19 Makeshift Snacks to the Rescue!

My friends call me "good enough girl." That's what they call me, all right. Because if it does in a pinch, and if it fills a temporary need, why, then.... GOOD ENOUGH!

Today, so filled with the holiday spirit am I, that I'm sharing my go-to good enough snacks that are satisfying for a second breakfast or second lunch. Whatever you partake in (I happen to dabble gold star in both)

Go ahead, cobble a little extra sumpin sumpin special just for you today.

Let the foodromance begin:

--Sliced bananas mixed with microwave melted Hershey's kisses and mini marshmallows.

 

--Graham cracker S'mores, 23 seconds in the microwave.

 

--Hot cocoa with a 5 second squirt of Reddi-Whip. Chocolate sauce? Don't mind if I do.

 

--McDonald's will mix half and half of any flavor shakes for you.

Lately, I'm all into the half Arctic Orange with half Chocolate. Ho my god.

 

--Peeled, sliced apples smothered in melted French Vanilla frosting.

 

--Any kind of cupcake, any number. They don't count as cake calories because they're little.

 

--Hot dog sliced the long way, filled with shredded cheese, wrapped in bacon and put under the broiler for 4 minutes. Dang.

 

--A dinner plate full of Doritos chips, sprinkled with taco seasoned shredded cheese, diced tomatoes, crumbled turkey meat, microwaved for 1:25, then dolloped --  twice -- with sour cream and guacamole.

 

--Guacamole. Naked. No spoon.

 

--One scoop of chocolate ice cream with maraschino cherries on top. Mmmmm-hmmm. Mmmm.

 

--Frozen Girl Scout Thin Mints.

 

--Boy Scout Cheese Pop Corn.

 

--Instant brownie in a box brownies slathered with raspberry preserves while they're still smoking hot.

 

--Those Hot-Lava-Cake-in-5-microwave-minutes kits. Holy Wow.

 

--Lay's Thick Cut Vinegar and Salt Potato Chips stuck in between the bun and hot sloppy joe meat.

 

--25 crumbled crackers floating on top of a home made bowl of chili, heavy on the tomatoes.

 

--Martha Stewart Brand New Recipe for Boston Cream Pie cupcakes. Again, due to size, calorie-less.

 

--A baked potato, nuked, and stuffed with bacon bits, sour cream, cheddar cheese and a touch of salsa.

 

--A tall glass of Fanta orange soda served over a big fat scoop of creamy vanilla ice cream: Voila! Dreamsicle.

Are we all smiling and patting our bellies now? Good enough.

*Bonus Snack: Chips-n-Beer. Oh, wait, that's dinner. Never mind.

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The Chinks in the Armor Are Hardest on Me

I was confessing to my close friend, my true reason for putting off decluttering.

It's because of what I find, I told her.

Letters in crayon hieroglyphics, love notes on torn construction paper, broken macaroni necklaces, hot wheels stashed away after being wrapped in Kleenex as a secret gift to me.

In my jam packed dresser drawers, I have pictures. They're a heartbreaking toss up every which way, photos that I would linger over and didn't want kept on a shelf in a photo album. The one here, I found Saturday afternoon. It's my last baby who is 12 now. He was so small, I could hold him cradled in one arm.

These treasures from my life do me in. I guess you could consider it torture I mean, to keep them. Why keep them. It's nostalgia, absolutely, it's something in my hand today from my life yesterday, like the 6 inch sword made from crossing craft sticks together and foil wrap. When it's in my palm, I'm transformed back into what my three children made me from the minute they were born. Their very own Ripley. I was untouchable, unbeatable and nothing stood in my way -- they gave me that role as if they came to this world knowing.

It became the meaning to my days. And I rose to that title, without question, I met it. I would sense them, the moment before their cries, and swoop into their room, lifting them from their crib. It felt like I was rescuing them from a tower.

Only mommy, they used to say.

Life continues in this way, the days the kind that fool you into thinking they will always be like this for you. You, their rider coming in on a steed, armed, ready, capable. Able to save in one deft move.

Spiders, balls caught in trees, knees needing bandages, bullies at the park, a fray in the favorite blue blanket. Nothing was impossible and you flew to them before they even knew they needed you.

Then, overnight ... you're not the only heroine they've always known.

One day, you look at the newest holiday pictures, and you gaze at the short woman lost amidst others taller.
Or you call them to you, because even when you squint, you still can't make out the fine print on the computer screen.
Or you ask them to the basement to lift boxes into the crawl space -- a job you once did before your knees turned to gravel.
When we walk at night, I have to take their arm in the darkness.

I can't stand to declutter, I tell my friend, because of all that I find.

The Umbilical Cord

Oh, Doctor, are you sure....
     the day he was born and you cut the cord-
     that cord that connects child to mother-
did you make it a clean cut? complete?

Because sometimes I wonder
    when the sound of his cry would cause
     the strange pain, prickly pins,
     "letting down" the milk to meet his need.
     And when, as he advanced to solids and fed with a spoon
     my mouth popped open
     with every attempt to spoon food into his;
     my tongue licked the corners of my mouth
     when the baby food spilled out on his face.


If the cord was cleanly cut, complete
     why the sinking sick stomach in me
     at the sight of his blood after a fall?
     Why is my mouth dry
     when he is the one on stage to say the lines?
     Why are my palms sweating
     when he is the pitcher on the mound?
    Why does my heart ache
      when his is broken?

