Archive for the ‘Mediocre Mondays’ Category

Milestone Mania

Monday, November 16th, 2009

I am one of those moms who is constantly comparing. I can’t seem to help it. With Emma I was so paranoid that she wasn’t doing anything faster than her peers. It was like my value as a mother depended upon her beating another kid to a milestone. As it turns out, this is a bad thing for me to feel competitive in; mostly because you can’t control it, and also because my kids tend to run below the curve.

No matter how many articles I read on not worrying about your kid’s milestones, and how we need to stop the pressure and stop comparing our kids, I still do it. With Emma it’s how well she can dance, or write her letters, or sing, or whatever. And usually I’m feeling like she’s behind. Large motor skills have never really been her thing. But even though she was walking months after all her friends, she still ended up walking, and at the age of 3, she’s doing fine.

With III I’ve been a little a better at not feeling so uptight about the comparing game. I think what makes it difficult is that the major topic of discussion when you have a kid is, “Is your kid doing _____?” Has Emma started school yet? Does she know her alphabet? Is little Lloyd crawling yet? Does he have any teeth? It is extremely difficult not to compare your kid when you’re constantly being asked what new stunt he can do. My kids are healthy, and that should be enough.

But it never is. So I am pleased to announce III’s new skill: crawling! That’s right, he can now crawl, which is something Emma never did. He was inspired by a nearby laptop, and I caught it on the camera. I have it up on Facebook, but I’m still working through some technical difficulties to get it on here as well.

And because I was interested in at least comparing my own kids to each other, here are some pics of Emma at the same age (and still un-mobile).

Lovin' the baby food

Lovin' the baby food

She still makes this face today--only with more teeth!

She still makes this face today--only with more teeth!

Just weird, but happy

Just weird, but happy

So even in comparing the two of them there are differences. He’s much bigger, has many more teeth (she barely had her bottom two!), and is figuring out how to move around. But she was much more developed at picking things up, at talking, and she had a lot more hair.  I guess every kid is different, and it really won’t matter in 20 years. It’s not like I sit around with my friends saying, “Yeah, but I walked before you did, so there!” Of course, that probably wouldn’t be true either. I was a late walker . . . just like my kids!

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Paralysis

Monday, November 9th, 2009

I’m a bit of an A-type personality, and have issues with beginning things if I don’t think they can be done properly. Many afternoons, I breathe a sigh of relief as I lay III down and his eyes stay closed, and then I retreat to the living room and just sit. I get stuck in this paralysis of not knowing what to do next. There’s so much to be done, how do I decide where to begin? I should do dishes, but what if the noise wakes him up? I could do laundry, but in order to feel comfortable folding it on the floor, I’d need to vacuum first, which also might wake him up. I could clean the bathroom, but if he wakes up in the middle of my cleaning, then I won’t get to finish. I also want to rearrange my closet, and I’m in the process of moving my work area from our bedroom to the built-in desk in the hallway (which Lloyd vacated to move his work space into the garage).

So I sit. And I think about all the things I should be doing, but am afraid to start because I know I can’t finish them before he wakes up. Usually, I end up deciding I deserve a snack break or something, and I watch some tv on hulu. Then my previous arguments for why I can’t begin anything become even more pertinent, as it’s now been an hour since he fell asleep, so the chance of him waking up increases.

I’ve really got to get over this all-or-nothing attitude. So today I made an effort. I watched one short episode of 30 Rock while eating my lunch, and I dove into the pile of papers and receipts that were on the desk. I got to work for about an hour, and managed to get a few things organized. I went through some boxes in the living room that I wanted to move into my “office,” but didn’t quite finish, so now my living room is a bit of a mess, and my computer is still in the bedroom, but I made some progress. I didn’t waste my afternoon.

