We scored cilantro, two bunches of kale, bananas, cherry tomatoes, Baby Bella mushrooms, broccoli, green peppers, limes, lemons, corn, zucchini, garlic, mangos, oranges, and pears. All for a total of $23.
Now I shall share a dark secret with you.
I have never eaten kale before.
On Wednesday afternoon, I typed Kale into Pinterest, and quickly came up with 4,392,493 recipes. 4,392, 490 of them were for kale chips. (My numbers might be a little fuzzy.)
Because I’ll eat anything whose birth had nothing to do with a canal, I knew kale chips had to happen. (Side story: When I told my mom that I was going to make kale chips, she said, “Well, Ice didn’t like them very much when Coco made them.” My mom and I live in two very different worlds.)
Here’s what I did: I de-spined my kale and threw the leaves into a bowl with a few tablespoons of olive oil. (I took the spines and buried them in the back yard with my placenta! I’m just kidding!)
I then mixed the leaves and olive oil together and threw it all onto a foil-lined baking sheet, where I sprinkled it with sea salt while listening to Enya.
Finally, I baked the leaves at 350 degrees for twelve minutes, removed them from the oven, and placed them upon a plate with some Carolina Creole.
(If you don’t know Carolina Creole, you should probably get to know it. Jeff cooks shrimp in it. I dip chips and vegetables into it. I almost feel like when I use it, I’m one step closer to hugging Bobby Flay. (In my world, that’s a good thing. He voted for Andrew Cuomo. Politics! Look at me!))
Do you see that plate of kale chips? I finished it off in less than ten minutes, and then I made another batch. Later that evening, I made another batch, and this afternoon I’ll make another. I’m going to keep eating kale chips until my body is GLOWING with sulforaphane. (If you really are what you eat, imagine what could happen if I became a sixty-six inch breathing model of anticancer. Dream it and achieve it, Oprah!)
I absolutely love that most of you remember the spelling word that took you down in elementary school.
The word that Meredith will remember for the rest of her life? Defiantly.
The great news? Meredith finished in third place. (Of course, because she’s just like me, she HATES that she came in third. She’s PISSED that she came in third. This anger will drive her to work extra hard next year.) ((She knew Defiantly. She got nervous and tripped. Many of the other participants did the same thing. In fact, the very first speller missed his very first (and only) word. My heart broke for him.)) (((Confession: I cried before, during, and after the bee. Before? Just seeing Meredith sitting up there with the seven other students did me in. She looked so small. During? When Meredith missed her word and the round ended and everyone cheered for her? It destroyed me. After? When a fifth grade girl correctly spelled her final word and was declared the winner, she immediately began to do the ugly cry. So did I. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I need a prescription.)))
I’m abruptly changing the subject now, because it’s Saturday night and I’m seriously considering having a tiny silver ball pierced into the side of my nose. It just might be the crab rangoon talking (Happy Chinese New Year!), so I wanted to put it out there and see what you think. I just searched out some photos on Flickr, and I’m liking the tininess of this woman’s diamond, but I don’t want a diamond. (I know. I know! Actually, this photo made me take a step back, but now I’ve moved forward again. Because look! And look!)
Meredith has a friend over. The girls are dancing in the front room. Jeff is playing guitar in the dining room. The dogs are running around in the back yard. I’m just sitting around drawing dots on my nose with eyeliner…
Me: I don’t have the lice. BUT, both of my kids do. It’s SO much better than it was two nights ago, but we’re still not completely done with it. We’re close.
Lady Behind Me: Oh! YOU’VE GOT LICE?!
Me: I DO NOT HAVE LICE! My kids are getting over it.
Lady Behind Me: I bet you have DOGS!
Me: I do.
Lady Behind Me: Well, THAT’S where you got it!
Me: No. I learned yesterday that dogs and people don’t share lice. Lice is species-specific. My dogs are protected. I wish my kids could take Trifexis. Please add these Pretzel M&M’s to my stack.
