Cabbage.

I started getting a produce delivery. It comes to the school from Full Circle Farm.

I didn't know you could omit things at first, so the first box I was like "um... ok" there were some things I wouldn't normally buy but I gave it a go. Then I found the "omit" button and quickly packed my box myself, practically, I chose all the things I would buy and waited anxiously for it to arrive. I get it every other week, every week seemed like too much, I do still like to buy things on a whim, avocados for one, I am picky and we got through about 2 every couple days...

anyway so my box comes, I open it up, excited and prepared to wash and prep all of my requests and then... nothing. There were no things in the box that I had picked, they got it wrong....

I was SO mad, I was really bent out of shape, I had plans for my food.

So I called and they were really sweet saying they would give me a credit for the price of everything I had wanted but I didn't find that necessary, I mean, I was stuck with the box and it was full of great stuff just not the shit I wanted.

I spent the week making stuff up, which is what I do. That is how I cook.

And I wanted to share a recipe. 

Cabbage. I like it. It is find but I never buy it. I might make a spicy coleslaw in the summer when we BBQ or something but it is not something I use BUT my Mom makes this super yummy dish, unfortunately it's called "boiled dinner" which I hate the name, therefore I never make it. Besides she makes it best... I was racking my brain and I wanted to make something reminiscent of her dish but maybe a little... more me.

I roasted the cabbage in a orange and thyme vinaigrette and it was so delicious only about 1/2 of it made it, I literally stood over it, eating it off the cookie sheet, like I do blackened broccoli and curried cauliflower.

So here it is, try it out.

1/4 olive oil

1/2 orange (or lemon)

2 T. fresh thyme or 3 tsp of dried

pinch of salt

4 cracks of pepper

small squeeze of honey (about 1T)

Preheat oven to 375

Slice cabbage in half, rinse and cut out stem (triangular cut) then slice about 2" wedges, lay on cookie sheet. Drizzle vinaigrette evenly over wedges and roast on a cookie sheet for about 15 min, flip the cabbage over and 15 min more. 

Tick tick, tick tick.

Hey Mom. I think you forgot something.

A friend of mine was saying something nice about Quattro, my 10 year old. That he was polite or funny or something awesome and I just smiled and said "ya, thank you". I couldn't help but think she was complimenting me, by complimenting him. And that's one that is not hard to accept. Until recently, I feel it has always been hard to accept when someone says something nice to me. I cringe, a little, blow it off, a lot. Lately I have noticed this about myself and I have made a decision that it must stop. Just like thinking I look "fat" in something. I'm human, I have bad days but I think with kids, maybe especially with a girl but not necessarily, talking down about myself is just something that can't be. Not even off the cuff, not even joking. Everything we do can be taken to heart for these kids, it could also be taken with a grain of salt but how would you know? Risky.

Growing up I don't remember getting compliments and I certainly don't remember being taught how to accept them. Maybe it was the "times" or whatever but I have a feeling there were probably people growing up in the 80's (yep, the 80's) that knew how it was supposed to go. 

Not us.

I feel like my sister would never compliment me because she pretty much hated me. We are really close now but that didn't happen until I was in my mid- late 20's. I always wanted to be like her, she was smart and beautiful and seemed like she knew she wanted to get the hell out of our town, so I was on board with all of that. My family always seemed so preoccupied with work or someone else's problems, I did feel as though I slipped through the cracks in a lot of ways but that might be a whole different blog entry. Mostly I wish I would have seen people accept when others said something nice about them. It seems as though it is more important than you might think.

So I guess that's just part of my job description, to take the things I wish were different with my childhood and make them so with mine.  Same goes for keeping the things that are great. I like that way of thinking. I think more people should take notice what they think they might have missed out on or remember the things that make them strong and tighten it up a bit for their offspring. 

Growing up, I did learn to go out of my way to do things for people. We were always doing something for someone when I was a kid. My Grandparents are the pioneers of delivering a hitchhiker to his new spot and finding cars for those who need one- or a refrigerator, whatever you need, they will make sure you have it. They are still that way. Still the nicest people I know.

