Crimes of the Apostrophe, Pt.2

This from the New York Times (!) from a story about cooking for Hanukkah:

“We had lots of wine and booze — we are WASP’s — and I made all the food,” Ms. Moulton said.

Et tu, NYT?

Pet Peeve

An email I got from PetSmart a few days ago reads:

“Find 100’s of items for less than $5 or less”

I’m going to start a log of all the instances where I see people misuse apostrophes because laughing about it is the only way to keep from crying about it.

Spare the Rod . . .

This past week I either became the worst mother ever or the best mother ever, depending on who you ask.

I was out shopping on my lunch hour and happened upon the most adorable Playmobil zoo set for kids 1.5 years and older. I immediately ran back to work and emailed my husband to tell him all about it because:
a) it was adorable
b) our kid loves animals right now
c)Playmobil is usually for the 4 years + crowd so I was excited to see a set for younger kids
d) although we'd finished our Christmas shopping for the kid, we only bought him three things: a book, a superman cape and a potty. That's right, a POTTY - which is only one step up from a lump of coal on the Official Kids' Christmas Gift Scale® so I'm thinking it wouldn't be that crazy to get him one actual toy for Christmas.

The husband was equally excited about the zoo so the next day I picked it up. That night we tore it open like two hyperactive six-year-olds on Christmas morning. But wait, that's not the pathetic part. This is: we were so in love with the zoo (and apparently made of stuff no stronger than marshmallow fluff) that we broke down and gave it to our son the next morning. ONE MONTH BEFORE CHRISTMAS.

It's all my husband's fault.

"I'm not the kind of parent who gives a present for no reason on a random day, one month before Christmas no less," I said.

"I am" he responded flatly.

We are either embarking down a very bad road or setting our kid up for some major disappointment in the future.

Did I Mention the Garlic?

Earlier this month my office had a potluck lunch. I made mint pea soup, which, thankfully, was a huge hit because I'd never made it before. I break that cardinal rule of cooking a lot, don't I?

While I can take the credit for chopping the vegetables and putting it all together, the recipe is from Jamie Oliver's new book Jamie's Food Revolution. I bought it at the end of the summer using a Chapters gift card I'd received for my birthday. In February. Oups! Believe it or not I spent February until August trying to figure out what book to buy myself. See, I would hate to buy some book I'd never read before, get it home, end up hating it and then have it live on my shelf for eternity. But buying a book I've already read seems equally silly. Perfect solution to this problem? Cookbook!

I've made about a dozen recipes from Food Revolution already and almost every one has been a huge hit, especially the chicken stew I made last night, the tikka salmon on naan and the garlic chicken. That last one is where Jamie proves his worth as a chef and earns a Nobel nomination in my eyes. The dude thought to put butter and garlic directly into the breading for the chicken. Genius.

What I love about this book - beautiful pictures and really, REALLY easy recipes. What I don't love? Jamie and I seem to be having an issue with liquids. Now, I have other cookbooks written by British authors, I know how to convert measurements. I even have a kitchen scale and a handy conversion chart to help me, but even so, several of the recipes need more liquid than Jamie calls for.

But it's a small price to pay for breaded chicken with garlic RIGHT IN THE BREADING! Have I said that yet? Cause it is truly divine and should be mentioned. Again.

My Unibrow Baby

I have a nemesis. Only she doesn't know it.

She's one of those nosy Nellies who can't seem to leave well enough alone. She lives in my apartment building and walks around with a pair of scissors in her purse so she can cut down posters and fliers people put up on telephone poles. That's right, scissors in her purse.

And I'm not talking ads for psychics or all-night rave orgies - she's ruthless in her efforts to stop illegal telephone pole posting (which is ruining western civilization?): signs for apartment rentals, free language lessons, lost kittens. This woman has no conscience! But really, who made her telephone pole police?

Until recently, I would secretly seethe over this woman's high and mightiness whenever I saw her. If we both got into the elevator together, I'd smile, but wouldn't say hello. (Man, you don't want to get on my bad side.)

But over the last few weeks things have gotten more complicated. My nemesis has started talking to me. Well, that's being generous - really she's started talking to my son - the most angelic and lovable child to walk the earth, when he isn't screaming "mumee, mumee, mumee - more cackers!" She's really quite pleasant to us (him) so it kind of makes it awkward for me to secretly hate her while happily chit chatting about napping and messy faces.

It's also hard because, as the women who just last weekend threw my hands up in air and made a muffled "ugh!" sound when someone butted in front of me in line for the cash at Old Navy, I KNOW I will become this woman one day - wandering the neighbourhood muttering about how rude people are these days . . .

Lying to Yourself

I was in a Tim Horton's today and the guy behind me ordered a double double. Then he corrected himself.

"I mean, triple triple," he said.

At what point should you just let it go and admit you don't like drinking coffee?

Deep Thoughts

Help settle a debate currently raging around here:

"Promenade" - is it pronounced promen-aid or promen-ad?

