An Amish-ish Summer

It’s 67 degrees in our house right now, and I’m snuggling cozily on the couch with the laptop, happy to have a reprieve from the smothering 90 degree days we had earlier this week. We’ve held off using our AC for when we decided we really needed it, and have done pretty well until this past Sunday.

That’s when we discovered that our AC didn’t work anyway.

What??! Yes, friends, no AC for me.

Tyler grew up without air conditioning, so he is accustomed to the heat inside. I, on the other hand, did grow up with it, and have a delicate internal thermostat that reads anything below or above 71 degrees F as either freezing or sweltering.

But I’m not complaining. Remember when we were looking at houses and we found this beautiful house? The one without a dishwasher?

Well, guess what? We live in that house and although it’s a pain at times, it’s really not much more of a pain than doing dishes already was with a dishwasher. I can live without.

And now that we have two living rooms, one upstairs and one downstairs, we no longer have a TV in our bedroom. That TV used to put me to sleep instantly, and I dreaded having to sleep without it. But I’ve learned to fall asleep on my own now.

Cuz I’m a big gurl, I am.

(Name that movie!)

Then there’s the cable television, that we’ve lived without for the past 3 years. And now, because of our slow internet connectivity, we also can’t stream TV either, which means much less TV than we used to watch.

All comforts that I once said, “Oh, I couldn’t live without ______,”

and now have found freedom in living without them.

Thank God for a funny and interesting husband who I love talking to. And for books from the library to read and the lulling sounds of creation outside my window at night.

Thank God for a big double-sink in the kitchen and for beautiful sunlight that pours in through the sliding glass door.

Thank God for music that attunes my heart to His Word while I work.

Thank God my neighbors are far enough away I can sing my heart out without bothering them too much.

And now, thank God for a cool basement that, so far, has stayed very comfortable even while our upstairs has been up to 88 degrees.

Thank God for Tyler’s parents who recently gave us two twin-sized beds that we were able to haul down there to sleep on during those especially hot nights.

God knows our needs and provides accordingly. It’s not that He doesn’t also provide special comforts for us, but sometimes He provides greater gifts when we live without certain comforts and adapt to Him instead. I’m not sure what greater-richer-better thing He can do about living without air conditioning, and I’m not entirely sure we won’t break down and pay to get it fixed. But I am learning to be grateful “living without” because it makes me realize how much I live with.

Someday, we’ll look back on this summer and say something like, “Remember when we went without air conditioning how much fun we had hosing our cars off every afternoon, just to stay cool?”

We live on a dirt road. God knows our cars could use it.

And so we take another step in the direction of becoming Amish.

Except I’m allergic to horses and couldn’t sew to save my life. And Tyler definitely couldn’t live without a vaccuum to take care of all the hair I shed.

So maybe more like Amish-ish. Our Amish-ish summer.

Also to be known as the Summer-of-wildly-wavy-hair-and-face-shine.

Speaking of which, I while taking the groceries out to the car this afternoon I got caught in an downpour and my hair’s a lee-tle out of control. Better go spruce up before Tyler’s birthday bash with his family (and more to come on Tyler’s birthday later!).

Homemade Spaghetti O’s: The Sequel

Rather than be beaten down by my latest kitchen catastrophe, tonight I made a second attempt at making Homemade Spaghetti-O’s. Every sequel is better than the original, right? So my attempt today had to turn out better than my first.

You will be happy to know that it went much better this time (If you missed this post and didn’t notice the aftershock effects that originated from my kitchen, you can read my account here).

So… HERE is how to make Homemade Spaghetti’O's without causing self-induced trauma (adapted from the America’s Test Kitchen Healthy Family Cookbook).

First, combine 8 oz ground turkey, 2 Tbsp fresh chopped basil (2 tsp dry basil), 2 Tbsp olive oil, 1/4 cup grated parmesean, and 3 Tbsp dried breadcrumbs. And a bit of salt and pepper, to taste.

Kidding. Please don’t taste the raw meat.  Ick.

Pinch the meat into little bitty meatballs, put them on a plate or in a pan, cover and put them in the fridge while you whip everything else up.

Heat a couple tablespoons olive oil in a large pot or dutch oven over medium heat.

While that’s heating, coarsly chop 1 onion and 1 medium carrot:

Refill your fancy olive oil bottle.

Clean up the olive oil you dribbled all over your fancy bottle and counter.

*sigh*

Remove the battery from the smoke detector. Temporarily.

Dump veggies into smoking oil and cook until softened and onions start to brown, about 5 minutes.

One lump or two?

Two??? C’mon, people, this is hearty Italian Spaghetti-O’s we’re making! At least four cloves, please!

Thank you!

Cook for another minute, then add 1 28 oz. can diced tomatoes (juice and all) and 2 1/2 cups chicken broth. Bring to a simmer, then reduce to medium-low, cover, and let cook for another 15-20 minutes so that carrots can further soften.

