The Curse of Public Joy

Among military wives, it’s popular to be brave.  Sometimes callously so.  By their second PCS, these ladies have totally eliminated their initial self-pity and now sometimes tend towards self-inflation, bragging non-chalantly about how they unpacked their entire house in under six hours, and adding smugly that they don’t understand people who take two weeks to “get settled.”

Since I’m not among those who unpacked in six hours, I felt defective.  I tried to comfort myself by saying, “Oh well – you’re not them” and “They’re just proud of themselves – they didn’t mean to put you down.”

But, I still felt annoyed, weeks later.  Fortunately, by then, everyone assumed I had long-since unpacked everything and so at least they stopped asking about that – and began asking where my kids were, or when I was going to produce some.  (We childless couples are the minority here.)  Not having an impressive answer for the scheduling of our firstborn, I felt even more flawed.  Suddenly, each glowy story of an “accidental” pregnancy or “easy/prompt/effortless” conception grated against my nerves.  It felt like a massive competition, a race to start or build your family faster than your neighbor.  And I wasn’t even in the race.

Now, I’m sure when you’re visibly pregnant and the entire world asks “Was it planned?” the best strategy is to structure your answer positively.  So, if you were trying, then yes – grin and exclaim how glad you are that your efforts were rewarded.  And if you weren’t trying, then grin similarly and say how surprised but excited you are at this unexpected blessing.

But, never before have I considered how these dialogues must make infertile couples feel.  Everyone (who is successfully pregnant) makes it sound so easy!  So stress-free.  So… natural.  Even inevitable.  Like it just happens.   But, that’s not true for everyone.

So, I made a mental note to myself, to be more sensitive, both in asking about these things (maybe it’s better to ask such question one-on-one, and not publically?) and in talking about my own blessings/accomplishments.

Accordingly, I was stunned and ashamed to catch myself committing the same sin, recently.  Seems I’d know better.  But, no.  I abruptly found myself glibly chatting about how little I spent on groceries, or how we’ve finally figured out a great budgeting system, or how husband-and-I used to struggle with *XYZ* issue, but have now worked through it.

Granted, I didn’t mean to be a show-off; I meant to be interesting, or encouraging.  But sometimes, I was proud of me, and rather wanted a pat on the back, or a group cheer, or something.  I see it now, after assessing my heart.  And I feel utterly embarrassed.

Sure, I didn’t mean to make anyone feel small.  But, I bet no one meant to make me feel small either.  Yet, I still felt small, and I resented those people.

So, if you’re among those who I unconsciously frustrated, it isn’t “easy” and you’re not “defective.”  Honest.

And I was wrong to brag.  Forgive me?

Perfect Salmon Recipe

In the beginning, my dear husband could barely chop an onion.  But, he had a natural penchant in the kitchen, combining spices and flavors like a natural chef, and suddenly... his meals were frequently better than mine!  Which is, honestly, an awesome thing.  Even if it threatens my ego.  ;-)

Despite his brilliant innovation, some of our favorite recipes remain the classic ones – like this salmon-baking method, which my parents learned from their Washington-state-neighbor, when THEY were newlyweds.  It truly is the easiest, most-impossible-to-mess-up way to cook salmon.  

Husband recently perfected it, and here is photographic proof that this meal is amazing.  And uber-simple.

You'll need:

-          Salmon (mostly-thawed is ideal for these cooking times) – chunks, fillets, or the entire fish will work equally (DO remove the head/insides though)

-          COLD Butter slices

-          1 Lime

-          Salt, Pepper, and Dill (if you like dill – we don’t)

-          Tin-foil

-          Cookie cheet or baking dish (anything with edges, to prevent juice leakage/oven messes)

First, lie the fish on the tinfoil (enough to generously enclose the fish, and seal firmly shut), on a cookie sheet.

Cut deep slices in the fish chunks, (don’t cut entirely through the fish, but do cut deeply) and insert butter pads into them.  Squeeze lime over fish, then salt/pepper it.

(Or, if you’re working with the entire fish, filet it and put butter pads inside, then re-close the fish)

Put in the oven, at 400 degrees, for 15-18 minutes (if using roughly the amount of fish pictured above). 

