Call in the Panda

Sometimes you just have to call in the Panda.  Let me explain…

Happy jibber-jabber echoed from the back seat of my car as Leighton and I headed home this afternoon.  My head continued pounding, eyes glazed over, and nose nearly bursting from my horribly awesome sickness which is no longer deniable. I sound like a man-toad too.  I called the husband, only to find out he would be home late from work.  As usual, in the matter of minutes I remained on the phone, my mischievous daughter began pouring milk from her bottle onto her lap.  It’s as if she likes watching me try to drive straight while simultaneously reaching backwards to end her game.  At least this time she didn’t move the bottle just enough centimeters away from my fingers that I couldn’t actually grab it. Then grin from ear-to-ear as she watched me fumble for it. (I wish that was a joke.) 

When we arrived home, I began the normal routine.  Let the dog out of its crate, watch the dog jump around like crazy,… let the dog out to go potty. {Am I the only one that still refers to it as such?} Then, because sometimes I believe my child actually has a desire to behave (buried deep within), I left her inside so I could grab another load from the car. (And to think I used to get out of the car with only a purse.)  I walked back inside to find L splashing in the dog crate. "Where did the water from?", you ask. Oh, just out of our dog’s bowl she dumped upside-down in the thirty seconds it took me to travel roundtrip to the garage.  A few minutes later, I found myself stomping water out of the carpet, which did wonders for my sinus headache.

My mouth was now watering for the amazingly spicy Buffalo Chicken Salads I planned to make for dinner. I started to clean up the kitchen, put away bottles, and clean up lunch containers when I realized I was still in normal clothes. Unbelievable.  The way I feel when I’m at home in "outside” clothes is probably the way a nudist feels when he has to wear clothes—extremely uncomfortable. L followed me back to my room so I could put on my house clothes, which typically consists of yoga pants and a sweatshirt.  This is going to sound like I made it up, but as I walked around my bed, I found L splashing her hands in water on my nightstand.  Not only that, but she was drenched, and water was dripping out of my nightstand drawer.  This time she’d found my water cup.  As with the crate-water incident, I raised my voice, and firmly grabbed her and made her sit down while I cleaned up the mess.  Now my throat was sorer than before, and I was beyond irritated with her.  I one-by-one grabbed soaking items out of my nightstand drawer to dry them off.  {Side note: I found pepper spray and a tattoo design. 1. What good is pepper spray going to do when it’s buried in your nightstand? “Hold on…I know it’s here somewhere.” And 2. L grabbed the design and shredded it, so I guess I’ll have to pick a new one. Don’t worry, Mom, it’ll never actually happen.}    

I returned to the kitchen; but at this point, this sick and tired mama was nearing to her breaking point.  Then all of the sudden, it came to me—an idea, a solution, a way out of making dinner.  I called the husband and said, “I’m this close to rolling up in a ball, finding a corner, and slowly rocking back and forth. What I really mean to say is...Can you please pick up Panda on your way home?”

I sheepishly took off my “super-mom” badge, said “forget you” to some dishes, and heavily sighed.  If anything was being made in the kitchen, it wasn’t happening with my weary hands.  Nay, I was going to unapologetically devour a sodium-rich Panda bowl (something I might actually be able to taste). However, there was one thing I’d forgotten to do…One very important thing. Give it up. Give it all up to God. I quickly asked him to step in- or something along those lines.  (You know, one of those times you're feeling too stubborn to ask for much else.)

Within moments, I felt my grumpiness fade. I sprawled out onto the floor with L.  Over and over again I answered the question, “Wussat?! Wussat?! (What’s that?) as we watched her creepily silly baby show together. I danced like only Leighton was watching. She bulldozed over me the way she does with our 90 lb dog, kneeing my boobs in the process; but leaving my cheek with a kiss.  I forgot about how much I despise our dog-hair filled carpet as we played together on the floor.  Equally unimportant to me became our messy, well-lived in house.  As L jumped on me once again, I realized there’s nothing a little talk with God, playing with your child, and some Orange Chicken can’t cure. 

Wrapped Up

Sun ray's bounce off of snow-covered branches over a white glistening blanket, children's joyous screams echo throughout the neighborhood, jolly rosy-cheeked Santa's hear little Christmas wishes, nighttime traffic creates glowing lightshows against the dark, beautiful houses and intricately decorated trees twinkle, and wonderful presents are wrapped up- but are we as well? 

Are we wrapped up in everything Christmas but the birth of our precious world-saving Jesus? You see, had I written this before I was done with my Christmas shopping and implementation of work parties, it might've read something like this...

Freezing snow flew onto the seat of my car as I opened the door, frost-bitten hands threw heavy bags of presents onto the seat. Crowds flooded the parking lot, cars illuminated by amber lights prevented me from moving. Children screeched, stores were swarmed with busy people. You get the picture. 

