Yesterday had much more going for it than discovering creepy-crawlies on my living room ceiling. I woke up early after a 12 hour fast to have 3 hours of blood work done.
Oh, that makes it sound so dreadful. The day got off to a really nice start with my walk to the hospital. It's a little over a mile from here, just up The Lake. The air was cool, the sun was shining, and the walk didn't involve any hills and relatively few regulated intersections. I got to the hospital right at 9:00, only to discover that the lab had never received the orders from my doctor. The nice lady at the outpatient center went ahead and got me checked in while they contacted the doctor in Madison and got the orders refaxed. In all, the blood work only got started an hour and a half late. Frankly, that seemed like an eternity to sit around a hospital lobby for someone who (admittedly) eats when bored.
They did eventually get around to starting the blood work. I'm still more than a little proud of how I handled it. I'm the girl who nearly passed out last time she had an immunization. When I had my wisdom teeth out, I had to be sedated to be sedated, just because the sight of the needle made my pulse race like crazy. The first time my OB ordered blood work, the poor lady working in the lab had to focus every bit as much on keeping me upright and awake as she did on drawing the blood. This time around, however, I was a trooper. Really. Four separate draws, four separate times being poked in the arm with a scary needle-like device, four times staring REALLY hard at that, "How to Scrub Your Hands" poster over the lab sink. One of the technicians told me that she could tell it was my first baby because I still flinched every time they stuck me. Apparently, pregnancy involves a lot of needles. (Adoption begins to look promising....) But I stayed awake.
This being a blood glucose test, I had to drink the gross glucola drink, then wait an hour...then another hour...then another hour. In between tests, I just hung out in the lobby and read about cowboys and evil Mormon posses (really).
Last night, we had french toast with plenty of maple syrup for dinner, just out of perversity. It was a last hurrah, of sorts.
So, this morning, my doctor's office called with the results. Gestational diabetes it is. I'm going to have to do some adjusting of my cooking parameters--oh pasta! oh cookies!--but my husband is being completely sweet about it. He says he's been thinking of going low-carb for a while, but didn't want to make me feel like I had to give up my baked goods, too. The doctor has done that for him, now, and we're going to be eating much more thoughtfully and (hopefully) healthily. We'll probably end up looking like we're eating a sort of primal diet, but you CANNOT make either of us say that that's what it we're doing.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
"Moths gotta live, too. Out there."
I've decided to resurrect the blog for the Summer, because I need something to do besides spending money on food and fancy espresso drinks. I'm really good at that and enjoy it entirely too much. Also, every time I talk to my youngest brother, he works in a complaint about how tired he is of seeing recipes when he opens my blog. The clear answer is for him to stop checking, but he asks so nicely.
If I do post regularly, chances are I'll talk a lot about pregnancy-stuff, so reader beware. (That assumes anyone besides my brothers still check this. And if I start posting any gory details, they'll be driven away soon enough.)
For this non-pregnancy-related story, I need to go back a few days. Last Thursday, a spot showed up on our freshly painted white ceiling. (You'd have to see our apartment to know how notable this was. Between tenants, they went over everything with a layer of white latex paint.) This spot was approximately the size of a quarter, kinda orange-colored, and looked exactly like damp drywall. We don't have a step ladder or anything more stable than a canvas camp chair, so close examination was out of the question. I checked later in the day and ascertained that the blotch wasn't growing. Friday came, and there was no change, so I assumed that whatever it was--leak from above or splash from beneath--it was stable and nothing to worry about at the moment. Fast forward through our weekend in Indiana.... We came home Sunday evening and the spot had turned black, but hadn't grown or changed otherwise. Neither one of us was concerned.
You can imagine my reaction, then, when I came out this morning and the spot--formerly quarter-sized and solid black--was now the size of a $.50 piece and swarming. That's right: our ceiling spot had turned into hundreds of tiny larvae. After I had overcome my initial horror and revulsion, I did some checking online and found that 1) it was likely moth larvae and 2) they weren't likely to go crawling all over the apartment over the course of the morning. So, I called up the building manager and left him a message asking if he could come clean the moth larvae off my ceiling. When he showed up later this afternoon, our conversation went like this:
G: Hey there, I got your message this morning. What?!
B: Come on in and look. (pointing to ceiling)
G: That's the weirdest $%@# thing I've ever seen.
After talking a little bit about how bugs have to live too, provided they do it OUTSIDE OF HIS BUILDING(!!!), he pulled out a spray bottle of bleach and let them have it. With extreme prejudice. This was a great relief to me.
If I do post regularly, chances are I'll talk a lot about pregnancy-stuff, so reader beware. (That assumes anyone besides my brothers still check this. And if I start posting any gory details, they'll be driven away soon enough.)
For this non-pregnancy-related story, I need to go back a few days. Last Thursday, a spot showed up on our freshly painted white ceiling. (You'd have to see our apartment to know how notable this was. Between tenants, they went over everything with a layer of white latex paint.) This spot was approximately the size of a quarter, kinda orange-colored, and looked exactly like damp drywall. We don't have a step ladder or anything more stable than a canvas camp chair, so close examination was out of the question. I checked later in the day and ascertained that the blotch wasn't growing. Friday came, and there was no change, so I assumed that whatever it was--leak from above or splash from beneath--it was stable and nothing to worry about at the moment. Fast forward through our weekend in Indiana.... We came home Sunday evening and the spot had turned black, but hadn't grown or changed otherwise. Neither one of us was concerned.
You can imagine my reaction, then, when I came out this morning and the spot--formerly quarter-sized and solid black--was now the size of a $.50 piece and swarming. That's right: our ceiling spot had turned into hundreds of tiny larvae. After I had overcome my initial horror and revulsion, I did some checking online and found that 1) it was likely moth larvae and 2) they weren't likely to go crawling all over the apartment over the course of the morning. So, I called up the building manager and left him a message asking if he could come clean the moth larvae off my ceiling. When he showed up later this afternoon, our conversation went like this:
G: Hey there, I got your message this morning. What?!
