Crockpot, Teach Me Your Ways

Here I go again with another crockpot recipe. I've tried several and I always end up with a unicolored stew; it tastes alright the first night but once it goes in a Tupperware the party is over. Some of my past failures have been:

Image courtesy of flickr

Feijoada
Black beans and rice
Cheese and ale soup
Pot roast

Etc.

But this time is going to be different, I say as I go to the store, load up on unlikely ingredients and cast them all into my cauldron. Maybe that's the problem - probably I need to dress up as Hermione and find Bezoars and junk like that. Or I need to Snape to oversee the process. Yes, that's it; I need Snape as a sort of magical Gordon Ramsey to yell at me while I brown the meats. 

Because, you see, I love the idea of crockpots. Everything goes in, like the Sneetches, to the pot around 9 am. Six hours later, the house smells heavenly and Accio Dinner. Take that, Polar Vortex!

Not how it turns out, however. The Feijoada was a pain to put together, and during the process there was a strange smell as the ingredients combined. With enough wine we were able to eat the stuff, but the leftovers (and there were plenty) went into the trash.

No, my crockpot is more of a warming device than a cooking device, as anyone who has had my sausage and peppers can tell you. Roast those sausages, sauté the onions and peppers, and throw it all in with plenty of EVOO and Frank's Hot Sauce. Add rolls from a real Italian bakery and some football = culinary heaven.

Image courtesy of flickr

But see, that's not really cooking. It's more cut and paste or combining some ingredients. I want to have casseroles! Soups! Other warm stuff I can't think of right now!

Okay, I'm going to try it again this weekend with this chicken recipe, courtesy of southernfood.com. I like it because it's all fresh ingredients without processed stuff. Cross your fingers it makes it past the Tupperware stage.

Chicken and Broccoli Casserole Recipe, Slow Cooker

By Diana Rattray

 This chicken and broccoli casserole is easy to prepare and cook in the slow cooker. A homemade creamy sauce completes this tasty casserole. It makes a terrific meal with rice or noodles.

Yield: Serves 4 to 6

Ingredients:

· 4 c. cubed cooked chicken or turkey

· 1 (4 oz.) can sliced mushrooms, drained, or use fresh mushrooms

· 1 (5 oz.) can sliced water chestnuts (I'm going to leave those out, but that's just me.)

· 1 (10 to 12 oz.) pkg. frozen chopped broccoli, about 1 1/2 to 2 cups

· 1/2 cup chopped onion

· 1 cup Sauce (below)

· Paprika

· .

· Sauce:

· 1/4 c. butter

· 1/4 c. flour

· 1/2 tsp. salt

· 1/4 tsp. pepper

· 1 c. chicken broth

· 1/2 cup evaporated milk

· 2 tbsp. cooking sherry

Preparation:

Spread half the chicken in the slow cooker or Crock Pot. Top with the mushrooms, water chestnuts, onion and broccoli. Arrange remaining chicken on top. Cover with sauce (directions below). Sprinkle with paprika. Cover and cook on low for 4 to 6 hours or high for 2 to 3 hours, or until chicken is thoroughly cooked.

Sauce Instructions: Melt butter in medium saucepan over low heat. Blend in flour, salt, and pepper. Cook over low heat, stirring until mixture is smooth and bubbly. Remove from heat. Stir in broth and milk. Heat to boiling, stirring constantly. Boil and stir 1 minute. Remove from heat; stir in wine. Makes about 2 cups.

I'll let you know how this turns out; meanwhile, if any lovely readers have great crockpot recipes to share, please let me know and I'll put them up as well. 

I'm Twelve

My child is far more mature than I am:

ParaNorman is on Netflix and I'm uber excited to watch it, but she's all, "Nah, let's check out Top Model."

I want to get cute tutu skirts to twirl in, but she's checking out the bootie shorts section.

She just asked when she can get her first phone. Hello - what happened to walkie talkies? Tin cans and string?

