Dinner

“What’s for dinner?” If only I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that. Between the picky-eater kids and the suspicious-eater husband, I’d be rich! Now don’t get me wrong, I like cooking dinner. It’s just the decision-making before I get behind the stove that drives me crazy.

My mom took dinnertime seriously. Experts have long said that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Well, those experts didn’t consult my mom who believed dinner was the overlord of all meals. Mom planned menus, kept track of recipes, and rotated leftovers. Almost every night our family gathered around the table for something hot and homemade. We never asked what was for dinner. Mom fixed it and we ate it. Pot roast, spaghetti, sweet ‘n sour meatballs and tacos were her signature dishes. Mom really was an outstandingly good cook.

I don’t know that I could claim to be an outstanding cook or even a good cook, but I can say that I’m a bored cook. Same pans, same process, night after night can be a real drag. How can such dinner drudgery be livened up? I like to use a dinner theme. There’s nothing like a theme to change mundane dinner into something special. So it could be Ethnic Dinner night, or Breakfast Dinner night, or Fend for Yourself Dinner night, or even Drive-Thru Dinner night. Dinner themes are limited only by my imagination and my paycheck. When my family asks the dreaded dinner question, I respond with my theme du jour. Here are my two all-time very most favorites…

Adventure Dinner! This is the most feared theme in my arsenal. Oh yeah. When it’s Adventure Dinner, every food is a new food – or at least new recipes. If your family’s like mine they will be afraid. Very afraid. This dinner can be time consuming to prepare what with intensive recipe researching and more-specific-than-usual grocery shopping. Crock-pot Adventure Dinners usually turn out pretty good. Curried Adventure Dinners, not so much. Please let me assure you that Adventure Dinner isn’t too bizarre or far-fetched, but it is always an adventure.

Monochromatic Dinner! Just picture this – poached chicken, mashed potatoes, and canned pears. Or how about this – fish sticks, mac ‘n cheese, and canned peaches. Yep, Monochromatic Dinner means all of the food is the same (or very nearly the same) color. The first time this dinner happened it was just culinary dumb luck. But now, it has evolved into a genuine theme. To do it justice, this dinner requires some serious planning and a fairly sophisticated color wheel. Using plates the same color as the food adds to the ambience and introduces an unexpected camouflage factor.

Hey, hold on there just a second… Camouflage? Another whole new dinner theme!

Bedroom Door

I'm having a hard time with the girls' bedroom door. Oh sure, it opens up fine and it closes like it's supposed to. The knob turns and the latch fits. So what's the problem? The problem is that there's no one living on the other side of that bedroom door anymore.

We moved into the house when our oldest child was 10 months old and ever since there's been a kid in that bedroom. I'll bet I've opened that door a million times over the last 20-odd years. Whether it was the dinner summons or the last night-night of the night, someone was always there. So just last night, once again, I caught myself turning the doorknob. It's been a hard habit for me to break.

I always knew the kids would grow up and move on. My head understood it, but my heart is having a hard time accepting it. I know the kids will be back and forth between college and home, but it won't be the same. That closed bedroom door just feels so final and so lonely.

Maybe a transformation is in order. Should the bedroom become the TV room? Or the pet dormitory? I'm sure that either the TV or the critters would like their own room. Drastic change -- that seems heartless, and yet it's a practical solution to my closed-door dilemma. If the room is something else, my head and my heart can cope with being a side-lined mother.

And then I’ll leave the door open.

Diet Books

Since my last posting, I’ve come to the conclusion it's time to go on a diet. Again. This time, I pulled out all the diet books that have accumulated on my shelves over the years. Some were best-sellers while others were barely-sellers. There are how-to books and what-not-to-do books. There are low-cal, low-carb, and/or low-fat options. Menus, recipes, shopping lists, food diaries, and snack lists – all present and accounted for. Exercises? Oh yeah, them, too. By the time I rounded up and piled up all those books, I really had quite the workout and was ready for a snack and a nap.

