Deep Breath

Remember that scene from Julie and Julia when Julie falls on the floor because she couldn’t stuff or turkey or something? She ended up laying on the floor and crying? I have been feeling a lot like that in the kitchen lately. Things have been off. Recently, I made pumpkin muffins (which I’ve made many times) and realized I put baking soda in them instead of baking powder. **Sorry, friends from the meal exchange.**

Well, today this happened: 

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I cracked the egg, and the top flew right off and shot across the counter. The entire contents of said egg fell into the hole of my cutting board. Jerk. 

I was preparing gluten-free bread to bake in the oven, which came out taller than I am with a gigantic freaking hole in the side. 

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Looked much better after it settled, but not sure what the slices are going to look like for beloved child’s cheese sammies. 

I made tomato bisque. I really need to pay attention when following a recipe. I was supposed to have been cooking rice to add to the soup (to later be blended by immersion–which reminds me of another kitchen tale where I’m standing and staring at the immersion blender willing it to just pop itself onto the attachment–one of my favorite kitchen gadgets), but had overlooked that little tidbit completely. 

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I also threw in some cheddar biscuits, for good measure. And a southwestern chopped salad. I am one of those people for whom cilantro tastes like I’m digging my eye teeth into a bar of Irish Spring, but I don’t care. I love salsa. I love cilantro lemon chickpea soup. I’ll eat it anyway. Let’s consider it a breath freshener, of sorts. 

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The dressing was high on cumin, but it was quite tasty. I smartly didn’t add the dressing to the whole salad, so now I have leftovers for lunch tomorrow; way to welcome a Monday. 

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I approve of this meal. The soup was delicious. I used almond milk, because I don’t drink regular milk anymore (except for the half and half I put in my tea/coffee). In March, it will be four years I’ve gone without caffeine. And recently, I was reading about how coffee is a significant source of cross-contamination for Celiacs. I have gone the whole day without tea or coffee. I love coffee. I have been drinking it since I was wee. I love the ritual, the smell, the taste. But honestly, it’s decaf (I know, not completely caffeine free). I don’t really need to spend the money. And if it will make me feel better to cut it out altogether, I’ll try it. So, today, I bought apple cider pods for the office Keurig; not normally something I would go for, but I’m going to try it. 

And I did a little of this: 

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I’m ready. 

Happy fall, everyone. 

 

 

Hasn’t Had a Hot Meal in Fifteen Years

I have officially become the mother from A Christmas Story. Serving my sweet child her dinner: 

“Mom, the buttons on this dress are going up my butt.” 

Take it off. 

“Can you do it?”

*washes hands/leaves kitchen/unzips dress/walks back to kitchen*

“Mom, can you get me something to wear? I am freezing.”

I think you can do that. *attempts to prepare own dinner*

“Mom. This tag is killing me. Cut it out.” 

You’ve worn that shirt a thousand times.

“Cut. It . OUT.”

Can you say ‘please?’

“Please?”

*washes hands/leaves kitchen/grabs scissors/cuts out tag/walks back to kitchen*

“Mom, can I have more water? And I need a napkin.” 

*washes hands/leaves kitchen/grabs cup/refills water/grabs napkin/delivers/heads back to kitchen*

I am glad you’re eating all your cucumbers, but don’t forget to eat your spaghetti.

“I won’t.” 

*heads back to kitchen*

“Mom, can you get me some ham?”

*washes hands/gets ham/slices ham/serves ham/heads back to kitchen*

“Mom, I dropped some spaghetti.*

*washes hands/stuffs face full of bowl of spaghetti/gives up*

 

Welcome to Pleasantville

My daughter’s school is so ridiculous! Every day, they send home something from school that I have to pay for. I am over it! Scholastic book sale, classroom party, teacher having a baby, student teacher leaving, student teacher takes over as long-term sub/needs a gift, Valentine’s, Read-Across-America, book drive, after-school art program (which I was all for), spirit ribbons, scratch and sniff book marks, teacher back from maternity leave.

“Mrs. Jones likes TJMaxx, Target, Olive Garden, the Town Center, pedicures, movies, blah blah blah.” I don’t give a shit. Ask me what I like!

Now it’s the Mother/Daughter dance. “Come to the school at 3 p.m. for a fitting for neon pink tee shirts (don’t forget your Sharpie to sign each other’s shirts), neon pink capri sweatpants (In what world are these appropriate?), headbands, socks….”

Um…3 p.m.? Does no one in this town work? Guess not. Moms walking to the school with their kids’ Razor scooters folded under their arms so they can scoot all the way home while mom runs behind them with their three dogs. Jaysus.

I’m going to walk to pick up my daughter with three beers and a Razor for her to carry home. Not a scooter. An actual razor blade. Uncovered. And very sharp.