Six weeks into the year, I am sitting with my calendar marking a few important dates and trying to schedule some "me" time. 2011 has 53 Saturdays and I have numbered them beginning with New Years Eve (12-31-11) so that they count down to it, our Saturday #1. We have 46 of them left to go. Looking at the big picture, I am struck by a goal not to let this year slip by so quickly. Or rather, to be cognizant of the balance between pure fun and reasonable home and family responsibilities.
January is gone, with its bitter weather and cabin-fever inspiring weeks of chores, projects and snow storms. February is plowing along, with teasing sunny days and free time to be outdoors with the youngest son (YS). Already, two Saturdays this month are consumed by family outings that are pure fun. This coming weekend had been set aside for a much-needed spring cleaning, as the grumpy spouse (GS) insists that we pare down the storage function of our spare rooms. So I think maybe the rest of the year should strive for that ratio too.
What will I do with the remaining 44 Saturdays? Well, #44 is our Anniversary weekend - so a date night with GS is in order. I am planning to run a few 5Ks this Spring with YS to further my fitness goals. We will be in Florida for nine days in July, a combination trip as one weekend will include GS, one won't. There are random birthdays, holidays, parties and sports to factor in too. But I am serious about keeping one Saturday a month as a project/work day, one as "other obligation" and two for pure fun each month.
There are budget restrictions to be met, so theme parks, cruise ships and air travel are virtually impossible options. I have asked YS to compose a wish list for fun weekends that include both mom/me time and whole family outings.
Camping is again on the top of his list, and this year I think I'm going to have to bend my "mom doesn't sleep on the ground anymore" rule. After three years of active duty in the Army, the VAST majority of which was spent "in the field," on assignment or training up for deployment, I feel I have earned the right to sleep in beds. In fact, I have insisted upon it for nearly two decades. But since buying an RV is not in the budget, I suppose I will make do by replacing the air bed the oldest "borrowed" five years ago never to be seen again.
Camping equipment has come a long way since my military days. There are reasonably priced coffee makers, portable stoves and camp kitchens, which are all now on my shopping lists. The tents are larger, simpler and lighter than ever before, and we own a nice three-room one. The beds and sleeping bags have improved greatly too. And I do love being out in nature. I even saw portable toilets, solar showers and a washing machine, though I have no intention of "roughing it" enough to need those.
Two locations have made the definite list, one state park near home and one in a mountain area. The state parks have some really nice little cabins that I will be checking on (i.e. BEDS and showers). The mountains are still a vague idea with the priority being on the available hiking trails. It's been years since we've gone camping, but this is the year I am reviving old traditions. We will also spend a night or two at the lake for July 4th, likely in the same tent. After factoring in YS' love of baseball (Spring and Fall), motorcycle races, and GS' fishing habit, I think I may be covered until nearly the holidays again. And maybe we'll even find the money to squeeze in a theme park or two along the way.
Let's face it, the years seem to go by quicker than ever and before we know it, there will be Christmas music playing on the radio again. Don't let 2011 sweep by for your family without at least giving it a little thought. So what will you do with your next 46 Saturdays?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
Keeper of the Flame
Be careful what you wish for...because you just might get it. In my efforts to get my household to go greener, eat cleaner and be overall healthier, I have discovered some down sides. I know you are reading this saying, "Well, duh. If it was that easy, we'd all be doing it." So please take this not really as my list of complaints (though they might sound that way), but as observations from the front line.
I am a grown up recently re-committed to a healthy lifestyle. My spouse however, has come reluctantly on this journey because frankly he has no choice. He doesn't cook and doesn't shop for food (at all, ever). So whatever I buy, I have to plan, prepare, cook, store and reheat without the slightest interference (or help) from him. Since our youngest son (YS) still lives at home (for another decade), he's just a passenger either way. The little often volunteers to "help" with dinner, which is sweet even if not truly a benefit. I am learning to be more patient and use my teaching voice, so there's that.
