Last in the Rat Race

Mike likes to share a statistic and a laugh with friends who know him well:

95% of our day is spent thinking about ourselves
The other 5% is spent thinking about everything else.

If you know Mike, you’ll know this stat holds true.

Last night, we had our boy home again. After a week in Virginia making final preparations for and presenting at trial, he was home. Exhausted and elated, he shared the details of the week’s roller coaster ride of last minute witnesses, gritty client conversations, masterful cross-examination and the like. I would have liked to have seen him in action – to see what it’s like for someone else to be under his microscope, but more to understand what in the hell he was carrying on about…

It went on. For a while…

Finally, with a big sigh and a grin, he asks, “So, how was Kate this week?”

Pause…

“Did she miss me?”

Welcome to Mike’s 95.

Social Notworking

funny… actual article here

Once a year, Kate and I make a pilgrimage to Kansas City. Not to see the Royals (c’mon!). Not to shop at the Plaza (oooh, those were the days…) Not to eat bar-b-que. We make the trip to see Natalie and Kate – college roommate of three years and corresponding offspring (also of three years).

This year, following our Adventure Anytime theme, I had the brilliant idea to take the train. To KC and back, for the two of us = $78! Really? Cheaper than gas and only an additional hour of travel time. SIGN US UP! (now we know why the rail system in our country is floundering – they aren’t making money. but that’s for another day.)

We packed up books, movies, and snacks. We parked (for free) Kirkwood and hopped on the train once the “All Abooaarrdd!” was heard.

I had been scoping out the crowd while we waited to board. A number of families that day… Interestingly enough, the woman at the station who had been chain smoking and berating her teenage kids chose to sit in the seats across the aisle. That’s right. Seats. Not a typo. She filled the space and began hacking and wheezing. The lucid song of a lifetime smoker.

“How soon is the first smoke-stop?” she asks the conductor who is busy punching her ticket. Lovely.

Her phone rings. “Hello? Erica, I heard you had a bad pap smear…”

Whoa Nelly. This is going to be a looonggg train ride.

“Procrastination won’t hurt you as long as you start early.”
– Ellen Lupton

(Fast Company “Time and Identity: What Your Clock Says About Your Personality“)

(she looks like such a big kid there, drowning the lettuce…)

After the below-mentioned movie, Kate I headed to the g-parents’ house for a little visit, to the car wash where my nephew works (thanks for the free wash, Nick!), to Lowes to replace some sticks which were once plants at home, and then back to the house proper.

Needless to say, Kate was spent. After popcorn at the movie, the errands, and three Oreos – courtesy of a grandma who measures love with food – Kate fell asleep on the way home. It was 4:00 pm. Crap. Quick calculation: she’ll be WAKING UP around 6:00 pm. Ready for bed by 7:30? Ha… you gotta be kidding.

At the same time, I didn’t want to wake her and wrestle with Her High Grumpiness… so I let her sleep.

MRA was still at work and I hadn’t a clue as to when he’d return. (dear god, make this case end soon)

I put some stray toys away, potted the new plants (grow, dammit) and started pulling dinner together. I had thawed some chicken and had planned to put some veggies on kebabs. It never fails: I start chopping and the stuff multiplies. By the end of my prep, I had 7 skewers of vegetables. Hm… Yeah… Kate doesn’t really like most veggies these days. Mike isn’t home and likely won’t eat when he DOES get home. What was I thinking? Leftovers for the WEEK, I guess.

By 6:00, Kate was still asleep, MRA was still not home, but dinner was nearly done. The whole mess was on the grill. I cracked open a bottle of some decent wine, sat down, and weighed my options:

a. Wake Kate and try to ignore the grumps (she can REALLY make you regret waking her).
b. Grill everything and stick it in the fridge for later.
c. Grill everything and hope she wakes and MRA comes home soon.

I opted for c, but my guests didn’t materialize. I found myself sitting outside, watching tv, enjoying the wine and a really good (if I do say so), healthy meal. Alone.

Guiltily, I realized how nice it was.

I suppose that makes me a bad wife and even worse mom, but for that one little hour, I just enjoyed a date with myself.

At the last minute yesterday, watching clouds pass over head, Kate and I decided to head to the movies. Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs had just come out and was the perfect solution for Kate:

cartoons + dinos = enchanted kid

I left Kate in charge of finding shoes while I rushed upstairs to grab a sweater.