Most times, a little bit of effort is still better than no effort at all. I’m not magically going to have 8 hours of time to myself with no children and a strong drive to organize and clean my entire house (although if anyone wants to come babysit…), so it’s useless to sit around waiting for the perfect time to do things. With kids around, the perfect time is all the time. Being a mom means learning to juggle—find the moments when one kid is entertaining the other and you can sneak into the next room for even 15 minutes to wash a few pans (although I’m pretty sure the best way to keep a kitchen clean is by cleaning up after each meal, but I lose all motivation to clean after cooking). This ADD-style approach to cleaning (ADHD, whatever) is really obnoxious, and difficult to get used to, but I guess it’s all just part of the parenting territory.

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The E Word

Monday, November 2nd, 2009

I know for myself the E word comes up in conversation almost daily. It’s something new moms are pretty much always talking about: “I really need to exercise to get the rest of this baby weight off.” But new moms aren’t the only ones doing it. It’s everywhere. Men are going to the gyms, husbands are attempting a P90-x workout regimen, and around my town there are constantly runners on the sidewalks. And every time I see one, I feel a pang of guilt. I should be doing that.

My biggest problem is my all-or-nothing attitude, and maybe this is something other moms struggle with as well. I have a stack of great DVD exercise programs, pages printed off the internet of exercises, and a ton of old fitness magazines I saved “for reference.” Yet, other than about a 2 week period, they have all remained untouched. Any time I get started, something knocks me off my game. Usually it’s the old time factor. I recognize that exercise is important, but how many of us can really get those happy feelings out of exercising in a messy house? I know it’s hard for me. I would put the baby down for a nap, shove a pile of toys out of my way, and put in a video of hot people looking all happy about their exercise program. Nevermind the fact that they’re already in shape, and don’t even break a sweat. But they’re also in a nice big room, clear of toys and smelly dishes—oh, and 3-year-olds coming in every 2 minutes needing a drink, or an unreachable toy, or something.

For a few days I tried handing the kids off to the husband when he came home, but then everyone was typically cranky since he doesn’t come home until after 6 and they all had to wait on me to exercise and then make dinner, which ended up being around 8.  And that plan went out the window. So I just stopped. And went back to just talking about it. I need to exercise more. I should really do something active. I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about.

The last option, which I haven’t tried, is joining a gym. This choice is disturbing to me on a few counts. First, the money. Remember, I’m cheap. And to make the money spent on a gym worth it, I would have to be absolutely sure I would commit to going there every day. I know myself, and I’m not sure I would keep it up. Then there’s the fact that I would have to shave daily, as other people would actually be seeing me exercise. Sure, that’s more of a vanity thing, but I know I’m already going to feel terribly embarrassed about how out of shape I am; I don’t need to feel like everyone’s staring at my leg hair, wondering if it’s long enough to braid yet (ah, middle school all over again). Some days I barely find time to shower, so shaving is also a major commitment. Then there’s also the fact that gyms overwhelm me—I never know where to begin, and I feel like a dork just wandering around. This one’s a little easier to get over.

The last problem is at the same time a solution. What to do with the kids? Fortunately, the gyms here all seem to have little daycare centers, so essentially I’d be getting a really good deal on babysitting (I thought about getting the membership just to take uninterrupted showers, but then there’s that whole public bathroom thing . . . ). So that was a major plus for the gym option. But, they close between like 1 and 4, which would probably be about the time I got my stuff together to go; still, I could probably overcome that, too. And then I thought about the reason I don’t like the idea of daycares in the first place—germs. Yes, I am a germaphobe. And lately, Emma’s been getting sick after every little thing we go to. They can’t have super-high standards in a public gym’s daycare. H1N1, here we come!!

No, I cannot do it.

