Bury The Lead

So, Steve is seeing someone.

People I've told have asked me how I feel about it. I'm not sure what exactly I'm supposed to feel, but the way they ask always makes me think they're fishing to see if I'm jealous. I am not at all jealous, and that is the truth. I'm actually happy for Steve and glad he's found someone to spend times with, and as far as he goes I couldn't care less about the person he ends up with. Where I do have concerns is where my children come into contact with her.

See, I'm not a great snooper, but I did kind of get online and snoop around some photos on Facebook until I managed to find what I'm pretty sure is her profile. I know. I know I'm terrible. And she seems like a pretty normal, non-mean, nice person, and knowing that makes me feel justified in my little spy mission.

It's a big step, introducing a significant other to your kids. I know some people don't think twice about it and proceed as usual, letting their kids meet dates willy nilly, but our kids are young and they get attached to people. Both Steve and I wanted to be sure anyone we introduced them to would be around for awhile.

But it's getting harder and harder. Because introducing them to the person I'm seeing would make it much easier to see him. And I guess this is my way of formally announcing that I'm seeing someone. His name is Jason, and I like him a lot. I'm trying not to be too impulsive, but I like him a lot. He's been incredibly sweet, thoughtful, and helpful. We just need to hang on to the next step... and we're not quite there yet. It's hard to keep a poker face when all you want to do is grin and shout from the rooftops.

Runaway Train

So, last week Nick tried to run away.

We were on line at the grocery store, and Nick said he was excited about screen time, and I mentioned the fact that he had used up his screen time that morning, and also that he'd lost screen time for Sunday afternoon because the week before he threw a fit when I said it was time to turn everything off.

He didn't like that. And after the usual begging and pleading and protesting and expression of discontent, he said he was running away.

A lot of kids say they're running away. I ran away myself once, with my sister. She was angry and said she was leaving. She grabbed a sweatshirt and headed for the door, and I ran out the door with her.

That's me. I'm a rebel of the following sort.

We ran around the cul-de-sac and then went right back to the house, giggling about how everyone would be surprised when we got back. When we burst into the kitchen, the babysitter informed us that our rooms had been rented out.

I figured Nick's announcement was pretty much the same amount of bluster. So I played along.

I told him it would be pretty cold, and he should wear a coat and bring a blanket. I told him we'd miss him.

Then he came into the room and he looked like this:

This is when I started to really worry. Bursts of panic were seeping through the spaces in between my giggles. I needed advice, and I needed it fast. Not knowing what else to do, I posted a statement on facebook. It said Here's a question: one of my kids is running away from home. He has packed a suitcase, has a blanket, his DS, and his Doctor Who stress toy. And he's moments away from walking out the door. How long do I play along with this, and just how do I call his bluff?

I took the above photo and posted that on facebook. I told Nick I needed a picture of him to show the police, in case they came by, so we'd remember what he was wearing...

Then Nick headed out the door.

Nate was freaking out. Nate wanted to go with him, but it was 20 degrees. I said no.

I still figured Nick would make it up the driveway then turn around.

But he got there and kept going down the street.

This is when I really started to panic. Part of me wanted to let him go and get it out of his system, but we live on a busy street, and it was cold. I could follow him to make sure he was safe, but Nate and Andy couldn't be left alone. I could call for backup, but my cell phone was dead dead dead, and by the time I called anyone and explained Nick could be anywhere.

So I turned to Nate and told him to watch Andy while I headed after Nick.

I talked him back to the house, and he took a bath while I congratulated myself on my parenting skills.

Then he got out of the bath and what followed was four hours of yelling, screaming, threatening, tantruming, and tears on all sides.

We lived. We went to the therapist. We got a new plan. But I'm tired and worn out and scared because this is my kid's life and there are no do-over's.

I know this isn't an uncommon feeling. I read this blog entry from one of my favorites - worth a few visits.

How can something like this be so funny and so heart-wrenchingly scary at the same time?