Now, here is where it got messy for me last time. Hot liquid. Full Blender. Empty stomach that couldn’t wait for it to cool.

This time, I planned ahead.

Let the liquid cool for a little bit. Just enough so that it won’t burn you if a mini-catastrophe might occur.

Assemble all of the clean towels in your household. Just in case.

Hunt down the most patient person you know. In my case, Tyler.

Have them blend it for you:

1/3 at a time, stating on low speed (DO NOT PULSE!), removing the middle plastic top thing-y so that some of the steam can escape in order to prevent pressure build-up.

Cheer and fist-bump your blending-buddy for successfully blending your Spaghetti-O’s without any explosions!!!

Or, if this experience was more akin to my first attempt at making Spaghetti-O’s, comfort your patient husband or friend and kindly counsel them through the trauma while you clean the mess up for them.

Pour the blended mixture back into your freshly cleaned pot, bring to a simmer at medium heat and dump in meatballs and 1 cup of ditalini.

Or, if you prefer, alphabet pasta.

Which I do prefer, thank you very much.

Cook for 12 minutes, covered over medium heat, until pasta is al dente and meatballs are cooked through.

Finish with salt and pepper, a little brown sugar for some sweetness, parmesean, and a little basil, if so desired.

Make your husband suffer from hunger while you fiddle around with the camera to try to get some pretty food-pictures.

Scold your husband for leaving his watch and cell phone on the table right where you needed to take food-pictures. Darn hunger. Next time I’ll get started a little earlier so I can notice things like clutter in the background.

Apologize for scolding him and thank him profusely for helping out and for being SO patient during the 3 hours it took to make the Spaghetti-O’s, photograph them, and blog about them (Kidding, I didn’t really scold him or make him wait while I blogged about it. But taking pictures definitely did slow the process down a bit. How does the Pioneer Woman do it???).

*sigh*

And finallly, let the nostalgia sink in as you melt into your favorite cozy chair and savor the sweet flavors from your favorite childhood food. Mmmm.

And that, my friends, is how homemade Spaghetti O’s should be.

A Lesson in Home-making

Two posts in one day? Why ever would you do that? you ask?

Well… I learned an important lesson today, and I felt compelled to share it with you.

It all started when I signed my post “time to go make dinner” or some other lame food-related excuse for ending a blog post.

I began getting ingredients around to make meatloaf for Tyler. Not being a huge fan of meatloaf myself, I also started assembling a homemade spaghetti O’s soup for myself after having seen a picture of it in my America’s Test Kitchen Healthy Family Recipes Cookbook. So I turned the oven on for Tyler’s meatloaf.

The smoke detector works, in case you were wondering.

Huh? What??? Sorry, I can’t hear you, you’ll have to speak up.

I think I lost 70% of my hearing just trying to figure out how to turn the darn thing off.

And then turning it off again.

And again.

And again.

And finally figuring out how to take the battery out of the stupid thing.

Pardon my language.

*SIGH*

AND THEN, as if that wasn’t annoying enough, I dropped an egg!!! Icky bacterial sliminess all over the kitchen counter, down the cabinets and on the floor.

Really? *sigh*

AND THEN I ran out of Lysol wipes! Me and Lysol wipes are co-dependents. Lysol would go out of business if it weren’t for me and I would go out of my mind if it weren’t for Lysol wipes. It’s not that I’m officially OCD. Just about raw meat and egg.

Unless it’s egg in cookie dough or brownie batter. Sugar and chocolate magically melt the bacteria away.

*clearing throat*

Anyway… why am I covered in tomatoes, you ask?

Well, it could be because I decided to have a food fight with my imaginary friend George.

Or, it could be because I got sprayed by a skunk on my way out to get the mail today.

Or, it could be my new home remedy spa therapy I was reading about last week.

But, sad to say, it is none of those things. It is my dinner. My homemade spaghetti O goodness. “Pour the [boiling hot] soup in a blender to puree carrots, onion, and tomatoes.” 

Hmmm I think to myself.  This blender sure is awfully full. Maybe I better pulse it, just in case it ends up starting to come out.

“Start to come out”? Phh, yeah, right. Try EXPLODE. In .0001 seconds, my kitchen became a major disaster area spread 3 feet wide, 2 feet deep, and 5 feet high. My counters, cabinets, blender, wall, floor, picture frame, vase, knives, knife block, refridgerator, and clothing all became victims of this tragic disaster.

Oh, and my appetite, I might add. Because splashes of messy, chunky tomato soup were splattered everywhere, creepily reminiscient of (vomit) <— highlight between the parenthesis if you’re not planning on eating anytime soon.

So, after weeping and throwing things and calling in FEMA, I tended to my scalded hand and proceeded to clean things up.