So I’m back to nothing. Might as well just sit around eating chocolate bemoaning my inability to make sacrifices for the sake of my own healthy well-being. Then I thought, Why does it have to be all or nothing? Why not be a little mediocre? So, I’m making a pact, a promise, a dedication—whatever you want to call it—to a little bit of exercise. If I were tech-savvy enough (and had more time!), I would make a little exercise tracker to put on the side of my blog, but instead I may just make one for my wall at home (eventually). Here’s the deal: 10 minutes of exercise, 4 days a week. That’s pretty mediocre, right? But it’s 40 minutes more than I’m doing now. Exercise is supposed to be good for you in all sorts of ways, including helping to tone down your stress levels, but if the idea of exercising stresses you out more than the payoff, then it’s just not worth it. Ten minutes four days a week does not stress me out. It’s not even a whole video. It’s a walk around the neighborhood. It’s a workout short enough that I wouldn’t feel guilty just leaving my kid in his crib and turning the music up really loudly. It’s not long enough to make me feel super guilty about not using the time for cleaning. It’s something to get me started.

And it’s free. ;)

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Totally Tolerant

Monday, October 26th, 2009

So, remember how our family was going to cut out dairy as a little well-living experiment? Well, my husband gave up the first weekend, and refused to buy a dairy-free cookbook for me, and I seemed to be the only one who cared. (And by refused, I mean he kept procrastinating and telling me he was going to but never did.) But I persisted. I moved off of soy milk and on to rice because my stomach was constantly making weird noises after ingesting soy, which concerned me. I did continue eating soy yogurt, which didn’t have any weird effects on me, but it does taste a little funny. It’s somehow thicker than dairy yogurt, and maybe creamier.

I just stopped eating cheese, and used the rice milk in any recipe that called for milk, and really didn’t feel that encumbered by the change in milks. Really the lack of cheese is what did me in. I think Lloyd gave up when he realized going dairy-free meant no more pizza. And I should also mention that the price of dairy alternatives did not help the cause. I’m cheap, and spending twice as much money for half the amount of milk was not encouraging.

I was really trying to cut out anything that was remotely dairy-related; this meant not ingesting anything with whey or casein, which are basically milk proteins, and most people who avoid dairy due to allergies are not affected by them. Going this hard-core was really difficult. I have gained a whole new understanding for what it’s like to go grocery shopping with food allergies. It sucks. Not only are things more expensive, but I spent half my grocery trips reading labels, only to discover that most everything I picked up contained milk products. It was nice that most products list in bold if there is milk present, but really discouraging to discover all the things that do!

Unfortunately, the milk proteins are not counted as allergens, which upset me the most. I will explain why: I went shopping about 2 weeks in, determined to find a cheese-substitute. I had seen an advertisement for a veggie Parmesan cheese, and I was really craving some for spaghetti. So I picked up a container of it, only to read in the ingredients that it was made with casein, as was pretty much every other cheese substitute! Is it really fair to say something is not cheese when the main ingredient is from milk and cheese?! I believe that was the day my resolve started to waiver.

A week later, as we were eating yet another bowl of soup (remember how everyone was sick?), I randomly decided to look at the ingredients of the crackers I had been crumbling into my broth daily. Guess what? They’re made with milk. Now maybe you already knew that, but I guess I don’t really think about all the things milk is present in. It is a lot. (Oh, and earlier that day I was accepting Goldfish crackers from Emma as she shoved them in my mouth, and was thinking how divine they tasted . . . then I realized it was because they were made with cheddar cheese. Duh!)

Soup just isn’t as good without crackers. And I was stressed. I felt like I couldn’t eat anything. The only good thing was the tofutti ice cream bars, which I may just get again because I really did like them. Eating and cooking was a worse chore than ever before. So I decided to end it. All the little articles I was reading said that you should go at least 7 days dairy-free and then binge as you normally would to feel the difference. Everyone said you would feel just awful. Well, I didn’t technically go 7 days because of the crackers, but I also don’t know that the amount of milk in 5 crackers can possibly be that overpowering.

Saturday night. A nice pepperoni pizza. A Dairy Queen pumpkin pie blizzard. Bliss. No heartburn. No cramps. No lack of sleep. Nothin’.

I was a little disappointed. All that effort and it didn’t make me feel any different. I did lose about 5 pounds, but I’m not sure if that was because I cut out dairy, or because I barely ate since I couldn’t find anything to eat.

