Jack and the Beanstalk. I Mean Planner.

I love my child. Truly I do. He is one of the coolest, funniest kids I know. Has a rather mature sense of humor for an 11-year old and not only "gets' sarcasm but wields it like a sword. I like it. The only problem with my boy is that there is NO arguing with him. I have NO idea where he got that from. Okay, yes I do. There is also no arguing with me. Which is why it's a very good thing that he is upstairs right now insisting that Friday is the first day of Winter Break. It's not. It is the last day of school BEFORE break. He is telling his dad that it says it starts on Friday "IN HIS PLANNER". Gee, Jack.......I just got onto the school website and it says that Friday is the last day of school. "Winter" parties and all. Jack: "Well it's wrong. I wrote in my planner that it starts Friday". Apparently Jack has some kind of magical planner that makes whatever he scrawls in it happen. Oh, let's see......Monday......African Safari!  Nice! And on Christmas Eve, FAO Schwarz in Manhattan appears to be opening it's doors only to him for an unlimited shopping spree. Looks like in April there's something about a trip to the moon but I can't quite make that out. I've got few things I'd like to write in that planner........all day spa treatment at Tall Grass Spa, cleaning ladies every Friday, someone to do my bidding every day, etc. Gimme that thing. Oh wait. That's right. It doesn't work. No matter what Jack says, break officially starts on Monday. And I have just informed him of that. I think my exact quote was, "You can tell me it starts on Friday 'til you're blue in the face but it doesn't. End of discussion". And as I typed this I had a horrible thought. What if there's a snow day? There is a storm coming. And then he'd BE RIGHT. Oh God. Maybe that planner is MAGICAL. Jack and the Magical Planner. There's a story there. Part of the plotline would be that his horrible mother steals it and uses for evil. Too bad I'm not his stepmother. That would be better.  Gotta go. I've got a planner to steal. And Harry Potter-like world domination to plot. Move over JK Rowling. There's a new billionaire in town.

You Be Illin'

I am sorry but there is a BIG difference between a sick man and a sick woman. As cliche as it may be, it's freaking TRUE. Those of you who are facebook friends of mine are aware that Dave has been sick. He came home from work yesterday and said, "What did you say about me on facebook?" Uh.......I say LOTS of stuff about him on facebook. Apparently the remark in question was in regards to his terrible illness. People at his office were surprised he was not hospitalized given the gravity of the wasting disease described in my posts. When I explained to him that I was simply pointing out that he was horribly ill, (and yes, making fun of him) he said, "That's SUCH a woman thing". Well, being a big fat baby when you're sick is SUCH a man thing. NO PERSON HAS EVER BEEN SICKER THAN A MAN WITH A COLD. It's not just Dave. It's my dad, my brother, my male friends, my friend's husbands, etc., etc. For some reason a sick male (a notable exception being your sick male child......it's a mommy thing) is extra annoying. Maybe it's that our female brains are wired to need our males to be capable and strong. Provide and protect and all that. A sick man is neither capable OR strong. More like a big lump with a box of Kleenex. Scratch that. A MOANING big lump with a box of Kleenex. That sneezes and coughs. It's not that I'm lacking a care-taking instinct.  I was not berating him while he was feeling poorly. I asked him if he needed anything, fetched him water, and procured his medications. I even asked him if he would like something special to eat. Oh, and bought him popsicles. POPSICLES, PEOPLE!!!!!! That's above and beyond. But appropriate levels of compassion notwithstanding, I think a big factor in our lack of ability to fully sympathize is this: CHILDBIRTH. Nothing you can do, men........cold, flu, loss of limb will ever make up for the fact that for nine months or more we chicks were pregnant. And then either physically forced a child out of our bodies or had them surgically removed. Splayed open like a halibut I was. So maybe that's what it's all about. Poop out a bowling ball and then maybe we'll feel a little worse when you start sniffling. Maybe we're just a pack of bitter battle axes. But probably not. Or maybe it's the one time a man can let his guard down and be vulnerable. You don't have to be big and strong when you be illin'. You can revert to being a sick little boy in footy pajamas. And maybe you just want your mommy. But your wife is not your mommy, unfortunately and maybe that's why we aren't capable of treating you as such. Ahhhhh, geez......I can hear him about to hack up a lung. Better go check on him. And call 911. Dispatcher: "What's your emergency?" Me: "My husband has a cold". Dispatcher (speaking into radio): "Flight for Life??? We have a pick-up in Morrison. STAT." 

