Look Out Below

A friend of mine saw my college ID the other day. She commented that I must have lost a lot of weight since I was 19.

I agree my face looks remarkably heavy in the ID photo, complete with puffy cheeks, double chin(s) and rather squinty eyes.

I have a feeling the eyes might have had a different explanation though. I'm pretty sure the green stuff in those brownies wasn't spinach. But I swear - I never inhaled. Can I be president now?

But honestly, I weigh about the same now as I did at 19. I've certainly fluctuated up and down since then, but at this point in time, to the best of my recollection, the weight is around the same.

I have a theory that as you age, gravity, in much the same way that it cause wrinkles and sagging boobs, causes all the fat in your body to fall downwards also.

This would explain why my face is no longer so full, but my ass now takes up two zip codes.

Humble Pie

I must admit when I am wrong. I don't often do this. In fact I have been known to hang on to the concept that I am ALWAYS right regardless of the amount of evidence to the contrary, to the point 0f adamant insistence that Dammit! The sky IS green!

But with as much dignity as I can muster, I will say that the principles and recipes in The Sneaky Chef and to a slightly lesser degree Deceptively Delicious are nothing short of genius.

We have prepared Guerrilla Grilled Cheese, Pita Pizzas, Breakfast Ice Cream, Bonus Burgers, Hot Cocoa with Sweet Potatoes (weird? yes but the kids liked it.), Pumpkin Oatmeal, and the pièce de résistance, Brainy Brownies.

With the exception of Breakfast Ice Cream, everything has been gobbled up in its entirety by my picky children and my much less picky husband. But in the interest of self-preservation he'll eat anything without comment if he wants to see me cook another meal for him ever again. He's been trained well.

The rejection of the Breakfast Ice Cream however, was almost more than I could bear. I had mentioned to Sabrina one evening that I might make it the next morning. But we both forgot. As soon as she remembered she proceeded to pester and pester, and just in case I wasn't annoyed enough, pester some more. So even though I didn't want to, I agreed to concoct the "Especially Sneaky Chocolate Breakfast Ice Cream" consisting of yogurt, frozen bananas, avocado, unsweetened cocoa, and a dash of sugar.

When she asked me what was in it, I broke the cardinal rule of sneaky chefs and told her. I'm only slightly stupid though and made sure to tell her the secret ingredient was bananas as opposed to avocado which would have meant immediate barfing noises. But for whatever reason in her 6 year old universe, bananas were the most violently hated fruit on the planet that day. So after making something I didn't want to make in the first place, only to have it vehemently shunned, I was just a touch bitter, and considered giving up this whole responsible motherhood thing and indulge in a temper tantrum of my own.

But I restrained myself. Mostly.

The Brainy Brownies, on the other hand were loved and adored by all (and maybe I adored them just a touch more often than I should have). And I've learned my lesson. When they ask what's in them? Chocolate. What else? Chocolate. There must be something else in them! Nope just chocolate.

Dave has likened me to a cackling witch mixing up my cauldron of brew. He says I'm enjoying this trickery maybe just a little too much.

Anyone want to share a slice of Humble Pie with me? Just don't be surprised if it has spinach or cauliflower in it.

And I Don't Even Like Doughnuts

I had a headache earlier that had me wishing for a dark room and absolute silence But since we're a little short on both of those things around here, I settled for Ibuprofen.

Tylenol has always done exactly JACK SHIT for me, pretty much all my life. For whatever reason my body just doesn't utilize it properly. My Mom said even when I was a kid, she often gave me aspirin (you were allowed to do that back in the Dark Ages before the wheel was invented) as opposed to Tylenol because it relieved any pain I had much better.

It may have also had something to do with the fact that I hated the flavor of that red Tylenol liquid and often spat it back in her face. Seems Meredith comes by that behavior quite honestly.

I discovered Ibuprofen when it was still a prescription drug and have cheerfully abused it ever since. Just kidding. Sort of.

In 1992 my co-workers insisted on having a bachelorette party for me at a place called Gloria's on Route 30. I don't know if it's still there and as far as I know its sole purpose was to provide a place for rowdy girls to BYOB and see male strippers. I couldn't tell you if it was in Irwin or North Huntington or the Planet Jupiter as I didn't drive myself there and as conscious as I was of the return trip, I may have gotten home via transporter. Beam me up Scotty.

So we had the "Italian Stallion", as well as a cowboy whose hat was less Marlboro Man and more Boy George, and of course the requisite policeman that came in and handcuffed all the brides-to-be.

And I think there may have been vodka involved.

My cousin had the dubious honor of taking me home, and we stayed at her home where she still lived with my Aunt and Uncle at the time. The next morning she popped out of bed like a cheerful chickadee insisting we go get doughnuts as she was often wont to do. And I, who was never a morning person under the best of circumstances, tried very hard to keep my head from exploding all over the wallpaper. Which my Aunt would not have appreciated one little bit.

And that was when my cousin introduced me to Ibuprofen. Motrin it was still called at the time. She was dating the brother of a pharmaceutical rep and she had one of those tall bottles of Motrin that pharmacies use to dispense prescriptions. They were the high-test full strength 800 milligram tablets. I may have taken two. Possibly even three. And while I'm sure I still looked like death warmed over that was still a bit on the cold side, and smelled like something that normally sleeps under the Highland Park Bridge, I felt my head return to some semblance of normalcy and was able to actually move around without fear of my brains leaking onto my Aunt's carpeting.

