“DUDE I AM, LIKE, SO DRUNK.” Here we have a sentence that I’m pretty sure I’ve never actually said in 40+ years of life, mostly because I can count the times when I’ve truly been inebriated on one hand with fingers left over. I don’t actually like being drunk. I like occasionally being a degree or two more cheerful than I can manage on my own, but thanks to being a relatively small person and infrequent imbiber, one drink is all that takes. Perfect.
I know no one wants to hear me continue to bitch and moan about The Tragedy Of Stupid Medication, but I have been off the supposed Wonder Drug (why yes, it made me wonder if my doctor was trying to kill me) for about a week and I STILL FEEL DRUNK. Perhaps if I enjoyed this feeling, was a heavier drinker, or was otherwise a little more risky in my proclivities, this wouldn’t be a problem. As it is, it’s a big freaking problem. I hate everyone and everything even more than normal and THAT is a feat in itself, I’m pretty sure. Also I need to drink a pot of coffee anytime I need to drive anywhere.
My doc picked a shiny new Wonder Drug to put me on, and I’m not going to lie—I haven’t even picked it up, yet. I’m afraid to take it. This may have been the worst medication experience I’ve ever had and it’s enough to make a person believe that roots and berries were good enough for our ancestors and so probably just drinking some hippie tea or something will be fine.
Fall has arrived in Georgia! For a week or so, anyway. I’m sure we’ll have at least one more crazy heat wave before our version of winter settles in. But it’s cold at night and in the morning, and so I finally did the Big Linens Switchover (yes, my life is THAT exciting, that I have a name for switching out blankets) and put the fluffy comforters on everyone’s beds. This was sort of exciting, because it’s been hot here for, oh, eight months or so.
In theory, we all sleep so much better when it’s a little cool out and we have the snuggly blankets on the bed instead of just coverlets or whatever. In PRACTICE, it just means no one wants to get out of bed, ever. Mornings have been DELIGHTFUL this week, if we assume that “delightful” means “tortuous.”
I’ll be doing another recipe for Alpha Mom this week, and I do love the recipe-sharing thing because it’s kind of fun to be there as someone who is not a foodie or chef but just likes puttering around in the kitchen and also figuring out what tastes good. Every time I come up with something my children actually EAT and LIKE, it feels like a major victory.
On the other hand, sometimes I try out someone else’s recipe and it’s perfection and I don’t want to reinvent it, and then I feel sad because I want to share that recipe with the world but it’s not one I created so I can’t do it as a recipe post. (I just reread that sentence and nearly sprained my eyeballs, rolling them at my OH SO DIFFICULT first world problem, here. But I’m drunk on medication-withdrawal and it SEEMS HAAAAARD, okay?)
BUT THEN I remembered that I have this here blog thing where I can simply say, “Go make this and then insert it into your face.” This fulfills my need to share things which are yummy. So! Compliments of my friend Foodie (you remember Foodie, right?), I give you last night’s dinner: red lentil Thai chili (it’s vegan, just like Foodie). I made it as directed (except I used black beans instead of kidney beans) and EVERYONE LIKED IT. I think it may be my new favorite veggie chili, in fact. The eternal struggle here is that Chickadee is super-sensitive to spicy—she will often declare food “too hot” when the rest of us think it’s not spicy at all—and what she tends to favor, the rest of us find bland. This was super flavorful with just a hint of heat and even the picky princess deemed it acceptable. [Also: It makes a giant pot. There was enough for dinner, for several lunches, for Chickie to have it tonight while the rest of us eat meat, and I froze a big container of it, too.]
Of course, I had a secret weapon… I also made a batch of this naan. While I can’t be positive, I’m pretty sure that had I served fresh naan alongside buckets of paint, my carb-loving children would’ve happily ripped/dunked until the naan was all gone. So take that for whatever it’s worth.
In conclusion: Make the chili. Make the naan. Make your family happy.
Speaking of Chickadee, I was sitting on the couch with her last night and she asked me to Google how much a grapefruit weighs. (There was a logical ramp up to this request, but I’ll spare you the minutiae.) Somehow we clicked through on the results to a link that claimed to be to how much does a ruby red grapefruit weigh? but took us to a page that asked how much does a red pepper weigh? This was giggle-worthy, on its own, but then we realized it was actually a scrolling list of questions and answers, so clicking from there took us to an answer about the pepper, then the NEXT question was about grapefruit, then the next answer was for that, and then… we kept going, and it devolved into things like how much does a red fox weigh? and what’s the air speed velocity of a red sparrow? and answers like try weighing it! and why don’t you ask him and on and on, and, finally (it wasn’t over, but at this point we were laughing too hard to continue) we came to how much does a gallon or red meat weigh? (The listed answer to that one was Meat isn’t measured in gallons…? Thankfully.)
There’s a lot of stupidity available on the ‘net, I know, but for some reason the fact that someone took to their computer to ascertain the weight of a GALLON OF RED MEAT just made my whole night.
Last night while I was cooking the chili, Monkey got on Skype with a couple of his buddies and they all met on some Minecraft server and were happily gaming along together while I got a little misty-eyed. I told him it was from chopping the onions but MAH BAYBEE! Gaming online with his friends, just like any other teenage boy! And then he shouted into his headset, “HELP ME, I’M BEING ATTACKED BY A GIANT CHICKEN!” All three boys burst into giggles (I could hear them even across the kitchen) and the moment passed.
This brings us to today’s unifying moral: Normal is WAY overrated.