Lady Behind Me: My kid had lice FOREVER. I’ll tell you what you need to do. You need to Google it.
Me: I’m sorry?
Lady Behind Me: Yes. Get on your computer and go to Google Dot Com. Then search for stuff that gets rid of lice.
Me: I’ll do that.
We’ve now done two applications of RID on Meredith, the whole family did an overnight mayonnaise treatment (Puddings believe in solidarity!), both kids have dealt with Cetaphil treatments, we’ve used the blow dryer daily, we used the flat iron this morning, and as I type this update, both kids have LiceFreee! on their heads. (It’s already one hour past bedtime, and we can’t rinse this stuff out for another half hour. And then we have to comb out the nits. Nits. NITS. Oh Dear Lord Help Me Right Now Please.)
Our washer and dryer have been running around the clock.
Jeff steam-cleaned the rugs today as I cried and cranked out some freelance work.
Promise: This will be my final lice entry. I’m sick of talking about it. You’re sick of hearing about it. I might give you a little “Hey! We beat the bugs!” blip when that actually happens, but for now? Let’s change the subject. ALSO, please know that I will NOT send my kids to school if they have even ONE nit in their hair on Monday morning. AND, we’ll be shampooing with preventative shampoo at least once each week forever and ever amen, Randy Travis.
Hrm. I wonder what we’ll talk about tomorrow. Hey! Maybe we need to Google it!
(I know she was trying to help. AND, she was very nice about it. It’s just that I’m three inches away from throwing my fist through a wall (I’ve never done that before!) and the last thing I need is for a stranger to blame this whole thing on Scout and Henry. Because look at them.)
Monday night was not a good night. Scout woke us up at around three o’clock in the morning by throwing up all over the inside of her crate. Jeff took her outside for some fresh air, and I grabbed the paper towels and started cleaning up the mess. I hope you’re not eating right now. What I found in the crate (other than what you would normally expect with dog vomit) was a few bright red and hard pieces of something. It took me about ten seconds to realize that Scout’s mess contained pieces of her Frisbee! (Sure enough, when I checked the Frisbee, I found it to be pretty chewed up. It has since been recycled. Back to the story.)
Just in case this Eating of The Frisbee would lead to additional complications with Scout, I took one of the larger pieces and placed it in a Ziploc bag. (My thought process? If this causes some sort of blockage, I want to be able to take the Frisbee sample in to show the veterinarian what we suspect the culprit to be.)
Fast forward to yesterday, knowing that Scout had no additional issues throughout the week. Input and Output? Both normal. Are you enjoying your lunch over there? I just had a huge salad with beets and bleu cheese! Okay. Yesterday. Jeff has clients in town, so he was scrambling around in the morning trying to get his stuff ready and to pack the kids’ lunches. (Yep. He packs the girls’ lunches. Gem, that one.) Luckily, everyone got to work and school on time.
At approximately 4:00 in the afternoon, Meredith came STORMING off of the bus. She stomped into the house and immediately began ranting.
Meredith: Do you KNOW how HUNGRY I am?! Do you KNOW that all I had for lunch today was applesauce, pretzels, and one of my Halloween Kit Kats?!
Me: What about your sandwich?
Heh. Heh heh.
Because he was in a hurry, Jeff grabbed a sandwich bag off of the counter and tossed Meredith’s sandwich inside without noticing that he was using the Frisbee puke bag. Luckily, Meredith was smart enough to not eat the sandwich. And I know that it’s not funny, but when I realized what had happened, I started laughing. And then I bent over and started crying. And then I couldn’t even speak because I was laughing and crying harder than I have in a LONG time.
(Obviously, this pissed Meredith off even more. However, she quickly cheered up when I offered to make it up to her with pizza.)
Meanwhile, Scout has been begging for a bagged lunch. Turkey and Provolone with a side of regurgitated Frisbee?! I don’t believe it gets much better than that.
