My natural abilities do not reside in the kitchen. My college degree in accounting. Therefore, I am fairly decent at following directions. And that is how I’ve been managing my new role as caretaker of the home and maker of the meals.
Tonight I took a risk. We had some frozen asparagus from I don’t know when, and some frozen salmon I had sampled and loved at Sam’s Club. My husband is a diabetic so I’m always trying to design meals with that in mind. Fish is a good protein, and asparagus is green. But when I read the directions for baking the salmon, I was disappointed to read “place skin side down”. Now I know, of all people, my husband and children are NOT going to want to deal with skins. And frankly, neither did I. But we must eat to live, so into the oven they went. And asparagus boiling on the stove (per the directions, of course).
Everything seems fine, but I’m nervous. The fam arrives home, and we sit down to eat. Everyone tried the food, and everyone ate most of the salmon. The asparagus was a different story. Natalie wouldn’t touch it, and for good reason. I had *murdered* the asparagus.
So we all scrounged for fillers. Mike with a pb&j, Natalie and applesauce, and me with some leftover pizza. Luke was apparently not very hungry. It was disappointing, but you can’t win ’em all, right? Tomorrow will be redemption day: Tacos!
Remember that song? “Don’t throw your trash in my backyard, my backyard, my backyard. Don’t throw your trash in my backyard, my backyard’s full.” And then something about fish and chips and vinegar, but that’s not the problem. The problem is the trash. (Sidenote: We are having salmon for dinner.)
Our next door neighbor is not throwing their trash into my backyard. No, they just like to leave a pile of it at the curb. You know, where the trash BIN should be? You know, the bin that the trash goes INTO? GRR. This is not the first offense, but this is the first time it has caused trash to be blown into our yard. I found trash yesterday, and then again today. Because that pile has been there for DAYS.
I would love to go over there and *ahem* address the issue, but I don’t know if they know I’m deaf, and I think if I had to go through that whole “how to communicate with me” orientation, I would lose steam. And effectiveness. So I put the trash in our trash bin, and will let my big burly redhead handle it. But if it happens again on my watch, I’m totally throwin’ that trash in their backyard.
I’ve been reading Magic Tree House books to my son at bedtime every night. These are books that are fiction, but based on history. In each book, two young children, a brother and sister, are sent back in time to accomplish a task.
The book we are currently reading is set in the time of the Civil War. The story explains that makeshift hospitals are set up with tents for the injured soldiers. As I’m reading about one tent being filled with African-Americans, Luke nudges me to ask what that means. What is an African-American? he wonders. He will be 7 years old in less than two weeks, and he doesn’t know this term? I explained, this is another term used to describe a black person. Like two of his very best friends, C & D.
I continued to read about the War and slavery, and I can see in his eyes a sad sense of confusion. As I’m explaining what we are reading, it dawns on him that in that world – that horrible world – he wouldn’t be able to play with C & D, or many of his other friends. And even worse, his friends would be chained and treated like dogs, less than human. I can tell by the look in his eyes that this is just incomprehensible.
I went on to explain that the North wanted to end slavery, and the South didn’t, and that is why they went to war with each other. And then, with the charm only a child can possess, he asks me: “We are in the North, right?” Proud to be a yankee!
As I’m searching for ideas for a header for this blog (e.g. Jordan River, paisley, etc.) my 4 year old daughter, Natalie, who has been on her “cell phone” sort of stomping around frantically and screaming in frustration for several minutes, finally hangs up and tells me she’s been on the phone with the police. They have arrested Jordan (whom I can’t recall hearing about, ever) because she’s mean. And they are going to keep her there for a very long time.
So, I decided the other day to start blogging again, but had yet to start posting. Then this happens, and I’m thinking, this sufficient for a “first post”, right? It’s not the Jordan I was looking for, but it’s a start!