Mandajuice

In which I resist the urge to punch Oprah in her big fat omentum

So Monday's Oprah broke my heart.  It was a teen intervention where Oprah gathered up sixteen obese kids and forced them to yell at their parents.  The hardest part for me to watch was when the counselor asked how many of the kids had wanted to or tried to commit suicide and a good half of them stood up.  It was gut wrenching.  The idea that these poor kids would rather be dead than fat killed me and I had to send my own kids upstairs so I could cry for the ones on TV.

For the record, I was not a fat kid.  I was not a THIN kid, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I was no where near obese. 

However.

That didn't stop me from dieting and to this day I blame my early dieting for my later obesity. 

I think dieting is the WORST POSSIBLE THING for these obese teens.  Not only will it instill them with a daily sense of overwhelm and failure, but like ALL dieters, they will eventually go off the wagon and regain their weight, rendering them worse-off than they are right this minute.

I know Oprah means well, but her handling of this subject matter has always made me angry.  Does she NOT SEE what a hypocrite she is?  She puts herself out there as the zen mama of the universe and then tries to sell this idea to America - that solving your INNER problems and feeding your SOUL will actually help you lose weight in the long run.

Not to go all WEEKEND UPDATE on you, but REALLY?  REALLY, Oprah?  Really?

REALLY?

I mean, Oprah has more resources at her disposal than GOD and yet, not to be a bitch about it, but have you seen her ass lately?  Dr. Phil would say, "HOW'S THAT WORKIN' FOR YA?" 

It isn't working AT ALL because it just... can't.  I'm not suggesting that Oprah needs surgery, but if these kids all wait until their emotional problems are solved before they start losing weight, well, most of them are going to die before they ever get there.

On Tuesday's show, Dr. Oz gave advice to the same kids about how to read nutrition labels and make better food choices.  The audience was given a quiz - eat this or that.  Turkey bacon, it turns out, isn't any better for you than regular bacon! Who knew?  (For the record, I knew.  I got every single answer right.)  And that was all well and good and probably excellent information to help regular parents PREVENT teen obesity. 

But...

It's not gonna help those teens.

The only thing that's gonna help a 385 pound high-schooler is gastric bypass surgery.

Fortunately one of the girls had the balls to ask Dr. Oz about surgery and godlovehim he answered her correctly.  He said something like, "Well, that would DEFINITELY help.  If we can try this other stuff first (meaning counseling and better food choices) and it doesn't work, I'll even HELP YOU get surgery."

LOVE. HIM.

But sitting right next to Dr. Oz was Oprah, who rolled her eyes and cut to commercial. 

I kinda wanted to punch her.  She's always been so dismissive of the ONE WEIGHT LOSS method that statistically speaking ACTUALLY WORKS.

One of the most frequent questions I'm asked about my gastric bypass surgery is if I'm planning to have it reversed now that I've lost all my weight.  It's a weird question, but common enough that I think it represents a general misunderstanding about how obesity and weight loss work.  There's this myth out there that education is all that matters.  That if we could just TEACH these poor fat kids and their obviously illiterate parents about what to eat, then they'd lose all their weight and live happily ever after. 

This might fly in the face of the education folks, but in spite of the fact that I've obviously figured out EXACTLY what I need to eat to stay the size I am now (healthy, 180 pounds, size 14) I will never EVER have my surgery reversed.  First of all, I'm not actually sure it's even surgically feasible, but doing that would cause me to IMMEDIATELY gain all my weight back and then some.  My guess is that I'd be 300 pounds again in under two years.  And yet, I have successfully maintained a 100+ pound weight loss for  almost six years - I KNOW WHAT TO EAT.

Up until I had one surgically installed, I did not have a full button.  I did not know when to stop eating.  Could YOU eat eight tacos in one sitting without getting sick like that kid on Tuesday's Oprah?  Because right now I could eat about two before I'd physically have to stop.  Before my surgery, I could've eaten eight tacos with my eyes closed and washed 'em down with a milkshake.  Either way, I'M STILL EATING SOME TACOS. 

