FUNNY/AWESOME

A week from tomorrow I will attend the annual Scholar's Banquet at my high school. I think this is funny/awesome for a few reasons.

1) FUNNY: I think it's always hilarious when old people go back to their high school to do anything. Not because of embarrassment or anything like that. It's just a reminder of how swiftly time passes, that the days are long, but the years are short. This is mirrored in parenthood, especially as my sweet Little B prepares for middle school in the fall.

Pardon me. I just threw up in my mouth a little.

2) AWESOME: This event and its scheduled speaker provide a textbook example of nepotism. My mom plans the banquet every year and secures the speaker. At least she waited until her 19th banquet to subject the high-acheiving student body, faculty, and stakeholders of Indian Creek School District to this:

Those poor, unfortunate people. (Baby B's face is the perfect reference)

3) FUNNY/AWESOME: I am delivering speech. Now, I've never been one to be nervous in front of people and I'm more comfortable talking with strangers than I am acquaintances. A gentle reminder here that I am currently a student. Lucrative, I know. Not a cardiologist, lawyer, golf pro, CEO, etc like some of the former speakers. However, the hilarious part of this stems from the fact that I feel as though I have something to say that they actually need to hear. I've never been a human who exhibited tremendous focus and tenacity and this significantly affected my professional path in life. I appeared to be motivated. I probably would have told you I was motivated, but in all honesty...not so much.

I thought I would TedTalk this bad boy. Write it, revise, edit, and memorize.

Remember what I said earlier about appearing to be motivated?

My mom asked if I was going to be funny, but unfortunately, this is not in the cards. It's a relatively long and boring story with what I believe to be a semi-significant point. I figure if I can keep them off their phones for at least five of the 17 minutes, I will have succeeded. Isn't it awful that I think my speech will be less successful because I think I have a valuable lesson to share? Depressing.

And a sign of advanced age, I think.

4) FUNNY: I'm packing my big girl panties and am traveling alone, which is a first for me. I've never flown alone. I have never been without my family for four consecutive days EVER. I don't like this one bit, which is also pretty funny. I'm a 37-year-old student who's going off on her own for the very first time.

Don't worry. My mommy and daddy are picking me up at the airport.

5) AWESOME: As the speaker, I can invite a few guests. Since my sweet family isn't traveling with me, I requested to invite some former teachers. A few of them are actually coming, which makes my heart so happy. I might possibly cry. Considering I am a generally cold-hearted and unemotional pretty much guarantees I will ball like a sniveling idiot. (See also: FUNNY)

I can't wait to get home, spend some quality time with my parents, and share lots of pictures (including but not limited to Dean Martin murals, Giannamore's Pizza, and the Ohio River) that no one will care about but me!

You have a week to prepare for the onslaught. You have been warned.

In Good Fashion

Keeping with my last post, well over two years ago, it's time for a bit of an update.

Picking up where I left off in December of 2013, I was a stay-at-home mom with a newborn (whom I affectionately call Baby B), a sweet-singing eight year-old (Little B), and wife to my darling, bi-vocational husband, Mr. B.

Quite a bit has changed since those days.

At the request of one of my favorite people, EVER, I went back to teach Kindergarten with the amazing Regina Berns in the fall of 2014. It was crazy. I was crazy, but the people, kids, and school were amazing, so it didn't seem so much like work. Definitely no writing happening. I didn't think I could get any busier.

WRONG.

A random meeting presented me with the opportunity to apply for a Graduate Teaching Assistantship at Kansas State University. I applied. I got it. I am now working on my Ph.D in Curriculum and Instruction. This isn't something I imagined happening for another ten years, so I was incredibly surprised and still am that I'm a student again.

We also moved, which was a huge blessing. Baby B may be tiny, but the girl was just the thing to push us to the brink in our tiny house. We love our new home and it is perfect for us. Just enough space and we can have people over for dinner and actually sit down in the same room. Brilliant, I know.

Well, that's the abridged update. I probably wouldn't have even ended up here except I trying to put off a paper on a unearned privilege experiment by researching Whole30. I went to comment on another Whole30er's blog and it didn't accept my blog address.  Turns out I changed the name of this blog and forgot what I renamed it. When I was staying home with Baby B, we went from vegans to freegans (if it was free, we'd eat it).  It seemed misleading to leave it, so I changed it.

I look forward to more procrastination posts in the near future...or let's be honest, not so near future.

See you in 2018, right?

The Belated Christmas Note

To our dearest friends and family,

How quickly 2013 has passed and what a year it has been! And although God has blessed us beyond measure, He did not bless me with the ability to get a Christmas card, photo, or tangible letter out in time for the holidays.  This Christmas I am thankful for blogs and social media.

2013 was a very busy and very musical year for our family! Michael and I spent January through March directing The Wiz at Junction City High School and then while Michael accompanied, I directed Into the Woods with Amy Rosine for the Junction City Little Theater.  Our darling Daphne was quite a trooper and went to all the rehearsals with us.  When I had the flu and missed a week of rehearsals for The Wiz, Daphne actually cried because we made her stay home! 

 

Daphne made her stage debut as Molly in Annie in September.  Turns out the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.  She was quite a hoot.  The girl seemed to add a new bit if stage business at each performance.  By the closing show, it's a miracle no one lost an eye the way she whipped those pigtails around!