B: Come on in and look. (pointing to ceiling)
G: That's the weirdest $%@# thing I've ever seen.
After talking a little bit about how bugs have to live too, provided they do it OUTSIDE OF HIS BUILDING(!!!), he pulled out a spray bottle of bleach and let them have it. With extreme prejudice. This was a great relief to me.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Grandma Beery's Butterscotch Pudding
1 c brown sugar
1 c water
3 T flour + 1 t cornstarch*
1 egg
1 c milk
Boil sugar and water. Mix together other ingredients and add to the sugar/water. Stir until boiling.
*If making pie filling, increase cornstarch.
1 c water
3 T flour + 1 t cornstarch*
1 egg
1 c milk
Boil sugar and water. Mix together other ingredients and add to the sugar/water. Stir until boiling.
*If making pie filling, increase cornstarch.
Chicken and Coconut Milk Soup
3 stalks celery
3 carrots, peeled
1 onion
2 cloves garlic
salt
ginger
2 qts chicken stock
cooked chicken
2 1/2 c basmati rice
1 can coconut milk
Herbs:bay leaf, thyme, basil, tarragon, cilantro (or herbs of your choice)
Chop and saute celery, carrots, and garlic. Add a pinch of salt and fresh ginger (to taste). Cook over low heat and allow to sweat, approx. 5 minutes. Add stock, chicken, rice, and herbs. Bring to boil and cook until rice is cooked through. Add coconut milk. Remove bay leaves and serve.
3 carrots, peeled
1 onion
2 cloves garlic
salt
ginger
2 qts chicken stock
cooked chicken
2 1/2 c basmati rice
1 can coconut milk
Herbs:bay leaf, thyme, basil, tarragon, cilantro (or herbs of your choice)
Chop and saute celery, carrots, and garlic. Add a pinch of salt and fresh ginger (to taste). Cook over low heat and allow to sweat, approx. 5 minutes. Add stock, chicken, rice, and herbs. Bring to boil and cook until rice is cooked through. Add coconut milk. Remove bay leaves and serve.
Mrs. Rhein's Granola
1/2-1 c coconut
4 c rolled oats
1 c sunflower seeds
1 c wheat germ
1/4-1/2 c sesame seeds
1 c chopped pecans
1/4 c flax seeds
3/4 c honey
1/2 c oil
1 T cinnamon
Preheat oven to 350. Mix together first 7 ingredients in large bowl. Boil honey, oil, and cinnamon. Pour over dry ingredients and mix thoroughly. Spread on 2 greased cookie sheets. Bake approx. 30 minutes, stirring often. Cool, then break into chunks.
4 c rolled oats
1 c sunflower seeds
1 c wheat germ
1/4-1/2 c sesame seeds
1 c chopped pecans
1/4 c flax seeds
3/4 c honey
1/2 c oil
1 T cinnamon
Preheat oven to 350. Mix together first 7 ingredients in large bowl. Boil honey, oil, and cinnamon. Pour over dry ingredients and mix thoroughly. Spread on 2 greased cookie sheets. Bake approx. 30 minutes, stirring often. Cool, then break into chunks.
Brownie Pudding
(On a whim, I gathered together a few of my mom's recipes that I've been wishing I had. I'm entering them in here for posterity and convenience, since I don't have much luck with recipe cards.)
1 c flour
3/4 c sugar
2 T cocoa powder
2 t baking powder
1/2 t salt
1/2 c milk
2 T melted butter
1 t vanilla
1 c chopped nuts
Topping: 3/4 c brown sugar, 1/4 c cocoa powder.
Sift together the first 5 ingredients. Add milk, butter, and vanilla, and mix until smooth. Stir in nuts. Pour into greased casserole dish. Mix together topping and sprinkle over top of batter. Pour 1 3/4 c hot water over batter and topping. Bake at 350 for 45 minutes.
1 c flour
3/4 c sugar
2 T cocoa powder
2 t baking powder
1/2 t salt
1/2 c milk
2 T melted butter
1 t vanilla
1 c chopped nuts
Topping: 3/4 c brown sugar, 1/4 c cocoa powder.
Sift together the first 5 ingredients. Add milk, butter, and vanilla, and mix until smooth. Stir in nuts. Pour into greased casserole dish. Mix together topping and sprinkle over top of batter. Pour 1 3/4 c hot water over batter and topping. Bake at 350 for 45 minutes.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Dinner Success
Today was the first day of my new job and I cannot express what a relief it is to be working in an Indian-Grandmother-Free zone. I get to act like an adult, no one is yelling at me for who-knows-what-reason, and I'm paid to snuggle a precious six month old boy all day.
This evening, in celebration of "I'm Never Going to be Force-fed Rice Again" Day and "Look What Happens When I Only Have to Work Until 4:00" Day, I made...
...wait for it...
...Indian food. Dal, rice, and parathas, to be precise. The flatbreads were surprisingly easy and I can already tell that they are going to be a staple around here. The best part was the surprised (and pleased) look on my husband's face when he walked in to the smell of spicy lentils simmering away on the stove. He thought I was reheating leftover soup. A wifely coup!
This evening, in celebration of "I'm Never Going to be Force-fed Rice Again" Day and "Look What Happens When I Only Have to Work Until 4:00" Day, I made...
...wait for it...
...Indian food. Dal, rice, and parathas, to be precise. The flatbreads were surprisingly easy and I can already tell that they are going to be a staple around here. The best part was the surprised (and pleased) look on my husband's face when he walked in to the smell of spicy lentils simmering away on the stove. He thought I was reheating leftover soup. A wifely coup!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Pneumonia and Apple Cake
How's that for an appetizing title?
