Shame spiral

Okay people. Seriously. What the heck is wrong with me?

I wrote and revised and revised and revised a 300+ page dissertation. Why is a silly little paper that needs to be able to be presented in 10 minutes causing me so much angst?

Why have I sat in my office for at least 12 hours and NOT written it?

I wonder if maybe I feel bad because I haven't touched my dissertation since May? Or if I feel disappointed in myself because I really like my teaching-centric job? Am I ashamed that my resume lacks good publications? That I have nothing in the pipeline right now? Or maybe it is just some simple wardrobe angst because I have nothing professional to wear? Because this research interest is a passing fancy, and I am used to finding a topic I want to just research the heck out of for years and years?

Whatever the reason, I have reams of research. a good idea, a lovely abstract, and puddles and puddles of self loathing. WHY is this terrible stage part of my writing process? I haaaaaaaate it.

Last week, I thought I was going to have to throw my paper together in a couple of days, and I psyched myself up for the experience. Then I found out that my deadline had been extended, so I blissfully ignored all the heaps of paper and tucked my mounting frustration out of sight for a few days, but now I am back at this desk. And stuck.

What really sucks?

Is that I don't even BELIEVE in writer's block.

And now to distract us all from abject self pity, it's my kids! In boxes!




And in the tub!


Okay, if you thought that last one was of them kissing, look at it again-- I think Jack is biting Harry-- see the nervous cringey curve of Harry's shoulder?

Back to screwing around on the internet and FEELING REALLY BAD ABOUT IT.

Sunday is like our least restful day of the week.

Thanks to the kids, we're up at the crack of dawn, and thanks to our Halloween fun, we had to do all the boring house crap we usually do on Saturday (dust all the blinds, wash all the bedding, clean out the fridge and cabinets, plan meals, make our grocery list) in addition to all of our Sunday drudgery.

This week, we planned and shopped for 5 meals even though we are only going to be home for 2.5., which was a giant budget fail and a waste of time and freezer space.

On Sundays, we leave the house early, so that we can shop at as many freaking grocery stores as possible.

He doesn't mind-- more stores = more opportunities to whine for toys and candy= better chance that he will wear us down and score some toys and candy.


Have you ever looked at the organic produce and dairy at a regular grocery store? Around here, it is overpriced, and there's never a good variety. So we have been buying produce, wine, and this one particular kind of organic and preservative free chocolate bear-shaped graham cracker at Whole Foods (sometimes also milk and yogurt, depending on sales). Then we go to the regular grocery store for local meat, produce that's not on the dirty dozen, bagels (made by a local company and containing only 4 ingredients-- score!), and assorted other crap from the perimeter of the store. We buy all of our snacks and meal accessories at Trader Joe's, and then we round the morning out with a trip to Target for all of our, you know, Targety needs.
Add in a trip through Starbucks and a lunch out so we don't have to clean it up later, and who even has time for a shower?

Not me, clearly.

After lunch, Jack passes out, and that's when the real fun begins. Ben and I ply Harry with a snack and a movie, and he and I clean the house from top to bottom taking time to fold and put away a zillion loads of laundry (seriously, where does all of the laundry come from?)
When Jack wakes up, I clean solo, and Ben entertains the kiddos.

We realized the other morning when the sun slanted through our living room in a way it only does in the winter-- a way that makes all the dust on the floor look like glitter-- that this place will soon turn into a giant frozen tundra, so we have been playing outside with a kind of hysterical fervor.

Here's Harry armed with an empty water squirter (no! it's not a gun! we don;t even say gun, in fact!) stalking his brother

who loves to be stalked

Harry shoots

and retreats

Harry flees

Jack attacks

Harry is defeated

Jack is so tough

Is it wrong that these pictures make me wish for rain?

Ahh, filthy. His favorite way to be.


It's kind of ironic that we spend almost our whole weekend planning food and buying it and then we eat almost all of our meals out on Sunday (because no way in heck are we going to clean up the kitchen after dinner when we have been cleaning all day).

What about you? Any weekend chores you always have to do? Any tips on making them more fun?

Make your enchilada a little bit hotta

with that creamy cheese that melts with ease (sing it with me) Velveeta processed cheese spread is so much fun...

Not so much?

Actually, I didn't use a spec of Velveeta in my delicious chicken and veggie enchiladas, but that damn jingle gets stuck in my head EVERY TIME I even THINK about enchiladas. And that's an oooooooold jingle.

Okay, so here's my recipe for chicken and veggie enchiladas complete with sometimes nonsensical and totally shitty iPhone illustrations:

First, you need a cute little helper who has nothing better to do because his big brother is at school and he's fighting his morning nap because a measly one-hour time change screws him up completely (WHICH IS WHY HE NEVER GETS TO TRAVEL ANYWHERE COOL).

Second, ply said helper with organic smiley cereal snacks and a cup of juice that is so red and terrible for him you might as well save your money on organic food if you are going to feed him that shit, you idiot.

