Maybe I Watch the Food Network a Little Too Much

Yesterday, I served dinner.  It was standard pasta rigatoni with butter, a touch of cheese and green beans on the side.  Admittedly, I used paper plates since no one including me was feeling too up on doing the dishes. 

My five year old said, "Thank you chef." and after blessing, took a delicate bite of pasta.  She raised her hand and said, "Chef, could you come  here a moment?"  She then explained that maybe her dish had a little too much salt.  "Did you taste the food before you served?" she asked giving an Iron Chef judge type searing look into my eyes.  I was waiting for her to say, "Please pack your knives and go." when she then was overridden by her younger (YOUNGER) sister, three weeks from four.  "I think it's very good pasta.  The sauce is nice."  she explained. 

"You could have added shrimp. It would have been even better with a touch of shrimp." my eleven year old son suggested.

"And it would look better and be more appetizing if it was served on real plates." my other son put in by way of concurrence. 

"But I don't know how many of you like shrimp, and I do know all of you like buttered pasta." I began.

"Well, you know Mom, you really could expand your flavor palate for us." my oldest daughter volunteered.  Mind you, I cook 33 meals a day minimum, (not counting snacks) and serving for the masses has watered down my menu, I don't want to put forth effort to receive "This tastes like yuck." as a response.

Facing the reality that these food critics were very kindly telling me to step it up a notch, I agreed to designated one night a week for experimentation night.  As I mull through the possibilities, browsing my cook books in a day dreamy kind of way, the realist in me pipes up.  "Ten bucks says next week when you serve them sausage and polenta....they ask for cold cereal or buttered pasta."  But I'm still game, and if the realist turns out to be right after a month of experimentation, I may have to cut back on watching Food Network.

There Is No Joy in Mudville

For two days, we had an involuntary fasting from the television. The kids had lost the remote.  No one was willing to look for the magic controller box thingy to make the channels reveal all their mindless glory and so they had to do without.  Mom wasn't interested in searching for it either.  I suggested that the desired object MIGHT be below the laundry that had piled up on the couch.  But the problem was, there remained the Wii and the gameboy DS and two computers so my kids were not hard up for screen entertainment. 

Still, the littles all recognized they wouldn't get a shot at the high tech stuff and trundled outside to play on bikes and experience a touch of spring.  I made dinner, silently basking in the glow of having my children enjoying the great outdoors.  Then I saw what they were doing.

One daughter had parked her bike over a large crater of mud.  Her training wheels straddled the asphault allowing her main wheel to skim the surface.  She then pedaled with all her furious four year old might sending a spray back onto her brothers and sisters who tried to get away but not before caking their white school shirts.  I banged on the window.  "No spraying mud." I shouted and went back to fixing dinner.  

Then while feeding the baby, I heard giggles and splashes and odd plunk sounds.  They were dismanteling the driveway and throwing chunks of the asphault they had broken free into the mud puddle.  I banged on the window again.  "NO Throwing Rocks! AND NO dismanteling the Driveway!" 

Unnerved, I began setting the table for dinner, mentally telling myself that I'd have to have a few shower before they ate or endure mud caked all over the kitchen.  Then I heard screams that had that touch of manic indicating they were having much too good a time.  Rocks and bikes had failed to get them sufficiently filthy such that they were now jumping into the puddle with both feet and pretending to squash grapes.

I went to the laundry pile and pulled out towels and four sets of pajamas.  I ran to the bathrooms and turned on the showers and began escorting the muddy little people in one by one.  I'd misscounted and needed one more towel by the time I was done.  Going back to the laundry pile, I picked up a terry cloth towel and there it was, the remote.  The bikes had been left outside blocking the driveway such that I had to send older kids out to restock the garage.  There was also a whole new two loads of wash awaiting as a result of outside play today, and several pairs of shoes that needed scraping. 

Putting the remote on the mantle to keep it safe, I privately vowed.  "I don't care if it's 80 degrees outside tomorrow and nature in all it's glory has burst into view.  They're going to be watching TV!"

Mom's First Meal

Yesterday the kids had a case of the SLOWS in the morning, meaning even though they wear the same outfits every day, three of them needed directives about their attire. One sat looking at a lifeless television screen, as if willing it to begin entertaining. Turning off the cable box had thwarted the plans to watch cartoons but she still watched the television machine itself.

Putting a blanket over the TV, I explained that after years and years of going to the same school and wearing a uniform, getting dressed should not require much thought.

When my son came down with his shirt inside out and poorly buttoned, I revised my prior statement. It still requires SOME.

A second child came down in her pj's and sat in a chair, imitating the older one's actions. Annoyed at having a follower, the first child snapped, "You can't just sit down in the morning and mope and do nothing."

