Catering To My Kids

I’m willing to go pretty far to please my kids but we have a food issue among this family that is going to force me into a “Mommy Dearest” moment much like when Joan and Christina wage war over the rare steak.  I think my results would be much the same as Joan’s, though.  My kids are willful to a fault; I can’t imagine where they got that from.   When I was a kid, you either ate what my mother served or you didn’t eat.   A particular dish comes to mind:  hobo dinners.  Ugh, makes me snarl even thinking about them.  I hated hobo dinners and I still do.  They are basically a patty of meat seasoned with a lot of Worcestershire and other stuff I’m not sure about because I can assure you, I never asked mom for THAT recipe.  The meat was smothered with peppers and onions, wrapped in foil and cooked in the oven.  I knew that smell and would cringe as soon as my nose had deciphered hobo dinners were on tonight’s menu.  To clarify, I’m not throwing my mom under the bus, because my mom did make other things I liked.  I just had a particularly strong aversion to hobo dinners.   I still hate Worcestershire.  I would begrudgingly choke it down because I knew there would be no debate on whether or not I had other options. 

Lily is by far that most finicky eater I’ve ever encountered.  The only foods she’s consistently eaten since she began solid foods has been cheese sticks, macaroni, chocolate of any kind, cereal, cake, biscuits n’ gravy and chips.  Just because she ate it this week, doesn’t mean she’ll eat it again next week.  When she’s around other kids and sees them eating something she typically wouldn’t eat, I’ve watched her follow the crowd and try new things.   She loves her cousin, Hannah, very much.  At a family gathering, I saw her eat pizza which she’d always refused in the past but I guess what was okay for Hannah, was okay for her, too.  I thought:  “Awesome!  We’ve conquered a new food!!!  Yay for pizza!!”  I tried to serve it to her again a week later; no dice. 

Drew’s open to a few more things but not by much.  Drew dislikes things he’s never even tried or anything he presumes to be a fruit, vegetable or anything that could potentially be healthy in any way.  If it didn’t come out of a box, chances are he’ll pass.  I’m a pretty bomb cook and it’s completely wasted on my kiddos; they barely eat half of what I cook.  I could work all day to prepare a five star meal and Drew would ask, “Do we have any hamburger helper, Mom?”  This is the moment where I hope the kids will someday realize the error of their ways and go in on a joint gift of a round of botox for me when they’re older to make up for the amount of facial scrunching and tugging they’ve caused me over the years.  I digress…  There are a few things I cook that Drew likes but are secretly loaded with items he “dislikes” because he can’t see them.  There’s been many a Mexican standoff at the dinner table where I’ve revealed the true ingredients in that dish he likes so much.  It doesn’t phase him and he will continue to believe he doesn’t like those particular foods while scarfing down the spaghetti that’s loaded with onions, bell peppers and basil which all make his “dislike” list.

So like I said before, I go to great lengths to keep them happy and am guilty of cooking a meal for Jason and myself and then making as many as two other meals out of a box for the kids.  I’ve slowly been transformed into a short order cook.  However, I’ve hit a wall this morning when I found myself arguing with Reid over him requesting krabby patties for breakfast and then acting like a brat about my refusal.  He’s my only kid that will pretty much eat anything so seeing him show signs of being finicky, is going to crack me.  Even if I made him a burger that looked like a krabby patty, he wouldn’t eat all those onions, tomatoes, etc.  I served him waffles and before I knew it I was googling sweet confections that resemble krabby patties.  I’m not sure in this moment, if I’m pleasing my kids or just making them downright rotten.  I just can’t bring myself to go the “eat it or starve” route but I’m getting tired of cooking enough for three families just to please everyone in my family.  I’m having a moment of questioning whether me being a complete pushover when it comes to my kids is good for them or slowly turning them rotten.  In this moment, I’m seriously leaning towards rotten but I’d bet you money I’ll probably make those damn krabby patties anyway.

Cousin Cuisine

I’m getting more and more excited as my cousin, Emily, and I delve deeper into the prospects of doing a family recipe inspired cookbook.  We’ve tossed around ideas for names and it came down to one inevitable agreement -- the title must include the word Ozark in some shape or form.  It is such a huge part of our history, our culture, the way we cook, how we feel about cooking and why most recipes are going to contain mass amounts of butter and a southern woman’s true secret weapon – BACON GREASE.  I have a dear friend who’s more like an aunt to me by the name of, Sharmin.  She wrote a very witty blog of the true tale of southern women and their trusty mason jar of bacon grease.  I enjoyed reading it and found it to be very true and well written.

