Who do you think you aren't?

In searching for an inspirational quote today (yeah, I kinda needed one), I came across this:

I don't know about you, but I've spent a good portion of my life defining myself by all the things I can't do. "I can't get that job because I'm not qualified." "I don't want to go to that [insert event du jour] because I don't know anyone and they won't like me." "I can't take time to do something for myself because I'm too busy doing things for [insert favorite ingrate]." "I can't do that because I wouldn't be good at it." Occasionally I have moments of clarity when I can objectively look back on my life and recognize all the things I HAVEN'T done that left me with regret. Sometimes those realizations leave me with motivation, determined to change that inner voice, find the real me behind all the excuses. Those excuses are some nasty bitches though, and I've given them so much strength over the years it's really become more of a way-of-life. I'm hoping though, as I steer through this 39th year of my regret-filled life that I've finally found some motivation. I'm surrounded by amazing women who live the impossible dream and find some of it surprisingly NOT impossible, women who struggle with hardships I can't even imagine and who motivate me simply by getting out of bed in the morning. I'm taking on a challenge, one that I have always said I can't do, and this time, I just might make it because I really think I want it that bad. T-minus two days, world, I'm coming to claim some of what's mine and resistance is futile! Well, at least, it's not in the interest of fair play. I'm new this kind of thinking, okay?

Like sands through the hourglass

I blog, therefore I am . . .  perpetually full of guilt for not writing more frequently.  Sigh.  I've put off posting because, for some reason, I feel the need to apologize for not having done it in such a long time.  Yes, I'm neurotic.  Neurotic and SAD, but neurotic.  So no apologies.  Sorry. Deal with it.  I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people still like me!

I'm officially a working (outside-the-home) mom again, and boy there's nothing like returning to work to make you realize just how disorganized you are.  This transition means my house is always a wreck (although I do have the luxury of having a bi-weekly house cleaner which only ensures I'll be up into the wee hours of the morning the night before trying to pre-clean for the cleaning - STUUUuuupiddd), the laundry is so piled up I'm raiding the dirty clothes hamper at least once a week, my already non-existent "free-time" is now spent trying to fit necessary chores and errands into that non-existent time, my sewing machine is covered in cobwebs, and at least twice a week, meal-time begins with, "Would you like fries with that?"  I know it's bad when my 19-month old sees a Whataburger and says "feh-fies," and, when asked what he wants to eat, my 4.75 year old says, "Whatever you'd like to go get, Mama."  For now though, I'm really okay with that because being out in the world working again was necessary to reclaiming my sanity.  I love, love, love (did I say "love"?) my job and don't regret coming back to work, although I do wish amphetamines were still mislabeled "diet pills" and available over-the-counter . . . . 

Enough bloggin'-n-bitchin' though.  On to more important things.  In just two-ish months time I will see my 38th birthday come and go, and as I'm getting closer and closer to that 40-yr-old mark (which I know isn't really old, so all you ladies can stop shaking your walkers at me) there's a very strange transition happening.  I put on an outfit yesterday that I usually love to wear, although this time I felt completely uncomfortable all day - it felt like it was too "young" for me.  WHAT?!?!?!  Too young for me?  I wasn't wearing a onesie or anything.  You may recall a previous post in which I lamented my inability to maturely wear glittery eye shadow and fruity lip gloss, and it seems that trend is continuing.  I don't like it one bit!  I have nightmares of being one of those little old ladies with clown make-up and sequin mini-skirts, people fumbling over each other to get a youtube-worthy video.  I'm convinced the parents at my boys' fancy school are looking down their noses at me, not because my car's a Toyota instead of a BMW and smells like a combination of burned coffee and poopy diapers, but because I'm skipping around in my frilly skirts and flats like I'm on my way to the mall and my mom still has to drive me!  I remember someone saying that in your 30s you "come into your own," feel more comfortable in your own skin, start caring less about what other people think about you, and become more engaged in finding out what you're meant to contribute to the world.  Sounds peaceful.  Who the hell wants that?!?!?  Screw maturity and self-awareness . . . I want a little more time to feel judged and less-than-average and hopelessly lost somewhere far below that "bar" people are always talking about.  Forever young, I want to be forever young . . .

Salty and Sweet

 . . . the perfect combination.  Last night we enjoyed some of the bounties of summer from our co-op (thankfully harvested by someone more tolerant of the heat and bugs than I am).  Among the dinner selections was one of my favorites - fried okra. 

I wish some progressive movie theater (do you hear me, Alamo Draft House??) would offer this as an alternative to popcorn.  I'm not hating on popcorn, I mean I can eat that stuff even when I'm not hungry.  Fried okra though elevates the "salty" crunchy snacky goodness to a whole new level.  I'm sure the gourmet chefs at the movie theater (i.e., the half-awake, partied-out teens) would probably just screw it up anyway by hiding the okra in a heavy batter.  I like mine with lots of salt and a little corn meal, just the way Mama used to make (and still does)! :-)


The main reason for my post is a "sweet" discovery I made following a creative attempt to come up with a dessert without having to venture out (into the heat) to the grocery store.  Look at this . . . doesn't this photo look ethereal?

  What does it look like to you?  Hopefully bread pudding.  That's what I was going for . . . only I made it with, get this, leftover blueberry muffins.  Yep.  I'm sure that idea isn't original to me, but it was pretty darn tasty.  I made the muffins Sunday or Monday with some co-op blueberries, and what was supposed to make 12 actually made 24.  I just put the leftovers in the frig not having the heart to throw them out.   I filled a greased loaf pan with crumbled muffins - 12 in all (and these are "regular-sized" muffins, not jumbos).  Then I put 4 eggs in a large measuring cup and used 1/2 evaporated milk and 1/2 regular milk to make 3 cups.  I added 1/4 c. of sugar (which you'd vary depending on the sweetness of your muffins), a teaspoon of vanilla, and a few dashes of cinnamon.  After mixing well, I dumped the liquid over the muffins and let it sit for about 15 - 30 minutes (at this point you can add a little more milk - it  should be just below the top of the muffins).  Then I finished the pudding in a 350 degree oven, cooking for just under an hour (until a knife comes out clean).  I served it warm with some melted Blue Bell vanilla  (my lazy creme anglaise).  Of course, with this successful result, I started imagining the possibilities with all the different muffins and additions you could make . . . banana nut muffins with chocolate chips,  carrot cake muffins with walnuts, chocolate muffins with peanut butter chips, lemon poppy seed muffins with dried cranberries . . .
Let me know what you do if you get creative and try a muffin pudding!