A few months ago I turned 26...yes, I know that is still "young" but I mean, I kinda had a hard time of it. I have lived my not-so-long adult life thinking, "when I turn 25, I'll have reached the proverbial top!"
well........that was a croc of you know what...
Let's be honest, growing up you always heard people say "Ugh, look at that 25 year old!" or "Whoa, look at that 25 year old!" or "What I wouldn't give to be 25 again!" So, there had to have been something about being 25 that made people either hate you, love you, or want to be you, right? I mean, that's what I always thought. But it seemed that when I got there it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
This is something that I have been pondering for a while and have wondered why your mother, grandmother or aunts don't warn you about this confusing and crazy time of your life. You get out of college, which was the greatest time EVER, and are thrown into a complete life change--or I was. You have hormones that are changing your body, some good, some VERY bad. You have people counting on you that you never really had before. AND, to top it all off ...YOU are stuck with the bill at the end of the day? What? This grown-up stuff is for the birds!
So, when 26 hit, I kinda freaked! I mean, I still had so much more living to do as a 25 year old. I wasn't ready to be in my late twenties! That's dangerously close to 30..and I am definitely not grown-up enough for that!
After the initial shock of the 'late twenties' title wore off, I found that as time wears on, 26 isn't so bad. After all, I am still IN my twenties and now the only things I latch on to people saying are, "ugh, that tewnty-something!" or "Wow, would ya look at those twenty-somethings!" I am finding ways to cope with the hormonal changes. I am handling people counting on me with tiny little snippets of grace hear and there. And, I luckily have a husband that handles the bill at the end of the day! Thank God! (money really isn't my strong suit)
And although I am not in college anymore or letting my parents deal with my issues, I must remeber that I am not about to die, nor do I have to stop ingesting things that are "bad" for me either. I am only 26 years old, damn it, and I still have a TON of living to do!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
"Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire"
So Hubby and I went to his parents house for the Holidays this year...yes, I know I am such a good wife that I spent my FIRST married Christmas at the in-laws (you can pat me on the back when you see me; maybe even send me some cookies).
Being the well-mannered women that my mother brought me up to be, I asked what I could be responsible for in regards to the Christmas Eve Dinner. I'm sure you already know where this is going... :)
I assumed that Hubby had already told them of my various incedents in the kitchen so his mother and sisters were merciful and simply gave me the task of providing, "that lovely salad that you make!"
Whew! Most everything in this salad was pre-packaged, so very little room for error existed. No biscuit dough needed rolling, no KitchenAid mixer to deal with, just lettuce, cranberries, bacon and candied walnuts. Four simple ingredients...how can I possibly mess this up?!
Christmas Eve comes and it is time for me to start prepping the salad. I have all of my ingredients out and ready to start. For the candied walnuts, i needed to pre-heat the oven. Hmm, what temperature did I need again? Whatever, let's just set it to 350 degrees. done. I toss the walnuts into the oil and sugar mixture and when everything is fully coated throw them on a pan and pop it into the oven. On to the next task...
I peel each piece of bacon away from the other, gross. Put it in the frying pan and wait. Somehow the stupid bacon was not cooking fast enough so I had to stand there impatiently waiting while it cooked.
As I am standing over the popping bacon, i suddenly hear my mother-in-law shreaking my name! I turn around to see smoke billowing from the oven....
My face turns to horror as I realize I had completely forgotten about the walnuts. As we pull out the pan I see the blackened, shriveled walnuts sizzling on the foil.
Choas ensues and I almost burst into tears thinking how could I have screwed up SALAD?!
The Hubby's family all leap to action:
My father-in-law runs to the back door, throws it open, then runs to the front door to open it screaming, "We need a cross wind, we need a crosswind!!"
My mother-in-law is wadding up the foil to stop the smoke and the Hubby grabs the fork out of my hand tells me, "he'll do it!" My sister-in-law and her husband run into the kitchen to see what the action was all about.
I am still standing, bemused, in the middle of the kitchen.
In the end, the smoke is blown out of the house by the crosswind and the burnt walnuts are cooled and put in the trash...and I start over. The Hubby with the bacon and I fully focused on nuts.
Success! Lesson learned...don't try to multi-task in the kitchen!
After the bacon is crisped and the walnuts candied, I head off to take a shower and to wash away the day's failures.
Until the next kitchen crisis, adieu.
Being the well-mannered women that my mother brought me up to be, I asked what I could be responsible for in regards to the Christmas Eve Dinner. I'm sure you already know where this is going... :)
I assumed that Hubby had already told them of my various incedents in the kitchen so his mother and sisters were merciful and simply gave me the task of providing, "that lovely salad that you make!"
