Simple and Tasty Homemade Iced Tea Recipes

So here is my latest Yahoo! article, just in time for summer's slightly belated arrival. Simple, healthful  homemade iced tea; is there anything better?!?

These recipes are easily customizable to your personal tastes and preferences. Use whatever sweeteners you prefer (or none at all). Add fresh fruits, berries, or herbs for an added kick. Throw it in an old school mason jar with a lemon wedge and serve on a super cute retro serving dish for added Hostess With The Most-est brownie points.

There are no rules, so get creative and enjoy!

Why I Chose to be a Stay-At-Home-Mom

Here is the second article from a couple weeks ago.

5 Lessons of Homeownership

Here is one of two articles I published a couple weeks ago, but I've been too busy and scatterbrained to share them!

I be jammin'

Some people spent yesterday watching the absolutely EPIC playoffs (where both of my teams won!)

I spent it doing this...

Canning jam! Raspberry, and blackberry-raspberry, to be precise.

And yeah, I made up the last one. From scratch. And it was delicious.

Domesticity for the win, baby!

I love canning. There's something soothing and comforting about it. It's almost Zen-like for me.

Plus, you end up with beautiful jars of homemade food!

(Next up, salsa. Well, soon, anyway.)

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have school work to tend to. Because the soul-crushing stress is beginning to get to me…

Head colds and rocking chairs

I'm sick again.

I don't know what the deal is, but I've just been walloped the last few weeks with one illness after another. I assume my current levels of stress and lack of sleep probably have something to do with it. But if this is the way cold and flu season is stacking up, I'm totally screwed!

Clearly the next logical option...

Fall quarter is just around the corner for me, and I'm experiencing this weird combination of being excited and nauseatingly stressed about it. On the one hand, I'm the nerd that likes school and learning and challenging myself academically. On the other hand, I have enough going on right now that adding one more thing makes my brain hurt.

But I just need to keep plugging away at it. So close to being done, can't crap out now.

On the plus side, potty training has been going well. Monkey is managing to stay dry most of the time, and likes the reward of getting to pick out what color M&M he wants after a successful "go". Poops are still a solely-in-the-diaper thing, but I figure I'll address one battle at a time.

The end of the diaper era is nigh!

We went up to see the house this weekend. Seeing as how we live so far away right now, I'm not up in Cheyenne very often, and therefore hadn't seen the house in person in probably three weeks or so. It was very cool! The drywall is up, and most of the mudding and taping was done. The siding had also been started too. It looks so much more like an actual house now, rather than just some generic construction site, it was hard not to get all giddy about it. We're a month (ish) away from realizing our dream!

My favorite part of the house so far? As random as it sounds, it's the front porch.

It's huge! And it's just so pretty. And the way it is situated, it's almost totally blocked from the wind, so we'll actually be able to sit out there and enjoy it.

I'm very much looking forward to sitting on my giant porch in my cute little rocking chair with a cup o' tea and a good book. Because clearly I'm almost-30 going on almost-70...

Exactly

So I'm trying a new recipe tonight, and I'm a little concerned. It's the first meal that has sounded good to me in a few days. And that's the issue. See, when I'm sick, my tastes are usually pretty out of whack, so the fact that this recipe sounds really yummy to me makes me worried that it will actually taste like the feet of 18 dead frogs. (Nice visual, eh?)

We'll see. If it's yummy, I'll share it on here. If not, we'll just pretend we never had this conversation.

TGIF and other nonsense

It's Friday!

The weekend is officially here, and I am officially stoked.

I love weekends. I live for weekends.

Especially right now, when life is incredibly busy and going to get even more so in the coming weeks.

First, with our insane commuting schedule living so far away from Cheyenne. It's inconvenient, to say the least. Needless to say, we're all looking forward to the house being done and our lives resuming some semblance of a normal schedule.

Second, I start school in a couple of weeks, so once again I will be plunged into the chaos of earning a degree whilst running a household and raising three children and all that brouhaha. But only three quarters left, so I just need to buckle down for...9 more months...

It's depressing when I put it that way...

And third, we're moving soon. Again. Moving is one of the most stressful events in a person's life. And we will have done it twice in four months. Just thinking about that makes my eye twitch.

But we did get good news on the house! I think I mentioned before about how our builders had a very different timeframe than us when it came to the house being done. They had been planning on the end of November. Our purchase contract states our closing date is at the end of October. Slightly big difference, yes?

Well, once this came to light there was a flurry of *slightly intense* conversations between us, our real estate agent, and the builders. The builders came back with a promise that we'd be in no later than the middle of November. Considering our lease ends November 15, that was cutting it a little close, but what can we do?

But then we got a text yesterday from the builder saying that the carpet order came in, so now all the materials are in and ready to go. She said it looks like we're on track for the end of October after all!

Granted, given all the hiccups and headaches we've had so far, I'm not holding my breath on that.

But still. Having that be feasible?

Totally cool with me!

So yes, right now weekends are my solace, my peace, my zen. It's the only time of the week for the foreseeable future that I can do what I want, and according to the schedule that works for me.

TGIF baby!

Good luck not having this song stuck in your
 head all weekend now!

A lesson in futility... and bribery

Potty training.

It's probably the bane of every parent's existence.

It's a stressful, exhausting period of time when every trip to the store, red light, traffic jam, or busy restroom is cause for a mild panic attack.

And there is no "magic formula" because every kid is different.

Some master it in a couple of weeks. Others make you feel like you'll be sending them to school in diapers.

With my oldest, he never had a pee accident (besides aiming issues), but the logistics of choosing between standing to pee and sitting to poop resulted in a few... unpleasant surprises.