Or until your fish looks whiter-than-it-was (but still pink), and "flakes apart."

Then, if you are my dear husband, you will slice zucchini and drop it in boiling water for a mere 1 minute (to prevent sogginess), then promptly drain and top with parmesan cheese… mmmm!

And you will chop some red potatoes to fry in coconut oil, and seasoned salt…

And you will produce this, in under 30 minutes.  AMAZING, no?  But, oh-so-reproducible  =)  You can make this, too!  This recipe never fails.  Just try it.  Honest.

OCD in the BX

So maybe it’s because I’m currently unemployed.  Or maybe it’s because my mother used to insist that we should all put displaced things where they belong, whether it’s our “chore” or not.  Or maybe it’s because everything else in the military is scripted and organized.

In any case, yesterday I jogged to the BX, combining the unlikable goal of running with the likeable goal of checking out the After-Christmas sales.  I cruised through five clearance racks of women’s clothing and suddenly noticed a grey dress that had been on Rack #1, and had been marked 50% off over there, but here on Rack #5, the same item was only 25% off.  Now, I didn’t want this dress.  I’d look ridiculous in it.  But, I immediately felt concern for whoever DID want this dress, and who might buy the wrong one, and pay too much for it.  So, I found a sweet European BX employee, and showed her the error.  She instructed me to take both up to the register, to get the cheaper price.  Well, I still didn’t want them, but decided that for the good of society, to take them up front and have the price corrected anyhow.  

Then, I moved onto the juniors rack – where I found an adorable swimsuit set, but the top was XS and the bottom was XL.  Huh.  No wonder these aren’t selling!  They should just sell them separately, silly people…  I added them to my pile. 

Then, in the makeup section, I noticed two black eyeliner pens in the clearance basket.  There were two, which made me think they must belong there.  Yet, they had no orange tags.  Were they really on clearance?  I searched the non-clearance area, to see if their relatives were on clearance.  Nope.  They cost $2.69.  So, I found the same employee and asked her to check the price on the black pens.  They, too, were $2.69, and obviously had been misplaced.  Naturally, to spare the world confusion and disappointment, I deposited them in their home, next to their brown and green and grey regularly-priced cousins.

Around this time, I noticed the trend.   So, did the amiable employee.  At our final encounter, she giggled and, in a thick accent, declared, “You schould vork here!” 

Yeah.   Apparently I should.  Wonder if they’re hiring perfectionists for 2011 yet…

It's the little things

This week, I am thankful for:

My cupboard full of tea... 

My beloved Christmas salt and pepper shakers...

My very-angry mini-whisk, because it makes me giggle every time I use it...

And most of all, my husband, who even when he is dead tired, is goofy enough to pretend that his camouflage works on the couch, and make me laugh…

And who draws me hearts, in the soap suds, while he does the dishes, long after midnight…

Random Practicals

Courtesy of the last five years:

- Keep a pen attached to your checkbook

- Program your bank’s 24-hour customer service phone number into your cell phone

- Get a 2nd opinion on everything.  Especially cars and medical issues.

- If your potatoes boil over and the fuzz goes down that clever drainage hole under your burner, THEY DO NOT GO FAR.  They merely pool underneath the stove.  Where they will become a ginormous, rotting petri dish.  And they will stink like you have never imagined.

- Combining uncooked beans with anything tomato-based will prevent your beans from cooking.  The tomato-acid will keep them rock hard forever.  Who knew?

- There is a lint catcher in every clothes dryer.  Definitely empty it - frequently.  Maybe at the same time as you change the filters in your house (which should be monthly.)

- If you are in a new apartment/climate/lifestyle, DO Google seemingly-obvious phrases, like “Colorado yard care for May” and “How to winterize home.” 
- Check the weather each morning

- A wet towel will silence your smoke alarm quicker than hysterically fanning the general area

- Get AAA coverage

- Ask your bank about (free) sub-accounts, an amazing way to keep your budget organized

- Do not rationalize/disregard/ignore dripping noises

- Sometimes, the generic brand works just as well as the advertised brand

- Combining vinegar and baking soda will clean out drains/disposals, sans chemicals, far better than Drain-O

- Flossing really does make a huge difference.