Busy Busy Lazy Busy

There's so much I want to write about.

Most of the time I sit down in front of my computer and my mind goes blank. I can't remember anything I wanted to say.

Lately I've had lots of topics on my mind.

I just don't have time to sit down and write.

But oh, so many things have been buzzing and going on around here...

Like this: I've learned how to take Selfies! Usually when I'm in bed and too lazy to get up.

Schedule

Am I organized yet?

Immigration Simulation Day

They had an Immigration Simulation Day. For the third grade.

This means that Nate came home mid-November with a stack of papers. He had to put together a family tree. He had to pull together his heritage, which apparently means the countries you're from.

Not FROM from, but just from. Like way back. Many, many generations ago.  Where you had your roots. In case you are wondering, the teachers don't think it's funny when you ask if New Jersey counts. Tennessee doesn't count either.

Nate had to pack a bag - not one with cartoon characters, or anything too brightly colored - to bring with him on his simulation boat trip across the simulated ocean. It had to have just a few objects, something to remind him of his "home" country, and a snack - nothing that would spoil during the long journey.

Nate was in tears looking for a bag that would be old enough. He stressed looking for a special object to remind him of his nation of origin. As I sorted through piles of pokemon and bakugan, I wondered aloud if we should try and convince everyone we had roots in Japan.

We also had to find Nate an outfit for his trip. Nothing too modern - the flyer the teacher provided assured us that boys should be in dark pants, preferably not jeans, and no modern graphics on the T-shirts please.

Then we got the chance - and this is so exciting it made me want to scream - to choose a special dish from our countries of origin to make and bring in for the immigration simulation workshop. I admit, I started wondering who exactly this simulation was for, and which one of us was actually a member of Mrs. M's third grade class...

I couldn't go to the simulation. I was working, and these things invariably take place during the work day. But I did get a good snapshot of him in his immigration clothing.

Lost In A Good Book

I haven't read a book in ages.

I used to have three or four going at once, and when I was tired of reading one, I'd dogear the page and pick up a different one.

I read doing everything - going to sleep, waking up, rocking babies, cooking... I read in the bath. I'd even tried to read in the shower. I'd even tried to read on the treadmill, but the words were too bouncy.

I can't tell you when I stopped, really. I think it was about the time I got my ipad. Suddenly I was playing games, and they were stupid games. Sure, I had books on the iPad, and I read some of those, but mostly I watched TV.

When Steve and I first split I read a lot of stupid E-books. In my head they don't count, because they were mostly poorly written romances with terrible typos and bad grammar. Many of them had horrible plots and dialogue that made me laugh out loud. But at 3am, they kept me sane. 

But these days, I do watch a lot more TV than before.

It's because I can't read while I fold laundry or do dishes. I can't read while I clean the house and change the sheets.

I got so many books for Christmas. And I love them all.... well, I'm excited about reading them all. I have a huge stack of them piled up, and I want to get sucked in to every single one of those marvelous worlds...

But I need to find the time. I need to make the time. I need to figure out what happened to make me unable to get lost in a good book...

One Last Night

This is it. Christmas break is officially over.

It was hardly a break for me. I was working most days. But even so, I didn't have to pack lunches in the mornings, I had a very light commute, and for the most part the boys were with Steve, so I had evenings to relax in (or do laundry in, but still...)

Tonight after dinner I asked the boys to shut off their screens and get ready for bed, and the realization hit. Tears were shed, complaints were made, and we reached a verdict: School Sucks.

It just does. Sorry. You have to sit there and pay attention to stuff you don't care about, do work you hate, and no one is paying you for it. Maybe people pick on you in the halls. Maybe you hate the horrible cafeteria food. Then you go home and it's still not done because you have to do the HOMEwork they give you, and study for tests on the stuff you don't care about. And it's hard and uncomfortable and so exasperating.

