My husband's family can not accept gifts graciously…EVER. The reasons fall into a few categories: undeserving (“oh don’t spend your money on me, you have a kid to support, you have a house to pay for”), unnecessary (“we don’t need anything, we have all we need, save your money”) and just plane useless (“what am I supposed to do with this? I wouldn’t know what to do with it”).
They don’t understand that I love to give gifts! There’s nothing I like more than walking through a store and stumbling upon something that I think is perfect for someone. I think about their face when they open it, how they’ll use it, where they’ll put it.
The gift is somewhat selfish in a sense, in that I feel good giving it. And I think compliments are the same. Recently on Motherese, she took on the subject of compliments. And our complete inability to accept them.
I commented on Motherese, telling her about a recent event where I had confessed to some people that I had spent a lot of money on makeup. I was having buyer’s remorse and was looking for a few Facebook friends to tell me I deserved a treat, I never get stuff for myself, etc.
My brother-in-law sent me a very sweet message telling me that if it made me feel good, great, but that I didn’t need that much makeup, I was beautiful without.
My first instinct, of course, was to figure out the most clever way of telling him he was certifiable. I thought “is there an icon that says ‘guffaws loudly’?”
I think about how I hate to have a gift thrown back at me, and I knew I couldn’t throw that gift back in his face. I had to accept it graciously, like an adult.
So I did something totally out of character. I took the compliment. I thanked him, said it was a very sweet thing to say.
My heart grew three times that day. No, but really, it felt good to accept it, largely because I choose to believe like a gift, it felt good for him to give it.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Foodie Friday: Stock up on Chicken Stock
When I was pregnant, a friend of mine asked me if I was planning on making my own baby food and I snorted derisively.
I pictured myself in an apron, baby on my hip, knee deep in flour and sugar, hair straggly and dirty. I imagined I would barely have time to keep the baby clothed, much less fed with the freshest or organic goodies.
She was persistent and handed me a book of baby food recipes. The girl knows me well, I love to cook!
So, because I am who I am, I researched the crap out of it. I chose to make her food for a few key reasons:
1. I’m cheap. This is in accurate order, this was, sadly, my primary concern. When I researched the cost of jar food and other premade items, I realized we would save over $100 a month. Easily.
2. I like control. In this case, I like to control what goes into Wee ‘Burb’s little tummy. When I checked out how much sodium and preservatives went into even the healthiest baby food in jars, I got a little concerned. By making her food, I can control how much, if any, salt, sugar, etc., goes into her food.
3. I love to cook. Making baby food seemed kind of fun. And the fact that I could make big batches and freeze it made a huge difference. And it did end up being fun! I even learned some recipes we use now as the family.
To that end, here’s my recipe for chicken stock. You guys this is sooo easy, and so cheap. And more importantly, there’s very little sodium and you control the salt content. The recipe below has no added salt.
The chicken wings (family size, 18 pieces) cost me $7.50. The celery, onion, parsley, and bay leaf were less than $10 (for about 10 times what you need here, I buy it all by the bagful).
I always double or triple the following recipe because the family size chicken is usually cheaper, and also we use a TON of chicken stock in this house.
Chicken Broth
1 ½ lbs chicken wings (about 6 wings)
1 onion, chopped
2 celery stalks with leaves cut into 3 inch pieces
1 bay leaf
10 sprigs fresh parsley
Instructions
Bring 5 cups cold water to a boil.
Add chicken wings, onion, celery, bay leaf, and parsley.
Return to a boil and skim any foam on top.
Stir, cover, and simmer for 30-60 mins (I always go the full 60)
Remove chicken wings.
Allow broth to cool to room temperature, strain, then refrigerate until cold and remove congealed fat from the surface.
Refrigerate for 2 days, or pour into 1 TBSP portions in ice cube trays (I do this for half and divide the rest into 2-cup bags in a Ziploc).
Remove meat from chicken wings, and use in other recipes (Scott sometimes just dips them in BBQ sauce, otherwise I chop them up and try to slip them into Wee ‘Burb’s stews).
Refrigerate 2 days or freeze.
