Planet Wal-Mart

It’s finally feeling like fall which is great because I can’t tell you how many times I almost left the house without shorts on during that record breaking heat wave. It was just too hot for all those clothes. So when I went to watch my Middle’s tennis match at the high school last week, I actually had to pause and look down to check to see if I was wearing clothes when I got out of the car. Whew, I was, but seriously I need to pay more attention.

Another good thing about fall is candy corns, yes plural, which I always get at Wal-Mart even though they are sold everywhere else. It doesn’t matter that I won’t eat any, I must have them.  Since I had to go to Wal-Mart anyway to buy cat food, I added candy corns to the list. So after the tennis match I stopped at Wally’s World on my way home. I had a list of just those two items and now was my test to see if I could only get what was on the list.

I arrived at the store just about the time that everyone else in the county was also pulling in.  Great!  I locked my car forgetting my reusable bags inside like I always do and headed to the store.  I noticed that there were no carts available.  Not a good sign but that’s ok I only needed 2 things.  This would be super-quick.

Everyone knows that while perusing Wal-Mart you will encounter people equivalent only to the DMV or Mars because there are entire websites dedicated to these people.  Who am I to judge anyway?  30 minutes ago I wasn’t sure if I was naked or not.  

Shortly after entering the store, I realized why there weren’t any carts available as they were all in use at the same time in the aisle I was in. Security!  What is the maximum capacity of this joint? I should have left right then but I’m no quitter so I soldiered on.  I began seeing things that we definitely needed at home and started loading up my arms. Forget the list.  Too bad I couldn’t use the giant purse I had weighing down my left shoulder, but that might look too much like shoplifting. Actually by definition it would be.  I weaved in and out of oncoming traffic through each aisle like a boss realizing that the people with carts were way slower navigating through the store than I was.  So long suckers!  I was in a really good groove whipping around the other shoppers balancing a bag of Cuties on my head like Chiquita Banana when I spun around a lady with multiple kids in and around her cart and slammed right into a display of baked goods.  Whoops. I acted like I meant to do it and grabbed 2 smashed boxes of pumpkin something donuts. There was a guy wearing a faded jean jacket and a pocket watch watching the whole thing and I know he was thinking that all he needed was popcorn for this show. I acted like I had no idea why he was giving me a strange look. What? I’m wearing shorts. I checked. I looked down as I thought that and 3 tangerines fell out of the bag on my head and rolled away. I hustled to the check out line and settled in behind 14 people in one of the only 4 lines that were open.  When I finally reached the conveyor belt I fell forward with all my loot and laid down for a second longer than necessary.  Once it started to move, I got up and paid for my groceries. I caved and bought more reusable bags and ended up leaving with random stuff like a rotisserie chicken, QTips, cuties, and a virus. Sadly, what I forgot was the candy corns and cat food. Dang it.

Let There Be Bread-The Rest of the Story

So just to recap, I made keto bread on Sunday and here is the rest of the story.

As I very impatiently waited for the bread to bake I thought of all the ways I would eat it once it was done.  At a narrow margin of votes between butter and peanut butter, me being the only voter, butter won.  As soon as the bread maker dinged that it was done, I rushed over to open it.  Showtime!  I looked inside and saw that it was funky shaped and gray in color.  Odd but whatever.  It was also super-hot but I didn’t care about that either.  I yanked the pan out of the machine and tipped it over to get the loaf out.  It was not budging, I think it was scared of me.  Frankly, I was a little scared of me too.  It was at that point that I began a one-on-one with the loaf of bread.  I banged it on the counter and tried wedging it out with a knife.   I tried tongs and a giant spoon. No go.  Finally after a good ten minutes, like a raccoon, I ripped it out of the pan with my fingers.  Cussing just a little, I slapped butter on it and sandwiched two pieces together with the melting butter in the middle. I blew the hairs that had slipped out of my bun during my fight with the pan off of my forehead and took a huge bite.  I chewed for a few seconds and then stopped, trying to figure out if I liked it or not.  I chewed some more and then a lot more.  I chewed that first bite for a solid five minutes.  Holy crap that bread was dense but it was too late now.  I was all in and I was not admitting defeat.  After a large glass of water I had finished my first taste of keto bread.  It…was…horrible and I felt like I had a brick in my stomach that had tiny brick babies.  I left the bread in the kitchen and decided that it was dead to me.  By the time my Little found me, I was laying on the ground flailing around like a turtle that had flipped over.  Her little face scrunched up to a confused look and asked why I was trying to make snow angels on the carpet. Not caring to hear my answer, she turned to leave the room and warned me not to eat the moldy bread on the counter.