Today I marked up the schedule with the events of the month. I posted the boys' individual schedules - the days they have gym or library, so sneakers will be worn and books returned. I posted the rotating instrument schedule so the flute and the violin have a better chance of being there on the days they are needed. I posted individual index cards with events so unusual they'd be forgotten... Student Council meeting 8am Wednesday. Basketball 10:30 Saturday.

It wasn't a vacation for me. I was working. But these are things I didn't have to do or deal with for a couple of weeks, and now  will be dealing with them again.

Tomorrow morning, wake to alarm (6:30 of sleep if I fall asleep right now.) Work out. Get the boys awake. Feed them. Clean up after them. Pack snacks / lunches. Shower while supervising boys getting dressed (which means getting walked-in on three or four times in the shower.) Get the boys on the bus. With backpacks. And snacks. And library books and / or gym sneakers and / or instruments. And sheet music. And school folders. Rush for car the moment children are gone and spend 30 minutes doing a 10 minute drive.

I can do this.

Resolutions - 2015

This new year, I resolve to...

loose weight
get back in shape
dress better
take better care of my skin
keep a cleaner house
buy less stuff
keep up with the laundry more
eat better food
read more books
take more baths
breathe more deeply
help more people
spend more time with my kids
prioritize kids over cleaning
play more games with the boys
in a messy house
eating pizza and ice cream and fried apples
and maybe drinking wine

It Came Without Ribbons... It Came Without Tags... But was it any good?

One of the reasons I brought back this blog is because I didn't make it through Christmas without it.

This was a tough Christmas for many reasons. It's actually the second Christmas since Steve and I split up, so although that's still hard emotionally and scheduling-wise, we did have last year to fall back on. But this was my first holiday as a working mother, and that, THAT, made things very difficult.

It's not like my workplace didn't recognize the season. It did, actually, far before I was ready for it. There were a number of organized gift buying efforts for needy families and needy children. There were gift swaps and holiday parties and everyone gave everyone else small token gifts...

But I wasn't buying it.

I wasn't feeling it.

I was struggling to find time to buy a tree, put up the tree, decorate the tree. I ordered holiday cards and accidentally ordered only one. I didn't know what to get anyone. Including my own children.

And I wasn't blogging.

When people asked me what the kids wanted I threw together an email and forwarded that email to a number of people. Over the years I'd developed a system over this blog where I could add to the list and delete anything I knew was purchased. That helped keep duplicates at bay...

People told me what they were getting the boys, but I was either confirming that the boys had asked for those gifts, or not hearing anything at all because all I could think about was the fact that I had decided to make 30billion cookies as gifts for everyone in the world this year...

And some people told me what they had already gotten the boys. And sometimes I already knew those were duplicates. But I wasn't entirely sure what to do about that. Do I tell the gift giver that those gifts need to be returned and something new purchased for my precious baby boys? Do I go back out myself and buy new things, even though I could barely scrape up enough time to go shopping the first time? Neither seemed like good choices, and so I let it go, reasoning that some of these items were useful to have plenty of. That the boys have two homes now so they could keep toys in two places. That we could keep things quiet and not hurt any feelings.

I also didn't have a lot of time to spend at home. One day was all I had, between work and the boys' play rehearsal. Some people thought I was crazy for attempting to make the drive home for one day, but I felt like I was failing at so many other things that I didn't want to give it up. I was trying to do everything, to see everyone...

Well, I tried not to let anyone feel slighted. I tried to keep things casual and light and non-stressful because I already had stress thickly bleeding out of my ears, but not everyone can take these things with a grain of salt. So not only did I fail in the holiday card department, the decorating department, the time-spent department, and the gift giving department, I seemed to have failed in the joy-of-the-season department and I humbly apologize to those people (everyone)  I inconvenienced and / or hurt with my lack of communication. It was a rehearsal. I'll do better next year, for the real performance.