I pictured myself in an apron, baby on my hip, knee deep in flour and sugar, hair straggly and dirty. I imagined I would barely have time to keep the baby clothed, much less fed with the freshest or organic goodies.
She was persistent and handed me a book of baby food recipes. The girl knows me well, I love to cook!
So, because I am who I am, I researched the crap out of it. I chose to make her food for a few key reasons:
1. I’m cheap. This is in accurate order, this was, sadly, my primary concern. When I researched the cost of jar food and other premade items, I realized we would save over $100 a month. Easily.
2. I like control. In this case, I like to control what goes into Wee ‘Burb’s little tummy. When I checked out how much sodium and preservatives went into even the healthiest baby food in jars, I got a little concerned. By making her food, I can control how much, if any, salt, sugar, etc., goes into her food.
3. I love to cook. Making baby food seemed kind of fun. And the fact that I could make big batches and freeze it made a huge difference. And it did end up being fun! I even learned some recipes we use now as the family.
To that end, here’s my recipe for chicken stock. You guys this is sooo easy, and so cheap. And more importantly, there’s very little sodium and you control the salt content. The recipe below has no added salt.
The chicken wings (family size, 18 pieces) cost me $7.50. The celery, onion, parsley, and bay leaf were less than $10 (for about 10 times what you need here, I buy it all by the bagful).
I always double or triple the following recipe because the family size chicken is usually cheaper, and also we use a TON of chicken stock in this house.
Chicken Broth
1 ½ lbs chicken wings (about 6 wings)
1 onion, chopped
2 celery stalks with leaves cut into 3 inch pieces
1 bay leaf
10 sprigs fresh parsley
Instructions
Bring 5 cups cold water to a boil.
Add chicken wings, onion, celery, bay leaf, and parsley.
Return to a boil and skim any foam on top.
Stir, cover, and simmer for 30-60 mins (I always go the full 60)
Remove chicken wings.
Allow broth to cool to room temperature, strain, then refrigerate until cold and remove congealed fat from the surface.
Refrigerate for 2 days, or pour into 1 TBSP portions in ice cube trays (I do this for half and divide the rest into 2-cup bags in a Ziploc).
Remove meat from chicken wings, and use in other recipes (Scott sometimes just dips them in BBQ sauce, otherwise I chop them up and try to slip them into Wee ‘Burb’s stews).
Refrigerate 2 days or freeze.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
You Can't Take Me Anywhere!
We shared a cheese plate that had the most amazing honey I have ever tasted. Scott had the grass-fed beef osso bucco and I had the chestnut ravioli. Both were beautiful and flavorful.
But the highlight of our date night? The bread and butter. I am not a butter person, I rarely use it. So when I do, I tend to go to Brummel and Brown or another light butter or yogurt-based spread.
So I ask the waitress "what did you guys put in the butter, it is AMAZING!"
And she kind of smirks and Scott covers his face a little and they both answer: "Nothing."
She informed me it was like 80% butter fat or something.
And this, my friends, is why you can't take my anywhere.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Where I Work Out My Childhood Issues, One Sandwich at a Time
So I am at a restaurant ordering food to go, when a weird exchange happens. The server at the counter is being exceptionally pushy the whole time, with everyone. But in particular these two guys ahead of me. I had seen them pull up in a work truck, but I can see how someone could mistake them for father and son. The older guy goes first, orders and Mr. Exuberant rings him up. The older guy goes to pay and the Mr. Exuberant says “shhh, wait, I’m going to get the other guy to pay.”
So the older guy is like “what?” just as Mr. Exuberant shouts to the younger guy, who is mid-order, “you’re paying for this, right?”
And the younger guy looks totally uncomfortable and I can see him put away some cash he had in his hands and reach in his wallet for a debit card. He mutters “sure.”
It brought me back to this super awkward moment about 10 years ago when I was at Fenway Park. A little league team was sitting behind me, and I noticed one kid right away. He was gawky and wore glasses, and just looking at him you knew he was the unpopular one. If he played at all, he played right field. Badly.
But he wanted so much to belong that he was willing to play badly, willing to be part of a team that obviously didn’t want him.
