Going Veg--It Ain't Easy

Try as I might, I cannot get the hang of this vegetarian thing. I know people do this everyday with ease and, in fact, just had a conversation about this with a college friend who said multiple times, "being a vegetarian is pretty easy, really." And that is possibly true if the factors that make my conversion so confounding are not present--namely, still having meat eaters to feed every night, disliking in the extreme most of the meat substitutes I have found and maintaining an attempt to limit carbohydrates, too, so that I don't become the world's fattest vegetarian. There is also the little problem of still liking the taste of meat--the only reason I'm eliminating it is because if you do any research at all, you find that factory farming is plain and simple just another phrase for animal torture.

I looked into humanely raised and slaughtered meat and it's a great option for anyone who is able to pay 2-3 times as much for their meat as they would for factory farmed meat. That's not an option for me. So back to square one: dealing with vegetables. I am not a great cook and I am not a foodie. I did start out liking to cook. But, for me, the fun went out the exhaust fan when it became my job to feed people other than myself on a daily basis. The restrictions of catering to everybody's likes and dislikes are incredibly tedious. It leaves very little room for creativity when regardless of what you decide to make, you are faced with somebody's disappointment. Except occasionally when entertaining, I seldom delight in cooking anymore. Out of necessity, I became a competent and fairly healthy cook. I can consistently put a tasty, decent and balanced meal on the table in an hour or less. But, all of my repertoire is either meat-based or involves pasta. Take those staples away and I got nothing.

At the heart of my problem is the mindset that it should be quick and easy. As a result of not enjoying making dinner, I've compartmentalized it to the point where I can't readily conceive of it taking more than an hour. Anything beyond that is too much trouble and an expansion of a chore I already dislike. In my mind, I liken it to rediscovering how to do laundry by hand--uh, no thanks! Whether it is or it isn't, I regard it as a lot of trouble to take a bunch of fresh beets and trim, peel, cook and prepare them. Draining an eggplant for however long it takes is a recipe deal-killer. This is what I have to change. I have to find some way to rediscover what is fun about cooking. Time is sometimes a consideration in my life, but not always. It doesn't necessarily need to be quick. Right now, I look at any time spent cooking as time away from things I like to do. Can I learn to like it again? I don't know. But I've got to try. I can't go back to meat; I can't eat veggie burgers all the time (I hate them). At least for now, I have to cook meat for the boy (the mayor's game for anything, but likes his meat, too). But I also have to find vegetarian recipes that are healthy and delicious and tack them on to my regular cooking. I have to learn to feed myself again after all these years of eating whatever is easiest and receives the fewest complaints. Let me go get that eggplant out of the vegetable bin. I'll drain it and see what happens.

Voice Male

Lately, I've found myself getting irritated with the boy when he speaks to me. But somehow, I've known it isn't him, it's me. He isn't doing anything unusual or saying anything unusual. But something about him is definitely rubbing me the wrong way. Am I overtired? Is it hormones? I just don't know. Then suddenly, yesterday, it occurred to me exactly why I'm perturbed. His voice has changed and the new voice is not familiar to me yet. I neither know it nor love it yet. And it's silencing his "real" voice.

We recognized that his voice was cracking and changing over the past few months. But now, I think, the changeover is complete. My child's voice is gone for good and I miss it. I don't just miss it in that nostalgic, "oh he's growing up" way. I miss it in more like a little part of my heart is broken kind of way. I loved his voice. I cherish every secret he told me in that voice, every joke he made, every cute, crazy little thing he ever said. I find myself wondering what I have recorded, if anything, that I can play back so I never forget it. If I think about this too long, I can bring myself to tears. I'll never forget him singing "Where is Love" from Oliver for an audition. He carries a tune well and I've never heard it sung better and now I'll never hear it again. Generally, I've been all for his getting bigger, faster, stronger and smarter. But this little change has tripped me up.

I love male voices, but I've never been a fan of male teen voices. They tend to sound monotone and tinny to me. The association is there with goofy, awkward teenage boys I have known and that is not how I see my boy or want to see him. Now that I realize what I've been reacting to, though, I can get back to taking the boy at his word rather than unconsciously reacting to his voice!

Foot Fail

Tangle Toes

I know I've been forbidden by the boy to latch on to the "fail" lingo, but seriously if the shoe fits . . . Or, more appropriately in this case, when the shoe does not fit and will not fit for six weeks, I am hard put to think of an expression that better sums up the situation. Take a look at the picture and try to imagine what happened to this sorry looking appendage. Did you say, "Stamped on by an elephant?" "Beaten with a sledge hammer?" "Run over by a bus?" To result in something this incredibly ugly, it must have been huge right? Not so much. It's a stress fracture from dancing to motown barefoot on a friend's living room rug. Bet you had no idea how dangerous that could be.

This was two weeks ago yesterday and I have to say, it's been quite a set-back. As always, denial was my first resort. I hobbled to bed thinking I'd feel better the next morning. Sunday morning--10 times worse so off to the ER. Xrays negative. I'm thinking feet up a few days, all better. Wrong again. This thing is NOT going down easy!To compound the situation, my laptop chose that weekend to cease functioning. It takes the guy a week to repair it which is exactly what happens when you get a computer to repair on Monday and do not look at it until Friday. Grrr.

So, bad two weeks and now I've been booted. The stress fracture diagnosis has resulted in my having to wear a giant hideous black boot on my foot FOR SIX WEEKS! But at least I can get around. The pain is ridiculous and unpredictable. I'm not a big baby about pain, but this smarts. Out of the woodwork come everyone and their brothers' stress fracture stories and the upshot is, this will really go on and on. No amount of denial will help me out of this mess. After four years of zero infirmity, I have to dig out my inner invalid and cope. I must say, I was better at this years ago. Attitude adjustment in progress, please stand by!