And I was hooked. My cousin was officially my introduction to my addiction. She knew it was her only hope of her getting her doughnuts that morning.

And you know to this day, I'm pretty sure she'd do it again if it meant she got to have her doughnut on Sunday morning.

Bribery Pure & Simple - And I'm OK With That

I previously discussed my skepticism and problems with Deceptively Delicious in this post.

While I still have not tried an actual recipe from the book, I had an "A-HA!" moment today while preparing lunch. Much the same as the epiphany Mrs. Seinfeld describes which prompted the writing of her book. If only I had had my moment sooner. She's married to Jerry Seinfeld. What the hell does she need more money for?

I decided to be gastronomically adventurous today (never a good thing according to Meredith) and make oatmeal for her lunch. She's never actually tried real oatmeal yet and I may have been overly ambitious trying a new base food and utilizing sneaky health food subterfuge. I tossed some of the sweet potato baby food I had on hand in with her oatmeal, added a touch of cinnamon and - GASP! SUGAR! (c'mon didn't you pay attention to Mary Poppins? Don't make me sing the song - it'll stick like a burr in your grey matter until you surgically remove it) and Voila'!

But while I was inventing haute baby cuisine I was also preparing the ubiquitous instant macaroni & cheese that resembles nuclear orange rubber eraser tubes for Jamie. Hmmmmmm, sweet potatoes are orange.

Meredith took to the oatmeal about the same as she takes to any new food. She sniffed it in a way that would impress any professional wine taster. Then she allowed me to touch her lips with it, where she daintily sampled the bouquet and flavor. Then and only then did she allow a spoon in her mouth. Because really. You can't be too careful. But so as not to get carried away, she refused anything further after the 3rd spoonful. We don't want to encourage Mom to get crazy or anything.

As I'm doing this I'm casually pretending to ignore Jamie and his macaroni & cheese. The first two bites seem to be fine.

Then the spoon goes down in quiet defiance.

"Mama this macaroni doesn't taste good. It doesn't taste like macaroni."

So we go through a big show of tasting it for him, declaring it perfectly normal, even pointing out "Look! It's the same package we always use!"

But he sits, bottom lip pooched out, arms crossed, in a magnificent three-year-old sulk.

Jamie, if you want to play with your Power Rangers sword you have to eat your macaroni.

Victory is mine.

Moments

When she crawls rapidly to me while I sit at the computer and pulls herself up and lays her head gently on my knee. She was doing it to let me know she had pooped and needed cleaned up, but still a touching gesture.

When she fell down and thunked her head and let my Dad pick her up and comfort her and she laid her head down and nestled into that spot right between chest and shoulder. Especially poignant since I can recall being very small and snuggling up in exactly the same manner.

When she nurses herself so serenely to sleep with her eyes closed and her whole head bobs gently with contentment.

When she looks directly at me and says "Mama". Sometimes she's not even crying when she says it.

When she's so very tired that in the middle of crawling across the floor she stops and lays her head down as if she just cannot proceed one more step. Equally enjoyable to watch her pop her head back up and continue on her way as if that was indeed exactly the refreshment she required.

When I notice that her eyelashes are now almost a full half inch long. They weren't there at all when she was born.

When I follow behind her and pretend to chase her and it induces belly laughs so intense she has to squeal.

When I hold one of the other children on my lap and she attempts to push them off with all her wee might to assert what she feels is her rightful position.

When she's about to fall asleep and her arm floats out so slowly and gently it's as if she's moving it underwater, and she rests her hand on me, fingers splayed like a tiny starfish, as if to assure herself I'm still there in the seconds before she slips into unconsciousness.

When she smiles and I can see her Parents and Grandparents and Great-Grandparents smiling at me through her face as well as the ghosts of past faces her brother and sister wore.

Past, Present, and Future in one precious face.

Deceptively Delicious Spawns Suspicious Sibling

I recently purchased the books Deceptively Delicious and The Sneaky Chef. I had resisted buying these books mostly because there was a lot of hoopla about them and I'm perverse that way. If it's popular I don't want it.

But after watching my children exist on the snacks that occurred between meals and consistently refusing any meal that didn't involve pizza, mac & cheese or hot dogs, I was desperate.

The premise behind these two books is similar. You surreptitiously include healthy fruits and vegetables like sweet potatoes and beets that would normally induce gagging and retching at the table by pureeing them (which induces me to gag and retch) and mixing them into the recipe.

To be fair, I haven't actually tried any of the recipes yet. But after reading them I remain skeptical. Besides after enduring a childhood where I was forced to eat lima beans it just feels like it should be my God-given right as a parent to inflict the same upon my children.

What I forgot though was to hide the cookbooks.

Yes, hide the cookbooks. One normally expects to hide the Playboy magazines or the racy novels, but the cookbooks?

I forgot the 6 year old can read now. And just today she informed me, "Mama I saw those recipes and they tell you to put SPINACH in them!"

Oh the horror.

But even worse, before I've even actually attempted to pull the wool over their eyes and slip cauliflower, spinach, or butternut squash into their pancakes, she has begun to question every single thing I have cooked.

"Is there spinach in that? What about that? Is there any in there? I don't like spinach you know."

No honey, I assure you there is no spinach in the frozen pizza or the macaroni & cheese from a box. Didn't even put any in the hot dogs.

Carnivore

Jamie what would you like for lunch today?

"I'd like a ham sandwich. With just ham and ham and meat on it."

How about bread? Can we put bread on it?

"No thanks."