Recipes, etc.

Hello everyone, sorry for the long layoff. Christmas shopping, as I'm sure you all know, is extraordinarily time consuming, especially when you're male and are essentially clueless when it comes to the subject. I'm a very good list maker and checker-offer, but writing an item on a list does not equate to being able to find it in a mad house, er, mall at Christmas time. So it's not that there hasn't been anything interesting to post about, just that the 27 hour day hasn't been invented yet.

On the bright side, Mandi did the meal plan for the last two weeks (and usurped my grocery store trip Tuesday . . grrr), and she picked out some really good new recipes for us to try. I spent this afternoon adding a few of them to the Recipe List , so if you're struggling for meal ideas maybe give them a try. My favorite of the bunch was undoubtedly the Farfalle with Sausage, Cannellini Beans, and Kale. It was the first time I'd ever cooked with kale, and it definitely didn't disappoint. The Beef, Black Bean, and Chorizo Chili was also very good, although we replaced the chorizo with turkey-Andouille sausage. The result was not quite as spicy as it would have been, but certainly spicy enough and a lot lower in fat. Win-win there, and it made enough to freeze leftovers.

As for Phillip (a.k.a. "The Cat"), still no sign of him. He has not surfaced in either of the local Vet's offices or at the county animal shelter, but he also hasn't been scratching at the back door. I had hoped that the big increase in the number of birds in the back yard would lure him back, but so far it hasn't. At over 10 days missing, I'm certainly beyond any expectation (although not hope) that he'll ever be back. The last time he was out of the house he showed up at the back door after an hour, belly full of grass and more than ready to find a warm blanket or piece of upholstered furniture to curl up on. He'll certainly have his pick if he decides to return.

And in the last (and most exciting) piece of news from the last few days . . . drumroll please . . drumroll . . WE'RE DEBT FREE!!!!! We sent the last payment out Tuesday for my student loans, leaving our mortgage as the only debt we have left. We have spent the last 4 or 5 years "Living like no one else", so that someday we might be able to "Live like no one else". Our lifestyle of frugality and sacrifice has paid dividends this week, and it's an awesome feeling. To everyone who's heard me talk about it at one point or another, I urge you to get started RIGHT NOW! The feeling of freedom you'll feel when your money finally starts working for you (instead of you working for your money) is incredible! Imagine yourself, much like Mel Gibson did in Braveheart, screaming FREEDOM! at the top of your lungs as you send in that last payment, and you'll start to understand the feeling it created for us. Good luck if you get on board, it's a great New Year's resolution (even though I am against the general notion of resolutions). But that's a different post . .

Dealing With Loss

I have been avoiding writing about this until now for a couple of different reasons. First and foremost, I don't really want to concede that it's real. I guess I've got a mild case of Ostrich Syndrome . . or is it Flamingos that put their head in the sand? Either way, if I continue my nonchalance and naivete I can avoid dealing with my true emotions. Truth be told, the veneer is starting to wear thin.

The second reason I've avoided the subject is that I really don't like the thought of assigning blame for accidents. Sure, someone's responsible, but malice is conspicuously absent. Nonetheless, because of the depth of the emotional wound left there will no doubt be resentment and grudge holding, at least on a private level. My hope is that this remains in the correct perspective and isn't allowed to damage friendships that, as humans, should be more important than pets.

But the fact remains that a very dear member of our family is missing, and the likelihood that we'll ever see him again grows considerably slimmer by the hour. I got Phillip 10 years ago in Nashville. I adopted him and his brother, Terrence, from a woman who had raised them for their first year but could no longer keep them. I paid $100 for their 1-year shots, signed the papers and left that vet's office with two great cats. We spent a few days trying to come up with names for our new cats, and we finally settled on Terrence and Phillip. We gleaned the idea from the TV show South Park, the offensive and controversial adult cartoon that had just been launched on Comedy Central within the last year or so. Terrence and Phillip were the gassy twin bobble-headed Canadians on the show who became pop-culture icons, if only for a short period of time, due to their slap-sticky and crass brand of humor and music. If nothing else, the choice of names imparted a little personality to two otherwise un-interesting and low maintenance cats. And it gave them permanence in the family.