With my daughter, she never had a poop accident, because the thought horrified her. However, she would wait until the very last possible second before heading to the potty, and several pee accidents resulted.

With my youngest... well, we're still working at it. Things were going so well a few months ago. And then... I don't know. He lost interest. He'll ask to use the potty immediately after going in his diaper. No matter how many times I ask him if he needs to go, or have him sit and try, he just... won't. All diaper, all the time.

Le sigh.

Because there's nothing like futility.

So what have I decided to do? Well I'm going to take a page out of the Bad Parenting Manual and resort to bribery.

Yes, that's right folks. I need something to act as an incentive, something to ignite his interest in potty training.

And that something is M&Ms.

Step aside, ma'am, we'll take it from here

One for a successful pee. Two for a successful poop. (Get it, get it?!?)

Because I'm sick of diapers. He's almost three-and-a-half. I want the diapers to go away. And I'm going to find whatever way works to make that happen.

Parent Of The Year, over here.

Hey, it could be worse!

(That picture never fails to crack me up)

Cat sh*t and hissy fits

My oh my.

Today has been quite... trying. For my soul. My patience. My sanity. My caffeine levels.

Things started off fairly well. Alarm went off at the crack of dawn. I got up, rustled my two oldest children out of bed and did the herding cats routine to get them ready for school.

I then proceeded to rustle The Husband up by siccing the three-year-old on him.

Lunches packed, homework gathered, bedhead tamed, breakfast doled out, and hugs and kisses distributed, and the kids and The Husband were on their way.

Little One and I then snuggled on the couch and watched a few of his morning shows on Sprout.

(I hate to admit that I don't despise them as much as I should)

(Though I'm not overly fond of the new Wiggles line up, and I miss DirtGirlWorld and Play With Me Sesame)

(And the fact that I have enough knowledge on this topic to have an opinion is... sad)

Anyhoodle, the day progressed, and being that it was cold and rainy today, I had grand plans to drink tea and read David McCullough's John Adams. As my first cup brewed on the side table next to me, I snuggled under the electric blanket and began to read.

I could hear the cat in the bathroom, scratching around in his litter box. I paid no attention, other than to remind myself to scoop it once my tea was done (another of my unpleasant but necessary morning chores).

The cat meandered out of the bathroom and plopped down next to the coffee table to... ahem... tend to his bits, as he always does after visiting the litter box. Gross, but nothing new.

But then "The Thing" happened; the thing that always alerts me that something is not right with the cat. He jumped up, made this weird panicky "mreow" sound, and started walking in circles shaking his legs.

I have dubbed this the "poop shimmy".

And nothing good ever comes from it.

So I started following him around, trying to get a glimpse of what was stressing him out. I couldn't see it, but I started to be able to smell it.

I gingerly grabbed him, lifted his tail (to which he protested), and saw.... it.

Big ol' turd stuck to the base of his tail.

Le sigh.

See, my cat is an Asian Long-Haired. Which, from what the vet told me (because I'm clearly not an expert) is basically one step down from a Persian.

Dude is FLUFFY.

Which makes for utter cuteness.

But it also makes for a fecal danger zone around his backdoor.

This is resolved through regular bum trimmings. But we've been busy lately, and kept putting it off. Ironically, I had just told The Husband last night that this weekend we needed to give him a good bath and then trim him up.

Too late!

So upon discovering his little fur nugget, I descended into "EWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEW!!!!!" mode.

Still holding him (away from my body, obviously), I grabbed the nearest cleaning implement I could find, which happened to be Clorox wipes. I used two of those to pull off the biggest chunk of nasty, and then realized that- perhaps- those weren't the best things to use on my poor, poopy kitty.

I can just hear PETA collectively chastising me. I'm sorry! I panicked!

So I brought the cat into the bathroom, scruffed him to hold him in place on the floor, and used much more cat-friendly baby wipes to clean his bum with.

Ten minutes, twenty baby wipes, one pissed off cat, and one hand cramp later, his bum was as clean as I could possibly get it. I released him, and he immediately jumped in the bathtub to hide from me (and go to town on himself).

I scrubbed my hands until they were sore, searched the entire apartment for any possible dingleberries he may have dropped, and then plopped down on the couch exhausted. It's quite tiring holding a squirming, angry, growling cat in place so you can scrape poop off his butt fir.

Just so you know.

I finished my now almost cold cup of tea, but was too distracted to continue reading. I started laundry and puttered around for a bit, and then it came time for Little One's nap time. Amazingly enough, he didn't have a meltdown over having to lay down, which I (mistakenly) took as being a good sign.

He laid down, I checked on him about twenty minutes later to make sure he had actually gone to sleep (never a safe assumption with a three-year-old), and then made my second cup of tea.

The afternoon progressed fairly uneventfully, which I appreciated. But then I began to realize that Little One had been asleep far longer than usual. And it made me a little... apprehensive.

I was just about to go check on him when the door to his bedroom opened, and he came bouncing out, all bright and happy and chipper.

Again, my very wrong assumption was just that he had had a really good nap. I got him his sippy cup and a snack, and then went into the room to open the curtains for him so he could play.

And then I saw it.

A ball of red yarn on the floor.

Sprinklings of red yarn across his bed.

His Jessie doll (from Toy Story) tucked in a clump next to the bed.

And my daughter's craft scissors out of their usual pencil box...

Two and two quickly came together.

Jessie got a haircut!

Oy vey.

No wonder nap time seemed to take forever! He had probably been awake for at least a half hour or so, and had gotten creative.

Poor Jessie. It's not a pretty look!

So Little One got a talking to about not playing with scissors and not cutting people's or doll's hair. He went in time out for a few minutes to get the point across. And then he apologized and fluttered off to go play.

