Ever do those taste tests in school? The ones where you laid out salt, sugar, a lemon and a bottle of bitters, dipped Q-tips in each substance, and put them on the different parts of your tongue? No? Yeah, I grew up in Alaska and everything they do there is weird. Anyway, when doing this little project, you're supposed to note the different areas of your tongue that respond best to that particular type of taste. This has since been a scientific myth that has been completely debunked, and this experiment proven totally useless. (Where's my tuition refund?)
What I did note, however, while a large portion of my class hated the bitters Q-tip, I ate that crap up. I loved them. My tongue responds to bitter. Dark chocolate, radishes, black coffee. Any alcoholic drink I love I come to find out has a crapload of angostura bitters in it, and then I have like 6 of them. Funny thing is, our sense of bitter is also meant to protect us -- a sign that says "No no! Don't eat this!" Because I imagine, battery acid is say, REALLY bitter.
What the hell are you getting at, D? Well, I discuss the above example because lately, I find myself getting really angry lately. I'm going through the homemaking magazines, looking at the dinner recipes, the family craft projects, the educational tips and I'm pissed. There's nothing I want more in the world to sit at home and homeschool my kids and make steaming pots of homemade chili and organize my books once and for all; to run my home like the finely oiled machine it once used to be when I had that precious resource called time. And of course, I don't have time. I boil a frozen package of dumplings and that's our diversion from the standard pizza. The other caregivers assist with homework before I get home because by the time I walk in the door, it's dinner, laundry, pick up, bedtime, collapse, wake up, go to work, and do it all over again. I find myself seething at my ex-husband, pissed off at what was stolen from me -- and obviously since our divorce necessitated this change, he was the one to take it all, right? Lazy days at the park, stopping off for ice cream on the way home, being in control of my children's education - all things I started pretending my ex-husband packed into knapsnack and stole away from me like a burglar in the middle of the night.
My mother used to do this on a fairly constant basis. "I just want to stay at home with you and make cookies and be with you -- if it wasn't for your father..." Bitterness had creeped in, and unfortunately for her, it made a permanent home. So much so that when my 3 year old child was making easter eggs one year, and a helper stuck two toothpicks in his egg, my mother says to the entire table, "Your father used to say I look like that. An egg with two toothpicks." Not only did it make everyone at the table uncomfortable, it was a blatant advertisement that 25 years later, the taste of bitter still tasted great.
Emotionally, something that gives us a bitter "taste" is something that is hard for us to bear or causes an enormous grief (and I really, really miss my crazy kids). I The Greek word for this is PIKRIA, an intense suffering of mind and body. Maybe it's not our fault we feel that way. After all, we got screwed. Cheated. Totally effed over. Whatever event occurred, we feel bad because what happened WAS bad. So then you get acquainted with bitter. Then you find out, you like it. It's a comfortable flavor -- while other people don't like it, you do! Bring on the battery acid, bitches! Then you are the Bitter show. All bitter, all the time. You know what I found out about bitter people? People get tired of your ass really quickly. They're not going to give you sympathy or understanding. You're only proving you're antagonistic, unteachable, and you sit around having pity parties way too much. Yet I find myself slipping into this realm so much more often that I should. Biblically, it's actually a sin, classified under the "mental attitude sins", like say, arrogance and lust. And frankly, bitterness just plain turns you into a dick.
I'm trying to find ways to remove bitterness out of my life and keep it in my drinks -- after all, even the drink needs some balance. A lemon for sour, ginger ale for sweet. It proves difficult sometimes, but my choices after the crappy event are mine to own. Instead of feeling like I got screwed in the SAHM department, I should be thinking of ways to maximize that time to turn the minimal quantity of time into maximum quality of time, not sit around feeling pissed off that I had things taken away. That's only going to lead to more frozen pizzas baked at 400 degrees with a healthy side dish of mental exhaustion.
Do you ever find yourself stewing in a bottle of bitters? How do YOU snap out of it?
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
A Day In The Life...