Let me start with snacks, or as I prefer to call it, Battle #1. For me, snacks come in fantastic little pre-packaged servings bought in a convenient bulk package. I call them "fruit." Occasionally, they might also be veggies or nuts, but those require a second step. I have to put them into the snack cup. For my grumpy spouse (GS), snacks come in jumbo bags and jars, or are magically prepared in the kitchen and appear on plates. These include chips, crackers, four kinds of nachos and "real" popcorn. The first two come ready to serve, the latter means MITK (mom in the kitchen) time. YS adds things like fruit gummies and brownies to that list, respectively. I am buying a healthier version of those chips, but they refuse to give them up. So I will soon be resorting to memory loss...
Battle #2, breads and starches. GS grew up on farm land, hence he believes in the traditional meat-and-potato meal. He eats vegetables, but thinks they should be boiled beyond recognition with butter and salt. Or covered in cheese, dripping with dressing, and wrapped in bacon...you know, for flavor. I prefer raw or steamed, and believe it has to have a color to have nutrition (crazy, I know). GS counters that butter yellow is a color, therefore by putting adequate amounts of butter in the mashed potatoes or on the white bread, there will now be nutrition. They have learned to eat red potatoes (skin on), boiled, quartered and sprinkled with dill. They tend to "yellow" them a bit on the plate, and I let that slide.
I only buy whole grain breads, but am beginning to bake my own at home. There is apparently something of a learning process to bread-making despite the wording on the boxed mix. The dogs have thoroughly enjoyed my failures. It makes me sad that I missed out on learning this from my great-grandmother when I had the chance. So far, her recipe has turned out one edible loaf from three attempts. Unfortunately, it was the first not the last, and I have no idea where I am going wrong.
Time to resort to professional equipment and a how-to book, both of which are now on my anniversary gift list (March). By that I mean I have added them to the cart on our Amazon account, and GS just needs to click "checkout" and enter his password to have it shipped in time. And the one success loaf has them salivating over the idea of fresh bread daily.
Battle #3, going green. We had a hail storm two years ago and got a new roof. I insisted on the energy star rated one, and he agreed. Our subsequent summer electric bill went down a little. So we shrink wrapped the windows to correct drafts for winter. Well, actually, I shrink wrapped all the windows on the front of the house. GS put pink foam house sheathing in the back windows and the garage, and on the garage door. Electric bill goes down a little more. They extended the tax credit for insulation, so we installed the pink roll stuff on all the attic walls. Then I read that radiant barrier is what we should have installed, so I tell him.
It was my idea, so I am not complaining. GS is simply not the type of person you want to do home improvement projects with. He has no patience, communicates in four letter words and grunts and frequently throws tools (not at anyone). For an hour or two, that is no big deal. But imagine the joy of installing 8,000 square feet of what is essentially thick aluminum foil to the rafters and walls of your attic space with a staple gun and a step ladder on Christmas Eve.
The coworkers from hell. GS also suffers from a touch of "keeping up with the Jones'." Not in flashy things (luckily), but in man stuff. So when someone at work bragged about his wood stove fireplace insert, we had to have one. He must have called me ten times that day to find them on the internet and get prices. Skipping over the banner day we had installing it, the stove is here and working. EPA approved and energy efficient, it converted our unused pre-fab fireplace (visual: covered with pink foam held by duct tape), that was a complete waste of fire wood into a sauna furnace.
This winter has been unusually cold for Georgia. GS, being a native Floridian, believes that there is no such thing as too hot. Therefore, the stove should be operated at prime temperature 24 hours a day so that the electric heat never comes on. To accomplish this, one must tend the fire throughout the day. It stays roughly 400-600 degrees inside the firebox by keeping it stocked with dry, aged firewood and glowing with hot coals. This is now my job.