Keep in mind, the debate was sparked by the daily reading of a book that features a cow dancing with a pig.

When people say parenthood is fulfilling, they don't mean on an intellectual level.

How Sweet It Is

Has it really been more than a month since I last posted? Yikes. It honestly doesn’t feel like it. I kept coming up with things to talk about but then I’d sit down and write about them and suddenly they all just seemed silly and pointless. Do I really have anything interesting to say? For the most part, probably not.

Well, just this once I do have something interesting to say. I am so very, very, very happy to announce that I GOT A JOB (!) and I am now working full time again.

A few weeks after I was first laid off, my husband and I went to hang out with some friends (a couple) and the wife said she’d known someone who’d been laid off and it had taken them six months to find a job. I remember being horrified and saying something to the effect of “God I hope it doesn’t take that long!” But it did. Well, almost. I was unemployed for five months almost to the day I was laid off. Quel nightmare.

To be fair, I found out that I got the job three weeks before I could start, so if I wanted to stroke my ego I could say that I was only unemployed for four months. But seeing as I spent those three weeks at home working (minimal) freelance and desperate for my situation to change, I really don’t think they count. Actually, if I'm going to be honest, those were probably the three worst weeks of the whole summer. Just imagine - finally finding out I have a job, that someone deems me worthy, but still being stuck at home doing NOTHING! Many tears were cried, much vodka was consumed and an addiction to a vampire-related book series (and TV show) that can best be described as "soapopera trash" was developed.

The three week delay was because the job was conditional on government funding and naturally there were delays on the government’s end crossing their Ts and dotting there Is. But it’s over now and I am back to the good old days of struggling to get out the door on time.

And boy have things changed in those five months that I've been gone. I no longer have a 13-month old who walks slowly and just stands there as I feed and dress him. I’ve now got an 18-month old who screams when I try to take his PJs off against his will (Fashionista? Overly heightened sense of personal space?) and who feeds himself very well . . . but at a snail’s pace. A snail who hasn’t yet had his morning coffee. A snail who took too many sleeping pills the night before and has a nasty, groggy medication-induced hangover.

But you know what? I don’t care. I much prefer the juggling act required to manage a toddler and household than I did having the summer “off”. I would have failed in the 1950s as a women and a wife. It seems my love for Mad Men only extends to its glossy exterior of sexy tight suits and slick words. The reality, as it turns out, is NOT for me.

But I'll save my essay titled "Guilt I feel for being happier outside of the home instead of inside of it" for another day. For now, I'll just do my best to look back at the summer of 2009 as a learning experience and not the vast cavern of nothingness that it really was.

Good Old Days of Music

I was at a friend's for a BBQ a few weeks ago, thoroughly enjoying the food, drink and great music playing. Sometime around Bob Seger's "Night Moves", the following exchange took place:

Me: "This is a great playlist."
My friend, laughing: "I put it on just for you. It's my 'Southern Rock' playlist."
My friend, turning to everyone else present: "Scribe doesn't think any music of value was written after 1978."

Now, that's not entirely true - there are songs and artists who have come out in the last 20 years that I like - I just don't appreciate music containing the words "Disco Stick" or with group dance sequences in the videos. I hold a soft spot for a particular generation of Rock/pop
. . . it's just not my generation.

But I try to have an open mind when it comes to new music and love discovering some new great song or artist. In fact, several different people (including my friend at the BBQ) have recently recommended that I listen to Kings of Leon. One friend even made me a CD of their music and I've been giving it a listen. I will say that I'm intrigued and this ditty in particular has been stuck in my head for a week:




At the same time, I'm currently debating whether or not I want to go see "Taking Woodstock", Ang Lee's new movie.




The preview makes it look a little cheesy, but my sentimentality over the era and the event might win out. I mean, I may have been the only 15-year-old to ask for the Woodstock soundtrack for Christmas - in the 1990s.

Amazing!

A few days ago I accidentally deleted one of my posts from August 20. Then I discovered what a scary and magical place the internet really is.

Here's the post - recovered!

Remember this when you take that photo of yourself . . . you know the one . . . and post it somewhere. It will live FOREVER.

>>Thursday, August 20, 2009

>>Hello Out There

I don't think I have that many loyal followers, but to those of you who are kind enough to frequent this space, I'm sorry for being absent for a while.

Things have been quiet on the blog because things have been busy in my life. Job interviews, freelance work, volunteer work . . . I've been go, go, go for the last week or more but trust me, I'm not complaining!

One of the projects I've been working on is writing a small piece on the new organic food regulations for an online women's magazine. I've spent the majority of my career writing for researchers or professionals in the life/health sciences, so I'm used to editors asking for more detail! More numbers! More specifics!

This project would require me to do things a little differently since I was writing for the average Joe, but I'm trying to branch out and add to my skills so it seemed like a totally doable challenge. Hey, I've written for the average Joe before. Heck, I am the average Joe.

I did my research, had my interview and wrote up my little piece feeling pretty good about my efforts. Then comes an email from the editor: A+ for effort, she said, but you need to dumb it down. More bullet points, less big science words. What a wake-up call . . . I thought that's what I'd done!