While I was annoyed at the haircutting snafu, I was prepared to let it go. He's only three, he doesn't know better, and it was only yarn.

But then things spiraled. Rapidly.

Little One asked for my help in pulling the Lego bin and toy box out, so I did.

And the hissy fits began.

You see, I made the horrible mistake of not putting the toy box exactly where he wanted it, on account of his request being unrealistic (I'm not going to rearrange bedroom furniture just so the toy box can go where the dresser stands!)

A meltdown of apocalyptic measures commenced. Time out ensued. And discussion of proper behavior, using our words, etc followed. He apologized, hugged me, and went back to play.

Upon walking in his bedroom, however, he remembered why he was been so ferklemped in the first place.

That damn toy box!

Cue another meltdown.

Another (longer) time out.

Another discussion.

More apologies, more hugs, and off to play again.

And then the toy box...

I think you see where the cyclical nature of my afternoon is going with this.

Suffice it to say, at some point in the battle over the toy box positioning, I brewed myself the third cup of tea.

It was desperately needed if I was to refrain from going nu-cu-lar (thanks Dubya for that!)

Finally, I just pushed the toy box back where it was to begin with. Problem solved, right?

Dear god no.

Enter the most epic breakdown in the history of toddlerhood.

He screamed. He cried. He growled. He called me names and told me he hated me. He tried to hit and kick me (a new development). He told me he didn't need me anymore and to leave him alone (good luck with that one, who's gonna change your diapers?) It got so ridiculously over the top that I had a hard time not laughing. It's also surprising how hurtful a three-year-old is capable of being!

Time out was the super-duper-Lord-of-the-Rings-marathon kind of extended version. He stayed there until daddy got home!

'Cause mommy was about to develop a drinking problem.

And then? The most annoying thing of all. Daddy gets home from work, and like magic, Little One is all better. Crisis over. Mood perfect.

There isn't enough caffeine in the world...

Life has been a bit... stressful... over the last couple of weeks. And this week it's going to get a whole lot more so (but in more of a good way).

So I mentioned about a week and a half ago about the absolute shit day I was having. I'd been feeling ill, our apartment had come under assault by a airborne chunk of concrete, and then to top it all off, it was looking like our mortgage was going to fall through because of some stupid seven-and-a-half-year-old medical debt that was less than half of a percentage of the purchase price of the house we are building.

We have also disputed this debt in the past, the credit bureaus themselves have disputed the debt, and I also have a payment stub from seven years ago showing that one of the debts they have listed was already paid in full! So clearly things are not on the up and up.

We tried contacting the company holding the debt, and they were, well, awful, to put it mildly. They not only wanted the entire amount of the debt listed (despite the fact that part of it was paid years ago and the credit bureaus dispute that rest is even ours), but they also wanted to tack on other debt that they claimed they had of ours (even though it didn't show up on our credit and they admitted they couldn't prove it was ours in the first place). On top of that, they refused to give us anything in writing saying the debt would have been paid off and they refused to remove it from our credit even if we paid the entire amount of NOT OUR debt.

Shady, shady, shady.

We actually looked up this company, and apparently, this is what they do. They have been sued many times because of it. They buy old debts from other, more legit collection companies, they pool the debts into one big group, then assign them randomly to people. They don't actually pay off the debts with the money they collect, they don't follow collection regulations, and the fact that they are still in business is mind-boggling to me.

So we called the mortgage guy we had been working with and told him what was going on, thinking he would be understanding and be willing to work around this hiccup. Especially since we have such a large down payment ready to go.

Nope.

He refused to move forward on our mortgage without that final debt being removed from our credit. Never mind the fact that it is over seven years old and shouldn't even be on our credit anymore anyway. Never mind the fact that I had records of paying the debt they were claiming we owed. Never mind the fact that we had records of the credit bureaus trying to remove this debt from our credit and this company refusing. And never mind the fact that this company is involved in illegal collection practices, hadn't contacted us over these supposedly important debts, and the amount they claimed we owed would have in no way impacted our ability to pay our bills.

Dude was just an ass. Plain and simple.

So after a day or two of feeling really down, watching our dreams crumble over something that should never have been an issue in the first place (I mean, we already bought one house for crissake, and this debt would have been on there then, and it didn't matter!), we decided to rally.

I'm not a quitter. I never have been.

If there is a way to make it work, by God I'm going to find it.

So I did!

We contacted our previous mortgage broker in Washington and explained the situation to him, and he actually laughed out loud at how ridiculous it all was! He said that no, this debt should never have mattered in the first place, given its age AND the documented history of trying to address it. He said that any mortgage broker worth their salt knows that this particular collection agency is a total scam and is generally just ignored. He said that if he were our broker, he could 99.99% guarantee us the mortgage.

Unfortunately, he's not licensed in Wyoming.

Le sigh.

But we found someone in the same parent company that is! And he also thought the crap we had been put through was insane. And he also guaranteed us it wouldn't be an issue and that he could get the mortgage through underwriting without a hitch. And he said that given how good our credit is, we qualify for the best government loans available, which means lower interest rates, which is pretty sweet.

So we are back on track.

We fired the douchebag mortgage guy, and our real estate agent, Mike, has even ceased recommending people to him because of all this. Mike said this guy used to be really good and go out of his way for his mortgage customers, but lately he's been all about the money, charging higher interest rates for no reason other than the added profit, not being willing to work around any hiccup in someone's credit (even though almost all people have a hiccup or two), not answering or returning phone calls, and just being an arrogant jerk in general. Mike said our situation with him was the last straw. If this guy wasn't even able to help someone with as good of credit and as much of a down payment as we have, he doesn't deserve Mike's business.