So which of all these diet books is the magic one? It’s hard to say for sure. After all, humans have thrived on all kinds of diets for centuries. If anyone needs proof of that just open up the yellow pages to the restaurant listings and take a look – Mexican, Chinese, and Italian are the top three cultural cuisine offerings. Does that mean those cultures are healthier? Are enchiladas better for you than manicotti? What about sweet ‘n sour? Sigh. Face it, the phone book is a menu menagerie not a diet book. Ding-Dong darn it all. (I know I could have looked at the gym listings – oh well.)

It didn’t help to check the authors’ credentials, either. The super-qualified Dr. So-and-So says this is the way to go for health, happiness, and slimmer, trimmer thighs. But the uber-qualified Dr. Such-and Such says that is the way to go for health, happiness and tight, defined abs. Everyone knows that a picture is worth a thousand words, but looking at their bio pictures certainly didn’t help matters any. They all look too tan, too dried out and too stringy – just a bunch of over-cooked turkeys.

Maybe the recipes would point me in the right direction. After all, nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven! So throw together a bunch of nutritionists, spa chefs, mile-long ingredient lists and voila – what do you have? A tasteless meal that no one will eat which cost way more than the take-n-bake pizza deal that comes with a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough.

So what’s a fluffy-around-the-middle girl supposed to do? Buy another book! What I don’t need is another diet book. What I do need is a first-grade math book – addition and subtraction is where it’s at. Calories in, calories out. Big salads in, fat pants out. Circuit-training in, vegging-out out. I’ve never been very good at math, but maybe I can figure this problem out and get back in shape. Well, at least a different shape than round.

Cankles & Duckles

The photo to the left is the weather forecast for the next week. Really, I’m not kidding. You know what this means? Cankles and duckles.

Cankles and duckles, what are these hot-weather afflictions exactly? For a lovely visual, just imagine water balloons full to bursting. Now imagine the same thing except it’s your ankles and hands. Cankles are when your ankles retain water and swell to the same diameter as your calves. Duckles happen the same way except it’s your hands swelling enough to make your knuckles become dimples. Both are miserable and both make me move around like a really old lady. And if you put me up to your ear, you can hear the ocean!

So is there any kind of benefit from these summer maladies? Not so much from the duckles because of the ‘fumble-fingers’ side-effect. Cankles, however, are so much easier to shave. No bony ankle angles. Smooth and round – kinda like shaving a watermelon. Just beware of springing a leak thanks to the aforementioned fumble-fingers…

Graduation

So my “baby” girl graduated from high school two weeks ago. Cue the nostalgic mood music. It was just yesterday that she let me do her hair, pick out her clothes, and buckle her into a car seat. Stop the music. Today she does her own hair, picks out her clothes, and (hopefully) buckles up before peeling out. How did this happen overnight? After all, I just graduated…25 years ago.

High school graduation is an important milestone, whether it feels like that or not. It means you are educated, whether it feels like that or not. It means you met standards, whether it feels like it or not. It means you worked hard, whether it feels like that or not. It means you are ready for adulthood, whether it feels like that or not.

Graduation prompts an interesting behavior I call grudge evaporation. Grudge evaporation happens when all of your classmates are your friends because you’ll probably never see some of them again. Gone as if by magic are those petty leftover grudges from grades gone by. She didn’t share? Oh well. He didn’t call? Too bad. He spit in your hair in the 6th grade? So what. She told her other best friend who told her cousin who told her other best friend who told her mom who told your mom? Who cares. Bygones are bygones. Say goodbye and move on.

High school can be an all-consuming never-ending cycle of friends, homework, and activities. Graduation puts a screeching halt to the old familiar routines and flings wide open the door to the future. Yes, Virginia, there is life after high school. A lot of it. For me, at least 25 years’ worth so far. Colleges, careers, vacations, lazy days, new houses, new friends, new spouses, kids, pets, cars – the list of life goes on and on. And the best part of post-grad life? Who you have been is not necessarily who you become.

