I blame the feminists

I've had a lot of time to think recently.  Not because I've been in jail or anything, though some days it feels like it, but because I've spent a lot of time baking and cooking whole, real food for my family.

Real food?  Yes, bread from scratch, marinara sauce, cookies.  Calzones, taquitos, canneloni.  I even figured out how to make beans that didn't come from a can. 

What I discovered is that this food takes a long time.  Some days I spend all day creating food for my family.  It started as a budget thing, as a health thing and as a challenge to myself.  Look, Sara, if you don't have a job, you may as well be doing something to contribute.  Like cooking quality food and saving money on groceries.  You know what's cheaper than a veggie burger from a restaurant?  A veggie burger that you make from the beans that you cooked.  All those recipes on Pinterest?  They are actually more than just a pretty face, people, they're pretty amazing, if you actually make them.

Anyhow.  Real food takes a long time.  Sometimes the whole day my kids are at school is spent cooking and freezing and baking and making.  So I started thinking that if I were to get a job, this would totally be the last thing that I would do.  My days get crazy after school lets out, and I can only imagine what they would look like if I couldn't spend the school day cooking and cleaning and getting laundry done and catching up with the Real Housewives.

No, if I were to get a job and we were to become a dual income family, some of my salary would then go to eating out and buying bread and cookies and taquitos from Costco.  What would be sacrificied in order to make two jobs and three kids work?  Time.  Where am I going to get that time?  Sleep and cooking.  Probably cleaning, too, but let's be honest, I won't be sad about that at all.

Here's where I blame the feminists.  They demanded equal rights.  Women got jobs.  Great.  Women discovered that working and raising a family sucked and that they simply ran out of time every day, no matter how much their husband promised he would help. 

Families now have more money than time.  Corporations responded.  TV dinners!  Uncrustables!  Pre-sliced apples!  Fast food! Guess what?  These corporations are in it to make money.  They will make things as cheaply as they can, and as long as people are buying them, they will keep making them.  Seventeen flavors of Doritos?  Great.  Wouldn't be on the shelves if people wouldn't buy them.  This food is made with the cheapest of ingredients, most of which are created in a chemist's lab, not from the earth.

People are more concerned about convenience than they are about serving their families real food. 

People are getting sick.  People are getting fat.  People are continuing to eat garbage and wonder why they spend all the rest of their money on medication for blood pressure and cholesterol and God forbid, cancer treatments.  They are taking sick days to go the doctor's office to figure out why they have headaches and are tired all the time.  Diabetes.  It's all there, and it didn't used to be so bad.

Women, it used to be our job to feed our families.  We are getting generations into this now where the knowledge isn't passed on anymore and we don't know how to cook and we don't know how to do this eating thing without thinking that cool whip is a totally reasonable ingredient in homemade food.

Feminism gave us money, choices and opportunity.  But it has taken away from us something that we cannot measure.  We have stopped caring for our families by giving them food to nourish them so that we can all be the best we can be.  This is an unintended disasterous consequence.

Just the title, that's all I really needed.

I read this post about a week ago, and all I really need to do is read the title. Again. And then remember it. And again.

It really was one of those hand-smacking-forehead moments. I have a really lovely kitchen, honestly. I complain about counterspace though - it's not laid out in the most ideal, wanna cook for a big dinner party sorts of ways. BUT. I wasn't helping myself with three of the five chopped up counter spaces being covered in some sort of crap of some kind. Papers, food, dirty dishes, random toys that had been there for six months. And more papers.

So, now that counter space is being viewed as work space, not storage, I find myself disliking my kitchen less, enjoying cooking in it more. And suddenly, the kitchen table falls in the category of "not storage for the newspaper" and becomes clearer. You get the idea - mess begets mess, clean begets clean.

So, we'll see how long it lasts, but boy, I sure am enjoying four out of five counters being workspace. That last one will take me a little more training...

How your ten year old sister says "I Love You"

Olivia: Charlie, do you still want to be in the Navy when you grow up?

Charlie: Yes.

Olivia: Couldn't you die when you do that job?

Charlie: Yes.

Olivia: I don't think you should do that job, it seems too dangerous.

Apples. Trees. Whatever.

I forgot to pick up my oldest child from school yesterday.

Shocking, you say? Nah, not really. Not the first time I'd forgotten him. I'm not terribly proud of that fact, but it's relevant to the story ahead.

It's about a mile to walk home - but when he walked in the back door, he says, "Mom?" And my immediate response was, "OH CRAP." And "Hey, was it raining on your way home?" "Glad you're here, sorry I forgot about you, but I did get that t-shirt quilt finished I'd been promising you for two years finished this afternoon!"

I went downstairs to give him a guilt-hug and he hugged me extra tight. "Mom, I was so worried about you, I was just sure that when I walked in the door there would be a note saying 'we had to take mom to the hospital'." He said he worried about 3/4 of the way home. I asked him if now that he knew the whole story was he mad at me for forgetting him - he said no, still just relieved.

We went about our normal afternoon routines - questions (from him) about snack food and questions (from me) about homework. About ten minutes later, I realized something.

"Why didn't you just call me, you do have your phone with you, right?"

"Yeah, but I thought if there were intruders then it wouldn't really...."

And then I realized. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Because I can imagine up some really crazy terrible stuff if I want to. But I always justify it by telling myself that if I imagine it, it won't happen, so it's really the most responsible thing to do, imagining the worst.

Deep Breathing.

Tonight is my first night as a cubmaster, officially, in front of wads and wads of kids. And I'm nervous. Not nervous, terrified. These parents are my friends, the kids think I'm a celebrity every time I walk by them in the school, yet, I'm all a-butterfly-ish.

I'll tell you it's mostly because the whole pack meeting is all ceremonies and patches and awards, and not really a whole lot of crazy eight-year-old fun, which I'd completely prefer. New scouts, a couple of advancements, adult recognition (Lord help me if I forgot someone!) and then a graduation ceremony. Too much to fit into one pack meeting, quite honestly, but what's a girl to do?

This girl is going to pretend like it's not all about to go down in thirty minutes, that there won't be new eager faces full of expectation and experienced faces full of hope and excitement. And parents, really hoping they can get these crazy kids in bed before it's too late.

terrified.

Worth it.

Planned and implemented campout for 80 kids and their families this weekend. Had help, lots of it, but it caused a fair amount of stress and complaining from yours truly. At the end of it all, I was exhausted and beat down.

Until. On the way home, my two children who went with me called Sarge and told him all about it. Their glowing reviews and tales of fun and games made my aggravation all go away.

Time and time again, discussions happen amongst adults who have to herd other adults in this scouting world about how much work the adults make things. If it were only kids, things would be so much more fun. And so, I remind myself, as I get closer and closer to the Big Camp coming up, that once the kids get there and I get to stop dealing with all the adults, that the fun will begin. The smiles on their faces and their memories made will make all the frustration melt away.

I am really looking forward to that.

I know, issues.

Charlie has been asking me to buy them a new tube of toothpaste. I keep forgetting. So they borrow mine.

Honestly, can they not read instructions? "Squeeze from the bottom and flatten as you go up, then replace the darn cap."

Maybe it's their ploy to get me to remember to buy them their own. YUCK.