As, my cousin puts it: “We come from a long line of good cooks and smart alecks”.  No truer words were ever spoken.  We’ve decided to indulge in the humor that is so prevalent in our family and use it to our advantage by writing a brief synopsis of our family history and small bios of a family member if we use, (and we will), one of their particular recipes.  There were always many laughs shared around the Thanksgiving and Christmas holiday table and certain dishes are very representative of us as a family and should be shared.  Let me set the scene:  Granny had always been up since dawn cooking.  She was worn out, had no makeup on, wearing her coolots and house shoes.  I don’t think she ever ate and if she did, she did it standing up.  Southern holiday hostess rule #1. Look tired and pissed off and everyone’s a lot more grateful for the meal and will more than likely volunteer to do the dishes.  We’re a smart breed.  There were always funny stories being told, usually at the expense of someone else in the room.  My family is full of characters; half of them I couldn’t make up on my best day.  There was laughter and more food than you could shake a stick at.  There were tried and true recipes that were always there.  Granny’s dressing, turkey and all the fixins and God forbid Aunt Judith not make the tortilla roll-ups.  I’ve heard in the north they put fruit in their dressing - WOULDN’T DREAM OF IT.  But there were always new treats we’d never had before so we were constantly evolving and trying new things.  There are worse problems to have than an overabundance of women who can cook well and having more food than counter space.  Everyone went home with 25 tupperware containers to be reopened after your first food coma wore off. 

Every single woman in my family can cook and cook well; it’s just in our DNA.  So what do we know?  Food and funny.  Yeah, I’ll capitalize on that.  There’s already a funny story that comes to mind of the time my Ma Ma, (pronounced Maw Maw – 2 words), made the same pie as mom one Thanksgiving.  She sat hers near moms and came back later and mentioned how shabby her pie crust was…………..  Only problem is the pie she was referring to was mom’s.  In reading through Paula Deen’s cookbook she has funny little excerpts of how each recipe was born, where it came from or the story of the first time she made it.  As I was reading it, I thought, “I can absolutely do this!”  So stay tuned for Cousin Ciusine - A Taste of Ozark Southern Comfort.  Oh and speaking of Ma Ma – I will be requiring her snowball cake recipe from someone.  I never much cared for coconut so it was never my favorite but she was so I ate it anyway. 

Transition Through Tears

Well here it is…  Today is the last day of week one of Lily starting school.  I’m so glad.  I really just want the weekend to spend time with my kids.  This week has really been a struggle; mostly for me.  Lily’s teacher is great and has kept me very informed of her progress.  She said the first day was tough and Lily did say “I miss my mommy” a few times throughout the day but it has gotten less and less so as the week has gone on.  I didn’t tell her I went home and whimpered and watched the clock until time to pick her up that first day.  I really didn’t anticipate the neurotic meltdown I’ve been experiencing but I guess what happens, happens. 

I began staying home fulltime after Lily was born.  When Drew was born, I stayed home with him until he was about 4 and then he went into daycare so I could work.  We started him off being there in small doses and worked our way up so there was an adjustment period before he stared school so I was a little more prepared for that one.  With Lily, I had intended to go back to work after she was born and had worked up until a few weeks before she was born.  I was waiting tables at a privately owned restaurant by male owners who were less than pregnant woman friendly but the money was great so I took their crap.  I was informed by the owners they were concerned that customers would find my belly offensive and/or be afraid to ask for me for things.  Then they pulled out the doozy of all excuses of why they didn’t want me working while pregnant.  They actually told me they feared my water could break in the kitchen and that would violate health codes.  Never mind the mold and cockroaches running rampant in the kitchen of a place you’re paying $35 for a steak violating health codes.  The day I quit, I was scheduled to close lunch but I had to pick up Drew from school at 3:00.  I traded hours with another waiter who really needed the money so it worked out for everyone involved.  One of the owners caught wind of this, (even though this was commonly done but he was gunning for me), so he said:  “If you just can’t keep up anymore, maybe you shouldn’t be on the schedule until after the baby’s born”.  My pregnancy had nothing to do with my reasons for needing to leave but he was more interested in getting me and my unsightly baby bump off his staff for the next month or so.  I was a good waiter, showed up my on time, left my personal life at home and ran circles around the losers they hired who showed up late and pronounced ceviche as “ce-vetch-e”.  I quit right then and there.  I later went back to visit former coworkers and show them my new baby girl and was offered my job back.  I told them that unless hell had frozen over and I missed the memo I wouldn’t be returning.