That’s it. The end of the dairy-free challenge. I am so sorry for those of you out there with diet restrictions. I understand now. (Well, not how eating foods makes you feel bad, but how hard it is to find things to eat anyway.) I still want to do more research on milk, and I still don’t believe it’s amazingly good for you, but I have no problem with it for the time being. And I do love pizza.

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I Am Insane; The Phone Is Dead

Monday, October 5th, 2009

A few weeks ago my phone stopped working. It may have been because of baby drool, or it may have been something inside the phone that just snapped shortly after being gnawed on by a baby (I can understand the feeling). Whatever the cause, I will never know it. And I think it’s time to let go.

For the first day, I tried turning it on again at least twenty times, hoping that the next time I pressed that power button would be the time to make it magically come back to life. After all, it was working immediately after the baby attack; it was only several hours later that the phone turned black, never to relight again. I tried plugging the phone in and turning it on, but still to no avail.

Next, I ordered a new battery, which took over a week to arrive. Then I spent at least an hour or more trying various things to make the phone turn on—taking the SIM card out, taking the memory stick out, plugging the phone in, unplugging it. You get the picture.  At this point it would occasionally blink a red light, which I thought meant good news—some small flicker of life (if only I could chant “I do believe in cell phones” to make that light stronger!). The phone also got pretty warm, so there was obviously some electricity going in and doing something. After no success, I gave up for a while. But I still hoped.

After a week or so of using my stand-in phone, which has absolutely nothing to brag about, I decided to try again. This time I looked online for troubleshooting. I followed every suggestion. I cleaned my phone with alcohol, I pushed random buttons while standing upside down and clapping one-handed (well, not really, but almost; the many things they suggest become quite ridiculous), and still the phone refused to live again.

So today, even though we just got back from our trip and there is much unpacking to do, I decided to finally call technical support. Well, first I chatted with technical support, where they provided me with more magical combinations of button-pushing, and I’ll be honest, I really thought something was going to work this time (this is why I am insane). I think I avoided this step because I knew that once my options were completely spent on getting suggestions for how to make my phone work then it really would be dead. And everything I had saved on there would be gone forever. (As a side note, the phone I had when Emma was a baby abruptly died after she chewed on the charger port, and nothing brought that one back. I should have learned my lesson and not saved so much information only on my phone, but I didn’t.)

Last, I called. I spoke to some guy that spoke in such an accent so as to be nearly unintelligible (another reason why I dreaded calling). So, despite the fact that my phone will not turn on, he had me download some software update to my computer, and plug my phone into the computer (the plugging the phone into the computer part I had previously tried for another solution, and the computer did not recognize that anything was plugged into it, so at this point I was very skeptical that my phone could receive a software update that would magically fix it). Guess what?

Nothing happened.

I just kept watching the screen display its little video of plugging the cable into the phone, and I kept trying it, and nothing continued to happen. So I called one more time. This time, I was told my only option left was to send it in…ok, how much does that cost?? I thought maybe fifty bucks, which would be unreasonable, but I would consider it to have my sweet phone back—I mean, it’s practically an extension to my arm. But just to send it in to have it looked at (no promises if they could fix it) would set me back $135. Shoot. I could buy a better phone than my Dearly Departed on ebay for that.

So ends my trial. Today I am letting the phone go. It is dead. There will be no resurrection—not even in a brainless zombie form. But I am still insane, because I still want to push that power button one more time, and I still believe just maybe I could have a different outcome.

Of course, the real insanity here is how attached I am to an inanimate object. Really, I should be working on letting go of that attachment, but I have absolutely no clue as to how to do that. I certainly don’t love my new phone as much; I think some of Emma’s toy phones are more sophisticated. But it still represents my connection to the world. And without a phone, I feel alone and isolated. How’s that for sad and pathetic?