There are some positives to being sick with something as scary-sounding as pneumonia. Positive #1: I'm not contagious, so it didn't interfere with my scrapbooking weekend with my mother and DoRena. Positive #2: My employeress didn't want me to come back for work this week. I texted her after a trip to the Redimed on Saturday: "Sorry to bother you on vacation. Just found out I have walking pneumonia. Let me know what you want to do about next week." Her return text went something like this: "Take liquids and rest. Nice working with u. Enjoy ur new job." Thus concludes our association.
So, I've had a few days to loll about the house and recuperate. As of this morning, I feel almost 100%. Except for the hacking cough every time I even think about laughing, but I'm sure that will clear up. Azithromycin and codeine have done their work.
Feeling better and lots of time alone in the apartment can only mean two things: cleaning and baking. In the interests of ensuring that my lungs are fully healed before I expose them to anything unusual, I skipped the cleaning and went straight to the kitchen. There were apples to be used! After much searching and a chat with my grandma (always helpful), I settled on this recipe:
Good Housekeeping* Apple-Walnut Bundt Cake
3 c. flour
1 c granulated sugar
1/2 c lightly packed dark brown sugar**
1 t baking soda
1 1/2 + t cinnamon
3/4 t salt
1/2 t nutmeg
1/2 t ground ginger
1 c vegetable oil
1/4 lemon juice +1/4 c water and 1/2 t honey***
2 t vanilla
3 large eggs
1 lb apples (I used Macs, but something a little tarter would probably be nice), peeled, cored, and coarsely chopped
1 c walnuts, coarsely chopped****
1) Heat oven to 350. Grease and flour 10" bundt pan
2) In large bowl, combine first 11 ingredients (everything but the apples and nuts). Beat at low speed until well-blended, scraping bowl frequently. Increase speed to medium and beat for 2 minutes, scraping bowl. Stir in apples and walnuts.
3) Spoon batter into prepared bundt pan and spread evenly. Bake approx 1:15, until cake pulls away from sides and toothpick inserted in middle comes out clean.***** Cool pan on rack 10 minutes. Remove from pan and cool cake completely on rack.
* I give those fine folks some credit, despite my many alterations.
** The recipe called for 1 3/4 c white sugar, but 1) that sounded like a lot to me, so I cut it back 1/4 c. and 2) I just like brown sugar more. This did not seem to have any negative effect on the texture.
***Sometimes I don't alter things just because I feel like it. This calls for 1/2 c of apple juice and I had to come up with something else since we don't keep juice on hand.
****They also added 1 c raisins, but that sounds like a horrible thing to do to a nice cake.
There are some positives to being sick with something as scary-sounding as pneumonia. Positive #1: I'm not contagious, so it didn't interfere with my scrapbooking weekend with my mother and DoRena. Positive #2: My employeress didn't want me to come back for work this week. I texted her after a trip to the Redimed on Saturday: "Sorry to bother you on vacation. Just found out I have walking pneumonia. Let me know what you want to do about next week." Her return text went something like this: "Take liquids and rest. Nice working with u. Enjoy ur new job." Thus concludes our association.
So, I've had a few days to loll about the house and recuperate. As of this morning, I feel almost 100%. Except for the hacking cough every time I even think about laughing, but I'm sure that will clear up. Azithromycin and codeine have done their work.
Feeling better and lots of time alone in the apartment can only mean two things: cleaning and baking. In the interests of ensuring that my lungs are fully healed before I expose them to anything unusual, I skipped the cleaning and went straight to the kitchen. There were apples to be used! After much searching and a chat with my grandma (always helpful), I settled on this recipe:
Good Housekeeping* Apple-Walnut Bundt Cake
3 c. flour
1 c granulated sugar
1/2 c lightly packed dark brown sugar**
1 t baking soda
1 1/2 + t cinnamon
3/4 t salt
1/2 t nutmeg
1/2 t ground ginger
1 c vegetable oil
1/4 lemon juice +1/4 c water and 1/2 t honey***
2 t vanilla
3 large eggs
1 lb apples (I used Macs, but something a little tarter would probably be nice), peeled, cored, and coarsely chopped
1 c walnuts, coarsely chopped****
1) Heat oven to 350. Grease and flour 10" bundt pan
2) In large bowl, combine first 11 ingredients (everything but the apples and nuts). Beat at low speed until well-blended, scraping bowl frequently. Increase speed to medium and beat for 2 minutes, scraping bowl. Stir in apples and walnuts.
3) Spoon batter into prepared bundt pan and spread evenly. Bake approx 1:15, until cake pulls away from sides and toothpick inserted in middle comes out clean.***** Cool pan on rack 10 minutes. Remove from pan and cool cake completely on rack.
* I give those fine folks some credit, despite my many alterations.
** The recipe called for 1 3/4 c white sugar, but 1) that sounded like a lot to me, so I cut it back 1/4 c. and 2) I just like brown sugar more. This did not seem to have any negative effect on the texture.
***Sometimes I don't alter things just because I feel like it. This calls for 1/2 c of apple juice and I had to come up with something else since we don't keep juice on hand.
****They also added 1 c raisins, but that sounds like a horrible thing to do to a nice cake.
Friday, November 04, 2011
Bits and Pieces
1) Spelling:The grandmother takes some time every day to read through one or the other of Prita's books, spelling and sounding out all the English words. Often, this starts with a barked, "You: come!", followed by her making space on the couch for me to come coach her through the longer words and those that make no phonetic sense. Prita generally just hangs out next to us while this is going on, taking a moment to snatch the book out of her grandmothers' hands every so often, and crying--nay, screaming--when she realizes that she doesn't have all the books in the house in her pile. Two-year olds. Sheesh.
As a result of all of this reading-practice, Prita has started spelling things on her own. It goes something like this:
Me: What's this a picture of?
Prita: D-O-E dog!
Me: D-O-G, but yeah! Good job! Now, what's this?
Prita: G-O-E girl!
Me: Girl is right...
Prita: E-O-E ellyphant!!!!!!!!!
Me: . . . .