Green dress, holey leggings and boots!

In May, Michael finished his first year as the Choral Director at Junction City High School.  He loved and is continuing to love every minute of it. He and his chamber choir will be taking a trip in April to New York City where they will see a couple of musicals, an opera, and sing at Carnegie Hall. He also was chosen for a scholarship that earned him a week at Harmony University, a week-long conference for barbershop music education.  He is looking forward to starting a men's chorus in the fall.  

Of course, the biggest news for the Browns in 2013 was this surprise...

 

We welcomed Shiloh Kimberli to our little family on Thursday, October 3rd.  After so many years of trying and that silly secondary infertility diagnosis, we can hardly believe she is here!  She has brought so much joy to our home and changed our lives so much already!  She is as sweet as can be. Our little wiggle worm loves watching her sister and falling asleep in her Daddy's arms. 

 

Because of our new addition, I decided to stay home and not return to work this fall.  It was hard to leave the job I always wanted, which happened to be at an amazing place with even more amazing people, but when I hold my little girl, I wouldn't have it any other way.   

 

The Browns hope and pray your 2014 is full of joy and blessings beyond measure!

 

With Love,

Michael, Jennifer, Daphne & Shiloh

Nesting?

Things can get weird right before you have a baby. I suppose it's nesting, but unfortunately for me, none of it involves cleaning, so I hesitate to label it as such. I had really convinced myself that nesting and obsessively cleaning were synonymous.  So now I'm not sure what to think.  I have collected the following empirical evidence...

Two weeks ago, I started having these unusual and unpredictable 30 second episodes of mania.  You know those moments when you're overcome with joy, energy, and a general feeling of extraordinary jubilation? Lovely, but because they only lasted around 30 seconds, by the time I got out of bed or up from the couch the feeling had passed. Thus whatever trail of energy remaining was spent readjusting my altar of pillows before I sat back down to finish reading the Inheritance Series by Christopher Paolini, which is my vain attempt to keep myself from compulsively rereading the same breastfeeding book for the tenth time.  The Inheritance books make Lord of the Rings seem devoid of detailed descriptions of scenery and endless walking.  It has never taken me so long to get through a series.  This could also be because I'd read 20 pages and then fall asleep for three hours.   

Rousing myself from an Inheritance induced nap on Sunday afternoon, I headed to the baby shower some ladies at our church were throwing for me.  It was absolutely darling and I was blessed and spoiled beyond measure.  But I realized afterwards that there was still a lot of stuff I need to pick up before Baby B comes home.  Not the fun, cute stuff, but the stuff no one wants to buy...breast pads, hand sanitizer, lanolin, nursing bras, anti-bacterial numbing spray, and extra-long-super-absorbent-elephant-sized maxi pads. You know, the kind that run from your waist up to the back of your neck? You can also use them as snow boards, I hear.

With my due date growing closer, I got to thinking about those folks who cook once and eat for a month.  I found a great website www.oamm.com and decided to take the $8 plunge.  Last Friday, Mr. B and I spent $275 on food for 25+ freezer meals to have on hand when no one is around to cook but  me.  Mr. B is not only a talented singer and piano player, but he can also read, turn on the oven and operate a microwave, which makes him highly qualified for this type of cooking.  (He's the complete package, I know.) Tuesday, on top of being up for 18 hours, I spent over 10 hours on my feet chopping, cooking, grabbing things out of the too-high cabinets with tongs, and rewashing the same pan 11 times.  Needless to say, I wound up with cankles of epic proportions and five meals left to fix.  Thank goodness my most wonderful friend, the Rogue Dietician, made a late night run to Dillons and picked up Epsom salts for me and my new sausage-like appendages.  I'm more of a shower girl, so the Epsom therapy bath was weird, especially at midnight. I'm hoping that I was delirious from sleepiness, but objects in the bath water seem to appear much, much larger when sitting than when standing.  I think I'll just stick with showers from now on and keep my eyes straight ahead.             

Then yesterday, my belly button started getting super sensitive.  Even the most gentle touch from my shirt hurt.  By the end of the night, I couldn't laugh, sneeze, or blow my nose without excruciating pain. Never have I imagined calling a doctor and uttering the following: "My belly button hurts. Can I speak to a nurse, please?" Diastasis recti. Turns out my abdominal muscles are separated about 5 inches.  I must attempt to splint my stomach muscles together with one hand while I blow my nose with the other. How's that for a mental picture?

And strangest of all, last night I dreamed that I gave birth to a one year old.  Dream Baby B wouldn't nurse, so I had to pump (so much for reading that nursing book five times). I was wearing on of those bustiers so you can double pump hands-free and very high-waisted pants. If William Shatner had shown up, it might have been a Star Trek episode or quite possibly the Seinfeld Bra episode a la Sue Ellen Mischke.  My milk came out chocolate. Baby B wouldn't take bottle either, so I stabbed a straw through a breast milk storage bag and she drank it like a Capri Sun.  Apparently, necessity is the mother of invention...even in our dreams. 

In all honesty, we are getting pretty excited here in the B household.  Little B even packed her bag last night, just in case she'd need to head to a friend's in the middle of the night.  The nursery is ready, the car seat is installed, and baskets of diapers and wipes are set up in each room. After six years of waiting and that rotten secondary infertility diagnosis, we're ready for our little miracle to make her appearance.  And of course, we can't wait to share our new little addition with the world either!