Also, she has decided that at fourteen she's gonna "get herself a boyfriend." Mama expired upon hearing that news; send chocolate in lieu of flowers.

I begged her to watch the newest episode of Gravity Falls because I wanted to find out what was going to happen.

Also, Good Luck Charlie is my favorite show on TV. I can't pass up a sitcom with the phrase "Has anyone seen my left shoe?" in the theme song. "There it is, up on the roof!"

There were rumblings of getting rid of the Barbies for a while, but that seems to have blown over. Whew! Dodged a bullet there! However, the not-so-good news is the Barbies are re-enacting Top Model.

All-day marathon of Avatar, the Last Airbender? I'm so in, with iced coffee and smores. But no.



I do see some hopeful signs:

When I offer to give helicopter rides - the kind where you pick up a kid with one arm, one leg, and spin them like mad - she still goes for it.

image courtesy of lindalu.typepad.com

She and her friends still enjoy making mud.

Stuffed animals are the most important thing in the entire world, so there's that.

She thinks it's funny to whack my butt cheeks and make a crashing cymbal sound. Mama's Junk Orchestra, y'all.


Yes, I'm twelve.

Carnival Time Again, EEK

Oh no, it's that time of year again. I have to lug my sweaty behind to the 

school carnival, 

along with two excited 8 year olds who view the entire event as a sort of prom for elementary kids. They are going to run into all their friends, while I juggle sunscreen, bug spray, and carny food. 

I just know it.

Not always such a grouch, but the school carnival really is Hell Night for parents. First, we have to load our kids onto rides that grooooooaaaaaan and squeak as the children are strapped in and whirled into Centrifugal torture. They seem to like it pretty well; I turn away and try not to eye the one bolt coming loose on the structure.

It's Catholic school, so we do get to watch the priests aim for each other at the dunk tank. It's the one highlight, when Father Fernando gets a soaking. Winning!

Who has two left hands and wants to dunk the guy in a full suit? This gal!

I've got my tactics down for hustling kids past the Overpriced / Cheapo toy game stalls. "You've already got five of those at home... win anymore and we'll all have to move out to the garage... look, funnel cake..."

Yes, I will feed the child batter deep-fried in mystery oil rather than carry home another rubber duck or three foot long fuzzy python stuffed with old cleaner bags.

We can relax in the food tent, except the band there always turns the volume up to "Eleven" and I like my eardrums. So, no.

Sit and get a face henna tattoo that you'll wash off in twenty minutes? And pay many dollars for that experience? I think not.

Am I the only one who eyes up the "fresh lemonade" stand and wonder, Do they wash those lemons?

At eight o'clock, the vampires come out. Goth dudes and girls appear, with black lipstick and micro shorts over tattered fishnets. I LOVE it when they show up, because at that point we really need to get home and wash off several centimeters of machine lube and sugar.

Yup, Carnival Night. 

Mother's Day

Yesterday was Mother's Day in the US, and I was treated to a lovely spa day by my considerate family.  After a long morning of sleeping-in, I was whisked by limo to hours of massages, facials, pedicures...

Of course, that day actually occurred in some strange, alternate universe. 

Instead, my day began at 7, when I got up early to clean the house for the in-laws, who were coming over for brunch. I also had to cook that brunch; good thing I bought the ingredients the day before in between takes at the dance studio. 

(It was Dance Picture day on Saturday, complete with costume changes and make up on 8 year old's face; we're talking mascara here. All I can say is: SHUDDER)

I really don't mind about the cooking and the cleaning; would take that over standing in a two hour line to eat a meal at a crowded restaurant any day. Plus, when I serve the meal at home, we get to linger over our mimosas as long as we want without an annoyed waiter hovering and clearing his throat in a "We really need that table NOW" way.

No, the true fun began when I had to get 8 year old kid (who had to be changed into costumes and make up the day before, remember) into suitable church clothes. She was singing in the choir - in fact, she had a solo of six words long - so she had to look presentable.

