Not really though. Boogie's 24 month letter is written, but photobucket is being a butt and I can't get pictures on it at the moment.
So sorry, but you'll just have to wait.
In other news, my child was possessed by a demon last night. She refused to go to sleep, and instead screamed hysterically for hours on end. I, being SuperMama, was the only one who could calm her down. Needless to say, I'm exhausted. In to bed late, up early, not a great combo for a pregnant woman.
I think I failed the test. If last night was a test of some sort, I definitely failed miserably. I lost my patience. I snapped at P. I was thisclose to shaking Taryn, but I knew it wouldn't do much more than make her more upset. I counted to 100...twice, once in English, once in Spanish, before I calmed down. But at least I know when I'm at the end of my rope, I can count. And maybe I should learn another language so I don't get too bored with the counting.
She's funny though, because when she was screaming, I told her in her ear to stop, and she did. But she had those body-wracking, haggard-breath sobs until I put her down in the crib, and even as I was walking out, I could hear her choking down breaths. I don't know if she just wore herself out, or got out whatever demon didn't want her sleeping, but right around 10:30, after 2 hours or rocking, singing, holding, laying down in bed, screaming, sobbing, and clinging toddler-hugs, for some reason she was ready to sleep.
Ay. I hope this isn't something new she's going to try every night.
June 27, 2008
June 26, 2008
No Such Thing As A Secret
I know I do it sometimes too, but I always start to giggle when someone runs into my office at work and says, "You have to promise not to tell because I was sworn to secrecy, but..."
Like today, talking with a friend she sort-of hinted at a secret in the office. Happens to be a secret that I was told a while ago by someone who wasn't supposed to tell, and I think the same person told her as well. Ha. I figure she knows most of the gossip that I do, so it's usually safe to ask her if she knows anything new about a particular topic, without divulging any actual information.
But it's funny, because when I want to keep a secret, I don't tell a soul. If you don't tell me a secret, or I start to hear rumblings of something I already know about, yeah, I'm going to discuss it. But I'm pretty damn good at not spilling the beans when I know it's really important not to.
But this new one, I'm starting to wonder who doesn't know. And really, I feel sort of bad that a bunch of us are in on her secret, I mean, it's a pretty major juicy bit, but I still don't think she expected so many people to find out in such a short time. And probably all from the same person too.
The real trick is, and it seems obvious but is rarely followed: If you don't want anyone to know, don't tell anyone. Especially around here. News spreads like a bad rash on a hot day here, because obviously we have nothing better to do!
Like today, talking with a friend she sort-of hinted at a secret in the office. Happens to be a secret that I was told a while ago by someone who wasn't supposed to tell, and I think the same person told her as well. Ha. I figure she knows most of the gossip that I do, so it's usually safe to ask her if she knows anything new about a particular topic, without divulging any actual information.
But it's funny, because when I want to keep a secret, I don't tell a soul. If you don't tell me a secret, or I start to hear rumblings of something I already know about, yeah, I'm going to discuss it. But I'm pretty damn good at not spilling the beans when I know it's really important not to.
But this new one, I'm starting to wonder who doesn't know. And really, I feel sort of bad that a bunch of us are in on her secret, I mean, it's a pretty major juicy bit, but I still don't think she expected so many people to find out in such a short time. And probably all from the same person too.
The real trick is, and it seems obvious but is rarely followed: If you don't want anyone to know, don't tell anyone. Especially around here. News spreads like a bad rash on a hot day here, because obviously we have nothing better to do!
June 25, 2008
I'll Take What I Can Get
After almost 8 years, I've given up the hope of changing him. I'm realizing that regardless of what I do, he's not going to be ready for it until he sees how he is hurting himself and the people who love him.
Maybe I am setting up a pattern by allowing him the easy way out. I don't insist that he apologize to me when he messes up, because it's fruitless. I allow him to apologize in his own way, by physically doing things, rather than verbally. As long as we are both aware that he messed up, I'm okay with that, because I know I can't make him remorseful. I could insist that he say he's sorry, and very often he does without prodding, but when those certain things happen, when he is intentionally mean or neglectful, I don't ask for an apology.
Maybe I should.