Fire wood is heavy, dirty, and attracts bugs so storage should obviously not be inside your house. For years, I have wanted a storage building beside the house to clear certain items from the double garage. GS insisted there was no room for such a thing, and he didn't want the motorcycle, dirt bikes, lawnmower and such getting stolen from a detached shed anyway. Then he got a boat. Somehow the boat cover I bought him wound up in the attic, as it was too much hassle taking it off at 4 am. I came home one day to find that my garden gazebo from the opposite side yard had been turned into a boat enclosure in the very spot where the building should have gone. This was rationalized by the fact that I did not use it all the time (false) and that it would "kill the grass" being up year round (it's moss). Since we also own a portable EZ Up, GS insisted I can just put that up over my lawn furniture when I'm actually out there (unless he's using it, or has loaned it to one of his buddies). Anyway, the gazebo was destroyed by the recent snow storm, so this summer I will finally get my building, sort of, because his wood needs a space.
In the meantime, we have a landscape trailer that has become the wood bin. Not because GS took that to go get the wood, mind you, but just because it's there. So he unloaded the wood from the truck bed onto the trailer. To keep it dry, it must be tarped. We have a two-story house, and the fireplace is upstairs. So each day, about a hundred pounds (feels like) of firewood must be moved from the "storage area" to the fire.
Would it not have been easier to erect a log rack on the back deck and enclose it, you ask? It would have, yes. But that apparently is not the manly way. Besides, then the wood could be stacked (ONCE) on the deck (upstairs) rather than onto the trailer to be un-tarped, carried in arm loads through the front door, up the stairs, through the living room, out the back door and THEN stacked in a trash can on the back deck. There's a logic to this, I am sure, but darned if it doesn't elude me. Did I mention that the boat parking, wood storing side yard has NO grass and becomes a mud hole when it rains?
The stove itself should have come with a thermostat that attaches to it magnetically. It is vital to keep the temperature in a certain range to prevent dangerous build up in your chimney and a potential house fire, or damage to the stove. GS neglected to order one as the website recommended, insisting it wasn't necessary (coworker said so). After reading in the owner's manual that it was extremely important, he tried to find one at the local hardware store (sold out). So, he instead found my Starbucks thermometer in a drawer and attempted to use that. You know, the kind you hang on the milk frother cup when you make cappucino so you don't get scalded milk. It's plastic, with a little metal rod, and reads from 100 to 200 degrees. Yeah, he "accidentally" melted that a little, but he'll get me another one. Days later, the meat thermometer was located and now sits prominently atop the stove. I am to keep the fire "between hamburger and beef wellington."
My GS needs reading glasses, but resists using the pair I bought him. The meat thermometer doesn't have the word "wellington" anywhere on it. There are numbers to the left (internal meat temp) and words to the right that correlate to those ranges. But what he means is to keep the gauge over and above the temps pointing to the right side words, between hamburger and beef Well done. If it gets up to Rare, you should open the door and let it cool off.
Somehow after graduating from high school at 16, serving in the Army and getting my degree in Criminal Justice, I foolishly thought that my life would be more meaningful by now. Yes, I raised two kids already, with one to go. Yes, I have worked in my chosen profession and made good money. Yes, I love volunteering at the schools, courts and charities. I really love owning my small business. Sure, I know that this is temporary. The weather will turn warm and this job will go away until next year. But for now, just call me the Fire Master.
I have to go, the beef wellington has simmered down toward hamburger. Then the organic vegetables have to be prepped for roasting. The stale bread needs to be toasted, then turned into crumbs to shake and bake the organic chicken. Then I have to let the puff pastry rise overnight for my dark chocolate croissants... Somebody remind me, what was I thinking when I made this resolution?
