Brace yourselves.

NaBloPoMo. National Blog Posting Month. I was thinking crazy thoughts while doing my hair this morning (incidentally, where most of my crazy thoughts occur--not in my hair, but in my head while I'm doing my hair), and this may be like totally 2007, but I am going to post every single day this month.

(Deep breath)

This will be good for me, right? Kind of like those fifteen minute creative writing exercises I'd do with my mom when I was a little girl. Not that those ever made me anything resembling a creative writer, but it was character building.

To make this easier on myself, I'm coming up with a theme. Gratitude. Staggeringly original, I know. I may be veering dangerously close into seriously so blessed territory, but it helps fulfill two goals. First of all, to become a better, faster blogger. Second, to have a more prayerful heart. I truly believe that there is transformative power that comes from dwelling upon the blessings in our lives. I'm needing all the transformative power I can get these days.

As a warm-up for tomorrow, I am grateful for this delightful debate going on at Mellificent Tales. One of Allan's BFFs has granted us all a brief respite from the endless stream of political posts in these final days before November 4th. As he writes, "Everybody's up in arms supporting their candidate and tip-toeing around the real issue that affects our everyday lives: Which fruit is the best?"

Truly a debate worth having.

The requisite Halloween photo shoot.

The problem with, "Say 'cheese,' Jack!!" is that all the pictures turned out like this:


And this:


But we did manage to catch him off-guard once:

"Arrrrrrgh! Have a Happy Halloween, mateys!"

A lesson in real world budgeting: Sometimes some things gotta give.

I've learned a lesson this last month: Take my own advice.

Anyone who comes to me for cooking/eating advice always hears the same thing. Be willing to spend a little more on quality home cooked meals because you'll save money in the long run. And always find ways to eat more fruits and veggies. You will learn to looooove them.

I do not claim to be an expert. Allan has asked me to "never make that again," and Jack snubs his nose at about 33% of what I put in front of him. But I do love to cook. And I know how my body feels when I really put some TLC into what we eat.

So why would I ever, ever stray?

Anyone who talked to me at any time during the months of July through September probably heard about my genius budget. Everything was categorized to the penny. In order to do all the things I want to do within the next five years, including buying a house and paying off our student loans, I was going to be the master of fiscal discipline. And if that meant trimming my monthly grocery budget by a third, so be it.

Ha!

I made it through August and September successfully. I stayed within bounds. Then October hit. Nineteen cents per pound watermelons disappeared. The price of fresh green beans and zucchini doubled overnight. If I had to cook another chicken leg quarter again I was going to throw up. Ground beef--I still abhor it, even after two months of trying to make it palatable. Our diets were seriously lacking in variety. I'd gone from eating about nine servings of fruits and vegetables a day to three--if I was lucky. I was tired, cranky, and one night decided that going to McDonald's sounded infinitely better than the sixty-cent per serving meal I'd cooked up.

I missed eating well. I missed it so much I was depressed. I finally realized that wanting to shift $100 from savings to groceries every month isn't frivolous. It's our health, for crying out loud. And as silly as it sounds, it brings me so much happiness. I like to think of it as putting $100 into a health savings account of sorts.

This last week's trip to the grocery store was a joyous occasion. I loaded up on so much produce that I thought the checkout girl's eyes were going to pop out of her head. Yams, spinach, beets, asparagus, apples, strawberries...I could go on. And on.

Today at lunch when I pulled out an avocado, Jack shouted with the enthusiasm that only a two-year-old can muster, "CAN I HAVE THIS ONE!??!"

My dear, sweet boy. I'm so sorry you've been deprived these past two months. I will never do it again.

Here is some seasonal vegetable love. This is called "vegetable candy" in our house.

Autumn Vegetable Medley

• 1 (9-ounce) fennel bulb with stalks
• 2 cups (1/2-inch) cubed peeled butternut squash
• 1 1/2 cups (1-inch-thick) slices parsnip
• 1 1/2 cups (1-inch-thick) slices carrot
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1 1/2 teaspoons chopped fresh rosemary
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• Dash freshly grated nutmeg
• Cooking spray
• 1/3 cup (1 1/2 ounces) freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese (optional)

Preheat oven to 425°.