Hopefully it's just a case of "old habits die hard" and not a warning sign that I need to get into a new line of work.

How I Learned to Stop Worring and Love My Slow Cooker

When I was growing up my mother only ever used her slow cooker for chili, so for the longest time I associated the slow cooker with winter - a time when you wanted things like chili, soup, stew, etc.

When I started to get ready to go back to work at the end of my mat leave, I started looking into ways I could use my slow cooker more and found a whole whack of recipes that go beyond the stew genre. The funny thing is, a slow cooker is perfect for the summer months because it doesn't heat up the kitchen like a stove does. If only we'd known this during my air conditionless childhood!

The reason I wanted to learn how to use the slow cooker more was to save time . . . see I was supposed to be juggling work, getting a kid home and fixing dinner all in a short space of time. It didn't exactly work out that way, but I now have a nice pile of recipes that work great in the slow cooker and one of last week's recipes was a prime example: pulled pork sandwiches. This is one of my favourites and it always turns out great - tender, juicy meat in a mouth-watering, homemade BBQ sauce. Just slap it on buns and serve with a side dish. Remind me why we don't have this every week again?

Dedications

To the Kinko's employee with the bad breath who curtly told me yesterday that I couldn't print my file because the program version I had used was superior to their own and then still charged me for what amounted to 30 seconds of computer time (me going to computer, me trying to open file, me realizing I can't open file): Boo-urns to you!

To the Kinko's employee I chatted with today who was super kind to me and who unexpectedly took three minutes of computer time and one print out off of my charges because he got busy and I was left waiting: I salute you! I have a stressful day ahead and you got it off to a great start. Plus you saved me about $2.50, so you will always hold a place in my heart.

To the woman at Kinko's who was printing out copies of her resume, which included the words "freelance" and "writer," causing me to have a mini panic attack and fear you were in the midst of preparing for the same job I was preparing for, only to then realize you were just putting your resumes into envelopes for mailing: my apologies. Although the apologies don't really need to go out to you directly since I managed to keep this moment of lunacy locked deep inside my crazy head and you had no idea what I was thinking. Oh, and best of luck to you!

Romance

Just in case you didn't believe me when I said gift-giving occasions are low-key around here or that we pinch our pennies, I present our anniversary dinner:

Tacos with a $10 bottle of sparkling wine.

My gift to the husband: Rice Krispie treats.

His gift to me: the latest People magazine.

Sigh. This is (cheap) love.

You're Such A Card

Today is my anniversary. Wait, before you go, that isn't what my post is about.

Yesterday, while I was out not last-minute shopping for an anniversary card for my husband, I saw a new line of greeting cards by the Podleski sisters. If you're not familiar with them, they're the ladies who write the "Looneyspoons" cookbooks that are filled with silly cartoons and where every recipe has a ridiculous name like "I Got Stew Babe" (yes, that's an actual recipe. I'm not creative enough for that kind of prose.)

I have all three of their cookbooks (why wouldn't I? I own 40,000 cookbooks. I own EVERY cookbook!) and I have to say the recpies are generally quite good. The silly cartoons and puns I can live without. Which is why I'm not sure I'm a big fan of the greeting cards. The front image on the card is a cartoon similar to those in the cookbooks and inside the card is a recipe.

Now, I understand the need to branch out as a company to keep your brand name in people's minds, so it made perfect sense to me when the Podleskis started a line of frozen food. I got the cooking show on TV. The line of kitchen gadgets made sense. But greeting cards?

I mean, I'm just not sure the message I want to convey to a dear set of newlyweds is "Glad you met the loaf of your life - here's a recipe for zuchini bread."

Party Game

The author of one of the few blogs I read on a regular basis (finslippy.com) recently described a situation I think many of us can relate to: telling a horribly awkward and embarrassing story at a party. You know the scene - you're trying to be all funny and self-deprecating but before you know it you've said too much and everyone is backing away saying "oh, I think left the microwave on, gotta run!"

You don't really need to read the story itself - it probably involves the word vagina much more than you're prepared for at this time of day (whatever time that may be) - but I wanted to mention it because her story ends with another party goer rescuing her with a great game:

1)What's the book you wish you had written?
2) What book do you read when you want something comforting and familiar?
3) What book do you think everyone should read?

Here are my answers. I apologize for not being able to pick just one.

1) The Harry Potter books - because then I'd be rich and all my problems would be solved (including the need for world peace).

2) Funny how I was just talking about this! Microserfs, followed closely by Heartburn.

3) 1984 (best ending in a book EVER) or Roots (trust me, those 700 pages go by fast).

What are yours?

Wait - I'M the Mommy?

I recently attended a parenting seminar.

There - I said it. I'm one of THOSE parents. Yes, the kind of parent for whom the crazy, off-the-cuff, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants nature of parenting doesn't sit well. I need structure. I need to know I'm doing an OK job. I need rules. So I read books and I seek out advice and I go to parenting lectures.