 

28 Weeks: The Holy Crap Top 5

Pardon my Christian French, people, but HOLY CRAP.

1. Holy crap, I'm pregnant.
     I seem to have this revelation at least once a day. I'm going to have a baby in 12 weeks.  After four years of desperately trying followed by two years of resignation, it happened.  We bought a dog, sold every baby thing we owned, moved into a smaller house, and were content with our little family.  Aside from the morning sickness from February to May, I was too busy with THE WIZ and INTO THE WOODS to remember I was even growing another human inside me.  But now, with summer off and nothing constructive to occupy my mind (see number 2 below), I barely know what to do with myself besides stare at my expanding stomach and wonder how my thighs got pregnant, too.    

2. Holy crap, I quit the best job EVER.
     Last year, I took a job as a Library Media Specialist at a brand new elementary school. I'm not sure how I tricked those people into giving me that job, but it really was a dream. Awesome people, amazing kids, and books.  Books, talking about books, buying books, suggesting books.  I got paid for this. I resigned.  In my cushy, comfortable life, it was the hardest decision I've ever made.  Not to mention that we're losing half of our income. I wonder if they make vegan SPAM?

3. Holy crap, Mr. B has been practicing ONE Rachmaninoff song since June 1st.
     There were a few weeks in there where he was practicing the Legally Blonde score to fill in for a pianist who was going to be out of town.  For a while I thought the baby was going to be born singing, "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS!"  Now she's going to be born with the personality of a brooding Russian and gargantuan hands.

4. Holy crap, we're turning our garage in a bedroom.
     We did look around at houses, but nothing really caught our eye.  Plus, the thought of moving made me want to punch myself.   I never really wanted to be one of those people with a driveway that led into the house, but such is life.  I'd rather increase the square footage of our house than pay almost the same amount of money for an egress window in the basement bedroom only for Little B to refuse to sleep down there.  Plus, I'm we're getting a monster closet out of the deal, which means Mr. B and I don't have to share a linen closet anymore or store our shoes in random drawers around the house.  *This is not a joke*

5. Holy crap, we have no baby stuff.
     (See number 1 above.)  I sold/donated all our stuff two years ago when we moved in our little house. The only thing I kept was what Little B wore home from the hospital. Now lucky for me, my mother is addicted to shopping for baby clothes and my sweet, adorable niece will be exactly one year older than our little peanut, so Aunt Amelia and Uncle Kenny have hooked us up.  The problem remains that the stuff we need is big and expensive (see number 2 above). And although I'm not against gently used items, I don't want the death trap your grandchildren sleep in when they come to your house to visit or the car seat that was "good enough for your kid," who is now 19 years old.   

This list could go on forever, but I have to stop for now.  I have my glucola test this afternoon at 4pm and have to sketch out my food consumption for today so I can still abide by the rules I have to follow prior to the blood test while decreasing the odds that I will not physically harm an innocent bystander because I will not have eaten since 1pm.

Holy crap.

Another B: A Quick Update

I had no time to think of something more clever than posting this on facebook.

 





I'm pregnant. Or so they tell me.

 

So after six years unexplained infertility, we're counting down to an early October Baby B. 

 

This girl had taken so many dollar store pregnancy tests, I am sure I fed a third-world family for at least half of the last decade.  Big fat negatives wear on you after a while, but on the first Sunday in February, I didn't see what I was used to seeing. 

 

So here I am, 34 and pregnant. (Is there an after school special about that?)  And it's NOTHING like the first time.  I felt like a million bucks with Little B.  The extent of my pregnancy particulars was that I couldn't stand the smell of chicken or chocolate.  I napped, I worked out, I spoiled my kindergartners, I fed my husband lots of ground beef. It was perfect. 

Right now I just feel sick and fat. 

It's true for me that 2nd timers bust out a tad more quickly.  I think I've gone through an arsenal of rubber bands trying to keep my pants up.  This is because the ONLY thing I have remaining in my possession from the first time around IS WHAT LITTLE B WORE HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL. 

Apparently, I am not cold-hearted enough to get rid of that, but everything else is looooong gone.

Mr. B did a solid and bought me a boat-load of maternity clothes for my birthday.  I had forgotten what heavenly bliss maternity pants are.  Of course, this is trumped by the fact that although I am porking up, I don't look pregnant enough to be wearing these clothes (see 'sick and fat' above).  I can literally hear the acrid screams of my pant's fibers when I try to wear my regular clothes. 

I am so lucky that I'm in the library this year, and not on my feet in the classroom all day. Not that you can't sit down as a classroom teacher, but I am sure someone (or more likely, someones) would have been barfed on had I not had quick and easy access to a chair. 

Should I talk about constipation and body hair now, too? 

Unnecessary details aside, we are truly ecstatic to add a miracle Baby B to our family.  This time around, we know so many more people in our community and it has been wonderful to share the news with so many who knew of our diagnosis have been praying for us for so long.   

It's going to be an exciting 9 months. Be ready for too much information, lots of complaining, and random and intermittent blog posts.

Here's to Baby B!



SUPER HERO

(I'm eating and typing again, seizing whatever free moments I've got!)

Well, the cookie jar is empty.

