Shrink-My-Ass-Month: Miss D.'s Smoothie

If you don't know the story of Miss D.'s incredibly fussy eating habits, I would encourage you to go here.

We're improving, teeny baby steps at a time, here at Chez T. Miss D. and Miss M. are still incredibly fussy eaters, but they're getting better at trying new things and definitely are showing interest in cooking. We're spending some lovely time together in the kitchen every week, and I cherish that.

The other day, as I was fixing breakfast, Miss D. said, "Hey Mama, do you think I could make my very own smoothie?"

This from the mouth of a girl who's never allowed a smoothie to pass her lips.

"Sure," I said, trying very hard not to show even a sliver of excitement, because parental excitement is a guaranteed Buzzkill.

"I have several recipes for smoothies; I'll find them for you."

"No, Mama. I don't want to make it that way. I want to invent my very own smoothie," she said.

Hoo-boy. This from the mouth of a girl who has no idea what ingredients go into a smoothie.

My mind started to race a little. I had visions of Froot-Loop-Sour-Apple-Gogurt-Peanut-Butter Smoothie dancing in my head.

"Okay," I said. Hey, what the Hell.

"Awesome!" she shouted, bolting out of her seat and doing a pint-sized version of the Yummy Dance. "I'm going to concoct my recipe!" Concoct my recipe?
Where does she get this stuff?

Pen and paper in hand, she returned to the kitchen.

"Hmmm," she said, tapping her pencil. "What kind shall I make?" Shall? Has she been sneaking down to the basement while I'm watching The Tudors again?


"I think we'll need raspberries. And strawberries."

Solid start. Nothing Gag-Tackular there.

"And maybe a teeeeeensy drop of lemon," she added. It's official: the child is from Mars.

"And sugar, of course."

"Not too much, and maybe honey would be better," I said. Big Mouth.

"Okay." Pause. "What else will we need, Mama?"

"Something liquid, so you can suck it through a straw," I said. "Milk would be good."

So it was settled. Off I went to the store. And noticed that fresh raspberries were 6 bucks for a tiny little carton. Screw that! Frozen berries, here we come.

My little chef impressed me. And she was quite proud of her little concoction.

"Look, Mama," she said. "I'm gonna be a good cooker like you!"



Well, she's on her way.


Miss D.'s Smoothie
serves 2 kiddos

2/3 cup frozen raspberries (unsweetened and still frozen)
2/3 cup frozen strawberries (unsweetened and still frozen)
2 cups lowfat milk
3-4 tablespoons honey
a tiny squeeze of lemon

Place all ingredients in a blender and whiz until smooth, adding more milk if necessary. Taste for sweetness; add more if necessary. Enjoy.

Neighbor Friday: Lost in Suburban Bliss

Hi Readers! TKW here! I am honored and thrilled to share the words of Gibby at Lost in Suburban Bliss with you today. Gibby is mother to Poonch and Chuckles and is in my small club of Most Excellent People. Sweet Gibs has been with me from the very beginning, when this blog was in diapers and Desitin. I know you'll love her as much as I do!




***

Swoosh


Poonch is a perfectionist. If she knows that she won't get something right from the start, then she wants nothing to do with it. Nothing.


As a parent, this is extremely frustrating.

For a child, this must be extremely frustrating as well.

I can't seem to get across to Poonch that a 7-year-old is not expected to have perfected anything. I can't even convince her that being almost 30 years her senior, I have yet to perfect anything. (Except making those break-n-bake sugar cookies. I have pretty much perfected that. Oh, and I am pretty good at making guacamole, too. But that's about it.)

As Poonch's parents, Hubby and I usually engage ourselves in a slow walk along the tightrope of encouraging Poonch to try something new vs downright pushing. It's not easy, and many times we have fallen too far one way or another. Hopefully her insurance with her future employer will cover therapy.

Anyhow, a couple of months ago our park district sent out registrations for their winter programs. I like to sign the girls up in at least one activity because Chicago winters pretty much negate outdoor play. Poonch eagerly signed up for ballet but that was it. Not that there's anything wrong with ballet, but let's just say that the way Poonch does ballet doesn't result in a whole lot of physical activity, which is what my aim was here.