I didn't write this -- Erin Mantz did, and it so perfectly and wonderfully captures a peek inside to my world that I stole it and am posting it here -- like it was mine. Because I have no scruples, but this such an insightful description it had to be shared:
If you are divorced and have kids under sixteen together, you can count on trying to get along at one annual gathering if nothing else. It's something that won't change like child support calculations or the way you look at his girlfriend or future wife: it's your kid's birthday party.
Take a mild-mannered mom and throw her into the mix with her ex-husband at a sports complex for their six-year-old's birthday party, and suddenly, she's standing on a basketball court coordinating with the dad, her ex, to do a final headcount and determine who remembered candles for the cake. With Starbucks in hand, wishing it were a Vodka Collins, she's the perfect parent and hostess, well-mannered mom and civil divorcee. That was me, yesterday, at my son's party.
Add a few more variables into the party and you have the makings of a perfect storm, yet a rare time when everyone in the room will sweep reality and conflicts under the rug for the benefit of the birthday child. The dad's new girlfriend, the mom's revealed partner, ex sisters-in-laws and concerned grandparents, soon to be stepsons and a dozen moms from school there to watch the family circus. But all remains calm. It's a celebration!
But look closely, and the most observant parent will pick up on the underlying tension just teetering beneath the streamers. The exes work together to put on a happy face, but maybe it's not such a stretch on an afternoon like this--there is a joint sense of happiness for the birthday boy and a strange feeling of accomplishment we can all actually stand here. The divorce took away the kid's "normal" life and brought endless logistical nightmares of living in two homes, but all is well on the birthday day. He's getting his happy celebration just like everyone else if it's the last thing we do.
So we do it. No matter that I'm busy checking out my ex's new girlfriend, from the estimated size of her jeans (Paige Premium Denim? Size two?) to the way she chats away with the guy who used to be my brother-in-law. She's watching me, too, I know. (My jeans are not a size two, but I know I look good today.)
Together, my ex and I take pictures, cheer the kids on in dodgeball, and, later, watch our son blow out the candles on his cake. When the knife comes out--a big one--I hold it high above my head as I make my way through the cramped room to cut the cake. I see people watching me and I want to laugh. There was a time (A year ago? Yesterday?) when several people in this room, myself included, would have liked to take that knife and jab it right into someone else! But moments later, my girlfriend and my ex-brother in law are successfully working together to cut and serve the still very-frozen Oreo ice cream cake.
Two hours after it began, what's left is a cart piled high with presents and a sense of relief at a job well done. All the adults acted like adults, not children! Our son had a great time. And everyone survived. For an afternoon, we were almost like a "normal" family. But as we divide up the presents to go to "my" house and "Dad's" house, and get stuck in the awkward moment of who should plop down the credit card, I am shaken out of my relaxed state. I have to say goodbye to my son, because it's his night with his dad. I won't hear whatever he has to say about his party, or be able to kiss him goodnight after this special day. Tonight, the reality of being a family of divorce will kick in again, for all of us, as we scramble to find the right basketball shoes or realize a homework folder is at the wrong house.
I am ready for that drink now.
Add a few more variables into the party and you have the makings of a perfect storm, yet a rare time when everyone in the room will sweep reality and conflicts under the rug for the benefit of the birthday child. The dad's new girlfriend, the mom's revealed partner, ex sisters-in-laws and concerned grandparents, soon to be stepsons and a dozen moms from school there to watch the family circus. But all remains calm. It's a celebration!
But look closely, and the most observant parent will pick up on the underlying tension just teetering beneath the streamers. The exes work together to put on a happy face, but maybe it's not such a stretch on an afternoon like this--there is a joint sense of happiness for the birthday boy and a strange feeling of accomplishment we can all actually stand here. The divorce took away the kid's "normal" life and brought endless logistical nightmares of living in two homes, but all is well on the birthday day. He's getting his happy celebration just like everyone else if it's the last thing we do.
