The Tough Stuff...

Every month, I pick up a box of food from Angel Food Ministries. $30 for a box of bulk-purchased food that they say will feed a family of 4 for a week, but I have no problem stretching it out for my family of 5, even if some smaller people are eating more than the bigger people. It's easy to incorporate the contents of one of these boxes into our monthly meals, and makes a huge difference for our food budget. Often there is an ... interesting... package of chicken in the box. One month the was a frozen package of "chicken breast pieces" that was exactly that - pieces and bits of breasts, scraps I imagine, but all good meat. This month it was bone-in leg quarters. Usually when we get the bone-in chicken, I just fry it in whatever odd cut comes out of the package. This time I decided I'd boil it down for meat and broth.

Now, I'd never done this before, as much as I'd heard how much money can be saved by buying whole chickens or irregular cuts and boiling them. I'd never done it because I get a bit squeamish with meat, especially when bones are involved. I had the same problem last summer when we were bringing home fresh-caught catfish every week or so. After seeing the fish alive, then picking out bits of bone or skin missed in cleaning, soaking (and smelling) the fish overnight, and handling it repeatedly, I was so grossed out I'd convinced myself the fish was nasty. I couldn't make myself swallow it.

I thawed this chicken and cooked it for a couple of hours in a big pot full of water with a lid. After it had cooled for a while, I pulled the chicken out of the stock to find the meat "falling off the bone". (This term might make a lot of people's mouth water, but in my case, it makes me a bit ill to think about.) I stripped off the skin and picked the meat from the bones with my hands, and for the first several minutes I really thought I might hurl. I was a bit surprised (and not pleasantly, I can tell you) to find other stuff with the meat. Like a bit of spinal bones and a couple of unidentifiable (to me anyway) organs. When I started to feel faint, I called Vic in to help me.

The work was tedious, because I was being extremely careful not to leave any teeny bits of bone or cartilage in with the meat. But I noticed after a while that it was getting easier and easier for me to handle. I was no longer fighting my gag reflex. I realized it was because the more I focused on the job at hand and its benefits, I was thinking less about the gory details. I happily realized I had enough meat and broth for two or three meals here, instead of just the one meal of fried chicken I was used to. I was chatting with my husband, laughing even, feeding bits of skin or whatever to the desperately begging cats at my feet. Holy crap, I was actually having fun. Considering the amount of meat and broth I'd gotten out of the deal, heck.. this was easy. I should do this every time.

There is a homeschooling lesson here. A life lesson, even. If you keep your eyes open, there is always a lesson, isn't there? Because sometimes the idea of doing something you're not used to, have never done, or don't know much about, sounds horrifying. You can pretty easily become overwhelmed with the details, even if it seemed like a good idea when you started. If you focus on all the nasty bits, you become so disgusted that you completely miss the point of doing it in the first place. But when you concentrate on the job at hand, focus on the benefits, all the negatives are at least worth dealing with. If you're lucky, you'll stop seeing them as negatives at all. Just tiny details in a bigger picture - the benefits are what matter.

So now I have about 3 pounds of meat and enough broth for a few meals tucked away in my freezer. I have 3 kids growing into intelligent, wonderful people, even if raising them sometimes seems hard and homeschooling them sometimes doesn't seem worth it. I have a great marriage, even when the stress of inlaws and disagreements make it seem unbearable. The benefits are what matter. We're doing great, and it was easy.

The Obligatory Update...

If I keep hiding from my blog for a period of more than a month, I'm afraid all my posts will be just "update" posts. How stinkin boring, huh?

March/April is our busy season. Riley turned 6. Then I turned older. Then Chad turned 13 (holy mother, how is that even possible???). Then my marriage turned older too. My birthday was nice, and I got the only thing I asked for - a new eedie beedie baby ferret, which I will now have to clean up after for the next 5-8 years. But she sure is cute. She was nameless for a couple of weeks, but when Chad kept calling her "Mini-Daisy" after our other ferret, we decided Minnie worked pretty well. She steals everything light enough for her to carry off, climbs pant legs quite well, and Chad actually likes her - bringing the number of things he likes up to about.. oh, 5 or so. Pictures added later, if my camera ever works again.