Doctor, could you check?
I think the cord is still intact.

~Jana Vick

Is That... Do I? What The Heck I Can't See

A difficult decision, but undeniable circumstances. It had to be done.

Fortunately, all went well and I am home. Resting comfortably? Yeah, sure, but I am whining and complaining all the way.

I had eye surgery Tuesday morning, and everything is still blurry with some razzle dazzle fireworks going on. I can't do a lot on my own and the eye drops that I have to take to avoid infection and calm inflammation sting like a mofo. I'm not happy. One can be grateful, and still not be a grinning fool.

Everything looks like nothing it actually is. My glasses don't work because my vision will be off until the swelling subsides, and so I pretty much have every light on in the house turned up to full candle power because dammnit I just can't see. I can make things out, but it's all a guessing game.

I finally decided to just get over it and enjoy the ride. So now, instead of migraine inducing jaw clenching frustration over screaming BUT WHAT IS IT! I just go with the flow. What I think it is, it shall be.

Like this picture I saw today. It was a holiday ad, but it looked like it was a woman who had just gone paleo and had rubbed the blood from her raw steak on her dress. Or maybe she's a fancy butcher. Either way, why question it. She looks happy.

I also went on a tirade, my children held captive to it on a Sunday morning, while I launched with all I had into an op-ed piece in today's paper where I read the author's opinion that a certain segment of our population is 'undeserved' of special attention. What?! After a few minutes, my middle son came over to walk me to the sofa and help me lie down. He glimpsed at the article I was frothing over and said, "Mom, actually, the guy agrees with you. It says, 'underserved."

Never mind.

Mostly, I just have to take a deep breath these coming weeks, and heal. Everything will still be there when I'm up and 20/20.

Except I'm kind of worried about one thing. I just logged on to Facebook and I can tell something big is going down.

All my friends' updates say they were up till dawn "Ordering Chinese presents" for their kids.

Holy Cow I hope when I'm able to see again that Oriental Trading Company does speedy overnight delivery.

* * *

Announcing the Listen To Your Mother Anthology

 

 

 

 



Scheduled for release April 7, 2015 and published through Putnam Books, the much anticipated Listen To Your Mother anthology, featuring 56 stories chosen from over 1,000 live readings from LTYM Shows across America, is now available for pre-order.

I am honored to have an essay included among the incredible authors here. I read onstage for the LTYM Madison show of a moment spent with my Abuelita when I was four years, and how the power of her words has carried me to this day.

This anthology is a work of love, and I am grateful to everyone who has shared their stories, and especially to Ann Imig, the creator and national director of the  Listen To Your Mother Shows.


Praise for Listen to Your Mother“With their authentic glimpses into this hard, beautiful thing we call life, the essays between these covers led me to fresh perspectives on mothering and being mothered. I savored the open vulnerability that met me with each turn of the page. From the hilarious to the profound, and not bound by gender or geography, these stories generously plumbed the depths of all that is motherhood.” —Anna Whiston Donaldson, New York Times-bestselling author of Rare Bird

 *Did I mention you could pre-order now? You can, please click below for more details:

http://listentoyourmothershow.com/buy-the-ltym-book/

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Is There a Way to Talk to Someone Who Doesn't Believe in Racism?

Dear World:

I read something from someone today that said "Racism was in the '60s. What we see today isn't racism but people who don't know how to act in the world." I wanted to cry, I want to scream at them. Then something inside me makes me just go quiet. Tell me, Dear World, is there any way, at all, to talk to people who think that? Or should I just give up?

Signed,
Heartbroken, Angry, Should I Just Stay Silent

Dear Dear Dear One:

I could begin with asking you how old you are, but that doesn't matter. You feel frustration, and frustration can be felt in someone as young as a few hours old or as old as 112. How do we get others to look at themselves? Your manner of interaction is all up to you. And no one would blame you if you did scream until you went hoarse. To feel what you feel is called being just. It's seeing inequality and ugly disparity and not being able to simply turn away. Being this way, to the degree that makes you question action, isn't easy. You know what's easy?

Not looking at truth, denying statistics, that's easy to do.

What's hard is asking ourselves the honest state of our reaction to people of color. This is painstaking work. It is impossible to not know things about yourself, your secrets, like distrust of a race, thoughts about people with skin that is black, brown, or your way of stiffening around those who are different from you. Believe me, we are no strangers to ourselves.

To wonder whether or not it matters that you say something, that considering staying silent while we live among others who are not treated equally, well... how would you answer that?

I can't think of anything more important to societal change than honest examination of self.

What is born from there could be action. Louder, and braver, an evolution into taking part and standing against human inequality. This takes voice, in the form of our hands, our conscience, our time, our marching feet, our typing fingers, our standing firm in the belief that our country needs to be for all the people - with opportunity and equal justice. Even if it isn't that right now. 

There is work to do from everyone. The natural draw to become defensive, and then hopeless, is a ceaseless danger. You wonder if you should just give up with someone who says that if everyone acted the way they're *supposed* to, they'd have no trouble in this world. To that, I say invite them to learn more. But you'll miss that chance, if you decide to never break your silence.

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Is Racism Real?
https://www.dosomething.org/facts/11-facts-about-racial-discrimination