He had tried to strategically place himself between the cool kids, the ones whose parents coach the team and who are star pitchers and hitters, who probably attended the clinics with past baseball stars that the nerdier kid couldn’t afford. The cool kids are all jockeying to avoid him, and when they can’t, they speak around him, as if he is not there.
But the nerdy kid doesn’t care, he just basks in the attention that floats by him.
Until the peanut guy comes around and one of the cool kids whistles at him, to get him to throw the bags of peanuts. He throws a few down to the adults at the end of the aisle, who are so clearly wishing they could throw back beer instead of peanuts on this gorgeous summer evening. And the cool kids keep signaling for more and finally the nerdy kid catches one. He clearly doesn’t know why one was thrown to him, he can’t see the kids giggling and whispering around him.
His face goes white, then red as he stammers “I…I didn’t order this.”
The kids mess with him, telling him he has to pay. There were threats that he would get in trouble. And all the while this kid looks like he might pass out. He tries to pull out a crumpled dollar bill and count some change and the peanut guy is starting to get a little miffed and snaps his fingers.
Near tears myself, I reach down in my purse to pay for the peanuts. But when I turn around, bills in hand, the kid no longer has the bag and the cool kids have moved on.
But the nerdy kid hasn’t moved on, not really, though he’s trying to smile along with the cooler kids.
It’s hard for me to pay attention to the game now, I am constantly aware of this kid moving further and further down the social pecking order.
It’s because I was this kid.
Constantly starving for attention, not always understanding that the attention I was getting was at my expense, or not caring. I took everything so seriously, I never got the jokes.
It’s possible, of course, the cool kids were just screwing around, meant no malice. Just having fun at a kid they knew would rise to the occasion.
And of course, the man at the restaurant was an adult. He could have said no, he wasn’t paying. He could have laughed it off. And probably did later, sitting at the table with the older guy.
I know he’s not going home, hat in hand, telling his wife about his day, leaving this one part out the way I did with my parents. “Yes, Girl Scouts was great. We made bread.” Not discussing the fact that the girls were planning a sleepover right in front of me, with no intention of inviting me. Strategic omissions of things that at the time were so filled with shame and confusion. He probably just went home and told his wife about the jerk server who made him cough up another $10.
But for a moment that look on his face was the same as that little leaguers, the same as mine was a thousand times growing up.
Not knowing if you were part of the joke, or the butt of it.
So the older guy is like “what?” just as Mr. Exuberant shouts to the younger guy, who is mid-order, “you’re paying for this, right?”
And the younger guy looks totally uncomfortable and I can see him put away some cash he had in his hands and reach in his wallet for a debit card. He mutters “sure.”
It brought me back to this super awkward moment about 10 years ago when I was at Fenway Park. A little league team was sitting behind me, and I noticed one kid right away. He was gawky and wore glasses, and just looking at him you knew he was the unpopular one. If he played at all, he played right field. Badly.
But he wanted so much to belong that he was willing to play badly, willing to be part of a team that obviously didn’t want him.
He had tried to strategically place himself between the cool kids, the ones whose parents coach the team and who are star pitchers and hitters, who probably attended the clinics with past baseball stars that the nerdier kid couldn’t afford. The cool kids are all jockeying to avoid him, and when they can’t, they speak around him, as if he is not there.
But the nerdy kid doesn’t care, he just basks in the attention that floats by him.
Until the peanut guy comes around and one of the cool kids whistles at him, to get him to throw the bags of peanuts. He throws a few down to the adults at the end of the aisle, who are so clearly wishing they could throw back beer instead of peanuts on this gorgeous summer evening. And the cool kids keep signaling for more and finally the nerdy kid catches one. He clearly doesn’t know why one was thrown to him, he can’t see the kids giggling and whispering around him.
His face goes white, then red as he stammers “I…I didn’t order this.”
The kids mess with him, telling him he has to pay. There were threats that he would get in trouble. And all the while this kid looks like he might pass out. He tries to pull out a crumpled dollar bill and count some change and the peanut guy is starting to get a little miffed and snaps his fingers.