After quitting, I went home and waited for the arrival of my little girl.  On November 21, 2005 there she was; screaming, fire engine red and perfect.  As time passed Jason and I discussed if me staying at home fulltime was a possibility.  He agreed it was something we’d both be more comfortable with and it would make life easier not to have to adjust two schedules to get Drew to and from school and school functions and have to juggle daycare.  It felt wonderful to be able to take Drew to school and to be there to pick him up and stay there after he got home.  These past five years I’ve missed nothing.  I’ve been there for everything and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.  This is a truly a blessing because I know not all mothers are this fortunate and I am thankful for this every single day.  Lily has been by my side every single day for five years.  There’s been one or two nights she and her brothers have stayed with my mom while Jason and I ran off for a weekend alone but that’s the about the extent of it.  I got so busy buying her school supplies, clothes and dealing with her eye drama that I hadn’t taken the time to think about how this would affect me emotionally.  Her first day, I had a total breakdown.  If I were to be perfectly honest, it’s winding down but I have cried every single day this week after dropping her off.  It’s tapering off and now it’s just a few streaming tears in the car on my way back home.  No longer is it the full-on ugly cry and throwing myself into the fetal position that went on the first day.  Yesterday I thought I was safe because I stood outside the cafeteria to watch her take her place in her “line” and wait for her teacher and saw a little girl in her class come sit next to her and they started talking.  Turns out it made me cry anyway because I was proud for her making new friends.  Yes, I’m pathetic but you’re just going to have to accept me in all my overbearing, clingy motherly glory.  These kids are all I know….

I’m not just bawling constantly because I miss her.  Yes, that’s a HUGE part of it but all I can think is; as fast as these five years went, Pootie will be starting kindergarten in no time.  We’ve agreed once Pootie starts school we will not only have stopped calling him Pootie and will have finally gotten him to answer to his actual name but that I will also be starting school.  We’ve begun our transition phase and it’s both exciting and scary.  If I’m not a 24/7 mommy, who am I?  I’m not so sure I know anymore.  I’ll be starting a new adventure right along with my kids.  I think I’m more afraid than they are.  As a stay-at-homer, I can attest that we become almost hermit-like and lose most of our social skills and begin to live solely for our children if you stay home for any length of time.  Hopefully it’s like riding a bike and I will re-enter society and it’ll be a breath of fresh air.  It’s so funny how in the past I would beg for silence but now the silence is making me insane.  The old adage is true:  “Be careful what you wish for….”  I’m learning to let go and look to the future even though it scares me.  Maybe when the time comes for me to start school Lily will make me a snack, hold my hand and make sure I make it to my classroom okay.  I think one little, “It’ll be okay, mommy”, will surely go a long way.

"The minute you give birth you’re gripped by an inexplicable fear; the fear of loss.  You start the journey in fear and spend every day trying to keep that unknown threat at bay.”  --  Author Unkown.

Swimming And Girl Crushes.

This weekend, while Jennifer and I played in the pool, we got into a funny conversation about how it still brings out the kid in us.  I still do summersaults and headstands and my belly still flip-flops and makes me giggle like it did when I was young.  It got me thinking about all the weird little quirks I had back in those days.  It takes me back to the days of the Flippin Public Pool.  I think everyone my age who grew up in the area knows your parents didn’t pay for daycare over the summer; they bought you a pool pass and sent you on your merry way.  My friends and I spent the summer tan as could be, red eyed and waterlogged.  This is where I came to perfect my mermaid swim.

The mermaid swim came about because around this time, along with swimming, I was also obsessed with two movies and the women who starred in them.  The first was “Splash” starring Daryl Hannah and the second was “Sheena” starring Tanya Roberts.  I think all little girls become completely enamored of certain women they find to be beautiful and have all the qualities they’d like to possess when they get older.  They’re lovingly referred to as “girl crushes” but they’re not the kind of crushes boys wish they were, lol.  I thought these were the two most beautiful women I’d ever seen in my life.  I wanted to look like them, walk like them, grow fins and would most certainly find any excuse to ride a zebra through the jungle while wearing an animal hide bikini just as soon as I was old enough.   Sheena could communicate with animals through telepathy.  She’d make a fist, put her hand to her forehead, close her eyes real tight and animals would come to her.  I convinced myself I could do this, as well.  I’d try to do it on the sly when no one was looking.  I never got an animal to come to me but I could always count on my childhood friend, Crysta to catch me doing it and totally call me out on it.  She’d say: “Misty, are you actin’ like you’re Sheena again!?!?!”  Me:  “NO!  Shut up!  Gawd!”