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Brown Thumb

Monday, September 28th, 2009

Well, think it’s time to call it on the garden: massive fail. I knew going into this that there was a greater chance of death than success, but I also retained a tiny bit of hope that maybe this time would be different for me. Let me start by taking you back a week or so…

Remember how I mentioned that something was eating all my strawberries, and I wanted to get a fence to keep that something out? Well, we went to Home Depot, and I was going to get this green fencing called “Garden Fencing.” Seemed perfect, right? Of course, I was with my father and husband, who both wanted to be helpful, and was convinced to get chicken wire instead. Ok. No biggie. It was cheaper, anyway.

Later, I headed outside to put said chicken wire around my garden. I had envisioned in my head how I would go about doing this, but the ever-helpful husband had an even better way. But he wasn’t around to actually help, just to suggest how to do it. Being as I am fairly insecure about my gardening abilities, I attempted his method. My first problem was the chicken wire itself. It comes all neatly rolled up, but in getting it unrolled it became unruly. And as this is Texas, I was getting very sweaty. I won’t go into all the boring details of my fight, but I took a siesta on the fencing for a day or so, and when I came back I tried again, only to be completely bested into giving up. I tore it all out.

Also, in my great gardening wisdom, I decided to pull up some of the dead pumpkin plants so that the one that actually had a little tiny pumpkin budding on it could survive. This, I believe, wasn’t an entirely awful idea, but the vines were so intertwined, that I ended up damaging the healthy vine, too. The little pumpkin bud died. :(

garden001

Here is the carnage of the removed vines and chicken wire. Been like this for a week. Should probably clean it up so Lloyd can mow. And below is a picture of the garden, post vine removal. Can you see the newly dead bits? I know it’s not completely dead yet, but I can’t find a single fruit on any of the plants, except withered, teeny pumpkins. (I did have a dream that there were like 5 fully-grown ones, though!)

garden002

I’m sure the main problem is just not allocating enough space for the garden, but I also think there are smaller creatures now attacking my plants. The strawberry plants seem fine—they’re actually growing, but I don’t expect them to be flowering any more. The pumpkin leaves in the back are covered in little yellow dots, which to me says disease, or insect:

See the spots?

See the spots?

And look very closely right in the middle of the picture. See the little green spider?

And look very closely right in the middle of the picture. See the little green spider?

Anyway, looks like we won’t be growing our own pumpkin for Halloween this year. And next time I’ll actually have a bigger space for the vines to grow. Still, I’m just not sure I’m up to becoming a green thumb. I was reading some gardening blogs, and it seems like to really have a garden that thrives you do need to dedicate some time to it. I know, that seems like a no-brainer, but while I do think it’s cool to grow your own stuff, I just don’t care enough to work to keep out insects, disease, small creatures, weeds, AND make sure the plants get enough water, not too much sun, etc. Plus, I hear it is harder to grow things in Texas, so it’s not really my fault, right? ;)

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Monday Monday

Monday, September 21st, 2009

It really has been a Monday, which I always think is a funny thing to say for someone who stays home every day. It started late last night (well, early this morning). III refused to go to bed, and once he did pass out, he was awake a few hours later, and continued to scream for an undetermined amount of time (since I fell asleep to the screams). Fortunately, he did sleep eventually, which was nice, but until about 2 minutes ago, he slept maybe a total of 30 more minutes all day. Really, is it a wonder that I haven’t posted? I really don’t have much left to give. A month ago, when I started seriously trying to be progressive, my son was at least napping a little. I had a small window of time during the day to myself. Well, sort of. There was still Emma wandering around, but she entertains herself pretty well, and at least wasn’t scream-crying while I tried to focus.

So now here I am, fresh out of brain power, and sorry to say, but the siren call of my pillow is much stronger than the call to log some progress time, especially since I’m not feeling very progressive today… Sorry to disappoint. I am planning on updating on my garden this week, though, and I’ll let you know about a new dietary adventure we’re getting into at our home!

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Éclair Cake (the easy way)

Monday, September 14th, 2009

Today’s mediocrity is a recipe. A very tasty recipe, but I feel the need to call it mediocre because I doubt the origins of éclairs used instant pudding mix. Also, don’t expect this to contain anything good for you. We made it this weekend because my dad came to visit, and this is what he wanted for his birthday cake.