Let There Be Bread

For those of you that know me, I have recently lost some weight following the Keto diet.  Well maybe not following it exactly, I still don’t know what my “macros” are nor do I care.  I basically eat high fat and little to no carbs.  I haven’t cheated once since the beginning of June unless you count the Halo Top Red Velvet Ice Cream I destroyed last night and therefore cannot be trusted to buy again.  I ate way more than the serving size, come on it’s just a suggestion, and probably ate too many carbs.  Nevertheless, I am down 26.2 pounds today.  Yes I’ve lost the equivalent to a marathon.

Lately I have been having dreams where I totally blow the diet and eat a lot of desserts.  They are nightmares until I wake up and realize I didn’t actually cheat.  Yay! So Friday I decided that I wanted try and make some Keto friendly bread cause quite frankly I’m a little sick of bacon and eggsand I miss bread.  I’m Italian, it’s a food group.  I Googled recipes that I can make in my bread maker.  I’m not a fan of kitchen gadgets, but like my Crock Pot, my bread maker is something that I can dump a bunch of ingredients in, push start, and go about my life while it does all the dirty work.  After writing down what I needed to buy, I took out a small loan to afford the ingredients, then ordered it all on Amazon with one-click.  Easy day.  Happy dance, I’m getting some bread.

About 30 minutes ago, the mail-millennial who probably is the low man on the totem pole being that he is working on Sunday, showed up with all my bread stuff.  As he pulled into my driveway I took off towards him at a full run and narrowly missed bouncing off his front bumper in my eagerness to get my package.  Bread! Glorious Bread!  I ripped it out of his hands, wished him a good day over my shoulder, and sprinted to the kitchen.

I opened the box with shaking hands I was so excited.  I took a swig of Diet Pepsi straight from the 2-Liter and got to work.  I followed the recipe exactly, careful not to spill anything.  My first car cost less than this stuff and I didn’t want to waste an ounce.  After about 5 minutes, I put it all in the bread maker, pushed start, and wiped the sweat from my brow.  Baking isn’t my favorite thing, it’s exhausting.  

So today on the Lord’s Day, I have made bread! At just roughly $16.95 per loaf I can finally eat a piece of toast that will probably have to be slathered with butter, which is totally legal on Keto, to make it not taste like a cardboard box.  Who cares? It’s bread.  Now I just have to wait 3 hours for it to be done.  The anticipation is worse than waiting for Christmas morning or the 3-wick candle sale at Bath and Body.  If you need me I’ll be speed cleaning the house and painting the hallway.  I’ll probably buzz around the neighborhood a few times too for good measure.  That should take just about enough time.  

When Mom Was Wonder Woman

Birkenstocks are back and why wouldn’t they be? Peppermint Pattie rocked the heck out of those things back in the day. I’ve also noticed scrunchis and high-waisted mom jeans and I saw a Caboodle at Target yesterday. I literally just threw out those same things when cleaning out the attic. Dang it. I’m holding out for the wooden Dr Scholl’s with the buckle though. I hope those come back. They were great. I remember my mom running and simultaneously trying to take off one shoe so she could threaten to hit my brother with it. She never did but it was still terrifying. 

It would’ve been so cool to be a mom back in the 70’s and 80’s. Moms back then had feathered hair, drank Tab, and drove giant cars. You didn’t disrespect mom. My mom could shut us up with just a look and had the reflexes of a cat. She was like Wonder Woman. She alone was our seatbelt. My kids will never experience the terror of their mom stiff arming them across the chest when she slammed on the brakes to prevent a collision. Somehow she thought she could protect us from certain injury with just her arm, and she did. Imagine the brake power it took to stop a 40-foot powder blue Oldesmobile from rear ending the Buick in front of them. Luckily we didn’t have A/C so we’d stick to the dark blue pleather seats.  That and my mom’s forearm saved my life on many occasions. If I did that my kid would end up with a smartphone down her throat and my plastic car would be ready for recycling. 

