Oh, Balls!

I looked around my house the other day, and I couldn't believe my eyes. In literally every corner of my home, there were balls. Soccer balls, bouncy balls, footballs, baseballs, Wiffle balls, you name it. It's positively Freudian, I tell you.

With three boys, I knew to be prepared for balls. I just expected only six of them.

Back to Basics

I've been reading a lot lately about hormone imbalances. The fact that I am sobbing and thinking very dark thoughts every month in advance of my cycle led me to this conclusion. The only problem was: how did my hormones get out of balance, anyway? Turns out that estrogen dominance is pretty common, and estrogens are formed by contact with plastics (among other things). Plastic? How much plastic could I actually have in my life? Taking a look around, I see the answer is: quite a lot. Everything is encased in plastic, from fruit to meat to lemonade and milk. I make my kids' lunches and wrap them in? You guessed it: plastic. My baby drinks his milk from? A plastic sippy cup.

So, alright, plastics are bad, and they are ubiquitous. How am I supposed to live without them? Which got me to thinking. I am 39 years old. I have been on this planet during the plastic revolution, but I also remember another way of living. My mom used to cook every day. And even though Snak-Pak puddings were invented, and I dearly wanted one in my lunch, we didn't get them because they were too expensive. Lunch consisted of a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper, a couple of lemon cookies, and an apple. We used to get milk delivered by a milkman in a cute little truck in containers like this:

My mom used to go to the butcher store and get meat, and it came in a little package like this:

Although, trying to get the butcher to not wrap it all in plastic when he's done will gain you a few sideways looks.

The other night I was cleaning up after dinner, and I realized that everything that I had prepared usually gets put into my Smart-Spin Storage containers for leftovers. My mom didn't have these. What did we put leftovers in back in the day?

Oh, right, a glass bowl! Genius! It even comes with its own little glass cover.

So now I am reacquainting myself with my glassware. I am putting the plastic cups in storage for a little while, to see if we can live without them. I am going to try to buy my food actually fresh, organic as much as fiscally possible, and prepare it from scratch.

Wow, it seems like I've seen this lifestyle before. Yep, it was my mom's.

Yes, I'm one of THOSE parents

I swore it wouldn't happen. I have read the magazine articles about parents who get overly involved in their childrens' sporting events. Some shout profanity, some get into physical altercations, some are even banned from the field.

And until this year, I was a little smug. I watched my kids' games with enthusiasm, but never crossed the line to "Parent-Zilla" mode. Then my son got good at baseball.

I have two kids-one who is a decent outfielder, who makes good catches and occasionally hits the ball. My other son, though, is very good at baseball. He can pitch, catch, play any of the infield positions, and bat with strength consistently. It has been so much fun watching him this year that he sucked me in.

Yesterday's game was the clincher. It was a playoff game for our city league. Nick pitched the first five innings, and held the runs to three. A relief pitcher came in, and we went down by four runs. The next at-bat, the boys evened up the score. By the final at-bat, the opposing pitcher gave up a run, and walked two kids onto base. The final inning, the bases were loaded, and all we needed to win was one run. The little boy who was our final batter is not known for being a powerhouse. I don't think he's gotten a hit all year. With a full count, the pitcher lost control of the ball, hitting him, and walking in our final run. Never have I been so happy to have a kid hit by a ball.

The place went wild! Kids were cheering, crying, jumping all around. I was ringing my cow bell as hard as I could, and my pulse was racing. The adrenaline and norepinephrine were pulsing through my body.

And that's my story. I am now a fan-atic. I can't handle much more of this.

I still feel a little catecholemine-depleted today.

Pork-It's What's for Dinner

At least last night, anyway. I've found that with the belt-tightening that living in 2009 requires, I have been revisiting the recipes of my childhood. Thankfully, I was raised by a post-Depression era housewife who could feed up to 11 people every night armed with little more than a pound of hamburger, a sharp paring knife, and a swipe of red lipstick.

This recipe, though, has slightly different ingredients: pork chops, bread crumbs, eggs, and cream of mushroom soup.

You start by dipping the chops into an egg wash, then dipping them in bread crumbs, then placing them in a hot frying pan with a little veggie oil. Fry them until they look like this:

When they're nice and brown, mix together one can of cream of mushroom soup and 1/2 can of milk until it's smooth, and pour over the chops.

Simmer it at medium/low heat for about 45 minutes, then eat with a pile of mashed potatoes and a side of applesauce. Yum.

Drama Queen

We have been working on sprucing up the front of the house lately. Or, I should say, Tim has been working on that-I tend to be content sipping wine on the deck and occasionally (read: daily) watering his little darlings.

Generally, I don't have feelings about the members of our garden, but one specimen has garnered my attention: Miss Hydrangea. She is a drama queen of the highest order. While everyone else in the garden manages to work with the water amounts they are given, this little chippy just flails around and moans quietly, eventually giving up, until she looks like this:

So, like the good human companion that I am, I fell for it: I dumped water on Miss Hydrangea IMMEDIATELY. No one else in the garden got anything, just her, because it was an emergency. Not an hour and a half later, this is how she looked:

The little liar. I know she's smiling smugly on the inside.

Jon minus Kate=Yuck

I have been very sad ever since Jon and Kate Gosselin announced their divorce on TLC Monday night. I don't know why-it's not like they are close personal friends or anything. But as the last few minutes of the show played out, I felt sick to my stomach. I felt like I was watching something intimate that I should not have been privy to.

Lots of people have commented about Jon and Kate, how he was henpecked and she was a ballbuster. The main reason I liked their show is because I think she's a lot like me, only with a much hotter body, of course. But I tend to get short-tempered and erupt at my husband, and if I had eight kids, that would just happen more often. I, too, happen to be married to a very quiet guy who is not likely to return fire with fire. He just goes about his day and ignores my outbursts. 

But here is where it went wrong: I watched their show because it seemed like everyone in their family was enjoying the experience.  I seem to recall a show at the beginning where someone said, "If anyone gets to the point of not liking doing this, we cancel the show. No question." Not a direct quote, but something like that. Anyway, clearly, Jon decided that this was not what he wanted. No one knows what happens behind closed doors, certainly not me, but if he just started hanging out with other chicks without saying anything, then shame on him. But if he said his piece, and was ignored or overruled, shame on everyone involved. 

"Jon and Kate Plus 8" used to be fun to watch. Even when their lives got bigger than they ever imagined would happen, I never hated them for their success. I trusted Jon and Kate, though, to protect their marriage and children instead of getting caught up in all the drama. If I were to watch their show now, I would just feel like an accomplice to the destruction of a family. That's not entertainment, it's just yucky.

Really? That's the best you could do?

The rant for the day is people looking like they just rolled out of bed. At 2:00 PM. Why, oh why, can't a person run a comb through their hair, wash their face, and maybe put on some lipstick before leaving the house? Don't nobody look that good that they should skip it.

I just don't get this "At least I'm here" mentality. Screw that. Pull yourself together and have some self respect. And buy some real clothes, not just the same ratty sweatpants you slept in. Did I mention that the person I'm thinking of also was wearing slippers? To college? Ick.

It kind of reminds me of the lady going to the grocery store with curlers in her hair. Her explanation is, "I'm going somewhere later." Hello? You are somewhere right now. Don't we all deserve the view of your freshly pincurled self rather than seeing the little curlers lined up in formation with the lovely sheer babushka over it all? If you have to have pincurls, that is. Or a babushka.

I'm just sayin'.