A memoir in the making, turning chaos into calm
I think I’ve accidentally become a vegetarian.
Accidentally.
A vegetarian.
Ever since Zoe became a vegetarian last weekend, she gotten to me. My 7 year old daughter has gotten to me! And now, every time I try to eat meat, I just can’t. It looks disgusting. It tastes disgusting. And I loose my appetite.
Like I said, I think I’ve accidentally become a vegetarian.
My husband told me that I can’t live on pizza.
Oh yeah? Watch me.
Okay, I’m not sure how best to explain this, but I’ll try. We were out to dinner the other month with my brother’s family, and the food was taking forever and a day to be served, that by the time we were done eating my brother was like I CAN’T SIT HERE ANYMORE, I’M GOING HOME. And my sister-in-law was like I’M STAYING FOR DESSERT. And of course, my daughter said ME TOO!! So my brother and went home. This left myself, husband, daughter, and Red at the table.
As soon as he walked out the door, Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline came over the sound system. And I tried to restrain myself, but couldn’t and soon the whole table was singing along. Then Red says YOUR BROTHER LOVES THIS SONG!
What? My brother? Loves Neil Diamond???? Clearly this was news to me.
YEP she nodded HE SINGS THIS SONG AT KARAOKE.
Who are we talking about here? My brother? LOVES Neil Diamond AND sings Sweet Caroline at karaoke??
How do I not know this? I grew up with him. I work with him every day. And yet, I do not know about Caroline. I must really suck as a sister, or (and I like this option better), he’s leading a secret underground life where he works during the day in a tool shop, and then wears capes and sings under an alias at the karaoke bar at night. Maybe that’s why he’s been looking so tired lately?
So a couple weeks go by, and my husband and I are at Zoe’s YMCA Camp Friday afternoon skit. The comedy camp is performing an American Idol-esque show; what are they singing? What’s the first song? Sweet Caroline.
And that’s when I totally lost it. And folks, let me tell you this, once I start laughing I cannot stop. I couldn’t help but imagine my brother up there, mic in hand, swooning the crowd of YMCA Day Camp parents with Sweet Caroline. Hilarious!
Not being able to get the song out of my head, I searched for it on iTunes, and found that Sweet Caroline has been performed by quite a few artists throughout the years, and that’s when I got this crazy idea to make a CD for my brother. The playlist is as follows:
My husband was a little hesitant at first when I told him I was making the CD, he just doesn’t get my family’s humor. I kept telling him I’M MAKING IT BECAUSE IT’LL BE FUNNY! Yeah, he totally sings along to it now. EIGHT TIMES IN A ROW.
Turns out not only is it funny, it’s a big hit too. It’s on non-stop, and when it isn’t on, people are humming it.
So, if you love Sweet Caroline, or even just a little bit like it, I encourage you to give the playlist a try. You’ll totally forget you’re listening to the same song over and over again, the styles are so different. My favorite version so far is Waylon Jennings, his voice is like butter.
zoe picking her nose, originally uploaded by Indigo Indigo.
Zoe’s still a vegetarian. And so far she’s the kind that DOES NOT eat chicken fingers. Of course, she had to clarify if the chicken fingers she eats COMES FROM a chicken, or if IT REALLY IS chicken.
After we had her define COME FROM we were squared away. Yep, she’s not eating chicken fingers.
We took a trip to Barnes & Noble, where I found a book about kids eating vegetarian and vegan. It’s called Better Than Peanut Butter & Jelly, by Marty Mattare and Wendy Muldawer, and it’s actually got a lot of good information in there about kids and their nutritional requirements and where they need to get it from.
We made a vegetarian food pyramid, and Zoe’s checking off the blocks where she’s meeting her dietary and nutritional needs, so far we are a little bit low in some sections, but in all I think she’s doing well. We are taking this opportunity and running with it, this is the first time that she’s made an educated decision about her food. If she wants to be a vegetarian, then we’re going to let her be one.
And, she’d really appreciate it if I became one too.
And you know what? I actually think it’d be easier to be a vegetarian than it would be to be what I’ve been for the past 39 years: a picky eater. There are more things that I dislike than things that I like, and I’m tired of defending it. And I’m tired of being nervous when I eat at people’s homes. Will there be something I like? Will I just eat chips (because I LOVE CHIPS)? Will someone try to guilt me for choosing to NOT eat something that I don’t like? Will I have to defend my palate choices? Should I eat before I leave so that I’m not hungry later? I was elated when I found out I was allergic to shrimp and raspberries, because then I could say things like: No thank you, I’m allergic. It was a much more gracious way to get out of eating shrimp pasta, ewww.
So no choices for me yet, but let’s just say that I’m tossing it around. Could I live without hamburgers and chicken breasts? Maybe.
A few weeks ago I wrote of my experience watching the Brewers game from a luxury suite. Today, I will be writing about my experience in section 203. On Friday night we had tickets to go to the game, again with my husband’s department at work, and I didn’t get the tickets to see where we were sitting until we were on the way to the game. Section 203. Well, I’ve already admit that I don’t go to the game very often so I had no clue where these seats were. My mom, who was sitting in section 437, in the upper deck, informed me that I was on the field loge level, and that I had “good seats”.
She was so wrong.
As we walked around the stadium, in search of section 203, we passed home plate, first base, and the outfield. Huh? And then we came to Section 203. The bleachers. The freaking bleachers.
Are you kidding me? I can’t sit in the bleachers. I realize that coming from the luxury box the only way to go is down, but this is the bottom as far as I’m concerned.