It's too early to tell, but I sincerely hope my kids will dodge this genetic bullet.  Unfortunately, the odds aren't good.  But I will do my best to model portion control, NOT restriction.  I will never allowing dieting in my house.  Activity? Exercise? YES and YES.  But never, EVER a diet.  Instead I will love them exactly the way they are and focus on whatever they ARE capable of accomplishing with the bodies that nature deals them.  Most importantly, my kids will never overhear their mother utter a single, solitary derogatory sentiment about her weight or her body.  My kids will grow up knowing that happiness isn't a pants size.

Except for the part where I lost all my iPhone contacts

Hi There!  It's me - see:

Same ol' Mommy, same ol' blog, new haircut.

Alex got his first salon hair cut too and I love it. 
Unlike the barbershop cuts he's had before, my stylist left his curls alone.  I think he's so handsome that it hurts a little.

Can I stop here and brag on my boy for a second?  I always feel like I fail in my descriptions of Alex.  He has this air about him - it's something about his confidence, his optimism, the way he talks to adults with the assumption that what he says matters.  Even the way he plays dart tag in his underpants so the Velcro darts won't stick to his clothes.  Sometimes watching him in action makes me feel like I'm going to burst, like my chest is filled with champagne bubbles and my heart is the cork.

My magic powers of deduction lead me to believe that we all do this - worship at the alter of our children's magnificence - don't we?  I can't be the only parent who watches her child in the classroom and thinks without hesitation or apology that he is the VERY BEST ONE.

I feel much the same way about Genoa, obviously.  Although I have a feeling when school starts and she's a terror there too, I won't be bragging on certain qualities.  Yesterday she watched her brother get a fancy grown-up hair cut, shampoo-sink and all, and naturally she wanted one too.  I explained to the stylist that we loved Genoa's long hair and that her father would kill me if I ever tried to have it cut.  So Genoa walked over to me, cocked her head to the side and said, "But Daddy's not HERE." She lifted her palm up to help make her argument. "He's at work!"  What a little stinker.

We did have a good day yesterday, though. I dropped Alex off at school and then she and I made the 40 minute drive to Tigard to the Apple store.  My iPhone was DEAD DEAD DEAD and even the AT&T people couldn't fix it.  The first appointment I could get was at Bridgeport Village, a beautiful shopping center I didn't even know existed.  It reminded me of what Stanford Shopping Center would look like if it was brand new and smelled EXACTLY like Milpitas (Bay Area peeps know what I'm talkinbout).  They fixed my phone in under thirty minutes while Genoa snoozed quietly in her stroller.And since I thought it would take much, much longer than that, I found myself with something I rarely have: time to kill.  Dave was scheduled to pick up Alex for me, I had a child sleeping peacefully in her stroller, two freshly-paid-off credit cards and every store I could possibly want to shop at right within walking distance.  J. Crew! Anthropologie! Crate & Barrel! Banana Republic!  Even that weird American Apparel place! 

So I did what any read-blooded (pun-intended, har-de-har-har) American would do:

I went to Border's, got a cup of coffee (A Seattle's Best one-pump small white mocha with whipped cream and shaved white chocolate = PERFECTION) and walked around the bookstore reading the first page of every novel I could get my hands on.  (This week's assignment for my writing class is to re-write the first 200 words of my novel and it's been all I can think about for days.  I think I've written 15 different versions and none of them are right.  Not to go all Heidi Montag-as-imitated-by-Robot Chicken on you, but This is HARD.)

Then I put a still-fast-asleep girl into her carseat and came home, avoiding all traffic in both directions.  The girl woke up JUST as we were pulling into the driveway, like perfection.  I couldn't have asked for a better day.