In other news, my mother in law had a psychotic episode at my house, was asked (repeatedly) to leave my home, and has since written me off forever. It's a VERY long story. But is it okay to be happy about this? Is it wrong that I'm actually glad she has also cut off my kids' Christmas and birthday money? That she has told my husband that he and the kids are welcome to visit, but I am not; apparently thinking his loyalty to his spouse can be altered with her threats? (Would she continue to visit someone who made it clear they hated her spouse, I wonder?) This makes me happy only because this means having her out of our lives is a good thing, if she's the kind of person that would do that. Of course, the story she tells others (whoever she tells) won't be the same version as mine. But that's okay. I feel liberated, like a huge festering splinter has just been removed. Still a bit sore, but SO much better than when it was there.

Gah, I could write a whole book about it. But I don't feel like boring the few readers I have with the details, and I don't much have the energy to type it all out right now.

My garden is in, my kids are happy, no migraines for almost 4 months, bank account in the positive, and Otis Redding in my headphones. Life is good.

Save energy, money, and your PC...

The 2009 PC Energy Report estimates a savings of $2.8 billion in the US alone, just by turning off your computer when not in use. The full report is available for download - a bit lengthy, but with lotsa pictures and charts and stuff, so it's well worth it.

A clearer picture of what this energy savings means:

"If all the world's 1 billion PCs were powered down for just one night, it would
save enough energy to light up New York City's Empire State Building - inside
and out - for more than 30 years."

Besides saving power, shutting off the computer enables software updates and system restore points, reducing computer malfunction. Just from my own experience, which isn't much honestly, computers that are shut off when not in use collect less dust inside and all the little bells and whistles in there work for longer, sparing me the trip to the computer parts store looking for an elusive power module or processor cooling fan. Less repairs means less frustrating phone calls to tech support in India, and big-time savings on computer repair or replacement. Great for you, even better for a company with 1000+ computers in use.

On "idiot" Employees...

Last week I was delighted to have ended up at the grocery store on a Wednesday. My normal grocery shopping is usually done on the weekends. But this time the milk and toilet paper just happened to last a little bit longer than usual, and dinners of McDonald's and delivered pizza (don't judge me) had allowed for the food in the fridge to stretch a few more days too. On Wednesday though, the store offers 10% off all Health Market (organic and health food) items you can fit into a paper bag. That 10% often makes up the difference in price between the organic products and their regularly processed counterparts. So, yay! I grabbed two cans of organic diced tomatoes, a package of rice noodles, and some all-purpose cleaner (see? Healthy!). Four (4) items. Since the Health Market section is the first place we wander through in the grocery store, the paper bag was eventually buried under all the rest of our groceries (healthy, of course) in the cart.

At the checkout, I loaded all my stuff onto the conveyor belt thingy and proceeded to argue over coupons, say things like, "Oh, those were 4/$5" and, "Please use the canvas bags" (that's why I handed them to you)... that sort of thing, with the checker (3 Years of Service, said her nametag). Everything was going fine, until the checker spotted that paper bag headed her way on the belt. She immediately freaked out, and told Anthony the Bagger to unload the $130 worth of groceries he'd already bagged and packed away in the cart because, "We're gonna have to scan all of this again." Anthony and I had matching expressions of bewilderment. The three people in line behind me began to sigh and shift their weight from one foot to the other. I looked at Anthony questioningly and he shrugged back. "We have to run the stuff in the paper bag first," the checker explained, "So we'll just have to cancel all this and start over." She was eyeing the line of increasingly impatient people behind me with mounting anxiety. Anthony suggested she call the manager instead. "Good idea," she said, and paged the manager from the checker phone thing.

When the manager showed up, the checker explained our little situation with much drama, emphasizing over and over that "SHE (me, that is) didn't put the bag up first," and, "SHE (that's me again) didn't mention she had Health Market stuff." I guess the whole thing was all my fault, somehow. I started feeling like maybe I should apologize; like it was my responsibility to fix the situation I'd caused, so I offered to pay for my purchases in two separate orders - one with all the stuff she'd scanned already, and one with just the Health Market stuff. "Oh that's a GREAT idea!" she said, but before she could follow through with this plan, the manager said, "Just do a price override. It's just four (4) things."