Let me just share a quick secret with you all: she could go to church in cut-offs and a hole cut into a tablecloth as a poncho, and I wouldn't care. Heck, she could wear that dance costume from the pictures. My feeling is: I got my family to church relatively clean, what more do you want?

But no, "certain other people" (husband) don't agree. So I had to bully and chivvy kid into skirt - I know, the horror - and shirt that didn't have a T in front of it. 

After church, the day went well. The waffles turned out crispy and delicious. The mimosas flowed. the bacon disappeared in 30 seconds... all was right with the world. 

I even got to sneak upstairs for a ten minute nap at one point. Winning!

The true festivities, however, began at eight o'clock at night. That was when my daughter remembered she needed to bring in a book about the planets, with many planetty facts, to school on Monday. Yes, the classic "I just recalled my homework that I had all weekend to do" move which makes all parents want to curl up in a fetal position.

EXCELLENT gift!

There are no libraries or bookstores open at 8 PM on Sunday in our town.

Therefore, Mother's Day ended for me by writing a book on planets, complete with pictures, and printing it out. Did you know that Pluto was no longer a planet? You want to know why? Because its kids drove it to a gaseous death, that's why.

Finally got kid into bed and settled down to Mad Men with my husband. I admit I was eyeing up the Mimosa leftovers. Was just about to pour, when my daughter's bedroom door opened - she had a nightmare and I had to go and lie down with her and put her to sleep, again. I blame the waffles.

So, Mother's Day for me (and, I suspect for many others) was truly a MOTHER'S day. I was a mom in every sense of the word. 

All day long.

OUCH

My daughter had to have four teeth extracted yesterday. They were only baby teeth, but they had long roots and were crowding her adult incisors, so the orthodontist proclaimed they had to go.

This set into motion an entire month of misadventures. First I took her to the dentist, and they said the teeth were too difficult to remove - I would have to take her to an "orthodontic surgeon."

That's a nice, friendly phrase that won't strike terror into the heart of the 8-year-old who hears it - no, not at all.

I called the surgeon and found that we had to go in for a consultation first. This meant dragging my kid out of school early and taking her to the scary surgeon. I know it's a good thing that Kid likes school, but it's a pain when I show up to take her to Not Fun places and she doesn't want to leave.

Once we arrived, I was so frazzled I lost my keys in the office and had to have the entire staff help me look for them (they slipped between the cushions of the chairs in the waiting room, in case you were wondering.)

"It's your professionalism I admire"

Ever get a hot flash so violent that you sweat like an outfielder under the broiling sun in Arizona at noon? Yeah, that, except mine was from embarrassment, not hormones.

Once I found the damn keys, I scheduled the appointment for the actual extraction. They promised me that the teeth would come out easily and Kid would only need a local and laughing gas.

Kid tells me she doesn't want the laughing gas. I blurt out, "But, sweetie, that's the fun part." Mother of the year, y'all.

Repeat the 'picking up from school' debacle two weeks later. Arrive at "surgeon," and kid crawls to the back of the truck and refuses to come out. I bribe, cajole, promise, and finally threaten. Start to feel like Hannibal Lechter / that dude with the lotion in the basket.

Bring kid into office and watch as she is strapped into chair. She does smile when she gets the nitrous oxide gas. SEE???

Teeth pulled. I'll gloss over those details.

Mouth packed with gauze, and we go back to the car. (I strapped the keys to one leg a la Lara Croft this time.)

Yeah, Tooth Fairy! Go Tooth Fairy!

Get home, and kid decides that all the pain was My Fault. She begins to complain for the next few hours at the top of her lungs. Refuses pain meds, jello, ice cream, movie, iPod... 

I find myself ready to offer her a Paris vacation or the entire island of Cyprus. 

Hot flash intensifies (mine). Kid insists she looks like a "Nerdy hamster" now with her incisors gone.

Sneak tylenol into kid. Tirade stops. 

I look at those teeth in the little baggie again and realize she was really very brave throughout the entire ordeal. 

Tooth fairy stops by and leaves gift and lots of dollars.