The last muffin exited yesterday morning for Little B's school snack.  I actually attempted to coerce her into taking cashews to prevent the emptying of the canister, but she asked so sweetly, I couldn't refuse. 

I'm not so sure I'll be able to get it filled tonight either.  I've got callbacks for Into the Woods and need to be there are 5:15-5:30 to make sure everything is ready. 

Last week I was in some sort of 'SUPER HERO MOM' zone and managed to make dinner AND bake a dozen muffins.  I'm not so sure she'll make another appearance tonight.  I've got a feeling that 'SUPER HERO MOM' may make an appearance as often as Haley's Comet. 

My days are busy. Then they bleed into busy nights.

Last night, which happened to be a night off from Into the Woods, I had rehearsal for The Wiz. There were several sick kids and ones that were sick, but showed up anyway.  I am pleased with their work ethic - they really are amazing kids, but I sent them home.  I  can't wait until this horrible wave of winter illnesses passes. It seems to be affecting everyone.

Even as I sit here, Mr. B called to let me know he is feeling worse.  I'm nursing a headache and achiness that I hope is stemming from too much coffee and not enough water. 

Well, my last few minutes of my lunch are coming to a close here. I need to mentally prepare myself for 55 kindergartners.

Hopefully, a 'SUPER HERO' shows up...

Axes and Idiocy

This is currently my favorite line from THE WIZ by William F. Brown:

"...one day a wicked old witch put a spell on my axe" (page 30).

This is mainly because I think someone put a spell on mine.  I think it was the Wicked Witch of Idiocy. 

Namely, ME.

It's not that I can't say no, or that I like to bite off more than I can chew.  I am typically a traveler of the easy route. It's just that I like to do the things I like to do, so I do them. Or attempt to, anyway.

I'm directing two plays this spring, The Wiz and Into the Woods. 

Rehearsals for The Wiz started last week and are going well so far.  Mr. B is the musical director.  This is a high school production and the talent pool was deep.  DEEP.  We could have easily cast the show 3 times - with all different people.  We cast 75 kids, the large majority in multiple roles.  Please pray for those kids who have to deal with me everyday.  I can be short on compliments and long on critisism, but it's only because they are so capable.  I really don't think the audience will believe their eyes or ears. I only hope I can do them justice. 

Tonight, I have auditions for Into the Woods.  Sondheim. *sigh*

I think Mr. B and I have been dreaming about doing a Sondheim show since 2002.  I cannot wait for this week's auditions.  Again, I hope I can do it justice. 

So as I sit here during my lunch break, attempting to stab chickpeas with fork without looking, of all things I write a post. 

I write because I haven't in a long time and I too many funny things I should have written about, but should have.  Vegan sausage. Murder mystery parties. Spanx. Working with teenagers.

So along with keeping my cookie jar filled in 2013, I am posting once a week as proof to my family that I am still living and breathing or at least housed in an asylum with wireless access.

Maybe by the end of May my favorite line from Into the Woods will be:

"Oh, if life were made of moments, even now and then a bad one, but if life were made of moments then you'd never know you'd had one."

Yeah, I can't give you an approptiate citation on that sucker cause I've got that bad boy MEMORIZED (see the *sigh* above).

Well, time to get this axe back to work!

Seasons of Change

I've been staring at this computer screen all morning.  As a pseudo-writer, I try to make what I write clever, interesting, and maybe just a bit funny. 

But sometimes I just can't muster up my mojo, like today. Well, all summer, actually.

There's a lot going down with the Bs.  As we speak, Mr. B is sitting through the first day of new teacher orientation. He has gone to part-time at the church to take a full time position as Choral Director at our high school.  I am so incredibly happy for him. Music really is his gift, and the more he can share it with, the merrier. 

I, too, am headed back to school on Monday, but not to my first grade classroom. I will be leaving the traditional classroom for a position in the library as a Media Specialist.  This is both exciting and bittersweet for me.  Although the job is a dream for me, it is not at the same building as Little B.  I won't be there to kiss her every day before lunch or make sure Mr. B made her comb her hair before school.  I won't be there for her first day of school. I've already cried about it, more times than I care to admit.

As if the vocational changes weren't enough, there's always our diets.

When we returned from visiting family in early July, I decided to do Kathy Freston's Quantum Wellness Cleanse.  I felt terrible after all the dinners out and late night desserts. I just wanted to get my body back on track. The cleanse included abstaining from animal products, dairy, and alcohol, which I already do, plus sugar, caffeine, and gluten. 

After the caffeine/sugar headache for the first couple of days, I felt really good. Better in fact, than I had felt in a really long time.  All of my vacation pimples cleared, my dark circles faded, and the fatigue that still plagues me when I over do it, did not rear its ugly head. 

Until the dinner debacle. 

I had fixed a simple meal of rice spaghetti and salad. At the end of the meal, I was overcome with sharp stabbing pains, so severe, I needed to lie down.  The next day, the fatigue hit, my scalp got itchy, my face broke out. 

I combed through the ingredients in each of the items I used.  Something made me feel this way, I was sure of it.  The only thing was that wasn't a whole food was the salad dressing, which had gluten. 

I mentioned it to Mr. B, but figured this surely had to be some coincidence.  I am a teacher, not an MD, so I really don't need to go around jumping to conclusions or self-diagnosis. I do have a BA in psychology, so been there, done that.