Now, I knew she could do this, because she'd done it only a minute or so before with a chocolate milk coupon (that I'd tried to give her when she actually scanned the chocolate milk, but she wouldn't even take from my hand until way later when Anthony had already packed it away in the cart, forcing Anthony to unpack the milk so it could be scanned again for the price change). But this time, she suddenly got a panicked look when the manager suggested a price override, and her voice suggested she just might cry as she said, "But... I don't know how to do that." The manager assured her that she did indeed know how to do that, and he'd seen her do it a million times, and calmly started explaining the series of buttons and codes in case she'd somehow forgotten (in her Three Years of Service). But she just shook her head furiously through his whole explanation and finally said, "But... I don't know how to figure the price difference." "It's just 10%," said the manager.

About this time, another lane opened up nearby, and all three of the people behind me split, leaving me alone with the checker while the manager tried - unsuccessfully - to explain how 10% works. A concept my 9 year old has no trouble with. Finally, the manager decided to stand over her while she scanned the last four (4) items, telling her amount to subtract from the price of each item (she didn't have to figure out the total price, just put in how much to subtract and the computer did the rest). As the manager retreated from whence he came, she told me, "I'm just not any good at that mental figuring stuff."


Regularmom had a post dealing with this topic, specifically how much it sucks to be that frustrated employee, frazzled and unable to think straight while you're bombarded with angry and impatient customers. It IS hard, and I've been there, particularly when you're new and don't even know what all the buttons do and some asshole, sensing your weakness, berates you while your manager looks on. I get it. But I can't help but wonder how much more smoothly this particular mishap (clearly my fault) would have gone if she could have thought of any of the solutions offered by the manager, the bagger, and myself? And the percentage thing? I mean, it wasn't 17.5% or something - it was 10%. I'm just thinking a job like hers would be much less frustrating and stressful if the employee in question wasn't an idiot.

Spring

To see the small bits of green grass
poking out from beneath the blanket
of all that is brown and gray
and dead...

To hear the warbles and twitters
of birds from some time so long ago,
once more, like forgotten ghosts,
to sing!

To see the Water Queen again,
come free from the lonely quiet place
that bound her for long ages,
to dance...

To feel the ache of summers gone,
like the grief of lost love. And dream
of what was; what will be again.
And hope.

Cooking Adventures...

An Update on our exciting life.

A few weeks ago, I was in the kitchen making breakfast and having a fight discussion with my husband. I was trying really hard not to turn it into a serious fight discussion, because he was trying to get ready for work. I have this thing about uncooked meats and eggs, and every time I touched a piece of bacon or cracked an egg, I had to go to the sink and wash my hands. (I don't freak out so much about dirt, farm animals, or baby poo, but eggs! The germs!!) After every quick hand wash, I dripped a bit of water on the floor between the sink and the hanging hand towel on the fridge. So when I'd done this about 10 times or so, there was a good sized puddle there in front of the sink. On the shiny ceramic tile floor. On my next trip, I slipped on this puddle and fell forward right into the corner of the upper cabinet, cutting my eye right above the eyebrow.

Vic said I needed to go to the hospital, but I just kept saying, "It's fine, I'm totally fine, go to work." Right after he left, I got a good look at that (bleeding. A lot.) cut and decided maybe I should at least go to the doctor's office. Turns out, I needed 6 stitches, in a "layered closure" which I guess is a pretty bad cut. But of course, there were the questions, by the nurses and the doctor and her student-assistant-whatsit. Do you feel safe in your home? Where was your husband when this happened? Is there anything you want to talk about? My oldest two kids watched them sew me up, and listened to all the questions. On the way home, my son The Worrier, having processed all the available information and formed a few disturbing possible outcomes, gave me the third degree. "You were fighting with Daddy. Did he push you?" No. "But.. what if he was really angry?" No. "Do people hurt themselves like this a lot?" I don't imagine so, but I'm sure I'm not the first. "Why were they asking all those questions?" They have to, in case someone really needs help or needs to file charges or something. "Are you sure Daddy didn't push you?" Ugh.

So later, we had this big, long talk about how some people are in abusive situations, and how those people don't always know how bad it is or that they don't have to stay, or might need help leaving, etc. And what would happen - what specific steps would be taken - in the event that we, the kids and I, for whatever reason at all, were not safe. And what makes some people (the normal ones) different from other people (the abusive ones), and reminding them that Dad is the parent most likely to (and frequently does) lecture about violence and why it's not okay. I think I covered all the bases, but I won't know for sure if Chad isn't silently worrying about something else until he brings it up in another week or so.