Basketball, Hubby, a former varsity player, says. Sign her up for basketball. I laughed. I know Poonch, and I knew there was NO WAY she would sign up for basketball, a sport she has never played except for a couple of games of Horse with her pink basketball in our driveway. Not to mention, Poonch put the girl in Girly, and I don't think a jersey and mesh shorts would go with her red-sparkle high-heeled (1/2 inch, people) shoes. Hubby insisted he could get her to do it.

Good luck, I said, and walked off to let them chitchat.

To make a long negotiation short, Hubby convinced her to try it, with about 20 reservations on Poonch's part. When the first day rolled around, Poonch amazingly stuck to the deal. The first two sessions were just practice. The next session was an actual game. You know that picture everyone has in their mind of the little girl playing outfield and picking the daisies instead of participating in the game? Yeah, that was Poonch, basketball style. Jumping jacks underneath the wrong basket. Twisting the hair. Tucking and untucking the shirt. Waving to us in the bleachers, repeatedly. I think Hubby might have been a teensy bit perturbed, but I was just happy that she was out there. To not be afraid to try something different. She even seemed to be having some fun. Completely clueless to what was going on around her, but hey, so am I most of the day, so who am I to judge? I just want her to try new things.

Second game, Hubby is out of town. Chuckles and I wish Poonch good luck and then find our seats in the bleachers. I brought my camera so that I could video the game for Hubby. Poonch was much more into this game. She stayed with the ball. She guarded her person. She used her hands to guard, moving all around, getting right in that other girl's face. Nice, I thought.

Camera stops recording for no reason. I look at it and see the error message: no more memory. Darn-it. Oh well. I got some great video of Poonch's defense. That should be enough, or so I thought.

Wrong. Poonch's team has the ball. They take it down the court. A boy passes it to Poonch. She catches it without bobbling. Her coach yells at her to shoot it. Her mouth falls open, her eyes lock in on the basket. She shoots. The ball goes in. Her team and coaches cheer. Two points for the team. More than just two points for Poonch.

If only my camera was working. NOT to get the basket, but to get her face, lit up with amazement and pride, smile as big as it gets, giggling with joy as she sought me out in the crowd, questioning did you see? Of course I saw. That face, that was the picture I wanted. That jumping back all the way down the court, that was the video I wanted.

Later that night I asked Poonch how she felt about the game. She told me how happy she was when the ball went in and how good she felt.

I don't know if Poonch will keep playing basketball. Maybe she will, maybe she won't. It doesn't matter. I just hope the next time she gets nervous about trying something new, she will think about this. I hope she remembers how she felt when that ball went into that basket. After all, it's how I feel every time I look at my little girl.

***

Isn't she Most Excellent? I knew you'd think so, too. Thanks Gibby! A

Don't forget to check out more awesome posts for Won't You Be My Neighbor Friday over at The Never-True Tales

Shrink-My-Ass-Month: Asian Meatball Curry

Meatballs don't exactly pop immediately into the mind when you think "health food," do they? More often than not, they're big, meaty, suckers served atop a steaming bowl of pasta. And you're right--those meatballs aren't health food. Because the thing that makes them so juicy and delicious? Fat.

Fat is key to a light, flavorful meatball, bursting with juice. Most restaurant chefs use an 80/20 meat mixture for meatballs and meatloaves; some of them even add pork fat or bacon or pancetta to the mix. Those meatballs? Gooda in the mouth. Not so gooda for the ass.

People who eat meatballs in their regular rotation sorta look like Batali, don't you think?

So what's a meatball-craving girl to do? In short, she completely breaks the Rules of Meatball.

The original recipe for this curry was Backside Suicide; it called for ground pork in the meatballs, full-fat coconut milk and several tablespoons of oil. It sounded delicious, but I knew I'd have to seriously re-work this recipe to make it appropriate for SMAM.

