Friday Flashback: Protein Comes in Many Forms

This afternoon, in a Theraflu-induced stupor, I accidentally ate a bowl of chicken noodle soup. I say accidentally because; I am observing the Lenten ritual of meatless Fridays and, the last time I checked, chicken was a form of meat. Whoops.

 As I said, I blame the Theraflu.

In an effort to redeem myself, I have managed to avoid meat for the remainder of the day and, for dinner tonight, I will be eating a salad which, reminds me of the time that I was hugely pregnant with The Teenager and, craving a salad from the local supermarket salad bar.

Being a good sport about my cravings, Hugh drove us to the supermarket and patiently waited as I assembled the perfect salad; he even had the good grace to look the other way when I spooned crumbled blue cheese over the entire thing plus a ladle-full of blue cheese dressing, nor did he bat an eye at the mega-pile of croutons I casually tossed on top (I was eating for two!).

Once we got home, I made myself comfortable on the couch, balancing the salad container on my (sizeable) belly and, went to town. Midway through the salad, I took a bite of something crunchier and more bitter than I expected, chalked it up to a healthier than usual piece of arugula and continued shoveling the salad into my pie-hole.

Hugh asked me a question a few seconds later and, I paused with the fork midway to my mouth to answer him. When I happened to glance down at the fork seconds before placing it in my mouth again, I saw this

waving its’ antennae at me from a blue-cheese coated leaf of lettuce.

Only, due to its’ proximity to my face, it looked more like this

Which is when it dawned on me that, the unusually bitter and crunchy piece of arugulaI had just swallowed was probably nothing of the sort but, instead; a cousin or other kissing-kin of the humongous bastard insect upon my fork.

There was screaming and, I’m not too proud to admit; some vomiting.

WhileI did eventually get over the avoidance of salads born that day, I never quite got over my distrust of salad bars in general and now prefer to make my own salads at home. Also, if I ever think about how well I would do on Survivor, I need only recall the taste and sensation of biting into that creepy green bastard and I have no doubt whatsoever that I would royally suck at the food challenges.

So, no Survivor in my future, obviously.

I Feel Shitty, Sung to the Tune of I Feel Pretty from the Musical West Side Story

I feel shitty, oh so shitty! So shitty and awful and baaaad…

I have a chest cold which, in a chest as large as mine, is a pretty rotten thing. I have a sore throat, am coughing up large pieces of what I am hoping is phlegm but, in all honesty, could be the lining of my lungs and; the fluid in my chest actually bubbles when I take in a deep breath. The skin around my nose is raw and chaffed from blowing and my eyes are glassy and gummy at the same time.

I am a biological freak show. And, pretty. Oh, so pretty.

And, probably contagious which means that I should do our employees a favor by staying away from them for the duration of my illness; preferably on a tropical island with a drink in my hand, a drink served in a hollowed-out coconut with a colorful umbrella.

Or, you know; I could make a comfy little spot on the couch and drink Theraflu from a mug with a chipped rim. Either way.

Unfortunately, neither scenario will work out for me today because I have work to do at the store. Tomorrow isn't looking too good for rest and recuperation either; the Man-Cub has his first wrestling tournament and my pee-wee wrestler wrangling skills are required.

So, I will just have to pull on my big girl panties and deal with it, starting with an hour and a half massage later this afternoon, a shot of Nyquil prior to bedtime tonight and some Baileys in my coffee tomorrow morning.

So, yeah, I feel shitty, oh so shitty! So shitty and awful and baaad…

Also, I cannot carry a tune when I’m healthy so, you can imagine how badly I am singing now.

Free At Last, Free At Last! Thank God, I'm Free at...Oops! Not So Fast

The baseball Board of Directors recruitment blitz was a success; several new members joined our group and I was finally able to resign my position at tonight’s meeting. While I will no longer be required to attend every meeting, registration event, fundraiser and work session, I will still volunteer a fair amount of time as a Team Mom which means; I will still be expected to stir a crock-pot of neon colored faux cheese on occasion.

I can live with that.

Naturally, once I announced my release from indentured servitude and all the extra free time that entailed; The Teenager informed me that she was interested in playing AAU basketball. Bye, Free Time! It was nice meeting you, briefly.

To recap: Time gained by leaving the Baseball Board minus time spent in the bleachers watching league basketball multiplied by the number of hours spent in the gym watching wrestling tournaments plus the Sundays spent on the road with the volleyball team equals no additional free time for Mommy.

On the other hand, we will be getting our money’s worth out of the $70 stadium seats purchased from the High School Booster Club last spring.

Glass half full and all that crap.

Fourteen

Fourteen years ago at this time, I was in a hospital bed getting acquainted with my brand new daughter. I had labored with her for the better part of thirty-six hours and was exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. As I held her soft weight in my arms, I marveled at the perfection of her tiny nose, her bow-shaped mouth and her delicate eyelids, fringed with lashes so thick and long; a super-model would weep with envy.

She was not yet two hours old and, already, I had promised her the world or; as much of it as I could possibly give her. I promised to be her biggest fan, staunchest ally, best friend, most aggressive defender and most constant support.

In return, she cracked open one eyelid, yawned and filled her diaper with a biological specimen worthy of a much larger child and, just like that; the adventure began.

Today, I kidnapped that baby from school and took her out to lunch and on a shopping spree at the mall. We enjoyed a relaxed day together and, just like I did fourteen years ago, I marveled at her perfection. I told her how proud I am of her accomplishments, how much I enjoy the person she is becoming and how grateful I am to be her mother.