I watch my daughter look with excitement and pure wonder at the manger scene in our living room, giggling in delight as I point to Baby Jesus, and I covet her innocence. I want to see Christmas time in a new light. I want the sparkling snowflakes falling onto my blush nose to remind me why this season is so magical. I want to picture the miracle that happened that night with the same awe Leighton does when she sees the manger. 

(Yes, she gave a dog bone as offering. But you gotta give her credit for the book- babies like those.)

.......

"We're almost there," Joseph said tenderly as he gently rubbed Mary's back. Her faithful smile revealed hopefulness through her weary breathing and heavy eyes. Joseph steadily pushed through the evening crowd surrounding the streets of little Bethlehem, leading his precious wife and her beautifully round belly on the family donkey.  Mary suddenly reached over her side trying to ease the pain of yet another strong contraction, which told that the birth of her first child would soon happen.  Joseph cleared a way up to the Inn where Mary and Joseph planned to stay. "What do you mean there's no room?" Asked Joseph fearfully.  Knowing he needed to keep Mary and the baby calm, he let out a deep sigh and remained poised. He turned to his scared laboring wife with a strong confidence. "We'll just try the place down the road," he encouraged. 

After another full house, and a second discouraging "no", the anxious and exhausted couple continued on. Finally, in the near distance, they could see a possibility. They gazed into each other's heavy eyes, praying this would be the end of their tiresome journey. An older gentleman picked up a lantern from the concrete porch; with keys in hand, he turned towards the old rusty door to go inside for the night. "Wait", Joseph loudly yelled. The old man started to shake his head when he caught a glimpse of Mary on the muddy donkey.  "We need a place to stay," begged Joseph as they neared the porch. 

"I'm really sorry", replied the man. "We just gave away our last room. I have no where to put you." 

"Please", asked Joseph. By now his eyes were welled with frustrated tears. The man looked at Joseph and again at Mary, compassionately thinking of a way to help. 

He held up the small lantern and motioned for the couple to follow. They curiously began walking where the man was leading through the subtle lighted path he created. The man placed his lantern on the ground in a bed of fresh straw. It's glow illuminated the wooden stable that sheltered a few small animals.  Mary and Joseph looked at each other with relief, and then among the warmth of the shelter, stared up at the enormous bright star taking over the night sky.  

Within hours, Joseph was squeezing Mary's shaking hand as she began to bring a perfect baby into a hurting world.  Tears streamed down both of their faces when they held up baby Jesus as he let out his first subtle noise. They wrapped their most amazing gift in white swaddling clothes and laid him snug in the manger.  Through the unexplainable silence that fell over the world, they praised God as they studied his perfect face...

.......

I can only imagine the extravagant party the angels threw that night up in Heaven; and I hope that our Christmas family get-togethers will echo the one they'll throw again tomorrow.  I love Christmas. I love the beautiful decorations, the glistening snow, the laughter and love that abound. I just hope that I don't lose sight of what makes this time truly magical, and that's the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  In my mind, the abundance of presents isn't always a bad thing. I can bet that Jesus absolutely loves watching his children light up with excitement as they all exchange gifts with one another. He humbly entered the world as our gift, and it humbly brings him joy watching everyone else open presents on His own Birthday. As long as we remember... It's all because of Him. 

Once Upon-a-Month

What is that? What is that craziness that wells up inside me that just says, "don't look at me I want to punch you."

What did You do?

Nothing...you did nothing!

I'm not normally crazy about chocolate, but my stomach starts cramping and it would be safer for you to be stuck between a hungry silverback gorilla and a small child than between me and my chocolate. Oreo milkshakes, chocolate pudding, brownies,...Seriously, just pass the Hershey syrup. What is that? 

And the hot water bottle, oh the hot water bottle... This cramp-saver my Grammie gave me looks like it came straight out of a time machine, but do I love it! My husband, on the other hand, hates this thing so much he has literally hid it under the bed countless times so that I cannot find it (thus, resulting in him filling it up for me). When I have stomach cramps I am more attached to this thing than my daughter is to her bunny she sleeps with every night that smells like morning poop-breath because she gnaws on it so much. 

Clothes? Wait. Hold on, you want me to wear normal clothes? I have been menstruating for three days straight and you want me to put clothes on? What is that? 

That...that, my friends is the once-upon-a-month curse. That awful wretched disease that strikes and immediately turns your world upside down. You would almost rather be pregnant for the rest of your entire life than spend five days of every month teetering with the idea of checking yourself in somewhere. Why does that happen to us...why? Well, women, it happens to us because we are the only species strong enough to make it through. We are supercreature; I would say superhuman, but there is literally not another kind on the planet that can withstand slowly dying for a few days and then magically coming back to life. Our husbands, fathers, brothers, guy friends, and male co-workers, on the other hand, ( I know you are reading this in an attempt to better understand females, consequently saving your own life) are hurting and desperate for more answers.

