Food for Thought: Broccoli Salad

We live in a charmed neighborhood. Most of us moved in here about the same time, 17 or 18 years ago. Then we all had little kids (not just me) and our Primary group was huge! We were able to arrange a boys’ Jr. Jazz team just from our neighborhood. (That’s ten boys of the same age if you are counting…) My sweetie was the Cubmaster, and he was in charge of a couple dozen cub scouts and their monthly activities. I had a bunch of the girls in my girl scout troop.

It was so fun, but amazingly hard to sell cookies since we all lived so close together. That’s when the neighborhood traditions started…Christmas parties, a barbecue, for a while there was an ice cream party every weekend. At one point we even produced a neighborhood cookbook. I love this book because whenever I want a recipe from a party or potluck, if I just look, usually it’s in there. And often it comes in five or six variations! I’ve also discovered some real gems in there that have become part of our family favorites.

I had never had broccoli salad before I moved here and my brothers and sisters thought it was pretty weird when I set it on the table at our extended family gathering. Then they tried it and it got rave reviews. We made a big batch of it for Bossy’s graduation party (even though she hates raisins!) and I’m pretty sure it was the first one gone. Leave me a comment and let me know what you think.

Broccoli Salad
3 lbs broccoli, finely chopped
1 small red onion (it really needs to be red, white/yellow have a different flavor) (chopped)
1 1/2 cup raisins
1 lb of bacon, cooked and chopped
1 cup shelled sunflower seeds

Dressing:
2 cups mayonnaise or Miracle Whip
½ cup sugar
2 tbsp regular white vinegar

In a large bowl, combine broccoli, red onion, raisins, and bacon.

In a small bowl, combine mayo, sugar, and vinegar.

Just before serving, toss dressing with salad, then sprinkle with sunflower seeds.

Torture Chamber

So in January, the Dog Walker and I made a resolution to exercise every day. We started on January 2, and so far we haven’t missed a day. Most of the time we play an exercise video game together like DDR and lately it’s been Just Dance on the wii. We had to make a change because for some reason my body doesn’t seem to like exercise.

In January I was playing basketball two days a week and DDR with the Dog Walker the other five days. About six weeks into that routine, I started feeling pain in my right foot. First it was on the bottom, but it slowly spread up my heel until at least several times a day I was having shooting pains run up and down my leg. They were kind of like cramps, but no matter how much stretching I did, they wouldn’t go away. Finally I made an appointment with my doctor. He took X-rays and gave me a diagnosis… Plantar fasciitis and Achilles tendonitis. Then he gave me a referral for a specialist.

I "drug my feet" about making the call. I didn’t want them to tell me I needed surgery and at first I wasn’t even that excited about a cortisone shot. I changed my routine…I traded basketball for volleyball and we switched over to Just Dance without the feet movement. None of it seemed to help much, so after a couple more weeks, I made the call. I had in mind the foot specialist who had done Teach’s surgery last summer, but he was booked six weeks out. I took what they offered and I was able to get an appointment within a few days.

You know you are getting old when the "specialists" are younger than you are. He spent about five minutes with me and told me the only answers to my problem were a night-time "boot" (that keeps me awake half the night…it is so uncomfortable!) and physical therapy. Now I’ve had physical therapy before, once right after my knee surgery and then again about three years ago to fix the problems from the therapy 15 years ago. I was NOT excited to hear this news. It took me another three weeks and two cancelled appointments to finally get myself to the PT office.

My therapist was named Doug and he seemed nice enough…at first. He made me walk for him, then he worked my muscles a bit. Then he asked me if I’d ever heard of ASTYM. Apparently that was the therapy my specialist was recommending. I use therapy only in the loosest sense of the word. It’s really a code word for TORTURE! He has this set of plastic tools and the idea is to press as hard as he can to break all the capillaries in my leg to stimulate new growth in my ankle. Yeah…you got it…they want to totally bruise my leg twice a week for three weeks…on purpose…with tools… And I’m going to let them…does anybody see anything wrong with this picture??

