Adventures in BBQ

Yesterday we went on a quest because I had a hankering for some bar-b-que. My dad had bragged to me about this amazing dining experience he had while eating at an all you can eat buffet at Fresh Air Bar-b-que. He told a tale of Ribs so tender that the meat just fell off the bone. He painted a picture of home made Mac n cheese, squash casserole, and banana pudding for desert. We packed up the kids and hopped on loop 10 for what would be the most unrelenting journey I've ever taken to get a plate of BBQ.

You see, we are admittedly still adjusting to having 2 children. We just aren't doing it with style at this point. We are like a three ring circus, the four of us, and even a twenty minute ride is a challenge for us.

Let me set the stage...

Our 4 year old Griffin refuses to eat anything but MacDonald's or Subway when eating out. We do exactly as my parents did when I was a child. Which was to simply pick it up at the drive thru on the way to where the grown ups wanted to eat. I ate many Happy Meals at various Chinese food restaurants as a child, so why shouldn't I do it for my spoiled kid?

Well, as we barreled down the road (because we were all starving) Griffin became very concerned that he was going to be forced to eat Bar-b-que even though we had told him a million times already that we were going to get him a Happy Meal. He asked over and over what the plan was, where the restaurant was located, how much longer it would take to get there. Then, Koen started screaming because he was hungry. Roger and I looked at each other like we were about to cave and eat at crappy McDonald's yet again.This is a new theme in our lives, we try so hard to eat an adult meal but don't even make it to the restaurant of choice because of poor time management and rumbling tummies. We need to leave twenty minutes earlier but don't because we are juggling our new routine with two kids.

I digress, we quickly made a new plan. He and Griffin would run into McDonald's and Griffin would eat his lunch while I breastfed Koen in the car. We both agreed that we could wait to eat because we really wanted to dine at the "amazing" all you can eat buffet. Half an hour later, we were back in the car with two fed children and two starving parents. I was proud of us for holding out and could amost taste the delicious meal we were on our way to partake in.

Upon arrival at Fresh Air BBQ, the first thing we saw was about fifteen rednecks having a family reunion on the front porch. I jumped out of the car and very rudely pushed my way through the door to beat this huge family to the buffet. Roger trailed behind with a car seat in one hand and Griffin in the other. I have no shame when it comes to BBQ, I'll take out any redneck that gets in my way.

When I finally made it inside the restaurant I discovered that the buffet was closed. It sat empty and dark in the corner as my heart sank. The buffet is only available for weekday lunch. I quickly ran over to read the menu that had been hand written on a dry erase board. There were no ribs, no mac-n-cheese, and no squash casserole. I had the choice of pulled pork sandwiches with potato chips or chicken tenders. I pathetically ordered the sand which and sat down to a mediocre meal. Roger and I ate in defeated silence as Griffin ran circles around our table. I was so beat down that I just let my kid run amok.

I thought for sure that the entire journey and meal would be worth it for some home made banana pudding. When I went to order it, the lovely elderly lady behind the cash registered uttered "We ain't got none today." I backed away slowly as to not make a scene.

This sent me into an existential crisis. Who am I? Why am I here? What does it take to get a decent plate of BBQ around here?

Simplicity

I decided to strip down this little Blog of mine.

She just felt too fussy and done up.

Lately I have been feeling
the need to simplify my life.

Who knows...
maybe in a few weeks
I'll feel like gussying up the place.

For now,
I like it a bit more quiet around here.

What do you think?

Look at these little hands

Koen sits with his hands folded like this all the time.
He sleeps with his hands clasped.
He nurses with those little fingers interlocked.
Griffin's Spanish teacher said today as she held him...

"He holds his hands like a gentleman
that doesn't do hard labor."

Yup...he's SO my baby!

Someone has a case of the crazies!

Reality Bites

"You're sorta stuck where you are

But, in your dreams you can buy expensive cars
Or live on Mars
And have it your way."
-The Flaming Lips

These lyrics speak to me. I sang them over and over
today because it was one of those days.
A day where the baby was screaming,
the four year old was whining,
and I considered having a glass of wine at 3:30 pm.