I concur!

So we got that settled. I will still be a little nervous, because nothing is ever certain until it is complete. So until we have signed papers and have those keys in our hands, I'll be a little antsy. But we can resume being excited about our house. And that's a good feeling.

So that was why the past couple of weeks have been stressful.

This coming week is a whole other, albeit more tolerable, ball game.

The kids start school on Tuesday. They will be attending the school that is just down the road from our future house, which will be super convenient once we're living there.

Until then, however? Logistical nightmare.

Right now we live almost an hour away. And we have to plan for morning traffic heading north. The plan for the next couple of months is for The Husband to take the kids to school on his way to work, and then pick them up after school and bring them home when he's done. The hour and a half between school getting out and Husband's work being done, the kids will hang out in his office and do homework.

This is the most sensible plan, though it isn't the most desirable. We decided it doesn't make sense for both of us to be driving back and forth from Fort Collins to Cheyenne every day. The gas budget would absolutely explode!!!

BUT...

This week? The Husband is in meetings all week for a huge conversion they're working on at the hospital.

Which means that I have to take the kids and pick them up all week. I was originally planning on going for the open house and the first day of school, obviously, but now it's an all week thing. And I weep for my gas consumption!

We decided that I'd just plan ahead, bring snacks and toys and all the necessary provisions, and we'd all drive together in the morning, drop The Husband off at work on the way to the school, and then me and Monkey would just hang out in Cheyenne all day.

All. Freaking. Day.

Cheyenne's great and all. But there's only so much to do! And I'll have eight hours every day to kill. I think we will be spending a lot of time at the many parks in town.

BUT!

The trusses for the roof of our house began going up on Friday! Which means the framing will be done very shortly! Which means we will get to meet with the builder to do our framing walk through and pick out everything for the house!

Cabinets. Countertops. Flooring. Finishes. Appliances.

I'm hoping we will get to do that this week.

Because, really?!? Otherwise it's going to be a long, boring week...

Apparently Louis C.K. hasn't spend much time in Cheyenne...

Footprints on my heart

I think it is a universal understanding that good friends are hard to come by. In this great big world of 7 billion people, finding individuals who truly accept you for you, warts and all, is tricky. People want you to fit into their preconceived mold; they want to define you, shape you, control you, and turn you into their version of who they think you should be.

It's shitty, but true.

Growing up, I had several friends through elementary school and high school who were like that. I was told who to be, what to think, how to act, what I did or did not like, and sadly I accepted that for myself.

Until one day I didn't.

Needless to say, I have sufficiently lost contact with all of those "friends".

Now that I am approaching my 30s, it has become increasingly clear to me that it's not the quantity of friends you have, it's the quality.

In keeping with that, I really only have three true friends in my life. Yes, I have many more people that I would call my friends, several of whom I know I could call for help in a crisis or whatever.

But only three of them are people that I feel truly "get" me. People I could call sobbing at 3am, and they would drop everything to be there for me. And I for them.

The first is my sister. Growing up, we hated each other. Like, truly despised each other's existence. I was the irritated older sister, she was the spoiled younger sister. We fought. We threw things at each other. We called each other the meanest names we could think of. She bit me. I kicked her. Once she even pulled a knife on me!

(It was a butter knife, and she was about 4 or 5, but still)

(I still give her shit for it)

It wasn't until she was about 15 or so that we started to actually enjoy each other's company. After she graduated high school, she lived with The Husband and I off and on for almost two years, and while that was difficult in some ways, it was also a lot of fun and brought us closer together. She has been there for me through some tough stuff, and I for her, and I love her dearly and miss her a ton now that we've moved.

I don't think I truly appreciated how much I enjoyed getting to spend time with her or talk to her regularly, and now that we're 1200 miles away, I get sad thinking about it. I'm getting a little ferklemped right now actually, so moving on!

The second friend is my dear friend Age. She and I have been friends for 25 years.

Yeah. Saying that makes me feel reaaaallly old...

But we were barely 5 when we met, so the math isn't as devastating as it sounds.

Age was my first (and really only) best friend. She was my other half! We did everything together growing up. Sledding and camping and every single birthday and eight million sleepovers. We would play dress up until the wee hours of the morning, and then her parents would make the best pancakes in the world- still unrivaled by any other pancakes, ever.

Like, seriously, don't even try. Kotyk Pancakes for the win.

She had the cool video game systems that my family couldn't afford, and I developed my love of Super Mario and Donkey Kong at her house. We had a pet nail (one of those industrial sized rail road nails?) (yeah... I don't know... overactive imaginations?) attached to a meltwater runoff pipe on the walk home from the bus stop, and we named her Nailey and dressed her up in grasses and leaves and whatnot. We made snow forts and climbed trees and picked cherries and spent more time on the banks of the Columbia River than I can even remember (though I distinctly remember the intense terror I felt every time we went down there, because of the insane amounts of poison ivy plants and my irrational fear of touching said poison ivy) (which I still have today...) I practically lived at her house, and her parents still consider me one of their daughters.

We certainly had our ups and downs. She was the domineering one (as the youngest of three girls, I think she was exerting her power any way she could) and I was a total pushover. We fought like cats and dogs, but never stayed away too long (even when we probably should have). In about the 6th grade, we had a temporary friendship divorce, but I think it only lasted maybe a month or so? After that we pretty much stopped fighting (unless she was hanging out with one of the Amandas. The Amandas were never nice to me. Bitches) and our lifelong friendship was cemented.