So eventually the symptoms abated and I returned to the conclusion of my fast.  Maybe a little paranoid (par for the course for me), but none worse for the wear.

Until I went off the cleanse. Ugh.

Returning to my morning cup of coffee was easy, and didn't even give me the jitters. It was less than I had been drinking at my sister's house. My mom had brought her Keurig and it ended up like Kentucky Starbucks.  It was a complete wonder that I didn't need hospitalization coming off caffeine after that week, but I digress...

I tried to keep away from straight up sugar, because it really has no nutritional value anyway. And no comments here about coffee - studies have shown a link to reduced chances of Alzheimer's. 

The crash came after muffins for breakfast.  By noon, I was in pain. I pushed my thoughts aside.  I ate a wrap for lunch. More pain, along with a brain fog.  I so wanted to lie down, but I kept at it all afternoon long.  Then the mood swung in a less-than-positive direction.  I fixed Lentil Joes in buns for dinner with onion rings.  Finally, I ended the day with some homemade chocolate chip cookies. 

Boy did I pay for that.

I can no longer think that the reintroduction of gluten did not affect me adversely.  I am afraid to try it again.  I even tried my hand at gluten-free pizza dough (meh) and chocolate chip cookies (amazing).

I've done a lot of reading over the last week, trying to find out more about gluten sensitivity, celiac disease, and wheat allergy.   What I have learned is both daunting and enlightening.  There are simply too many commonalities between my own health experiences and typical celiac symptoms for me to exclude it as a possibility. It is linked to unexplained infertility, chronic fatigue - two things I wish were not written in my medical file.  I fear that I will struggle to find a doctor to explore this possibility with me.  I worry for Little B, who still exhibits so many symptoms and still has to rely on medication to prevent intestinal duress. 

It takes the average American 11 years to be diagnosed with celiac disease.  Eleven YEARS.

This is a change I am not sure I am ready to bear, if it is even a change I need to make at all.  But after my two little experiments, I am both anxious and afraid to try it again. 

And to be honest, I feel a little crazy.  I am not normally a girl who doesn't know how to proceed, or least press onward. But for the first time in my life, I am almost frozen with uncertainty.

And I don't like it. Not one bit.

Girl, Interrupted: Black Eyed Peapers

What are blackberries, fresh mint, canned black eyed peas, and bittersweet chocolate?

A gauntlet, my friends. 

As is getting on the internet at a technology conference, but that's a post for another day.

A recipe contest, put on by The Post Punk Kitchen's Isa Chandra Moskowitz, was to challenge vegans everywhere to come up with a recipe utilizing those ingredients a la Food Network's CHOPPED.  

Since I have scads of homework, VBS, and packing to do and needed a solid reason to procrastinate, I have come up with a crazy ridiculous recipe in a lame attempt to win the following...

~Fame, respect and the Chopped Vegan title
~A $50 Vegan Essentials Gift Certificate
~A signed copy of any of Isa Chandra Moskowitz’s cookbooks
~A Post Punk Kitchen Apron
~Possible publication on the PPK blog and Isa's next cookbook

First, let me say that Isa Chandra Moskowitz is my kitchen hero.  When we were in Omaha for Little B's birthday, I was looking intently up at all the apartment buildings and houses we passed, hoping to see to her learning out a window sipping tea, petting her cat, and letting cruelty-free cookies rain down on the streets like it was vegan jubilation.  I don't think I saw her, but I was distracted by a dude who  I think was taking a leak on the side of a building.  Forgive me, please.

Back to the contest...So my first thought was brownies, but that's because I am obsessed with nailing down the best brownie recipe EVA.  Then I thought salsa, but BORING. Of course, there's salad, but GAH! No more vegan salads, thank you very much.

The combo of chocolate and beans made me think chili,  but who wants chili on a 98* Kansas day? Not this girl, I ASSURE YOU.  The blackberries made me think of a delicious dip I make inspired by So Long Saloon in Aggieville, but processed vegan cream cheese is out. Now I am sure some will take the sneaky way out and make a meal with a drink.  I say - PUT IT ALL TOGETHER! I may secretly be a liberal vegan ninja, but I still grew up in in the midwest: casseroles are the only way.

Not exactly a casserole, but this is my (hopefully) winning concoction...

BLACK EYED PEAPERS

1 cup veggie broth or water

1 cup amaranth

1 T. olive oil

1 clove chopped garlic

1 small onion, chopped

1 cup black eyed peas, drained & rinsed

1/4 cup blackberries

1 small tomato, diced

1/2 t. jalapeno diced

2 t. shaved bittersweet chocolate

1/4 cup raw cashews, soaked in water overnight

4oz firm tofu, drained

1/4 t. salt

2 T. nutritional yeast

1/4 cup(s) fresh mint, chopped

4 large peppers (red, orange, green, purple and/or yellow) whatever floats your boat!

Cook couscous in broth or water according to package directions. 

Preheat the ol' oven to 350.*

Saute garlic and onion in olive oil.  Add black eyed peas and raspberries. Break the blackberries up a little, but don't try to make jelly. Add the diced tomato. Add the mint, jalepeno (And it's pronounced "juh-LAP-uh-no" for this particular recipe) and the chocolate. Turn heat to low while you prep the cashews.