Last year, while on mat leave, I picked up the book Breaking the Good Mom Myth from the library and I liked it so much I bought the author's next book Honey I Wrecked The Kids. Then, a few weeks ago, when I found out the author was hosting a speaking engagement for one of her compatriots, I bought my $10 ticket and made a night of it.

It's a sad reflection on my social life to say that I had a great time and it was not only informative but entertaining, but there you have it.

The best part of the night, in fact, came during the Q&A section. One parent had asked about how to deal with your kid when they demand something and you say no - her example was when you're at the mall trying to run errands and the kid flips out because you deny them a much desired ice cream. After the speaker gave her answer - the usual spiel about standing your ground and not giving in, blah, blah, blah - a woman popped up from the middle of the room.

"But, sometimes I DO want to buy ice cream. How do I deal with that?" she asked.

I was so relieved there was someone out there like me. The parent who doesn't quite feel grown up. The parent who sometimes wants ice cream and who - despite needing them desperately, out of exhaustion and frustration and oh-your-God-just-be-quietness - sometimes flouts the rules.

When you're a kid your parents seem to have it so together - they pay the bills, they make the rules. And yet here I am paying the bills, making the rules and half the time I don't really feel like a grown up. You mean, I'M the mom? When did that happen?

I always assumed that because I saw them as adults my parents felt like adults. But maybe they didn't feel any differently than I do now - a grown up teenager somehow faking their way through adulthood. This coming from someone who is supposed to be guiding another human being through life. What an utterly terrifying thought.

What Did He Say?

I do my best to avoid TV commercials at all cost. They're loud, they're annoying and they're generally not very smart or interesting. Case in point, the new Miracle Whip commercial. What is up with this? Since when did Miracle Whip decide it needs to grab the youth market and make the whole mayo vs Miracle Whip debate be about being cool? The tone of the commercial, with the tag line "We are Miracle Whip and we will not tone it down!" makes you think they're advertising punk music or anti-government rebellion, not sandwich spread. I mean, you're an add on to tomatoes and bacon, not Che Guevara.

But just as the Miracle Whip commercial was making me curse all advertising, I caught this little gem. Thank goodness for the PVR because I had to rewind it and watch it a second time to actually catch what the guy was saying and get the full meaning. A sign of good advertising if I ever saw one.

A Plague Upon Your House

I'm not sure what I've done to upset the Gods, but life around here over the last few days can best be described as "mucousy."

It became clear to me late last week that something was up with the cat when, after bumping into her back end, she hissed at me. I had also noticed that grooming in that area seemed to be a bit lacking. A visit to the vet revealed she had an abscessed gland - poor thing - which is now being treated with antibiotics. In the end it turned out to be nothing serious and is easily treated, but at the time it really sucked. Why? Because it just rubbed the whole unemployment situation right in my face.

After trying to examine the cat, but being unable to do so because she was in so much pain, the vet proposed a series of tests that might reveal the problem. I asked for an estimate before we proceeded. The plan included sedatives to do the physical exam, x-rays and blood work. All told, the proposed bill went as high as $800. I couldn't believe my eyes . . . and unfortunately they let the vet know as much when I started crying.

I hate it when that happens - a flood of unexpected emotions in front of total strangers - but the situation hit my like a ton of bricks. I mean, here I am, worried about my cat, wanting to do what's best for her, but seriously concerned about the price of the bill because of my financial situation. Don't get me wrong, we could afford to pay it if necessary, but it's a BIG unexpected cost. Luckily, I pulled it together, explained my situation to the vet and asked if we could do all the tests she proposed, but one at a time - just in case the first revealed the problem and the rest turn out to be unnecessary.

She was very understanding and, as it turns out, that's exactly what happened. X-rays and blood work not necessary. Whew! What a great feeling to be out of the woods.

Until two days later, that is, when I started to suspect that the goop in the corner of my kid's eye wasn't just sleep. And I was right - it was THE PINK EYE! Gah! I much prefer the official name - conjunctivitis - as it sound so nice and clinical and medical and professional (all my favourites). Pink eye reminds me of the scene from Knocked Up where they give each other pink eye from farting on each other's pillows.

Trust me when I say giving a toddler eye drops looks a lot more like a scene from The Exorcist than a hilarious, Seth Rogen frat boy flick.

Old Friends

I'm finding myself in a bit of a funk lately.

On the job front, things are steady but SLOW. Some days I have great conversations with people and get great contacts and leads, other days it feels like nothing productive is ever going to come of all my searching.

Normally when I get into a funk, I turn to fiction to escape - either movies or books. But I've hit a bit of a funk with books too of late. The recent book club selection - Late Nights on Air - was a flop. I really disliked it and didn't even bother to finish it. To make up for that loss, I picked up Water-Method Man and lo and behold, I've finally found a John Irving book I don't like. Who knew? Garp and Owen Meany, where are you? This Fred Trumper guy is a loser.