Near tears myself, I reach down in my purse to pay for the peanuts. But when I turn around, bills in hand, the kid no longer has the bag and the cool kids have moved on.
But the nerdy kid hasn’t moved on, not really, though he’s trying to smile along with the cooler kids.
It’s hard for me to pay attention to the game now, I am constantly aware of this kid moving further and further down the social pecking order.
It’s because I was this kid.
Constantly starving for attention, not always understanding that the attention I was getting was at my expense, or not caring. I took everything so seriously, I never got the jokes.
It’s possible, of course, the cool kids were just screwing around, meant no malice. Just having fun at a kid they knew would rise to the occasion.
And of course, the man at the restaurant was an adult. He could have said no, he wasn’t paying. He could have laughed it off. And probably did later, sitting at the table with the older guy.
I know he’s not going home, hat in hand, telling his wife about his day, leaving this one part out the way I did with my parents. “Yes, Girl Scouts was great. We made bread.” Not discussing the fact that the girls were planning a sleepover right in front of me, with no intention of inviting me. Strategic omissions of things that at the time were so filled with shame and confusion. He probably just went home and told his wife about the jerk server who made him cough up another $10.
But for a moment that look on his face was the same as that little leaguers, the same as mine was a thousand times growing up.
Not knowing if you were part of the joke, or the butt of it.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Trying to Adjust
I’ve mentioned here that I am a New England Patriots fan. This hasn’t been a large issue here, until this year when the Patriots actually played the Vikings’ division. I expected, and received, a few glares and groans when I sent Wee ‘Burb into daycare with her Patriots jersey.
Side note: she is not allowed to wear anything Patriots-related on Sundays. EVER. We discovered early on she was a total jinx. So she is only allowed to wear her Patriots gear the day after a decisive Patriots win.
A month ago I started seeing a chiropractor (this relates, I swear). It started when I was going to get massages more often and finally got lectured by the masseuse that I was a total mess and had to take care of myself. Given our current state of craptacular healthcare, I was unmoved.
Until I couldn’t move.
Seriously, like my entire lower half was in revolt. Every time I stood up, I’d groan like an 80-year-old man. I couldn’t sit on the floor to play with Wee ‘Burb without wanting to cry. And most importantly at the time, I couldn’t work out. And I really need to kick start my weight loss again after plateauing for about two months.
Anyway, I like my chiropractor a lot, although I initially had reservations because he’s clearly younger than me. There’s something disturbing about this phenomenon, really. It started when I found out the OB that delivered Wee ‘Burb was in my same year at college and when I recently got a new dentist and spent the entire exam singing the Doogie Howser theme song in my head, knowing full well I could sing it out loud and the dude wasn’t old enough to get that reference. What? That guy from How I Met Your Mother? Cool.
Ugh, anyway, so I had reservations, but he was offering a great deal that included X-rays and he was just down the street. He had a nice office, unlike others that I had gone to in strip malls (nothing like the smell of nail salon chemicals to relax you). So we’re simpatico, he’s a nice affordable guy, his receptionist played with Wee ‘Burb once when we had a daycare issue and she had to join me. I actually like going there.
So, I go in and take off my coat to reveal my Welker jersey and he literally stops in his tracks. I think he audibly gasped and then went “rub it in, why don’t you?”
I’m thinking he’s referring to something to do with the Vikings, and if any of you follow football, you know this could mean ANYTHING. The epic collapse of Favre’s career, his inability to keep his junk in his copious Levis, I don’t know. It’s been a rough year for the fans, man, I get it. But come on!
So he points to a sign over the door that says Packer Parking. The Patriots had just stomped the Packers not 24 hours ago. Now, normally, I’m a bit of a rager when it comes to my fandom. I’ll take on just about anyone in defense of my team. But I deflated…because, come on, this guy has the power to put me in some sort of death chokehold the likes of which you only see in Bond movies…you don’t piss a guy off like that!
I tell him I didn’t know, and he allows me in the door, but the whole time he’s like “oh if we had Aaron Rodgers, things would have been different.” And against every fiber of my being I’m like “totally, yup, one game without him…definitely ruins the season…yup” as he twists my neck.