The cats moved with me to Miami for my short stint there and then made the long journey to Charlotte when I moved here in 2002. Two small apartments in a row proved to be too much for Terrence to handle, as he escaped from captivity later that year and was never seen again. We replaced Phillip's companion as best we could a couple of times, with the most recent addition to the family being a mom and daughter pair given to us by a good friend. The three have seemed happy together, with each having a distinct role in their relationships with each other, as well as having very happy niches among the humans. Girl, the mommy cat, is my little attention whore. Every time my lap appears, she's clammoring for a seat on it. And she isn't shy about it, either. She would routinely shove Phillip out of the way if she wanted some lovin'. Cheeks, the "baby", has always been shy. Her human companion of choice is Avery, which is not a surprise at all given her generally gentle nature. Avery's content to see but not touch the cats, and that's just how Cheeks prefers it.

And as much as I hate to admit it, Phillip was a Mama's boy. As much history and connection as I had with him, he always had a soft spot in his heart for Mandi. When she was pregnant with Lily, Phillip would eschew his normal spot on my side of the bed at night for his post near her belly. As though he could sense the growing baby inside, he'd curl up next to Mandi to offer his warmth and protection. He was a part of our family in so many ways that it's hard to imagine what it'll be like around here without him. Lily has gone with me on a few outings to look around the neighborhood for him. Last night before bed she asked me "Where'd Phillip go Daddy? He ran away?" I told her we'd look again in the morning. When she got up this morning, the first thing she told me after our good morning hug was "I dream about Phillip Daddy." I'd be lying to you if I said that didn't bring a few tears to my eyes.

So we'll go out again today and look, maybe hand out a few more flyers, and try again to delay finality.

Favorite All-Time Gifts

Without trying to dust the cobwebs off of the gifts from Christmas' past, I will tell you that one gift I received this year easily has a spot in the all-time top 5 or so. And I've had it for a total of about 3 hours. Mom and Mark hooked me up with a big gift card to Wild Birds Unlimited, which was one of the few things I actually came out and asked for. I, typically, am not very good at pointing potential gift givers in any particular direction. I don't really like to feel like I'm asking for stuff, especially when they're typically just luxuries. Recently, however, I've developed this intense zeal for birdwatching, and I haven't felt bad telling folks that if the occasion for a gift arises that's a no-lose way to go.

So I spent some time planning my purchases, trying to maximize the new-bird attraction. New types of feeders will attract new kinds of birds, but only if they're anywhere near the yard to begin with. What I chose to get was a new pole system, which is customizable so I can add more feeders to it in the future if I choose. I got three new feeders . . a finch tube, a peanut tube, and a suet feeder. I also got stocked up on seed for my other feeders. The out-on-a-limb choice I made was a tray-type feeder to hang from the willow tree in the back yard. My hope with this one is to attract Northern Cardinals, which we see nearby but have not had an appropriate feeder for until now. The peanuts are supposed to attract woodpeckers, titmice, nuthatches, and chickadees, all of which I've seen in the neighborhood but again have never offered appropriate food to. So we'll see how it goes. The great thing about these is that if for some reason they're not successful they can always be handed down to friends and family in locations better suited for these birds. Thanks Mom and Mark!

Boy, They Sure Learn Early

After Lily got up from her nap today I decided to go to Wild Birds Unlimited to pick out some new birdfeeders and accessories for the back yard. I got a gift certificate from my mom for Christmas and it was burning a hole in my pocket. I spent an hour this afternoon figuring out what I wanted to buy and how I could maximize my gift. So I loaded the girls up in the car and we went to the mall. As we walked in I asked Avery to help me keep Lily occupied while I talked to the salespeople about how to best maximize a couple of discount coupons I'd gotten. The lady suggested they sit on the floor near where we were talking and read Lily's book. I loved the idea and asked the girls to sit down. Much to my dismay Avery very matter-of-factly looked at me and said "I don't want to!" I was mortified that she was acting like that, and after a couple more denied requests I just told the sales lady that I'd have to leave and come back another time without the girls.