She gets the first letter right most of the time, although sometimes she only recognizes letters that come later in the words. Like, she always spells fox "X-O-E." She also makes up letters, as in, "SNA-O-E" snake!"
2) The Three-Egg Diet: My very own soon-to-be-patented miracle plan. See, you just go work for a family that eats lots of hard-boiled egg whites, but never the yolks. These folks should also feel a little bad about wasting any food and be very anxious to see that everything gets eaten and that nothing goes to waste. Let it be known that you don't hate the yolks, in general. Before you know it, you will have an eighty-year-old Indian woman practically force-feeding you three plain hard boiled egg yolks every day. And don't you dare try to sneak one into the trash or the garbage disposal; you're being watched too carefully for such high-jinks. While you will often feel like vomiting halfway through the second yolk (don't do it), this diet will do wonders for your skin and hair. If you can manage to have the same eighty-year-old spoon-feeding you the skins off of the top of a pot of boiled milk, all the better.
3) "Healthy. Healthy Food." Speaking of food and controlling Indian grandmothers, the last week, I had my lunch prepared for me. Generally, the grandmother will pull a box of rice and a few leftover curries out of the fridge and leave me to it. Well, leave me to it as she hovers somewhere over my right shoulder, telling me to take more and looking really confused when I don't. This week, however, she plated my food for me. Monday, it wasn't too bad. They were running short on leftovers, so we both got reasonable portions. (Of course, she did "encourage" me to eat two very soft apples as a snack later in the day. Gross.) Tuesday, she made my lunch the same was she normally makes hers: two curries mixed in a bowl, topped with a couple handfuls of chickpeas, fresh diced onions, and a sprinkling of lemon juice. Nothing earth-shattering, but edible. After that was finished, she made up a bowl of yogurt and rice for me. As I was standing in the kitchen finishing that, she walked up to me, put her hand on my shoulder, and said with very careful diction: "This. Healthy. Healthy food. Yogurt. Dal curry. Healthy." Thursday was the worst. We had, apparently, left all concern about healthy food behind, as she completely filled my full-sized dinner plate, half with white rice, half with some spiced rice pilaf-y dish. Mounded. Spilling over the sides. Rice. And then, she gave me more rice so that I would have enough for with my after-lunch yogurt.
4) More Indian TV: Despite my employeress' strictures regarding any TV viewing while her daughter is around, the grandmother continues her soap opera habit. At least naps have been reinstated, so Prita and I can retreat to the bedroom while Granny vegges out. However, her favorite show starts approximately 20 minutes before nap time begins, so I still get to see some of it. And--oh my goodness--it is indescribable. That won't stop me from trying. Imagine a show that seems to be entirely built around 4 characters: (1) the screaming damsel in distress, either standing slump-shouldered and sobbing or laying on the bed or floor, sobbing; (2) the fleshy-cheeked villain whose entire M.O. seems to be to taunt said damsel in the most annoying voice imaginable while bobbing his head smugly; (3) some random crazy-eyed man dressed all in white who is constantly carrying around a bloody knife or machete; and (4) a thicker, tougher, older woman who always seems to be coming to the damsel's rescue, sometimes with the assistance of the crazy man, sometimes without. Now imagine all of this presented in a highly repetitious manner, with exceedingly overwrought background music and quick, zooming camera moves. I really feel like I'm not missing much, not understanding the dialogue. The visuals are story enough.
As a result of all of this reading-practice, Prita has started spelling things on her own. It goes something like this:
Me: What's this a picture of?
Prita: D-O-E dog!
Me: D-O-G, but yeah! Good job! Now, what's this?
Prita: G-O-E girl!
Me: Girl is right...
Prita: E-O-E ellyphant!!!!!!!!!
Me: . . . .
She gets the first letter right most of the time, although sometimes she only recognizes letters that come later in the words. Like, she always spells fox "X-O-E." She also makes up letters, as in, "SNA-O-E" snake!"
2) The Three-Egg Diet: My very own soon-to-be-patented miracle plan. See, you just go work for a family that eats lots of hard-boiled egg whites, but never the yolks. These folks should also feel a little bad about wasting any food and be very anxious to see that everything gets eaten and that nothing goes to waste. Let it be known that you don't hate the yolks, in general. Before you know it, you will have an eighty-year-old Indian woman practically force-feeding you three plain hard boiled egg yolks every day. And don't you dare try to sneak one into the trash or the garbage disposal; you're being watched too carefully for such high-jinks. While you will often feel like vomiting halfway through the second yolk (don't do it), this diet will do wonders for your skin and hair. If you can manage to have the same eighty-year-old spoon-feeding you the skins off of the top of a pot of boiled milk, all the better.
3) "Healthy. Healthy Food." Speaking of food and controlling Indian grandmothers, the last week, I had my lunch prepared for me. Generally, the grandmother will pull a box of rice and a few leftover curries out of the fridge and leave me to it. Well, leave me to it as she hovers somewhere over my right shoulder, telling me to take more and looking really confused when I don't. This week, however, she plated my food for me. Monday, it wasn't too bad. They were running short on leftovers, so we both got reasonable portions. (Of course, she did "encourage" me to eat two very soft apples as a snack later in the day. Gross.) Tuesday, she made my lunch the same was she normally makes hers: two curries mixed in a bowl, topped with a couple handfuls of chickpeas, fresh diced onions, and a sprinkling of lemon juice. Nothing earth-shattering, but edible. After that was finished, she made up a bowl of yogurt and rice for me. As I was standing in the kitchen finishing that, she walked up to me, put her hand on my shoulder, and said with very careful diction: "This. Healthy. Healthy food. Yogurt. Dal curry. Healthy." Thursday was the worst. We had, apparently, left all concern about healthy food behind, as she completely filled my full-sized dinner plate, half with white rice, half with some spiced rice pilaf-y dish. Mounded. Spilling over the sides. Rice. And then, she gave me more rice so that I would have enough for with my after-lunch yogurt.