First, I needed to address the meatball issue. Ground pork=fat. I decided to try this recipe with ground chicken instead. And, perhaps in a really unwise move, I decided to use the leaner ground chicken breast, rather than ground chicken (which is a combination of light and dark meat). I worried about this; lean+meatball=rubber. Clearly, I had to tinker some more.

In order to add some moisture back into the meatballs, I shredded up a zucchini and a stalk of celery; it's something I saw Giada deLaurentis do when she made turkey meatloaf. Normally, I would've added some finely diced red pepper as well, but my lunch guest was anti-bell pepper, so I jettisoned that idea.

I also made sure to handle the meat as little as possible and lightly press the meatballs together--if you manhandle the meat, you will pay the price, friends!

After a heck of a lot of tweaking, I came up with this recipe.



Asian Curry with Meatballs
serves 4

For the Meatballs:

1 1/4 lb. ground chicken breast
1 small shallot, finely chopped
1 small zucchini, shredded
1 rib celery, finely diced
1 serrano or jalapeno chile, seeded and finely chopped
1 lemongrass stem (pale part only)
1 tablespoon fresh cilantro, chopped
1 tablespoon fresh basil (Thai basil if you can find it), chopped
2 teaspoons freshly grated ginger
zest and juice of 1 lime
1 egg, beaten
1/4-2/3 cup panko (Japanese breadcrumbs)

For the Curry:

1 can (13.5 oz) light coconut milk
1/2-1 tablespoon red Thai curry paste
squeeze of honey
3 drops Thai fish sauce (or a generous squeeze of lime if you fear the fish sauce)
1 stalk lemongrass (pale part only), finely chopped
Either 1 red bell pepper, sliced or 1 medium zucchini, sliced
1 small can water chestnuts, drained and sliced
2 tablespoons each: slivered scallion, fresh cilantro, fresh basil
1 thinly sliced serrano or jalapeno chile, seeded and sliced (optional)

Preheat broiler.

In a large bowl, combine shallot, serrano chile, lemongrass, zucchini, celery, lime zest, juice, cilantro, basil and ginger (If you are lazy like me, you can just whir all of these in a food processor rather than chopping them by hand). Beat the egg and add. Add the chicken and combine gently, using your hands, until just mixed. Add panko by 2 tablespoon measures, stopping when meat mixture just holds together. Mixture will be sticky.

Form meatball mixture into 16 small balls; place on a baking sheet sprayed with cooking spray. Spray meatballs lightly with cooking spray and broil until meat is just lightly browned and almost cooked through, 7-10 minutes. Remove from oven.

In a large wok or skillet, bring coconut milk to a boil. Add curry paste and whisk until incorporated. Add honey and fish sauce, if using. Whisk. Add lemongrass. Reduce heat to simmer; cook for about 3 minutes or until slightly thickened. If desired, strain mixture and return to pan (if you don't mind little bits of lemongrass in your curry, you can skip this step). Bring back up to a simmer; gently drop meatballs into the simmering liquid, along with the zucchini/red pepper. Cover pan and cook on a low simmer for 3-5 minutes, or until meatballs are just done. Top with scallion, cilantro and basil.

Serve over hot steamed rice.

**Verdict: Very, very good! And the meatballs, while not bursting with fatty juice, still had plenty of flavor and weren't gut bombs! Definitely a SMAM victory! And special thanks to BloginSong, my ferocious, talented and dear friend since 8th grade, for being my guinea pig at lunch! She liked 'em, I promise.

ps: And no pumping BloginSong for geeky teenage TKW stories, people!!! NO!

Shrink-My-Ass-Month: Hummus and Grilled Vegetable Wraps

Sorry, carniverous beasts! It's a Monday (well, Sunday if you want to get technical) for the Meat Averse, so if the sight of a zucchini sends you shreiking for the hills, don them sneakers!

Growing up, I didn't really know any vegetarians. The first vegetarian I encountered was our neighbor, Jan. Her daughter was in my fourth grade class and Jan and Mama soon became thick as thieves. I still remember listening to them whisper and laugh in our living room, glasses of iced tea sweating in the afternoon heat. I also remember a few days later, opening a drawer in a living room cabinet and discovering the source of all that giggling: A dog-eared copy of The Sensuous Woman.