It's just that I wasn't feeling Christmas this year. Even now, after all the gifts have been opened and the dry pine needles are raining off the branches of our tree, I feel as though I skipped it. I missed it. I never caught that Holiday Spark.

Maybe for a few moments. At church. During the Christmas Eve service when we were all singing carols in the dark, candles lit, and the director stopped playing the organ... it was just our voices in the vast old space, warm with bodies close to bodies, and a certain kind of hope and belief in new things.

Next year, things will be different.

Old Friends

So... I let this blog go by the wayside.

I didn't mean to. It wasn't an intentional thing... at first. It's just that it was getting harder and harder to write things down. I was stretching more and more to find interesting things to say. The blog... this blog... it knew everything about me already, and I'd run out of interesting things to say.

I've had a number of close friends in my life, and most of them, many of them from my 20's, I imagines I would have as close friends for the rest of my life. I imagined living in the same town, raising our children together. If one of us needed time off for a date night, or shopping, we'd simply pick up the phone. In an emergency, we could drive each other's children to and from school. Our kids would play together in our backyards. We would spend long, lazy summer nights chatting while the kids splashed in the sprinkler. I know, it sounds insane, but I honestly believed this would happen.

It's not that I ever changed my mind about that. I still love these people. I haven't hung out with many of them recently, but I like to think that, if I did, I would still love them. We would still laugh together and be kind to one another. 

One day, we just spoke to each other a little less. One day we spent a little less time thinking about each other. We started turning down invitations so that we could do other things... and then one day we forgot to invite the other person at all... Or maybe one of us got very busy and simply filled her life with other things...

You think about calling, maybe, but as the days go by it just gets more and more awkward until finally you realize that, if you did call, you probably wouldn't have anything to talk about. You need a reason to pick up the phone. And unfortunately, you don't have one.

And then suddenly you find out one of your friends has had another child and you hadn't realized it. Or you go to send holiday cards and you realize you don't know your friend's address... Maybe you try to think back to the last time you spoke and you realize it's been years. Years. 

Can you still call someone a good friend if you haven't spoken to them in years? 

I sort of have feelings like that about this blog. I used to write every day. Every single day. For years.

And then... well.. I stopped writing. I stopped knowing what to say. 

That's when I actually made the choice to stop writing.

I'm taking it back.

I'm not done writing. I miss it. I have things I would like to say.

I like to think this says something about me. I like to think it means I won't stop thinking of my old friends as good friends, and that, eventually, I can be better and call them up and spend some real time with them. It takes a little time and a little effort and, if you're me, it may take a little planning, but it's worth it.

Sunday Reading

Like Cooking, but with Kids!

There are a ridiculous number of people in the world who believe that children should help in with the cooking.

Seriously, I remember being a kid and making Christmas cookies with my mom. I remember it well because there was this really odd shape of cookie cutter and I had no idea what it was, kind of a lumpy thing, and I liked using it to cut shapes out of the dough, and then I would eat the dough. My mother flipped out a bit, then chased us all from the kitchen so she could actually put some cookies in the oven, and so we would die from eating raw eggs. (by the way, the cookie cutter was a camel. I never understood what a camel had to do with Christmas, but that's because I was a heathen and camels didn't pull the sleigh.)

I've tried to get my kids interested in cooking. The books say you can... the many many cookbooks for children, most with large sections that say "GET MOMMY TO HELP YOU CUT THE CARROTS!" Made for children who are dumb enough to eat radishes just because they are peeled and placed on a plate in the shape of someone's hair. My kids are too smart for that, people. Put fruit on a pancake and guess what? It's still fruit. Only now it's ruined the pancake.

Anyway, I have my moments where I try to let the kids help. "You can get a four year old to tear the lettuce!" it says, larger-than-life smile implied in the tone of the font.

So a couple of years ago, in some strange moment of weakness, I purchased a monster cook book. It has things like mummy meatloaf and potato skins disguised as yeti claws. But it also has a few gross desserts. I let the boys each pick an item to make. Andy chose something called "Trifle With Death."

