We're all sick over here. Nothing ebolaish, just your garden variety head cold thing, with symptoms and severity fluctuating by the hour and body. So Tankbaby coughs and sneezes (IN MY EYE) all morning, but then when I try to put him to bed early, is suddenly all, "I feel fit! And hale! Bring me my badminton set and my mountain climbing harness! Go!!!" while MOTH, at 8:15 pm, is snoring next to us. And I stayed up to finish prepping the chicken broth for tonight's soup, feeling grumbly and sniffly and sorry for myself, even though I was also kinda enjoying the quiet warm kitchen and my Dick Van Dyke Show reruns.
I hate making chicken broth. Why don't you remind me? I love homemade soup, and I love the simmering smell that permeated my kitchen all day, but the whole straining/picking out meat from the dessicated carcasses thing at 10:30 at night? HATE. Oh, and what? You take the meat off the bones before you simmer the chicken? Well, la-di-da for fancypants. Over here, our method is as follows:
1) Buy a purse chicken (I recently heard this phrase to describe the pre-cooked rotisserie chicken-in-a-bag, and love it) for dinner
2) Without ever removing chicken from bag, peel off large yummy chunks of breast meat
3) Put bag in fridge so that we can use the leftover chicken the next day
4) Two days later, realize we're never going to use that chicken
5) Throw whole bag in freezer
6) Repeat, according to recent freezer contents, seven times in four months.
7) The night we plan on having homemade chicken soup, pull a bunch of carcasses out of the freezer
8) Realize that we forgot (again) that homemade broth takes two days to make (one day to simmer, then let fat congeal overnight-yum!)
10) Thaw carcasses just enough to be crammed into stockpots
11) When broth is ready to be strained, go through hot, falling apart chicken carcasses to pick off perfectly good meat that we are too frugal to waste, but not smart enough to take off before freezing the damn things, often including the stupid string that ties the whole thing together, necessitating a whole lot of chicken carcass fondling
Wait. Did I just make this post about how to make chicken broth very poorly? I told you I'm unwell.
Not that I had anything else of import to share. The title up there doesn't mean much, except it's a word that popped into my mind as I watched Tankbaby play with his new Lego set. It's a zoo kit, and MOTH keeps making these lovely exhibit areas with trees and waterfalls which makes me giggle because I think a certain adult in this house is looking forward to the upcoming toy sets (Legos, trains, etc.) more than our child. Anyway, Tankbaby clearly doesn't watch enough National Geographic specials about the natural order within the animal kingdom, as indicated by his pretend play with the animals. This morning he had the giraffe stomping all over everything, including an entire family of lions. "WAH, WAH, WAH!" he growled ("walk, walk, walk!" for those of you with out a Tank-to-English dictionary available) as the giraffe jumped on the lion's head. The lions in this set are apparently pacifist vegetarians, whereas the giraffe is...well, ballsy. The elephant likes to jump on things (while we haven't shown Tank any Animal Planet shows, he has seen this clip more times that I can count, mainly because watching him sign "elephant jump" is so dang cute), and the alligator exists solely for the purpose of Tank ripping his hinged jaw off so that we may reattach it, repeat to fade.
Oh, and speaking of inappropriate use of child's toys, y'all were so pleased by the Playdoh naughtiness, I thought I should also share the following:
Ignoring the dog-top in the background, you see here a few pieces of plastic food that can be peeled, shucked, whatever (I actually requested this for Tankbaby for Christmas, as otherwise he keeps requesting actual food that he peels, then discards with great velocity). Looks OK, right?
Yeah. Could they have put the velcro anywhere else on the banana? Must it be so...circumcisey?
OK. I have to go. Tank is sleeping and I have to learn Quicken before he awakes. We bought the software ages ago, after yet another of my complaints that I don't have any sense of our money around here. When we lived together in sin, we each handled our own bills. Then we got married and we generally just kept everything in one place and one or the other of us would pay whatever needed to be paid. I kept a handy-dandy Excel sheet so that I could track stuff, but mostly it was a checkbook and a credit card. Then we moved here, I went to grad school and MOTH took over a large chunk of household stuff so that I could focus on my studies (and watch a lot of Law & Order reruns in a depressed stupor, although that might not have been as clear at the start). I took out student loans, we switched to mainly a debit card system, and he put most of our bills into on-line payment. I graduated and took back my fair share of cooking, cleaning, etc., but somehow never got back into the financial management duties. As a result, although I am the major breadwinner (as much as a teacher in this economy can be, that is), I have no idea where our money goes. I'm like a 1950s household in one person.
As a result, I have to ask MOTH about stuff like, can I put this on the debit card or are we waiting for a payment to go through? Because although I get paid regularly, his income is scattered in amount and timing, so he always knows how much money we have and where it's coming and going, and I do not. Which makes me crazy, not just because I feel like I have to ask permission to use my money and then find a check for $200 worth of magician's insurance and then I have to call my friend and freak right the fuck out because, really? magician's insurance? it's not like he's sawing a lady in half--he does card tricks? are we worried about papercut liability? Wait, where was I? Oh, yeah, I don't like not knowing anything about our money other than that we perpetually don't have enough. Also, what if MOTH gets hit by a bus ('cause you know that shit's not covered by no magician's insurance)? I'm gonna be that stereotypical widder woman who's all quivery, "Oh, my husband always took care of the money..." Not on your life.
So, we bought some basic software and I'm gonna learn it. Then we can both be looking at the same data and if MOTH has been siphoning off some money for his chippie on the side, I'll know about it.
(Not that he would ever do such a thing, of course. Whenever the subject of infidelity or open marriage has come up, MOTH's standard response is: "Are you kidding? I can barely handle you." Aw. Ain't he sweet?)