I love mashed potatoes, but for some reason, I don't enjoy making them. I don't know why. It isn't difficult, and the rewards are plenty!
Now that I have learned the secret to awesome mashed potatoes from my mother-in-law, I love to make them the way she does. However, I also like shortcuts. If you can cut down on cooking time, I'm in!
About a year ago, Country Crock (I think) started advertising that you could now buy mashed potatoes in a tub in the refrigerated aisle. So I did. And I salted them and put real butter in them and heavy whipping cream. Uh, not so yum.... You could tell they were real mashed potatoes and you could taste that I used quality additions (butter & heavy whipping cream), but there was some weird taste in there - chemical like. Was it preservatives or was the taste coming from the plastic tub?
I don't buy those potatoes anymore.
Recently, Ore'Ida started advertising mashed potatoes in a bag located in the freezer aisle. They are already cooked and cubed; you just heat and mash (and add salt, butter, and heavy whipping cream, of course!).
Now the label said to heat them in the bag, but I try not to be a slow learner so I heated them in a glass bowl. Trying to avoid the chemicals here, people!
But these potatoes were also a failure. There was still a weird taste - chemical like.
So tonight, I bit the bullet and made real homemade mashed potatoes - the kind where you start with a brown hard lump of vegetable - peel it - chop it - boil it - hand mash it - butter it up - salt it - add the heavy whipping cream. Super yum!
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
I'm A Big Turkey
At least I feel like one. I hope this is funny and doesn't turn out to be a too-much-information gross story.
Today, I needed to run 2 errands before picking up Abbie at school. I needed to go to the craft store and grocery store.
Before leaving the house, I washed my face before doing make up. During this routine, I found a zit (right side of forehead) and took care of it - trying to keep the details to a minimum. I put a leetle tiny piece of toilet paper on the zit (like men do when they cut themselves shaving).
Then I applied some blush and mascara and removed the toilet paper. I was ready to go!
I went to the craft store.
I went to the grocery store.
I had time and decided to stop at my favorite little sandwich shop. They had my favorite lemon and pineapple salad. Yes! And I got some tea.
Then I went to school, got in the car line, started reading my book, started eating, and called to RSVP for a birthday party - yes, I multitask like this all the time.
As I am waiting for the other party to answer the phone, a male parent walks up to the passenger side window and stands there waiting for me to roll the window down. The other party is not answering the phone so I disconnect and roll the window down. He and I proceed to have a detailed conversation about important things.
When Abbie gets in the car, we finish our conversation and I pull out of line. I give Abbie my usual cheerful Hello, and she says, "Mom, why do you have toilet paper on your face?"
Good mooglie googlie!
I'm trying to pull out of line, flip my mirror down and look all at the same time. Surely, I don't have toilet paper stuck to my face!!??!!
Yep!
I did pull off the first leetle piece of t.p. but then applied one more leetle piece just to be sure it wasn't bleeding anymore. And left the house with it on my face. And went to two stores plus a drive thru with it on my face. And had a long conversation with a dude with t.p. on my face. And he was standing on the right side of my car with a perfect view of that portion of my face.
I swear these things only happen to me!
Today, I needed to run 2 errands before picking up Abbie at school. I needed to go to the craft store and grocery store.
Before leaving the house, I washed my face before doing make up. During this routine, I found a zit (right side of forehead) and took care of it - trying to keep the details to a minimum. I put a leetle tiny piece of toilet paper on the zit (like men do when they cut themselves shaving).
Then I applied some blush and mascara and removed the toilet paper. I was ready to go!
I went to the craft store.
I went to the grocery store.
I had time and decided to stop at my favorite little sandwich shop. They had my favorite lemon and pineapple salad. Yes! And I got some tea.
Then I went to school, got in the car line, started reading my book, started eating, and called to RSVP for a birthday party - yes, I multitask like this all the time.
As I am waiting for the other party to answer the phone, a male parent walks up to the passenger side window and stands there waiting for me to roll the window down. The other party is not answering the phone so I disconnect and roll the window down. He and I proceed to have a detailed conversation about important things.
When Abbie gets in the car, we finish our conversation and I pull out of line. I give Abbie my usual cheerful Hello, and she says, "Mom, why do you have toilet paper on your face?"
Good mooglie googlie!
I'm trying to pull out of line, flip my mirror down and look all at the same time. Surely, I don't have toilet paper stuck to my face!!??!!
Yep!
I did pull off the first leetle piece of t.p. but then applied one more leetle piece just to be sure it wasn't bleeding anymore. And left the house with it on my face. And went to two stores plus a drive thru with it on my face. And had a long conversation with a dude with t.p. on my face. And he was standing on the right side of my car with a perfect view of that portion of my face.