25 Points of Light

I normally don't do memes, but two of my REAL LIFE friends have tagged me for this one on Facebook, so I can't say no this time.  Here's the thing about Facebook: I kind of hate it, but I kind of love it too.  The best part is that it forces my non-blogging friends to occasionally write stuff that I get to read.  The worst part is that it's basically a big pool party of smiley emoticons wearing exclamation point bikinis.  AND I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE CAPITAL LETTERS.

Anyway, here are 25 (not so) random things about me. Admittedly, I'm using this as an opportunity to answer some of the recent questions about my life experience and the formation of my belief system.

1. My name was popularized by a Barry Manilow song.  But if you call me Mandy, I will cutchew.
2. This Fall my parents will celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary.
3. For most of my early childhood, I barely saw my father.  I sometimes spent Saturday mornings lurking under his secretary's desk and using the copy machine to make counterfeit money with my older brother. 
4. When I was nine, his sacrifices paid off and the company he started with a handful of colleagues went public.  Our entire existence changed and we moved from a three-bedroom tract in Campbell to a 5,000 square foot house in Los Gatos.  My bedroom had a floor-to-ceiling mirror and a ballet bar, but I think I saw my father even less.
5. Except for when I tagged along with friends, I never went to church as a kid.  My father was raised Christian Scientist and he swore off religion as soon as he left home for the Navy.  God was almost a bad word in our house and he forbid his own mother from attempting to indoctrinate us. 
6. I have a terrible memory.  TERRIBLE.  I can barely even remember most of my childhood.  At my last job, I worked aside our part-time receptionist for TWO YEARS without realizing that she had been my Kindergarten teacher. 
7. My mother wanted to be a childless artist who lived in Paris.  One husband, four kids and almost four grandkids later, I'm pretty sure she's glad she chose love instead.  She's devoted her life to her family and we're all the better for it.
8. I was an extremely ill-behaved middle-schooler.  Seriously, WORST NIGHTMARE STUFF.
9. By High School, I was mostly well-adjusted and responsible.  Aside from the occasional pack of cigarettes and a very bad choice of "boyfriend" at 15, I never did anything illegal again.  Never drank.  Rarely went to parties.  When I did go, I was always designated driver.  Never missed a curfew.  Was never lever for work. 
10. Sadly, because of how horrible I was in 8th grade, it took years for me to lose that reputation and no one trusted me again for a long time.  I think my grandmother still sees me as my 13-year-old self.
11. The funny thing about having an entrepreneur for a father is that as spoiled as I was to get to grow up how I did, I was never given an allowance and never received a dollar that I didn't have to work for.  (WORK - it's what's for dinner!) By the time I graduated from high school, I had no less than four regular jobs outside of school.  I made over $1000 a month and since I had no bills and no car, that was the wealthiest I have ever been.
12. I saved up that money and spent the second half of my junior year of high school in Argentina, doing a semester abroad in a third world country where I didn't speak a word of the language.  It was a life-changing experience that I'm still learning from to this day.  (It's also where I met my German friend Christa who sometimes comments on this blog).  When I got home, it took all my restraint not to kneel down and kiss the sweet, merciful California soil I was lucky enough to be born on.
13. When I started my senior year of high school,  I was allowed to drive the car to school as long as I helped pick up and drop off my siblings.  After school, I also used it to run deliveries for my dad's company when I was done with the bookkeeping. I was not allowed to buy my own car, not even with my own money.
14. Spending all that time with my dad made up for the tiny blip he'd been on the radar when I was younger.  We became extremely close and spent hours a day talking about everything from basketball to business to politics.  Even when I ROYALLY screwed up the books by writing checks from the wrong account, he let me keep working for him because he knew nothing could've taught me more about money than making actual real-life mistakes.
15. I was president of the international club at my high school and during my senior year, we ended up hosting a Swedish student whose original host family hadn't worked out.  Chris was an excellent addition to the family and still feels like my long-lost brother. 
16. I saved ALL my money during that year (I even skipped prom because I didn't want to pay for it!)  and the day after graduation, I packed my bags and left for Europe (alone again!), staying at hostels and with friends (and never once at a hotel or a resort).  Spain, France, Belgium, Germany, Denmark and finally, a month in Sweden, like a cherry on top.  It was the best summer of my life, but as much as I loved all the people I met, when I got home, my urge to make out with American soil (and American men) was stronger than ever.
17. Within an hour of meeting Dave for the first time, I knew he was the man I was meant to marry.
18. Nine months after we met, he went to UC Davis for law school and I went to the University of San Francisco to major in International Business.  I missed him HORRIBLY and took the train to see him almost every weekend.  After the first semester, in spite of my 4.0 report card, I left school to move in with him, taking a semester and a summer off before getting into UCD  to finish my degree. 
19. The day I moved in with David, my parents cut me off financially and I paid for the rest of college (and the rest of my life) myself.  Literally.  Because of their income, I didn't qualify for financial aid and had to take out loans to pay for everything until Dave and I got married.  I was 20.
20. The first car I ever owned was an '89 Honda Accord.  It had three different shades of burgundy, 100,000 miles and a salvaged title.  Dave and I drove way out into the Russian ghetto of Sacramento to buy it from a seedy mechanic who spoke about two words of English.  We had to cash in an entire semester's worth of financial aid money to pay for it, which meant charging our groceries and gas until the next check came.
21. I have a BA in International Relations from UC Davis.  I took an economics class during every. single. semester. of college.  Those were my favorite classes.
22. My beliefs are all based on a single principle: that man is both inherently good AND predictably self-interested.  I trust the individual over the state 100% of the time.  I see government as a problem, NEVER as a solution.  Most people read poetry in college.  I read Adam Smith.  (For the record, I also read Karl Marx. Bastard gave me hives.)
23. I have this crazy idea that on April 15th, I should be allowed to allocate 50% of my tax bill to the qualified charity of my choice instead of paying it to the federal government.  Imagine the safety nets that would be in place if charities were competing for that money directly instead of begging for bureaucratic leftovers.  (AM SERIOUS.  HAVE TOTALLY SOLVED SOCIAL SECURITY DILEMMA RIGHT THERE.)
24. The last vacation Dave and I took together was seven days in Costa Rica the week before he started his first job as a lawyer.  We put the whole vacation on the only credit card we had that wasn't maxed out.  I justified it thinking it might be a long time before we could take another vacation.  I was right: that was almost 8 years ago and we haven't traveled since.
25. Dave and I graduated with roughly $100,000 in student loans.  We've never missed a payment and by the time we're done, our kids will be in college.  I'm still wondering where my BMW is.  Seriously, I thought they handed out the keys when you passed the Bar exam.  WOULD LIKE SHINY SILVER CAR NOW KTHXBYE.