I moved away at the end of 8th grade, and against all odds and expectations (and several hundred miles), we stayed in touch and stayed friends. While we don't see each other as often as we'd like, we still make it work. She is a part of me. She has known me the longest, put up with me and my idiosyncrasies, and accepts me fully (as I do her). Because of her (and her family) I had a happier childhood than I otherwise would have. We have literally and figuratively grown up together. I know that she will always be in my heart and in my life, and I love her and miss her dearly.

(Happy Birthday tomorrow!!!)

The third friend is my soul-sista Kym. I swear, meeting her was like meeting my (blonde, much shorter, much larger-breasted) alter ego. Our husbands find it a little scary how alike we are. She and I clicked instantly, which almost never happens for me. I always feel like I have to put on a facade with people, especially when I first meet them. But with Kym, I was instantly comfortable with her. I can totally be myself around her, and nothing phases her. While we've only known each other a short while, I feel like I've known her forever. We've supported each other through life's bullshit, we've laughed, we've cried, our kids are best friends, even our husbands get along great.

Leaving Kym was one of the hardest parts of moving to Wyoming (besides my family, of course). She was the first person I'd met, in the town I'd lived in for over 6 years, with whom I actually genuinely clicked. Our families instantly bonded, and I could easily see us all growing old together, sitting on our back deck, drinking beers and commiserating about what crazy thing our kids did, or the uber-mom up the street and the bitchy thing she said this time, or the craziness of extended family.

I miss them terribly, my kids miss their kids, and when I get particularly lonely or stressed out down here, I wish I could just walk up the street to Kym's, plop on her couch, play with Baby-Baby, and chit-chat for hours.

Faking fajitas

Okay.

So I know my posts have been a little food obsessed lately.

But here's another one.

Because my makeshift chicken and black bean fajitas?

Ohmygodtheyweresogood!!!

I'm not gonna lie, I was a little nervous about them. Because I'm not really that throw-random-ingredients-together-and-presto-gourmet-meal kind of cook.

I'm more of a follow-the-recipe-exactly-the-first-few-times-and-eventually-start-perosnalizing-it.

The Husband?

He's like the freaking Iron Chef.

Hand him some random ingredients, give him 20 minutes, and POOF, you have yourself a gourmet meal that always tastes great.

(Well, except for the one time with the homemade steak marinade that ended up tasting like feet and bandaids. But that was a one-off)

I've always been a recipe follower. Except for garlic. I always- ALWAYS- add extra garlic. Because I don't believe there is such a thing as too much garlic.

But I digress.

So last night, I was nervous about the fajitas, and truly had very low expectations for them.

But you know what?!?

I Iron-Chef-ed those bitches!

Sarah's Chicken and Black Bean Fajitas

1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
Approximately 1 lb boneless skinless chicken breasts (I used three large ones, I'm guessing they were about one pound)
1 lime
1 medium onion, sliced into strips
2 bell peppers, sliced into strips
1 15 oz can reduced sodium black beans, rinsed and drained
Sea salt (to taste)
Fresh ground black pepper (to taste)
Garlic powder (to taste)
Taco seasoning (approx. 1/2 cup seasoning to 1 1/2 cups water- I didn't really measure)

I salted and peppered both sides of the chicken breasts, then sliced them into thin strips. I heated the olive oil in a large nonstick frying pan over medium heat, then added the chicken. I sprinkled the chicken with more sea salt, and ample garlic powder and let it cook, stirring occasionally.

Once the chicken was mostly cooked, I rolled the lime under my palm to release the juices, then cut it in half and squeezed the juice out over the cooking chicken (and added a bit more garlic, because that's how I roll).

Once the chicken was fully cooked, I added the bell peppers and onion, and sautéed it all until the veggies were tender-crisp. Then I poured in the black beans and the mixed taco seasoning, stirred, and let it simmer until it was thick and bubbly.

Et voila!

Serve with a bit of grated cheddar and your favorite toppings as desired. I didn't even add salsa or anything to mine though, because it was that flavorful!

You're doing it wrong

So in my last post I mentioned how I was making roasted chicken and veggies in the crock pot, and I just wanted to say... HOLY CRAP WAS IT DELICIOUS!!!!!

Super yummy.

The recipe calls for chicken thighs because they stay tender throughout the long cooking time, but since they make me gag I went for chicken breasts instead. I was worried they would dry out or something, but nope! Tender, juicy, yummy, all around awesomeness. I've also never cooked with pearl onions before, and I really liked them. They added a good flavor without being too overpowering. That one is definitely going in my usual rotation!

Tonight I'm making chicken and black bean fajitas. I don't really have a specific recipe for it, I'm just kinda winging it. Combining a little bit of this one with a little bit of that one- hopefully it turns out well.

I have extra chicken breasts from the crock pot meal (I bought too many) and I need to do something with them before they spoil, and fajitas are delicious, so why not?!?

Plus, I'm trying to make healthier meals, since with the whole moving brouhaha our eating habits certainly took a hit. Time to get back on track!

So this week has been a busy one for me. We finally have an address for the lot we are building on, which not only makes it seem a little more real, but it also allowed me to finally be able to register the kids for school.

It's been stressing me out, because school starts earlier here than back in Washington, so there was added pressure to get them registered and start the back to school shopping and all that jazz. Plus, having them in school was a major component in starting to feel more settled here. Even though our living situation is in a state of limbo until the house in finished, having the kids' school situated is evidence that we are here to stay, that this is our home now.

It's a good feeling.

I had some errands to run up in Cheyenne yesterday, so I got a chance to swing by our property and check out the progress on the house.

*drumroll please*

We have the beginnings of the basement and the foundation! Whoohoo!

There is a giant hole, several huge dirt piles, a rebar pile, and the beginning framing of the foundation with the first layer of concrete poured.

So, you know, no where near done, but progress nonetheless.