I am a grown up recently re-committed to a healthy lifestyle. My spouse however, has come reluctantly on this journey because frankly he has no choice. He doesn't cook and doesn't shop for food (at all, ever). So whatever I buy, I have to plan, prepare, cook, store and reheat without the slightest interference (or help) from him. Since our youngest son (YS) still lives at home (for another decade), he's just a passenger either way. The little often volunteers to "help" with dinner, which is sweet even if not truly a benefit. I am learning to be more patient and use my teaching voice, so there's that.
Let me start with snacks, or as I prefer to call it, Battle #1. For me, snacks come in fantastic little pre-packaged servings bought in a convenient bulk package. I call them "fruit." Occasionally, they might also be veggies or nuts, but those require a second step. I have to put them into the snack cup. For my grumpy spouse (GS), snacks come in jumbo bags and jars, or are magically prepared in the kitchen and appear on plates. These include chips, crackers, four kinds of nachos and "real" popcorn. The first two come ready to serve, the latter means MITK (mom in the kitchen) time. YS adds things like fruit gummies and brownies to that list, respectively. I am buying a healthier version of those chips, but they refuse to give them up. So I will soon be resorting to memory loss...
Battle #2, breads and starches. GS grew up on farm land, hence he believes in the traditional meat-and-potato meal. He eats vegetables, but thinks they should be boiled beyond recognition with butter and salt. Or covered in cheese, dripping with dressing, and wrapped in bacon...you know, for flavor. I prefer raw or steamed, and believe it has to have a color to have nutrition (crazy, I know). GS counters that butter yellow is a color, therefore by putting adequate amounts of butter in the mashed potatoes or on the white bread, there will now be nutrition. They have learned to eat red potatoes (skin on), boiled, quartered and sprinkled with dill. They tend to "yellow" them a bit on the plate, and I let that slide.
I only buy whole grain breads, but am beginning to bake my own at home. There is apparently something of a learning process to bread-making despite the wording on the boxed mix. The dogs have thoroughly enjoyed my failures. It makes me sad that I missed out on learning this from my great-grandmother when I had the chance. So far, her recipe has turned out one edible loaf from three attempts. Unfortunately, it was the first not the last, and I have no idea where I am going wrong.
Time to resort to professional equipment and a how-to book, both of which are now on my anniversary gift list (March). By that I mean I have added them to the cart on our Amazon account, and GS just needs to click "checkout" and enter his password to have it shipped in time. And the one success loaf has them salivating over the idea of fresh bread daily.
Battle #3, going green. We had a hail storm two years ago and got a new roof. I insisted on the energy star rated one, and he agreed. Our subsequent summer electric bill went down a little. So we shrink wrapped the windows to correct drafts for winter. Well, actually, I shrink wrapped all the windows on the front of the house. GS put pink foam house sheathing in the back windows and the garage, and on the garage door. Electric bill goes down a little more. They extended the tax credit for insulation, so we installed the pink roll stuff on all the attic walls. Then I read that radiant barrier is what we should have installed, so I tell him.
It was my idea, so I am not complaining. GS is simply not the type of person you want to do home improvement projects with. He has no patience, communicates in four letter words and grunts and frequently throws tools (not at anyone). For an hour or two, that is no big deal. But imagine the joy of installing 8,000 square feet of what is essentially thick aluminum foil to the rafters and walls of your attic space with a staple gun and a step ladder on Christmas Eve.
The coworkers from hell. GS also suffers from a touch of "keeping up with the Jones'." Not in flashy things (luckily), but in man stuff. So when someone at work bragged about his wood stove fireplace insert, we had to have one. He must have called me ten times that day to find them on the internet and get prices. Skipping over the banner day we had installing it, the stove is here and working. EPA approved and energy efficient, it converted our unused pre-fab fireplace (visual: covered with pink foam held by duct tape), that was a complete waste of fire wood into a sauna furnace.
This winter has been unusually cold for Georgia. GS, being a native Floridian, believes that there is no such thing as too hot. Therefore, the stove should be operated at prime temperature 24 hours a day so that the electric heat never comes on. To accomplish this, one must tend the fire throughout the day. It stays roughly 400-600 degrees inside the firebox by keeping it stocked with dry, aged firewood and glowing with hot coals. This is now my job.