Trim tough outer leaves from fennel. Cut fennel bulb in half lengthwise; discard core. Cut each half into three wedges. Combine fennel, squash, and next 7 ingredients (through nutmeg) in a large shallow roasting pan coated with cooking spray. Bake at 425° for 35 minutes or until vegetables are tender, stirring occasionally. Sprinkle vegetable mixture with cheese, if desired.

My attempts at reaching across the aisle.

I'm politically conservative. Given my parentage, religion, geographical roots, etc. this should come as no surprise. Quite frankly, as long as the Republican party keeps supporting the social values that I fervently believe in, for the most part I will continue to vote Republican.

I've been angry with my party for a good chunk of the last four years. Bush's gift to me? The appointments of Roberts and Alito to the Supreme Court. That's about it. I'm not really wild about my options this time around either. But the Democrats have done absolutely nothing to make me see it their way. With Congress growing more liberal with each election season, I find myself fearful of what a liberal supermajority will mean. An Obama/Reid/Pelosi combination, in addition to the ideology of future Obama appointments to the Supreme Court, will be more left-leaning than mainstream America wants. That's my opinion, anyway.

As much as I loathe what is coming in January 2009, I am sick of all the vitriol. I am sick of saying things like, "I hate Harry Reid," and actually meaning them. While it gets me fired up, it doesn't feel good. It's not productive. I don't want to hate the other side. But I really think that is what most Americans are feeling right now. Total disdain for those whose opinions are opposite their own.

So many things have entered my mind as I've thought about this today. For instance, the real meaning of tolerance. To quote Gordon B. Hinckley, “Each of us is an individual. Each of us is different. There must be respect for those differences....We must work harder to build mutual respect, an attitude of forbearance, with tolerance one for another regardless of the doctrines and philosophies which we may espouse. Concerning these you and I may disagree. But we can do so with respect and civility." I've also thought about Robert D. Hales's most recent conference talk. In talking about those who are antagonistic to our faith and values, he said, "Whatever their race, creed, religion, or political persuasion, if we follow Christ and show forth His courage, we must love them" (emphasis added).

For me at least, there seems to be a fine line between being passionate about my beliefs and feeling unworthy passions for the other side. So today I decided that I would come up with a list of liberal-minded people that I love. I started thinking about the bigwigs, and sadly, came up with nothing.** Then I started thinking about the people I know. The people I worked with. The people who taught me. The people I'm related to. I do love and respect them all. I'm thankful for what they've added to my life--socially, intellectually, and spiritually.

This is my attempt at abandoning the stick-it-to-'em attitude I've been expressing as of late: I've decided that on November 4th, I will be casting my vote for certain candidates and issues rather than against. Baby steps, right?

**Allan came up with one. Senator Chris Dodd was kind enough to meet and greet Allan and the rest of his high school group during a trip to D.C. Even though it wasn't planned. Why? Because that flake Orrin Hatch didn't show up. Thus proving that the distinguished gentleman from Connecticut cares more about the youth of Utah than Orrin Hatch does.

Giving you pumpkin love.

Things went better on the parenting front on Monday and Tuesday, but today not so much. Just yesterday I was telling a girlfriend how potty training was actually an overall easier experience than I had anticipated. Jack must have overheard me. Because as of late this morning he's waged a full-on rebellion. Against every suggestion/request/rebuke/endearment that comes out of my mouth.

I know I'll eventually emerge out of my puddle of frustrated tears, but today I'm seriously considering that the Lord is waiting to bless me with more babies until after we've conquered this stage. Because if I had it my way, I'd have a one year-old by now--which means I'd probably have to call that number that appears on the "Sometimes Parents Need a Timeout Too" billboards.

To show you that I have intentions to cease all of this whining, I'm extending a little bit of culinary love. The aforementioned pumpkin pancakes:

2 c all-purpose flour (sometimes I get all health-nutty and make it half whole-wheat)
3 T packed brown sugar
1 T baking powder
1/2 t salt
1 3/4 c milk
3 eggs, lightly beaten
3/4 c canned pumpkin
1/4 c cooking oil

1. In a large bowl combine all dry ingredients. In second bowl combine wet ingredients (i.e. all that remains). Add wet to dry and stir until slightly lumpy (does anyone else secretly love these floury lumps as much as I do?).
2. Cook on lightly greased griddle, 1/4 c. at a time. And I think you know how to do the rest from here.