I know there are some things he will cop up to, some things he may be too ashamed to apologize for, and other things that his pride and his culture don't allow him to apologize for. But I know when he regrets his actions. And he makes an effort to make it up to me. I see the same thing in my brother, how he won't say he's sorry, but he'll bring over dinner. Am I wrong for letting them get away with that?
Wouldn't it be wrong for them to insist that I apologize in a way that is acceptable to them, as men, rather than what makes me, as a woman, truly show that I am sorry? Is there a difference between the two, other than interpretation of the actions? I'll take what I can get, and I feel satisfied for the moment that he has apologized, in his own way, which happens to be much more useful to me than a verbal plea for forgiveness. It would be nice to hear it more often, but it would also be insincere, because that's just not how he expresses himself.
I'm taking the good with the bad. All I can control are my own actions and reactions.
Maybe I am setting up a pattern by allowing him the easy way out. I don't insist that he apologize to me when he messes up, because it's fruitless. I allow him to apologize in his own way, by physically doing things, rather than verbally. As long as we are both aware that he messed up, I'm okay with that, because I know I can't make him remorseful. I could insist that he say he's sorry, and very often he does without prodding, but when those certain things happen, when he is intentionally mean or neglectful, I don't ask for an apology.
Maybe I should.
I know there are some things he will cop up to, some things he may be too ashamed to apologize for, and other things that his pride and his culture don't allow him to apologize for. But I know when he regrets his actions. And he makes an effort to make it up to me. I see the same thing in my brother, how he won't say he's sorry, but he'll bring over dinner. Am I wrong for letting them get away with that?
Wouldn't it be wrong for them to insist that I apologize in a way that is acceptable to them, as men, rather than what makes me, as a woman, truly show that I am sorry? Is there a difference between the two, other than interpretation of the actions? I'll take what I can get, and I feel satisfied for the moment that he has apologized, in his own way, which happens to be much more useful to me than a verbal plea for forgiveness. It would be nice to hear it more often, but it would also be insincere, because that's just not how he expresses himself.
I'm taking the good with the bad. All I can control are my own actions and reactions.
June 22, 2008
Delayed
I can't bring myself to write a beautiful letter to my sweet angel this month, when things are crumbling.
I thought we were doing better. He's hiding something, some fear, or hurt, or anger, and I can't do anything about it because I don't know what it is. Maybe his way of dealing is to take care of my physical needs, and neglect my soul, but it's driving us apart and right now, I don't have the energy to change the dynamic.
I'm pretty sure it will be okay. I'm not positive, but I can't sacrifice myself, my mental health, my pregnancy or my daughter's happiness to heal him. I can't do all those things a wife "should" do, hoping it will make him happy, because beneath it all, there is still something I can't reach. There is something in him that will always make him miserable, and I'm not the one to fix it. I can't.
He can't be healed until he is ready to ask for help. He is spiraling downward, and my fear of him hitting rock bottom comes out in flashes of anger and spite. I don't hate him, I hate his inaction, his self-medicating, and his insistence on being close to me in a way that I can't reciprocate when I am hurting too. I'm scared what this means for us in the long run. It was bad a few years ago, and it's getting steadily worse. We have our reprieves, many weeks and months have been great, but I can't figure out the trigger that causes it all to come rushing back.
He agrees with my brother that I am weak for believing in God and studying psychology. They all think they are the masters of their own universes, but they are all fucked up in the head and can't see past their own BS. At least I am working on my issues, and I feel like I'm improving, but it's hard to maintain those changes under the stress of dealing with someone steeped in denial. I've found myself reacting to him lately, and I hate it. I hate letting him get to me, letting him hurt me, then punishing him for it. I'm not in a great state of mind now, and I don't want to subject my unborn child to these rushes of hormones and anger and hurt.
I don't want to take a step back and watch him drown himself. But I can't be so close and feeling so helpless and manipulated. Both sides of the fence have shriveled up crab grass, so I'm trying to balance on it, making my way South, or maybe North, somewhere else, anywhere else, until things get better. I'm not depressed, just stuck and scared, and waiting for the last stone to crumble so we can pick up the pieces and rebuild a life together.