Even at the tender age of ten, I could tell that The Sensuous Woman was one of those books you read cloak-and-dagger fashion; naturally, I did just that. Armed with my trusty flashlight, I fled to the basement to see what that tempting, well-read tome had in store. Hoo-Boy!! Seriously ladies? Those women in the late 1970's had it going on. I came whizzing out of that basement a while later, eyes a-buggin.'

Jan was quite glamorous; she had luxurious red, thick hair and green eyes and was always tanned. She also had the slowest, most God-awful metabolism on the planet. I never saw her eat more than a few bites of food. One summer she abandoned meat entirely, subsisting on leaden, cardboard-colored pita pockets stuffed with avocado and wild, sprouty stuff that looked like hair. I watched her chew those concoctions slowly, amazed that she could gag it down.

Luckily for the Veggie Vixens of today, we no longer have to eat Bedrock Bread and shit that looks like hair. There's some lovely options nowadays and some are even easy-peasy. Which is what this wrap is. We like it for lunch but it's just as good for a light dinner or, if you are a freak like me, for breakfast (with a couple of potato chips stuffed in for salty goodness). Hey, don't knock it till ya try it.



Hummus and Grilled Vegetable Wrap
serves 4
from Ellie Krieger's The Food You Crave

2 medium zucchini, cut lengthwise into 1/4-inch-thick-slices
2 teaspoons olive oil
1/8 teaspoon salt
pinch of freshly ground black pepper
1 cup store-bought hummus*
4 pieces whole-wheat wrap bread, about 9 inches in diameter, such as Flatout
1/4 cup pine nuts
2 jarred roasted red bell peppers, drained, rinsed and sliced
2 ounces baby spinach leaves or romaine lettuce leaves (2 cups lightly packed)
1/2 cup red onion, thinly slices into half-moons
1/4 cup fresh mint leaves

Preheat a grill pan over medium heat. Brush both sides of the zucchini slices with the oil and sprinkle with the salt and pepper. Grill until tender and slightly browned, about 4 minutes per side.

Spread 1/4 cup of the hummus over each piece of bread. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of the pine nuts on top. Top with zucchini slices, red peppers, 1/2 cup spinach or romaine, a few onion slices and 1 tablespoon of mint. Roll each of them up and slice on the diagonal.

* You can use any kind of Hummus you like. Personally, I think the Sabra brand hummus kicks everyone else's ass.

Neighbor Friday: A Design So Vast

Hi Readers! TKW here! I am so thrilled to share the words of Lindsey from A Design So Vast with you today. She's a beautiful writer who always makes me think, feel, and vow to be a better person. Enjoy!






*********


One of the (many) parts of Eat, Pray, Love that I adore is a phone conversation between Elizabeth Gilbert and her sister. The sister mentions a family in her neighborhood who has recently received some awful medical news, and Elizabeth Gilbert thinks: “That family needs grace.” Her sister says: “That family needs casseroles.” That passage has always made me smile with the recognition of the myriad ways that people offer support. With the knowledge that sometimes, casseroles are grace.

It also reminds me intensely of my mother, for whom food often is grace. For her, it is a way of expressing the abundance of her love, a way of supporting the spirit by nourishing the body. Right after my first child was born, I slipped into severe post-partum depression. During what remains the darkest time of my life, my mother showed up on my doorstep, almost daily, with full meals. I remember holding my squalling, red-faced newborn and watching her, slightly stunned, as she bustled into the kitchen, in minutes making it more homey than it had felt all day. She set the table, lit candles, heated up roast chicken or baked sweet potatoes or sliced pork tenderloin or tossed a big salad. With my mum cooking in my kitchen I felt safe, the emotion that was so terrifyingly, shockingly absent in the rest of my experience of my daughter’s infancy. My own mother was there, and in her company, supported by her warmth and her delicious food, I could face the idea of being a mother myself.