Okay, so now on to the real reason for this post. Music.

I've realized that I was pretty spoiled back in Seattle when it came to radio stations to listen to. I discussed my musical tastes and radio station preferences awhile back, and how between the four stations I was able to satisfy all my musical tastes.

Suffice it to say that I am not so lucky down here.

So far I have only found one, yes ONE, rock station. Tons of country, tons of Christian, a few Spanish stations, and a few pop stations that seem to combine anything from 1995 on- R&B, boy bands, hip hop, girl groups, etc- into a "new music" station.

But their crappy tastes in pop music don't concern me, as I don't listen to it.

What concerns me is what seems to constitute "classic rock" in northern Colorado.

While, yes, they play plenty of good stuff- Ozzy, Metallica, Zeppelin, The Who, all the ones you'd expect (and actually a few that I've not heard before, which is cool)- they also throw in random bands too. And therein lies the issue.

Because Stone Temple Pilots? Alice in Chains? Green Day? Nirvana? I love them all...

BUT THEY ARE NOT CLASSIC ROCK!!!!!

Apparently the division between classic rock, heavy metal, and alternative rock does not exist here.

And it's killing me.

Every time I hear Man In The Box, Basketcase, Creep, or Come As You Are, I just shake my head and think "You're doing it wrong!!!"

Come on Denver, don't let me down.

You need to add two more radio stations to your repertoire: alt rock, and metal.

Because they're different than classic rock.

Still awesome.

Just different.

Culinary creativity

So lately... as in the past several months... I've been in somewhat of a cooking rut.

Like, big time.

Between the kids' school schedule, my school demands, and the daily comings and goings of life in general, creative cooking gave way to old favorites. Same ol' same ol'. Yummy, but boring and predictable!

But since it is summer time, and since I lack much else to do since moving to a new state and not yet feeling established here, I have branched out and began experimenting with some new recipes.

Last week, I made jambalaya for the first time.

Mine didn't look this good :-(

To be honest, I didn't like it. The Husband, and my two boys did. My daughter and I... not so much.

It wasn't that it tasted bad or anything. For my daughter, I think she just found it too spicy. For me, I found it a little dry, and it was lacking something- something I couldn't put my finger on. So I'm going to find a new recipe and try again.

Yesterday was much different. I made a Four-Cheese Penne, and holy crap balls it was delicious!!!

Granted, for someone who is sensitive to dairy, it wasn't the smartest choice, per se. But it was super yummy all the same. It just requires a little portion control- both for the extreme amount of cheese in it, and for the simple fact that it is crazy high in calories and sodium. I made steamed broccoli to go with it, in an attempt to beef up the health factor of the meal. And I just have a deep love of steamed broccoli!

Crazy delicious!!!

Tonight, I'm going for something quite a bit healthier. Chicken and Roasted Veggies. In the crock pot! (I haven't used my crock pot in... years)

I feel like chicken tonight, like chicken tonight

I'm using chicken breasts, rather than thighs, because I find chicken thighs repulsive. I also added extra gravy to it, because I added extra potatoes, so I figured it should balance out (hopefully). This recipe has less than half the calories of the penne dish, as well as less than half the sodium content. And the addition of veggies is always a plus in my book!

I may make some homemade bread to go with it, but I haven't decided yet.

I'll let you know how it turns out!

Both the chicken and penne recipes came from this little Casserole & Slow Cooker cookbook I grabbed one day in the check-out line at the grocery store. And then proceeded to forget about. For years.

Upon moving, I rediscovered it in my stacks of cookbooks, and the rest is history!

Yummy, easy, cheap, and family-friendly recipes? Score!

Navigating the parent trap

My last post shared an article about that moment when you see your kids as they are; when you realize where you are in life, and you have that singular, acute moment of parental and personal clarity.

The thing that article didn't mention, though, is that this happens far more frequently. These little moments are not a once-per-decade occurrence. Hell, I have them a couple times a week, at least!

It's true, most of your parenting time consists of something akin to herding cats. You're running around in circles, trying to keep the peace; reminding the youngest one to keep their hands to themselves and use their words and not their fists; reminding the oldest one to speak kindly and stop bossing the others around like they're minions; and keeping the middle one from using her pillow as a weapon when her brothers piss her off for the zillionth time today.

In short, daily life is chaos. It's hectic. It's challenging. And some days you feel like an utter failure and want nothing more than to crawl back in bed, curl up in a ball under the blankets, and imagine yourself on a sandy beach sipping a very strong tropical cocktail (or three).

But in between those moments of Are-You-Freaking-Kidding-Me-What-Made-You-Think-Climbing-The-Refridgerater-Was-A-Good-Idea, there are moments of joy, beauty, and utter parental pride.

And yes, that occasional clarity where you see your children as individuals with unique personalities and relatable stages in life (as opposed to vindictive hell spawns seeking to make you crazy one "quit touching my Legos" argument at a time).

I have three children- Bug, Sweet Pea, and Monkey.

(Not their real names, obviously. I'm a hippie, yes, but not quite to that level!)

Bug is my oldest. In terms of personality, he is the most like me. He's very sensitive and academic. He loves to read, he has an insatiable appetite for knowledge, and dreams of being an architect or engineer when he grows up. He loves nature and being outdoors. He has a very high intellect, and he knows it, which makes for confidence and success in the advanced classes, as well as an insufferable know-it-all tendency (we're working on that). Lately, it's like he has suddenly become this childlike grown-up. I find myself being able to relate to him on a more mature level. We can have full conversations about geology or recycling or global warming or the sneaky intentions of marketing. Certain things he says, as well as certain actions and characteristics, floor me on a regular basis because they make him seem so grown up. At times he is all child. Other moments, total teenager. It's weird and heartbreaking and fun and emotionally trying all at the same time.