I thought we were doing better. He's hiding something, some fear, or hurt, or anger, and I can't do anything about it because I don't know what it is. Maybe his way of dealing is to take care of my physical needs, and neglect my soul, but it's driving us apart and right now, I don't have the energy to change the dynamic.
I'm pretty sure it will be okay. I'm not positive, but I can't sacrifice myself, my mental health, my pregnancy or my daughter's happiness to heal him. I can't do all those things a wife "should" do, hoping it will make him happy, because beneath it all, there is still something I can't reach. There is something in him that will always make him miserable, and I'm not the one to fix it. I can't.
He can't be healed until he is ready to ask for help. He is spiraling downward, and my fear of him hitting rock bottom comes out in flashes of anger and spite. I don't hate him, I hate his inaction, his self-medicating, and his insistence on being close to me in a way that I can't reciprocate when I am hurting too. I'm scared what this means for us in the long run. It was bad a few years ago, and it's getting steadily worse. We have our reprieves, many weeks and months have been great, but I can't figure out the trigger that causes it all to come rushing back.
He agrees with my brother that I am weak for believing in God and studying psychology. They all think they are the masters of their own universes, but they are all fucked up in the head and can't see past their own BS. At least I am working on my issues, and I feel like I'm improving, but it's hard to maintain those changes under the stress of dealing with someone steeped in denial. I've found myself reacting to him lately, and I hate it. I hate letting him get to me, letting him hurt me, then punishing him for it. I'm not in a great state of mind now, and I don't want to subject my unborn child to these rushes of hormones and anger and hurt.
I don't want to take a step back and watch him drown himself. But I can't be so close and feeling so helpless and manipulated. Both sides of the fence have shriveled up crab grass, so I'm trying to balance on it, making my way South, or maybe North, somewhere else, anywhere else, until things get better. I'm not depressed, just stuck and scared, and waiting for the last stone to crumble so we can pick up the pieces and rebuild a life together.
June 19, 2008
And then this one time....
I still remember my brother lamenting years ago, "Why can't he just be real with me? Who the hell does he think I am, some sidekick friend?"
We had been discussing a friend of his who wasn't doing well. This guy is someone we had both grown up with, and whom he used to be very close to, but due to a stint in jail and some broken bones, he hadn't seen him in a while. My brother was always pissed that people would be fake with him, when he asked "How are you," they would just reply "Fine, you?"
As I walk around the office and overhear, nay eavesdrop, on my coworkers conversations, I am shocked at how often I hear the same stories being repeated verbatim. The same exclamations, the same quotes, everything the same. And it's even worse when I've had a conversation with a person, and then I overhear them working what I had said into their conversation, as if it were their own words.
I'm not so narcisstic to think that the people that I converse with are only taking to me, it's an unrealistic thought, and frankly I don't want to be someone's sole source of venting. But honestly, I'm starting to feel like my brother and wondering how real are the conversations that I share with people, when they say the exact same thing to someone else 5 minutes later. Do people want eveeryone to know so much about them, or am I getting the same canned conversation that everyone else gets?
It's not everyone, but it's often enough to make me wonder why I make the effort to have genuine talks with people. When people ask how the baby is, I'll tell them the latest news, or how her night was yesterday, or something cute she did this morning. But I make an effort to be real, to tell people what's really going on, and to tailor it to their personality, as I relate to them. I try very hard not to have canned responses to people, and maybe that's why I'm not a social butterfly. Maybe if I faked it more, instead of trying to really be present when I am with someone (and of course, on the flip side of that, I am not-so-chatty when I am not feeling well), I would be more agreeable to them?
I guess if there was one "right" way to interact, we'd all be doing it. I am constantly amazed at how people change depending on the sitiation, especially to see how they act in different groups of people. I think it normal and quite functional to alter your personality slightly to accommodate your surroundings, and I don't know where this musing on conversation fits in there, but it's definitely fascinating to me. Like, do they realize what they are doing? Do I do the same thing? How has this action come about? What is it's evolutionary purpose? Is telling the same thing to multiple people some sort of processing mechanism, or is it simply a way to bond? What about when you tell the same thing over and over to someone, what is the purpose of that?
I don't know, but my head hurts, and my back hurts and I'm bored. Maybe I should go tell someone?