Whew! Most everything in this salad was pre-packaged, so very little room for error existed. No biscuit dough needed rolling, no KitchenAid mixer to deal with, just lettuce, cranberries, bacon and candied walnuts. Four simple ingredients...how can I possibly mess this up?!
Christmas Eve comes and it is time for me to start prepping the salad. I have all of my ingredients out and ready to start. For the candied walnuts, i needed to pre-heat the oven. Hmm, what temperature did I need again? Whatever, let's just set it to 350 degrees. done. I toss the walnuts into the oil and sugar mixture and when everything is fully coated throw them on a pan and pop it into the oven. On to the next task...
I peel each piece of bacon away from the other, gross. Put it in the frying pan and wait. Somehow the stupid bacon was not cooking fast enough so I had to stand there impatiently waiting while it cooked.
As I am standing over the popping bacon, i suddenly hear my mother-in-law shreaking my name! I turn around to see smoke billowing from the oven....
My face turns to horror as I realize I had completely forgotten about the walnuts. As we pull out the pan I see the blackened, shriveled walnuts sizzling on the foil.
Choas ensues and I almost burst into tears thinking how could I have screwed up SALAD?!
The Hubby's family all leap to action:
My father-in-law runs to the back door, throws it open, then runs to the front door to open it screaming, "We need a cross wind, we need a crosswind!!"
My mother-in-law is wadding up the foil to stop the smoke and the Hubby grabs the fork out of my hand tells me, "he'll do it!" My sister-in-law and her husband run into the kitchen to see what the action was all about.
I am still standing, bemused, in the middle of the kitchen.
In the end, the smoke is blown out of the house by the crosswind and the burnt walnuts are cooled and put in the trash...and I start over. The Hubby with the bacon and I fully focused on nuts.
Success! Lesson learned...don't try to multi-task in the kitchen!
After the bacon is crisped and the walnuts candied, I head off to take a shower and to wash away the day's failures.
Until the next kitchen crisis, adieu.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Out of the House and No Where to Go...
So, I have a husband who is a chronic "door locker." He cannot go out (or in) a doorway without locking it behind him. I have been told time and time again that this is a good thing. My husband is sure that there a burglars lining up in the bushes, ready to pounce at any chance to break in and take our "highly coveted" things (from Target).
As for me, a background on my upbringing.......we don't lock our doors.
Never have and probably never will. One reason is that any thief would probably walk into our house, take a look around, and then walk right back out the door. Also, we believe that locking your doors only adds more stress and worry to life especially when you lose keys regularly.
Now, to begin my story, my husband and I were lounging around watching TV one evening and decided that we needed some coffee. (I don't know why I decided that, it makes me lay in bed for hours with my mind racing, but anyway.) We of course didn't have any in the house because, being the amazing wife that I am, I can't seem to get myself to the grocery store. So, we decided on a Starbucks run. I love giving my kidney for coffee, by the way.
As we decide who will go get the said Starbucks coffee, here is how it went:
Hubby: Oh, I'm so tired...will you go get us some Starbucks?
Me: Of course, dear but don't you want to come and keep me company? Besides, you know how you always change your mind about whether you want a white chocolate mocha or a skinny vanilla latte.
Hubby: Umm.....hmmmm....weeeelllll, okaaayyy, I'll go.
Me: Oh good, thank you babe. You are the best hubby ever!!!
As I put on shoes my husband drags his feet out the door. I run out after him and shut the door behind me.
"Okay, I'm ready! Let's go!"
He is standing next to the passenger side of the car and I quickly realize the doors to the car are locked. I turn around to go back inside to grab the keys and......uh oh, the front door is now locked as well.
I didn't hear him yell at me to get the keys...
That makes strike 1,876 for me and I've successfully locked us out of the house. Crap, not even a Venti Caramel Macchiato with extra whipped cream will cover this one.
Fury ensues and the next thing I know I am scaling the fence to see if the back door is unlocked...it's not, of course. And for my next attempt at breaking and entering...the windows! Shut tight...and locked.
Well, at least I have my phone! I call my mother and she agrees to go get the key from my dad who is at the grocery store and then drive it over to let us into our house...yeah!
So, we wait.
My husband is not talking to me at this point and has resorted to hacking at the bushes with the clippers from the shed trying to get his mind off how idiodic his wife is.
After about five seconds the mosquitos have zeroed in on our location and have begun to feast. Pretty sure they are giving a blood transfusion somewhere later on.