The drive home, while short, was markedly tense. Avery sobbed about my threats to punish her the entire way and Lily asked about 25 times "Why's Avery crying Daddy?" How pleasant. When we got home I expressed my displeasure to Avery again about her selfish behavior and told her to go to her room and leave the TV off. I was hoping to just calm down until dinner and then get over it. Little did I know that her plan was to go into full-blown recovery mode while she was sequestered in her room. I've gotta tell you, they learn the art of manipulation (which is what I choose to call it) awfully early. Here's what she sneakily delivered to the kitchen a few minutes later:

Notice how she included the sweet and innocent little dance picture from 2 years ago? That kid sure knows how to tug at my heart strings, I'll tell you what. I almost completely lost it when I read it. Not that I let her know that. I forgive her, but I'm definitely going to let her sweat it out a little longer. If she knew her little notes had that kind of power it'd be rough sailing for a lot of years.

One Word . .

Douchebag. It may sound highly judgmental to assign someone a moniker like that after only a brief interaction like the one I'm about to recount, but I will personally guarantee you that this guy deserves every bit of it. In fact, other than the guy my sister dated last weekend, this particular individual may actually be the world's foremost douchebag.

Mandi and I were heading from her Mom's house to our dinner downtown yesterday when we decided to stop at the local CVS. As I slowed down and signaled to turn right I was almost t-bone'd by a guy in a white pick-up trying to make a left into the same driveway. I made eye contact and prepared for the worst while continuing my turn. I had the right of way and wasn't about to stop and let this jerk think I was the one doing something wrong. Such is my machismo. Anyway, he slowed down just enough to avoid me but then immediately pulled into the crowded parking lot and alongside me, heading directly into what would have been oncoming traffic if there had been anyone trying to exit the lot. I went straight and found a spot near the back, while he lurched to the right and parked crookedly in the closest handicapped spot to the door. I made a comment about getting out and punching him in the neck, but Mandi talked me out of it. Had she known then what we know now about him, she probably would have let me go ahead and clock him.

As we walked by his truck, parked crookedly and at least 2 feet into the driveway, Mandi wondered if he was really handicapped. I opined that I highly doubted it, unless they've recently made a-hole an official disorder. We walked in through the door and watched as our buddy grabbed a basket from the stack, in the process pulling it out so hastily that the entire stack toppled over and hit the floor. He cussed and flailed as he reluctantly cleaned up his mess. A few minutes passed and we didn't see him so our attention turned to the task at hand, which in this case was attempting to get our personalized Christmas cards printed out. The attendant we asked for help promptly disappeared and buried her head in some other menial tasks in a weak attempt to appear like she was busy, but in reality we are pretty sure she just had no idea how to do what we wanted done. Frustrated and wanting to get to dinner we headed toward the door, and on the way out our jerk-off friend from the parking lot hustled past us. He had a CVS bag in one hand as he triggered the automatic door, but instead of tearing out into the lot to move his illegally parked truck, he made one last stop that vaulted him to the top of the douchebag list. In a move that appeared premeditated due to its fluidity of motion, he stopped between the two sets of doors and knelt down in front of the store's Christmas tree. Then, as if they were parting gifts for random shoppers, he picked up one of the wrapped prop-gifts under the tree and shook it in an attempt, we assumed, to determine its contents. Mandi and I stood there in bewildered awe and just stared at him, then looked at each other and simultaneously asked "Did he just do what I think he did?"

For whatever reason, he put the gift back down under the tree and walked the rest of the way out of the store. He then got into his truck and nearly backed over a customer walking toward the entrance. When we got over our dumbfoundedness, Mandi and I tried to think of a time when we had encountered someone so utterly ridiculous. We couldn't think of even one.

When Good Ideas Go Bad

I made some muffins for the girls today for their afternoon snack, not because I really felt like baking (okay I know it's not really baking, but cut me a little slack) but because we're running the food supplies down before our trip this weekend and they were giving me more than a little bit of pushback about the Wheatables I was offering. As Lily sat down to eat her fresh-from-the-oven mini blueberry muffins she asked most politely for some juice. She typically doesn't drink juice, but since she'd been sick and I wanted her to get plenty of fluids I caved. Thinking I was saving myself from cleaning up huge messes later, I cut the corner off of the Capri Sun pouch and poured it into a cup for her.