In defense of conservative blogging

I really didn't intend to start a political debate here (I never do!), but there are a couple of things I just have to point out before I move on.  First, and most important, is that you will never catch me in the business of trying to change someone's mind about politics.  The ONLY reason I even hazard to bring it up here on my boob-juice blog is because it bothers me that there are so few conservative mommy-bloggers out there.  And then I hit myself upside the head and think DUH - there probably ARE at least some of us out there, we're just so used to being the minority that we mostly shut up and play dead.

And that's not fair.

I have just as much right to my conservative opinion as anyone has to their liberal one.

And in case you haven't noticed, my opinion is neither unfounded, nor wavering.  I have extremely deep-set beliefs that I've formed through a multitude of life experiences.  And here's the thing: I fundamentally believe that you hold your political views for similar reasons.  I would never question that.  I just want it out there that we don't all agree on these things and that there is a place for all opinions.  Again, I'm just trying to represent a view here, not change anyone's mind.

The last comment I got was from a reader who said that I was "another blog to take off the reader.  Thanks for making it so easy."  And honestly?  My gut reaction to that comment is a big fat don't let the door hit you on the way out.  You can't read my MOMMY blog because I don't drink from the Obama cool-aid (I know I'm going to get shit for saying that but I mean it TONGUE IN CHEEK, PEOPLE!)? 