4) More Indian TV: Despite my employeress' strictures regarding any TV viewing while her daughter is around, the grandmother continues her soap opera habit. At least naps have been reinstated, so Prita and I can retreat to the bedroom while Granny vegges out. However, her favorite show starts approximately 20 minutes before nap time begins, so I still get to see some of it. And--oh my goodness--it is indescribable. That won't stop me from trying. Imagine a show that seems to be entirely built around 4 characters: (1) the screaming damsel in distress, either standing slump-shouldered and sobbing or laying on the bed or floor, sobbing; (2) the fleshy-cheeked villain whose entire M.O. seems to be to taunt said damsel in the most annoying voice imaginable while bobbing his head smugly; (3) some random crazy-eyed man dressed all in white who is constantly carrying around a bloody knife or machete; and (4) a thicker, tougher, older woman who always seems to be coming to the damsel's rescue, sometimes with the assistance of the crazy man, sometimes without. Now imagine all of this presented in a highly repetitious manner, with exceedingly overwrought background music and quick, zooming camera moves. I really feel like I'm not missing much, not understanding the dialogue. The visuals are story enough.
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
"What are you? Like, a walking window?"
A busy last week turned into a busy weekend, which turned into a busy Monday--and here we are!
The weekend was mostly dedicated to Halloween-related activities. Namely, parties.
The MBA student organization had its Halloween bash on Friday night. It was held in a hotel on the Capitol Square, in a bar area overlooking the Capitol building. It was a good party--music, free pizza and beer--and there were some great costumes on display. Really, I was tremendously impressed by the creativity and dedication that went into some of those get-ups. Evan and I had planned to dress as The Walrus and the Carpenter, from Through the Looking Glass, but we ran out of time to get the necessary bits together. On top of that, Evan got home from an MBA-related competition in Michigan at 8:30 on the night of the party, and we had to throw something together at the last moment. Inspired by the fact that Evan won a nice chunk of money at this competition, we decided to dress up as "The 1%." Evan with his hair slicked back, wearing a suit, suspenders, and a tie clip; me in my black cocktail dress wearing all my pearls and my mink cape. We were definitely the classiest couple at the party. That makes the photos of us holding red plastic tumblers even more awesome.
We spent all of Saturday preparing our next set of costumes: Sydney Carton and Madame Dufarge from A Tale of Two Cities. I won't even attempt to describe those. Just look:
Those costumes took us to a house party thrown by one of the guys in Evan's center. It was also a good party. We ended up leaving around 11:30 with a group of people who were headed down to State Street for the big Freakfest party. We went along for the walk, intending to find something to eat. We left them at the gates (paying $12 to access a street one can walk on any other day for free) and began to make our way home. Somehow that resulted in the two of us walking down Langdon St., aka Madison's Frat Row. At midnight. The night of Freakfest. =:oO For the first ten minutes or so, the drunken antics were amusing. Really, a couple hundred drunken revelers in costume should provide some entertainment value. After we'd been walking for a while, though, the obnoxious caterwauling and profane screaming started to get to me. It was one of those situations where I wanted to go up to every cop (the stand-ins for grown-ups) stationed at the corners and say, "Just so you know, I'm NOT one of them!" It was amusing, too, to see how many passers-by were genuinely delighted to be able to demonstrate that they recognized a guillotine. And then there were the people who had no idea, but felt compelled to yell at us anyway. My costume got some comments too, most notably the jerks walking a ways behind us who were yelling for the "pirate chick" to turn around, and then called me a choice name when I ignored them. Like I indicated before, it's all amusing until it becomes embarrassing for the entire human race.
The weekend was mostly dedicated to Halloween-related activities. Namely, parties.
The MBA student organization had its Halloween bash on Friday night. It was held in a hotel on the Capitol Square, in a bar area overlooking the Capitol building. It was a good party--music, free pizza and beer--and there were some great costumes on display. Really, I was tremendously impressed by the creativity and dedication that went into some of those get-ups. Evan and I had planned to dress as The Walrus and the Carpenter, from Through the Looking Glass, but we ran out of time to get the necessary bits together. On top of that, Evan got home from an MBA-related competition in Michigan at 8:30 on the night of the party, and we had to throw something together at the last moment. Inspired by the fact that Evan won a nice chunk of money at this competition, we decided to dress up as "The 1%." Evan with his hair slicked back, wearing a suit, suspenders, and a tie clip; me in my black cocktail dress wearing all my pearls and my mink cape. We were definitely the classiest couple at the party. That makes the photos of us holding red plastic tumblers even more awesome.
We spent all of Saturday preparing our next set of costumes: Sydney Carton and Madame Dufarge from A Tale of Two Cities. I won't even attempt to describe those. Just look:
Those costumes took us to a house party thrown by one of the guys in Evan's center. It was also a good party. We ended up leaving around 11:30 with a group of people who were headed down to State Street for the big Freakfest party. We went along for the walk, intending to find something to eat. We left them at the gates (paying $12 to access a street one can walk on any other day for free) and began to make our way home. Somehow that resulted in the two of us walking down Langdon St., aka Madison's Frat Row. At midnight. The night of Freakfest. =:oO For the first ten minutes or so, the drunken antics were amusing. Really, a couple hundred drunken revelers in costume should provide some entertainment value. After we'd been walking for a while, though, the obnoxious caterwauling and profane screaming started to get to me. It was one of those situations where I wanted to go up to every cop (the stand-ins for grown-ups) stationed at the corners and say, "Just so you know, I'm NOT one of them!" It was amusing, too, to see how many passers-by were genuinely delighted to be able to demonstrate that they recognized a guillotine. And then there were the people who had no idea, but felt compelled to yell at us anyway. My costume got some comments too, most notably the jerks walking a ways behind us who were yelling for the "pirate chick" to turn around, and then called me a choice name when I ignored them. Like I indicated before, it's all amusing until it becomes embarrassing for the entire human race.