During the first appointment I was still in shock and besides I couldn’t very easily run away since I was lying on a table behind a curtain and there were lots of other people in the outer room to see me trying to make an escape. When I got home I showed the red bruises that ran from my calf down to my ankle to my sweetie. He offered to make dinner. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all…until the second appointment. I took painkillers in anticipation of all the fun I was going to have, but it was still incredibly painful. Today I had my fourth appointment and I discovered that if I distracted my therapist with conversation, sometimes he would forget to push as hard. I still came home with an impressive trail of bruises. I’m not sure my leg is getting any better, but with all this bruising, who could tell? I’ll keep you posted…

Baby, Baby, Baby Ohhhh....No

Every Monday night we gather our kids together for a religious ritual called Family Home Evening. It’s a good time for us to teach our kids all the things they need to know about our church, as well as a time for us to teach them skills that will help them be happy, productive adults. It’s also a good excuse to consume copious amounts of sugary goodies. Sometimes we just do something fun like play games or go out for pizza. My sweetie’s favorite activity is to put on a movie in his beloved projector room and enjoy each other’s company while we sit with our eyes glued to the screen. I’m sure we are teaching them something…I’m just not sure what.

These charts new come with enough name spots. Good thing Bossy can photoshop.

Today I took Teach with me to the grocery store. As soon as we got in the store she headed right over to the Redbox to look for a movie. Two minutes later she was back and she was snickering. "I’ve got a movie for FHE," she said. She slipped the Justin Bieber Movie into my purse. I rolled my eyes. "The girls will be so excited…your dad…not so much." We finished our shopping and headed home. I broke the news to my sweetie…gently. **Editor's Note: For previous Justin Bieber antics see here and here.**

"We got a blue-ray!" I said with maybe a little too much enthusiasm. It wasn’t often I suggested a movie for FHE.

"Yeah?" he asked cautiously. "What is it?"

I smiled, "The Justin Bieber Movie."

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes.

"Oh come on," I prompted, "the girls are so excited to see it…"

He shrugged, defeated, "OK."

I sent them all downstairs while I prepared strawberry shortcake for our treat. It was the least I could do. I heard the girls screaming right along with the ones on the movie. I could just imagine how my sweetie was faring without me. I cut strawberries a little faster. When I got down there, the sub was pounding and the kids were all singing along. My sweetie looked miserable, but he didn’t say anything. I handed out the strawberry shortcake and settled in to watch the rest of the movie.

Curly’s got the JB moves down. He was running all over, jumping off the couch and singing at the top of his lungs. The trouble is that he has asthma, so any time he gets that excited, he vomits. I should have gotten a clue when he stopped running and stood next to me with his hands over his mouth. I realized it about the same time my sweetie hollered over the music, "He’s gonna puke!" Wisely, I pushed him toward his dad (since I was holding the baby) and told Scout to run for a towel. Too late! He was heaving all over his dad. My sweetie is experienced in this sort of detail and he immediately pulled his shirt into a bowl to catch the mess.

Scout was taking forever, so I sent the Dog Walker after another towel. The way it was looking we could use both of them anyway. She finally returned with a little dishrag, but the Dog Walker was right behind her with an oversized bath towel. Together we stripped Curly down and cleaned him up. "See!" my sweetie hissed at one point. "JB made him throw up!" I scowled at him and then pulled out some baby wipes to scrub Curly’s pale little face. The music already had him pulling away to rejoin the fray.

Two minutes later he was dancing again (in his underwear this time). I couldn’t help but smile, he was so cute! Unprompted, he ran back to me and threw his arms around my neck. "Thanks for being a good cleaner-upper of my throw-up!" he said. I hugged him back, "You’re welcome!" I said. "Go tell Dad." He ran to my sweetie and repeated his gratitude. My sweetie glanced at me over the top of those blonde curls and smiled, "Where did he come from?" Yeah…he’s even cooler than JB.