Fire wood is heavy, dirty, and attracts bugs so storage should obviously not be inside your house. For years, I have wanted a storage building beside the house to clear certain items from the double garage. GS insisted there was no room for such a thing, and he didn't want the motorcycle, dirt bikes, lawnmower and such getting stolen from a detached shed anyway. Then he got a boat. Somehow the boat cover I bought him wound up in the attic, as it was too much hassle taking it off at 4 am. I came home one day to find that my garden gazebo from the opposite side yard had been turned into a boat enclosure in the very spot where the building should have gone. This was rationalized by the fact that I did not use it all the time (false) and that it would "kill the grass" being up year round (it's moss). Since we also own a portable EZ Up, GS insisted I can just put that up over my lawn furniture when I'm actually out there (unless he's using it, or has loaned it to one of his buddies). Anyway, the gazebo was destroyed by the recent snow storm, so this summer I will finally get my building, sort of, because his wood needs a space.
In the meantime, we have a landscape trailer that has become the wood bin. Not because GS took that to go get the wood, mind you, but just because it's there. So he unloaded the wood from the truck bed onto the trailer. To keep it dry, it must be tarped. We have a two-story house, and the fireplace is upstairs. So each day, about a hundred pounds (feels like) of firewood must be moved from the "storage area" to the fire.
Would it not have been easier to erect a log rack on the back deck and enclose it, you ask? It would have, yes. But that apparently is not the manly way. Besides, then the wood could be stacked (ONCE) on the deck (upstairs) rather than onto the trailer to be un-tarped, carried in arm loads through the front door, up the stairs, through the living room, out the back door and THEN stacked in a trash can on the back deck. There's a logic to this, I am sure, but darned if it doesn't elude me. Did I mention that the boat parking, wood storing side yard has NO grass and becomes a mud hole when it rains?
The stove itself should have come with a thermostat that attaches to it magnetically. It is vital to keep the temperature in a certain range to prevent dangerous build up in your chimney and a potential house fire, or damage to the stove. GS neglected to order one as the website recommended, insisting it wasn't necessary (coworker said so). After reading in the owner's manual that it was extremely important, he tried to find one at the local hardware store (sold out). So, he instead found my Starbucks thermometer in a drawer and attempted to use that. You know, the kind you hang on the milk frother cup when you make cappucino so you don't get scalded milk. It's plastic, with a little metal rod, and reads from 100 to 200 degrees. Yeah, he "accidentally" melted that a little, but he'll get me another one. Days later, the meat thermometer was located and now sits prominently atop the stove. I am to keep the fire "between hamburger and beef wellington."
My GS needs reading glasses, but resists using the pair I bought him. The meat thermometer doesn't have the word "wellington" anywhere on it. There are numbers to the left (internal meat temp) and words to the right that correlate to those ranges. But what he means is to keep the gauge over and above the temps pointing to the right side words, between hamburger and beef Well done. If it gets up to Rare, you should open the door and let it cool off.
Somehow after graduating from high school at 16, serving in the Army and getting my degree in Criminal Justice, I foolishly thought that my life would be more meaningful by now. Yes, I raised two kids already, with one to go. Yes, I have worked in my chosen profession and made good money. Yes, I love volunteering at the schools, courts and charities. I really love owning my small business. Sure, I know that this is temporary. The weather will turn warm and this job will go away until next year. But for now, just call me the Fire Master.
I have to go, the beef wellington has simmered down toward hamburger. Then the organic vegetables have to be prepped for roasting. The stale bread needs to be toasted, then turned into crumbs to shake and bake the organic chicken. Then I have to let the puff pastry rise overnight for my dark chocolate croissants... Somebody remind me, what was I thinking when I made this resolution?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)