Now, I have to stop here only for a moment to let you know what happened between me prepping the filling and make the next step. 

I have been leading the music at our church's vacation bible school this week.  After I was finished with the opening, I ran to the store, picked up what I needed and ran home to make my winning recipe.  Well, I sort of got distracted, and bought a purse on the way home, which cut my cooking time a bit short.  I had just finished the filling when I realized it was eight o'clock and needed to get back to church.

Backstory - The kids have been raising money for a radio ministry in Soweto, Africa.  It's a boys vs. girls thing, and the winning group gets to throw a pie in the face of whomever they wish on Sunday morning.

I know you think you know where this is going, but you're wrong. This girl will be in San Diego at the 2012 ISTE conference, no pie for me! HA!

So I get back, everyone's all excited to hear the final total collected.  Our children's pastor, Enola, said that each group gets to pick a victim for Sunday.  Two people are chosen. Now, I really felt bad about this but I stood up on a chair and yelled, "WHO WANTS TO PIE PASTOR ENOLA?" And after the screaming cheers dies down, and because I am beyond immature, I got all the kiddos chanting her name. She accepts her fate with a smile.  I feel bad. I shouldn't.

Then, lo and behold, she says, "Now I have a surprise! Someone's going to get a pie in the face TONIGHT!"

You know where this is going NOW.

"She's been helping us out a lot this week...Miss Jennifer!"

After the cheering quiets she says, "It's even a vegan pie!"

Pastor Enola is money when is comes to details.
Because I am a good sport AND and an idiot, I run up cheering, giving kids high-fives and basically act like a drunk frat boy.  I put on Little B's purple baseball hat, refuse the garbage bag to cover my clothes and open my mouth wide.     

An hour and a shower later, I got back to my recipe. 

In a food processor or whatever you've got, blend the cashews, tofu, salt, nooch, and the other half of the mint until smooth and creamy. Set aside.

Cut the tops off of your pepper and clean out the seeds. Use a knife to trim the bottom as necessary so they sit flat in an 8x8 sprayed with canola.

Fill each pepper as follows: Bean mixture, cashew cheese, Bean mixture...and a little dollop on top if you like. 

Bake for 25-30 minutes or until peppers, I mean PEAPERS, are soft-ish. Serve with guacamole, salsa, chips, or whatever you like!

Pretty delicious. Even with pie up my nose.  

The 'S' Word

Ah, the 'S' word.  What's the first 'S' word you think of, sailor?

Trust me, if you are over the age of seven, you do not know what 'S' word I'm talking about. 

I'm going to type it now so, feel free to close your browser if you think your morality will be compromised.

STUPID.

Like most households with young children, stupid is a dirty word in our house.  It's right up there with 'SHUT UP,' 'HATE,' and 'LIKE' (we are literary device bigots: METAPHORS only!). 

If you've ever been a primary teacher, you are no stranger to this either.  Undoubtedly, a child rushes up to you at recess and yells,

 "He said the 'S" word!"

At which point you crouch down, look into their sweet little face and say,

"Oh, no! The 'S' word? I need you to tell me exactly what he said."

The child's eyes widen, his little head begins to shake. Although you will randomly get a kid to whisper it into your ear, most of the time, he's not going to say it.  You have asked this poor child to  do what he fears the most. And you will probably call his mother. 

At this point the kid is a little sweaty, so you take it down a notch by saying,

"Okay, honey, I need you to spell it for me."

A sigh of relief escapes his lips and he starts out slowly...

"S...(VERY pregnant pause).

This is truly your only moment of uncertainty.  Once the 'T' is out, you know what you're dealing with.  Occasionally, the dreaded 'H' comes out.  There is potential for disaster in this scenario, although 90% of the time, your third letter is 'U.'

Then you smile at your little recess-language nazi and remind them,

"Kind kids use kind words!"

Kind moms, however, don't always use kind words. 

(Wow. How's that for an introduction. Geez. I should be a preacher.  Took me long enough!)

Poor Little B has been subjected to the 'S' word flying out of my mouth multiple times a day for the last few weeks.  Mostly followed by the word 'DOG.'

DO NOT BE FOOLED BY HER CUTENESS.
IT IS A DEVIOUS GUISE FOR TERROR AND DESTRUCTION.

The conversation goes something like this:

ME: Where's Bella?

LITTLE B: I don't know. Outside? (peering out the window) I think she's eating something.

ME: (rushing to window) That stupid dog is eating poop!
(now banging on window) STOP EATING POOP, YOU STUPID DOG!
(charging out back door) You stupid dog, what are you eating? Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Get in here, you stupid dog!
(me back inside) Now don't even think for one second, I'm giving you a treat, you stupid dog.

LITTLE B: You know, Mommy, you really shouldn't call her stupid. That is a bad word and it probably hurts her feelings. 

ME: (using all self-control I have to speak without sarcasm and condescension) If you eat poop, you're stupid. OUR. DOG. IS. STUPID.

LITTLE B: Maybe if you called her 'Smart,' she'd stop eating poop and you wouldn't call her that bad word anymore.

ME: You're right, honey. That's a great idea. I shouldn't use that word anyway.
(walking into the living room) AHHHH! THAT STUPID DOG THREW UP POOP ON MY COUCH!

LITTLE B: Mommy, that SMART dog threw up poop on your couch.