So we do it. No matter that I'm busy checking out my ex's new girlfriend, from the estimated size of her jeans (Paige Premium Denim? Size two?) to the way she chats away with the guy who used to be my brother-in-law. She's watching me, too, I know. (My jeans are not a size two, but I know I look good today.)
Together, my ex and I take pictures, cheer the kids on in dodgeball, and, later, watch our son blow out the candles on his cake. When the knife comes out--a big one--I hold it high above my head as I make my way through the cramped room to cut the cake. I see people watching me and I want to laugh. There was a time (A year ago? Yesterday?) when several people in this room, myself included, would have liked to take that knife and jab it right into someone else! But moments later, my girlfriend and my ex-brother in law are successfully working together to cut and serve the still very-frozen Oreo ice cream cake.
Two hours after it began, what's left is a cart piled high with presents and a sense of relief at a job well done. All the adults acted like adults, not children! Our son had a great time. And everyone survived. For an afternoon, we were almost like a "normal" family. But as we divide up the presents to go to "my" house and "Dad's" house, and get stuck in the awkward moment of who should plop down the credit card, I am shaken out of my relaxed state. I have to say goodbye to my son, because it's his night with his dad. I won't hear whatever he has to say about his party, or be able to kiss him goodnight after this special day. Tonight, the reality of being a family of divorce will kick in again, for all of us, as we scramble to find the right basketball shoes or realize a homework folder is at the wrong house.
I am ready for that drink now.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Four Letter Word Tease
Most of you know about law school.
Still no decision. There is a horrifically masochistic system where you can "log in to check your status". All I know is that my file was looked at on 1/12/11. Not a word since then. I am pretty sure this put me in the maybe pile. Which makes me haz a sad, as the kittehs say.
Today, I come home. There is an envelope "Law School D Wants to Go To, Office of Admissions."
O_o?
You know that scene where Charlie from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (the OG!) where he is carefully opening that last Wonka bar? That was me on the porch, like exactly. I took deep Lamaze-like breaths. I huffed. I puffed. I ripped open the envelope and it was like time was standing still. My legs got wobbly and my hands shook so badly that I couldn't open the folded letter properly. I saw the type, I saw the date -- "January 20, 2011"...it was like everything was going in slow motion. Then I ever so carefully open the letter.
You know that feeling when you get in a car wreck, or that heart has dipped into your stomach feeling when something happens, whether it's "your child has been rushed to the ICU", or "you won 50 million dollars"? Yeah. I had that going on. From the bottom of my guts all the way down to the tips of fingers.
"Hello D. We haven't made a decision about you yet, but let us tell you about some of our awesome departments and services -- just because."
ARE YOU #*$&(@#(*@&*(&(*(**(&#&^*!*&^!^&*! KIDDING ME!?
It took me 5 entire minutes for my fingers to stop shaking.
What a horrible, masochistic, awful, torturous and downright EVIL thing for law school of choice to do. EVIL. The good news is that I am going to school to learn the ways of the law, justice, and do it all with an evil and nefarious attitude. HOW PERFECT IS THIS SCHOOL!?
Still no decision. There is a horrifically masochistic system where you can "log in to check your status". All I know is that my file was looked at on 1/12/11. Not a word since then. I am pretty sure this put me in the maybe pile. Which makes me haz a sad, as the kittehs say.
Today, I come home. There is an envelope "Law School D Wants to Go To, Office of Admissions."
O_o?
You know that scene where Charlie from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (the OG!) where he is carefully opening that last Wonka bar? That was me on the porch, like exactly. I took deep Lamaze-like breaths. I huffed. I puffed. I ripped open the envelope and it was like time was standing still. My legs got wobbly and my hands shook so badly that I couldn't open the folded letter properly. I saw the type, I saw the date -- "January 20, 2011"...it was like everything was going in slow motion. Then I ever so carefully open the letter.
You know that feeling when you get in a car wreck, or that heart has dipped into your stomach feeling when something happens, whether it's "your child has been rushed to the ICU", or "you won 50 million dollars"? Yeah. I had that going on. From the bottom of my guts all the way down to the tips of fingers.