I mean honestly?  If you're SO intolerant that you can't even READ a blog written by someone with different world views than you?  You're not smart enough to be here in the first place.  That kind of stupid is uglier than a visible pantyline in a polyester pantsuit.

And as for this idea that it's somehow unpatriotic to hope that Obama fails?  GIVE ME A BREAK.  If McCain had won and his first act as President was to go about abolishing abortion, would YOU, my liberal reader, be UNPATRIOTIC for wanting him to fail? 

No.

And now you know why I'm not so GUNG-HO about 600,000 new government jobs that I strongly believe belong in the private sector.  I don't want Obama to succeed AT ALL with legistlation that goes against the very fiber of my political being.  And you wouldn't either.

And here's the magic of being an American: we can hold opposing views and ALL be patriotic at the same time.  I LOVE that we've just elected a black president; it makes me proud to be an american.  But it doesn't mean I have to agree with him or wish him success in policies with which I fundamentally disagree and I think that's completely fair.  Don't you?

Genoa, writing stuff, Obama-mania (Obamania?)

I hate to even say it out loud, but we seem to have turned a corner with Genoa.  We only had to lock her in her room twice before she got it and in the process, she seems to have figured out that her parents aren't entirely full of crap.  We actually mean what we say.  Who knew?! 

(She apparently didn't).

I'm also noticing that keeping Genoa's belly full is like her own personal brand of toddler Prozac.  Don't get me wrong, she's still TWO with every fiber of her being, but the drag-em-out, shoot-em-up, stomp-em-dead tantrums are fewer and further between.  Even if it means I'm waking her up from her naps by cramming bananas into her pie hole as fast as I can, I'm taking it as a welcome change.  (Change I can believe in!) (That was for Dave).

The only problem is that she's an exceptionally light sleeper.  I've been waking up at 6:00 to write, supposedly before the kids wake up, but she's been getting up during my first half hour.  I'm glad she's sleeping through the night, but this book is going to take me approximately ten years if I can only work on it in twenty minute chunks.  I've been hoarding nap times, but that also means I get NOTHING ELSE done.  I owe phone calls to no less than four of my closest friends and it may take me a week or more to get back to them.  (Sorry Tonya! and Kate! and Jill! and Deneen!)  For the first time in my life I'm becoming anti-social!

I've been thoroughly enjoying the novel-writing class I'm taking.  I'm not learning anything I haven't recently read in the half-dozen books I own on the subject, but it's good reinforcement and I feel like it's been really helpful.  If nothing else, I'm getting over the surprising fear it turns out I have of reading my work out loud in a room full of strangers.  I've never been a nervous public speaker and obviously I'm not shy about my writing, having self-published it for all the Internets to read for the past five years, but when it's my turn to share, I find myself getting all nervous and my pulse starts to race and my hands shake.  I know it's weird, but this is a first for me.  I've always LOVED public speaking and I still have no trouble participating in the class by answering questions, etc, but something about reading my own work out loud makes me jittery.  So yeah.  This is a good experience for me.

As for yesterday?  Well it should come as no surprise that I'm highly skeptical.  Dave and I celebrated the inauguration by resolving to pad our savings account extra-well in the coming months and years, to put a little extra away for a rainy day.  I think the only hope we have about this administration is that the rainy day we're saving for won't fall on April 15th, that when it comes times to pay for all this change everyone believes in, we won't be the ones signing the check.

Recipe for Cashew Chicken

On Friday I was on a lunch date with Alex and some friends when Dave called me on my cellphone and proceeded to make dirty sex noises at me.  He was eating the leftovers I'd packed for his lunch. 

"This cashew chicken is SO F***ING GOOD!" he moaned.  "I mean, it's REALLY REALLY good."

This is that recipe.