If you have toddlers at home, I give you permission to make yourself a batch, and spread peanut butter on them before drowning them in syrup. It will do your soul great good.

T.G.I.M.

Last Friday was the first Friday in recent remembrance where I actually felt giddy about it being Friday. The only thing a Friday in law school meant was that 1) Oprah wasn't on, and 2) My bi-weekly emotional meltdown was sure to occur between the hours of 10am and 1pm, because, of course, my husband was at the library all day on Saturday.

Out of school and into the workforce means that Fridays now bring promises of blissful family time for the next forty-eight hours. Pumpkin pancake breakfasts, trips to Costco, lunch at In-N-Out, riding on unicorns, frolicking with elves, falling asleep in fields of gold, etc.

Not this weekend.

I woke up with my hip in screaming pain, so I couldn't do my long run (which, of course, meant I spent the rest of the day feeling chubby). During Allan's bicycle ride, he was chased by three very mean, very big dogs. While looking back to see how close the German shepherd was to biting off his leg he tweaked his back. Always the dutiful man, he then went on to mow the lawn, hand wash and vacuum the car, and carry 40-lb Jack on his shoulders one mile uphill. Around 5pm he announced that he could not straighten out his back (Surprise!).

Today was perhaps the worst. day. ever. in my life as a parent. While I was at stake conference by myself, crippled Allan decided (with my full support) to begin potty training. Resolve had to be sprayed on at least three areas of our white carpet. For reasons seemingly unrelated to potty training, Jack repeatedly hit us, kicked us, and threw robotronic Elmo at our heads. Puzzle pieces, ninja turtles, train tracks, hot wheels, and duplos covered the play room, dining room, and living room floors. All efforts to positively parent vanished at approximately 4pm. Around 6:30pm I started praying with Jack that both parents and child could stop being so angry with each other. Jack responded, mid-prayer, by kicking me full force in the trachea. Jack went straight to bed without chocolate cake. Two out of the three of us Baileys were in tears for the next hour.

The End. Thanks for listening.

I have never been so excited for it to be Monday.

Guess he really is hungry.

Like his mama, when Jack is bored he inevitably starts thinking of food. It's a curse, really.

Big parenthetical side note: I remember hearing a friend talk about how she saw an episode of Dr. Phil with a 400+ pound man who talked about how as soon as he was done eating one meal, he was already thinking about what he was going to eat next. She thought that was so strange and so sad. I was like, "Ummm, yeah. That is really sad," all while thinking, Oh, I'm so excited to make that peanut pork stir fry tonight. Oh, and I have a new issue of Cooking Light that came in the mail. It will be so fun to curl up and read all about food right after I finish the dishes. Then maybe I'll have some kettle corn. Ooooh, yeah. I'll definitely be craving that.

Obviously the above paragraph deserves its own post. Or therapy.

When mom is boring, and can't think of any more fun things to do (which is, like, every single day), Jack gets "hungry" every twenty minutes. He usually starts big with a request for chocolate cake. Then he'll follow with yogurt, dad's cereal, nuts, raisins, bread, apples, etc. To beat him at his own game, I sometimes suggest that he have some celery or spinach.

The other night Allan was playing along. Allan's threw in cauliflower as a possibility. You'd think he had offered to let Jack have brownie mosaic cheesecake (no, really). Jack enthusiastically polished off a hearty serving of cauliflower at 9:30 pm. Then he asked for more.

The following morning while I was making my oatmeal, he told me he wanted some. I gave him a heaping bowl of raw, dry oats. He ate it with a spoon, and then asked for more. He's been requesting it about five times a day ever since. We've actually had to hide the canister.

Video evidence:



Allan is nicer than I am. He treats Jack less like a horse and more like a human by putting milk on it.

I'm starting to think that I may be the rudest person on the planet.

Ring, ring.

Buffy: Hello?
Caller: May I speak to......Elizabeth Van...vander...Vanderrrgrrrrifffft Bally?
Buffy: No.