So, remember yesterday when I mentioned that something in the house smelled like urine? I noticed that the odor was stronger when I was sitting at the computer, which made me think it was something in the kitchen. Later in the afternoon, I noticed that it was pretty terrible when I was driving the car, meaning the smell was also in the car! This morning when I threw on yesterday’s jeans so I could watch the kids waiting for the bus, I noticed that the smell was pretty terrible when I was sitting on my bed putting on my shoes.
When I stepped out of my room, BOTH kids immediately put their hands over their noses.
Meredith: WHAT IS THAT SMELL?!?!
Harper: IT SMELLS LIKE DOG PEE!!!
Me: No. No! NOooooooo!
I quickly ran back into the bedroom and asked Jeff to smell my jeans.
Jeff: Holy! Um, yeah. Your jeans stink.
Yesterday I stood in the elementary school office and talked to THREE different people while exuding a bouquet of urine. I am mortified.
A few minutes ago, I went down to get clothes out of the dryer, and found that the clean (and dry) clothes ALL smell like urine!
(Please know this: There is no urine on the clothes. Neither dog has had an accident in the house in quite some time, and the cats no longer go into our bedroom, where the dirty clothes are kept. I haven’t peed in my pants since I attempted to use a Neti pot while pregnant with Meredith. Enigmatic Urine will be my next CB handle.)
((What bothers me the most is the fact that I couldn’t put two and two together to realize that I was a walking sample of pee perfume all day yesterday. I definitely detected the smell more when I was sitting down. In other words: When my NOSE was closer to my PANTS.))
One more thing: I hate when adults walk up to a pregnant woman and call her “Mommy” as in, “When is the blessing due, Mommy?” I will never NOT be creeped out by that. Similarly (not really, but I have nowhere else to put this), yesterday I was at the bank (smelling like pee) when the bank teller had to repeat herself to a customer several times. Finally, the customer said, “I think my ears are full of wax!” She was not joking. Dear Lord, Lady. I don’t know ANYONE with whom I would feel comfortable enough to blurt out ear wax confessions. (I’m still not quite over the fact that Jeff smelled my pee pants.)
And another thing: I felt fine all day yesterday. For dinner, I had a tiny bit of salmon. Within minutes, I was sneezing and all congested and I felt like I was getting a migraine. HOWEVER, within two hours I was back to normal. Jeff thinks it was environmental allergies. I think it’s time to admit that fish DO have souls and perhaps I shouldn’t be eating them. Ever. (I rarely eat them. You can’t really be a full-on vegetarian if you’re eating a fish, right?)
The new Jeffrey Eugenides book came out on Tuesday. (It was delivered to my Nook at 3:06 in the morning. I’ve been dealing with goofy insomnia lately, so I was actually awake and ON the Nook when it arrived. I dove in immediately. Serendipity.) ((Oh! Our closest independent bookstore now sells eBooks. This makes me so happy.)) What are you reading these days?
So, it has been nearly two months since I told my doctor I was going to do a Couch to 5K program. School started, and I didn’t get off of the couch. I used my surgery as an excuse to stay on the couch a little longer. Then I got a cold. It’s difficult to run when you’re on the couch with a cold. (I’ve got the couch part down. Funny how I think about running only when it’s impossible for me to run. “Tra la la. I should be running, but it’s tricky when the anesthesia is wearing off, so here I lie. Fiddle dee dee!”)
My sister is a runner. When I told her that I was toying with the idea of running, she started calling to encourage me to put my shoes on.
Jen: So. How’s the running going?
Me: Well, I’ve got that surgery in two weeks and right now I need to shave these legs of mine and…
Jen: Ang. I think you’re okay to get started.
Me: I can’t hear you.
I set my start date for Tuesday. The day after Labor Day. My running day. Yes. Tuesday. And then I had to take Henry to the vet and get through some paperwork for school and figure out what I was going to wear for a meeting, and damnit. I finally reached the point where I was getting sick of my own excuses. SO, I watched this video again.