"Hello D. We haven't made a decision about you yet, but let us tell you about some of our awesome departments and services -- just because."
ARE YOU #*$&(@#(*@&*(&(*(**(&#&^*!*&^!^&*! KIDDING ME!?
It took me 5 entire minutes for my fingers to stop shaking.
What a horrible, masochistic, awful, torturous and downright EVIL thing for law school of choice to do. EVIL. The good news is that I am going to school to learn the ways of the law, justice, and do it all with an evil and nefarious attitude. HOW PERFECT IS THIS SCHOOL!?
Monday, January 24, 2011
The One. The Only. Curry.
If you have visited my house more than say once, you are aware that I am deeply, truly, madly in love with habanero peppers. A meal isn't good unless you're sobbing and begging the sweet Lord above to kill you, and once you've forgotten the painful memories and literal heartache, BAM! Like a bad exboyfriend's friend request on Facebook, you're reminded of your delicious meal in the bathroom the next day. That's a tasty dinner. So people come over and I cook them curry. Usually it's tolerable, but since habanero peppers can vary in heat based on the season, time of year, conditions they were grown in, I either get a *just enough* spice or a look of horror and betrayal when my dinner guest goes, "OH MY GOD, D, WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!? MY FACE IS MELTING OOOOOOOOFFFFFF!" And I use the same amount of peppers every time, so all I can do is shrug and say "Now you know what the disclaimer is for."
Regardless, most people love this stuff just as much as I do and it usually turns out great. If the above paragraph terrifies you, you can always lower the habanero quotient, or swap habaneros for serranos or jalapenos. And I will berate you endlessly and call you giant baby.
This recipe comes from Doug Irvine in British Columbia (Canadians do everything better), who apparently was sitting around one day and thought "Man, I love curry. I love all kinds of curry. I love Indian curry and Thai curry. Curry rules." I couldn't agree more. So the man is a GENIUS and combined the two. He should win the Nobel Prize in Curry. I vote we make that a category next year:
Ingredients:
3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 large spanish onion
4 cloves of garlic
1 knob of ginger, about inch in diameter
1 green pepper
1 red pepper
1 cup of chopped cilantro or more to taste
3 habanero peppers
1 14oz can coconut milk
1-2 tbls Madras curry powder, available asian markets
1 tbls Thai Red curry paste
1 tbls sugar....and ...salt to taste
Chop onion and garlic and ginger, the onion medium dice the rest small dice, and place in a fair sized pot, not aluminum, in a small amount of olive oil, sprinkle with the curry powder, and cook on low heat, long and slow...the secret to a good curry is long slow cooking of the onion mixture.
While this is starting to go, cut chicken breasts into medium strips, across the breast, and about half inch by 3 inches. When the onion mixture is transparent and fragrant, remove it to a bowl, add a little more oil to the pot, and throw in the chicken pieces, raising the heat, and stir frying the meat, so it doesnt stick. Throw the onion mix back in, and add the coconut milk, the Thai curry paste and the sugar...bring to simmer, put on lid and finely chop the habs,seeded. Toss them in too, and let it go, with the lid ajar, so it will thicken.
While this is going, cut the red and green peppers into 1/4 inch strips about the length of the pepper, so that you have a pile of red and green pepper strips, use more peppers if you wish...PUT THESE IN LAST, ALONG WITH THE CILANTRO, and cook for about another five minutes, taste for seasoning, and add salt and more sugar if needed. Serve with Thai rice.
Regardless, most people love this stuff just as much as I do and it usually turns out great. If the above paragraph terrifies you, you can always lower the habanero quotient, or swap habaneros for serranos or jalapenos. And I will berate you endlessly and call you giant baby.