We had been discussing a friend of his who wasn't doing well. This guy is someone we had both grown up with, and whom he used to be very close to, but due to a stint in jail and some broken bones, he hadn't seen him in a while. My brother was always pissed that people would be fake with him, when he asked "How are you," they would just reply "Fine, you?"
As I walk around the office and overhear, nay eavesdrop, on my coworkers conversations, I am shocked at how often I hear the same stories being repeated verbatim. The same exclamations, the same quotes, everything the same. And it's even worse when I've had a conversation with a person, and then I overhear them working what I had said into their conversation, as if it were their own words.
I'm not so narcisstic to think that the people that I converse with are only taking to me, it's an unrealistic thought, and frankly I don't want to be someone's sole source of venting. But honestly, I'm starting to feel like my brother and wondering how real are the conversations that I share with people, when they say the exact same thing to someone else 5 minutes later. Do people want eveeryone to know so much about them, or am I getting the same canned conversation that everyone else gets?
It's not everyone, but it's often enough to make me wonder why I make the effort to have genuine talks with people. When people ask how the baby is, I'll tell them the latest news, or how her night was yesterday, or something cute she did this morning. But I make an effort to be real, to tell people what's really going on, and to tailor it to their personality, as I relate to them. I try very hard not to have canned responses to people, and maybe that's why I'm not a social butterfly. Maybe if I faked it more, instead of trying to really be present when I am with someone (and of course, on the flip side of that, I am not-so-chatty when I am not feeling well), I would be more agreeable to them?
I guess if there was one "right" way to interact, we'd all be doing it. I am constantly amazed at how people change depending on the sitiation, especially to see how they act in different groups of people. I think it normal and quite functional to alter your personality slightly to accommodate your surroundings, and I don't know where this musing on conversation fits in there, but it's definitely fascinating to me. Like, do they realize what they are doing? Do I do the same thing? How has this action come about? What is it's evolutionary purpose? Is telling the same thing to multiple people some sort of processing mechanism, or is it simply a way to bond? What about when you tell the same thing over and over to someone, what is the purpose of that?
I don't know, but my head hurts, and my back hurts and I'm bored. Maybe I should go tell someone?
June 12, 2008
My 25th Year
I’m a shy person. Extremely socially-phobic. May seem like BS for people who know me, but I get serious anxiety attacks when I am around a lot of people that I don’t know. I’m fine in groups I’m comfortable with, but strangers? No thank you. Mostly.
For most of my life, I feel like I’ve been chosen. Not as in The Golden Child special, but I’ve taken the path of least resistance and allowed my friends, schools, and style to be handed to me, because it was more comfortable than standing up for what I really wanted.
The one college that I really wanted to go to, UCLA, I didn’t get accepted. I got into other schools, Berkeley, Davis, Sonoma State and Spelman, so rather than make UCLA work in the future, I took the next best route and went to the one which offered the highest scholarship. Because really, how could I make UCLA work? I didn’t know anyone in LA. I didn’t have any friends going to UCLA. It’s not like I could move down to LA by myself and go to a community college, and try to transfer in two years, no way. Who did I think I was?
But really, Spelman wasn’t much more comfortable, but it was easier. I had a friend in Atlanta, and I wouldn’t’ have to pay much to go. And I didn’t want to stay in Northern California. High school wasn’t the best years of my life, and there were a lot of people and events that I was happy to leave far behind. So, the path of least resistance.
The group I fell in with there started with me and one other girl. We met smoking behind the dorms after lunch one day, and as the only smokers we saw in campus, it made sense that we would be friends. I had made other friends too, and slowly we formed this group, and it’s weird because I was the one who brought the group together, and the one who was ultimately pushed out. But maybe I isolated myself, by not dating boys on campus, by getting married toward the end of the year, and by loudly announcing that I hated Spelman and was leaving as soon as I could.
It wasn’t my scene. It was fun at first, the clubs and frat parties six nights per week, but I was always uncomfortable. Too many new people, and as my friends found boyfriends, and I was constantly rejecting advances because I had a fiance at home, I got pushed into a new group, the single people, the ones who couldn’t find a date, and the few guys who refused to date anyone but me.