“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” – Benjamin Franklin

Simplest Clam Chowder EVER

Disclaimer #1:  This recipe presumes that you enjoy the taste of cream cheese.

Disclaimer #2:  This recipe does not claim to be "the best" clam chowder in creation - just dern close. 

Oh, but it's definitely the easier.  Ever.  No contest.  

You'll need:

- 3-4 (ish) Red potatoes, chopped

- 1 Onion, chopped

- 1 "box" of Cream Cheese

- 2 Cans of Clams

- Milk, Salt, Pepper, Dill, Butter, etc.  However much you want, for flavor.  :-)

Instructions:

Chop potatoes, and onions, and put in pot - see?

Boil them until tender (about 10 minutes).  Then, drain pretty much all the water.  (Don't bother to add any spices to the water, since you'll be draining it so quickly...)

Add hunk of cream cheese...

Add clams, INCLUDING the juice...

Like sooooooo....

Reheat.  Stir.  Add any spices your heart desires, and as much milk as you want - we like ours thicker, so I add about, um... one splash. 

(Wow - what a culinary term!  "One Splash."  I know, I know - I need to trademark that...)

Incredibly yummy!

Reasons to Love Military Life

It's easy to carp about military life.  Humans are naturally discontented souls. Collective grumbling is instinctive; communal graititude is rare.  Yet, I know high-ranking wives, who claim (seemingly genuinely) to LOVE the military life, even after decades of potential, natural discontentment.  Apparently, they didn't hang out with the negative folks.  So, I started thinking...

Things I Love About the Military

Succinct, sage advice 

My favorite atticism so far is, "Grow roots fast."  This from a crusty, middle-aged woman, who had spent half her life packing, unpacking, and then totalling her damaged goods, as a military spouse.  Practical, specific, and oh-so-true.  You can't afford to wait for the perfect group, or luxurious levels of compatibility, to connect and engage around here; you'll sink.  Fortunately, this life of shifting social circles breeds exceptionally good neighbors and friends - because they're being just as constantly displaced as you, and they're eager to meet you, too.

Constant comraderie

Granted, the military IS like a small town sometimes; neighbors overhear your arguments, your overgrown backyard is reported to your boss, your co-workers sit next to you in church.  It's intense. But, this closeness also offers gems like Fred, a silver-haired lifeguard who works the 5:00am shift.  He is the ultimate morning person, thanks to years of his own service in the Air Force.  He greets each weary swimmer with concentrated chipperness, encouraging us individually.  He watches our progress, offers technique tips, advises us about budgetting, and smiles on our young marriage.  A deserved retiree, he could simply sit through his shift.  But, no.  He notices when we arrive late, and uncannily senses when it was because of an early-morning quarrel, instead of a malfunctioning alarm clock.  I know he notices, because he always gives the perfect, subtle, unsolicited encouragement.  The world needs more Fred's.  And the military seems to cultivate lots of them.

Familiar Things

Wait.  Weren't you just complaining about all the transition and change and lack of familiarity in the military?  Why yes, I was - thanks for listening!  BUT, as much as the military creates havoc in my pre-planned psyche, it's also wonderfully standardized.  This is ironically comforting.  Reville invokes each sunrise; dinner preparations pause for our National Anthem; the concluding notes of Taps nudge us to bed every night.  Commissaries and BX's are (largely) the same.  Procedure and protocol are (largely) the same.  My ID card never changes its appearance, or leaves my purse.  (And I never forget my purse anymore.)  And since the movers won't take them in their truck, I always get to transport my own (two) plants.  Which, by the way, we've now named.  You have to name things, if they're (a) alive and (b) traveling with you for 4000 or more miles.

Excellence

I know every servicemember has a story of how one of their great deeds was unjustly overlooked, but I love that (generally) honesty is assumed, physical fitness is expected, hard work is rewarded, and a tidy yard is required.  Sure, I too laughed at the multi-page, obsessively-detailed description of how to manicure my (itsy-bitsy!) lawn during the month of May - but what lovely neighborhoods we share, no?  And what an admired military we are, thanks to those expectations of strength and diligence. 