Before pouring in the lime jello, the vanilla pudding, or the marshmallows, the first step is to tear up a sponge cake. I figured if I four year old could tear lettuce, my three kids could tear up a sponge cake.

"Is this piece big enough?" Nick asked, holding up a crumb the size of a raisin.
"It says one inch pieces," I said.
blank looks.
"A little bigger, like this," I said, holding up a piece about the size of a large grape.
"Is this big enough?" Nick asked, holding up a crumb the size of a raisin.
"No," I said.
"Like this? Like this? IS this good?" as all three boys needed me to approve every single pinched morsel of squashed sponge cake that went into the dish.

It was slightly insane.

The boys ate half the marshmallows. They were really impressed with the jello. And the pudding, which was stirred for about three seconds before the boys gave up.

The concoction is now in the fridge until tomorrow, when we get to sprinkle the top with crushed oreos and gummy worms. And gummy eyeballs, if we can find them before then. I'm afraid, and already feeling slightly ill.

The Dark

Maybe it's because it's been raining the last couple of days, but it's been dark.

Yes, overcast and rainy, but not just that.

When my alarm goes off in the morning, it looks like the middle of the night. It's still dark out.

When I leave work, before 5pm, the sky is already darker, the sun already going down.

Day are shorter.

Nights are longer.

I'm just commenting: It's hard to get out of bed. Harder. Than before.

How To See Your Doctor

The other day I had an issue come up. A medical issue. A "lady" issue. Something of a sensitive nature. And without going into details, I decided that I should probably make an appointment to see my OB/GYN.

So Friday morning I picked up the phone and called. This wasn't an easy decision to make because I'm not 100% sure where I stand on health insurance, and also any time I take off from work I don't get paid for. Also, I'm trying to do a great job at work so they will hire me, and that doesn't happen when you're in a doctor's waiting room.

When I was a kid, my mom would pick up the phone and dial for the doctor's office, and the doctor would get on the phone. "Hi Fred!" she'd say. "It's Jean. Another one of the kids is complaining of a sore throat." Then our doctor would say, "Probably caught the strep. I'll call in a prescription for that one, and may as well do the other two, also. They'll probably get it sooner or later."

I got the scheduling lady who listened to my brief description and made me an appointment. "With Dr. B. at ten fifty in Derry," she said. "I'm sorry," I said. "Did you say ten fifty? As in ten five zero? In Derry?" And she said,"Yes, ten five zero, ten fifty, in Derry."

And ten I left for work, happy that my issue would be taken care of.

At ten thirty I left work and drove tot he office. I walked in and gave my name. "Oh, Kathleen," a pretty blonde nurse said. "You're actually scheduled to see Dr. B. at 10:50 in the Bedford office."

Now I've been here before. I can't remember if I blogged about it, but this spring I actually went to the Derry office to see my General Practitioner and it turned out I was supposed to be in a different office. But since then I've been careful. Very careful.

"No," I said. "The lady said Derry. I know she said Derry."

I don't know what I expected. Maybe some sort of acknowledgement that I was not the one at fault, and since they messed up, to just let me have a 10:50 appointment?

"Would you like me to see what the rest of the day looks like in Bedford?" the pretty blonde nurse asked.

"I can't go to Bedford," I said. "I have to get back to work."

"You can wait here and see if we can fit you in later?" she said.

I stood there looking at her. I was actually struggling not to cry, because I was embarrassed, mostly because all the office people and the other people in the waiting room were obviously so embarrassed for me.

"Do you know how long?" I asked.

"We don't," she said.

I opened my eyes wider. "Time frame?" I asked. "Twenty minutes? An hour? Three hours?"

I waited for an hour and then walked out, heading back to work. Before I left I let the pretty blonde nurse know I was leaving and would try again on Monday, three days later. "She really did say Derry," I said as I walked out, holding back tears. Because I could hear them talking about me as I sat in the waiting room, feeling sorry for me, or laughing, or rolling their eyes because I was one of THOSE people who couldn't keep office locations straight.