And so on and so forth almost every single day of summer vacation so far. Let me clarify that she is eating rabbit poop and not her own poop.  It's practically Watership Down in our backyard, so there's no shortage of bunny poop to go around. 

Now, I didn't waste the last 90 seconds of your time to get to a story about a barfing dog with a weak allusion to literature. 

I did it for brownies.

Stupid brownies. 

See, back in the day, when I was a carnivorous hound, I was a decent cook, but could never master the steak.  No matter what I did, no matter what type of meat I purchased, I butchered it. No pun intended. 

So, when I set off into vegan bliss, I laughed haughtily as I skipped away from days of meat consumptions and the dastardly gauntlet of t-bones and fillets. 

Alas, there is a new challenge before me: the STUPID BROWNIE.

See, I came back to it.  Everything's coming together.

Except for my STUPID BROWNIES!

I just can't get it right! I've tried and tried. I've googled vegan brownie more times than 5th grader googles 'Justin Beiber' and I can't get it right! Every cookbook lets me down and the egg replacer refuses to adequately replace!

Well, after countless cups of cocoa have been wasted, I think I am getting closer.

Now this would be a great place for me to present you with an amazing brownie that will blow your mind, but it's just not ready yet. 

This Saturday, I am headed out of town to the ISTE conference in San Diego.  I plan on taking brownies with  me for the ride to the airport.  I will bake stupid brownies every day until I get it right. 

Friends, watch for the post that will change my brownie luck.  I ought to start with the recipe title...

SMART Brownies, maybe?

Mile Marker 9

Life is a journey.

It took me a while to figure that out. For so long, it was all about getting to the end, the goal, the destination.  Go to school. Get a job. Get married. Have kids. Buy a nice house. Retire.

At what point do you figure out there's more? And that a journey is better when you share it?

I don't know when I did, but what I have discovered has everything to do with this man. 

I knew pretty early on that this guy was the one, and I like to think that felt the same way about me.

What I didn't know was that he'd turn out to be such an amazing husband, the best father, and the most loyal and reliable friend.

There are so many moments I could share, so many memories, the mere recollection of one brings the flood of dozens more.

We definitely aren't where we thought we'd be when we set out on this journey nine years ago, but I wouldn't want it any differently, and most assuredly I wouldn't want it with anyone else. 

So as we come up to this mile marker on our little trek through life, I just have to say that I'm up for any journey, as long as it's with you. Sweaty hands and all.

Happy Anniversary, Mr. B.

Bits of Randomness & FUD

Wow. Who hasn't blogged since January?

Me.

I feel like I've let my family down a little, since they sort of keep up with us this way. (And when I say 'family,' I just mean my mom.)

During January and February, I was busy directing a little comedy, AN EVENING OF CULTURE: FAITH COUNTY 2 for our little theater. 

Then there were parent-teacher conferences, an Easter production at church, and about one thousand young adult novels to read. 

Busy girl.
Because I am not quite busy enough, I have decided to plant a garden this year.  Let me start by saying I know NOTHING about gardening.  NOTHING.  I really can't stress this enough. When I called our local extension agent, I explained that I am a total sub-novice and if there is a term indicating even less ability than that, that is the term to apply to me. 

So today, while nursing a nasty cold, I tromped out to the backyard to attempt to kill the grass in a non-poisonous way.  I had read that vinegar will kill grass/weeds/anything living, but is obviously poison-free.  So I found the only vinegar in the house - apple cider.

See, here's the problem with me.  I am not a great planner and do not typically follow directions to the tee. So I am a huge fan of improvising. HUGE. 

Needless to say, I doused a small 8x16 area of our backyard in apple cider vinegar.  As of 4pm this afternoon there was no change in the very green grass of our backyard.  After finding out that even Round-Up can take several days to kill weeds, I suppose I need to be a bit more patient with my homeopathic remedy. 

I am still busy now, procrastinating, of course.  There are lesson plans to write, food to cook, and a child to rear.

Speaking of my child. SHE IS HUGE. They shouldn't be allowed to grow up so fast. 
Have you ever seen a child approach macaroni & cheese with such trepidation?

Me neither. 

Have you ever read a blog with  worse transitions?

That's a rhetorical question, friends.

The above picture was taken at FUD, a vegan restaurant in Kansas City, Missouri.  We've eaten there several times and Little B is OBSESSED with it.  She promises that their mac & cheese isn't as good as mine, but I must admit, it is incredibly tasty.

Mr. B and I prefer the nachos. 

Frickin delish.

They are quite well know for the amazing dishes they create with green jack fruit. I'm not sure what it is and I'm too lazy to google it right now.  All I know is that it is the closest replica to meat I've had since going vegan almost two years ago. 

This would be a great place for me to go off on a tangent, but I'll spare you...this time.

How about a picture of their cuban sandwich instead?

Also delicious, in case you were wondering.

Now I'm off to take an online ADD diagnostic test. While I'm doing that, you can check out FUD here...

http://www.eatfud.com/ 

Happy Earth Day!

Easy Bake Oven Coup

Back in the day, I had a pretty colorful vocabulary. More like mind blowing.

There are certain things that dredge up my colorful past.

I've replaced my bent towards those expletives with such words as...

RATS!

GAH.

ARGH!

and it's close relative, "FARGH!"

GRRR!