I mean, really... who'd want to trade that?

Dispelling Thanklessness

Today, my happy list came slowly.  I felt drab.  And trite.  And petty.

But finally, amidst the cathartic rhythm of scrubbing countertops and chopping vegetables, my mind cleared and I began to notice my blessings again:

- Freshly-vacuumed carpet

- A working freezer

- Ajax

- Paper towels

- Fondue

- Board games

- Prayer

- Work.  Even housework  =)

- Newly-engaged friends

- Newborn babies, complete with Facebook photos!

- Electricity

- Batteries

- Voicemails from far-away friends

- Hummed music

- Quotes from wise people (see below)

- One more day of breath in my lungs, the ability to walk, and the freedom to blog

* * *

“The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life.  Attitude, to me, is more important than facts.  It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failure, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company... a church... a home.  The remarkable thing is we have a choice everyday regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day.  We cannot change our past... we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way.  We cannot change the inevitable.  The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude.  I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% of how I react to it.  And so it is with you... we are in charge of our attitudes.”

– Charles Swindoll

On Relativity and Perspective

Today started around midnight.  Midnight was when I realized I wasn't asleep.  Husband was snoring.  Husband rarely snores.  And usually, if I nudge him, he stops.  But, not today.  So, after hours of rising fury, I crawled out of bed, showered, and started my day at 4 a.m., in an instinctively grumpy mood.  It didn't help that I was driving on dark, wintery interstates for three hours, and trying to make eight hours’ worth of retail decisions on an empty stomach.  And it was dark.  And cold.  And the roads here are scary.  Etc.

My mind tallied complaints.  Why did I have to forego sleep last night?  Why did I use up my capacity for 40-hour days in highschool?  ...Why is the radio playing such stupid music?!

So, I started man-handling my mentality and focusing on blessings.  Not to be noble - rather, merely to cope.  And the whole world brightened.  *wry grin*  It always does.

- Fred Meyer is brilliant because they leave baskets around the store, so that when you realize you should have grabbed one, you don't have to traipse back to the front.  Brilliant.

- Organic chicken, on clearance, pretty much made my day.  I seriously stood two feet away, hoping/praying, while the sleepy meat-sale-price-tagger methodically printed and slapped orange clearance tags onto choice slabs of meat.

- Ditto to the gallons of organic milk for $2.50!  Scooooore!

[Note to self:  Always grocery shop between 7:00-9:00 a.m.  Stalk all people with orange-tag-printing guns.]

- I got the best parking space in town, without even trying.  No joke.

- The cashier wished me MERRY CHRISTMAS!  Not Happy Holidays, Season’s Greetings, or (the new trend) "Same to you."  I was psyched.  It was awesome.  Nothing against Kwanzaa or Hanukkah or any other holiday celebrated in December, but frankly I think it'd be awesome if we could all unabashedly celebrate whatever we want, verbally and otherwise.  And this cashier did.  Go her!

- I encountered an Irish lady in Costco’s meat department, and we chatted about lamb roasting for a solid five minutes.  Not sure why this was so cheering, but it totally was.

- Eating Costco's peppermint bark samples.  And Kerrygold's Dubliner cheese.  *swoon*

- John Frieda Shampoo, on clearance.  At a definitely-non-Walgreens price.  YES.

* * *

So, I know I’m supposed to write about adulthood on Friday.  And this sounds WAY more like a Happy List.  But, if there’s anything I’ve learned about adulthood, it’s that we have the absolute ability to control our moods.  One person screams because dinner burns; another remains pleasant in the face of chronic illness.  One attendant gives herself the right to be universally grouchy because she’s PMS-ing; another is intentionally gentle with the 5th person yelling at her today.  

Hardship is relative; It's all about perspective.