Monday, October 24, 2011
What Goes On
The blog does not get updated when:
1) I am too cranky and cannot find anything amusing to say, particularly as regards my job.
2) I am in Fort Wayne, enjoying some quality time with my six favorite people in the whole world, plus Pastor and Jacqui.
On the job front, I gave notice on Thursday. Everyone cheer! I have another situation lined up, which should be much more reasonable in its demands and much less frustrating. It will also--I anticipate--furnish much less in the way of blog-fodder, so be prepared. I'll be taking care of the 8 mo. old son of one of Evan's classmates. This means that my husband and I will be on the same schedule, most of the time AND I will have Fridays off. Way back in September, I did commit to giving a full month's notice, though, so I will be stuck with my Indian friends through November 18. Oh well. Discounting vacation days (theirs), I only have 16 full days of work left. I imagine I'll pull through just fine.
As to our weekend in Fort Wayne, it was as wonderful as might have been anticipated. We stayed Thursday night at my father's this-is-NOT-a-bachelor-pad. My daddy and I had a nice drive over to Fort Wayne on Friday morning, while Evan attended a career fair in Chicago. Shopping, cooking, eating, visiting with the Petersens over dinner and cake, church at Redeemer, attention from my cat and my little brothers...all awesome.
1) I am too cranky and cannot find anything amusing to say, particularly as regards my job.
2) I am in Fort Wayne, enjoying some quality time with my six favorite people in the whole world, plus Pastor and Jacqui.
On the job front, I gave notice on Thursday. Everyone cheer! I have another situation lined up, which should be much more reasonable in its demands and much less frustrating. It will also--I anticipate--furnish much less in the way of blog-fodder, so be prepared. I'll be taking care of the 8 mo. old son of one of Evan's classmates. This means that my husband and I will be on the same schedule, most of the time AND I will have Fridays off. Way back in September, I did commit to giving a full month's notice, though, so I will be stuck with my Indian friends through November 18. Oh well. Discounting vacation days (theirs), I only have 16 full days of work left. I imagine I'll pull through just fine.
As to our weekend in Fort Wayne, it was as wonderful as might have been anticipated. We stayed Thursday night at my father's this-is-NOT-a-bachelor-pad. My daddy and I had a nice drive over to Fort Wayne on Friday morning, while Evan attended a career fair in Chicago. Shopping, cooking, eating, visiting with the Petersens over dinner and cake, church at Redeemer, attention from my cat and my little brothers...all awesome.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
A Paid Jukebox
Prita likes for me to sing to her. A lot. Any time one of her little toys plays music*, she demands that I sing along. If it's a song that doesn't actually have words, I need to make them up on the spot or risk incurring her wrath. She particularly likes lyrics that involve babies. My best effort so far goes something like this:
Big baby, big baby
Small baby, small baby
Babies big and babies small
Big babies and small babies.
Look out, Oscar Hammerstein II. There's a new lyricist in town.
She also likes going through her alphabet cards and asking for songs that correspond with the pictures. "M for Monkey song!!!!" means Pop! Goes the Weasel because--hey!--there's a monkey in the song. M is also good for Hickory Dickory Dock (the mouse, right?). Bye Baby Bunting goes with R for Rabbit. F for Fish results in Have You Ever Been A-Fishin'. Sometimes, though, I'm just stumped. My knowledge of silly children's songs only goes so far, and it certainly stops well before "X for X-ray song!" When she started crying out for a "W for Watch" song today, though, I knew exactly where to go.
Rise, my soul to watch and pray;
From your sleep awaken!
Be not by the evil day
Unawares o'ertaken;
For the foe,
Well we know,
Is a harvest reaping
While the saints are sleeping.
Etc. etc. and so forth.
*I really want to know two things: Who writes the songs that modern children's toys play and WHO PERFORMS IT?!?! Have they no shame? No pride?
Big baby, big baby
Small baby, small baby
Babies big and babies small
Big babies and small babies.
Look out, Oscar Hammerstein II. There's a new lyricist in town.
She also likes going through her alphabet cards and asking for songs that correspond with the pictures. "M for Monkey song!!!!" means Pop! Goes the Weasel because--hey!--there's a monkey in the song. M is also good for Hickory Dickory Dock (the mouse, right?). Bye Baby Bunting goes with R for Rabbit. F for Fish results in Have You Ever Been A-Fishin'. Sometimes, though, I'm just stumped. My knowledge of silly children's songs only goes so far, and it certainly stops well before "X for X-ray song!" When she started crying out for a "W for Watch" song today, though, I knew exactly where to go.
Rise, my soul to watch and pray;
From your sleep awaken!
Be not by the evil day
Unawares o'ertaken;
For the foe,
Well we know,
Is a harvest reaping
While the saints are sleeping.
Etc. etc. and so forth.
*I really want to know two things: Who writes the songs that modern children's toys play and WHO PERFORMS IT?!?! Have they no shame? No pride?
Monday, October 17, 2011
Gah.
I don't normally like to post pure complaints without at least a little sense of humor...but can we just forget today ever happened?
Prita's parents are in the process of getting her to sleep alone--instead of sprawled on top of her mother--and part of their strategy is skip naps so that she's so tired she'll sleep anywhere, anyhow. This works really well for a parent who works full time and doesn't have to deal with a nap-less two-year-old. I really felt very sorry for the poor little thing. By 1:30, she was begging me for a nap. "Sleepy time now? Sleepy time now? Pleeeeease?" I was under orders, however.
You can imagine how well this went. By 3:00, the child was a total basketcase. Everything caused tantrums and crying. Each time I would pick something up from the floor, be it a length of yarn, trash, or a book, she would start screaming for it and would not calm down until I handed it to her. As soon as the random object was in her hands, however, it would be forgotten. She cried because she wanted a bath. When I gave her a bath, she cried because she didn't like it. When I tried to put her anklets back on after her bath, it was as if I was torturing her. She went from sobbing like her heart was breaking to arching her back and screaming to running to her grandma to tattle on me. I'm still not sure why that last one resulted in Granny coming in to yell at me. I'm still confused.