It's time consuming, complicated and expensive, but if you like cashew chicken, I promise it's worth all the effort. This recipe has a LOT of ingredients and if you're the kind of cook who has a hard time following recipe instructions, pay extra close attention, but otherwise, it's basically a stir-fry.  And it's so delicious that I should be charging you a fee to open this blog post.

You'll need:

4-5 chicken breasts

8-12 ounces of fresh snow peas

2 cups cashews (salted or not, either way is fine)

1 8-ounce can of water chestnuts (sliced or whole, depending on how much work you want to do)

Red pepper flakes

Olive oil

Ground ginger

4-5 cloves of garlic

For the marinade:

3 Tablespoons Mirin

2 Tablespoons Soy Sauce

2 Tablespoons Corn Starch

2 Tablespoons Sesame Oil

For the sauce:

1 cup Low-Sodium Chicken Broth

3 Tablespoons Worchestershire Sauce

7 Tablespoons of Mirin

3 Tablespoons Soy Sauce

2 Tablespoons Sesame Oil

4 TEASPOONS Corn Starch

You'll also probably want to make some white rice to go with this.  We like Basmati, but whatever you normally make is fine.  (My recipe is 2 cups EXTREMELY WELL-RINSED white Basmati, a tablespoon of butter and 2 cups chicken broth, but we like it pretty dry).

I'm going to write out the recipe in the way I SHOULD make it, but always forget to.  So the first thing I should do is to start ahead of time by chopping up my chicken so I can marinate it. I like to chop it into just-about-bite-sized pieces. 

The marinade is pretty simple, but then again, I'm assuming you're smarter than I am and that you already know what Mirin is.  I didn't!  I had to use the powers of iPhone google from the Asian foods aisle of my local wal-mart before I could even figure out if Mirin was a liquid or a solid.  It's a "sweet cooking rice wine" though.  Now I know! In a big bowl, measure out the following:

3 Tablespoons Mirin

2 Tablespoons Soy Sauce

2 Tablespoons Corn Starch

2 Tablespoons Sesame Oil

And whisk it together before adding the cubed chicken. Cover with saran wrap and marinate for at least 30 minutes, but no more than two hours.  Apparently this process is called "velveting" and will help make your chicken extra tender and delicious.

While the chicken is marinating, it's time to do the rest of your prep. Start by trimming the ends off your snow peas and then cutting them in half at an angle.Then rinse your water chestnuts. And slice 'em if you didn't buy them already sliced.  The original recipe included a blurb about how pre-sliced water chestnuts can be water-logged or something, but I don't know enough about them to know if that's true.  I just sliced them so I could play with my new knife.Then get out your cashews.  The original recipe called for one cup, which is not nearly enough, so I just use the whole can, which I think is either 12 or 16 ounces.  No one ever had a plate of cashew chicken and thought, "Gee there are just TOO MANY CASHEWS in here."Fred Meyer only had salted cashews, which would make the recipe too salty, so I dumped them out onto a clean dishtowel and rubbed them around for a while to remove as much salt as I could.  It worked better than I expected.Then I pan-roasted them in a non-stick skillet over medium-high heat.  The original recipe called for heating up the oven and roasting them at 400 degrees for five minutes, but last time I did that I forgot about them and burned them.  And who wants to heat up the whole over for something that needs only five minutes in there?!The pan-roasting works just as well.Next, I prep the sauce.  It calls for a cup of low-sodium chicken broth, which I just make myself with hot water and a tiny dollop of chicken base.  It's not technically low sodium, but it works.Now you have to get out the ingredients for the sauce and make sure you measure them carefully.  (This is the hardest part of the recipe! I promise!)  Since this is the last time you'll need these ingredients, I find it easier to stay on track if I put each bottle away after I use it.

Whisk together:

1 cup Low-Sodium Chicken Broth

3 Tablespoons Worchestershire Sauce

7 Tablespoons of Mirin

3 Tablespoons Soy Sauce

2 Tablespoons Sesame Oil

4 Teaspoons Corn Starch

Until it looks greasy and kind of like an oil spill.