I have a solution, and it does not involve living in the crawlspace for five days with a supply of chocolate and a heating pad- way too many spiders down there. 

It's called Prozac. HA...yeah, yeah...you think I'm joking, but to my tired and confused mom with a mentally unstable sixteen-year-old (only 5 days a month, of course) it was no joking matter. You see, it turns out there is actually something called PMDD. Premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD) is a severe, sometimes disabling extension of premenstrual syndrome (PMS). According to Mary M. Gallenberg M.D. (Mayo Clinic), Treatment of PMDD is directed at preventing or minimizing symptoms and may include:

• Antidepressants. Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), such as fluoxetine (Prozac, Sarafem, others) and sertraline (Zoloft) may reduce emotional symptoms and other symptoms, such as fatigue, food cravings and sleep problems. You can reduce symptoms of PMDD by taking SSRIs all month or only in the interval between ovulation and the start of your period.

So there you have it. If Aunt Flo's visit every month nearly sends you over an edge, you may be in luck. There are certainly other treatments that can help if you aren't a believer of modern medicine: things such as reading your Bible and praying, really hard and really often. Working out and exercising to keep stress levels low is another idea. (I thought you were just supposed to eat everything in sight.) My doctor at the time recommended the antidepressants (at a very low dose) so that's what I did a few days each month. I felt so much less irritable, and I stopped hurting people (just kidding). 

I also find it extremely entertaining that Dr. Gallenberg adds the following advice: "Try to avoid emotional triggers, such as arguments over financial issues or relationship problems, if possible." (Ya think!?) 

The good news is: Apparently being pregnant evened out my hormones; I haven't noticed the problem quite so much...so much, in fact, I've been laying off the meds for awhile. Either that or I'm so [mom]crazy now I can't tell the difference a few days a month. I would finish this post but my husband just read this last paragraph and said we need to talk...? Toodles. 

Party-in-Your-Mouth Chowder

Well now that I have your attention, I have to admit the soup is more of a get-together in your mouth than a party but super tasty nonetheless. This Chicken Corn Chowder recipe is a crowd pleaser, and more importantly, a husband-approved meal as well.  The best part though? It reins from a cookbook titled Almost-Homemade which is perfect for this mom who gets home from work and makes dinner while trying to entertain a 1.2 year old which earns me the title Almost-Insane. This old-lady cookbook has saved me in the kitchen more than once with its claim: "shortcuts to your favorite home-cooked meals plus tips for upper lips entertaining." (Hey voice text, that was supposed to say "effortless entertaining"...but well played.) Alright, you caught me; I'm already blog-cheating: I'm not writing, I'm speaking. Have you tried typing on an iPad?  

Without further adieu, I present to you: Chicken Corn Chowder. 

OK, forget the adiue, I'm back. I just have to add that let's not forget this is soup here; you can't mess it up! Have more guests? Double it! Hate onions? Leave em' out. Katie French is just a regular ol' gal..what does she know? More than me I'm afraid. Check out her tip near the bottom of the page: "Save extra broth by freezing in an ice cube tray or muffin tin. Add the broth cubes when cooking rice or veggies...a real flavor boost." Pure genius.

Here's the ingredients I'm using this time. I personally think canned chicken tastes a bit too much like tuna so I use the real thing whenever possible. I also grabbed extra chicken broth as I will be adding potato chunks (didn't make it for the picture) to make it more hearty. Oh, as well as extra green chiles for the husband's spicy desires. Maybe this time it will be a party. 

See I told you it was an old-lady cookbook. It's so Southernly-cute it makes me not hungry. 

We'll, here it is...the finished product. Feel free to top with tortilla strips or sour cream in case it wasn't already healthy enough for you. And now, you can entertain with pride. When someone compliments your awesome chowder simply smile and say, "Oh really? Gosh, thanks. It better be good. It takes a whole day to make it. Creating broth from scratch is a real pain."

Thanksgiving with an Ass

[Written yesterday] Well here I am, reheating a plate of my fourth Thanksgiving meal in the last 48 hours.  I now blame my exhaustion on the copious amounts of tryptophan running through my veins.  I’m not sure if that’s really what it does, but I like the way it sounds. But seriously, I love food- especially Thanksgiving food.  What other day do you get to load up a plate complete with every type of comfort food known to man? And free of judgment.  Besides the grub though, I love spending time with family over the holidays. There’s just something about it. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. Well here, I’ll just tell you how my Thanksgiving played out. Grab some popcorn and enjoy…if you’re still reading.

“The cars running.”

“Did you get the stuff for my [pinterest] drinks?”

“Yep, got it all. The sprite, ginger ale, cider-”

“What about the cranberry juice?”

