Christmas eve dinner and that she was calling off the whole thing. Before I had a chance to offer up some help My father in-law, her eldest child, had jumped in his truck with BJ and headed over to make sure she was okay. By the time my mother-in law and I showed up BJ, his dad, and his two uncles were in the kitchen cooking up all the fixins for a Christmas eve feast with Granny shouting instructions from her favorite reclining chair. I was perhaps the sweetest thing I've ever seen and I always relate this meal with that sweet moment. My recipe is a little different, my own version that will never quite capture the magic of Granny's but I think it's pretty darned good.
Today was a typical northwest kinda day, rain, more rain, gray skies and rain.
Just the perfect kinda weather for some sweet memories and some yummy comfort food.



Chicken and (fake)Dumplings

5 frozen boneless skinless chicken tenderloins (or 3 whole breasts)
3 cans low sodium chicken broth
1 tablespoon smart balance (or real butter)
10 baby carrots (or 3/4 cup diced carrots)
1 teaspoon low sodium chicken soup base (or 1 bullion cube)
3 large burrito size flour tortillas cut into 2 inch strips
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon flour
1/2 teaspoon corstarch
black pepper
onion powder

warm up olive oil(I used garlic flavored olive oil from trader joes..yum!)in a pan and add frozen chicken (I buy bag of frozen chicken tenderloins and use them for EVERYTHING super easy and a really good price) and cook for about 5 minutes on low heat flipping once until mostly thawed and then add enough water to cover chicken  and put a lid on and let it chicken boil until cooked all the way through with no pink in the middle. In a large pot stir together chicken broth, soup base, butter, carrots a dash of onion powder and as much black pepper as you prefer(I like A LOT) oh wait, let me back up and tell you how I dealt with the carrots. I have one of those slap chop devices, well its not actually a slapchop but its  the same idea and it works GREAT for dicing up carrots perfectly. So I just put them in about 5 at a time and pounded away to perfection! Ok so back to the rest..  Once the chicken is cooked dice it up on a cutting board and put it in with the broth and cook on medium heat for about 15 minutes or until the carrots start softening up. Add flour and cornstarch and stir in with a whisk to thicken the broth. stack up about 3 or 4 large flour tortillas and cut them into 1 or 2 inch strips ( I like to use a pizza cutter) drop tortilla strips into the pot and cook for about another 3-5 minutes or until the tortilla strips are soft and  yummy and soaking up all the wonderful goodness of the broth.  I'm thinking I might try this as tortilla soup sometime and add black beans green chillies and a can of diced tomatoes...YUM!

Secret Banana Bread ...shhhh don't tell

Banana Bread. I love it, like really really love it. As a kid my grandma used to make it and I hated it. Seemed like such a grown up treat, not super sweet like a cookie or a cupcake,but now as an adult there's nothing better than a cup of coffee and a slice, moist and rich, warmed up with a little pat of butter. It took me a long time to get this figured out but once I did it was magical. This recipe is based off of a Betty Crocker paper back from 1984. I tweaked a few things(I'm good at that) and added a few things and Viola...my secret recipe was born.

Secret Banana Bread

1 3/4 cups flour (I sometimes use half white and half wheat)
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
pinch of salt
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 egg
3 bananas mashed
3/4 cup white sugar
2 tablespoons applesauce
2 tablespoons strong black coffee
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon zest
1/2 cup chopped pecans(or not)

preheat oven to 350
Grease bread pan all the way up the sides(I use a glass baking dish so I can see how brown the sides are)
You need two large bowls. In one bowl combine flour, baking powder, baking soda,  cinnamon and salt. Stir or sift together and make a well in the center.
In the other bowl combine bananas, sugar, applesauce, olive oil, coffee, vanilla lemon zest and egg.
Add the wet mixture to the dry mixture and add nut at this step if you want them, and fold together until just combined, do not over stir, batter should be good and lumpy.
Bake for 45 minutes and check if it's done by using the old tooth pick in the middle trick. If it comes out wet cook for another 8 minutes or so being careful not to let the outside burn.
The last step is the hardest but trust me it's key to your success. Remove golden brown tasty smelling loaf of secret magical banana bread from the oven and let it cool for about 15 minute....then...THEN DON'T EAT IT YET. I know this is asking a lot but for real....get out some plastic wrap and carefully empty still warm bread onto the plastic wrap and seal it up reaaaal good and let it sit for 12 hours(overnight) before eating. This seals the deal and once you've tried it you'll think it was worth the wait. Go ahead, try this recipe and let me know how it worked for YOU!

Stock Pile

I'm sorta awful with coupons. I really wish I could get organized and  get super serious. I might just do that some day but for now I'll just jump on a sale when I see it. The Fred Myer sale ad this week has  deodorant and toothpaste on sale for $1.79 and in store coupons for $1.00 off. so .79 cents plus tax. I headed over and grabbed enough deodorant for me to use for the next year(you'd be suprised how quick it goes) and some toothpaste for BJ and I. Along the way as I browsed around I picked up some other great deals. Greek yogurt marked down from $1.29 to $1.00 and a coupon for a dollar off three, Powerade for .50 cents some dinner necessities and a pair of $65 new balance shoes for 24$. I had to suffer through 8 separate transactions to get the coupons to work properly but it was worth the wait. My total spent on the entire haul here was only $49.60. I know the super extreme coupon types out there could have done better but I'm feeling pretty dang good about my scores today!