I think the alternating threats of violence and fierce protection from harm is how my parents raised four pretty decent kids. I’m not sure that would fly today but seriously we were too scared to mess up and it worked. There wasn’t such a thing as “Use your words”. We shut the heck up. Yeah,  I like being a mom in today’s world just fine but I sure would’ve liked it better back then. 

The Joys of Fortyhood

Ah the joys of forty! And by joys I mean crap that happens to me since I turned forty. No joy. At all. Not only does sneezing make me pee a little, I swear a really good one makes my hair grow just enough to show gray. Seriously?  I already have to dye my hair every two weeks at which time I, A. Look like Dracula for a week with my black stained skin hairline, and 2. My hair is about fried to the point of no return. Mrs. Frizzle coming at you, right here. Another joy of fortyhood is the backwards compliments I get pretty much daily. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take a compliment any way I can get one but sometimes I can’t believe my ears. It was bad enough when my Little asked me if a cobbler made my shoes when I was little. Just this week alone I had a teenager ask me how old I am and then his mouth dropped when I told him. He said he was shocked that I am so old! Whoa pump the brakes buddy, I’m not quite circling the drain yet. I also had a guy tell me I’m the best hygienist he’s ever had because I’m so cool and do the best job on his teeth. Just as I had a huge smile on my face and was about to thank him, he added that I’m probably so good because I’m older so I know what I’m doing. Wait, what? My face slowly fell. Even my newly injected Botox couldn’t hide my expression. Check please! 

One perk of being forty is that I rarely ever get carded when I buy alcohol. However I rarely buy alcohol since one drink makes me go to sleep by 7pm. Thanks 40!  I know how to fill out a postcard, use a pay phone, and who Phil Donahue is. I have 6 Cabbage Patch Dolls and still know all of their names and birthdays. I love you Mavis Marcia with your red cornsilk hair and your heavenly smell. I will never forget the stench of jelly shoes or the pain of skinned toes from running in Flojos, tripping and having them end up half way up my calf. I can still beat the last dragon in the Legend of Zelda, original Nintendo thank you very much, and I can replay the sound the dial-up internet made while connecting in my head perfectly. Dang it get off the phone I’m trying to check my email!  Commodore 64, AOL,You got mail, floppy disks that were actually floppy, and spiral phone cords long enough to reach around the corner and give me privacy. These are the things that built me. 

I’m not ashamed of my age. I’m embracing it. I wouldn’t want to do anything differently because I wouldn’t be who am. I loved growing up in the 80’s and 90’s. I’m really not that different than I was back then. I have just added fake boobs and a mortgage and just so happen to have a big night planned tonight.  I’m off to throw a casserole in the oven, switch laundry, dye my roots, and watch my shows. Life is good. Who wouldn’t want to be me?

What’s for Dinner?

There are a few for sures when you are an Italian mother.  Hair, and lots of it, a rather large nose, talking violently with your hands, and the amazing ability to cook. I am a solid 3 out of those 4 but frequently question if I can truly claim my heritage.  I definitely have the ability to grow hair like nobody’s business.  On command, instantly.  I can grow a more successful mustache than my non-Italian husband and the one day I skipped shaving my legs, a 3 year old pointed at me and told his mom he saw Chewbacca.  Big nose? Definitely. Talking with my hands? Absolutely.  I can have an entire conversation with my hands including emojis without saying a word.  The one area I fail in is cooking.  Miserably.  When people find out that I am Italian they usually make a comment about how I must be able to cook great spaghetti sauce.  I can open a jar, I can work the microwave.  We don’t starve. 

Unfortunately, my kids are always hungry.  Like every day at the most inconvenient times like when I am playing games on my phone (and they know that candy can’t crush itself) or just get in the car to go somewhere. Since my purse is the family trash bin, at any given time I can put together an entire meal with what I find in the bottom of my purse.  I am resourceful.  I am also pretty sure that Chex mix was invented by some busy mom that forgot to pack snacks and dumped out her purse into a Ziplock baggie.  Trail mix was invented by a slightly healthier mom.  It’s all good.  A little fuzz never hurt anyone and if they find something like a paper clip or a hair tie it’s a bonus prize like in a Cracker Jack box. 