You will need:
1 cup water
1/2 cup butter
1 cup flour
4 eggs
2 1/2 cups milk (2% or whole is best)
1 large box instant vanilla pudding
8 oz cream cheese, softened
8 oz Cool Whip
chocolate syrup

9×13 pan, greased
2 mixing bowls
1 saucepan
Mixer (well, I’m sure you can do it by hand)

First, you make the crust. Boil the water with the butter. Then, add the flour. Stir, and remove from heat. Add your eggs, one at a time. It will start to get pretty stiff and stuck together. Spread it into your pan. Here’s ours:

You can see it's pretty stiff

You can see it's pretty stiff

Ready for the oven!

Ready for the oven!

Bake it at 400° for 20 minutes, then let it cool in the oven for another 30 minutes. During the 50 minutes, do NOT open the oven…I didn’t open the oven during cooking, so I’m not sure what will happen if you do, but I’m guessing it doesn’t get all puffy or something. Just sounds so ominous. I really wanted to open the oven just to see if it would make a difference. Anyway…

It gets nice and puffy in the oven

It gets nice and puffy in the oven

Because I was also making dinner, I waited a while to do this next part, and let the crust get nice and cool out of the oven as well.

In one large mixing bowl, mix the milk with the pudding. In another bowl, mix the cream cheese with the Cool Whip; then add that to the pudding and mix it all together.

Mixing it up

Mixing it up

And once your crust is cooled (and not quite so puffy),

Cooling down

Cooling down

spread the pudding mixture on top and drizzle with chocolate syrup.

All done and (sort of) pretty

All done and (sort of) pretty

I’m sure you could try experimenting a little and use a different flavor of pudding, and it would still be good, too. Personally, I think the crust is the best part; it’s pretty similar to an actual pastry puff. But, beware, it will get a little soggy after a day, so you better just eat it all right away. ;)

Emma insisted we write on Papa's birthday cake!

Emma insisted we write on Papa's birthday cake!

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Let There Be Snot

Monday, September 7th, 2009

In many ways, I believe my daughter was a perfect baby. Looking at my son this morning, as he spits up the chunkiest rotten milk I’ve ever seen, I am only more convinced that Emma was perfect. I’ve had some major readjustment with this second kid. Let me explain. I have no memories of my baby girl spitting up beyond the age of about three months. And even those first three months it was minimal, both in quantity and frequency. By the time she was eating baby food, her cleanliness really started to emerge. She understood the concept of opening her mouth for food immediately, and always cleaned off the spoon with her mouth. Didn’t really try to stick her hands in her food, but when she did I would move her hand away, so that desire disappeared. She would eat with arms outstretched and mouth wide open, practically inhaling the food (she would actually get really impatient in the 2 seconds between bites). Her face stayed clean, and she gladly allowed me to clean her up. If a stray bit of oatmeal made its way to some other part of her body, she would have a mini freak-out, but would still just wave her arms around and sort of grunt-scream until you cleaned it off of her. It was funny, and to some, a little obnoxious, but I enjoyed every minute. I don’t enjoy mess. When she cried she never even shed tears! Seriously. I didn’t see a tear until she was at least two. So there was no snotty, teary mess on her face when she became upset.

Enter III. Very early on in his life he began spitting up. I thought it was no big deal at first; just a baby thing. But it continued. And increased. He was never unhappy about it, and it wasn’t projectile or anything, but it was there. All over him. I had a smelly kid. He is now eight months old, and still spitting up. Only it’s more disgusting now, because it can happen after he’s had chicken and apples and the result is this horrid looking, nasty smelling spit up that is slightly chunky. I’m disgusted. And while I’ve mostly cured him of trying to put his hands in his food, I can’t always stop him in time from putting his hand in his mouth while he’s eating. Ick. And to make matters even better, this kid HATES bibs. It’s not like he just mildly doesn’t care to be wearing one, and it distracts him while he’s eating. Once he realizes it’s on, he will yank and pull and scream until it is taken off. Doesn’t matter how hungry he is. That bib must be gone.