I would go to the pool and pretend I was Daryl Hannah and had a mermaid fin and swim like her.  Luckily Crysta never called me out on this weird behavior.  I can just hear it now, “Misty are you are actin’ like you’re Daryl Hannah again?”  I’d say the name of the character Daryl Hannah played but remember her name was something like, “EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!   EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!  EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”   She was eventually named “Madison” but who cares.  I practiced and practiced until I had the mermaid swim motion down perfectly.  I practiced it for Jen and was impressed to find I’ve still got it!  It’s like a body whip starting at the head, moving down the body and legs must move perfectly together.  I’d jump off the diving board and mermaid swim and my goal was to make it all the way to the rope in the middle of the pool without coming up for air.  When I achieved this, I can assure you I was quite proud.  I would try to wear my hair just like her.  Achieving the perfect mermaid hair was hard work.  I would wash it, leave it wet and go find one of the Unger sisters up the street to french braid it for me.  I’d wear it that way till it dried so I could take it down and have mermaid waves.

These are just silly little memories but I’m still in love with all these three things.  Jason once surprised me with a limited edition DVD of “Sheena”.  The front reads: “Part Animal.  Part Legend.  All Woman.”  I love that!  It’s a good thing I married someone who embraces my weirdness.  I still think those are two incredibly beautiful women and every now and then I still wouldn’t mind sprouting a mermaid tail and still would kinda like to ride that zebra…  maybe minus the bikini and definitely not bareback.  I still love to swim and will always remember how wonderful those chalky suckers tasted during breaks at the Flippin public pool while I sat thinking about how great my mermaid swim was.  I guess this is just a random look into the odd things that are stored in my mind.  I might have just outed myself as a total little weird-o but maybe made someone smile because they did the same types of bizarre things.  If so, I’m glad.  Never be afraid to let that freak flag fly.

Going To Market

I just fired off my first email in an attempt to do something I’ve always wanted to do, (I’ll get to that in a minute).  First let me preface by saying I love the McKinney farmer’s market and the local trade days.  I love to see the vendors peddling their wares and selling their own original creations – be it jewelry, art or their vegetables they’ve put their blood, sweat and tears into.  It always seems like such a satisfying way to earn a living or a few extra bucks.  It’s the literal definition of, “you get out of it, what you put into it”.  I love the farmers in their over-alls, (it always tickles me when there’s an Iphone clipped to the bib).  I love their thick accents, how they’re always so friendly and proud of their displays of bountiful, ripe vegetables and how the 110 degree heat doesn’t seem to affect them like the rest of us.  They always seem so happy.  It seems like they lead a simpler type of life.  I’m jealous.  I’ve long since begged Jason to move further out into the country.  I want to plant a garden, wear tattered clothes, wear funny lookin’ hats and dig in the dirt, (a southern woman’s legacy according to Ouiser Boudreaux).  I’ve always wanted a bunch of goats and try my hand at making goat cheese.  I’m totally serious about this, by the way.  I’m tired of car horns, car alarms, sirens, nosy neighbors, rude cell phone users and traffic.  Jason is a city boy through and through so moving him out would be a miracle in and of itself.  Not to mention, me ever asking for assistance in milking a goat would be nothing short of “never going to happen”.  It’s just a silly, little dream that will probably never come to fruition but I have recently come across an idea that maybe could…

Last weekend, at the farmer’s market I got the veggies required for my southern feast but then moved on to the vendors selling baked goods, homemade soaps, etc.  I want to and COULD do something like that.  I discussed it with my brother while he was here and was surprised to find out he’s had ideas to do the same thing and mentioned a famous pickling recipe he had lined up.  He encouraged me to look into getting a booth at the farmer’s market and sell my goodies.  I don’t mean to boast but I come from a long line of mean cooks and it wasn’t wasted on me.  I’ve been thinking of what I’d like to sell and thinking about the cute little confection boxes I spotted at World Market that I’d like to get to put my creations in.  Cute little brown sacks tied with rustic ribbons and my logo.  For which, I don’t have a name yet so I’m open to any suggestions on that.  I’ve also been wondering if I could just have a mish-mash of the things I’ve always gotten compliments on when I served them to a group or do the items have to stay cohesive?  Could it be everything from tamales to sweets?  Then I realize I could make my own rules and that just sweetens the pot!  I read an article once that Paula Deen started off selling her cooking in offices.  She’d load up baskets full of goodies and go from office to office selling to famished mouse monkeys who probably wouldn’t have seen a home cooked meal otherwise.  Now that’s ingenuity and it inspires me like you wouldn’t believe!!  Everyone has to start somewhere and I’m going to try to start with a booth at the McKinney farmer’s market.  I’ve sent an email inquiring about booth costs, permits, etc.  It could end up to be too expensive, or require permits I can’t acquire – I’ve prepared myself for that fate.  But today I put forth an effort to do something I’m good at and would want to do.  We should all be so lucky.  I’m already ahead if I think of it that way because yesterday I was still just thinking about it.  Today I tried.