Brave girl goes to school; I see I'll have to boil the blood-stained sheets. Thank the heavens it's all over.

You know, she doesn't look like a Nerdy Hamster now... she looks like a cute, brave hamster. 

In A Perfect World...

courtesy imiorganizer.com

... I would be very efficient at filing things like receipts. I hate receipts.

... all my photos and news clippings* would be organized and popped into fancy albums with decorative borders. Scrapbooks, I guess they are called. Yes, I would be a scrapbooker.

... the gradual but merciless takeover of my kitchen cabinets by fast food toys, glitter, sidewalk chalk, and Barbie clothes would never have occurred.

... my hair would act more like hair and less like straggly seaweed.

... that one bite** of shrimp pasta that I just couldn't resist last night as I stowed the leftovers in Tupperware would not have gone straight to my waistline.

... my kid wouldn't beg to join the soccer team, only to have a meltdown when the soccer season actually is upon us.

... I would read more Dostoyevsky and less David Wang. Wait, no - that's not true. I'd keep the Wang.

... my freezer wouldn't be the kind you actually still have to defrost. With pans of boiling water and stuff. It's retro!

Good times, good times.
image courtesy alwaysorderdessert.com

... my husband and I would have the same sleeping temp preferences, not glacial (mine) versus tropical (his.) I'm menopausal, deal with it.

... my friends and I would hold our weekly coffee meetings each week, instead of once a year.

... I would actually SEND the Easter card to my nephew after signing, addressing, and stamping it, instead of filing it for next year, since it is May already.

... I would watch more MacNeil/Lehrer and less Fringe. Wait - that's not true either. I'd keep the Fringe.







*by "news clippings" I mean the one article published about me as a writer

**by "one bite" I mean several very large mouthfuls. Okay, maybe a small plate's worth.

Movie Date

We're off to see The Croods today, and I already know what is going to happen:

1. I'll dread the movie as a dumbo kiddie deal but will end up sniffling at the sentimental parts and laughing like a hyena at the comedy, just as I did with Despicable Me, Toy Story 3, etc etc

2. My kid will want a drink (a precedent set by someone's father) and I'll order the smallest one they have at the snack bar. The snack dude will hand me a filled soda cup the size of a small oil barrel. 

People rail against drink limitations, stating they should be able to buy a beverage as large as they want - but couldn't we buy one as small as we want too? In other words, movie theater companies, could I please have the option to buy a Sprite for my kid that is smaller than her entire head and shoulder area?

3. We will stick to the floor , probably because other movie-goers spilled their massive drinks.

4. The tallest man in the world will come and sit right in front of my kid.

5. Halfway through the movie, just as I decide I love the film and am happily sniffling away, my daughter will have to pee, thanks to the.... 

oh, I'll stop.

6. The woman behind me will get lots of texts, and her alert will be "Gangnam Style."

7. I'll lose the car in the parking lot and have to use my embarrassing (to my 8 year old) Honk Option on my key fob.

8. On the way home she'll beg and beg me to put the DVD on her birthday wishlist. 

9. Despite all of my whining, we'll have a wonderful time.

Braces

Proving that braces CAN be cute...

Oh, the pain of braces ...

First the cost. It's very difficult to sign over a check that would buy a luxurious vacation over to a doctor for a few wires.

Second, the prep. Getting your kid ready to wear something that shows up in movies and TV shows on the "nerd" characters is even more difficult than writing that check.

Third, the actual procedure. You sit by one side as your kid's mouth is forced open and glue smeared on her teeth. Brackets go on the glue, and wires are threaded through the brackets.  She stays still, poor little mite, because she simply doesn't know what else to do.

Fourth, a ray of hope - The braces are on, and she perks up when she gets to pick out rubber band colors. Of course she chooses purple and pink - what else?

Fifth, the realization sets in that braces are going to hurt. Wax is applied, ibuprofen offered, and the nagging fear arises that those sleepless teething nights are back. 

