Eat, Read, and Be Mommy

Today, I am grateful.

I am grateful for my mother, my mother-in-law, my sister, and my sisters-in-law.

I am grateful for my aunts, those on earth, those beyond the veil, and those by marriage.

I am grateful for my mother-friends.

I am grateful for the women who have mothered and mentored and loved me.

I am grateful for the grandmothers that I hope to know better in the next life, and for my abuelita who made my grandfather’s last years happy ones.

I am grateful for my four beautiful children.

I am blessed.  And I am grateful for it.

That’s the thing about having a baby.  You make your go-to easy meals over and over again when you’re pregnant, because there is just no energy to be had (not to mention no desire to spend more time with food than absolutely necessary).  Then you have a newborn, and until the baby starts feeding itself, you still need easy meals.  Except that by this time, you’ve exhausted all of your regular options and you’re kind of desperate for new recipes that are magically easy and delicious, because dinnertime has become a terrifying juggernaut of MAKE DINNER SHOWER THE GIRLIES CLEAN UP THE KITCHEN AS YOU GO AND FEED THE BABY FOR HOURS ON END!  (And if all of those things don’t happen in a timely fashion, either the girlies are in bed late on a school night and grouchy in the morning, or I’m using my precious and limited child-free time to do dishes, dishes, dishes.  Or the baby is screaming.)

Anyway.  In my seemingly endless quest for easy meals, I came across this recipe for One Pot BBQ Chicken Pasta on one of my Pinterest boards, and thought–hey!  I can do that!  And so I did.

I didn’t necessarily do it well, though.  I didn’t read closely enough to realize the bacon was supposed to stay in the whole time, which might have changed the flavor (although I may still be an advocate for removing it and adding it at the end, for the crispiness).  And I forgot to turn down my burner after my meat was definitively browned, which meant my onions and garlic and chicken weren’t really cooked to perfection.  I also used whole wheat pasta, which almost overpowered the other flavors, sad to say.  (I just really, really love regular pasta.  I’m trying to lean healthier, though.)  I also wish I’d used evaporated milk instead of regular, and possibly upped the milk and lessened the water (I use bouillon cubes and water for the chicken broth).  Creamier would have been nicer.

What I’m really saying is that I will try it again, but I’d like to execute the recipe better and tweak a few things.  No one complained about it, though, which is a nice thing.  Now–what are YOUR go-to easy recipes?

(Please share.  I’m feeling a little desperate about the whole thing.)

Yes indeedy, folks, I have FINISHED this year’s Newberys!  (Not that it’s been hard; remember, this was the year of two verse novels and a graphic novel.  I think I’ve mentioned my ambivalence about that.)  Jacqueline Woodson’s Brown Girl Dreaming took forever to come in at the library–it won more than one award this year–but come in it did, and I finished it on Sunday.

And what did you think?, you ask.

Hmmm.

Woodson certainly writes beautifully enough to pull off this kind of a verse novel–make no mistake about that.  She captures certain moments of her life in vivid perfection.  The longing of a girl that left behind family in both Ohio and South Carolina to end up in Brooklyn was poignantly illustrated, even as those illustrations showed us the ultimate adaptability of childhood.  I fully enjoyed the book, in fact; I do, however, wonder if it would be better termed an autobiography, rather than an autobiographical novel.  Memoirs allow for a bit less cohesiveness, and while Brown Girl Dreaming did have a message, it also had a more meandering plot.  (I possibly felt that the end was a bit more meandering than the rest of it, but that was an impression; I’m not sure I can back it up with specifics.)

Incidentally, I read an article that questioned the necessity of ‘Brown’ in the title; the author wondered if its presence would prevent it from reaching the full audience it deserves.  I’m not sure I agree with that concern; I may not be a brown girl (meaning I’m awfully white for even a white girl–it goes with the hair), but the title didn’t particularly affect how I felt about it going in.  I might agree, however, that ‘brown’ is unnecessary.  I’m honestly not sure.

Ultimately, Brown Girl Dreaming is well-written, and there were things I really enjoyed about it; I’m certainly glad I read it.  On the other hand, I wonder if it might not be too autobiography-ish for its intended audience.  Her girlhood was heavily influenced by the politics of the time–will girls nowadays care enough?  Time will tell, I suppose.  I’m not sure I loved the complete package of the novel enough to tell the world they all have to read this book, but for those who enjoy memoirs, verse novels, or history, it’s well worth your time.

You know what good friends do?

Good friends come when you’re sick, even when there’s a possibility their family’s recent virus might have been different than yours, leaving them (and their kids!) at risk of getting the evilness that hit you like a ton of bricks.

Good friends organize May the 4th parties with activities for their kids AND yours, AND they make sure you have pictures of them to blog about even if it turns out you’re just too dang tired to ask your husband how to post them.  (And make no mistake, he’s the technology behind this blog.)

And good friends show up at your door with ice cream after you cried on the phone to them during a difficult day with your overtired 8-year-old. And Snickers bites.  And Grape Vines.  (She despises grape flavoring.  She also brought ice cream for my hubby.)

Good friends are one of the greatest blessings in this life.  Make sure all of yours know how awesome they are.

My parents are in town for a couple of days on their way to my sister’s house in Colorado, and by a happy coincidence, my hubby got one of his occasional free-new-movie-and-treat deals from work for last night.  When you have a newborn, you really don’t get out much, which is why, even sick, I was completely thrilled at the opportunity.  Of course, there was this conversation:

Hubby:  It’s the Avengers.

Me:  Okay.

Hubby:  Have you seen the other Avengers movie?

Me:  No.

Hubby:  Have you seen Thor?

Me:  No.

Hubby:  Thor 2?

Me:  No.

Hubby:  Captain America 1 or 2?

Me:  No.

Hubby:  ANY of the other movies?

Me:  No.

Hubby:  Hmm.  Okay….

(In my defense, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him; he sees movies without me all the time while he’s working on stuff downstairs, but I almost never see movies without him.)

Happily, however, it didn’t seem to be a big deal that I hadn’t seen the other movies.  I did have to lean over and ask, “Who’s THAT?” a few times–Hawkeye is a character on M*A*S*H as far as I’m concerned, and a black widow is a spider–but I used to watch “The Incredible Hulk” with my brother when I was VERY young, and I remember the taglines for the Captain America movies.  (I’ve also seen “Adventures in Babysitting,” giving me a nodding acquaintance with Thor.)  Either way, it wasn’t hard to pick up on the plot, and it was fun to see the oddly assorted group of heroes saving the world.  Some of the crashing got a bit dicey with the sinus headache I was flirting with, but at least the noise hid my occasional coughing fits.  It was, overall, a fun movie–and it was sheer bliss to be out with my husband for once.  Wahoo!