So to my own graduate and by extension to recent graduates everywhere, enjoy becoming you. To us older and wiser graduates, let’s just keep on becoming ourselves – we’re not done yet!

Middle-Aged

A birthday is like a personal mugger that’s hiding right around the corner just for you. It waits patiently, approaches carefully and attacks gleefully! Quick as a wink you’re older.

When I was younger, I wanted to be older. Now that I’m older, I want to be younger. My friend and I were discussing this odd age-reversal birthday wishes phenomenon and she asked me if I’d do my teenage years over again. Heck yes, but only if I could take my middle-aged brain with me. Knowledge wrapped up in perspective is the best birthday gift of all.

What if I had my middle-aged brain with me in junior high? Oh man! In math, I would rock on those rotten story problems. If a train was traveling at 70 mph how long would it take to churn 9 quarts of cream into butter? In P.E., I would fearlessly give the stink-eye to the evil coach who had a fondness for tight short-shorts and tall socks. Hey buddy, can you rethink the wardrobe and lay off the butter? In Home Ec, I would confidently use a big knife and chiffonade faster than a culinary-trained swashbuckler. Sauté that in melted butter!

Fast forward back to high school – just imagine a middle-aged brain roaming the hallways with a middle-aged outlook. Prom is not life or death. Boyfriends are temporary. Friends are transitory. Gossip is bad. Studying is important. Mom is right. Be good. Drive carefully. Make plans. Have goals. Move away. Work hard. Save money. Spend frugally. Grow up.

So let my middle-aged birthday mugging commence! Bring on the cake and fire up the candles! Oh my, is that butter-cream frosting?

BOGO

I’m notoriously cheap. Pinching pennies and stretching dollars are my modus operandi. Once in a while I go a little crazy, though. Every now and then I come across a BOGO sale. Buy One Get One – the only way to spend money. I love BOGO deals because free is a very good price. Buy one frozen pizza, get one free. Buy one flower pot, get one free. Buy one college education, get one free.

Okay, okay, college isn’t really like that – but it can be. My husband is one of those perpetual college students. We met in college when he went for the first time. The second time he went to college we had two little girls and two cats. The third time he went to college we had not-so-little girls and four cats. The fourth time he went to college we had gray hair, a herd of cats and a puppy. I shudder to think of the aging or wildlife that more college might bring. Anyway, when it’s all added up he’s been in college for 12 years, half of our 24-year marriage. We have paid a lot of money for his education and mine has been free. BOGO.

Over the course (and courses!) of all those college years, I’ve acquired a heap of knowledge through a process I call Wife Typist Osmosis or WTO. Actually it is a BOGO side-effect and this is how it happens: when the wife types assignments or papers, the wife asks questions. In response and maybe in defense, the husband shares his textbooks and lecture notes. Now the wife knows what the husband knows. It’s as simple as that. So, some of this wife’s most favorite BOGO classes have been world history, children’s literature, classroom management, and educational philosophy. The assorted “ologies” (geology, sociology, and biology) were pretty good, too. Math and more math were not favorites. Just think about it – all of this education and I’ve never had to take a quiz, pass a test, or sweat a final. BOGO WTO.

Now that the kids are in college, I have the chance to expand my educational horizons by the BOGO.2 and BOGO.3 versions. Those editions don’t come with WTO attached because the girls know how to type. However, the recently developed and stringently tested MEO, Mama Editor Osmosis, module is included!

There is a downside to BOGO WTO and BOGO MEO learning, though. The free education is undocumented. No advanced degrees decorated with curlicue flourishes. No fashionably medieval academic hood. But oddly enough, that’s okay because undocumented certainly doesn’t mean unrecognized. My typing and editing efforts are frequently rewarded with non-BOGO roomy tote bags, sparkly earrings, or sweet chocolate. Roomy, sparkly, and sweet – just like the wife/mama/typist/editor herself!