When I got home there was a message on my home machine from the scheduling lady, apparently left five minutes after I hung up the phone and dashed off to work. "Your appointment will be with Dr. B in Bedford, so she'll see you at 10:50 in Bedford," she said by way of correction. Too bad I work until five.

This morning I got an email from the office.

The last time I'd been in for a regular visit, I had signed up for some online system the office had adopted. But I'd never used it. This one was telling me I had a message.

I was curious to see if it would be something personal. Maybe someone saying they were sorry for the confusion.

I was at karate, on my phone, but I didn't have anything else to do, so I clicked the link in the email to try and sign myself in.

I did a quick search of my email and found the one from the same service that provided me with my user ID.

Then I tried clicking the link. The link opened up a webpage asking me how I wanted to sign in. Google? Yahoo? Facebook? (why would anyone use Facebook for medical records?)

I tried Google. Because I have a google account.

But Google did not want to let me in, because Google had no idea who I was, even though I used the correct password.

I got an email. It was from Google. "We think your account was being hacked! Someone tried to log in! If it wasn't you, please change your password!"

Only it was me, and the email didn't say what to do if it WAS me and they still wouldn't let me in.

I gave up and waited until I got home.

At home I was finally able to find a way in without google.

I found that I had an unpaid bill. I found an email saying congratulations for signing up. I found that they'd downloaded all of my visits onto this system. And I found that they said I had two cancelled appointments from Friday. As though I'd simply just cancelled them. One from 11:10 in the office I had been sitting in, until 11:30.

I still have my medical issue, by the way. And I have to go back on Monday. I hate them.

I Would Like Some Wine

I don't really think that title needs any further elaboration, do you?

It's self explanatory.

But I shall not, because I have self control. And because I need to get up in the morning. And because I'm too darn tired to drag myself out to whatever store one goes to and purchase said wine.

Of course, I also want ice cream.

Ice cream is also full of calories. If I had ice cream, I would also feel guilty, same as the wine. I wouldn't get drunk, though. Which is a plus. Or a drawback, depending on how you look at it. Still, Ice cream is tasty and wonderful and maybe I could talk myself into going to the store for that.

Then again, as long as I'm going out anyway, and as long as I'm at the store... well, the wine is Right There. I could pick up a bottle, as I'm out anyway. A bottle of something dry, to pair with the ice cream.

So now I've gone from being strong and healthy and all denying the bad stuff and eating cucumber slices to having wine and ice cream.

But I don't care because at least I'm happy. And slightly drunk.

Now is the time...

This has happened to me several times over the past few weeks.

I makes plans to meet someone. Could be anyone. An old friend, a friend from church, a date, just a person. Usually a person.

As the meeting time approaches I might get a wee bit... not excited, exactly. Lifted? What you feel when you're looking forward to something, but it's not Christmas. What is that word? Anticipation? Buoyant? You get the idea. The point is I don't get out much, and these meetings are a welcome break.

And then, the day before, or the morning of, or an hour or two before, the other person will cancel.

The other person isn't being mean or malicious. Something else has come up, something that makes meeting with me inconvenient, or uncomfortable, or downright impossible. "I'm so sorry!" the person will say. "When can we reschedule? When's the next time I can see you?"

And this is why they are selling calendars for 2015 already. For people like me.

"What are you doing six weeks from now?" I ask.

I know, I'm booking so far ahead. I must have such a social life.

Wait.

Wait, no.

No, I don't.

The truth is my free time is so, so limited and rare that it runs out quickly. I mean, I have a weekend free every 2 weeks. That's 2 nights every 2 weeks that I am able to spend as I wish. Yes, I get a floating night during the week, and that night is usually Wednesdays. But Wednesdays is choir night, and nobody dares take that away from me.

So 2 nights every 2 weeks.