We leave fairly amicably.
I show up the next visit and hold my hands up like I’m at the airport security “look, no guns or Patriots clothing.” The universal sign of surrender, right?
And he bites and asks how I am doing and I tell him, in all honestly, I was really sore after our last session. I ask him straight out “did you give me the Packers special?” and he kind of grins and goes “Stephanie, I can only say I didn’t INTEND anything, I can’t actually control what I do when you come in wearing Patriots gear.”
Now, that’s not something you want to hear from a man who’s holding your spine. But in a weird way, it made me trust him more. What does that say about me?
Side note: she is not allowed to wear anything Patriots-related on Sundays. EVER. We discovered early on she was a total jinx. So she is only allowed to wear her Patriots gear the day after a decisive Patriots win.
A month ago I started seeing a chiropractor (this relates, I swear). It started when I was going to get massages more often and finally got lectured by the masseuse that I was a total mess and had to take care of myself. Given our current state of craptacular healthcare, I was unmoved.
Until I couldn’t move.
Seriously, like my entire lower half was in revolt. Every time I stood up, I’d groan like an 80-year-old man. I couldn’t sit on the floor to play with Wee ‘Burb without wanting to cry. And most importantly at the time, I couldn’t work out. And I really need to kick start my weight loss again after plateauing for about two months.
Anyway, I like my chiropractor a lot, although I initially had reservations because he’s clearly younger than me. There’s something disturbing about this phenomenon, really. It started when I found out the OB that delivered Wee ‘Burb was in my same year at college and when I recently got a new dentist and spent the entire exam singing the Doogie Howser theme song in my head, knowing full well I could sing it out loud and the dude wasn’t old enough to get that reference. What? That guy from How I Met Your Mother? Cool.
Ugh, anyway, so I had reservations, but he was offering a great deal that included X-rays and he was just down the street. He had a nice office, unlike others that I had gone to in strip malls (nothing like the smell of nail salon chemicals to relax you). So we’re simpatico, he’s a nice affordable guy, his receptionist played with Wee ‘Burb once when we had a daycare issue and she had to join me. I actually like going there.
So, I go in and take off my coat to reveal my Welker jersey and he literally stops in his tracks. I think he audibly gasped and then went “rub it in, why don’t you?”
I’m thinking he’s referring to something to do with the Vikings, and if any of you follow football, you know this could mean ANYTHING. The epic collapse of Favre’s career, his inability to keep his junk in his copious Levis, I don’t know. It’s been a rough year for the fans, man, I get it. But come on!
So he points to a sign over the door that says Packer Parking. The Patriots had just stomped the Packers not 24 hours ago. Now, normally, I’m a bit of a rager when it comes to my fandom. I’ll take on just about anyone in defense of my team. But I deflated…because, come on, this guy has the power to put me in some sort of death chokehold the likes of which you only see in Bond movies…you don’t piss a guy off like that!
I tell him I didn’t know, and he allows me in the door, but the whole time he’s like “oh if we had Aaron Rodgers, things would have been different.” And against every fiber of my being I’m like “totally, yup, one game without him…definitely ruins the season…yup” as he twists my neck.
We leave fairly amicably.
I show up the next visit and hold my hands up like I’m at the airport security “look, no guns or Patriots clothing.” The universal sign of surrender, right?
And he bites and asks how I am doing and I tell him, in all honestly, I was really sore after our last session. I ask him straight out “did you give me the Packers special?” and he kind of grins and goes “Stephanie, I can only say I didn’t INTEND anything, I can’t actually control what I do when you come in wearing Patriots gear.”
Now, that’s not something you want to hear from a man who’s holding your spine. But in a weird way, it made me trust him more. What does that say about me?
Monday, January 3, 2011
Did I Say That??
 |
| Apparently the image option isn't exactly working correctly, so turn your computer sideways or trust me that they're making out. |
In the past week, I’ve said some things I never thought I would say to another human being. I don’t mean this in a regretful way, or that I had to tell hard truths or anything.
Well, maybe they were.