When I returned, she was good to go. Boots on, ready for action. (we picked these up for her while in CO two summers ago. while they were too big for her then, but they have since become her go-to footwear for most occasions… when she gets a say…)

We made it in time for popcorn, soda and previews. The movie wasn’t 3-D this time (thank god), was only a little scary at times, and generally kept us both entertained.

We had caught the 11:40 am (yes, AM) show. In addition to the two of us, there was a dad with his two kids. That’s it. When we left, we were the only ones around. I say that because I’m glad there wasn’t audience for what came next.

Strolling out of the theater, into the main lobby, Kate had to stop because something was in her boot. She popped right down, in the middle of the walkway – again, no biggie, no one there – and pulled off the offending footwear.

A popcorn kernel fell out and onto the floor. (ew)

Before I could stop her, she picked it up and popped it into her mouth. (double EEEW!)

Luckily, we hadn’t thrown away our soda.

“I need a drink to wash it down,” she says.

No… Really?

It’s been a week since our first farm delivery and I’ve managed fairly well.

Although we have yet to break into the eggs or mess with the squash, we’ve managed to use nearly everything delivered last week.

Highlights:
Oat-n-Honey Blueberry Muffins
Roasted Potatoes
Corn on the Cob (this and the item above accompanied some sauteed shrimp which I had cooked with the wild garlic that had also been sent)
Sweet & Sour Green Beans

Last night, I was bound and determined to find some use for the mustard greens. Determined. Capital D.

Searching online, I found a recipe for “Whole Wheat Blend Rotini with Spicy Turkey Sausage and Mustard Greens.” The accompanying photo looked great (well, of course, it did. those bastards).

Late leaving work last night (I know, what?), I was nearly late picking up Kate (thank god for the “cool teacher”), and we stormed into the house around 6:20. I set Kate up with a juice Popsicle – my own little invention of pure OJ poured into Popsicle molds – and started breaking out the pots.

Forty-five, yes that’s right FORTY-FIVE minutes later, I was staring down into the large pot of mess I had created. (For anyone who has had a dog, you can easily imagine my horror when I realized that our home-cooked meal turned out to look like what I’ve cleaned up over the years when said pooch isn’t feeling well…)

In the meantime, Kate had come in for another juice pop, a sausage, and, anticipating the demise of my home-cooked meal, I pulled some of the plain pasta aside and smothered it in jarred pasta sauce for her and sent her back outside. Safe from the fallout.

I sat there, staring down into the pot wondering where I had gone wrong… When they say “spray with cooking spray” do it. Don’t think about “going natural” with olive oil. When the recipe calls for sausage – use the real thing, not the chicken-spinach links pulled from the back of the freezer.

Crap. Literally.

On the verge of scraping the mess into the garbage can, I couldn’t resist. I had to try it. Much like staring at a car wreck hoping to (not?) see blood, I just had to taste it to see if it really was as bad as it looked.

Hm.

Salty.

Not horrible. Not good. But not horrible.

Exhausted, I poured a glass of wine, scooped up a bite or two more, threw some green beans on the plate and finally joined Kate outside for “dinner”.

I sat down. Sighed. Took a bite and a sip.

“I’m done,” she says.

I looked at her, pasta sauce covering a good 20% of both shirt and shorts, and nearly cried. And laughed.

It can wait. She can wait. I’m beat and I have a crappy dinner to eat.

P.S. You may wonder where MRA was during this entire adventure? At work. The Human Garbage Disposal was busy pounding away at the office, preparing for trial. And while I will only touch these leftovers again as I’m pushing them out of the way for something better hiding behind, MRA will likely eat it all. God bless my HGD.

Kate was happily digging around in her toy closet – the bottom half of a built-in case in our family room. There is an abundance of crap in there as well as some really cool and interesting items.

Model horses – a gift to her from my brother who cared enough to try to recreate the crazed phase of my childhood when I displayed my collection of 50+ similar Breyer Model Horses.

Puzzles – My daughter’s teachers suggested puzzles last fall when it was becoming clear that Kate wasn’t “challenged” enough. I ran out and promptly stocked up on 20.

Coloring books – I LIVED to color in books as a kid. Kate, for now, could care less. Thus, this is some of the “crap” referenced above.

Trains – We have the Thomas and Thomas-like trains and their corresponding tracks. Big deal. We ALSO have some train toys that I remember playing with as a kid. The funny thing is that these toys weren’t new when I played with them… they were likely shipped off to my parents when THEIR parents cleaned out the old toys still lying around the house. These are the typical 1940’s or 1950’s toys made of metal. Sharp metal. With scenes painted on the sides and top.