When I first met my husband, we were walking in NYC and there was a homeless man sitting in a wheelchair and there was a hat just on the other side of the curb, in the ditch. People were rushing by him and we passed him. Then I stopped and turned around and waded through the crowd and picked up his hat and handed it to him. Eddie gave me a weird look and we kept walking.

It never bothered me that the man that I was going to marry didn't think twice about passing this guy, obviously needing help because I was programmed to help. Now 11+ years later I think it might be because whenever I tell him he looks great, or sounds great he just says "thank you".

Never can tell

You can't. I'm convinced we all have a "cover" that leads others to believe one thing but sometimes it is so far off, it's shocking.

I was walking in Ballard today with Elvis in her stroller and this lady was walking towards me, nicely dressed but she looked like she was hiding something. So I followed her. I can't help it, I was roaming around aimlessly and sometimes adventure calls in the strangest way. She had a nice bag and her hair was neat, outfit seemed to pass for "normal" and then she walked up to this van that was packed to the roof with crap. The entire dashboard was covered in fast food trash, papers, clothing... it was wildly disgusting. So she opens the sliding door and hops in. I had to pause for a minute (fix the baby's blanket) and when she opened the door it was like an episode of "Hoarders" but in a van! I don't know how she even got in, I was stunned, she just sort of disappeared into the abyss of garbage.

I'm not judging too much. I mean, yes I think it is totally whack that people live this way and every time I watch an episode of "Hoarders" I itch and immediately take some stuff to donate at Value Village. I was just more struck by how much effort this person must put into seeming "normal" because no matter how you slice it, chick is not okay.

My point is, we have to look under the "cover" to find out who we are dealing with. This lady looked perfectly fine, you'd totally rent her a room in your house or ask her to watch your stroller while you throw something in the trash can- whatever, you just would, by looking at her. Meanwhile, I can't even get a conversation going with any other Mothers in Ballard or the like because of the way I look to them. If they only knew I was a hardcore troubadour, I'm solid. I'm a connoisseur of parenting, I live it, I breathe it and I'm pretty fucking good at it. 

But they don't know. They are just wound up so tight, very judgmental- it seems.

I try not to judge. I notice. I observe. And I am open to being wrong about someone but I am usually right. My husband calls it my "gift/curse". I'm not a "know-it-all" but I am right a lot. I think it's because I have this old man in me, I have this creepy sense that I have been through a lot of things that are playing out in real time, like deja vu on steroids.

Paris

My husband is in Paris today, meanwhile I was woken up by a very cute and very sad baby twice last night. I was definitely not in Paris.

It is hard not be jealous and envious and all of the other sins I try to leave behind. I want to just get on a plane and be over there but it's not to be. 

It's the little things over here that he does, that make things smooth, that I miss the most. Well I miss his presence in the bed but I don't miss sharing it. Funny how when you have very little sleep to begin with, getting into bed at night and having the whole thing to myself, is not that hardest part of him being away but waking up to one of my either way too strong or way too weak cups of coffee... that is the kicker. That is when it really hurts. 

I miss you Eddie. 28 days left.

Boo, hiss.

Lately I have felt the weight of my life. 

The mostly single mom stuff. The fact that my husband is really far away stuff.

This is all very much at the surface because over the last 8 days, I got worked. On top of being deathly ill myself, my two kids have been as well.. but not at the same time, oh no- that might have been too easy. I have changed 3 beds approximately 5000 times. Approximately, I was too sick to keep count. Climbing into a loft bed to change the heavily barfed sheets of a 10 year olds bed is... well, let's just say my daughter will not be getting a loft bed. You live. You learn.

My little house got hit with what can only be remembered as the virus from hell. 

Enough about that. I'm still weak. I've consumed about 600 calories in 4 days, I can't bare to talk about it anymore. 

 

Errrrrrrr.....