Inside a Vegetarian's Pantry.

Today I'd like to launch a new series on this blog called "Inside a Vegetarian's...." We'll start things off by taking a look inside a vegetarian's pantry and discussing something we find there.

This is bouillon, children, but not beef bouillon. Not-Beef bouillon. (Pay attention to the punctuation and you'll see the difference.)

Not-Beef bouillon can be used to make delicious recipes such as Not-Beef noodle soup and Not-Beef gravy. And for the really adventurous, Not-Beef chocolate cake!

Yum.

The Big Questions.

Sometimes, when a person maintains a blog about the most mundane parts of her life, she loses sight of the bigger questions. This is why it's a good idea to shake up your routine now and then, children: hang out with other humans. Try a new type of lettuce*. 

This weekend, I ventured out of my comfort zone, and I found myself face to face with one of those eternal questions that have kept humans tossing and turning for centuries: will a seat belt keep a caged cat safer?

While I can't answer that question definitively, I can tell you that this particular cat didn't die during the course of this particular car ride. Oh, and the ketchup we purchased on the same trip?

It ended up in a crusty stain all over my dress. Which is why we can't have nice things.

 

*After years of buying green leaf, I decided to give red leaf a whirl--and boy was I blown away! It's leagues better--and not a penny more expensive! I just wish past Brenna had known sooner.

Fun-Time Cooking Tofu Party.

Children, guess what. Your mother learned how to deep-fry things. This has had an extremely positive impact on your parents' marriage, so be grateful, even if it means you eventually develop hypertension, heart disease, and Type Two Diabetes.

Anyway, this is the story of how I turned this boring little box of tofu...

into THIS sexy plate of deep-fried goodness.

Or at least it was going to be, but after I photographed the dessication stage (which, obviously, involves pressing the tofu with a stockpot weighted by a a 25-pound dumbbell), I got so distracted by trying to photograph my reflection in the side of the pot that I forgot to document all the intermediary steps.

So know this: your mother is a deep-frying genius. And sorry about how fat you all are.

 

The Future Is Here (Well, Not "Here" Here, But in This General Vicinity).

You know that feeling when it's mid-afternoon and you need a pick-me-up but brewing an entire pot of coffee would be tedious and wasteful because it's almost impossible to make just one cup*?

Well it turns out that there's a new invention that mainstream people have known about for months. It's called a "Keurig," which is the German word for "Good luck pronouncing," and it makes only ONE cup of coffee at a time. No leftovers, no wasted grounds.

Only wasted plastic containers that you throw in the trashcan, because who cares about the planet?!

*Hopefully you answered "no" to this question. You are far too young to be drinking coffee.

A Frustratingly Small Amount of Salsa.

Children, I have a question for you. If you were making yourself dinner and you used salsa, and after you poured as much as you wanted on your burrito, there was .00001 ounces left in the jar, would you a) be a man and pour the rest of the salsa on your burrito, then rinse the jar and put it in the recycling bin, or b) put the jar back in the refrigerator for the next guy to finish and rinse (including getting the crusty bits off the rim, which might require using the fingers or a sponge)?

If you answered a), congratulations. You are a reasonable person, and undoubtedly a delight to live with.

If you answered b), you clearly have inherited an awful lot of genes from your (ahem) taller parent.

And if you did answer b), children, I want you to know that I am very, very disappointed.

 (Shakes head.)

Meet Your Grandparents! (Clark Edition)

This weekend, your father and I drove out to the 'burbs to visit your grandparents, who kindly still feed us when we knock on their door. Hopefully, we will time your births exactly right, so that just as they're beginning to get absolutely sick to death of us, we will announce that we have made adorable new people who are currently living inside one of our bodies (we won't bore them with all the details) and whom they may play with, but only on the condition that they continue to feed us all when we knock on their door. Whenever we knock on their door.

Anyway, the main difference between your grandparents and your parents is that they have what are considered "useful" professions, and we are what is considered "freelance bloggers."

Your grandfather Bill, for example, is a preacher. While we were visiting, I sneezed and he said "Bless you," and you know what, children? It actually meant something.










And your grandmother Laurie, who is a doctor, examined your father's ears because they hurt, and diagnosed the problem with no difficulties*.

So let me apologize in advance for the day you and your spouses come to visit your dad and me in our suburban house and the most help I can offer you is to suggest you try shuffling your syntax so you have more trochees and fewer dactyls or perhaps a nice slant rhyme here and there or maybe an allusion to Greek mythology or two.

...I'm such a waste of space.

*Obviously, I can't repeat the problem here, because it would violate doctor-patient privilege AND spousal privilege, which I know about from Law & Order shows and because your father went to law school.

The Case of the Mysterious Hallway Feet

Whose feet are those?


Someone with long, elegant legs...

who isn't afraid to wear sweatshorts...


Why, your father's, of course!

A Trip to the Podiatrist's (Dramatic Reenactment).

As promised, children, I write to you today with an exclusive report on my experience at Dr. Lavell's office. Because I felt uncomfortable bringing my camera into the examination room, I have crafted a dramatic reenactment of what occurred. Please note that in this reenactment, the part of me will be played by Kringle Bear, the part of Dr. Lavell will be played by me, and the part of the syringe will be played by this meat thermometer*.

The Syringe (as portrayed by The Meat Thermometer)

So I went into the office and sat in the examination chair, prepared for the worst: that my foot would never heal, that I would never walk again, that the doctor would noticed I stopped shaving the hair on my big toe YEARS ago...