(It makes me cry Every Time I Watch It. I’ve watched My 120 Pound Journey about 25 times now, and I can barely think about it without my lip quivering. The most recent Shrek movie made me cry. Glee does it to me fairly often. Toy Story 3? I was a mess. I have no idea what’s happening over here.)
Yesterday morning I got out of the shower and put my “running” shorts on. I call them running shorts because they’re slippery. I then reached into my Drawer o’ Underpants and pulled out two sports bras. The first one was a nursing bra that was purchased to hold my lactaters back, and it always seemed to come unhooked at unfortunate times. (This is not an option at the track.) The second one? I purchased it during my sophomore year in college. Because I was really getting into the Jane Fonda workout. The year was 1990. My sports bra is 21 years old, and I am no longer the same shape that I was when I was 20, but I didn’t let that stop me. I wrestled myself into the thing and immediately felt an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. (I then said a little prayer that the bra would be the ONLY cause of tightness in my chest.)
Confession: When I think about running, I am terrified of two things: 1. That my heart will explode. 2. That I will pee myself.
I found my athletic shoes, loaded my running app onto the iPod, ate a banana while telling myself that the extra potassium will hug my heart and prevent it from exploding, and drove to the gym.
The first thing the app does is choose a tune from your iPod. Then it says something like, “Ding! Walk!” So, I walked. And as I walked, I watched the program count down to my first sixty seconds of Run. And when I had less than ten seconds to go before Run, I started freaking out. It’s happening. It’s happening.
I took off running like someone was chasing me, and it didn’t take long before I realized that I didn’t really know how to handle running. Three other people (who knew what they were doing, as evidenced by their cute running clothes) were running, and if I would have kept up at my “Someone is CHASING ME HOLY CRAP!” pace, I would have lapped them repeatedly. I slowed down to a jog and immediately felt a lot less frantic. “Ding! Walk!” Yes.
Because I’m a huge fan of experimentation, every time I got the “Ding! Run!” I practiced a new style of running in order to figure out what was the most comfortable. Do I use my heels? Do I run on the balls of my feet? Do I kick my legs backward? I tried everything, and sadly, I never found a style that felt right. (I *do* know that the heel-to-toe method felt very wrong.) If anyone was watching me, I’m sure I provided great entertainment as I sweated and panted and snorted and hopped and repeatedly replaced the ear buds that kept falling out of my ears.
When I noticed that I had only one more run followed by a five minute cool down walk, I got really excited to hear if I would be congratulated when the workout was over. I ran a little faster. I walked with a bit more bounce. And then the vocal track went out on my iPod, and I immediately knew that I was having a stroke. I was sweaty, my right leg felt like it was about to separate itself from my torso, I was seeing a few spots before my eyes, and I could no longer hear Cee Lo Green. It’s all over.
And then it WAS all over. Week One, Day One. Completed.
Tomorrow is Week One, Day Two. And just typing that makes it seem like a plan. I just need to figure out HOW to run. (Do you use your heels? Do you kick your legs up? I would hate to think that I’m running the exact way that will surely lead to a heart explosion or a bladder failure…)
Jeff came home early from work last Tuesday because he had a terrible cold. He’s not one to jump the gun on sick days, so it really surprised me when he stayed home on Wednesday, too. On Thursday, when I started feeling heaviness in my head, I was So Angry. Friday found me home alone with the animals, who were not happy to see me cocooned in my robe on the couch sneezing and coughing and drinking hot tea and yelling things like “Jeff! Why did you DO this to ME-HE-He-he?!”
Yes. This is all about me having a little cold. Intriguing! I really need to start planning some adventures. Know that I know that.
Side note: I hate taking cold medicine. I hate the hungover feeling that comes with it. I would rather not take anything and suffer through the symptoms than swallow a pill that makes me feel hazy. On Friday afternoon, I raided our medicine cabinet for cold medicine. I could NOT fight this without help. The cabinet was empty. (It’s actually pretty full—of nail polish and magnesium supplements and some weird gauze thing and pain pills that expired back in 1996.) I called Jeff and asked him to stop by Walgreens and get something for me.