But that all changes, eventually, as teeth are forced into position and a new smile emerges. From one who lived with buck teeth all her life, I can't sympathize with the feeling of braces, but I do understand the difficulty involved - on many levels.

Sporting a cute gap...

My daughter will have straight teeth, and the twisted teeth will settle into new formations. I suppose that's a good thing, although I've always secretly loved irregular smiles: gapped teeth, long incisors, overlapping canines and all.

Not to be melodramatic, but I wonder if those mothers fitting their young girls for foot binding felt the same way?

Ode to Friendship

My daughter's best friend came over a few times this weekend. Kid has quite a few besties, but this one is The One. The BFFE. (or BFFL, or whatever it is.)

Art by Sinful Eyes

My kid and her best friend met each other when they were three years old. Since then they've gone to different schools, made other friends, and headed on different activity paths (dance versus acting) but they remain seriously tight.

They just get each other. They've had scraps and butted heads, but in the end when my daughter has had a bad day, there's only one person she wants to call and talk to about it.

You can't buy that. My kid, whether she knows it or not, has won the lottery. She scored the huge prize. She is set for life.

I've got quite a few wonderful friends myself. I've got my cousin, who was my first bestie, as well as the dance school friend, my sister - first my frenemy, now nothin but love for her - my high school friend, who designs my book covers, as well as other wonderful pals, both male and female, who have stayed in touch over the years.

I learned very early on that there is nothing more important than that. Even when I was caught up in affairs of the heart and OH MY GOD I THINK HE IS GOING TO ASK ME OUT - all of it meant very little, really, without a long phone call to chat about it all. Later on the chats were held over drinks, and sometimes we held each other's hair. 

My kid and her friend, I fervently hope, will go through the same thing, maybe without too much of the hair holding part. They'll text each other and drive over to each other's house. They'll have marathon phone convos and give advice. They'll go shopping and head out for Girl's Weekends. 

Image courtesy of Boston.com

Their friendship will deepen and mature, to the point where they'll just have to look at each other and know what the other one is thinking.

And at some point, someone will ask, "So, how do you two know each other, anyway?" And one of them can answer that they've been friends since they were three years old. 

And someone will say, "Hey! That's pretty cool!" 

And someone will be right.

Volunteering

Image courtesy of rescue.org

As I wrote yesterday, I'm in limbo at the moment after finishing the Crown Phoenix series. For the past few months, I've spent most of my days inside at my computer to write the book and edit it.

After a while, the solitude of that life becomes normal. After all, people are moving around in my head and talking; their relationships and adventures became my version of human interactions, instead of shopping with friends or going to lunch.

Once the books was delivered to my editor, for a few months at least that little world is closed off to me. So today I sashayed to my kid's school, to put in a few hours of volunteer work. I thought it would be a good way to re-enter the Real World. Where you have to Talk and Stuff.

And so it proved. The other women working to prepare for a huge fundraising event were chatty and hardworking. They accepted that I had reappeared from my office after months of sequestering myself without questions or comments, and I can't tell you how happy that made me.

This woman is a god to me.

We had to do crafty, creative stuff. Yeah, I'm really BAD at that. I can't tell you how much I'm NOT the scrapbooking mom, the decorating wife, the flower arranging lady. If you want a room to look thrown together, as if someone unloaded a moving van right in the center of the floor, I'm your gal. When it comes to decorating, I just don't have that gene.

One mom, who is a genius with that kind of stuff, came to my rescue. She was able to move one thing in the lumpy projects I put together and make them look like breathtaking pieces of art.

At the end of the day, it all comes down to different forms of creativity or talent. Some can organize like there is no tomorrow (I cannot.) Some can paint or make music. Some can put kids instantly at ease, start long conversations with strangers, make friends easily, or bake incredible cakes.

My own little talent is creating imaginary worlds, and it is neither worse nor better than any other form or creativity. It is what it is - I just know that it's there in my brain, and that's that.

Would I trade it in for the ability to make my house look like a magazine shoot or effortlessly organize my life?

Well, no. But I will stand next to that mom who can whip those projects into shape.