My mother finally arrives with the key and we unlock the front door. She laughs and says to my husband, "This won't be the first time, sorry." Thanks mom, that is definitely making this situation better.
She leaves, and we are back in the air condition. My husband looks at me, sweat still dripping down his face, and says, "Are you going to get the coffee?"
I grab the keys, walk outside and...lock the door.
As for me, a background on my upbringing.......we don't lock our doors.
Never have and probably never will. One reason is that any thief would probably walk into our house, take a look around, and then walk right back out the door. Also, we believe that locking your doors only adds more stress and worry to life especially when you lose keys regularly.
Now, to begin my story, my husband and I were lounging around watching TV one evening and decided that we needed some coffee. (I don't know why I decided that, it makes me lay in bed for hours with my mind racing, but anyway.) We of course didn't have any in the house because, being the amazing wife that I am, I can't seem to get myself to the grocery store. So, we decided on a Starbucks run. I love giving my kidney for coffee, by the way.
As we decide who will go get the said Starbucks coffee, here is how it went:
Hubby: Oh, I'm so tired...will you go get us some Starbucks?
Me: Of course, dear but don't you want to come and keep me company? Besides, you know how you always change your mind about whether you want a white chocolate mocha or a skinny vanilla latte.
Hubby: Umm.....hmmmm....weeeelllll, okaaayyy, I'll go.
Me: Oh good, thank you babe. You are the best hubby ever!!!
As I put on shoes my husband drags his feet out the door. I run out after him and shut the door behind me.
"Okay, I'm ready! Let's go!"
He is standing next to the passenger side of the car and I quickly realize the doors to the car are locked. I turn around to go back inside to grab the keys and......uh oh, the front door is now locked as well.
I didn't hear him yell at me to get the keys...
That makes strike 1,876 for me and I've successfully locked us out of the house. Crap, not even a Venti Caramel Macchiato with extra whipped cream will cover this one.
Fury ensues and the next thing I know I am scaling the fence to see if the back door is unlocked...it's not, of course. And for my next attempt at breaking and entering...the windows! Shut tight...and locked.
Well, at least I have my phone! I call my mother and she agrees to go get the key from my dad who is at the grocery store and then drive it over to let us into our house...yeah!
So, we wait.
My husband is not talking to me at this point and has resorted to hacking at the bushes with the clippers from the shed trying to get his mind off how idiodic his wife is.
After about five seconds the mosquitos have zeroed in on our location and have begun to feast. Pretty sure they are giving a blood transfusion somewhere later on.
My mother finally arrives with the key and we unlock the front door. She laughs and says to my husband, "This won't be the first time, sorry." Thanks mom, that is definitely making this situation better.
She leaves, and we are back in the air condition. My husband looks at me, sweat still dripping down his face, and says, "Are you going to get the coffee?"
I grab the keys, walk outside and...lock the door.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Biscuit Breakdown
7:30am Saturday morning...I awoke to the loud buzz of a lawn mower outside my bedroom window. Who the hell would be mowing their lawn this early on a Saturday morning?! I roll over clutching at the ruffled pile of sheets searching for my hubby to snuggle up to...hmm, that's funny...he's not...awww, maaaan!! Since when did waking the neighborhood with the soundtrack of Texas Chainsaw Massacre trump a morning in bed with your wife?!
I almost make it to the back door ready to give a piece of my mind and this pesky little voice creeps in..."Love is patient, love is kind..." blah, blah, blah! Shut UP!!
The subconscious HAS to be a mother...always talking and never listening to MY side of the story!
Fine, I give! I turn around and surrender to the matronly voice. Besides, I'm starving and you should never argue on an empty stomach.
As my head clears, I think about breakfast and how it would be so wifely of me to make breakfast for Mr. Green Thumb out there.
Pancakes? Cinnamon Rolls? Oh! I’ll make some homemade biscuits! Do I know how to make biscuits, no, but it can't be that difficult. After all, I have a KITCHEN AID MIXER! (side note: this is the story that I bust the “kitchen aides can do everything” myth)
I google 'biscuit recipe' and viola...Martha Stewart Biscuits pops up. I start collecting the ingredients...eggs...check, flour...check, butter...hmm, nope. Welp, guess it's an early morning store run!
I grab my keys and wallet and burst out the front door. I fly past my bewildered hubby standing there with the garden hose.
"Where are you going?"
"To the store, I feel like cooking!"
This kind of culinary undertaking is a rare occurrence. An apprehensive smile creeps across his face.