We found row 10, and needed to get to seats 6, 7, and 8, but they were in the middle of the row and the people who were on the end offered to just scoot on down. So they scooted down, Zoe sat down first, right next to a guy in his 20’s who had clearly shaved his legs. The (drunk?) girl in front of us then turned around, stroked his legs and said to my 7 yr old: YOU PROBABLY THINK HE’S A CRAZY MO-FO.
Whoa. Did she just say “mo-fo” to my child?? So I said to her: CAN WE NOT SAY MO-FO TO MY 7 YR OLD PLEASE?
I think she gave me an eyeroll, whatever.
Then a very drunk guy comes back to the row in front of us, and as he trying to get back to his seat, the (drunk) girl notices that his fly is down — and then she reaches inside his fly and pulls out his privates. Right there in section 203, row 9.
But wait, she wasn’t just about public nudity for others, she whipped out her breast for a group photo, which I think my family may have been in the background for.
My husband got security, and then we left the section, watching the game instead from section 437, chair hopping among the 20-some seats that my family was in for my grandmother’s 82nd birthday celebration — where life wasn’t quite that of a luxury box, but at least everyone was properly clothed and no one used “mo-fo” in a sentence to my kid.
For dinner tonight I grilled some fish that my dad brought back from his fishing trip to Canada. I offered some to Zoe: DO YOU WANT TO TRY SOME OF THE FISH PAPA CAUGHT IN CANADA?
And then she burst into tears and put her head on the table and sobbed.
What is her problem?? My husband and I were at a loss. Until I finally calmed her down enough to get it out of her, between sobs she told me that she doesn’t want to eat anything that was once alive.
Okay, I get that. And if you know Zoe you completely can understand where she is coming from here, because she saved a butterfly the other week. It was a very big deal. And then she saved another butterfly at camp, and then someone stepped on it (that butterfly was not as lucky as the previous butterfly), and when I picked her up from camp she was practically inconsolable. So, I’m not surprised at this — not that we eat butterflies, just to clarify.
So you heard it here folks, my 7 year old is declaring herself a vegetarian. I don’t know how she’s going to get around the whole chicken finger thing, and Happy Meals.
And you know what Dad? I blame all of this on you. Thanks a lot.
Ask anyone in my family and they will tell you that I’m not a tea drinker. Err, I should say that I wasn’t a tea drinker. Until now. As it turns out, I love iced tea! LOVE IT! And, I love it even more with my handy dandy perfect cup of tea maker that I bought at Teavana last weekend.
My husband loves tea. Hot tea. Iced tea. All kinds of tea. Last summer we were in Teavana, me trying not to be bored outta my skull, him picking out green tea, black tea, and uber expensive white tea. Well somehow or another I ended up with some fancy rock sugar and a special blend of two different teas that tasted kinda like kool aid — it was for my daughter. Honestly. I remember buying it because it tasted like kool aid and I thought I could fake her into drinking it.
I couldn’t. She didn’t even think it was juice.
So I ended up with a 4 oz. special blend bag of this tea, and fancy sugar, and then I forgot about them in my cupboard. Until the other day, and I decided to make some iced tea with it. And when you put enough of the fancy sugar in it, and enough ice cubes, it’s kinda yummy. I mean, I actually considered having iced tea with my dinner the other week rather than red wine.
Well, soon the special blend bag of tea was empty, and I had to venture up to Teavana to get a refill. I ended up coming home with five different teas, a measuring spoon for the perfect cup, and then the perfect cup tea maker. My husband was like: WHO ARE YOU? AND WHY ARE YOU DRINKING ALL THIS TEA?
Then I ran out of the fancy sugar. *GASP!* But do not fear, I got a pound of it, so that should last me for some time ……. just out of curiousity, how many teaspoons go into a pound of sugar?
Yesterday, before I left for work, I put the sheets and our duvet cover into the washing machine. I stripped the bed, throwing the sheets and pillowcases onto the floor, and then when I had the duvet off the down comforter I picked up everything and put them directly into the washing machine. When my husband got home he flipped the laundry into the dryer, so when I got home from work at 5:30 p.m. the sheets were clean and dry.
As I’m emptying the dryer, first the pillowcases, and then the sheets, which I carefully shake out because there is usually a stray sock tucked into the pockets of the fitted sheet, I find my husband’s hiking shoe. It’s just sitting there, in the dryer, as if it’s on display or something. And it’s warm, so I know that no one is playing a trick on me by tossing the shoe into the dryer when my back is turned. I hollered to him: WHY IS YOUR SHOE IN THE DRYER?? And he, of course, hollers back: MY HUH IS IN THE WHAT?? So I took his shoe to him and said: YOUR SHOE. IT WAS IN THE DRYER.
Now, I have to tell you that he’s totally opposed to washing his shoes in the washing machine. According to him, that’ll ruin them for sure. And I don’t really want to admit that I washed his shoe. It would be better if I admit that he dried his shoe. But from where his other shoe was located on the floor in the bedroom, I’m pretty sure that when I threw the sheets onto the floor in the morning and then scooped them up, his shoe must have tagged along. I don’t know how he didn’t notice his shoe when he put the sheets into the dryer, but he did say that he wondered why there was a thunking noise when he turned the dryer on.
So there you have it, he’s got one clean shoe. And it’s one of the shoes that he wore when he used a sledgehammer to help my brother demolish his kitchen a few weeks ago. It’s considerably cleaner than the other shoe. CONSIDERABLY.
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