Round Two.

Oh yesss, friends. There was a Round Two.

Round Two commenced with me pouring out half of the soup, clearing the counters of anything other than the blender, and placing a towel over the blender lid.

Repeat results in smaller scale.

*weeping*

Really???

So here I am… spaghetti-O-less and soggy and delirious.

*sigh*

I just don’t know what to do next… the cereal calls me from the pantry. My magical comfort food that soothes my every sorrow.

Will I ever finish the soup???

(*Deeper, news-reporter voice*) Will the tomatoes come out of my clothes?

Will I crack if Tyler comes home and asks me what I did all day?

Tune in again next time to find the answers to all these questions and more on

CHEYENNE’S HOMEMAKING DISASTERS!

Plastic Cling Wrap Rap

Plastic Cling Wrap,

Why do you only stick to certain glass,

Or cer-a-mic,

Fan-tas-tic,

Won’t stick to plastic.

Every time I pull you out,

I wanna shout,

You will not rip or grip.

Give me a solution,

or you’ll get a contusion,

Please co-oper-ate, accomodate,

The food on my plate,

That needs to refridgerate,

To be ate on another date.

Why ya gotta be so moody? So choosey?

I just really wanna use ye,

You could be,

So sweet,

If you would cling to everything like a new fiancee to her ring,

I’m done singin,

Or rappin,

Don’t write back,

Til you live up to your name,

Instead of playin this same ol’ game with me,

Just sayin’

It’s not funny, give me back my money,

Or else I won’t stop rappin’,

About you, Plastic Cling Wrap.

Remember Me?

Hi friends! Remember me???

No? Well, why ever not?

Oh… because I’ve been mute for so long you say?

Alright, alright, it’s true. So sorry for the long break from blogging. It was unintentional, I promise.

But to refresh your memory: *clearing throat*

Hi, my name is Cheyenne and I am a tall cereal addict who destroys kitchen gadgets,  sheds hair like an English sheep dog, and has a bird phobia.

There, now that we all know each other (Well, actually, now that YOU know ME), let’s move on to more important matters.

Like what I did last week. I promise to spare you all the dry details and hum-drum.

Last week I was making dinner, chicken something or other to be exact. Well, maybe not so exact, but last week was a long time ago. And after trimming the chicken of the icky fat, I took off my latex glove –

Oh, sorry, did I confuse you? What, you don’t use latex gloves when touching raw meat? GROSS! What kind of person ARE you???

Actually, I use one glove, so long as I am careful that my un-gloved hand only cuts the chicken with the knife and doesn’t get involved in any of the messy bacteria-infested business.

*clearing throat* So as I was saying…

I took my glove off and threw it away and pulled out the Lysol wipes to wipe off the cutting board and my knife before putting them in the dishwasher (because you don’t want them to contaminate the dishwasher. Or the sink, espeically). As I ran my wipe down the blade of the knife, suddenly I felt a sharp sting…

ACK!!! I JUST CUT MY FINGER WITH A BACTERIA-LADEN KNIFE!!!!

And what did I do next? Well, me being the smart person who works with blood every day and knows just how to stop someone from bleeding…

I dropped the knife and the wipe and lunged for the sink and soap and thoroughly scrubbed the cut as well as I could until it felt like every lil’ bacteria bug was out. And it kept bleeding.

And bleeding.

And bleeding.

And then I remembered… Oh yeah, if I want it to stop bleeding I should put pressure on it. So I grabbed a papertowel, wadded it up, and taped it around my finger.

Shooo.

And THAT, my friends, is why from now on, I shall only ever clean my raw-chicken, bacteria-infested knife while wearing industrial-strength dish-washing gloves.

Ok, ok, you caught me, I don’t even know if there is such a thing. But “industrial-strength” just always makes everything sound so impressive.

The Swarm

Have I mentioned that I don’t like birds?

Because I don’t.

I mean, I don’t have any death wish for them or anything, but I would be okay if the whole lot of them migrated south and forgot to move back.

It’s been rather cold around these here parts lately, and I believe I may have witnessed a mass exodus of birds migrating south. Except these birds seemed a little confused.

I take that back. These birds seemed really confused. And they made me nervous just watching them.

I was driving to work yesterday morning and as I approached a stoplight a GINORMOUS flock of birds suddenly were startled from their perches on one side of the street and flew into a massive swarm over the road until they settled onto the other side of the street. Then, the light changed. And the same thing happened: massive swarms of birds startled into a messy cloud above my car… seriously, I don’t know if I have ever seen such a concentrated swarm of birds. Really, friends. I was getting motion sick watching them.

And all this time, I just keep praying that none poo on my car. Not that I have a really nice car, but with as many of those things flying around as there were, I don’t know how any large object would avoid some amount of droppings.