But that’s just an example. For some reason this week, I’ve been thinking a lot more about my choices in life. Some things I felt forced into. Some I regret with every ounce of my being, though I’ve forgiven the people who pressured me, and myself for not fighting for what I knew was right. Some other things, I’m grateful for, because they ended up being positively life-altering. Maybe turning 25 means a new leaf, and I want to start making my own choices, not just doing what is easiest or most comfortable. I don’t want to take the path of least resistance anymore, and waste my life doing what other people want me to do.
But damn, it’s hard to change. It’s hard to make different choices when people expect you to act a certain way. It’s frustrating to have people constantly question you, inquiring what changed. It’s hard to step out of the comfortable little life you’ve made, and see if there is something new to discover. And it’s even harder when you’re obligated to your life. I love my husband, my kid(s), my house, but they are all obstacles to what I’m trying to do. I can’t go out to a bar and meet new people. I can’t go back to the old friends, the ones from before who still expect to see the old Aletta when I walk through the door. I can’t make any radical change and see where it leads me, because I love what I have, I’m just looking for the ‘more’ that I know is out there. And old habits are hard to break, even when you are dying to get out from under them.
But, we’ll see. I think this will be a good year. No more coasting, it’s time for me to get my ass back in the saddle, and see what I can do with myself.
For most of my life, I feel like I’ve been chosen. Not as in The Golden Child special, but I’ve taken the path of least resistance and allowed my friends, schools, and style to be handed to me, because it was more comfortable than standing up for what I really wanted.
The one college that I really wanted to go to, UCLA, I didn’t get accepted. I got into other schools, Berkeley, Davis, Sonoma State and Spelman, so rather than make UCLA work in the future, I took the next best route and went to the one which offered the highest scholarship. Because really, how could I make UCLA work? I didn’t know anyone in LA. I didn’t have any friends going to UCLA. It’s not like I could move down to LA by myself and go to a community college, and try to transfer in two years, no way. Who did I think I was?
But really, Spelman wasn’t much more comfortable, but it was easier. I had a friend in Atlanta, and I wouldn’t’ have to pay much to go. And I didn’t want to stay in Northern California. High school wasn’t the best years of my life, and there were a lot of people and events that I was happy to leave far behind. So, the path of least resistance.
The group I fell in with there started with me and one other girl. We met smoking behind the dorms after lunch one day, and as the only smokers we saw in campus, it made sense that we would be friends. I had made other friends too, and slowly we formed this group, and it’s weird because I was the one who brought the group together, and the one who was ultimately pushed out. But maybe I isolated myself, by not dating boys on campus, by getting married toward the end of the year, and by loudly announcing that I hated Spelman and was leaving as soon as I could.
It wasn’t my scene. It was fun at first, the clubs and frat parties six nights per week, but I was always uncomfortable. Too many new people, and as my friends found boyfriends, and I was constantly rejecting advances because I had a fiance at home, I got pushed into a new group, the single people, the ones who couldn’t find a date, and the few guys who refused to date anyone but me.
But that’s just an example. For some reason this week, I’ve been thinking a lot more about my choices in life. Some things I felt forced into. Some I regret with every ounce of my being, though I’ve forgiven the people who pressured me, and myself for not fighting for what I knew was right. Some other things, I’m grateful for, because they ended up being positively life-altering. Maybe turning 25 means a new leaf, and I want to start making my own choices, not just doing what is easiest or most comfortable. I don’t want to take the path of least resistance anymore, and waste my life doing what other people want me to do.
But damn, it’s hard to change. It’s hard to make different choices when people expect you to act a certain way. It’s frustrating to have people constantly question you, inquiring what changed. It’s hard to step out of the comfortable little life you’ve made, and see if there is something new to discover. And it’s even harder when you’re obligated to your life. I love my husband, my kid(s), my house, but they are all obstacles to what I’m trying to do. I can’t go out to a bar and meet new people. I can’t go back to the old friends, the ones from before who still expect to see the old Aletta when I walk through the door. I can’t make any radical change and see where it leads me, because I love what I have, I’m just looking for the ‘more’ that I know is out there. And old habits are hard to break, even when you are dying to get out from under them.
But, we’ll see. I think this will be a good year. No more coasting, it’s time for me to get my ass back in the saddle, and see what I can do with myself.