Single Parent

Well, it's Thursday everybody! The college kid and bored housewives portal to the weekend! And I'm looking forward to it actually. You see, last weekend Dave was in Michigan for a couple of shows. He's a rock star, in case you didn't know. Well, a guy with a guitar that gets paid money to sing. He's also a real estate broker so that kinda disqualifies him as "rock star" per se. He'll rock your world! Then show you a nice bungalow in Berkeley. Recently remodeled! And then he'll smash a guitar. But anyway, he was in Michigan. His being in Michigan did not bother me so much. What did bother me was figuring out what to do as a "single parent" with my eleven-year old son. I realized that a lot of what goes on around here on the weekends is sports related. It's Dave and Jack watching college football on Saturday. And NFL football on Sunday. And college hoops in between. And when there is a commercial, they are throwing a football around my living room. It's a lot of man shit. So I'm wondering what in the HELL I going to do all weekend to entertain this child. I should have been more worried about entertaining myself. He was plenty occupied. He had his friend over on Friday night. I actually had a friend over too. Sat in the kitchen and chatted while the kids were downstairs. So that wasn't so bad. Saturday morning I made him breakfast and he chilled while I did typical housewife crap. Including running around the back yard frantically waving a piece of pizza in an attempt to save Grady from a gigantic elk. *SEE PHOTO......do I lie?* Then his friend came over. They hung out until it was time to leave for the movie I had promised to take them to that afternoon. We stopped at Walgreen's as in a cost-cutting move, I have started smuggling their candy and drinks into the theatre. Hey, I'm still buying tickets. And popcorn. I'm not completely bucking the system. I'm just walking into a theatre with a gigantic Coach purse that looks like there's a bobcat about to bust out of it at any given second. No biggie. So, we settle into our seats. Eat some corn. Can't take the contraband snacks out until it's dark. I find myself getting sized up by the very obviously single dad's who are trying to entertain the kids they have for the weekend. Kinda like me. Except I'm not single. I should really look into this wedding ring thing so that I can avoid getting the raised eyebrow from imabigfatbalddivorcee.com Ewww. Bottom line, the movie, Megamind, sucked. Jack said, "Wow. That was a big waste of Will Ferrell's talent". Aptly put, Gene Shallot. BUT, it blew some time. We go home. His friend wants to stay. That's cool. But nobody wants to play with me. My friends were either out of town or going on dates with their stupid husbands. Smug marrieds. The kids are downstairs. I offer to make them a nacho bar. That's how bored I was. They come to the kitchen, get their delicious nachos and go downstairs. And start jamming music. Oh, and playing Twister.  At this point I realized how truly pathetic my life had become. Well, my Saturday but "life" sounds more dramatic. I wanted to play Twister with MY friends. At this point it's like 7:30. I decide that in a show of protest and self-pity, I will put on my flannel pajamas, get a blanket and sit on the couch. With a Diet Coke. I refused to participate in the nacho bar. It was kind of a hunger strike move. Like the kids cared. So I'm on the couch, watching Sex and the City. The movie. I had sworn I would never watch that simply on the principle that it's retarded. But it made for a good visual. Me, on the couch, in the flannels, with the blanket. Watching Sex and the City. All that was missing was the pint of Haagen Daz. Reference aforementioned hunger strike. It was like I was sick but I wasn't. Sick of that freakin' Saturday, alright. Suffice to say, Dave got home just in time for the Lion's game on Sunday and there was much rejoicing. Being a single parent is not for the faint of heart. Or the easily bored, spoiled girl who is used to having people around to entertain her and do her bidding. Dude. I had to rub my own bunions. And that's just not cool.  So happy weekend, everybody! Mine is looking up. 