* * *

“Reflect on your present blessings, of which every man has many, not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.” - Dickens

Salsa Chicken Bean Dip

This recipe was born during the early months of our marriage, thanks to my co-worker's suggestion to slow-cook chicken in salsa, and my own rabid insistence that our meals stretch across multiple days.  The first time I tried this idea, Husband was ecstatic.  He loved it.  Wanted to have it every day.  Which was convenient, since we had about two gallons of leftovers.  (It took time to perfect the quantites.)  Fortunately, it freezes beautifully.  (Hint: Use gallon-sized ziplocks.)

What you'll need:

- A Crockpot
- Various basic kitchen luxuries - spatula, colander, etc.

- Chicken (1-2 lbs, or more if you like), either dark or white

- Salsa (a large tub - we get ours from Costco - or a couple of jars), mild or medium

- 1 bag of frozen corn (or canned, or fresh - your choice)

- 2 cans of beans (use different types - kidney, navy, black, pinto.  Combining two or more different beans = 1 complete protein)

- 1-2 cups of pre-cooked rice (we use organic brown/basmati rice)

Optional:

- Sour Cream

- Grated Cheese

First, just lay the chicken in the bottom of the crockpot, and drown it in salsa....

Then you put the lid on, and cook on Low for about 6-8 hours.

Add the rice, and heat a little longer... 

An hour or two before dinner, open it and stir it with a spatula… the chicken should shred naturally. 

Add the beans…

I usually rinse the corn, to “thaw” it, then add it and re-stir…

Warm for a few minutes, then enjoy!  P.S.  'Tis AMAZING with corn chips.

The Thing About Commissaries...

Military life is propelled by tradition.  And frequently, “tradition” is unspoken.

So, it took a hysterical Google search and a sympathetic eHow for me to realize why the commissary cashiers and baggers were glaring at me.  I had been hauling my bags to the car, like a kind citizen, sparing that sweet, elderly bag-person the trouble.

But, the kind eHow author explained: "Don't ever forget to TIP THE BAGGERS.  They work exclusively for tips.  It's considered very rude to handle your own bags, and then withhold a tip."

Oh. 

No one told me.

God bless eHow!

So, next time through the Idaho commissary, I spotted a tiny sign, affirming the eHow advice.  Well, sorta.  It actually said, "Baggers only work for tips."  Hum.  Is that really supposed to imply, "Oh, and by the way, tips are mandatory"?!

So, I watched and noticed others giving tips.  In fact, everyone did. 

Oh, I felt so rude!  So, I started peeling $1 from my wallet each time I shopped.  Even when I bought three items.  And it started affected our budget, adding $10-20 a month.  But, we couldn't figure out a way around it!

I finally realized you don't have to tip, if you go through self-checkout. Unfortunately, self-checkout rule vary.  Vastly.  Sometimes, there is a quantifiable amount of items that self-checkout will scan.  And they're not joking.  The machine won't work after Item #20.  COUNT CAREFULLY!  If you don't, all 21 of your items will be voided, and you WILL be sent to the mandatory-tipping line.

Also, self-checkouts can be tricky.  There’s one type with a conveyor-belt-thingie, which transports your goods from the scanning-table to the bagging-table.  And there’s a little laser sensor, located halfway, where two belts join - where food perpetually gets stuck, typically before it has passed the laser.  So, the machine shuts off, screaming (in beep-language) that you've stolen that bunch of now-smushed bananas!

Another hurdle is finding yourself in the correct line.  Picture a cattle shoot.  Or a ride at Disneyland (albeit much less clearly marked).  It's like that.  Hover in the wrong line momentarily, and you're out of luck for at least the next thirty minutes.

I did this once.  My error began when I bumped the lane divider, knocking it over.  Embarrassed, I started to set it back up, but a shrieking government employee was already flying towards me – so, I backed up.  Jabbering in aggitated Korean, she repaired the divider, then shooed me back into line. 

Unnerved, I manhandled my cart along the middle of the lane until suddenly, I was passing by self-checkout.  Noooo!  I tried to veer under the divider, but shrieking lady charged back towards me and I retreated impulsively.

There was no escape.  It was a miserable lesson.  I handed over my tip, defeated.

I even let the bagger escort me to my car.  And I forced a grin, and let myself hope that my tip would somehow make her day, tho’ apparently everyone else in the military also gives her a dollar, too.