That is just one example of the ways that Mum’s particular brand of food-related magic has marked my entire life. She is an exemplary cook, all the more impressive to me for how rarely she uses recipes. Her intuition about food is remarkable, as is the fluidity with which she handles the cooking process. She said once that the difference between she and I is that when I’m making something I make sure I have all of the ingredients before I start cooking, whereas she starts cooking and if she doesn’t have an ingredient she just makes something else. She goes with the flow in a way that I can only dream of doing. She cooks and welcomes guests and sips wine and passes hors d’oeurves and makes toasts with characteristic and seamless aplomb. She is so relaxed about entertaining, in fact, that a classic scene of my childhood was my sister and I answering the door and entertaining guests while Mum showered and got dressed (it’s hard for me to remember where my Dad was in this memories!). From the living room, if we looked down the long narrow hall, we could occasionally glimpse her dashing back and forth from her room to the kitchen, her hair in curlers, wearing a slip, to stir something on the stove. To this day she thinks showing up at 7:05 for a 7:00 invitation is a travesty! The ease with which Mum hosts and feeds and celebrates others is magnetic and, indeed, powerfully graceful.

She cooks simple things (a favorite childhood casserole) and fancy things (crown roast of pork) with equal skill. I associate her home with dark gray Calphalon pots simmering on the stove. There are, always, clouds of delicious smells, hugs, offers of snacks and drinks. Always. Food is a part of the way my mother shows her support and its abundance echoes how plentiful that support is. I am immensely grateful to have grown up in a kitchen so rich with nourishment, both for the body and for the soul.

********

Isn't she great? I knew you'd agree.


For more awesome Neighborly posts, check the links over at The Never-True Tales.

Tears for Charles Wu

Anyone checking in before tomorrow's guest post, I think I'd like to send you HERE!

I was so affected by this post that I was stunned to tears.

And for you, Charles Wu, I send out my whole heart. It's small and black and not very good, but it's all I got. My heart is the Ultimate Booby Prize, but I hope you'll take it. Alas, this week was living proof that you're going to need it.

Shrink-My-Ass-Month: Portobello Benedict

Am I the only person on the planet who thinks Hollandaise sauce is the Devil's work? That shit be nasty. Fatty, gloppy, lukewarm sauce the color of pee...do I want that on my eggs? No. But thanks, really.

This aversion is actually good when you are deep in the month of Project Posterior Shrinkage. Hollandaise has no place in SMAM.

I was intrigued by this recipe because duh, there's no Hollandaise in it. Plus, it seemed kind of genius to use a grilled portobello mushroom in lieu of the English muffin.

*Little Side Rant: Okay, people, is it portobellO or portobellA? Because I've made recipes with both spellings, and as an English Nerdlet, it bugs me. Which is right? My anal-retentive self needs to know!!!!*

This recipe seemed perfect for a lazy Sunday morning, so Saturday I went to the grocery store and picked up the ingredients.

Lazy Sunday Morning, my fat fanny. At 4:55 am I was awakened to something akin to: "Reeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!" Hubs and I both bolted up in bed.

"Holy Shit, what was that?" hubs said.

"A peacock circumcision?" I wagered.

And then, of course, the aftermath. Two small girls raced into our bedroom, eager to spill the gory details and place the blame firmly on the head of the other.

Long story short: if you slam a door very forcefully on a kittycat's tail, you will be greeted with "Reeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!"

What the heck those girls were doing making mischief at 4:55 am is beyond me.

So my morning started oh, 2 1/2 hours earlier than I would have liked. At least breakfast was delicious. In fact, hubs declared it the best thing he's eaten for breakfast EVER. Now he might have been plying me with praise because I was rather irritable after my rude and premature awakening, but I'll take any compliment I can get.



Grilled Portobello Benedict
serves 4
from Ellie Krieger's So Easy

Cooking spray
4 portobello mushroom caps (about 4 ounces each)
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/4 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
4 slices Canadian bacon
4 large eggs
4 large egg whites
2 tablespoons water
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
4 teaspoons store-bought pesto
8 fresh basil leaves, cut into ribbons
4 teaspoons freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Preheat grill pan sprayed with cooking spray.