“Nope.”

Shuffle, shuffle. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Whoosh. Slam. Kerplunk (car seat).  And we were off.

“Husband, drive faster. It’s 1:03. We’re on time!”

“No, we’re already late.”

“If we get there in two minutes, we’ll basically be on time!”

We scurried into the in-laws warm cozy house as the smells of Turkey, sweet potatoes, and cranberry filled the air. I hurried to the kitchen to mix up my [pinterest] drinks. Goop, goop, goop. The ginger ale flowed freely into the large drink dispenser and right out the spout onto the kitchen floor like a giant sticky waterfall.  As someone shouted at me, I finally realized what was happening. Apparently those few blonde highlights left in my hair still permeate through to my brain. I cupped the dispenser as tightly as I could, the ginger ale seeping out between my fingers. Out came the Windex and the papers towels. (And I thought that was just my husband’s cleaner of choice.) But the good news is the drinks were amazing. Thank you, Pinterest. You make me feel fancier than I actually am once again.

The meal was enjoyed by all, besides my daughter, who thinks throwing food on the floor is more fun that putting it in her mouth these days. She’s wrong. {And that’s a whole other topic.} The clock struck 3:30, and it was time to pack up for our next adventure (my parent’s house).  People slowly started to wobble out of the house, carrying leftovers, looking as if they were entering the first stages of the food coma.  When all of the sudden, we heard a screech. Not a good screech. More like an oh-no-I-just-dropped-leftovers-on-the-carpet-screech.  We looked down. There it was. If there was a side dish that looked like it had been rejected by someone’s body once it hit the floor, this would be it: Grandma’s finely chopped vegetables in vinegar. It didn’t take long for the strong smell of vinegar to waft through the entry way as the shampooer was brought out. As with my [pinterest] drink mishap, people could have panicked, gotten upset, cried over spilled vinegar. But no, this incident only resulted in my overly-admired, spoiled, and loved daughter getting a ride on the large cleaning machine.

Believe it or not, we did eventually end up at my parent’s house. There we had mom, step-dad, step-sister, step-brother with fiancé, and little (big huge) step-brother along with three other Boise State Football beasts- I mean, players.  I have never seen four humans devour so much food in one sitting. I mean, they were on seconds when I was still on firsts.  Yes, I ate two of my four Thanksgiving meals within 3 hours of each other. Don’t worry, I wore leggings. Then after dinner, my horse-loving mother stood by the window with Leighton (my daughter) and practiced saying the word “hooohssse” as they gazed down at the barn full of horses.  Just like each visit to my parents, we had to go pet said horses.  This time though, as we entered the arena, Hope, the donkey, was being a quite a crazy little ass. What started as small twitches and nervous hops turned into legitimate donkey kicks as she circled the arena. My mom attributed this to my brother’s bow shooting that was now taking place on the hill across from us.  Either way, my slight fear of horses came flooding back as I recalled the time I once got bucked from…well ok, our pony. And I wasn’t really bucked; I think she just hopped, but I definitely could have fallen off.

By now, the hubs had grabbed L from my mom. And just the three of us remained- me, my mom, and the crazy ass. I was laughing but actually a little afraid at the same time. After all, donkeys do have hooves, and I’d never fully understood the term “donkey kick” until then.  Hope galloped by, flaring up those legs. What an ass. I lurched onto the fence post like a clown at the rodeo yelling “Mom, get me out of here!”  My mom could hardly contain her laughter as she came to my rescue, “Hop on my back!”  So there we were, Hope still running around us, making quick unpredictable movements like a real live firecracker.  Considering I’m taller than my mom, our attempt at piggy-backing made us both laugh so hard we confessed we were going to pee our pants. Let’s just say the drink dispenser wasn’t the only thing I had to cup that day. Once again, the good news…we did not pee our pants or re-enact the scene from Dumb and Dumber when Harry and Lloyd get off the tiny motor bike.  We returned to the toasty living room for a game of charades, but I do not have the time or energy to tell about that.

Eventually, my sweet little family made it home. My husband fell asleep twenty minutes into our Redbox, and our daughter fell asleep in our bed for the first time.  As I cuddled up next my two favorite people, I thanked God for how truly blessed I am.  And then I snapped and instagram-filtered a picture of them, and my heart nearly exploded into a million trillion little pieces.  I reminisced on how different and crazy and unpredictable family get-togethers are. I wouldn’t have it any other way…

Disclaimer: My mom’s crazy little ass (OK I'll stop with the "ass" jokes) is not actually crazy.  The exaggeration was simply to embellish my story. The creature described happens to be a miniature donkey that is comparable in size to our Labrador. My mom uses it, along with her miniature horses, to spread joy to those facing mental, physical, and emotional obstacles. (See mom, no worries.)