Last fall, my parents, determined to make us kids take responsibility for our stuff, declared that we must “take this home with you or we’ll donate it to the church garage sale.”

WHAT?!? This is a piece of my childhood here… So, I dutifully took the bait and brought the sharp metal objects home for my toddler to explore and bleed on.

In addition to the trains – and the noisemakers (MRA was particularly pleased with that box), there was THE PHONE.

How homely is this little thing? The numbers have largely rubbed off from all of the dialing I did as a kid – and a parent before me.

The stand doesn’t. It leans. The cord is too short. It’s generally a piece of crap. Old crap.

But it’s part of my childhood and I can’t bear to throw it away.

Last night, after asking Kate to clean up her toys, (I know, as a parent, how many times do you ask them THAT in a day?) so she could take a bath, I ran upstairs to put some of my own crap away. (the laundry multiplies like rabbits)

When I came back downstairs, I heard Kate talking earnestly to someone. Wasn’t the dog – she was, in her pursuit to be with me at all times, too busy trying to trip me going up and down the stairs.

Kate was on THE PHONE.

“Uh Huh. Yes. You see, I have to clean up my toys and go take a bath. It’s bath night and after my bath I’ll go to bed. We’ll read some stories.”

I ask her, “Kate? Ready to take a bath?”

“No, mom,” she says. “I’m not talking to you. I’m on THE PHONE.”

Her voice drops a bit and she gets back to business. “Yes, that’s right. I’m going to take a bath. My dinosaurs are going with me because it’s Bath Night and they need a bath. And then we’ll read stories. And then I’ll take a nap…”

The morning radio program had a spot about the newest additions to the Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary – carbon footprint, flash mob, goji, and localvore to name a few. (Sock puppet threw me though… Having grown up with Shari Lewis and Lamb Chop, I was surprised to know that it now also means “a false online identity used for deceptive purposes.” But I digress…)

“Localvore” hit me as did an article in our paper yesterday about “ethical eating.” It could be due to the fact that things are a bit slow at the workshed, but I’ve become increasingly interested in the concept of supporting our local farmers and have been reading all I can about it.

I’m coming to terms with my own dismal failure as a mini-farmer – my garden is struggling mightily while my mom has already sent over numerous green peppers and tomatoes from hers. Once again, my hopes of growing most of the produce we’ll need or want in the summer was a pipe dream. To date, we’ve had one banana pepper, three cherry tomatoes (which Kate picked and ate before I could even get them inside to wash them) and a bunch of herbs. No green peppers, carrots, cucumbers, broccoli, jalapenos…

What to do? Cut down the neighbor’s tree which is shading the veggies for 70% of the day? Look into composting this year’s “crop” for next year’s soil boost? Looking online at UCity’s information board to see if composting was allowed in our neighborhood, I ran across a page of CSA – Community Supported Agriculture. Bingo!

I immediately found one farm that offered half-shares (between Kate and Mike, they would barely eat one person’s share of produce together), discovered we could still participate even though the season was already underway, and sent off a check when the one-page agreement arrived.

It was a bit of a leap – sending $350 to an operation I knew virtually nothing about – but I had a good feeling about this.

Sure enough, they delivered as promised. Literally.

Kate and I pulled up at the house last night and, in addition to seeing that our lawn had been mowed (lovely!), there was a bright red cooler waiting for us.

It was great fun. We lugged it inside the house and peeked in. The fun part is that you never really know what you’re going to get – it’s all based on what’s in season that week. We ended up with blueberries, corn, squash, zucchini, an onion, potatoes, herbs, blackberry flavored honey (interesting…), green beans, a dozen eggs, and mustard greens. I know… what in the hell am I supposed to do with mustard greens? Luckily, the farmer’s wife includes a one-page newsletter – news about the farm, a listing of what’s in the cooler this week and a recipe. Unfortunately, this week’s recipe was for green beans, not mustard greens.

How cool is that, though?

I’d be a pollyanna if I didn’t mention that there is a little risk. The farm might get too much or not enough rain, could be a swarm of locusts, the farmers could keel over dead – and we would be out the $.

Back to the happy side, though…

We’re exploring new, healthful foods – many of which I would never have picked up purposefully at the store. We’re supporting our local farmers. AND IT’S DELIVERED TO OUR HOUSE! How sweet is that?

I’ll let you know how the mustard greens turn out…