With a spoon, gently scrape out the dark inside of the mushroom caps (the gills), being careful not to break the cap. Brush both sides of the mushroom caps with the oil and season with 1/4 teaspoon salt. Grill the mushrooms over medium-high heat until they are tender and their juices begin to release, about 7 minutes per side. Transfer each mushroom to a plate, top side down.

On the same grill pan, cook the Canadian bacon slices over medium-high heat until they are warm and grill marks have formed, about 30 seconds per side. Place one slice of bacon in each of the mushroom caps.

In a medium-sized bowl, whisk the eggs, egg whites, and water together until well combined. Spray a medium-sized nonstick skillet with cooking spray and heat over medium-low heat. Add the eggs and scramble until cooked through, about 3 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.

Spoon 1/4 of the egg mixture into each mushroom cap. Drizzle 1 teaspoon of the pesto over each and top with some of the basil ribbons and 1 teaspoon of Parmesan cheese.

*When I make this again, I think I'm going to add a few chopped sun-dried tomatoes and mix them in with the eggs. I thought the finished dish just sort of needed something red in it. I'm an aesthetic weirdo that way.

Author's Note: Since I am sure you are all dying from curiosity, Harryboy is okay. He did, however, scuttle around with the crazy eyes all morning.

Down

"I can't really explain it to you," my friend Betteanne says, "because you're still pregnant and you really don't believe me, but let me just warn you that after the baby is born, you are going to be Down for a while." There is a menacing pause over the wire.

"I mean," she speaks slowly, as if I'm retarded, "you will just be...Down."

And she's right, I don't believe her, or maybe I just can't believe her, because I'm huge and pregnant and cannot imagine anything feeling worse than how I feel now, like a Sperm Whale.

But I know what she means now, this first month home with the baby who turns into a vicious demon at 4 o'clock, the same spirited girl-child I wished for who never stops screaming.

Down. Gotcha.

What it means when you are Down is that you don't know what the fuck you are doing, and you have to pop a Xanax in the middle of the day because you feel like you might drown, and your Mother-in-Law is sitting in your kitchen, waiting for you to make her lunch.

And maybe, if you think about it long enough and let the fear get the best of you, Down is what those women were who threw their kids out of Buick sedans or smothered them with throw pillows because they couldn't handle their own incompetence any longer. Sometimes that kind of Down is almost within your mental grasp and you have to lock yourself in the laundry room for a while.

So I'm doing what Betteanne told me to do, which is to mark a month from now on the calendar with a big black X. When I start to feel Down, I look at that X and know by the time I reach it, I will be less Down. And the month after that. And if you keep doing it your Down isn't so bad any more.

But sometimes the Down is awful, and you cannot for the life of you figure out how to soothe this little thing. This thing that they somehow trusted you to bring home. And yet. There's a winter sky and open arms and music on the radio.

You pick her up, hold her flush against your body, dance, and she makes this funny squeaky sigh, and suddenly it feels like Us Against the World.

And if I were Roy Rodgers,
I'd sure enough be single,
I couldn't bring myself to
Marrying old Dale--
It'd just be me and Trigger
We'd go riding through them movies
We'd buy a boat and on the sea we'd sail



And Miss D. and I dance and sing with Lyle and I imagine that, too, I am on a Pony on my Boat out on the Sea.


*****Author's Note: This is an autobiographical essay on post-partum depression and its effects on the body, brain and psyche of the person afflicted. It is not a diatribe or slander against any of the following: the mentally handicapped, Mother-in-Laws, or unmade lunch. It should be noted that the author of this piece was not in shackles at any point during the post-partum period and the assumption of any appetite for lunch was purely speculation of the author. Mention of unmade lunch was purely a literary tool used to underscore the feelings of desperation and overwhelming helplessness of the author. Any offense given to the mentally handicapped, Mother-in-laws or unmade lunch is unintentional and regretted. In addition, the author would like to note her previously stated appreciation and respect for her own wonderful Mother-in-Law here and here.