June 11, 2008
Pill-Popping Monkey
P came downstairs panicked the other day, Boogie in one arm and an empty pill bottle in the other hand.
Evidently my child, my Angel, had climbed up her changing table, sat on the pad at the top and dug around in the drawer right beneath her. She then proceeded to eat an entire bottle of Hyland's Teething Tablets.
He was freaking out, not sure if we should call Poison Control, or give her milk, or wait and see. I figured since the pills were homeopathic, maybe it would just help her sleep. Um, no. No such luck. We watched her to see if she had any reactions to it, and they didn't even slow her down. She was bouncing off the walls, throwing toys, being a scrawny terror after a packed weekend.
Last night, she was calling to me after I put her in bed, and I figured she needed water so I went in to check on her. She had one leg up on the rail of her crib, so I'm thinking it's time to get her a toddler bed soon, and secure all the furniture to the walls. Today.
Evidently my child, my Angel, had climbed up her changing table, sat on the pad at the top and dug around in the drawer right beneath her. She then proceeded to eat an entire bottle of Hyland's Teething Tablets.
He was freaking out, not sure if we should call Poison Control, or give her milk, or wait and see. I figured since the pills were homeopathic, maybe it would just help her sleep. Um, no. No such luck. We watched her to see if she had any reactions to it, and they didn't even slow her down. She was bouncing off the walls, throwing toys, being a scrawny terror after a packed weekend.
Last night, she was calling to me after I put her in bed, and I figured she needed water so I went in to check on her. She had one leg up on the rail of her crib, so I'm thinking it's time to get her a toddler bed soon, and secure all the furniture to the walls. Today.
June 6, 2008
Out of the Mouth of an Ass
P: Babe, we're definitely having a boy this time.
Me: Why do you say that, all of a sudden?
P: You remember what Vic said about Ally being ugly in the face when she was pregnant with Jackson? That's you, all the way.
Me: WHA...?
P: No, Baby, I'm happy though! We need to have a boy this time!
Me: You suck.
Me: Why do you say that, all of a sudden?
P: You remember what Vic said about Ally being ugly in the face when she was pregnant with Jackson? That's you, all the way.
Me: WHA...?
P: No, Baby, I'm happy though! We need to have a boy this time!
Me: You suck.
June 3, 2008
Girly Bar-B-Que
It's not that I wouldn't BBQ, but I don't know how. I've never got the charcoals going, or seasoned the meat for it so I'm not sure how it would work. Plus, I'd have to watch Boogie while I was cooking, and the thought of stoking the moldering coals with a child on my hip scared the heebee-jeebees out of me.
So last night, I was at a loss for what to make for dinner. I had been picking up meat and corn and potatoes and stock-piling the perfect BBQ meal, but I was missing the man to make it. So I got bold, damnit.
I decided to do a girly BBQ!
That may be really sexist, but I can say this, my oven BBQ tasted damn good, even P was surprised and said that I gave him a good idea next time he makes ribs or carnitas.
My little trick? I bolied the meat in seasoned water for like 20 minutes before I popped it in the oven. And I was literally working for maybe 20 minutes. Cut the ribs apart, put in the water, and boil. While I was boiling, I peeled the potatoes for the salad, cut them up and stuck them in water too. Then I shucked the corn, cut it up, wrapped them in foil with salt, pepper and a pat of butter. When the ribs finished boiling, I plopped them in a backing dish with a couple different BBQ sauces, and some extra spices, covered it, and stuck it in at 400.
After I put the meat in the oven, I took Boogie for a quick Safeway run for milk, eggs, and lettuce. When we got home I put the potatoes on to boil, turned the meat and left it in the the oven some more. When the potaotes were almost done, threw in some frozen veggies, the kind I like, and cooked a bit more, drained, then stirred in some mayo and salt. When the meat was almost done, I took the foil off for about 20 minutes to brown it. And when the meat was finally finger-licking finished, I threw the foiled corn in the oven.
Seriously, that was one of the easiest meals I've ever made in my life. And the meat was so tender you didn't even need a knife. I wish I had made more, so I could make a sandwich later, yummy! BBQ pulled pork with cheese. And I loved seeing P's face when I told him I BBQed or him, but when he took a bite, he was amazed.