When I return I am brimming with my new found confidence in cooking and I start to read the instructions to the recipe.
1) MIX ingredient A, B, and C in a large bowl.
Oh look the Kitchen Aide has a “large bowl” attached and ready for me to use. Perfect, in you go! Drop mixing arm, lock into place, turn on, “mix” and…done. Next…
2) MIX ingredient D, E and F in a separate bowl.
Alright, I can do that…done.
3) FOLD (hmm, that surely can be translated MIX) wet mixture into dry mixture slowly. Batter should still have lumps.
Lumps? That’s weird who wants lumps in their biscuits, not me! Ok, wet mixture, into the Kitchen Aide. Put the stirrer thingy on the “slow” setting, mix and…ok…wait…it said it would thicken…hmm. I bet I didn’t add enough flour. Add flour, mix and…hmm…not quite thick enough. Add flour, mix again…ok, that looks pretty thick…done.
4) Sprinkle flour on a wax sheet and roll out dough, flatten and cut into circles.
Ok, sprinkled the flour and now I’ll just dump this bowl out onto the cutting board like so…
oh noooo…I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that…
The “dough” aka sloppy mush is starting to ooze its way toward the edge of the cutting board. My hands are furiously trying to keep the ball of glop in a neat circle as my husband walks by and immediately burst out laughing.
He comes to help as I try to maneuver the mess back into the damn Kitchen Aide mixing bowl. Immediately, a rush of feminine ineptitude floods into my head and blubbers out of me like freaking Old Faithful!
“I’m never going to be a good wife for you!” (sniffle)
“We are going to starve!” (snort)
“They are going to take our children away from us for malnourishment!” (sniffle, sniffle, snort)
My husband starts laughing even harder which makes me cry harder. He should not be laughing, that jerk! He should be hugging me and saying,
“No, honey, you are a perfect wife.”
“Our children will love you and be fat and happy, don’t worry."
“Soon you won’t have to worry about cooking because I’ll be making enough money that we can hire a cook.”
As the scenarios of what he should have said play out in my mind, I realize that in my attempt to wipe away tears I have smeared the slop onto my face like some cheap drugstore mask. Nice.
As is customary in the kitchen for our household, I melt into a puddle of tears and my husband works to repair the damage. Like magic, he has the biscuits on a pan and puts them in the oven. Wow, salt in the wound.
I call my mommy.
She proceeds to tell me exactly what I did wrong as well as the all too familiar phrase, “You aren’t the only new bride to cry over cooking.”
My narcissism tells me differently. I am convinced that everyone else makes perfect biscuits the first time and they are probably eating them right now with their homemade jam…I hate them.
Finally, my morning ends with my hubby and I sitting on the couch crunching into our brick hard biscuits topped with store bought Welch’s grape jelly.
Later, I get showered and dressed and head off to do an activity at which I am a true proficient…
…shopping.
I almost make it to the back door ready to give a piece of my mind and this pesky little voice creeps in..."Love is patient, love is kind..." blah, blah, blah! Shut UP!!
The subconscious HAS to be a mother...always talking and never listening to MY side of the story!
Fine, I give! I turn around and surrender to the matronly voice. Besides, I'm starving and you should never argue on an empty stomach.
As my head clears, I think about breakfast and how it would be so wifely of me to make breakfast for Mr. Green Thumb out there.
Pancakes? Cinnamon Rolls? Oh! I’ll make some homemade biscuits! Do I know how to make biscuits, no, but it can't be that difficult. After all, I have a KITCHEN AID MIXER! (side note: this is the story that I bust the “kitchen aides can do everything” myth)
I google 'biscuit recipe' and viola...Martha Stewart Biscuits pops up. I start collecting the ingredients...eggs...check, flour...check, butter...hmm, nope. Welp, guess it's an early morning store run!
I grab my keys and wallet and burst out the front door. I fly past my bewildered hubby standing there with the garden hose.
"Where are you going?"
"To the store, I feel like cooking!"
This kind of culinary undertaking is a rare occurrence. An apprehensive smile creeps across his face.
When I return I am brimming with my new found confidence in cooking and I start to read the instructions to the recipe.
1) MIX ingredient A, B, and C in a large bowl.
Oh look the Kitchen Aide has a “large bowl” attached and ready for me to use. Perfect, in you go! Drop mixing arm, lock into place, turn on, “mix” and…done. Next…
2) MIX ingredient D, E and F in a separate bowl.
Alright, I can do that…done.
3) FOLD (hmm, that surely can be translated MIX) wet mixture into dry mixture slowly. Batter should still have lumps.