Better still, the time that would usually be devoted to her nap--the best hour and a half of my day--was spent scrubbing the drip pans of their electric range. I'm not sure this had ever been done before, but Granny decided that today was the day and I was the girl to get it done.
Tomorrow starts at 7:00 a.m. God grant me patience. Please.
Prita's parents are in the process of getting her to sleep alone--instead of sprawled on top of her mother--and part of their strategy is skip naps so that she's so tired she'll sleep anywhere, anyhow. This works really well for a parent who works full time and doesn't have to deal with a nap-less two-year-old. I really felt very sorry for the poor little thing. By 1:30, she was begging me for a nap. "Sleepy time now? Sleepy time now? Pleeeeease?" I was under orders, however.
You can imagine how well this went. By 3:00, the child was a total basketcase. Everything caused tantrums and crying. Each time I would pick something up from the floor, be it a length of yarn, trash, or a book, she would start screaming for it and would not calm down until I handed it to her. As soon as the random object was in her hands, however, it would be forgotten. She cried because she wanted a bath. When I gave her a bath, she cried because she didn't like it. When I tried to put her anklets back on after her bath, it was as if I was torturing her. She went from sobbing like her heart was breaking to arching her back and screaming to running to her grandma to tattle on me. I'm still not sure why that last one resulted in Granny coming in to yell at me. I'm still confused.
Better still, the time that would usually be devoted to her nap--the best hour and a half of my day--was spent scrubbing the drip pans of their electric range. I'm not sure this had ever been done before, but Granny decided that today was the day and I was the girl to get it done.
Tomorrow starts at 7:00 a.m. God grant me patience. Please.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Apple Butter
I made up a batch of apple butter yesterday and am preparing to can it right now.
I sorta-kinda used this recipe...but then I changed everything. So this is basically what I did:
5 1/2 pounds apples - cut into eighths
1 scant cup white sugar (I cut this back because the apples were pretty sweet, but you could probably add a little more)
3 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon whole cloves
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/4 teaspoon salt
Fill a crockpot with the apple pieces and turn it on high. Let that go for something like an hour (or two, if you're like me an a little forgetful). Stir the apples around and turn the crockpot down to low. Let it all simmer down for as long as it takes you to get up the courage to prepare your canning supplies. In my case, this was about 24 hours. Stir whenever you remember to do so, or as often as you want the smell of condensing apples to fill your house. The next day, run the apple mush through a food mill or, if you're like me and just don't get around to buying a food mill in time, squish it through a strainer or mesh colander, just to remove the stringy bits, seeds, and whole cloves.
I have no business telling anyone how to can, so just follow the directions here. Or eat it, fresh, by the spoonful. That works, too.
If you choose to can, this recipe yields approximately 3 pints of apple butter. From 5 1/2 pounds of apples. It's that strong.
I sorta-kinda used this recipe...but then I changed everything. So this is basically what I did:
5 1/2 pounds apples - cut into eighths
1 scant cup white sugar (I cut this back because the apples were pretty sweet, but you could probably add a little more)
3 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon whole cloves
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/4 teaspoon salt
Fill a crockpot with the apple pieces and turn it on high. Let that go for something like an hour (or two, if you're like me an a little forgetful). Stir the apples around and turn the crockpot down to low. Let it all simmer down for as long as it takes you to get up the courage to prepare your canning supplies. In my case, this was about 24 hours. Stir whenever you remember to do so, or as often as you want the smell of condensing apples to fill your house. The next day, run the apple mush through a food mill or, if you're like me and just don't get around to buying a food mill in time, squish it through a strainer or mesh colander, just to remove the stringy bits, seeds, and whole cloves.
I have no business telling anyone how to can, so just follow the directions here. Or eat it, fresh, by the spoonful. That works, too.
If you choose to can, this recipe yields approximately 3 pints of apple butter. From 5 1/2 pounds of apples. It's that strong.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Weekend!
Long weekends are the best. I wasn't needed at work Friday, so I 1) stayed out a little later than usual on Thursday, 2) slept until 8:30 and 3) didn't deal with vomit or rude men all day.
One of Evan's classmates held a nice, low-key get-together at her apartment--right across the street from us--that evening. It was lovely; just a few adults eating snacks, drinking wine, talking like grown-ups, watching YouTube videos.... Four words: LeRoy Jenkins, Chuck Testa.
This morning, we had a tailgate for the WI-IU homecoming game at 9:00. Tailgating in the morning just doesn't work out as well. There were burgers and brats, as usual, but also a table of baked goods and a Gatorade cooler full of screwdrivers. (The drink, that is, not the tool.) Those got me in trouble, but not for the expected reason. I had no issue with the vodka, but that much orange juice left me feeling utterly wretched. We left a little before 11:00 and went home to take a nap.
This afternoon, Evan spent entirely too long on the phone with Charter, trying to figure out why our internet was not working...again. They got everything straightened out (hence the blog post), and he has moved on to bottling his homebrew. I just cleaned and chopped 5 1/2 pounds of apples, which are now in the process of turning into apple butter.
One of Evan's classmates held a nice, low-key get-together at her apartment--right across the street from us--that evening. It was lovely; just a few adults eating snacks, drinking wine, talking like grown-ups, watching YouTube videos.... Four words: LeRoy Jenkins, Chuck Testa.
This morning, we had a tailgate for the WI-IU homecoming game at 9:00. Tailgating in the morning just doesn't work out as well. There were burgers and brats, as usual, but also a table of baked goods and a Gatorade cooler full of screwdrivers. (The drink, that is, not the tool.) Those got me in trouble, but not for the expected reason. I had no issue with the vodka, but that much orange juice left me feeling utterly wretched. We left a little before 11:00 and went home to take a nap.