Moral of the story: Water and ceramic tile are a dangerous combination. And there are worse consequences for obsessive handwashing than just chapped skin. Like Death By Cabinet.

Today is Riley's birthday (Six! Big enough to sit in the Big People seat in the car! Woohoo!). Yesterday, my parents came over for dinner and cake. Dinner was to be at 7:00, so at 6:00 I started boiling pasta for the casserole I was making. I always do a Once Over before, which means I wander through the house muttering things like, "Pick up this dirty sock," and, "Run the vacuum in here please," and, "Get that dead animal out of the house before Gramma gets here." Somewhere in the middle of my Once Over, I asked Cadence to go check the noodles, stir them, and turn the stove burner down from "Hi" to the number "8". A few minutes later, satisfied there was nothing stinky, gooey, or muddy in the house, I returned to the kitchen to find that Cadence hadn't turned the burner under the noodles to "8". Instead, she'd turned another burner on to that setting. Having very little counter space, I'm in the habit of setting out all the prep stuff and ingredients for meals on the stovetop, on the burners I'm not using. Relieved there was nothing plastic on that particular burner, but the casserole dish I would be using shortly, I reached out to shut that burner off. Just as I was calling Cadence to the kitchen to show her (again) which knob controls what burner, the casserole dish, made of glass and now extremely hot, exploded. As in, BLAM!! As in glass flying everyfuckingwhere.

Dinner was not ready at 7:00. Because besides the glass on the floor, stove, and counters, there was glass in the sink, the colander, and the salad. And there was glass in the noodles. Thankfully, through 45 minutes of sweeping, cleaning, and washing dishes (in which Cadence apologized a billion times even though I kept telling her it was an accident and totally fine), there was NOT glass in anyone's feet, eyes, or other body parts. Who knew you needed safety goggles just to cook pasta?

Moral of the story: Hot glass explodes. And always have an extra package of noodles in the cupboard, just in case.

Last night, after washing three sinkloads of dishes and picking up coffee cups and soda cans from everywhere in the house (who drinks coffee in the bathroom??), I went to bed early - exhausted, and satisfied. Because as simple as our days are, they are certainly never boring.

A new way to burn down your house...

Chad has been obsessing for months over survivalism (if there is such a word). I don't know where on earth he gets his obsessive nature. ;) First he went through catalogues, sports stores, and camping websites looking for The Perfect Backpack. Then he started comparing nutritional content of different foods, trying to find The Perfect Foods to pack in his backpack in case of... alien attack or nuclear winter or something. He compared water bottles for volume, weight, and shape. Somewhere in the midst of all that, he was looking into kerosene lanterns. The biggest turnoff there was that you had to buy the kerosene. But he knew that other things burn, and we set about finding household things that would work. Cooking oils (corn, olive, canola) turned out to be the best, because it takes a pretty hot flame to start the oil itself burning, but will burn nicely for a long time when soaked into paper or cloth.

After a couple of quick internet searches, notes written down and gathering of supplies....

....he made this:

Corn oil in a beer bottle. (Yeah, it's a 40. Don't judge me.) Wick made from strands of white cotton Sugar'N Cream yarn, fed through a small hole in the metal lid. You might be able to see in the picture that the bottom of the bottle is filled with water, and oil for only the top 4 inches or so. This is to save on the amount of oil used in such a large bottle, but it also looks pretty cool. You could use any glass bottle with a screw-on lid, and if you used a clear bottle (Vodka maybe?), you could even add food coloring to the water for a pretty neat effect.

Chad spent hours and hours working out the best wick arrangement; first trying different lengths of exposed wick and settling on 1/2 inch, then timing how long it took to burn that 1/2 inch of wick and multiplying by 12 (6 inches total length). He was most satisfied with 3 strands of yarn, braided tightly, which worked out to about 15 hours of burn time.

Then he tossed everything on the counter and went online to look for a new tent. Because the one he just bought won't fit into the super-deluxe backpack he's eyeing. Gah.

*I might mention that all the above was done completely on his own, with me playing the part of Question Answerer occasionally. Who needs textbooks and lesson plans?