Blue Morning

Alexander from
the Judith Viorst book

My kid woke up in an instant tantrum, and I had a touch of stomach flu. 

Due to the tantrum, Kid missed the bus and I had to drive her to school, yells and all. 

On the way there, I saw that the gas needle was pushing E. 

At that point, I knew I was having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

I got stuck behind Mr. Slow in traffic, and we reached the school too late to get in the side drop-off entrance. I had to get out of my car and sign her in as late.

The temperature had dropped at least 30 degrees overnight, and I was wearing a light spring jacket. Also, since I had expected to stay INSIDE the car for the drop-off, I was sporting bedroom slippers.

Thanking the good Lord that I had at least changed out of pyjamas, I walked Kid in, signed her in, and got back in the car with a sigh of relief. 

I coasted into the gas station and rolled down the window. The man came to the car, and he was skatting. Skatting! in 20 degree weather!

"How are you, lady?" he asked with a broad smile.

It was infectious. I smiled back. "Just fine," I lied. "And you?"

"Oh, you know, I'm in that moooood!" This was followed by a fine belly laugh and more skats. 

Image courtesy of DocumentaryStorm.com

At that point I began to feel ashamed of myself. Here I was being cranky about stuff that was, in the grand scheme of things, nothing but minutia. And if Gasoline Pump Man could be happy and skatt-ish while he worked outside in freezing weather, I could be happy inside my heated SUV. 

Maybe, I thought, I could salvage the morning. I would play some sweet tunes, have a long cup of tea and a hot shower, and wash the bad start away. 

Filled with these virtuous plans, I paid Happy Skat Man and drove off.....

.... only to realize my kid had left her coat and lunch in the car.

The Best Toy Ever

One of my friends and I are secret toy fiends. We love when Christmas rolls around, because it means we get to go on shopping trips together, looking for the rare Monster High Dolls, the coolest American Girl outfits. We managed to acquire Zhu Zhu pets for the kids back when they were as difficult to find as Cabbage Patch thingamerbobbers in the 80's.

Now I have a big box of Zhu Zhu's in the basement and no idea what to do with them. Zhu Zhu's, in case you never heard of them, are battery-powered hamsters that run around and make weird noises. They have houses and tracks that connect the houses, and you can build a whole city for these things.

My kid was ecstatic when she received them, years ago. For one glorious afternoon she played with them. And after that, she abandoned them, and now they lie in that box, collecting dust. 

I've noticed that is usually the case with battery-powered playthings. In fact, the more batteries involved, the shorter the play-with-life, unless there is a lightbulb included and we're talking EZ Bake.

Perhaps it's different for boys, although I remain skeptical.

This lesson came home to me over the summer, when my daughter's friend invented the COOLEST TOY EVER. It was so much fun that she and my kid, as well as all of their friends, played with it for months. 

Here's what the cool toy was: my kid's friend invented a planet, and her mother donated basement space for world-building. The kids made the houses out of old boxes and the alien inhabitants with cotton balls and swabs. Someone created a dress shop and sold fancy clothes made out of cupcake liners.

image courtesy of mnn.com

Other parents donated boxes and supplies. The houses and stores expanded, and one boy was in hot demand for his building skills. The kids started a message board near the planet, where they would leave notes for each other to create new aliens, to invite the planet dwellers to parties, to ask that boy to build them a new house.

The planet grew to the point where it took over the entire basement, and I had to applaud the mother for allowing it all to continue. Because, without a doubt, it was the coolest game / toy / playdate EVAH. The kids made movies of the aliens and showed them to each other. There were commercials for the cupcake dress shop, as well as reminders to frequent the boy's construction business.

At last the mess was too much. The basement had dissolved into a crafty, glittery, gluey nightmare, and the parents spent several days cleaning it up. But for one summer, the kids had interacted and built and experienced the fun of just being kids, without anything electronic to interfere.

from mylifeandkids.com

I know my kid will always remember that summer when she created a planet with her friends. And I must add a word to all toy makers everywhere - how are you going to compete with that? A doll that talks, a dog that walks, a gun that shoots nerf darts - nothing is better than creating your own world.