Click.

This is generally my M.O. when it comes to anyone calling to sell me something, ask me something, or warn me that I'm paying $9,000 too much on my car insurance. Sometimes I don't even give them a benefit of a "no" before terminating any chance they have of getting a word in.

I've never really felt bad about it, assuming it's just a regular part of their job.

At this point I've called around five hundred people canvassing for Proposition 8 (not caught up on our family's latest crusade? Look here and here.). So far ONE person has hung up on me.

You do the math. Actually, don't. I'll do it for you.

Here is a representative of the .2% rudest segment of the population:

The great equalizer.

I was thrilled to read this morning that Christian Louboutin, famed shoe designer to the ridiculously wealthy, plans on introducing an 8-inch platform shoe next year.

If Nordstrom catches on, then I could be 6'6. The same height as my very tall husband.


My question is this: Should feminists embrace this new trend? An average female wearing these shoes would be two inches taller than the average male. Surely this is a breakthrough in gender equality!

Until us girls break our necks, that is.

Podiatrists in LA and NYC are already seeing an increase in requests for a surgical procedure that inserts additional cushioning in the back of the foot. Heel implants, essentially.

Methinks this is not something feminists are cheering about.

Highly recommended.

After almost six months of gluten-free torture, whoops I mean living, I ventured into the realm of gluten-free baking. You know what gluten does to baked goods? Gives it delicious texture. Try and substitute wheat flour with an "all-purpose" substitute (containing, among many other ingredients, garbanzo bean flour) and you get a tray full of melded, flat oatmeal raisin cookie mess.

Oh, but never one to let any combination of butter, sugar, and even garbanzo bean flour go to waste, I brilliantly did the following.

1. Let cool.
2. Crumble
3. Put in bowl.
4. Pour milk on top.
5. Pretend you're eating granola.***

I'm so happy I messed up.

Drool.......

***Not recommended when you've been sidelined from your regularly scheduled running for a week and a half due to a buttocks injury.

The fair, the FAIR!

According to the Fresno Fair publicity materials, "Big Times are Back." Not one to miss out on big times, we stood in line for forty-five minutes to present our Tuesday Night $2 coupons.

Unfortunately, Jack was under the impression that Central Valley 4-H kids raise jungle animals. Disappointed that he only got to see the same animals he sees every single day outside the car window, he told us in so many words, "If these are Big Times, I'd hate to see what it was like before they were back."


When given his first exposure to cotton candy, he informed us that he did not like it. Always the proud mama, I asked him if he'd rather have an apple or cotton candy. He replied, "cotton candy," as he reached for another sticky handful. There went my pride as I realized that despite my best efforts, he still has the palate of the average two-year-old.

Without reservation, however, he did love his 11-inch corn dog. And this grassy knoll.


Good thing we had those $2 coupons.

Lose INCHES in only twenty-six days.

The title of this post isn't an advertisement. It's a request. I need to know how. Fast.

Maybe it's all that binging on watermelon. Or pistachios. Or maybe it's the double servings of Sunday night dessert. Whatever it is, I did not see this coming. Allan wasn't making any comments either--not that he's one to bring up such a sensitive topic.

Jack's Halloween costume does not fit. His belly is too, ummm, rotund.

Atkins? South Beach? Slim Fast?

Pilates? Zumba? Marathon training?

Never jump into a pile of leaves with a wet sucker.

Every year it's the same. I turn the calendar page to October, and my soul fills with giddy delight.

I consider October the beginning of the holiday season. I start gaining weight in October. We watch the first of what I like to call the Charlie Brown Triad. October also brings sweatshirt weather. Butternut squash becomes acceptable to both the palate and the pocketbook. College football transitions into conference play. Baked goods often turn up on your doorstep. It officially becomes acceptable to pull out the courduroys, turtleneck sweaters, and leather boots.

This week Jack and I kicked of the season by making Kleenex ghosts--the extent of my crafting prowess, picking out a beauty of a pumpkin, checking out some ghoulish books from the library, and watching Linus learn that the fury of a woman scorned is nothing compared to the fury of a woman cheated out of tricks or treats.

Tonight I make butternut squash soup.

Happy October.