Yay me!
So last night, I was at a loss for what to make for dinner. I had been picking up meat and corn and potatoes and stock-piling the perfect BBQ meal, but I was missing the man to make it. So I got bold, damnit.
I decided to do a girly BBQ!
That may be really sexist, but I can say this, my oven BBQ tasted damn good, even P was surprised and said that I gave him a good idea next time he makes ribs or carnitas.
My little trick? I bolied the meat in seasoned water for like 20 minutes before I popped it in the oven. And I was literally working for maybe 20 minutes. Cut the ribs apart, put in the water, and boil. While I was boiling, I peeled the potatoes for the salad, cut them up and stuck them in water too. Then I shucked the corn, cut it up, wrapped them in foil with salt, pepper and a pat of butter. When the ribs finished boiling, I plopped them in a backing dish with a couple different BBQ sauces, and some extra spices, covered it, and stuck it in at 400.
After I put the meat in the oven, I took Boogie for a quick Safeway run for milk, eggs, and lettuce. When we got home I put the potatoes on to boil, turned the meat and left it in the the oven some more. When the potaotes were almost done, threw in some frozen veggies, the kind I like, and cooked a bit more, drained, then stirred in some mayo and salt. When the meat was almost done, I took the foil off for about 20 minutes to brown it. And when the meat was finally finger-licking finished, I threw the foiled corn in the oven.
Seriously, that was one of the easiest meals I've ever made in my life. And the meat was so tender you didn't even need a knife. I wish I had made more, so I could make a sandwich later, yummy! BBQ pulled pork with cheese. And I loved seeing P's face when I told him I BBQed or him, but when he took a bite, he was amazed.
Yay me!
June 2, 2008
Breakfast Dilemma
So, the figlet has completely destroyed my ideal pregnancy: healthy food, excercise and rest.
My biggest problems with food are sort of stupid sounding, but really quite an obstacle to work around. I can't eat and drink at the same time, and I can't stomach sweet foods. Much.
Think on my pain for a second, will you?
No milk and cookies. No cereal. No soup. That's preactically what I loved on when I was pregnant with Boogie. No caffeine-free Coke with my pizza. No super-spicy food.
Okay, so I can deal. Takes a bit of maneuvering, but the kicker is the sweet food part. No Chinese food. No yogurt. No breakfast pastries. No oatmeal. Pretty much no breakfast unless I have time to cook (But because of the whole not-sleeping-at-night thing, I can't drag myself out of bed early enough to make real food). I'm living off sandwiches (but oh! Just heard I'm not supposed to be eating deli meat) so let's make that grilled cheese with tomato sandwiches, and real dinner food. Which sucks for breakfast.
I did figure out I can do sweet with salty, as in English muffin with butter, and half a yogurt. Or waffles with syrup and fried eggs. The "sickness" comes back if I don't follow these rules. How twisted is that?
And I think since I'm not eating enough, I don't have energy to exercise. And because I'm not exercising, I'm not sleeping well. Vicious, vicious circle.
My biggest problems with food are sort of stupid sounding, but really quite an obstacle to work around. I can't eat and drink at the same time, and I can't stomach sweet foods. Much.
Think on my pain for a second, will you?
No milk and cookies. No cereal. No soup. That's preactically what I loved on when I was pregnant with Boogie. No caffeine-free Coke with my pizza. No super-spicy food.
Okay, so I can deal. Takes a bit of maneuvering, but the kicker is the sweet food part. No Chinese food. No yogurt. No breakfast pastries. No oatmeal. Pretty much no breakfast unless I have time to cook (But because of the whole not-sleeping-at-night thing, I can't drag myself out of bed early enough to make real food). I'm living off sandwiches (but oh! Just heard I'm not supposed to be eating deli meat) so let's make that grilled cheese with tomato sandwiches, and real dinner food. Which sucks for breakfast.
I did figure out I can do sweet with salty, as in English muffin with butter, and half a yogurt. Or waffles with syrup and fried eggs. The "sickness" comes back if I don't follow these rules. How twisted is that?
And I think since I'm not eating enough, I don't have energy to exercise. And because I'm not exercising, I'm not sleeping well. Vicious, vicious circle.
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