I swear these things only happen to me!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Then vs. Now
Growing up, my mom had to get up really early to go to work at a factory job. On weekends, when she could have slept in, she got up early too. Saturdays meant cleaning day. Oh, she cleaned on weekdays too, but on Saturday, she really got down to business.
I was never a sleep-til-noon kind of girl - my bedroom received lots of sunshine so it was pretty easy to get up. Her greeting of "rise and shine" was particularly relevant!
As soon as my mom's feet hit the floor, she had a plan. First breakfast - a hot, cooked breakfast (not cereal or poptarts). Then----the-----cleaning----would-----begin!!!!!
Dirty dishes did not sit on the counter; dishes had to be handwashed immediately. Chores were distributed to everyone, and much to my dislike, chores were divided by what she considered to be women's work and men's work.
Laundry would be hauled down to the basement, and wet clothes were hung outside to dry on a clothes line. I was NOT allowed to do laundry. I had never screwed it up, but she still wouldn't let me do it. (I didn't learn how to do laundry until college.) Everything had to be dusted, vacuumed, wiped, swept, and mopped ------ every ----- nook ----- and ------ cranny. I use the dashes for extra emphasis; she was very detailed.
Our house was small and not in the least bit upscale, but it was VERY clean! And to be fair, I will admit she was not OCD about it. Clean is clean and anything else is just laziness and irresponsible - she never said that, but I got the jist of it.
Even though I was expected to help her and do whatever she told me to do, she never MADE me get up early with her. But she didn't make it easy to sleep in either. As soon as breakfast was ready, she would come into each of our rooms and loudly announce that breakfast was ready. If we moaned or didn't answer, she'd always say, "I'm eating without you, and I won't come call you again." And she meant it. We usually rolled out of bed and joined her. If, for some reason, we did go back to sleep, she would show no sympathy - the next time she came into your room, she'd have the vacuum cleaner with her - vacuuming around and under the bed and using the hose to get behind the bed and in all the corners. And she'd be talking loudly, naming the things that needed to be done. There was really no use trying to sleep in.
I'm thankful for the good things I learned from my mom, but I'm not the rigorous cleaner that she is - mostly by choice - but I do feel a genetic tug to clean just like her.
Today, I had planned to clean out a spare room and large closet. It's 7:26 pm, and I'm just now getting around to that. My mom actually called me today. While we were chatting, she asked me what Abbie was doing. I said, "she's just running around the house, still wearing her pajamas at 11:30 am."
And my mom said, "Well, let her!" I just thought it was a super funny reaction to our level of laziness on Saturdays.
And to be fair to my mom, she did let me watch some cartoons every Saturday. It wasn't all work and no play! Love ya, Mom!
I was never a sleep-til-noon kind of girl - my bedroom received lots of sunshine so it was pretty easy to get up. Her greeting of "rise and shine" was particularly relevant!
As soon as my mom's feet hit the floor, she had a plan. First breakfast - a hot, cooked breakfast (not cereal or poptarts). Then----the-----cleaning----would-----begin!!!!!
Dirty dishes did not sit on the counter; dishes had to be handwashed immediately. Chores were distributed to everyone, and much to my dislike, chores were divided by what she considered to be women's work and men's work.
Laundry would be hauled down to the basement, and wet clothes were hung outside to dry on a clothes line. I was NOT allowed to do laundry. I had never screwed it up, but she still wouldn't let me do it. (I didn't learn how to do laundry until college.) Everything had to be dusted, vacuumed, wiped, swept, and mopped ------ every ----- nook ----- and ------ cranny. I use the dashes for extra emphasis; she was very detailed.
Our house was small and not in the least bit upscale, but it was VERY clean! And to be fair, I will admit she was not OCD about it. Clean is clean and anything else is just laziness and irresponsible - she never said that, but I got the jist of it.
Even though I was expected to help her and do whatever she told me to do, she never MADE me get up early with her. But she didn't make it easy to sleep in either. As soon as breakfast was ready, she would come into each of our rooms and loudly announce that breakfast was ready. If we moaned or didn't answer, she'd always say, "I'm eating without you, and I won't come call you again." And she meant it. We usually rolled out of bed and joined her. If, for some reason, we did go back to sleep, she would show no sympathy - the next time she came into your room, she'd have the vacuum cleaner with her - vacuuming around and under the bed and using the hose to get behind the bed and in all the corners. And she'd be talking loudly, naming the things that needed to be done. There was really no use trying to sleep in.
I'm thankful for the good things I learned from my mom, but I'm not the rigorous cleaner that she is - mostly by choice - but I do feel a genetic tug to clean just like her.
Today, I had planned to clean out a spare room and large closet. It's 7:26 pm, and I'm just now getting around to that. My mom actually called me today. While we were chatting, she asked me what Abbie was doing. I said, "she's just running around the house, still wearing her pajamas at 11:30 am."