Spinach Potato Soup

I think because I was such a slacker for several months with Deep Thoughts, you guys all missed my "Formerly Fabulous Thrift Initiative" in which no food is left behind. It's kind of a game. And I have all sorts of awesome food in the freezer. I'm working on another blog that focuses on that crap specifically. In the meantime, I'll drop my little culinary bombs on you here at Deep Thoughts HQ. "I dropped a bomb on you......baby......". I was just in my pantry and what to my wandering......I mean wondering........eye did appear but a shit-load of potatoes that were about to turn the corner!!!! So I put on my Formerly Fabulous Thinking Cap (the cap is still fabulous.........I have my standards.......) and came up with THIS: I'm gonna peel those terrible tubers and make two things: Spinach Potato Soup and Potato and Cheese Enchiladas. Because I have a freaking crazy day (fucking charity work.......fucking Pilates.......fucking Christmas.......) I will post the recipe for the soup now and hopefully can sit my ass down and crank out the enchilada recipe for ya this afternoon. As an interesting aside, "This recipe is one that the US Department of Agriculture used to distribute to potato growers in the 1930's. It is rich and thick, almost a meal in itself and is very easy to make". Dude. That's old-timey. 

Spinach Potato Soup 

(serves four......I usually double this recipe 'cause it's doubly delicious)

1/2 cup fresh onion (as opposed to an onion that's been festering in the sun)

2 T butter

2 c water

1 t salt

2 c potatoes (about 1 lb raw potatoes......yo' Idaho.....)

2 c cooked chopped spinach, fresh or frozen

13 oz can of evaporated milk

1 T Worcestershire sauce

1/2 lb grated cheese (cheddar or Swiss......or a both......)

In  a 3-quart saucepan, sautee the (fresh!) onion in the butter until the onion is translucent (about three minutes). Add water, potatoes, spinach and salt. Cook until potatoes are tender (about 20 minutes). Add milk and Worcestershire sauce. Reheat to near boiling but do not boil. *at this point I usually take a "boat-motor" and puree the soup so that the potatoes are not in chunks, but do what ya like* Stir in cheese and serve! 

So there you go. I've got butt-loads of soup recipes. Perhaps I'll start a little something we could call "Soupy Sunday's". Although depending on your Saturday evening that could have a different connotation. Which is why I need a separate blog for the food stuff. Sometimes the Deep Thoughts are not conducive to a hearty appetite. Oh well. 

Help!

Hey Guys! Just wanted to take a sec before I head out on my day of madness to say a big "THANKS". Since the blog has been back, I've received SO many nice emails, comments, etc. That shit really does warm the cockles of my stony little heart. And it makes me want to keep doing this. When I first started this thing, I figured I'd just be doing it for myself and a few friends who inexplicably find my trials and tribs amusing. So it's been a really big surprise to find that other people kinda like it too. This blogging thing is all about numbers. Big numbers bring you advertisers. And if I have advertisers, I can blog my little heart out. Actually get this to the next level. Videos! Recipes! My friends doing wacky things! So what I need from you, my friends, is to take a sec and "share" any Deep Thoughts you may enjoy on your facebook page. Or just tell your friends. Any help I can get would be appreciated tremendously. And if you don't like them, you can print them up and wipe your bum with them. It's a free country. And it's better than a corn cob. Trust me. 