As a mom, I knew I would one day have to utter things like “because I said so” and “for your own good” and “I’m the mom, THAT’S why.”
But never did I expect to utter the following, on a continuous loop for, oh, like every 30 minutes EVERY DAY:
“Wee ‘Burb, we don’t French kiss the puppy.”
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Ring in the New Year with Some of my Friends
Happy New Year! To start your year off, here are some of my favorite bloggers, and posts this year that made me laugh out loud:
It’s hard for me to pick out posts at Absolutely Narcissism that DON’T make me snort out loud. Here are a few of my favorites:
http://www.absolutelynarcissism.com/2010/12/he-wins-i-loseim-loser.html
http://www.absolutelynarcissism.com/2010/12/im-going-to-change-name-of-this-blog-to.html
http://www.absolutelynarcissism.com/2010/11/cant-take-him-anywhere.html
It’s Blogworthy is also super fun, particularly the work-related posts which are…well, relatable for any of us in an office setting. And a funny reminiscing for those of us who used to be:
http://itsblogworthy.blogspot.com/2010/11/nick-burns-your-companys-computer-guy.html
http://itsblogworthy.blogspot.com/2010/09/its-blogworthy-award-most-ridiculous.html
http://itsblogworthy.blogspot.com/2010/08/more-ridiculous-work-shenanigans-now.html
Poor Poor Motherese is going through the “joys” of pregnancy. I find so much of what she says, in general, relatable. But if you are a new mommy or thinking of becoming one, she is a must read. Particularly the following posts:
http://mothereseblog.com/2010/12/16/food-inglorious-food/
http://mothereseblog.com/2010/11/24/say-it-aint-so/
http://mothereseblog.com/2010/11/16/rolling-with-the-punches-and-the-hugs/
I pretty much feel like I live with Tenaciously Yours, you get to know her so well in her blog! And of course she lives in my home state. She also has some really fun fashion and beauty talk, which are always my favorite posts. Most importantly, she introduced me to Revlon Grey Suede nail polish, which has saved my life and nails, possibly in that order.
http://tenaciouslyyours.com/2010/12/22/expiration-date-unknown/
http://tenaciouslyyours.com/2010/12/15/turnover-happens/
http://tenaciouslyyours.com/2010/10/09/drugstore-diva/
It’s hard for me to pick out posts at Absolutely Narcissism that DON’T make me snort out loud. Here are a few of my favorites:
http://www.absolutelynarcissism.com/2010/12/he-wins-i-loseim-loser.html
http://www.absolutelynarcissism.com/2010/12/im-going-to-change-name-of-this-blog-to.html
http://www.absolutelynarcissism.com/2010/11/cant-take-him-anywhere.html
It’s Blogworthy is also super fun, particularly the work-related posts which are…well, relatable for any of us in an office setting. And a funny reminiscing for those of us who used to be:
http://itsblogworthy.blogspot.com/2010/11/nick-burns-your-companys-computer-guy.html
http://itsblogworthy.blogspot.com/2010/09/its-blogworthy-award-most-ridiculous.html
http://itsblogworthy.blogspot.com/2010/08/more-ridiculous-work-shenanigans-now.html
Poor Poor Motherese is going through the “joys” of pregnancy. I find so much of what she says, in general, relatable. But if you are a new mommy or thinking of becoming one, she is a must read. Particularly the following posts:
http://mothereseblog.com/2010/12/16/food-inglorious-food/
http://mothereseblog.com/2010/11/24/say-it-aint-so/
http://mothereseblog.com/2010/11/16/rolling-with-the-punches-and-the-hugs/
I pretty much feel like I live with Tenaciously Yours, you get to know her so well in her blog! And of course she lives in my home state. She also has some really fun fashion and beauty talk, which are always my favorite posts. Most importantly, she introduced me to Revlon Grey Suede nail polish, which has saved my life and nails, possibly in that order.
http://tenaciouslyyours.com/2010/12/22/expiration-date-unknown/
http://tenaciouslyyours.com/2010/12/15/turnover-happens/
http://tenaciouslyyours.com/2010/10/09/drugstore-diva/
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