SHUT THE FRONT DOOR.

Poking dutifully into my sailor background was this:

The Fargh-ing Easy Bake Oven.

See how useful those words can be?

The EBO (Evil Baking Organism Easy Bake Oven) is only slightly more palatable when it is pictured with something extraordinarily cute.

I'd managed to contact Santa to let him know that Little B didn't really need an EBO. Luckily, Mimi was still here to protect Little B from all kinds of colorful vocabulary by stepping in to man the oven. 

Mimi carefully sawed through the Red Velvet Cake cardboard so she & Papa could have a snack and validate my daughter's desire to be an astronomer/gymnast/chef when she grows up.  

Like stubbing my toe, directing a play, and cleaning dog vomit off the couch, the EBO breaks through the prison in which I've incarcerated my old swearing self, and arouses in me the desire to use some very, very, bad, bad words (see above).

How is this possible, you ask? Wasn't Mimi holding down the cheap plastic fort?

Yes, friends, you are correct, but you must understand that the crap in these mixes borders on poison. Not to mention that they cost as much as a new pair of TOMS. (And I'd rather have the shoes.) 

I actually spent two hours trying to concoct a vegan recipe that Little B could use and eat.

Notice the nifty stack of cards under the brownie one? None of them came close.

Maybe that's because I was using these...

Please note that the 'dash' measuring spoon is the approximate size of Barbie's pinky fingernail. 

I even got out my good vegan cookbooks and tried little versions of REAL recipes. Still sloppy mini-blobs of unbaked batter emerged. 

After the sweat ceased to bead upon my brow after the 15th batch of mini brownies, my child turned to me and said...

Little B: Mama, this isn't fun.

Me: No, honey. No, it is not.

Little B: You can't even see inside. Can we take this back?

Me: (recovering from my fall off the kitchen stool) Yes, we can. We can take it back and buy you a real toaster oven that you can see inside and you'll have an extra $20 to spend.

Little B: Seriously, I think I'd just rather use the real oven. 

I would add more of the conversation, but I think I had already gone out to the garage, grabbed the box and shoved all of the plastic junk back inside and found the receipt in my purse. I may have even been buckled up in the car pulling out of the drive way. 

Strangely enough, Little B hasn't made a single request to bake anything since the day of the coup. 

Good riddance, EBO. Good riddance.    

Christmas Fun

First of all...

WOO-HOO!

I am in the middle of a 17 day vacation from school. This girl is so excited. I would use the "Who has two thumbs..." joke here, but Mr. B might disown me if I employ it one more time.  Who has two thumbs and uses that joke a lot?

This girl.

Celebrations and thumbs aside, the Bees have a full house right now.  For those of you who don't know, Mr. B & I decided to downsize and move into a smaller house.  It has been wonderful, even with holiday company. Although I must admit that the only squeeze is when we are trying to eat together.  Our little square table wasn't built for family gathering larger than 4.  Welcome to eating in shifts.

Last Tuesday, my parents, Mimi and Papa flew in from Ohio.  This is their first visit to our house since we moved into our new little house and since we went vegan. The same for my sister who arrived on Friday from Kentucky and left early this morning.

There have been lots of treats like chocolate chips cookies, sugar cookies, chocolate cake, fig bars, cinnamon rolls, Cherry Cardamom coffee cake, potato pierogies and mushroom pierogies...

Those bad boys were made from scratch.

I still have the flour in my hair and a house that reeks of carmelized onions as proof. 

And last, but not least, the amazing Seitan Roast Stuffed with Shiitakes and Leeks, or as my family dubbed it - the Satan Roast.

I managed to get pictures of the seitan in process...

and the filling...

But not the final product.  Figures, right? Fret not because mine turned out to look almost exactly like the picture of the original recipe. You can find it and the picture of Isa's roast (which looked just like mine, remember?)  here at The Post Punk Kitchen.

My family can't decide whether this tops the Holiday Hamskit of 2008. This was a ham my sister cooked in a crockpot for about 32 hours in a conglomeration of sauces. Part ham, part briskit, 90% mystery.  Who know the crockpot was a tool for scientific experiments?

Other than that, it was a lovely Christmas with the family. Aunt Kimmi savoring some antibacterial handwash...

Little B giving Mimi her new cover for her Kindle Fire.

Papa in his new K-State sweatshirt.

Mr. B opening Seinfeld Series on DVD...please note that next Christams I need a photography class and new camera. And what a forearm. Just saying.

Little B cheering for her new Solar System model.

Little B was delighted with her first telescope, which was from Mr. B & me.  Santa ain't getting all the glory. 

Of course there was a little family gaming.

Mr. B caught in a heated moment. See that terrible hand? Bluffer. I'm on to you.

Merry Christmas!

Best Kind of Tears

Sometimes you need to laugh so hard, you cry.

I superficially apologize in advance if any of these photos offend anyone. 

Giving new definition to "I'm behind you all the way."

MY swing. 

See, milk does NOT do a body good. 

Conan the Suburbian

Perfect fit!

Armed and Endangered

Why balloon twisting should be illegal. 

And what is probably my favorite, but most disturbing....

WARNING: photo and comment are not for the prudish. 

Don't even think about touching my pussy mullet.

I laughed so hard a tear ran down my leg.  

Thank you Awkward Family Photos.