So instead I look for comfort in the familiar. In times like these, when I've got nothing to read but desperately need something to occupy my mind, I go back to two tried and true books I've read again and again and AGAIN (at least twelve and counting) that are guaranteed to put me in a better mood: Microserfs by Douglas Coupland and Heartburn by Nora Ephron.

I acknowledge these are no Pulitzer Prize winners. But they're easy, they're light and they make me feel better. I've read them so often that I know the dialogue by heart and it's like coming back to old friends. And this time around, what I needed most was something to dull my senses. Vodka for the soul, if you will. Enter Nora Ephron.

Say what you will of so-called "chick lit" or of Nora Ephron, but this book does a great job of making me feel better each and every time I read it. I mean, compared to a woman whose husband cheats on her when she's seven months pregnant, unemployment's a walk in the park.


*Extra-special trivia sidenotes:

1. The movie version of Heartburn stars Meryl Streep (LOVE HER!) and Jack Nicholson. Need I say more? I mean, how have you NOT seen this movie?

2. Heartburn is Nora's "fictionalized" retelling of her divorce to Carl Bernstein. Yes, THAT Carl Bernstein. OK, honestly, how are you not at Blockbuster or the library RIGHT NOW?

DIY

My husband and I have started watching Jamie Oliver's Ministry of Food and one thing I can say about JO is that guy's got passion. Getting people to eat well and cook for themselves is clearly something he cares a lot about and isn't just a put-on for his shows. Every time I watch him (or other people extolling the virtue of organic/100 mile/make-it-all-yourself food ) I get all fired up and want to become some healthy eating superwoman. I want to be a food saint.

But that feeling only ever lasts a day or two. The reality is I'm not perfect. I eat junk, I succumb to the lure of McDonald's now and then (more "now" than "then" lately). I don't buy organic, I use shortcuts in the kitchen (ever since my kid was born we've been buying pre-diced garlic. It's just so much easier!).

Sometimes it gets me down that I don't make more effort to be "perfect" in the kitchen, but I think I'm being too hard on myself. I think I'm a healthy middle ground between Jamie himself and the shlubs he always finds for his shows who eat nothing but takeout every day and whose diet is entirely beige. People who, in their late 50s, admit to never having cooked a thing in their lives. People who can't identify common veggies like broccoli. I may eat McDonald's, but I also make my own marinara sauce from scratch, thank you very much.

Earlier this week we were watching a recent episode where Jamie taught a few soccer hooligans (oups, I mean fans) to cook a chicken dish with asparagus and then had them teach each other. This morning, as we were putting together this week's meal plan, my husband turned to me out of the blue and said "I want to try that Jamie Oliver chicken thing." See - that guy can get anybody fired up!

We swapped out asparagus for green beans because that's what we had on hand and used dried thyme instead of fresh because I forgot to get the fresh. It was very, very tasty.

Jamie Oliver's Parmesan Chicken Breasts with Prosciutto

My version - served with green beans, salad and
store-bought potatoes (shame!) on the side.

Something To Look Forward To

During a recent conversation with family, I complained that there were no good movies coming out this summer. Well, OK, maybe I should say there are few of interest to me. I mean, Star Trek, Transformers, Terminator - can we get any more guy-centric?

Then my mother-in-law reminded me that Julie & Julia is coming out in August. How could I forget? Though I didn't read Julie Powell's blog at the time she wrote it, I did read her book and enjoyed it thoroughly. In case you don't know, Julie Powell hated her dead-end job and challenged herself to cook more than 500 recipes from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking over the course of one year. Interspersed throughout the book are fictional accounts of Julia Child's life based on family letters and her autobiography. It's a really cute, funny book.

So why am I so looking forward to this movie? Well, not only is it based on a book I enjoyed, and not only does it have a cooking theme I can relate to, but Meryl Streep (LOVE HER!) is playing Julia Child. In the words of Ina Garten, how bad can that be?

Say It With Sugar

Today is Father's Day and like most other gift-giving occasions, we kept things very simple around here. My husband and I often don't get each other gifts for such "holidays" or at best get each other small token gifts. This is largely due to:

1. our lack of needing more things
2. my damned unemployment
3. the now-waiting-in-purgatory plan to save for a house
4. our overall Scrooginess.

My token gifts often take the form of baked goods.

While I like to cook, I'm not a huge baker, so I use holidays and events as excuses to whip up my husband's favourite treats. Past gifts have included Nanaimo bars, Rice Krispie treats and the always popular lemon squares.

I was going to go for the tried and true lemon square again this year, but decided to be brave and try something different. It was time, I felt, to go where I'd never gone before and make my husband's all-time favourite goodie: doughnuts.

I was going to give Jamie Oliver's recipe a try, but it required yeast and hours of rising and kneading and let's just say I'm lazy. So I cracked out the good old Joy of Cooking and found a no-yeast recipe.

A few lessons were learned from my first doughnut making experiment (i.e. the longer you go about frying doughnuts, the hotter the oil gets, which means the last few doughnuts cook much faster than the first few . . . hello black doughnuts!) but all in all I think they turned out pretty good.