Oh Christmas Tree

If you are of the Christian persuasion, it's pretty likely that if you have NOT decorated a Christmas tree yet this year, you will be doing so very soon. Even if you're not of the Christian persuasion, you may be decorating a Hannukah bush. Or a Kwanza stick or a Festivus pole. 'Tis the season to decorate shit, with varying degrees of success. And varying degrees of enthusiasm, depending on what stage of life you're at. I remember my first tree. It was pretty sparse in the ornament department. So much so that a friend who shall remain nameless (MR. DOG) remarked upon that fact. Well, that laid down the gauntlet and resulted in years of furious ornament acquisition. Subsequently, the tree got fuller. And fuller. So we got another tree. And another tree. And little mini trees. These trees eventually developed themes. With names like "Fruity Woodland Splendor". I shit you not. Fruity Fucking Woodland Splendor. There was a tree covered with silk magnolias, white doves and a gilded bird cage as a tree topper. That one didn't have a name but if it did it would be something like "This Woman is Bat Shit Crazy". So this crap goes on until Jack was crawling and sticking anything that was not nailed down into his mouth and knocking shit over. That's when the "good" ornaments started moving up the tree. As any good tree trimmer knows, it's all about balance. So the tree(s) starts losing a bit of luster. But then the kid gets older and order is restored. There are a few good tree years there. Until the kids start getting interested in "helping". Oh God. This is a REALLY sticky wicket because tree trimming is supposed to be a warm, family activity of Rockwellian proportions. It's not supposed to be about showmanship, right? Wrong. Jack "helped" this year as he has since he was able. This helping involves putting the ornaments that I always consider "back of the tree" front and center. And grouping things together. Like ALL of the state of Michigan sports related ornaments together. And everything he ever made at school together. So you've got Detroit Lions and Red Wings ornaments in one group and balls of yarn in the next. Again, in the front of the tree. Thus begins the stealth operation I've begun to think of as "The Dance". The Dance often involves the art of distraction. "Oh look! There's a bat in the house!" Move an ornament. "Oh look! A naked lady!" Move an ornament. Because it is very, very important that the kid does not realize that you have moved an ornament. I'm not sure why, but so far Jack is not on to me. Eleven-year old boys are not all that detail oriented it seems. Once it's up and on the tree, it's out of his mind. Thank God. I'm still fighting the good fight. Sorta. I am down to one tree. This may be an indication that I am reaching the next stage in which you start relinquishing control. My friend Bethany posted a picture on Facebook of her family tree. In a bold move, she let her husband and kids do the trimming. She even left the house. The result was actually rather charming. Colored lights on top, white lights on the bottom and most of the ornaments clustered around the middle. And in groups. She posted a picture of a few angels together. She said her kids probably thought the angels were too insecure to hang out by themselves. Maybe next year I myself will be secure enough to let Jack and Dave take the wheel. But of course, there will come a time that Jack has no interest whatsoever in the tree. He'll be too busy being a belligerent teen to give a crap about ornament placement. And then I'll have my tree back. Can you say "Wintery Pheasant Phantasy"?  Of course you can.

Donkey Show Part Deux

Okay, so the donkey sale continues. I don't think they've had any takers. Which is surprising as for $95, why WOULDN'T you buy a donkey???? It has been suggested that I could stick some antler's on their heads and have them mill about as reindeer during the month of December. Then I came up with the super-great idea of staging a LIVE NATIVITY SCENE in my front yard. I initially thought that I would play the Virgin Mary. But then I was struck by lightning and thought better of it.  But surely I could find some hapless spinster to stand there and hold Jack, who will be very convincing as the baby Jesus. All 105 lbs of him. His initials ARE JC after all. And Christmas Eve IS his "half-birthday". He thinks he's got one up on us because he's convinced us that people get "half-birthday" presents. The joke is actually on him as it's CHRISTMAS, dummy.......you'd get to open a present on Christmas Eve ANYWAY. Nothing like pullin' one over on your kid. PSYCH!!!!! But back to the donkey thing. If I can't pull off the live nativity scene (complete with beer sales to the passing parade of cars........gotta turn a profit......if that's illegal we can sell burritos) I have some other ideas. Our country club could buy the whole damn donkey herd and use them as caddies. We'd be known as "that club with the donkey's". Which would be pretty sweet. Barring that, I believe I will simply purchase a donkey and ride him naked through the streets Morrison. That'll get 'em talking! Oh wait. Nevermind.