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me, bellyachin’
Beans, beans, beans. Beans, beans and more beans. I like beans. I love beans, in fact. But I can’t take any more beans this week. I’ve been eating 3-bean salad every day, twice a day, since Sunday, it seems, and to be blunt, I am in gastric distress, and I can’t eat anymore. As awesome as beans are as a protein and an inexpensive food, I’m done. I will just eat cereal and milk til that runs out, and then I’ll eat oatmeal without milk. No more beans for me. Interesting — until this moment, I hadn’t considered that there might be physical side effects from my food stamp budget.…
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If it’s Tuesday, it must be meatloaf
Did you have one of those mothers who served a specific food on a certain weeknight? I didn’t, but I knew other people who did. One friend’s mom made up her entire month’s menu, and you could go look and see what they’d be eating two weeks from now. The attention to detail was most impressive. The closest I get to that level of predictability is perhaps a “Soup Monday” for a couple of weeks — say, in Lent or Advent, as a way to bring some simplicity to the table. And Thursday tends to be leftover night at Chez Tracey. By then, we have Sunday through Wednesday night dinners…
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mice on wheels
Ever notice how you learn a new word, then hear it everywhere you go? When you’re pregnant, all you see is pregnant women walking the streets or moms pushing strollers? You’re thinking of going to Paris, and suddenly every newspaper, TV station and poster has something to do with France? In recent weeks, it seems that poverty, welfare and hunger have permeated my brain. And I keep overhearing snatches of conversations. Yesterday the clock radio went off really early — maybe 5 a.m. From a dead sleep, I heard a man say, “Well, those deadbeats on welfare don’t want to get their hands dirty when they can stay home drinking…
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BBQ and the Beast
Did you ever see such a happy hostess? No? I didn’t think so. Speaking to you live from Party HQ, where the Father’s Day BBQ adventure is winding down. Well, it’s done, actually. All guests gone, all dishes washed, and all food accounted for. Well, there I am in my pink flamingo apron, clutching my bar stool for dear life as I wonder if there will be enough food or too much, and if people will come, chat, behave, and then leave before bedtime. The answer to all of the above was, I’m glad to report, a resounding yes. Yes, folks came, had fun and left, and there was enough…
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Saturday, with math and party prep
Yep. That’s my husband, getting the tiki bar ready for his Father’s Day bash. Today has been a day — of lots of cleaning and prep work for tomorrow’s somewhat challenging BBQ. This morning, I saw that Mr. Husband’s shopping list (he needed to go to the hardware store) included more potato chips. He bought a bushel of tortilla chips yesterday (great price, but it’s a boatload of chips — seriously), and I also haggled over which kind to buy. But what I didn’t buy was ruffled dip chips. After an earnest conversation, guess what? I won the toss, we’ll live with the unruffled chips, and we shall stick to…