Fruitify My Life

Each year, after the holidays, I reach a point where my body says: ENOUGH. Enough of the wine, the heavy desserts, the appetizers made with buttery pastry. Enough Christmas cookies. I even reach the point where (gasp) I'm a bit sick of chocolate.

I'm at that point now, and I'm fully ready to embrace fruit. Right now, a juicy orange really sounds delicious to me. Or a wonderful pear.

Or those frozen dark cherries that defrost so wonderfully in the microwave... At the risk of sounding really strange, when I found that Costco carried those things in megabags, maybe I cried. Or did Gangam Style, or something. In any case, they make me happy.

Bring on the melons, the Clementines, and apples! I just re-embraced Fuji apples after years of Galas; can't believe I forgot how flavorful they are.

I'm down for greens too, and I mean salads that are NOT laden down with dollops of dressing and a bag of cheese. Last night I had a simple salad made with crisp romaine drizzled with a tad of olive oil, and it was delicious.

In this mode, I always go overboard and buy something a bit too adventurous - kale, or parsnips. I love both, but am I really going to prepare and roast parsnips? No. As for the kale, supposedly it makes a great smoothie... Maybe I'll go back to that aisle and get some. and some beets while I'm at it.

At this point, my body is gasping for fresh air and exercise, after weeks of hunkering over wrapping paper and leg of lamb. I'm all about carrot juice, not eggnog. Bring on the green tea, not the champagne. Obviously, my system just wants a detox.

It all sounds a bit scary and dreadful, but honestly that fruit tastes delicious. The Clementines are like a fresh burst of orange on my tongue, and my husband and I have eaten most of the Fuji apples that I bought - oh - three days ago.

Carrots! How could I forget carrots? And I mean real ones, not the machine-lathed substitutes. They seem to take ages to peel, but the flavor in soups is unforgettable. And of course I'm not above buying the baby carrots; just maybe I ate a whole bag while I was editing the other night.

Yup, it's time for color and contrast in my diet. We'll just see how long this phase lasts.

How I Got it All Wrong or, Pocahontas

Last night my kid watched the movie Pocahontas, the Disney version. She came across it by accident, on Netflix, as I surely would have never chosen that film to show her.

Yup, gorgeous. But real? I don't think so.

Why not?

Well, let's start with the serious disregard of history, plus the demeaning of a princess's act of kindness and courage turned into a ploy to save her boyfriend. Plus - a one-shoulder dress that just happens to showcase the girl's body .... mutter.... Lovely though she is, and I do think that Pocahontas is one of the prettiest Disney Princesses ever, the movie was on my Do Not Watch Ever list.

But!!!

The real Pocahontas, in England. OK, girlfriend was still gorgeous.

My kid loved it. LOVED it.

I mean, she kept stopping the film to research what really happened, plus she couldn't wait to find out the end. I've tried to get her interested in the Disney Princesses, to no avail, and it just figures that the one I never showed her captured her interest.

So, Mom is being all PC, and kid is simply enjoying a movie.

There are some things I can take away from this:

1. Kids love history and facts. Once I told my daughter, "Parts of this actually happened" she was enthralled. While I was all excited about Tangled, she was more interested in finding out about Captain John Smith (who did not look like that in real life, FYI, kid.)

2. Kids are going to love what they love, and parents simply can't stop that. Sure, I can provide guidance along the way, but at the end of the day Miss Thing is her own person.

3. My daughter was critical of the music in the movie. "Look, mommy - now even the willow is singing." Not every movie has to be eventually turned into a stage musical, Disney.

What Captain John Smith really looked like. That's very different, now, isn't it.

4. MUST POCAHONTAS HAVE A PERFECT MODEL'S MOUTH AS WELL AS LONG LEGS AND HAIR DOWN TO HER BUTT? REALLY? REALLY? AND HE HAS A CLEFT CHIN AND BLUE EYES.... argh - Obviously, I still have issues with this movie. Does that mean I forbid my daughter's watching it? In the end, I have to say No. Hopefully, I can provide some real historical content soon.