Shrink-My-Ass-Month: Spaghetti Frittata

Roughly twice a year, my husband decides that he's fat. This tickles me for two reasons: One, he's not fat. Ever. Two, he's a bigger girl than I am, because I only decide that I'm fat roughly once a year.

Whenever hubs decides that he needs to go on le regime, I heckle him mercilessly for a day or two and then agree to help him manage his food.

This is a little more high maintenance than it seems. Dinner is no problem--I mean, I'm cooking it anyways. But le regime requires that hubs takes breakfast, lunch and a healthy snack to work, because he's too busy to go out for lunch and the hospital food is...well, you know.

Lunch I can handle. I pack a healthy wrap or the leftovers from last night's nutritious dinner or, if I'm desperately pressed for time, one of those Kashi frozen meals. Add fruit and a leeetle nibble of dark chocolate, and we're done.

Breakfast is a trickier affair. Hubs will eat cereal maybe once a week. He hates yogurt. And oatmeal. Doesn't much care for peanut butter. Fruit is a once a day affair, at lunch. Le regime needs to be protein packed, so this usually means eggs. But not hard boiled; he doesn't like them that way. Readers, meet Mr. High Maintenance!

While I'm willing to do this for him (but only twice a year), breakfast is an ass-pain for me to figure out. Because, if your mornings look anything like mine, you know that mornings are whacked-out, ugly, whirlwind Freakshows.

Solution? The humble frittata. I can make a large, healthy, eggy frittata early in the week, cut it into wedges, wrap up each wedge and hubs is good to go for several days. Plus, frittatas are equally good hot or cold, so if he's nowhere near a microwave, it's still fine.

As luck would have it, hubs has started on le regime at the same time I'm running Shrink-My-Ass-Month. That simplifies things, at least.

I was intrigued with this recipe because unlike regular frittatas, which often feature potatoes, this features whole-wheat spaghetti. Pasta and eggs? Well, now that I think of it, they work fine together in Spaghetti Carbonara, so why not?

This recipe came out beautifully and tastes delicious. And breakfast is one less thing I have to think about it when the Freakshow starts at the crack of dawn.



Spaghetti Frittata
serves 4
from Ellie Krieger's So Easy

5 large eggs
5 large egg whites
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 small onion, chopped or sliced thinly into half-moons
5 cups baby spinach leaves
1/4 cup sun-dried tomatoes (not oil-packed), reconstituted in boiling water for 10 minutes, chopped
1 large clove garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
2 cups cooked whole-wheat spaghetti (4 oz. dry spaghetti), tossed with 1/2 cup marinara sauce
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese

In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs and egg whites.

Heat the oil in a large ovenproof, nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, 3 to 5 minutes. Add the spinach, sun-dried tomatoes, garlic, salt and pepper and cook, stirring, until the spinach is wilted, about 1 minute. Add the spaghetti to the pan and stir to combine. Pour the eggs evenly over the spaghetti and vegetables. Lower the heat to medium low and cook until the eggs are set on the edges but not in the middle, 6 to 8 minutes.

Preheat the broiler. Sprinkle the top of the frittata with cheese and place under the broiler. Cook until the top is set and golden, about 2-3 minutes; be careful not to overcook or the eggs will become tough. Cut into wedges.

Serve to your high-maintenance, vain, girly-man husband. Who is totally worth the effort.

Neighbor Friday : Google is Whack

Welcome to the first edition of Won't You Be My Neighbor Friday! Thanks to Amy of The Never-True Tales for organizing such a neat program!



I'm thrilled to have sweet Jane from TheyCallMeJane's Blog. Jane is witty, kind and hysterically funny. Jane first asked me to be her neighbor in this blog post in November, and she hasn't been able to get rid of me since. I know you're going to love her as much as I do!



What To Do When You're At A Loss For Words? Play Around With Google, Of Course!



I was in the habit of writing posts when the mood struck (which was often) and then scheduling them to be posted. I was getting so ahead of myself my body had a hard time keeping up with my brain. My brain was already wearing tomorrow's outfit and my body was taking off my shoes from the day before. Posts were just spilling out of my head and onto the keyboard. I was more than a week ahead of myself.