The whole batch - about two dozen

The purtiest two . . . mmmmmmm

Nostalgia, Geek Style

Yesterday, while heading into the subway, I passed by two young teen buskers playing classical music - one was playing violin and the other was playing cello. A small crowd of other teens was hovering around them.

I meant to zip right past them, but the piece they were playing sounded strangely familiar so I stopped to listen. It only took me a few seconds to place it . . . it was the theme song from the old Super Mario Brothers game. Very cool.

It's Back

The recent lack of posting or meal plan is thanks to a much needed break from life. Sounds stupid, I know, needing a break when I'm not even working, but job hunting is a soul-crushing, depressing, slow process. A week to someone looking to fill a job is nothing. A week to someone sitting at home by the phone power-eating their way through a bag of chocolate chips is an eternity. So I convinced my husband to take a few days off work (that and his boss said "you need to take some vacation or else!"), grabbed the kid and headed to Ottawa for an extra-long weekend of hanging with the folks.

One good thing that came out of the trip (aside from the rest, relaxation and free babysitting) was that I found the laundry card. That's right, the DAMN, STUPID laundry card! On the drive back to Toronto I was digging through my purse in search of something - what, I can no longer remember, but it was probably a half-used Kleenex to wipe my son's perpetually runny nose - and there in an inside pocket was the laundry card. The DAMN, STUPID laundry card.

Here's one of my favourite parts of being a parent: I'm going to blame the whole thing on my kid. And not just because it's fun to have a scapegoat who can't talk and therefore defend themselves, but because it's the truth! The evidence to support my accusation:

1 - I don't take my purse down to the laundry room - EVER. The only situation where I would is if I was planning on going out right after doing the laundry. But I lost the card on a Saturday morning, when my husband and son were upstairs waiting for me and I most definitely did not go out.

2 - My kid loves pulling things off of the front table where we store a cordless phone, the mail and the DAMN, STUPID laundry card.

3 - My kid loves to put things into other things. My husband is always finding toys, pieces of half-eaten snacks and other miscellaneous household items tucked into his work bag.

I rest my case.

Though we had to pay $10 for the replacement card, at least we now have a spare and we got the money back that was on the original card.

Could this mean more good luck is coming my way? Maybe a call about an interview? The New York Times is suddenly flush with cash and needs a Toronto-based correspondent? Sadly, I doubt it.

Warm Fuzzies

After the recent disappointing news that the California Supreme Court decided to uphold the ban on gay marriage, my heart was warmed yesterday by this news story of a gay penguin adoption.

Awwwww. I'm a sucker for stories involving animals stepping outside of the bounds of what is expected of them, like when a dog adopts an abandoned baby tiger or elephants and dogs become friends.

D'Oh

Could I be a naturally accident-prone person and just never realized it before? Or is my displeasure about being unemployed surfacing in subconscious ways?

Last night, while preparing dinner, I damaged one of my favourite mixing bowls. It was a stupid mistake that reads like a recipe:
1. Place chopped sweet potatoes in bowl, toss with olive oil, salt and pepper.
2. Dump seasoned sweet potatoes onto baking sheet.
3. Place baking sheet into preheated oven and innocently put bowl on stove burner while finish prepping the rest of dinner.
4. Wait 20 minutes.
5. Realize bowl - PLASTIC BOWL - has been placed on the stove's venting burner.

Sigh.

The bowl is just from IKEA and is nothing special, but I liked it because it was the perfect size and had the nice pour spout. I guess the silver lining is that I get a trip to IKEA out of the whole thing, right?

RIP bowl. We had some good times:
pancakes, cookies, popcorn. Oh, the popcorn.


A close up of the damage.

The burner suffered too, of course.
My husband's suggestion to let it cool and peel the plastic off
later was wise. Please ignore the dirtiness underneath.
Cleaning the stove is a project for later this week. No really, honest.

A Note on Meal Planning

You may have noticed I started posting our weekly meal plan. Perhaps to show just how neurotic I can be, perhaps to inspire. Either way . . .

I know it probably seems like a lot of work, but the truth is it actually makes my life so much easier. We started meal planning a few years ago when my husband went back to school to see if it could save us some money. Back then we'd just picked five random recipes and, to be honest, it didn't save us that much because we ended up with lots of ingredients that only worked for one meal and what was leftover was wasted.

Nowadays, meal planning is much more strategic. This week's a good example: Quiche used up the leftover eggs and bacon from last week's "breakfast for dinner" as well as the Asiago cheese from the "make your own pizza night." The cream needed for the quiche also goes in the Vodka Penne (a rose pasta sauce). Whole chickens were on sale and the leftovers can go in BBQ chicken pizza. Bell peppers are used in the fish as well as BBQ chicken pizza.

But, the thing about meal planning is that plans can go awry. Though chickens were on sale, the store sold out on the first day and never restocked. We ended up having takeout (sorry Terry!). Oh well. Otherwise we stayed on mark.