One last comparison. Emma was not sick once until about 12 months, which was a huge blessing. Didn’t even get upset when she was teething. III has already had a few bouts with some sort of cold/allergy-like symptoms, and became very unhappy with the arrival of his first teeth (granted, he got his months earlier in his life than Emma did). We are currently in the midst of some sort of something which has resulted in late nights, a snotty face, and drool everywhere. I am disgusted by my own child. No amount of nurturing a clean habit is going to overcome this kid’s nature. He is not Emma.

So today I’m working on letting go a little. I’m not prepared to let him play in a pile of dirt yet, but I’m trying to remember that blueberries and pears will wash out of his clothes (if washed right away), and eating without a bib is not the end of the world. He hates every time I wipe his face, and it’s not like I’m making that much of a difference anyway. Maybe let him be a little messy. Let him rub his wet, sticky face on my chest as he clings to me, whimpering. After all, despite his appearance, I do love him. Very much. But he will be getting another bath.

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The Unsuccessful Bean

Monday, August 31st, 2009

Today’s mediocrity lies in a failed attempt. Well, failing is a little too strong; it was more of an unsuccess. As our credit card bills grow greater and greater and there isn’t an equal amount of growth in our bank account, I’ve been trying to re-budget different areas of our life to save a little more. So I decided that I would learn how to cook with beans. After all, they are extremely healthy and cheap.

For 81¢ I can buy a pound of dry beans. Emma and I picked out a few different types of beans, and I came home proud of my savings. As we live in Texas, I decided the best starter bean would be the black bean, and I could do some sort of Tex-Mex something (lots of good recipes here). So about an hour before I wanted to have dinner, I pulled out the beans. First mistake. Beans must be soaked, and you need more than one hour before dinner. Ok, so we’ll have beans the next night.

The next afternoon (I meant to do the overnight soaking of the beans, but forgot, so I tried the quick-soak method), around 2:30, I began by rinsing and sorting my beans. Then I covered them with water and put them on to quickly boil. No problems here. I let them sit for a couple hours, and then started cooking them for real.

I wish I had taken a picture, as I was amazed at how very black the water became. It was sort of creepy looking. But then I felt lame about taking a picture of bean water and being so mesmerized, so I showed Emma instead. Anyway, I decided not to be too risky, and to just make plain ol’ black beans and season them as I used them in meals. So I just let them cook.

One set of directions said to bring them to a boil and then simmer, and another said to just simmer. I think I made the wrong choice. I had them simmer, but since the heat was so low, I think I wasted my first cooking hour just waiting for the water to heat up. By the time my husband came home, they smelled all nice and bean-y (and I really do like the smell!), and I was sure that dinner would be ready within the hour.

So I cooked everything else up (this was only about a week ago, and for the life of me, I can’t remember what “everything else” was; all I can remember is the beans!), and kept checking the beans, but they were still a little crunchy. So we ate dinner and were going to have the beans as a little after-meal side dish. My husband decided to take the kids for a walk, and I went back in my room to get a little work done. There was still so much water in the beans I figured I still had some time before they’d be ready.

And that assumption was my next mistake. I came back to the kitchen as my family returned, and I heard, “Umm…I think your beans are done.” Yup. They were. In about 20 minutes they went from being almost ready to almost burned. All the liquid was gone, and they were sticking to the pot, and instead of having that nice, juicy, soft bean taste, they had that old, dry bean taste. A little mozzarella helped, but they were not the triumphal meat-replacing element I was hoping for (although somewhere in there I did add a bunch of spices, so they had a little flavor).

We ate them, more out of determination than enjoyment, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? So not quite a failure. More of a mediocre success. I haven’t tried any other beans yet. Waiting for my ego to bounce back. My friend says I should just buy canned, but I feel like that must be cheating. Plus, we also used some dry beans to make a rattle for the baby–can’t do that with canned!

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