This afternoon, Evan spent entirely too long on the phone with Charter, trying to figure out why our internet was not working...again. They got everything straightened out (hence the blog post), and he has moved on to bottling his homebrew. I just cleaned and chopped 5 1/2 pounds of apples, which are now in the process of turning into apple butter.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Excuse me while I smash that plate over your head.
So yes. The father-in-law.
He met me at the door when I arrived this morning with a brief "Good morning" and a "What is your name?" and that was the extent of our conversation for the day. It isn't due to any language barrier; my employeress assured me that he speaks fluent English, "because he's an ophthalmologist." For most of the day, he just pretended I wasn't there. Okay, fine with me.
Not that we didn't interact, after a fashion. I think there was definitely some communication going on when he rattled his dirty dishes at me from his position in front of the TV, waiting for me to take them to the kitchen. His eyes never wavered from the screen. Plate. Bowl. Spoon. Rattle-rattle. This happened three times over the course of the late morning. On the positive side, the Granny seemed determined to be extra-friendly, as if to make up for her son's treatment. My employeress told me this morning that her grandmother's only complaint about me over the last month is that I simply do not eat enough. I knew she was trying to fatten me up.
On another subject, we had our first "Sig O's" bookclub meeting tonight and it seemed to go pretty well. We read and discussed "A Visit from the Good Squad" by Jennifer Egan. The conversation was more thoughtful and less faux-intellectual than any bookclub I've ever heard of. My one complaint is that I fixed my mother's famous, nationally-known, award-winning buffalo chicken dip and no one ate any. Except me, of course. But then, the other goodies were...let's just say, not up to bunko levels. Wine, cheese, and veggies, nothing fattening, no beer, very little chocolate. That's gotta change.
He met me at the door when I arrived this morning with a brief "Good morning" and a "What is your name?" and that was the extent of our conversation for the day. It isn't due to any language barrier; my employeress assured me that he speaks fluent English, "because he's an ophthalmologist." For most of the day, he just pretended I wasn't there. Okay, fine with me.
Not that we didn't interact, after a fashion. I think there was definitely some communication going on when he rattled his dirty dishes at me from his position in front of the TV, waiting for me to take them to the kitchen. His eyes never wavered from the screen. Plate. Bowl. Spoon. Rattle-rattle. This happened three times over the course of the late morning. On the positive side, the Granny seemed determined to be extra-friendly, as if to make up for her son's treatment. My employeress told me this morning that her grandmother's only complaint about me over the last month is that I simply do not eat enough. I knew she was trying to fatten me up.
On another subject, we had our first "Sig O's" bookclub meeting tonight and it seemed to go pretty well. We read and discussed "A Visit from the Good Squad" by Jennifer Egan. The conversation was more thoughtful and less faux-intellectual than any bookclub I've ever heard of. My one complaint is that I fixed my mother's famous, nationally-known, award-winning buffalo chicken dip and no one ate any. Except me, of course. But then, the other goodies were...let's just say, not up to bunko levels. Wine, cheese, and veggies, nothing fattening, no beer, very little chocolate. That's gotta change.
Friday, October 07, 2011
Friday, Friday, etc.
Ahhhhh, the sweet smell of the weekend. No really. Something smelled really amazing on the way home tonight. Someone was grilling brats and someone was burning leaves (is that legal, here?) and the combination of those smells--along with the earthy smell of the leaves lining the sidewalks--was just heavenly.
Not much to report on the job front. Today was a fine day, despite the fact that I was overly tired and cranky when I got to the apartment this morning. That grumpiness evaporated when I found that my employeress had a canister of chocolate-covered almond butter toffees to which I was welcome to help myself.
Om nom nom nom nom.
The father-in-law arrives on Tuesday, and I'm not quite sure what to expect on that front. Updates will follow, I am sure. The good news is that it sounds like I have next Friday off AND I also have the Friday after that off so we can fit in a long weekend trip to Fort Wayne.
Not much to report on the job front. Today was a fine day, despite the fact that I was overly tired and cranky when I got to the apartment this morning. That grumpiness evaporated when I found that my employeress had a canister of chocolate-covered almond butter toffees to which I was welcome to help myself.
Om nom nom nom nom.
The father-in-law arrives on Tuesday, and I'm not quite sure what to expect on that front. Updates will follow, I am sure. The good news is that it sounds like I have next Friday off AND I also have the Friday after that off so we can fit in a long weekend trip to Fort Wayne.
Thursday, October 06, 2011
It's a phase, right?
Prita has a charming new trick. I say something, and she repeats it back precisely, with a loud "NO!" appended to the end of the last word. It goes something like this:
Me: Please pick up your matching cards.
Prita: Please pick up your matching cardsNO!
Me: It's time for yogurt.
Prita: 's'time for yogurtNO!
Me: Get your fingers out of your nose!
Prita: Get your fingers out of your noseNO!
Ah, yes. The Terrible Twos, but with a language gap. She's not quite sure what I'm saying, but she is NOT GOING TO DO IT!!!
This is why Evan and I have decided that all of our children are going to be naturally obedient and compliant....
Just kidding. I know we're doomed.
Me: Please pick up your matching cards.
Prita: Please pick up your matching cardsNO!
Me: It's time for yogurt.
Prita: 's'time for yogurtNO!
Me: Get your fingers out of your nose!
Prita: Get your fingers out of your noseNO!
Ah, yes. The Terrible Twos, but with a language gap. She's not quite sure what I'm saying, but she is NOT GOING TO DO IT!!!
This is why Evan and I have decided that all of our children are going to be naturally obedient and compliant....
Just kidding. I know we're doomed.
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
It's the little things you notice.
Prita has two stuffed bunnies that she loves. One is purple, the other is white.
I'm trying not to read anything into the fact that, after playing with said bunnies today, she threw up her snack of blueberries (purple) and a later snack of yogurt (white).
I'm trying not to read anything into the fact that, after playing with said bunnies today, she threw up her snack of blueberries (purple) and a later snack of yogurt (white).
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