Guest Blog - I Hate Mondays by Bossy

I hate walking the dog. It isn't my pet; I'd rather we didn't have it. We try to teach Taco responsibility and make him walk her. (By walk I mean, take her to do her business and clean up.) Usually he walks her with his dad in the morning before Dad takes him to school. It is their quiet morning bonding time. Fortunately last week Gamer got a job and our morning routine is a little bit out of whack from the adjustment. Today was the first time he had to be at work before Taco had to be at school.

I don't know what it is about me taking them to school, but my kids are the biggest slowpokes on the face of the planet. They never give their dad crap and excuses. So with Dad they are never late. As to be expected today we are running late to walk to school. While I was on the phone with Grandma discussing some blog business he decided to help himself to the XBox and play a video game instead of looking for his shoes. After threatening to throw the TV on the front porch (I love my grandma!) he turned off the game and started looking for shoes. He finally got them on and we have 3 minutes to make the 5-minute walk. "But Mom, I didn't walk Sadie."

Excuse me? I had to kick you off the XBox this morning and you didn't have time to walk your dog. Reluctantly I grabbed a poop bag and agreed to bring the annoying dog on the walk to school. And annoying she was. When she wasn't sniffing everything in sight she was pulling me down the street. Usually Taco holds the leash, but she was pulling so hard she was dragging him down the street. We got to the front of our complex and she started tugging so hard on the leash I was running to keep up. Once we hit the grass, she stopped to poop. At this point the bell rang at school and Taco started freaking out.

She took forever, but finally started cleaning her feet on the grass (my dog thinks she is a cat). Since he was still with me, I made Taco clean up. (Don't judge me, it is his dog and his chore.) As he stepped the two feet from the sidewalk to the dumpster he managed to lose his grip on the bag and drop poop all over the sidewalk. Sadly, I only had one bag, and once I rolled it closed there was no going back for more. He looked like he was going to cry. "Don't worry I will clean it up after you get to school." He nodded and we ran the block to school.

Along the way we have two crosswalks and next to the first crosswalk is a bus stop. Of course the dog wanted to say hi to everyone, but especially the crowd waiting for the bus. Taco and I tried to keep running, but the dog doesn't understand his urgency. When we got to the crosswalk at the school parking lot I realized it was only the warning bell. I stand on the other side and send Taco to line up alone. (Dog plus 100 school-kids in line is a sure sign of trouble.) After watching him arrive safely at the building and dragging the dog away from the attention the crossing guard is giving her, I head home to grab more bags to clean up Taco's mess.

We got to the crosswalk next to the bus stop. In the middle of the road in front of three people waiting for the bus, she decides she needs to go again. Another big pile. And I don't have a bag. The bus crew glared at me while I mumble about going home to grab a bag. The crossing guard is an older gentleman that is the nicest guy on the planet. He looked back as the bus crew started jeering and stared in shock at the dog desecrating his place on the crosswalk. He is too far away to hear me say I will be right back and he sends me the evil eye as I hurry away to get another bag. Last winter after many complaints, our apartment installed clean up stations stocked with poop bags and a trash can. I hurried over to the stand by the office. Out of bags! The next closest station is in the commons area next to my apartment. The dog is driving me crazy sniffing everywhere and wanting to take her time. I decided to swing by my apartment and leave the dog and run back to clean up.

The bus stop crew is all glaring at me when I return. Really people, I actually came back to clean up and you are sending me crustys! The first thing I noticed is a car has managed to run over the pile. I did my best to clean it up knowing that when I pick Taco up from school he will most likely end up getting it on his shoes no matter what. A car pulled up and honked impatiently as I tried to clean poop with dignity. Finally beaten by the cobblestone driveway, I headed back to the pile Taco dropped earlier. I can handle being pooped on by my child, cleaning up Burrito's bathroom disasters at Grandma's, even catching vomit with my hands during road trips, but I seriously think cleaning up after a dog is the nastiest job in the world. I got the other pile cleaned up the best I could on the wet grass and walked back home eager to wash my hands. I opened the back door and I am greeted by this.

Puddle of piddle and a little more poop just for fun. The dog is hiding behind the table looking sheepish. Seriously dog! I guess I should be glad she grabbed some paper towels out of the trash and tried to clean it up herself.