Third, get really lucky and carry your sacked out little helper up to his crib mid-snack

Now you can get to work

In a large skillet (actually, my large skillet is out of commission because it is warped on the bottom and no longer heats evenly because I am a wicked awesome cook, so I just used a medium one, and it was totally fine), cook 4 large chicken breasts (about 1.5 lbs of chicken).

While the chicken is cooking (remember, you want it to be white all the way through, but you don't want it to burn or turn brown on the outside. At least I don't and I assume that everyone is just like me, which, really, is a terrible assumption because I'm weird.), grab a large mixing bowl and dump in a can or bottle of enchilada sauce-- the whole bottle/can (and if you're using a can, use a big one-- I used to always go with Old El Paso, but this week we tried the TJ's version).

To the bowl of sauce, add a halfish cup of shredded cheese, some shredded carrots (I used 3 because that's how many I had in the drawer), chopped green onion, a green pepper or two, a couple of tomatoes and whatever the hell else you have in your house-- I added celery, cucumber, and chopped spinach.

Oh shit! That terrible smell you just whiffed is not the chicken! It's your spatula! Remove spatula from cooktop burner and think about getting a gas stove.


When the chicken is cooked use 2 forks to shred it, add a packet of taco seasoning mix, and cook some more per the seasoning pack's instructions (again, I love the Old El Paso).

Add the chicken to the veggie/cheese/sauce mixture:


I used to also add Spanish rice, but I am trying to make these as low-cal as possible, so the rice had to go.

Coat a 9x13 glass baking dish with even more enchilada sauce (so we're talking 2 bottles/cans in this recipe, baby).

Spoon the chicken/veggie mixture onto tortillas (I used flour, but you can use whatever tortillas your little heart desires):


Roll them up, and cram them in the pan (I can usually squeeze in 8)

Top with the rest of the sauce and another half cup-ish of cheese


Cover with foil and bake at 350 for an hour. Uncover and give it another 15-ish minutes until the cheese is all melty and you can hear everything bubble. Or until you aren't hungry anymore because you are sort of like a dog in that the smell of cooking food drives you batshit crazy and you already ate like a bag of tortilla chips in anticipation of your meal.

NOTE: This may or may not be wicked similar to the recipe you can find on al Old El Paso can. But I use lots o'sauce and no oil, a huge calorie savings.

Meta

Jack learned a new half-assed word this Halloween

Nandy or nandeh


It starts with an "n" and ends with a whine, like the other 3 or 4 words Jack throws around on a regular basis, but this one is pretty easy to figure out. I think he's saying it right now, in fact, with escalating tension and some tears at the breakfast table. Neato.

So, NaBloPoMo. 30 posts in 30 days. I thought it sounded like fun, and I figured I have written a lot more in 30 days. I am thinking of the last awful month before I defended my dissertation, all those semesters of grad school when I slammed together 3 or 4 30-page papers in a couple of weeks, every freaking November when the conference I always attend just sneaks up on me (it sneaks up on me EVERY YEAR-- it is like a ninja conference) and I need to quickly produce papers to read (papers I proposed back in, oh, FEBRUARY when the conference deadline seemed for gloriously far away).

I actually have never thought this 30 posts in 30 days looked very hard to tell you the truth, but I have always been jealous of all my favorite bloggers who participate because it looked (and read) so FUN. This year, without my dissertation hanging over my head like my own personal thunder cloud, I am all in!

I think NaBloPoMo seems like a really good test of invention. Like Becca said on Facebook, I don't totally have a post-a-day exciting kind of life, so I hope to push the creative boundaries and find cool things to say. Which, I know, I should SHOW and not TELL, but whatev. It's a BLOG-- the writing is not always gonna be good, you know?

And now a moment of zen. My baby posed in a blinding sunbeam at the grocery store: (he's so docile; I wonder how long that could possibly last):

I forgot how much I loved Butterfingers

until I came home last night from a costume party at Ben's office and raided the kids' candy stash after consuming half of a pepperoni pizza (half a PIZZA not half a slice or anything reasonable like that) that Ben and I picked up on our way home.

But wait. I am getting ahead of myself.

Halloween was one of the funnest days of our year for sure.

We started at a mall-- but not the terrible mall that was full of skanky unsupervised kids that and gave out jewelry cleaner-- a nicer mall that had a children's performer give a concert before trick or treating began.

Harry dug it, sort of-- and he insisted on wearing these gloves even though they were waaaaay too big

Harry's oldest friend in the world, Josephine, liked it, too. The two of them tried to start a mosh pit, but nobody else joined in. So Harry and Jo used their wings to knock people out of the way.

The loved traipsing through the mall collecting candy. Jack liked it, too, even though he mainly just rode in his stroller eating those eye-roll inducing organic lollipops I am so fond of.