Brenna (as portrayed by K. Bear)

After a brief examination and some questions, Dr. Lavell said he thinks I have (drumroll)... a neuroma**! This is good because it means my stress fracture is healed. And also because it's treatable! So he did the first treatment by injecting Novocain into my nerve.

The Injection

But he also said I have bunion-prone feet. Good thing I got married when I did -- who KNOWS what these babies will look like in a few years. So anyway, things are much happier around here. I could be walking normally in as little as a week or so.

Oh, and I got a bandaid for my trouble.

*Why do we have this? I don't know. Possibly some well-meaning relative slipped it in the silverware drawer when I was out tending the herb garden.

**In an earlier draft, I accidentally wrote "a neurosis." Thank god I'm super-paranoid about rereading--wouldn't want such a factual inaccuracy to be on the blogosphere for all of eternity. Hahahaha!!!1!11

And He Says I'M the Artsy One.

Being the poet of the relationship means that I am often stereotyped as the more butterflies-and-rainbows, skipping-through-a-field-of-daisies-barefoot, oddly dressed one. And in a relationship of only two people, your father is the one who does that stereotyping.

But then I left the camera in his area of the apartment during our standard home-office workday, and turned it on later to find THESE:

Blurred lines, strange angles, closeups on wooden molding?

I think we know who the artsy one is, now don't we*?

*It's still me. I mean, I write poetry, for Christ's sake.

Resting My Foot.

As you may remember from several months ago, children, I currently have a bum foot. ("Why hasn't it healed, do you think?" "Probably because she don't eat meat." [Shakes head.])

Because I don't know why it's not better yet, I have decided to take action. Specifically, the action I take will be to use one of my two annually allotted doctor's visits (thanks, individually purchased health care plan) to see a podiatrist. TOMORROW.

Juicy details to follow, I promise. In the meantime, I'm trying to stay off the feet as much as possible.

And perhaps a bit more than possible? (Insert dramatic anti-gravity music.)

Illinois Laws.

Your father and I were happy to see, children, that his new employer takes Illinois state laws very seriously. As an environmentalist and generally "crunchy" member of society, I greatly appreciated that Kaplan Test Prep made clear in its new-employee onboarding documents that it does not condone the waste and destruction associated with unnecessary use of paper products.

Congratulations, corporate America. Another resounding victory for the planet.

The New Apartment.

Children, we finally made it out of Carbondale. Based on the information from this blog, you may have assumed that our life in Carbondale was boring and mundane. And you'd be absolutely right. Mostly because we're regular people, not rock stars, but partly because if we were rock stars and were snorting cocaine and destroying hotel rooms every night, I wouldn't blog about it for my future children, now would I?

Anyway, we have moved on. Moved up, if you will: up the state. To Chicago. Our new apartment has the kind of classy touches that were nowhere to be found in Carbondale: a built-in cabinet for our linens and books...

walls painted something other than boring white...

and a purpose-made hook for hanging the bananas!

Alas, all this extreme luxury comes at a price: the price of living in Chicago, to put it exactly, which is higher than the price (cost?) of living in Carbondale. We knew this was part of the bargain, but it was never more clear to us than when we realized at the grocery store this weekend the whole-grain tortillas are no longer within our budget.

So this is what's for dinner kids. May the lord have mercy on our blood sugar. Ole!

Busted!

How embarrassing, children. I've been caught on camera impersonating a physical therapist. By rolling a beer bottle along my friend's leg.

I'm so ashamed*.

*But also a little proud because she reported reduced tightness the next day.

Things I Wish I Understood.

Sometimes, there's an easy way to go about understanding the things we don't quite "get." For example, when someone like my cousin Marissa (who is your second cousin, once removed--it's a very ungainly relationship) wants to understand poverty, all she has to do is read a book about it.

 Or when your Auntie Danielle wants to understand about the Twitter, all she has to do is Internet it up on the Google.

But children, what I'd like to know is how can anyone possibly understand why my father easily gets a suntan that would make the cast of Jersey Shore jealous while I, your humble mother, remain roughly the color of all-purpose flour.

Sigh.

Bonus: easily understand DNA with this handy double-helix diagram! Each of the women on the stairs is a chromosome -- can you guess which one of us causes colorblindness? (Answer: none!)

Second bonus: look closely at the background, and you'll see a double-helix lamp, too! What a swirly, twirly world we inhabit!

Staying Hydrated.

As you well know, children, staying hydrated is an important part of having a happy and healthy vacation. Just to make sure we're all on the same page, let's review what exactly hydration means.

"Hydrate" comes from the name of the Greek monster "Hydra," who flailed wildly in the water and grew two new heads any time one of its heads was cut off. That is why today, when people drink a lot, they lose control of their limbs and see double.

We in the Lemieux / Clark / Garrity clan work hard at staying hydrated, no matter what the circumstances.

And we're not at all particular about where our hydration comes from, so long as it does not come from the tap.

Disclaimer: Please hydrate responsibly. Operating a motor vehicle while overly hydrated can lead to getting really mixed up about directions and also crashes. If you're expecting a child, go ahead an hydrate, as long as you're expecting that child for dinner or an afternoon playdate. If you're pregnant (and I hope you'd tell me if you were!), don't even think about hydrating (unless you're French, in which case you can probably drink a glass of wine every now and then without people totally freaking out at you).