In return, she cocked one eyebrow and snorted in disgust.

It was like déjà vu.

Minus any sign of biohazardous materials in her underwear.

Thank god.

Dear Winter,

Your diabolical plan to ruin my weekend by dumping six inches of snow on our area was an epic failure.

 Sure, the Man-Cub and I weren’t exactly thrilled about having to shovel the driveway (twice) since Hugh was in Denver at the state wrestling tournament and, no, my parents didn’t exactly love driving through near white-out conditions to reach us but; they made it here and we had a great weekend despite your antics.

In fact, it was one of the best weekends we have had in a while and, not just because The Teenager’s basketball team won their end-of-season tournament in a nail-biter of a game that came down to a final free-throw to win it, although; that was pretty damn sweet.

We also braved the ice and snow to drive to Neighboring City for her volleyball tournament on Sunday and, while they didn’t win there, the team certainly kept us all entertained, especially when they were pitted against the only boy’s team in attendance and made comical use of their feminine wiles to distract them from their game play.

And, while their efforts at distraction by flirtation may not have exactly proven successful, they certainly had a good time trying and, made a few new friends in the process.

Also, your late-afternoon hissy-fit mountain blizzard failed to prevent Hugh from traveling back from Denver in time to join us for the final volleyball game or from joining us for dinner at The Olive Garden so; I do believe your efforts were futile this weekend.

And, if my parents can’t make it home today because you have screwed up the roads between here and Mayberry, the joke is on you because; we’d rather they stay, anyway.

So, take that, winter!

Suck it!

Friday Flashback: Flintstones Chewables Do Not Belong in a Pez Dispenser

Many afternoons of my childhood were spent at my friend, Nancy Rominger’s , house, jumping on her trampoline or playing in an old fishing boat that had been permanently dry-docked in her parents’ garage.

One of our favorite games, whether on the trampoline or in the boat, was a game we made up and which we called Jaws, in honor of the movie of that same title.

The game was simple, one of us was the shark and one of us was the poor sucker who was doomed to fall off the boat, right into the gaping jaws of the Great white. Blood-curdling screams and shrieks of faux-pain featured heavily in the game and, even though neither of us had actually seen the movie; we were confident that we had the story down right.

When I was nine or ten, the movie was finally scheduled for network television release and, I was stoked. Not only had I read the book (discovered in a cardboard box at a yard sale, twenty-five cents!) but; I had the game and, despite a love-hate relationship with the rubber bands operating the hinges on the shark’s jaws (things were a bitch to hook on), I was an expert at retrieving objects from the inner most depths of that plastic shark’s belly.

I was a fan of Jaws, is my point.

The show aired on a Saturday which was, coincidentally, my mother’s grocery shopping day. On that particular Saturday, my mother made an unusual purchase; Flintstone’s Vitamins. I had never had Flintstone’s before, actually, I had never taken any type of vitamin supplement before so; I was understandably intrigued by the bottle of tiny cartoon characters and, I ate one.

And then, another.

And, I sorted the characters into piles; Fred here, Wilma there, Pebbles and BamBam together (the way they were meant to be) and Dino off to the side. I counted each pile, I acted out several scenes from the cartoon, using the appropriate characters and, little by little, I consumed the entire bottle of vitamins.

Not being completely stupid, I hid the empty bottle from my mother and went about preparing my space on the living room floor for the showing of Jaws.

Opening credits rolled.

A naked lady entered the surf.

A fin sliced through the inky glass surface of the water.

Dun, dun. Dun, dun, dun, dun….

My meddling sister discovered the empty vitamin bottle and totally narked me off to my mother who flew into a panic, called the doctor and, upon hanging up the phone, informed me that I was, and I quote; GOING TO DIE.

Unless…I threw up the vitamins immediately which, didn’t take a great deal of effort given how freaked out I was about the whole DEATH IS IMMIMNENT thing.

To make a long story short (too late!), I spent the remainder of the evening hunched over the bathroom toilet, spewing psychedelic colored Flintstones’ chum into the abyss.

When my mother was satisfied that I had purged the entire contents of my stomach, if not the entire contents of the vitamin bottle, she calmly informed me that she had lied; I wasn’t likely to die. On the other hand, she said, I had learned a valuable lesson.

And, she was right, in fact, I learned two:

1. Medicine is not to be eaten like candy.

2. Fear is a powerful motivator.

For the record, it would be years before I saw Jaws in it’s’ entirety.

Also, for the record, the smell of Flintstones vitamins makes me nauseous to this very day.

I Wonder If Muzzling the Children Would Be Considered a Chargeable Offense

I should probably check with my girlfriend, who works for Social Services, to be sure. In the meantime, surely a little duct tape couldn’t hurt, right? I mean, I’m trying to watch Survivor and The Teenager will. Not. Shut. Up.

So far, I have heard every detail of every offense given her today (Meeelions), a replay of each conversation she had, in its’ entirety and; I have been forced to listen to a running dialogue between her and her brother who, come to think of it, is also quite the chatty Cathy this evening.

Ordinarily, I love conversing with my offspring. I welcome animated exchanges with them and can be counted on to hold up my end of the conversation but, right now; me no want talkie-talkie!

So, yeah, muzzling; pro or con? Discuss.

But, quietly; I am watching Survivor.