Oh yeah, and he started puberty. And that's been a real hoot...

Sweet Pea is my middle child. She was born premature, but is now the picture of health and vitality, though I still worry sometimes. She loves animals (like, straight up Little Miss Dr. Doolittle). She is funny, goofy, a show-off, and very artistic. She loves to draw and craft and create. She possesses a sheer joy for life that I admire and hope she holds on to as she grows up. She is athletic (she gets that from her daddy!) and confident in her physical abilities, but is also very timid and sensitive. She is wicked smart but still questions her academic abilities. We are working to build her up in that manner, but she still compares herself to her brother and has a hard time understanding that he is older and therefore farther along in school. She dreams of being a paleontologist and a veterinarian, simultaneously. She is also sassy as all hell. And beautiful. Daddy is going to need to invest in a shotgun as she approaches middle school! She is still young, yet I occasionally see glimpses of who she will be when she is older. Certain things she says and does are so teen-like that it freaks me out. She and I are also the most different in terms of personality, so I know that we will have our mother-daughter struggles as she gets older. I dread her teen years...

Monkey is my baby. Only he's not a baby anymore. It feels like he is growing up too quickly- I think he's trying to catch up to his older siblings. He is all boy- rambunctious, wild, physical. He loves to run and jump and climb and yell and tumble and explore. He has no fear, which of course instills fear in me! He looks the most like me, to an eerie degree. I can't yet tell whose personality he takes after the most, but he is very sweet and loving and kind. He loves animals just as much as his sister. He is intelligent and sensitive, but also adventurous and a little crazy. I think he'll be the one to end up spending a night or two in jail! But for something silly, like streaking through a football game, or tagging a building with an invite to prom, or some other impulsive dare-type stunt. He's also a ladies man already. I'm already working on my best glowering stare for the hordes of chicks he'll bring home that I will inevitably disapprove of.

Like any parent, I have my fears for my children. Besides the obvious fears of illness, injury, and outside threats, I also have individualized concerns for each of them. For my oldest, I worry about his social interactions. It's not easy being the smartest kid in the class, and I worry about him being picked on, teased, or bullied. For my daughter, I worry because she is very pretty, and also has the makings of the "popular girl". Girls are cruel, and I know firsthand just how murky and twisty Girl World is. I hope my sensitive baby girl doesn't get crushed by that world. For my youngest, I worry for his safety, as he is still very young. I also worry because he is so impulsive and outgoing- I don't want him getting hurt, getting in trouble, or getting into the wrong crowd.

My children can be mentally and emotionally trying, but they are also my greatest source of joy. Their spontaneous creativity, their joie de vivre, their genuine and unconditional love- they are amazing. I'm proud to be their mommy. And like any parent, I just hope I don't screw them up too badly!

Any parent can relate to this...

The Sweet Spot of parenting. That place where your children are big and little all at the same time. Big enough to participate in the daily goings on of life, but little enough to still want you around!

It's wonderful, and fleeting, and frustrating, and sad, and full of joy and laughter and fun.

Hold on while you can, it doesn't last long!

Incommudicado no mas

I know, I know, I suck, I fell off the radar.

Sorry.

I have much to tell, I've just been crazy busy lately.

Back soon. With details.

I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed?

(I think you can in Europe...)

(If you don't get that reference, then we are never going to be friends)

You know those days when you feel like all of this "stuff" is being dumped in your lap and you are supposed to just find some way to fit it into your already full schedule?

Yeah.

That's where I'm at.

In the last two days, every weekend, and I mean literally every weekend, from now until the end of June has been booked. Solid.

Never mind the fact that I also have school, and the kids have school, and The Husband has work, and our gigantic yard needs constant, never ending, unyielding attention...

Sigh.

I'm tired just thinking about it!

This week for my Race and Ethnic Issues class, I have to watch a movie or read a book that addresses the issues of racial or ethnic diversity, and then write a paper on it using other researched sources to substantiate my point.

After much deliberation, I have decided to watch American History X.

Let me be clear... I HATE that movie.

I mean, it's a really good, well done movie. Don't get me wrong. It's amazing.

I also hate it. It breaks my heart. It makes me angry. It makes me cry (and I hate crying).

(I also dislike Edward Furlong. I find him creepy... in everything... always)

So suffice it to say, I'm not looking forward to watching it again. It's been... I'd say a good 14 years or so since I last watched it... This is going to be tough.

But first, I need to finish my World Religion readings on Buddhism and the printout for the Fourteen Mindfulness Trainings in order to do my discussion questions for that class. Then I need to read the two chapters on African American history from slavery to the Civil Rights Movement (a total of about 90 pages...oy vey) for my Race and Ethnic Issues class in order to do my discussion questions and take my quiz.

And I have to find the time to do all of that while also having friends over for a bonfire on Friday, and going down to Le Faux in Seattle for my mom's birthday on Saturday.

Suddenly I have a headache...

Post-visit blues

Not gonna lie, I'm bumming pretty hard right now.

My friend left to go home first thing this morning, and it always saddens me when our visits are over because they are usually so short. We grew up three houses down from each other, and now we only get to see each other a couple times a year at the most. It sucks a little bit.

Confession: after she left I may have crawled back in bed a little teary-eyed.

But!

Since she lives about four hours away now, and this is the closest we've lived to each other in, oh, 15 years, we plan to take full advantage of it. We were discussing trading off visits- she comes down one month, I go up there the next month- in order to see each other more frequently.

She's one of my most favorite-est people ever, and I miss her greatly, and it would be lovely to be more regularly involved in each other's lives.