This recipe comes from Doug Irvine in British Columbia (Canadians do everything better), who apparently was sitting around one day and thought "Man, I love curry. I love all kinds of curry. I love Indian curry and Thai curry. Curry rules." I couldn't agree more. So the man is a GENIUS and combined the two. He should win the Nobel Prize in Curry. I vote we make that a category next year:
Ingredients:
3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 large spanish onion
4 cloves of garlic
1 knob of ginger, about inch in diameter
1 green pepper
1 red pepper
1 cup of chopped cilantro or more to taste
3 habanero peppers
1 14oz can coconut milk
1-2 tbls Madras curry powder, available asian markets
1 tbls Thai Red curry paste
1 tbls sugar....and ...salt to taste
Chop onion and garlic and ginger, the onion medium dice the rest small dice, and place in a fair sized pot, not aluminum, in a small amount of olive oil, sprinkle with the curry powder, and cook on low heat, long and slow...the secret to a good curry is long slow cooking of the onion mixture.
While this is starting to go, cut chicken breasts into medium strips, across the breast, and about half inch by 3 inches. When the onion mixture is transparent and fragrant, remove it to a bowl, add a little more oil to the pot, and throw in the chicken pieces, raising the heat, and stir frying the meat, so it doesnt stick. Throw the onion mix back in, and add the coconut milk, the Thai curry paste and the sugar...bring to simmer, put on lid and finely chop the habs,seeded. Toss them in too, and let it go, with the lid ajar, so it will thicken.
While this is going, cut the red and green peppers into 1/4 inch strips about the length of the pepper, so that you have a pile of red and green pepper strips, use more peppers if you wish...PUT THESE IN LAST, ALONG WITH THE CILANTRO, and cook for about another five minutes, taste for seasoning, and add salt and more sugar if needed. Serve with Thai rice.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
So I Was Thinking To Myself
...that holy crap, I need an outlet. Well that and work has become bizarrely slow, so instead of choosing to constantly click "refresh" on my email inbox looking for an email from the law school admissions committee, waiting on my ex-husband to return any of my emails labeled "Dude, I thought we agreed no red food coloring" or "Please stop taking the 2 year old on brain-jarring off-road trips in your Malibu Barbie Jeep" that I might as well start writing again. Otherwise, I'll go more insane than I already am and/or wreck the browser on my work computer.
So I shall write -- maybe sometimes it will be witty and engaging. Sometimes it will be mindless drivel. Sometimes I'll probably even wake up in the mornings with a wicked hangover and rush to the computer to quickly hit "delete" before my parents read some ranting tirade about Sarah Palin, Wal-Mart, or how we really need to bring back the idea of a dowry and child labor (mother of boys here -- I'm just sayin') after I drank that 4th glass of wine.
Feel free to input what else you think should go here. Recipes? I make a kickass curry. Pictures of the kids? They ARE pretty cute. Important current events that readers HAVE to keep abreast of (ZOMFG GUYS THEY'RE BRINGING BACK THE WOOLY MAMMOTH!). Most importantly, we'll try to keep it less boring than watching the llamas at the zoo (most boring animal EVER) and more like the sea otter exhibit (they're always getting their freak on -- raise your hand if you HAVEN'T seen otters do it at the aquarium -- 'cause you're missing out).
So I shall write -- maybe sometimes it will be witty and engaging. Sometimes it will be mindless drivel. Sometimes I'll probably even wake up in the mornings with a wicked hangover and rush to the computer to quickly hit "delete" before my parents read some ranting tirade about Sarah Palin, Wal-Mart, or how we really need to bring back the idea of a dowry and child labor (mother of boys here -- I'm just sayin') after I drank that 4th glass of wine.
Feel free to input what else you think should go here. Recipes? I make a kickass curry. Pictures of the kids? They ARE pretty cute. Important current events that readers HAVE to keep abreast of (ZOMFG GUYS THEY'RE BRINGING BACK THE WOOLY MAMMOTH!). Most importantly, we'll try to keep it less boring than watching the llamas at the zoo (most boring animal EVER) and more like the sea otter exhibit (they're always getting their freak on -- raise your hand if you HAVEN'T seen otters do it at the aquarium -- 'cause you're missing out).
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