There's a little bit of back-story here that I think is necessary for the full humor of the moment to be appreciated. Earlier Lily and I were talking about fruit as she was eating some Mandarin orange slices with her lunch. We went through the whole list of different fruits she liked, and when I could think of no more she looked at me and said "And I like donuts Daddy!" I almost died laughing, but I of course asked her why and she promptly replied "I like to dunk them." You'll understand why this is pertinent in a few minutes.

So there she sat, two muffins on a plate and a big-girl cup about half full of juice, and the look on her face was unmistakable. The wheels were obviously turning a mile a minute, and right away Lil looked at me for approval as she held the first muffin over the cup. "No", I told her, "that will be yucky." That was not the answer she wanted to hear, so I quickly caved in and gave her the old "Whatever, if you want to dunk it in the juice go right ahead." She stuck the muffin in the juice and took a little bite, and at first she seemed pleased with what she'd done. But , in the words of Nicholas Cage in Raising Arizona, then the roof caved in. The muffin literally disintegrated the next time she dunked it, and the resulting tantrum looked like this:


Well, as funny as I found it, I had to make it stop. I assessed the situation and quickly remembered an old trick from the restaurant business. If you've ever ordered rare scotch or a really random fru-fru drink at a restaurant's bar you've probably been affected by this, although you probably didn't know it. Often times fruit flies would make their way into the bottoms of the bottles of the sweetest liquors. Bourbon, scotch, and anything that has 'creme de' in the name were the most common culprits, and instead of throwing the spirits away we would take it to the kitchen and pour the contents of the bottle through a coffee filter to remove the pests. Voila, ma'am, here's your Pink Squirrel. That'll be $6.75. But I digress . . so I grabbed Lily's juice and ran over to the sink. I poured the tainted juice through a sieve and into a new cup, and the crisis was over. I'll admit, I pulled an Emeril and said "Bam!" as I set it back down on the table. I actually think it was the loud noise, and not the clean juice, that snapped her out of the tantrum, but I suppose we'll never know. Suffice it to say, she did not continue dunking her muffins. Give her this, she learns from her mistakes, especially when they involve her snack!

Docs Earn Their Money

. . this time anyway, we came away from the doctor's office not feeling like we'd been totally jobbed. The last few times we've taken either of the kids to the doctor we were sent away empty-handed, so to speak. You take them in because you can just sense or tell that something's not right, only to be told there's nothing that can be done. Except of course for emptying your bank account. That's the one thing the folks in the medical field can always fall back on if you have complaints about your care. "Well, we did take all of your money, so you can't accuse us of not doing anything." Touche.

But yesterday was different. We took Lily in to see if we could get to the bottom of the diarrhea issue you no doubt remember from an earlier post. When the doctor told me that kids often develop a temporary lactose intolerance when fighting a common stomach virus I felt like she had earned her money. No more cheese and yogurt, no more explosive poops! YES!!! Then, as we always said in the restaurant business, she went above and beyond the call of duty to really provide value for the customer . . me.

Upon inspection of Lil's ears the doc discovered not one but two nasty ear infections. Huh? Would that explain her recent tendency to shout "WHAT?" whenever anyone spoke in her general direction? Is that why she'd been feverish? Did the bad cough and runny nose she had a week and a half ago cause the ear infections? Has she been wanting to snuggle a lot because she wasn't feeling well? According to the doc, "Maybe, yes, probably, and it's difficult to say." Well you know what, I'm thrilled with one affirmative, two educated guesses and one coin flip. That's a thousand-percent improvement from our last visit, and we even got to go get a prescription filled for our troubles! Twenty minutes of wandering aimlessly around the grocery store waiting for the uber-pharmacist to put our yummy orange-liquid antibiotics back into their original containers was a small price to pay for such medical satisfaction. We're currently on dose number two of said orange-flavored goodness, and hopefully it will have done its work by this weekend. There's nothing I dread more than a sick, cranky, irritable Lily confined to a small space with lots of family members for 3 days. Oh well, cross your fingers!