What I don’t understand is why everyone has to know what we are having for dinner hours prior to dinner time.  Will it change the course of their day?  Will knowing that we are having pizza rather than meatloaf make for a better day? They already know I am not a good cook.  Maybe they are planning how much they need to eat throughout the day so they won’t need to eat my cooking? Do they even care or is it an automatic reflex when they see me? Whatever reasons they have don’t really matter. As long as the world keeps turning, every day kids will ask “What’s for dinner?” whether they actually want to know or not and moms will be scrambling to figure it out.

Memory Foam Mattress Topper-1, Me-0

April 11, 2018

Today started out OK, busy at work but it made the day fly by. I was tired but no more than I have been for the last 18 years so I decided on my way home that instead of taking a nap when I got there, which was my first choice, I would get all of the house cleaning done and dinner made before succumbing to the chloroform I swear is in the fabric of our couch. I made a quick stop at Albertson’s since coffee creamer is on the Fab 5. I grabbed 5 bottles (yay they have peppermint mocha but I might need to check the expiration date), some Oreos, and then a bunch of bananas to make me look like a good mom. I used the coupon that I got last time for creamer that spits out of the register only after you have just bought some, gave the bagger the Dollar Tree reusable bags I brought with me, put in my debit card number and was out the door. I got home and put away the creamers, bananas, and the half empty package of Oreos and set out to tackle some laundry. I needed to take the 4” memory foam mattress topper off of our bed and put it back in the box to return to Target-darn you Redcard. So, I tore off the blankets and sheets and shoved them in the washer with a Kirkland brand detergent pod without even the slightest urge to eat it. I reluctantly slinked back to our bedroom knowing that I would have to go one-on-one with the memory foam since taking it out of the box was no picnic. Let’s back this up a bit. A few weeks ago I thought it was a good idea to buy a memory foam mattress topper for our bed since our mattress is not very old but unfortunately not very comfortable. I really don’t want to spend a small fortune on a new mattress yet so I went on My Target app and saw that foam toppers were on sale. I read a bunch of reviews, found one that had a bunch of stars filled in and clicked purchase. I bought a king sized 4” memory foam topper. I couldn’t wait for it to arrive! A few days later a small box arrived just inside our gate. I had also ordered some screen protectors for our phones so I assumed that the box contained them. I picked up the box and it was really heavy, 34 pounds actually. I muscled the box into the house and opened it in the living room. The memory foam topper shot out of the box like a rocket and opened to its full width of a king sized bed and height of 4” which threw me against the wall. Stunned, I checked for injuries and stood in disbelief at what had just happened. Not to be discouraged, I folded it in half and pulled it into my bedroom like a giant, really heavy taco. I was still excited to see how this was going to fix my mattress. I took off the mattress cover and struggled the topper onto the bed. I think I mentioned it was heavy. Our current mattress is already pretty high so the topper added another 4” plus the mattress cover, sheets, and the 50 blankets we use left me just inline with the height of the light switch on the wall when I laid on top. Perfect. I waited to see what my husband would say when he got home. He walked in our room and sat in the chair that is next to the bed. I could only see the top of his head from where I was laying way on top of the bed, but I could tell it was slowly shaking side to side. He thinks I’m crazy. I assured him that although it may look ridiculous it was going to be so comfortable and we would finally get good sleep! Well, it didn’t work out so well. It’s really hard to roll over since it is so thick we get stuck, like really stuck, and I’m pretty dehydrated since I don’t want to risk having to pee in the middle of the night because having to get a running start to jump back into bed wakes me up and I can’t fall back to sleep. So I’m returning it. I kept the tiny box that it came in just in case it didn’t work out. I spent a good half hour trying to get it in the box. I burned off most of the Oreos I ate in my attempts and had sweat running down my back. I rolled it up like a sleeping bag and tried to squeeze it into the box. Too big. I folded it in squares and jumped on it to squish it down. It pushed me backwards. Luckily my latest attempt with Nutrisystem was a bust because I needed every pound I had as I straddled it in an effort to keep it squished down to the size of the box. Apparently it has a really good memory because it kept reverting back to a giant menacing square. I never did get it back into the box and I want to meet the person who originally did. I will buy that person a beer and swap stories about our adventures with the memory foam topper. Good times. Currently it’s in my room half on the bed, half up the wall with the now-flattened cardboard box under it. I closed the door to the bedroom and posted a sign to enter at your own risk. That thing has problems. Either my husband nd will deal with it or I will post it for free on Craigslist. For now, I’m off to buy a new mattress.