Lumps? That’s weird who wants lumps in their biscuits, not me! Ok, wet mixture, into the Kitchen Aide. Put the stirrer thingy on the “slow” setting, mix and…ok…wait…it said it would thicken…hmm. I bet I didn’t add enough flour. Add flour, mix and…hmm…not quite thick enough. Add flour, mix again…ok, that looks pretty thick…done.
4) Sprinkle flour on a wax sheet and roll out dough, flatten and cut into circles.
Ok, sprinkled the flour and now I’ll just dump this bowl out onto the cutting board like so…
oh noooo…I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that…
The “dough” aka sloppy mush is starting to ooze its way toward the edge of the cutting board. My hands are furiously trying to keep the ball of glop in a neat circle as my husband walks by and immediately burst out laughing.
He comes to help as I try to maneuver the mess back into the damn Kitchen Aide mixing bowl. Immediately, a rush of feminine ineptitude floods into my head and blubbers out of me like freaking Old Faithful!
“I’m never going to be a good wife for you!” (sniffle)
“We are going to starve!” (snort)
“They are going to take our children away from us for malnourishment!” (sniffle, sniffle, snort)
My husband starts laughing even harder which makes me cry harder. He should not be laughing, that jerk! He should be hugging me and saying,
“No, honey, you are a perfect wife.”
“Our children will love you and be fat and happy, don’t worry."
“Soon you won’t have to worry about cooking because I’ll be making enough money that we can hire a cook.”
As the scenarios of what he should have said play out in my mind, I realize that in my attempt to wipe away tears I have smeared the slop onto my face like some cheap drugstore mask. Nice.
As is customary in the kitchen for our household, I melt into a puddle of tears and my husband works to repair the damage. Like magic, he has the biscuits on a pan and puts them in the oven. Wow, salt in the wound.
I call my mommy.
She proceeds to tell me exactly what I did wrong as well as the all too familiar phrase, “You aren’t the only new bride to cry over cooking.”
My narcissism tells me differently. I am convinced that everyone else makes perfect biscuits the first time and they are probably eating them right now with their homemade jam…I hate them.
Finally, my morning ends with my hubby and I sitting on the couch crunching into our brick hard biscuits topped with store bought Welch’s grape jelly.
Later, I get showered and dressed and head off to do an activity at which I am a true proficient…
…shopping.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The "Good" Wife's Mythbusters
1) No matter how many times you try, your Kitchen Aide Mixer cannot and should not be used for every recipe that says "mix." (i.e. biscuit dough!) Also, note to self: flour should be... "added to wet mixture"... at a low speed.
2) The rumors are true...you will never get back to your wedding dress weight! (especially if you are using the utensil above on a regular basis.)
3) Grilled Chicken can and does get old...that's why you should have a standby list of takeout numbers.
4) Martha Stewart recipes ARE NOT EASY...no matter what she says on her dumb show/website...stupid B*&%^!
5) Boys consume A LOT of food! (If you grew up with boys, good for you! If you grew up in a high-estrogen home then you probably agree that their massive consumption is appalling!)
*More mythbusters to come as they are revealed...
2) The rumors are true...you will never get back to your wedding dress weight! (especially if you are using the utensil above on a regular basis.)
3) Grilled Chicken can and does get old...that's why you should have a standby list of takeout numbers.
4) Martha Stewart recipes ARE NOT EASY...no matter what she says on her dumb show/website...stupid B*&%^!
5) Boys consume A LOT of food! (If you grew up with boys, good for you! If you grew up in a high-estrogen home then you probably agree that their massive consumption is appalling!)
*More mythbusters to come as they are revealed...
Monday, August 24, 2009
The "Good" Wife Defined
I am dedicating this blog to all of the New Wives out there who have been, at one time or another, a "good wife" stereotype nurturer. Destined from girlhood to attain June Cleaver status, though never really hitting the mark, and confident that every other newlywed has it ALL figured out. Hopefully, you will laugh, cry, maybe even sympathize with my... um, i mean, the "good" wife's memoirs.
This is to you girls! Enjoy!
**Disclaimer** Publications from this blog are most certainly not from personal experience. Simply compilations from, er, other "Good" wives. The title is purely ironic and in no way am I confirming these actions as anything a real "Good Wife" would do.
This is to you girls! Enjoy!
**Disclaimer** Publications from this blog are most certainly not from personal experience. Simply compilations from, er, other "Good" wives. The title is purely ironic and in no way am I confirming these actions as anything a real "Good Wife" would do.
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