Crock Pot Carnitas

I got a 2 lb pork roast on sale for $2.50 and needed a plan...Sara to the rescue! She sent me this link crockpot365.blogspot.com/2010/02/slow-cooker-carnitas-recipe.html and I modified the recipe by adding half a jar of little hot peppers and half the juice from the jar. I only had bottled lemon juice and orange juice and added a tiny bit of paprika to the cumin and salt rub. I topped it all off with some fresh pico de gallo and corn and black bean salsa I had made a big batch of last week and froze.

 Corn and Black Bean Salsa

1 can sweet corn drained
1 can black beans drained and rinsed
1/2 of a small red onion diced
Chopped fresh cilantro
Lemon juice
A couple shakes of chili powder
Salt to taste
Teeny tiny pinch of white sugar

This makes a lot so I usually separate it into a few ziploc baggies and freeze. This can be served on tacos like I did tonight, in burritos or quesadilla or just served as a side dish with a little avocado to garnish. My kiddos even like this! Well, sort of. One kid picks out the beans and the other pick out the corn but between the two of them it all gets eaten..ha!

like a car crash

 I am usually good at looking away. today I failed. This not one of my usual cheerful posts but this is my blog and I'll write whatever I want damn it.

Confession- I searched the name of somebody who betrayed me to the core and a page for her birthday party showed up. I looked at it and despite knowing better couldn't help but think the list of people attending is  a whole bunch of people who hate me...I am well aware of how ugly and stupid this is..I know I know...
This is NOT a cry for help but rather just a real, honest moment of slipping into the pitfalls of betrayal.
Life is good. I have no reason to do this but still, every once in awhile I feel compelled to pop in and look. It's so easy. I shouldn't, but I do. It's reality, It's me being imperfect and vulnerable.

Lemon Pepper Chicken makes us happy, a.k.a. 'fake fancy food'

This is a staple here at the Scott house. In regular rotation it ends up being made 2 sometimes 3 times a month. Its fairly simple to make, super tasty, and mostly nutritionally sound. We've had a whirlwind week so far and it's only Wednesday. BJ is back on a submarine duty and working long hard days. I'm picking up odd jobs here and there and trying to keep up with my fitness goals, keep the house in order, and things running smoothly in general. We needed a real deal sit down family dinner complete with vegetable eating races so,  Voila`...

Lemon Pepper Chicken with Asparagus and Rice

1 lb of chicken (use about 8-10 pieces of chicken from frozen bags of chicken tenderloins, they are easy as pie, no thawing required)
1/2 of a small red onion thinly sliced
Garlic ( I use a jar of chopped garlic and add about 1/2 a teaspoon or so but you could use fresh or even sprinkle on some powdered garlic)
Olive Oil
Lemon juice
Lemon pepper seasoning(I really like McCormick the best, the one with the red lid)
Oregano (I used ground oregano)

2 cups White(or brown) Rice

1 bunch of fresh asparagus
1 tablespoon butter
1 table spoon soy sauce

Prepare  about 2 cups of white(or brown) rice and start it cooking while you work on the chicken and asparagus

Coat the bottom of a large frying pan with olive oil and add about the same amount of lemon juice to the pan.I never really measure anything so I'm totally not sure how much..I guess it depends on the size of your pan. You can't screw this up , trust me.
Sprinkle a generous amount of lemon pepper seasoning, at least a table spoon, over the lemon juice and olive oil. Now add a couple taps of oregano around the pan..about 1/2 a teaspoon or so. Turn the heat on and warn up the pan for a few seconds and then add onions and frozen chicken. Let chicken cook turning a few times until the excess juices start to cook off. Now add garlic and cook on medium heat until onions begin to caramelize and chicken is lightly browned on both sides. If its still soupy looking keep cooking it...

The Asparagus is easy...
First of all get good fresh not too skinny not to fat stalks.
Rinse them well under cool water and then chop off about 1/2 an inch from the bottom of the stalks to be sure you are getting rid of any woody hard fibrous pars and leaving only the yummy green tender stuff.
Be sure the tops are fresh and not slimy, nobody want to eat slimy veggies right?
Prepare a pan frying pan with a fitted lid that is large enough to accommodate the full length of the stalks.
Add about 1 tablespoon of butter (we use smart balance,..yum!)and let in melt a little then add asparagus. Drizzle some soy sauce over top, cover tightly and cook on low heat for about 10 minutes or until you've reached desired tenderness(I like mine a with a little firmness left in em)

You can dish it up all fancy like me or better yet just dump the rice in a casserole dish dump the pan of chicken on top and dump in the asparagus and bring it to the dinner table and serve it up!

Tip 1-I used a measuring cup rinsed in cold water as a rice mold. Looks fancy huh. It's not.

Tip 2-we lucked out and don't have picky eaters...per say...but we do have to get tricky with the veggies sometimes. Veggie races seem to do the trick. We all grab one piece and see who can munch it down the quickest. A little unsafe maybe but it works for us. Lilly and Logan each ate 3 whole stalks of asparagus at dinner tonight. Not to shabby eh?

Tip 3-WINE(with everything)---nuff said.

Oh and YES. I make the dinner, plate it up and then take a bazillion pictures before I allow my family to eat. They are used to it...just wait till I start really bloggin about food and taking pics of the whole process..ha!

Freebird.

clickmetoseebetter

no words...just a pretty picture.
this seems profound for some reason...no?