Plus, I love Victoria, it's such a pretty city!

Right? Right?!?

So now life goes back to normal. I have a quiz to write for my Race and Ethnicity class that I've been putting off all week. I have laundry to do. And I have a bunch of TV shows to get caught up on since I've turned the TV on maybe twice this week total.

But first the quiz. Always the quiz.

Edjumucated

As I mentioned yesterday, I start spring quarter tomorrow.

AND!!!

This quarter marks four quarters left until I graduate!

Sweet baby Jesus, I never thought I'd ever see the end in sight. But it's coming, and I'm glad. I would be done sooner if I took summer classes, but let's face it, my summer breaks are the only thing keeping me sane at this point. Plus, we have a big road trip to Wyoming planned for July, and I'm sure as heck not going to try and juggle school and needing constant internet access while also criss-crossing multiple states and doing all the touristy goodness.

So yeah, one year left. I can dig it.

Since I am a stay-at-home-mom and have some serious schedule restrictions, taking online classes was pretty much the only way I'd be able to get my degree done any time soon. I decided to attend City University of Seattle, since you can do online or in person classes (strictly online schools don't seem as legit to me, I want to be able to meet the people behind the scenes), and because it is a proven, fully accredited, high-quality, non-profit, non-scam-y school (unlike so many others!)

I've known many people who have graduated from CityU and were able to get really good jobs afterwards, not find themselves unemployable with a bullshit degree like *some* people we know. Yes, that was catty, but after so many months of mocking my school, it turns out the joke was on them. So neener-neener.

(Yes, I'm a mature adult, I swear!)

ANYHOODLE, besides my degree capstone, which I can't take until my very last quarter, all I have left are electives, and since I've been taking such dry, predictable business classes lately, I decided to branch out and take more interesting classes for my electives.

This may prove to be a mistake, but we'll see...

This quarter I am taking a humanities class, Intro to World Religions, and a psychology class, Race and Ethnic Issues in America. I was super stoked about these classes until yesterday when, while gathering my course information, such as my syllabi, course schedules, grading rubrics, and the first week's assignments, I stumbled across a little tidbit of info that instilled the fear of God in me.

Or, at least the fear of the APA Citation Nazi.

See, spring quarter of last year I took an anthropology class, and while I highly enjoyed the entire class and was getting straight A's and all was hunky-dory, after submitting my final paper of the class, my instructor tried accusing me of plagiarism.

The only problem though? I hadn't plagiarized!!!

And she even admitted as much.

She just didn't like the way I had structured one of my paragraphs and felt I should have done it differently, and was basically holding my entire academic future hostage in order to force her opinion down my throat. It was absolute bullshit. She made me rewrite the entire paper in one day, and while I complained to my advisor and found out this is the way this teacher tends to operate (and still came away with an A in the class), it completely ruined my entire anthropology experience.

And now?!? That same instructor is the course manager for my Religions class.

Educational facepalm

So I now find myself dreading my Religions class. Basically, I'm just going to be super-duper on top of all of my citations and be the brown-nosing overachiever that everyone hates but that is necessary to not have to deal with Her Majesty Queen of the Power Trip.

Oy.

On top of that, I can always tell when school is starting back up because of the knot of stress that squarely lodges itself in my guts and stays there for the following ten weeks. Ugh. The knot is definitely bigger this time around.

Housewifery, Canadians, and tattoos

So my To Do list for this weekend keeps growing. And growing.

The weather is crappy, so no yard or garden work will be getting done, but that's okay, because my inside chores are enough to keep me plenty busy.

First, my bestest friend in the whole wide world, Adrienne, is coming to visit on Tuesday, so I need to get my house absolutely spotless. Not that I need to impress her. I mean, we've been friends since we were almost five, so I'm pretty sure she won't judge me if my house isn't in museum shape. But still, my OCD requires that my house be as perfect as possible for guests. (Then again, I try to keep my house spiffy anyway for my own sanity, so I guess nothing's really new!) (A tidy house equals a tidy brain)

This is the first time Age will be visiting our new house. Well, I guess it's not that new, we've been here for over a year and a half, but she was living all the way across the continent until just recently, so her last visit was almost three years ago. I'm excited to get to spend some time with her. I feel like she makes me sane. While we have plenty of friends around here, she's the only one that I feel totally myself with. She's known me almost my whole life, and it's rare to have people in your life for that long. She's a peach!

Age is going to be here for the better part of the week, and while it sucks that the kids and I have school and The Husband has work, we'll still rock it! On Wednesday my sister and I have appointments to get tattoos, and Age is pretty much an expert in that field (*cough* cough* getthegypsytattooyouknowyouwantto *cough *cough*) so she's coming along for moral support. And I'm trying not-so-subtly (see above) to convince her to get one she's been thinking about for quite a while. She has her whole back and both sides done, but hey, there's always room for more!

This will be my second tattoo, and my sister's first, so we're both very excited about it. I'm a little nervous since I'm getting mine down my spine, and the pain factor is... unknown and intimidating. But I'm a big girl and didn't even flinch during my first one, so hopefully I won't be the sissy whimpering in the corner...

Besides that, Age will also be here for my daughter's birthday party next weekend, which is super awesome! She can help me plan and cook and decorate! Yay for free help friends!

I don't know what else we will end up doing this week, I think we'll just wing it. One of the nights we want to take her to our favorite restaurant, assuming we can get a sitter. Beyond that? Who knows!

Coinciding with Age's visit, spring quarter starts on Monday. However, the portal opened yesterday, so I'm going to try and get as much of the first week's homework done as quickly as possible. That way, I won't have much to do that will be interfering with actual, you know, fun stuff. Of course, this means that I need to get a move on, like, now.