A day where I pouted
because I want to go to the beach
but I can't because Roger used all of his vacation time
to stay home with us the week after Koen was born.

A day where I was so immersed in motherhood
that the only moment I had to fantasize
about my dream vacation
was as I sat on the toilet (lid down, of course, I wouldn't share THAT with you)
and breast fed Koen while Griffin took a bath.

So, as Griffin played with his bath toys
I boarded a private plane
and sipped Champagne.

I strapped a teeny tiny bikini
onto my perfect body

and headed out to the beach for some cocktails
with little umbrellas slipped in them.

It was an amazing trip...

until Griffin sprayed water all over me
with a squirt toy
and I dodged it
and Koen latched off
and then he cried hysterically.

The end.

Happy Corn=domestic bliss.

Warning:I am about to babble about corn on the cob!

I'm not ashamed to admit that I don't have a green thumb but I really want to be the type of girl that has a vegetable garden in my back yard. I can just see myself with the big straw hat perched on my head and white gloves decorated with little red strawberries on my hands. That's about as far as the fantasy goes. I pretty much envision gardening accessories and then stop daydreaming before I have a chance to kill my pretend vegetables.

Those who know me also know that I am a self proclaimed disaster in the kitchen.
If given the choice between preparing a microwaved meal or a lasagna from scratch,
it's no mystery that I would have dinner rotating on a dirty turntable in the microwave
before you could say the words TV Dinner.

So I was shocked and surprised when my dad gave me a gift of corn on the cob still in the husk. He got it from a dude at the flea market who grew them in his backyard. It is the happiest corn I've ever tasted because he has a well and doesn't have to follow water restrictions like the rest of us in Georgia do. He can water that corn as much as his little heart desires and you can tell with each sweet bite that the corn feels loved and well taken care of.

Anyway, my dad got me some because I had enjoyed it so much when he prepared
it for us on the 4th of July. This is some special corn. He goes to the flea market every Saturday and I have a feeling that if this guy is there, I will receive a bag of corn. My dad is so pleased with himself that he can share this with me.

The thing is, I have never imagined that I would shuck corn in my lifetime. It's just not like me to handle locally grown foods. If it's in my kitchen, it's usually in a can. As nonsensical as it may seem, I must admit that I felt a little threatened by the corn when I went to prepare it this evening.

Yet, I mustered up all my courage as I started to peel back the husk over my kitchen sink. Suddenly, I felt very capable as I shucked the corn. Then, I started to feel really connected to the earth and less connected to the grocery store. It took all of 30 seconds to expose the cob beneath the husk but in that short time I had an awakening. The simple task of handling fresh vegetables invigorated me and now I feel a little less like a disaster. It's these almost elementary moments that boost my confidence in the kitchen. My father's gift of happy corn gave me a flash of domestic bliss.

Bittersweet Symphony

I have a kindred connection
with inanimate objects in my home.
I believe that my surroundings
are a direct reflection of what is happening within me.

For example,
our air conditioner is very needy.
I'll spare you the boring details
but basically, it takes constant maintenance
to keep the damn thing from dripping
through the ceiling onto the kitchen floor.

My husband is really handy
around the house
and has managed to keep our
crummy air conditioning alive.
He has fought a constant
battle with "the drip" as we have come to call it
for the last 3 years.

I am campaigning for a new one, trust me.

He insists on crawling up in
the attic and tinkering with it
until the drip stops.
Then, he swears that he will
climb up in the attic every weekend
to do some preventative maintenance
to keep us drip free.

A few weeks will go by
and all is well with the damn air conditioning.
So, we ease up on checking it
and pat ourselves on the back
that we defeated the leak.

I know that trouble is brewing
when I hear
drip
drip
drip
coming from the kitchen.

I grab pot after pot after pot
to catch the water
and it sounds like a symphony
as each droplet plops into the pot.
It's the music of neglect.
Our stupid air conditioning leak
is a perfect udometer
to let me know when I've lost momentum in my life.

The drip returns when we
become complacent.
You can bet that if the kitchen has pots on the floor
that I also have an unpaid water bill somewhere.
When I can't cook dinner
because every pot I own
is on the floor collecting water,
it's a bad sign.

"The Drip" is me and I am "The Drip".