And my mom said, "Well, let her!" I just thought it was a super funny reaction to our level of laziness on Saturdays.
And to be fair to my mom, she did let me watch some cartoons every Saturday. It wasn't all work and no play! Love ya, Mom!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Born to Ride
It's really too bad that I don't have a photo to go with this post.
Today, I went to visit my dad. Before I went to his house, I took a little drive down a side road - a little drive down memory lane.
My dad lives in the country. There are lots of fields, pastures, barns, trailers, farm houses, horses, cows, dead opossums, back roads, more fields, hills, woods, and more barns.
The little side road that I took runs by my dad's house, and after a few turns, you come to the road where 2 of my aunt's homes are. This road has several houses and farms on it, but they are far apart from each other. It is not a heavily traveled road, and it is rock - as in, not paved.
On this road, I learned that I was born to ride!
When I was in middle school, my dad bought me a small motorcycle. Some of my very, very best memories are of riding this motorcycle.
I was only allowed to ride on the rock road. I would ride several miles in one direction and then back to my dad's house and then I'd turn around and do it all over again.
As soon as I would arrive at my dad's house for the weekend, I would get on the motorcycle and ride. I also did not have a helmet!!! Repeat - I did not wear a helmet and no one seemed to have a problem with it...... Oh, how I loved the wind blowing in my hair. I loved the freedom and the scenery and the independence. I can't remember what I thought about all that time I spent on the bike. Sometimes I sang out loud. I'm not a good singer, but it can be fun to belt out a song when no one else can hear you.
Sometimes, the rides were exciting. A few times, I came upon a black snake in the road. There was no time to go around it so I would have to ride over it, but I distinctly remember holding my legs straight out at the sides in case it decided to strike at me.
There was also a man who owned a german shepherd, and this dog liked to chase cars including little girls on motorcycles. I'm not really sure how I never got mauled or how I was able to outrun the dog. I always said a little prayer and hoped it wouldn't be out when I went by.
I never wrecked, and I never got tired of riding. I wish I could remember when or why I eventually "out grew" it. And I really wish I had a picture of me and my motorcycle.
My mom told me the following story, but I need to give the back story.
My mom and step dad attended a small church, and I had never been able to make friends there. I didn't go to school with any of the kids my age - I was the only one who attended a city school which made me different. And I was very quiet and shy which the other kids took as "snobby." One day, one of the girls asked my mom why I was not at church that day. My mom said, "She's at her dad's house this weekend. She's probably riding her motorcycle."
After that, the other kids started talking to me! :)
Today, I went to visit my dad. Before I went to his house, I took a little drive down a side road - a little drive down memory lane.
My dad lives in the country. There are lots of fields, pastures, barns, trailers, farm houses, horses, cows, dead opossums, back roads, more fields, hills, woods, and more barns.
The little side road that I took runs by my dad's house, and after a few turns, you come to the road where 2 of my aunt's homes are. This road has several houses and farms on it, but they are far apart from each other. It is not a heavily traveled road, and it is rock - as in, not paved.
On this road, I learned that I was born to ride!
When I was in middle school, my dad bought me a small motorcycle. Some of my very, very best memories are of riding this motorcycle.
I was only allowed to ride on the rock road. I would ride several miles in one direction and then back to my dad's house and then I'd turn around and do it all over again.
As soon as I would arrive at my dad's house for the weekend, I would get on the motorcycle and ride. I also did not have a helmet!!! Repeat - I did not wear a helmet and no one seemed to have a problem with it...... Oh, how I loved the wind blowing in my hair. I loved the freedom and the scenery and the independence. I can't remember what I thought about all that time I spent on the bike. Sometimes I sang out loud. I'm not a good singer, but it can be fun to belt out a song when no one else can hear you.
Sometimes, the rides were exciting. A few times, I came upon a black snake in the road. There was no time to go around it so I would have to ride over it, but I distinctly remember holding my legs straight out at the sides in case it decided to strike at me.
There was also a man who owned a german shepherd, and this dog liked to chase cars including little girls on motorcycles. I'm not really sure how I never got mauled or how I was able to outrun the dog. I always said a little prayer and hoped it wouldn't be out when I went by.
I never wrecked, and I never got tired of riding. I wish I could remember when or why I eventually "out grew" it. And I really wish I had a picture of me and my motorcycle.
My mom told me the following story, but I need to give the back story.
My mom and step dad attended a small church, and I had never been able to make friends there. I didn't go to school with any of the kids my age - I was the only one who attended a city school which made me different. And I was very quiet and shy which the other kids took as "snobby." One day, one of the girls asked my mom why I was not at church that day. My mom said, "She's at her dad's house this weekend. She's probably riding her motorcycle."
After that, the other kids started talking to me! :)
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