5. *SPOILER ALERT* The ending is really, really sad. No, I'm not talking about the movie - I'm talking about what happened for centuries afterwards. That's the main reason why I didn't want to watch Pocahontas - it makes me too depressed.

Still - back to the main point - my kid really, really loved it. And that, I suppose, is all.

The Past Two Weeks

Here is, in a nutshell, what my life has been like over the past few weeks:

AD: Ah, some free time. I'm going to write my Indie Exchange Blog and do some editing.
Kid: Mommy! I have to have jeggings ready for tomorrow! We have our Christmas show!

(mom goes to do extra load of laundry.)

AD: OK, forget the blog. I'll do some editing for fifteen minutes.
Kid: I'm hungry.

(edit is abandoned.)

Later -

AD: Excellent! A fresh new day. I'm going to try and edit ten pages of the job that's been on hold for a month.
Husband: We have to go and pick up Poppy from the hospital NOW.

(Work is abandoned.)

Later -

AD: OK, I've got an entire day to myself. I'm going to get all my wrapping done in two hours and bang out a buttload of work.

Seven Hours Later -

AD: ERMERGERD I've been wrapping for seven hours and I'm still not done *insert loud raspberry* And did I send Christmas cards? Well, did I?

Two Days Before Christmas -

AD: Baking! Wrapping! Cooking! Cleaning! Certainly not writing or blogging!

Two Days After Christmas -

AD: Still baking and cleaning, and now entertaining! Still not writing!

*****

If anyone has a map to lead me out of this crazed wilderness for next year's holiday season, I will pay and also give you a pedicure.

The Self on the Shelf

Our elf, Harry, has reappeared. Every year, on Thanksgiving, his story shows up on my daughter's bed, and we read it, and in the morning she finds Harry. 

I thought that this year she might have outgrown Harry a bit. 

WRONG 

She is more into him than ever, if that's even possible. 

Here's the deal : First of all, Harry has to remember to hide. I must admit that sometimes Harry stays up late and forgets to hide. He nearly did that the VERY FIRST MORNING, so when Kid came down the stairs, Harry had to leap to a new place. 

Harry misjudged the leap and landed on his head, where he stayed all day. We aren't allowed to touch him, because that is the law, and heaven forbid if we break that law. So, Harry had to lie on his red pointy cap all day with his blood rushing to his head. Not good.

Second, Harry is starting to get a bit overwhelmed with all the gifts and letters he receives every single day from Kid. He appreciates them all, but he is starting to run out of places to put them.

Third, Harry maybe sort of is running out of places to hide. Kid has proclaimed that he can't hide in the bathrooms; since she doesn't want him to see her "doing her business." (Her words.)

Fourth, looking for Harry can be a bit stressful. When it's a school day, like today for example, and Kid has to eat and dress and brush teeth and instead is running all over the house, looking for the elf, it becomes Agita City. 

Fifth, the kid is already starting to miss Harry. And it's not even December. She wants it to be Christmas, but not really, because then there would be no more Harry. I'm just saying that we had a long, long conversation on this very topic. 

Sixth, Harry has a really - what's the word - knowing expression. The sideways glance, the grin - it's  starting to freak me out a little.

Wearing the "Classic Couture Collection." Really? Really?

Seventh, we were in Barnes and Noble the other day, and I saw that you can now buy clothes for Harry. And a DVD of his life. And a female companion. It took a lot of ingenuity and perhaps maybe a few lies to keep kid away from that whole scene.

Still, Christmas will come, as it always does, and Harry will fly back to the North Pole. A new year will arrive, and eventually, Kid will turn nine. At that point, I'll wonder if she'll be into this whole deal next year. Perhaps this could be the Harry's Last Hurrah.

As in Point number 5, I'm going to try not to miss it already, before that even happens.