So how does this make my life easier? It eliminates the nightly trivia gamed called "what are we going to have for dinner" and for the most part means only one trip to the grocery store a week.

I also do my best to double one recipe a week and freeze the second portion so that on days when we're busy, dinner is already done. Our freezer is currently stocked with spaghetti sauce, vodka penne and chicken tortilla soup. I started doing this in preparation for being on mat leave and never stopped because it is so awesome.

In fact, the strange side effect is that I now feel uneasy if we don't have anything in the freezer. Yes, I've become a crazy person with a desperate need to stockpile food as if we're on the brink of war or a depression. Oh, wait a second . . .

AAAAaaarrrggg!

In today's very special episode of "Tales From the Laundry Room," our down-on-her-luck heroine continues to lose in the battle against the new laundry machine overlords.

Yes, the saga continues.

I have lost the card needed to use the laundry machines. After helping me tear the apartment apart, my husband said, in his usual casual manner, "Meh, life is too short to worry about a lost laundry card." While I usually appreciate his zen-like attitude, this time I respectfully disagree.

In fact, losing the card is a major pain in the ass for several reasons:

1- We've lost the $30 that was already loaded on the card. I think I've mentioned before that I'm cheap. And unemployed, right? So I'm sure you can imagine how overjoyed I am at needlessly losing money.

2- We can't do laundry without the card.

3- We use cloth diapers for our son. That's right. Now please see #2 again.

Let's just say things might start to get a bit ripe around here if it takes a while to replace this stupid card. If I disappear in a few days it's likely because we did get a replacement card, but when I opened the diaper pail the overwhelming stench caused me to pass out, hit my head on our concrete walls on my way down and die from a serious head injury.

See, a lost laundry card IS something to worry about.

You Look Marvelous

This morning, as I was taking my son to daycare, a woman got on the subway, sat across from us, pulled a large Ziplock bag out of her briefcase and proceeded to fix her face.

And I don't mean a little lipstick touch-up. I mean full-on morning makeup routine: concealer for the bags under her eyes, foundation, bronzer, and on and on and on. The worst part? In the six years I've been living in Toronto, this isn't the first time I've seen someone conduct their personal hygiene ritual in public. I've seen a woman clipping her nails on the subway and another putting her contact lenses on while ridding the bus. Never mind that she's in public - she's putting something in her EYE while on the BUS. Hello?!? Do people not understand how infectious diseases work? By getting people to put their dirty fingers in their mouths and noses and EYES! (shudder)

It never ceases to amaze me that people think it's acceptable to groom themselves in public. It isn't. Unfortunately, the fact that my son sat staring at her, mouth agape, the whole ride didn't cause her to clue in. I mean, he's just over a year old and even he knew it wasn't cool.

Playing Hostess

We had friends over for dinner this weekend and I (once again) broke the cardinal rule of entertaining: never try out a new recipe for the first time on guests.

For dinner we kept it casual and did make-your-own pizzas, but for dessert I made my first ever meringue topped with whip cream and berries. It's a Jamie Oliver recipe that should look like this:



Since I didn't take a picture of the one I made, we'll just say mine turned out exactly the same.

It was really easy to make and since I have one friend who doesn't like chocolate (I know, I know, I've tried to have him committed) and one who is gluten intolerant I think it's a great addition to my dessert repertoire. But next time I'd shorten the cooking time because I think it was a little overcooked. Mine had a slight golden tone vs Jamie's pristine whiteness and was a little dry at the edges. But it tasted really good, so that's all that matters, isn't it?

The recipe says it feeds eight to 10 people and when I plopped it down in front of our (two) guests we all laughed at how huge it was and how much we would have leftover. Four drinks later, and somehow the meringue had managed to disappear without anyone really being sure how it happened.

Rock On

Why is it that reality in the music world differs from reality in the real world? I was wondering this this afternoon as was washing dishes and listening to "Girl Watcher" by Big Sugar. Guys who talk like that in real life irritate me. I find them juvenile, sexist, etc. (i.e. "She's fine, at least from behind . . . ") And yet, here I am bopping away, singing every word.

Different side of the same coin: I often find myself attracted to men in music that I most definitely would not be attracted to in real life. A prime example is Trent Reznor.



He's physically attractive (I go for the skinny rocker look - though, he's not so skinny in this picture) and his music has tons of base so I'm immediately sold. But in real life? A somewhat gothy, angsty, recovering heroin addict? No thanks. In real life I go for serious, dependable working guys in suits. But still skinny.

What gives? I think it goes back to Chris Rock's theory about women and music: women will forgive anything, no matter how sexist or unappealing, if the music makes them move. Or as Chris more succinctly puts it: "if the beat's all right, she'll dance all night."

Food for thought.

Twit

I'm becoming an old lady. Maybe not in terms of chronological age, but in terms of attitude I'm right there. And I'm OK with that.