The only fly in the ointment came in front of North Face when we peeked our heads in the door and noticed they had no candy. "No candy here," I said, and Ben, Harry, Jack, Josephine and her mom Allison, and I headed down the sidewalk just as a woman pushing a teeny baby in a travel system and an older woman who was probably the baby's grandma were entering the store. "These people," the grandma said contemptuously. "Why do they need all that candy?"
"Because little kids like to trick or treat on Halloween, lady!" I snapped at her, and she had the grace to look a little embarrassed. But I felt so bad! I have seen the greedy people out for free crap at the other Malloween and at the zoo treatfest clusterf*ck last weekend, but we are not those people. At least I didn't think we were. The kids only got a few pieces of candy-- they had so much fun listening to the silly music and comparing costumes and having free run of the mall.

Anywho, we went home for real food and naps and set out again around 4:30, when tantrum Harry made an appearance. Really, I had been waiting for him all day, ever since Harry got up at 5:17 and said, "Is it Halloween? I'm so excited!"

The kids rang the doorbell next door like 74 times, but no one was home (thank goodness b/c how embarrassing), so we went over to Jo's to trick or treat with her.

It was adorable. A perfect chilly fall night, lots of leaves, beautiful old houses.

Jack was so happy to be included, and he loved dropping candy in his bucket

He was a little slow,

but Harry was so high on candy and the possibility of more candy that he was practically flying, so he was sort of hard to catch

Jack always had at least one hand in his bucket

Harry and Jo are streaming to the next house, and Jack is just reaching the front door

Right as the camera flashed, Jack fell down. He didn't cry, but he kept saying "noooooo." We thought he hit his mouth, and we asked him if his mouth hurt, and he said "nooooo." We were like no? Awesome. But in the bath he had some bloody nose discharge, and we realized he smashed his little nose and was actually saying nose, not no. Duh. Anyway, he's fine now.

Then we got the the chancellor's house a few blocks away, and BUCKY WAS THERE! zOMG! BUCKY!

And some cheerleaders handing out giant candy bars tied up with a red bow.

We were super stoked (especially the grown ups)

LOVE that both kids are staring at Bucky-- also, I think Josephine's dad, who is a PhD student, and I would have both rather had our pics with the chancellor.

An impressive haul, really (except Raisinets because everyone knows that raisins are not candy. no offense if you handed out raisins, but next year? get something kids like. and not toothbrushes.)

Jamie came over after Jack went to bed, and she and Harry were going to answer the door for trick or treaters, but nobody came by probably because our house was dark. Oops.

Ben and I got ready for his company party

We had to reassure Harry like 6 times that he would not lose a foot after he saw my plastic severed one. He asked Ben why he was a woman, and Ben explained the Goth subculture.

On our walk from the parking garage to Ben's office, people kept looking at Ben like is that guy dressed up, or is he just a d-bag? I was the only woman on State Street with a coat over my costume. I was also the only non-slutty costume I saw. That's all people dress up as-- slutty something. We even saw two girls dressed as slutty Buzz and slutty Woody.

That's how I came to be a zombie bridesmaid, actually. I was at the party store staring at all the costumes, and I realized I was too old and post partum to be a slutty anything. SIgh. I had so much fun with the gore, though, that I can't wait to be something nasty next year. You know, once the kids have recovered from the shock and horror I inspired in them.

When Indiana Jones proffered the tray of jello shots, I was like sure thing! But then I took off the lid and was like, how do I eat this? Or do I drink it? Then I used my fingers to squash some in my mouth and almost choked from the vodka burn. There was a time in my life when I was immune to the taste of vodka because I drank it so much (not really a point of pride, I guess), but now is not that time. So I primly put the lid back on and set it on the window ledge.

Oh this picture? Not even from Halloween. Ben wore that same outfit to work last week.

SO proud of my gore

Ben. He has so much angst.

Happy Halloween! Harry is already counting down the days till next year. From 17. Because that's as high as he can count.

The list of other things I should be doing is so long

So Ben was out of town for work (which SUCKED for me, and since it's all about me all the time: Waaaaaaah), and Harry came in my bed at 4:18 this morning. He didn't say a word, just snuggled up to me and threw his arms around my neck. And started squirming. And kicking. And tossing and turning.

"Harry," I said. "If you can't stop moving around you'll have to go back to your rocket ship." I meant to say fire truck, duh, because the kid sleeps in a fire truck. I have no idea where rocket ship came from. Harry stiffened as soon as I said it and started to cry.

Because it was 4 am and I was as dumb as a bag of hammers it took me a few minutes to figure out what was going on, which was this: He had a dream about evil aliens (thanks to the Scooby Doo "Space Ape at the Cape" episdoe that he watches over and ove even though it is clearly too old for him) abducting his dad, and when I mentioned a rocket ship, he thought his dream must have been true.

The dramz. It is like we live with a teenager sometimes.

And a very serious toddler.

Jack was so happy to see Ben at swim lessons today. The little traitor screamed Dada and affixed himself permanently to Ben's lap, periodically scrambling up to cover his dad's face with kisses. He's a daddy's boy for sure, which is cool because as I was walking Harry into school the other morning, I asked him who his favorite person in the world is, and he replied without hesitation, "You are, my mama."

That's why we'l have to have another someday. To break the tie.

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