But Yoda managed. What a great car. They must have felt sorry for him and had mercy on him.

Which reminds me, I need to get his oil changed. Now that he’s at *cough* 203,000 miles. And still goin’ strong!

Well, that’s my shpeel for today. Watch out. Just sayin’.

Another Hairy Day

Recently something has come to my attention… something I have been dreading, aware of the inevitable fate looming in the distance, unsure of just how distant that fate was and how much longer I had before I would have to face reality.

Friends, it has come to my attention that the shower drain is stopped up.

And we all know what that means.

Yeesh!

And on top of that, the vaccuum cleaner brush has a tightly woven hair-coating too. Ick!

So as soon as I am done here, I must rummage around for a wire hangar and (with my brute strength) form it into a shower de-clogging tool and purge the nasty hair monster from our drain!!! Whaaa haa haa haaaaa!!!

Ok, so maybe I am slightly embelishing the true rush of excitement pulsing through my veins.

Or dramatically embelishing. I’ll let you figure it out.

Yes, indeed, my life is glamorous, let me tell ya.

Why, just the other day, my dear hubby recommended that I wear a shower cap when I’m inside so that I don’t shed so much. Apparently he was shocked that my hair could embed itself into the threading of our big comfy chair.

I dunno how it did it. I promise I don’t sit around all zen-like, trying to invent ways to become one with our home. I mean, our apartment’s nice and all. But I really don’t feel the need to bond with it.

And while I would appreciate not having to wipe the bathroom counter off every time I go in the bathroom and not having to pick hairs out of the clean laundry and I would really REALLY appreciate not having to saw off the thick  coating of hair that gets wrapped around the vaccuum brush, I would still have to wash my hair and thus clean out the shower drain. So all things being considered, wearing a shower cap is just not worth it to me.

And I really think Tyler would get kind of sick of it too. I mean, shower caps can be kinda noisy and not the least bit attractive (please forgive me if I am offending anyone).

So I decided to take the plunge and cut my hair off!

Okay, not really “off.” But I would say I got a good 8 inches cut! I actually didn’t intend on going that short. But you know how haircuts go. They just never look like the picture do they?

But I actually like it. And, hey, I think my hair is probably 1/3 shorter now, so that means 1/3 less hair to shed, right?

And 1/3 more time before the next time I need to unclog the shower drain and saw the hair off of the vaccuum brush. Right???

I don’t hear a very affirmative response from you, thank you very much.

Ho-hum… guess I better just get to it then.

Friends, if this is the last time you hear from me, you will know I struck down and defeated by the Hairy Shower Monster and the Fuzzy Vaccum Fiend. But just know that I will not go down without a fight.

To the death!!!

Fun with Frodo

*muffled giggles*

*whispering* You’ll never guess what I just did!!!

The idea came to me immediately when my mom called to ask me to run an errand for her.

Mom: Hey, do you think you might possibly be able to pick up a cardboard cutout of Frodo from the theater sometime this week?

Me: Um… what????

Mom: You know, Frodo. I have a cardboard cutout on hold at the theater. For Casey.

Me: Ohhhh. Yeah, sure I can do that.

Meanwhile, I think to myself, “Hmmm… how can I use this to get back at my husband for all the times he has startled me?”

Waaa-haa-haaa

So I picked Frodo up from the theater after work (A sentence I never thought I would say. Or type.) and he hung out in my car until Tyler got done with his workout and jumped into the shower. As soon as I heard the water running, I ran out to my car to bring Frodo inside. Then I tested out hiding places for him.

The closet?

Hmm… this could be funny.

By the bed?

Not surprising enough.

The refridgerator nook?

I like it! It looks like he’s guarding the food. And he’s tucked away in this little corner so that you don’t really see him until you get right up close.

Hee hee…

I was feeling pretty good about myself up until the point where I sat down here and began to write this post. Then I remembered that I needed to put the meat I had defrosted back into the refridgerator. So I quickly scampered out to the kitchen and–

WAAAA??!!!!!

Oh, Frodo, you scared me!!! For a minute I thought a creepy kid was raiding our fridge and threatening me with a knife!

Wow, this was a good spot for him. I’m surprised my head didn’t hit the ceiling with how high I jumped. 

Oh, oh… Tyler’s done with his shower and headed out to the kitchen… wait… wait… here it comes….!!!

Tyler: Why is Frodo in our kitchen?

Really? That’s it? No jumping or pounding heartbeat or terror stricken scream?

Nope.

Well… that was anticlimactic.

My sneaky plan backfired. As I finish writing this post, I have now been startled by Frodo 4 times. And although I’m starting to get used to him, I think his stay here has been long enough. It’s time for him to continue his journey. Good thing I see my mom this weekend.

It’s been swell, Frodo, but there are far greater things in the world for you than to loiter around our humble dwelling with your scary sword and icky feet.