"Why don't you get a sitter?" some people might ask.

Well, in some cases I have, and I've shelled out the $40 it takes to go right from work to dinner and then drive home. But seriously, sitters are expensive. And my kids need pants.

The sad part is, I find myself home alone on these nights more often than not, and during vast portions of the day. I end up feeling lonely and depressed. "I should have made plans," I tell myself. And then I remember - I did!

The stupid part is, I spend a lot of time feeling guilty for being so difficult to make plans with. "I'm so sorry!" I say. "I know, I'm so difficult!" But hell, I'm not going to Yoga all week long. I'm not hard to meet with because I'm going to the gym, or getting my nails done. I've got my kids, for crying out loud! I shouldn't be feeling guilty! I'm not the one changing plans last minute!

The thing is, a lot of the time I don't try to make plans with people because I feel like I've already got them. And then the person cancels and I'm alone eating cereal out of the box and watching reruns of The Mindy Project.

What I should be doing is making tons and tons of plans. I should make plans with everybody! And then, an hour or two beforehand, I won't care if someone cancels. "I was going to have to back out, anyway," I can say. "I have all these other things planned." And  then I'll take a look at all the remaining possibilities and make my choice, and cancel on everyone else.

Picture Day

Another Sunday Afternoon

I am always doing freakin' laundry.

If you want to know what I did at any given moment during any weekend, it's laundry. We really don't need to go into any more detail.

Return Of Winter

The nights are coming earlier and earlier, and lasting longer and longer each morning.

The leaves are very gradually changing colors, blushing yellow and orange.

And the cold is creeping into the house at night, reminding me that the storm windows need pulling down.

To keep heating bills down, and myself warm, I spent last winter wearing my bathrobe to bed. It was an accident at first, but I was so cozy I just kept doing it.

Last night was the first night I did it this year. It's getting colder.

Know Thyself

I found this recipe for Baked Butternut Squash & Gouda Tortellini.

It looked so yummy. I immediately thought to myself, "I want to make that."

I don't cook as much as I used to. For one, food is expensive. At least good food is expensive. Also, it takes time to cook. Time is something I don't have. Boys are in bed at 8pm. I get home from work a little after 5pm. Squeeze in to those three hours some karate, homework, baths, and any quality time I spend with the boys that day, and what's left is about five minutes. Not long enough to make a five course meal.

I promise myself one recipe a week. One night a week I can try something new, or make something "fancy" that takes more than fifteen minutes.

This past week it was the butternut squash tortellini.

I started cooking and I had all the optimism in the world.

This brings me to my point... there is a huge difference between wanting to COOK something, and just wanting to EAT it.

I overcooked the squash. I almost missed the vegetable stock entirely. I didn't measure the cheese. I almost forgot the onion. Halfway through the process Nick walked in and crumpled his face up. "You know nobody's going to EAT that, right?"

I made it anyway.

I made huge mess that I needed to clean up. The end result was a completely different color than the picture. I still ate it, mind you. The boys refused, but I didn't really think they would, anyway.

Like I said, a huge different between wanting to COOK it, to actually slice, roast, sautee, puree, etc. and just wanting to order it off of the menu. "That looks good!" I say to myself. "I want to make that!"

But I don't want to make it. I don't want to actually make it at all. I want to eat it. I want to order it. I want to enjoy it, and I want to not slave over it and struggle with it and have it come out with half the ingredients and the wrong color.

I felt like I learned something about myself. It's not that I don't like to cook. Under the right circumstances, I do. When it's not so stressful. When I have adventurous tasters. When I have time and don't feel rushed. THEN I like to cook. Not when I have 40 minutes for a recipe that says it takes 40 minutes (it lies) and the kitchen just got clean.

I will never cook again, I say.

24 hours later I'm flipping through Facebook and run across this: White Beans With Kale. I'm not even 100% sure what polenta is.

And I thought - Wow. I want to make this.