When I pointed out she was doing the same thing, her response was, "Well, I was doing it first! She's copying me."

You know how baby ducks imprint on whatever they see first and imitate that creature's behavior. Well, I keep wondering what impression I must have left all those years ago. Perhaps there was a flat screen tv in the delivery room that I missed that they mistook for me.

Now we were getting to crunch time. Five kids needed lunch made. Five kids needed breakfast. Having collected the socks for all those going to school, I spied a daughter working in the kitchen. The stove was on and a pot boiling. Cooking???? in the morning???? "What are you making?"

"Pasta for lunch."
Meaning she didn't like any of the lunch meats available for sandwiches and since they've outlawed peanutbutter, I get early morning dinner dishes.

So I turned to breakfast and began working the toaster. Two waffles. Two waffles. Two waffles. Two waffles...out of waffles...how about raisin bread. There are three slices left. Two slices of raisin bread. Butter, butter, no butter, only butter, butter. Syrup. Syrup. Syrup. Syrup...oops. That was the only butter. A child cries. I have defiled his waffles. He agrees to swap out for the raisin bread.

The other child is okay with the substitution but begins picking all the raisins out. I give her plain toast with butter and put the plate of refused raisin toast at the table for the toddler set who have yet to dine. The younger toddler refuses raisin toast and pounds the de-raisined raisin toast with her fist. The older preschooler decides since the first refused to follow suit.

Why can't anyone "copy" me in something like making a bed, doing dishes or wiping a table instead of watching a dead television set, sitting and moping or pounding the daylights out of a perfectly fine before buttered piece of breakfast?

And so it was that around 8:30, when the baby and both daughters not in school had finally finished eating and been dressed for the day, that Mom finally got her first meal of the day. You guessed it, the Raisin Bread rejected by everyone else.

Only Mom can manage to get leftovers before 9 a.m. But now I know why no one copies me.

Making A Wish For Hillary

Okay. Hillary’s had her Oprah moment.

She’s been empowered by the women of New Hampshire and is riding high in the polls and tall in the saddle.

How long will this “Don’t Tase Her Bro, Just Leave Hillary Alone!” Youtube type momentum of emotional and intellectual political amnesty last? Long enough for Hill to recognize she needed EVERY Woman to identify with her. So the first thing she did was proclaim all Women immigrants are not illegal. (That's true folks).http://www.lvrj.com/news/13702902.html

To continue to successfully cast herself not as the Take No Prisoners, Leave No Evidence, Leave the Gun, Bill Don’t Eat the Cannollis! Heart of Stone Woman, but as the victim of misogynist everywhere, she went to where the women are...watching women's TV.

Selling the New and Improved Softer and Gentle Fabric Softener version of Hillary, she allowed time in her busy campaign schedule for a powder puff piece with Tyra Banks.

During the interview, she lamented how isolatory being in the White House can be, trying to tap into the SAHM experience of being stuck with the kids while the world passes by. "I was never alone, but it was isolatory." She pensively posited. What mom hasn't felt that pain? "Moms! Isolated Women in a Crowd!" on the next Ellen....or Oprah, or Dr. Phil...or White House.


Then Tyra asked that critical question that determines the leader of the free world, "If you were on a reality TV show, which one would it be?"

"Finally, Clinton announced her decision: "I think it would have to be 'Dancing with the Stars,' " she said, "especially if I could have one of those really good partners." http://www.latimesblogs.com/washington/2008/01/tyratalks.html

She laughed and reminisced about dancing in her yesteryear. She'd have been in the Joffrey if she weren't oh...running for president. What a carefree spirit she'd be if she weren't so gosh darned responsible.

Well I feel her pain and I want to do something about it.

I want us to lobby ABC's "Dancing with the Stars" to extend to her an invitation. Make her girlhood dream come true, let her show her talent and grace and femininity that was denied the chance to full flower by enduring the years of Bill's campaigns, motherhood, the pressures of her first tenure as copresident, and her obsessive love of the New York Yankees that kept her from concentrating on reforming Health Care.

She put her hopes and dreams on hold, becoming a lawyer and first lady for the good of her family, not because of anything but pure selflessness, and even now, continues to surrender herself to the needs of our great country.

We don't deserve someone as glorious as Hillary. And I don't want such a giving soul to languish in the fishbowl type existence that the White House requires. Hasn't she suffered enough? We must set her free. After all, if you love someone...

Make her dream come true, let her receive the great Homecoming Queen crown that comes from being voted number one in "Dancing with the Stars." Phone the company! Demand that ABC put her on that show today!"

After all she's done for us, it's the least we could do for her.