I only joined Facebook because an out-of-town friend taunted me relentlessly and after more than a year I still only have 34 friends. My younger brother, on the other hand, has 282 friends. In the Facebook world he is the rule, I am the exception. I guess I just don't get the appeal of being connected with people I haven't spoken to in 19 years or that I only knew for four minutes.

For the longest time I didn't really get Twitter either. Then I found this:

http://www.cbc.ca/arts/media/story/2009/04/06/f-twitter-great-moments-in-history.html

Not only is it funny, but (old lady confession) it’s the thing that finally helped me understand how Twitter works. I still don't GET it, but at least I now know what those crazy kids are talking about.

Gastronomical Experimentation

I'm cheap. Financially, that is. And if you're anything like me, the first thing you think when you get the axe is, SCREW YOU! But then the second thing you think is - what can we cut, where can we save?

The good thing about this whole situation is that we live a very modest lifestyle so we haven't been crippled by the loss of my salary. The bad thing is it means there isn't a whole lot to cut from the budget in an effort to save some cash.

Many moons ago - before the kid, the marriage and saving for a house - we lived a little differently. We were still in the same modest apartment and sans car, but we ate out more. Much, MUCH more. At the time, my husband was traveling for work and was away four days a week and I wanted to spend our few days together catching up and socializing instead of slaving away in the kitchen.

Then, a few years ago, the husband went back to school and we decided to nix our single biggest variable expense. The switch from mostly eating out to mostly eating in wasn't so bad and wasn't that hard - I love to cook and it means I get to stretch my cooking muscle. But pre-kid meal planning looks a little different than post-kid meal planning. Before the babe we would always make an effort to try one new recipe a week and our meal plan included Thai, Indian and Mexican dishes. Post-babe meal planning = frozen pizza.

But I'm starting to get back into the swing of good cooking. This weekend I tried to recreate my favourite dish from the nearby and insanely popular restaurant Grazie. A friend gave me the restaurant's cookbook for Christmas and I've been dying to test it out.

The first thing I noticed was that the recipe in the book neglected to mention chili pepper and I've eaten this dish often enough to know it has chili pepper in it. That was the first clue that the meal might not turn out exactly like it does at the restaurant. The second: I'm some shlump at home and not a professional cook.

Despite the chili oversight (which wasn't really a bad thing because it let the babe eat it with us) the dish turned out pretty well. I mean, nothing with bacon (or pancetta, in this case) can be bad, right? Bacon with everything, I say!

The cookbook's version

My attempt

The only adjustment I made this time around was to add some sugar to the tomato sauce to cut the acidity. Next time I might add the chilies to see how close I can get it to the restaurant version. That and to see how many diaper changes it causes in the babe. Watch out!

Karma

Ever feel the universe has it out for you?

In an effort to feel productive, I was going to tackle laundry today. Earlier this week, our apartment building switched things up and replaced the coin-operated machines with card-operated machines. Wouldn't you know it, the machine won't read my debit card.

There's nothing like having trouble with your bank cards while unemployed to make you feel like you're being kicked while you're down.

Welcome

So here I am, another casualty of the 2008/09 economy, back at home playing housewife again. A role, if I can be honest, I was SO happy to leave behind after playing it for a year while on mat leave. I am constantly hearing from other women how hard the transition was going back to work, how sad they were to not be the ones to take care of their babes all day long, etc. Not I. No, in the 1,000th application I’ve already filled out for the worst-mother-of-the-year award, I boldly stated that while I desperately love my son and enjoyed our time together, I was ready to go back to work. Ready to have something for myself. Ready to be able to go to the bathroom on my own schedule.

And it all went so well. He loved daycare, I loved being back at work and my biggest fears prior to returning proved groundless . . . leading up to the big day, I was filled with anxiety over how the timing of any given day would go. I mean, over my mat leave the apartment was in a constant state of mess and I was in a constant state of stress over the fact that it was so disorganized. So, if I could barely get the housework done while I was at home all day, how would I do it when I was at work for eight hours? The secret that no one tells you: when no one is home all day, no one is home to make a mess. Turns out the kid was causing all my housekeeping headaches and having him out was a big dose of Aspirin. Or maybe that’s only the case for worst-mother-of-the-year-award winners?

Things had gone so well being back to work – I was so happy, the apartment was mostly organized, food was cooked – that I now feel a bit purposeless being unemployed. So I thought maybe I’d give a personal blog a try. A release, if you will. A place to vent. An outlet for my writing – though I doubt it’ll be that creative.

I feel a bit silly not having a focus – I feel like there should be some theme to the blog like that woman who used her slowcooker every day for one year, or that Julie and Julia woman who’s now got a movie coming out. If only I had a focus then Nora Ephron would be knocking down my door, right? Maybe not. Who knows, maybe a theme will present itself later. Though it will come up a lot at first, I don’t really want unemployment to be the sole focus because I hope the blog will continue on after I find work and I hope to find work, um . . . yesterday! Feel free to suggest a theme. Running candidates: my hypochondria, my lack of understanding teenagers, my love of cooking, my love of vodka or my overall bitterness toward most other human beings, especially those who lack common sense.