Jeff: What do you need?
Me: EDDIEDING DAT WILL BAKE BE FEEL BEDDAH!!!
Thirty minutes later, he arrived with Pretzel M&M’s, a dark chocolate Milky Way, a Twix, and some sort of Three Musketeers wafer thing. (He knows me so well.)
Another side note: A friend of mine knew that I was feeling punky, and she delivered Delhi’s Chaat (#30 on the menu) to me earlier in the day. I am terribly lucky to have people who get my need for chocolate and Indian food.
I spent most of Saturday in my bed and on the couch. I found that it helped a bit to stand up and scream, “I’m MISERABLE!” for anyone who might be interested. (Not many were interested.) I have no idea where Sunday went. I honestly have no memory of Sunday. I turned a corner yesterday morning, and celebrated by juicing carrots, a beet, and some ginger. It was terrible. I then juiced an apple and mixed it in, which took it from a level of Terrible 8 to Terrible 3. Drinkable. (I’m really trying to not be afraid of my juicer.)
Today is Tuesday. I have an itchy dog, and it appears that my cold is 89% gone.
(Thanks for all of the itchy dog suggestions, by the way. He has now been on the prescription food and the flea pills for four days, and he’s scratching more than ever. Although his follow-up appointment isn’t until Thursday, I’m going to try to get him in this morning.)
((Also, Scout got her first all-over groom on Saturday morning. She’s now clean, fluffy, and proud.))
Despite some fairly minor glitches, the tying of the tubes was a success!
Glitch #1: Everyone I talked to at the hospital seemed a bit worried to hear that I was on a solo mission. Jeff dropped me off at 6:00, and planned on being back by 8:15. The surgery was scheduled for 8:00, and normally takes about 45 minutes to complete. In the pre-op prep area, I was surrounded by people headed off to Major surgery, and they were surrounded by family and friends. I brought my knitting. Minds were boggled.
Glitch #2: I was handed a plastic cup and a vial. I was told to pee in the cup and pour it into the vial. The vial did not have a flat bottom, so the entire process became an exercise in problem solving. If I pour the pee into the vial before I wash my hands, I’ll have to continue to hold the vial, making hand washing impossible, which is unacceptable. If I wash my hands and THEN pour the pee into the vial, I’ll probably want to wash my hands again. I refuse to turn my face toward the sky with the vial in my mouth. Wait. What would MacGyver do? I peed into the cup, washed my hands, poured the pee into the vial, CAREFULLY tucked the vial behind the elastic band of my underpants, washed my hands again, grabbed the vial with my towel, and journeyed back to the nursing station feeling very proud of myself.
Nurse: Oh! Where’s the lid for the vial?
Me: There was no lid.
Nurse: Are you sure there wasn’t a lid?
Me: Believe me. There was no lid.
Glitch #3: The computer crashed twice as the nurse tried to enter my information.
Me: Do you think this means I really AM supposed to have another baby?
Glitch #4: My surgeon ran into traffic and the nurses were freaking out on the fact that it was surgery time! But no surgeon! When she did show up, she was wearing a really amazing skirt that she scored for three dollars at Macy’s. (I love my doctor.)
Glitch #5: Endometriosis. Who knew? Apparently, it was a mild case, and my doctor was able to remove it. (Did you know that endometriosis may cause headaches? I’m feeling sort of optimistic about the endometriosis/headache connection!)
Hey, look! It’s me! Drunk on narcotics/anesthesia, yet still wanting you to give peace a chance!
Glitch #6: I was unable to see straight for about 48 hours after the surgery. I believe I can blame the anti-nausea patch the anesthesiologist placed behind my ear. That little patch was pretty incredible. The Not Being Able to See thing was NOT so incredible, as it made knitting/reading/watching television impossible.
Jeff and the girls let me spend most of the weekend in bed.
My parents delivered a huge box of peaches.
Henry and Scout became friends.
And today, because I’m still not feeling up for driving, I’m knitting a pumpkin hat for an autumnal baby.