Until now.

I just realized I had nothin'. Not a thing scheduled for tomorrow.

The little angel on my right shoulder said, "Come on, now. You can do it. Just cozy up to the keyboard and write. You have so many wonderful things to say."

The little devil on my left shoulder said, "Awwww, skip it. Who really looks in on you daily, anyway? Just those weirdos searching for moms doin' dirty things. Go downstairs, sneak into your chocolate stash and watch one of the 100 shows you have TiVo'd."

The little angel on the right shoulder said, "No. Your public awaits. They'll be so sad to have to look at yesterday's post all over again. You MUST add something new!"

The little devil on the left shoulder said, "Mmmmmm...some chocolate sure sounds good right about now."

Guess who won?

Hey! Ye of little faith....read on.

For inspiration, I decided to Google "top ten reasons for....," just for kicks and giggles, to see what comes up. Among the suggestions were "Top ten reasons for divorce" Intriguing. So I clicked it. There were 2, 360, 000 hits. Quite a lot of people pondering that issue. I decided to investigate other reasons for top ten lists. Below are the rest of my findings.


Top Ten Reasons Sarah Palin Resigned - 164,000,000. That's million. Are you kidding me? I had no idea that many people cared.


Top Ten Reasons to Date a Wrestler - only 272,000 results. I betcha I can think of #272,001.


Top Ten Reasons for Getting Fired - over 1,000,000 results. There are articles on the reasons, the causes. There's even articles on warning signs. Thank God I'm a SAHM. Job security is lookin' pretty great right about now.


Top Ten Reasons You Might Be A Jedi Redneck - Really. I can't make this up. Approximately 2,950 hits for this search. Now, I know Jedis. (My husband is a big Star Wars fan) And I know rednecks. (I live in the southern United States). But how do the twain meet? How, I ask you?


Top Ten Reasons I Procrastinate - Only 102,000 hits there. Come. On. Now! Procrastination is an art form, carefully crafted by many. Only 102,000 hits? We got a lot of people in denial out there, and I ain't talkin' about a swim down a famous river.


Top Ten Reasons Against Evolution - First of all, against? Like it's a choice? Ok, so the number of results? 2, 960,000. Almost 3 million.


Top Ten Reasons for Bathing - Only 177,000. I thought I smelled something funny.


Top Ten Reasons Couples Fight - There were 2, 540,000 results for that. I bet my husband and I could add a few more.


Top Ten Reasons Gay Marriage Is Wrong - Another 2 million plus results. Someone tell me why we're spending any time on this issue? Really? Behind closed doors. Consenting adults. Doesn't affect my taxes. Two people love each other. Oooooooooo. Scary.


Top Ten Reasons Men Are Better Than Women - 3, 220,000 results. And the Top Ten Reasons Women Are Better Than Men? 29, 400,000. Let me say that again, gentlemen. Twenty nine million, four hundred thousand. Somebody's got some catching up to do!


Top Ten Reasons Not to Get a Toller - What the heck is a toller? There were only 4,040 hits. So I'm not the only one who is in the dark on that one.


Top Ten Reasons to Vote Democrat - There were 2, 010,000 results. But only 1.4 million hits to vote republican. Hmmmmm.


Top Ten Reasons Why I Love You - 45,000,000. But that must be a typo. Surely there are more hits out there? Because love is what makes the world go round. And I just want to shout out to all of you out there, I LOVE YOU! (You're the best. You really are. Now, go hug someone.)

We love you, too, Jane! Please give a hi-five and a herky for Jane!

As for me:

I'm proud to be guest posting at several fabulous sites today! I've tried to pluck some fun, diverse, delicious morsels from the archives that many of you haven't read. I'd be so honored if you'd pop on over to these great blogs today and spend a little time with us! You can find me at TheyCallMeJane, A Design So Vast, Drama for Mama, Making the Moments Count, and Elastamom's Excerpts

Swing on by and hang out by the punchbowl! Much love, TKW