Waisting My Precious Facebook Time.

Lately, I’ve noticed a lot of facebookers complaining about people who post too much or tell you about every little thing they do.  I will admit, statuses like “At the store” can make things like, “Well, I’ll alert the media!”, cross my mind but, I guess what I find amusing about it is that if someone is so annoyed by it, there are options through account settings that allow you to either delete that person or just hide their statuses, (which leaves less hurt feelings).  If you’re reading statuses by someone who frequently annoys you, what does that say about you?  Some people are just addicted to the “ick” factor.  The love to hate…  Hey it’s okay; it’s been me once or twice.  I’m rarely exempt from the same things I gripe out, let me just say that now.  Although, one should admit they are in the same “place” at the same time to get their daily dose o’ boring, too.   I think people lose sight of the fact that people may have several friends on their friend list but actually only interact with a select few.  In most cases, it’s family.  I’ve never added anyone I didn’t actually know but over time I got very slovenly with my “adds”.  I realize I share a lot via facebook but that’s because my family is scattered all over the country.  I had to clean facebook house and take it down to people I love, family, and those who would most likely actually address me if they saw me in a public place.  My family uses facebook as a “check in” tool.  No one has to make any long, drawn-out phone calls to make sure everyone’s okay and to keep up with their day to day lives.  We share pictures, stories, videos and it’s a very useful way for us to feel like a piece of us is there and witnessing it even though we’re so far apart.   Not every status someone produces has anything to do with you or was even intended for you or had a thought of you when written.  It’s kind of arrogant to assume that. I could understand being annoyed if someone stopped you in a store to tell you some mundane thing you didn’t care to hear because that’s on your time.  Well, it was on facebook…………….and you’re on facebook.  Get where I’m goin’ with this?  It just happens to be in a public forum, (as odd as that sounds even in my own head….)  I guess these are modern times, people.  I think there are two options;  either enjoy being a fly on the wall or “hide status”.  It’s a handy little tool.  I wish I’d have had the option to “hide” people all my life.  For some of you, I sure do enjoy being a fly on the wall of your life.

Every Step They Take

I’ve learned my lessons about not being prepared when it comes to my camera.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve been at an event and went to take the money shot and nothing happens.  I check the screen only to read, “card is full” or “battery low”.  I have a temper and always want to just throw the camera across the room.  (It only takes about a second to realize I’d have to buy a new one so I would never actually throw it.  I just have a healthy hissy.)  It’s my way of deflecting the blame for out and out negligence on my part. 

I’m feeling quite proud of myself today, though.  The thought to make sure the camera is charged and both chips are fully unloaded occurred to me in plenty of time for tonight’s game.  I always love to open a chip and remind myself what’s on there.  I have 2 4GB chips that I have to unload frequently because I take so many pictures.  Just in looking through 2 chips tonight, I think it’s kind of awesome how well documented my children’s lives will be when they are older.  Every little mundane thing to every really huge thing they ever did is there.  Not just in pictures but also in my facebook page and blog.  If my facebook page and blog always remain, they will always be able to read and look back at their daily lives. 

We all know I talk a lot about my husband and my kids.  Occasionally if something makes me laugh, go “huh?”, or otherwise pisses me off, I’ll throw that in, but for the most part I talk about them.  They are my life so I have kind of documented their lives by documenting my own.  I know that’s a little deep but I think it kinda rules.  It’s like a play by play of the adventures in their childhood; the good, the bad and the down-right ugly.  I <3 that.

My mom always said she thought I was sweetest when I was sleeping.  (...I get what she meant now.)

I intended to capture a sweet shot of them coloring together.  Instead I captured a kurfuffle.  (Reid colored on her page.)  Don't worry, perfectly normal.

Must've had a rough day...