... well, everyone except us self-checkout fiends.

* * *

“A man should never be ashamed to own he has been in the wrong, which is but saying that he is wiser today than he was yesterday.” – Alexander Pope

Home. Neurotics. Happiness.

Husband is home!  And he is just as giddy as I was, to arrive home after so many months of travel.  It's awesome.  He, too, is now infatuated with cheese graters, and entire closets full of clothing options, and seemingly-massive kitchen space!  He's the best.  He promptly did dishes, and whistled happily the whole time.  Aw….

And we ate massive amounts of lasagna and sparkling juice…

And then, we put on hats and went for a walk, because it was finally above freezing!  And we felt very dapper, for a whole hour until we realized there were 4000 lbs. of gear and dirty clothes that we had to sort through.  Oops.  Oh well.  =)

* * *

Today’s happy list is unorthodox, but fully representative of this past week, as I tried to settle back in, and went rather nuts.  And then, I tried Pollyanna-ishly to find the upside of my craziness... hehe

Reasons to Be Glad If You’re Rather OCD/Perfectionistic:

- You never, ever start eating the second half of the chocolate box; that taut, cellophane divide is just too intimidating.  This is great for one's holiday health.

- You return all graphic t-shirts whose designs are even slightly crooked.  This actually saves alot of money.

- You re-edit each blog post at least ten times.  Yes, after hitting the "publish" button (which was already preceded by a dozen edits).  Especially, you'll fixate each paragraph’s ending, gauging if it bleeds needlessly onto a new line, and you'll adjust your phrasing to emphasize the correct words.  This prevents most heinous typos.

- You often win “guess how many beans are in this jar” contests.  This can be lucrative.

- You always know what time it is.  And when asked for the time, you may also volunteer the weather forecast and today’s major headlines.  This makes even grumpy people laugh.

- And why yes, all our refrigerated milk/meat is arranged by expiration date! 

     … isn’t yours?

Sloughing off Glory Days

Identity-Shedding Comes Slowly.

I tend to mention that I was once a gymnast.  And it's true.  I did gymnastics until I broke both my feet.  Then, I had to quit.  Sounds like such a noble story, no?

But, challenge me to do a handstand right here, and I'll just chuckle.  Ask for photos, and I can't provide any.  Oh, and splits?  Long gone.  I never had them "down," actually.

Truth be told, I really wasn't that good.  Nor was I honestly that passionate, until I was condemned to "never do gymnastics again" at which point my innate rebellion against medical restrictions prompted an obsession: Rewinding and hyper-analyzing my VHS copies of the '96 Olympics, while wearing casts and sucking Ibuprofen.

Some days, I really miss the sport.  But, most days, I just miss the admiration.  I understand why people tend to relive/exaggerate their "glory days."  I miss my identity as "an athlete."  Probably it shouldn't have been my identity so much, but it was.  As were many other labels:  Student, Musician, Teacher, Editor, Public Speaker.  It's weird to give those up!

Metamorphosis is inherently a loss of the old self.  I know it’s good to frame those fond memories, and transition to pilates now.  But, old identities are heavy and hard to shrug off.  New identities take time to graft and grow.

And I comfort myself by remembering that not everything has to change; I will be wearing warmups to pilates class.

Because I still own, like, 50 sets.

On Food

I swear, most days, we would not eat if I didn't have a crockpot.  It is my friend.  It makes providing food for my always-hungry, super-athletic husband unbelievably easy.  So, many recipes claim to be "easy" - and are so totally not easy.  I hate those.

Plus, most of those are junky, and I want our food be highly nutritious.  As my mom says, "You want your food to be 100% useable.  White pasta is not very usable - your body can only use a small portion.  So, your body will say, 'Awesome, thanks for all this unnecessary extra; I'll store it as fat for later, in case you start starving me.'  And serial dieting perpetuates the cycle; your body will always fear the next starvation period."

(My mom is smart about food.  I love nutrition because of her.)

She also is a bit of a cheapskate.  She loves saving money.  So do I.  Coupons combined with clearance prices delight my very soul.  And I resent fake sales.  10% off?  Really?  A whole $0.09182 cents off?  Oh, you're so generous, Mr. Grocery Man!

No, I wait for real deals, (50-70% off is my usual threshold) and I try to use alot of cheap ingredients - fillers, you might say.  Rice and beans and potatoes and onions and carrots and so on.  I also love store brand products (within reason), and whatever is on the clearance rack  =) 

This focus on saving money also helps us accomplish our secondary goal of eating as many natural, organic, local, hormone-and-chemical-free products as possible.  We used to eat all organic, but we lived in a city then, where my couponing ability actually benefitted us, because there were options.  Now?  Fewer options.  Alot fewer.

But, after a few adjustments, I like the balance we've found recently.  And friends keep asking for my recipes, knowing that they are (a) easy (b) super-nutritious (c) cheap (d) delicious.  We don't believe in nasty-tasting food.  Healthy food should taste BETTER than cruddy food.  We don't eat things that taste like weeds-just-sprayed-with-roundup.  That's gross.  And when we buy a box of "healthy" crackers, if it tastes like sawdust, we throw it out.  Even tho' we're cheapskates.  Seriously.  It must be yummy.

So, every Thursday, I will post a recipe here. 

I decided to do this on Thursday because, if you're like us, by then any and all weekend leftovers are gone, you're fatigued and uninspired and tempted just to order pizza.

But, don't!  My recipes are better than pizza.  *wink*

Military 101: Handling Civilians

It's awkward.  As soon as you identify yourself as a military spouse, the questions begin.  They're often thoughtless inquiries, and each wife develops her own style of reply.  Usually, we first try to deter you with concise replies:

"Is your husband gone alot?"
"Yes."
"Do you miss him?"
"Yes."
"Does he ever shoot a gun?"
"Yes."
"Will he deploy to dangerous places?"
"Most likely."

Then, unless you catch our hint, the conversation will escalate to more specific concerns, and sometimes we get a little snarky:

"Isn't it hard, having a husband who isn't around take care of you? "
"Actually my husband takes wonderful care of me; thank you for your interest!"

"How do you feel about the war?"
"Oh, I love war!  Especially war movies, with lots of violence and handsome heroes who die... Don't you?"

Aaaaand, my personal favorite:
"How likely is it that your husband will die?"

Here I usually smile, and answer candidly: "Alot less likely than your husband dying, while commuting on American freeways."

* * *

But, some days, you just can't find an answer.

Today, in the mall, one of my fellow military wives was nursing her baby, in the communal play area.  An artificially-blonde woman settled nearby, and began to chat. 

"Are you from around here?" 
"Yes, I live on the base." 
"Ah, where is your husband?"
"Actually, he left yesterday, on a deployment." 
"Oh, you poor dear!"
"Yeah, yesterday was definitely a rough day.  But, we'll manage.  We're usually able to talk on the phone regularily, which is nice."

"I'm just going to cry now for you!"  The woman was evidently very sweet, but also very dramatic.  "I just," she sniffled, "I just hate the war so much!  It's so stupid, all these men dying, for absolutely nothing!"

My friend blinked, stunned.  Nothing quite like being told that your spouse's job, your lifestyle, and the discomforts of military life are not only unappreciated, but also pointless!

Later in the car, we decided we should script a response, for nitwits like the blonde lady.  If we had it to do over again, we'd say something like this:

Ma'am, I certainly understand your feelings, and respect your opinion.  In fact, I'm thankful that you expressed yourself, because it's a great reminder that we live in a darn free land, where you aren't shot for disagreeing with our national leaders' decisions. 

We don't like war either, and yes, it's awful to have our husbands leave.  But, we believe in freedom - so do you, clearly - and we support our military's work to protect us from those who don't believe in freedom!  So, I'd thank you to remember that the only reason you are even allowed to criticize my husband's job is precisely because he's doing his job, and keeping you free.

Naturally, it's always easier to articulate indignance, in the privacy of one's own SUV.  Maybe we should print our little diatribe on business cards, hehehe... I bet they'd sell.