Now would be a good time to peel 4-5 garlic cloves.  Of course, I always forget until much later, which explains why I don't have a photo of this step here. 

Next it's time to get the chicken out of the fridge and get rolling.  Heat up a couple teaspoons of olive oil in your largest nonstick skillet.  Mine is about 12 inches I think and this recipe is as much food as I can fit into it at once. 

Using a slotted spoon to transfer the chicken from the marinade bowl to your skillet, split the chicken into two batches and brown it half at a time in the heated oil. 

You don't want to cook the chicken all the way through in this step, instead you just want to brown the exterior.Transfer the chicken to a plate.And cover it with foil while you brown the next batch.Once all your chicken is browned it will finish cooking under the tin foil tent while you finish the rest of the stir fry.  Wipe out your pan and heat up a fresh teaspoon of olive oil before adding your snow peas.

I love the way the heat brightens the green of the snow peas; it's also the way you can tell they're cooked enough.When they're mostly bright green, get out your ground ginger.  The original recipe called for fresh, but that's a pain in the butt, so i just shook in some of this stuff and called it good.  Like so:The original recipe also called for 1/4 teaspoon of red pepper flakes.But I didn't measure it.  I just sprinkled them in until it felt like enough.Stir that together for a minute or so until it's fragrant and then mince in your garlic.  I think four cloves is plenty, but add more if you like more.Cook the garlic for another minute or so and then add your sliced water chestnuts.Once those are well-incorporated and warm, you can add your sauce.  Just be sure to give it a quick whisk again because the corn starch likes to chillax at the bottom of the bowl.Reduce your heat a tiny bit here and stir it for a few minutes.The sauce begins to change color when it boils and that's how you know it's done.  It turns clear and gets darker.Now you can add your chicken!This is the part where I usually start spilling all over the stove.Once the chicken is hot, you can turn off your heat and add the cashews.  They don't need to cook and you don't want them to get soggy, so wait until right before you serve this to incorporate them.And that's it!Serve over white rice and enjoy!

Mandajuice's Cashew Chicken

INGREDIENTS:

4-5 chicken breasts

8-12 ounces of fresh snow peas

1-2 cups whole cashews (salted or not, either way is fine)

1 8-ounce can of water chestnuts (sliced or whole, depending on how much work you want to do)

Red pepper flakes

Olive oil

Ground ginger

4-5 cloves of garlic

For the marinade:

3 Tablespoons Mirin

2 Tablespoons Soy Sauce

2 Tablespoons Corn Starch

2 Tablespoons Sesame Oil

For the sauce:

1 cup Low-Sodium Chicken Broth

3 Tablespoons Worchestershire Sauce

7 Tablespoons of Mirin

3 Tablespoons Soy Sauce

2 Tablespoons Sesame Oil

4 TEASPOONS Corn Starch

Whisk together the marinade ingredients (3 Tablespoons Mirin, 2 Tablespoons Soy Sauce, 2 Tablespoons Corn Starch, 2 Tablespoons Sesame Oil), pour over cubed chicken and stir to coat it well.  Cover and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes or up to two hours. 

Next prepare all your other ingredients: wash and slice your snow peas and water chestnuts, peel 4-5 cloves of garlic, remove salt from cashews with a clean dishtowel (if salted) and cook them over med-high heat in a dry nonstick skillet for under five minutes until golden brown.  Set aside.

Combine sauce ingredients (1 cup Low-Sodium Chicken Broth, 3 Tablespoons Worchestershire Sauce, 7 Tablespoons of Mirin, 3 Tablespoons Soy Sauce, 2 Tablespoons Sesame Oil, 4 Teaspoons Corn Starch), whisk and set aside.

Wipe out your skillet and heat 2 teaspoons of olive oil over high heat.  Using a slotted spoon to drain the marinade, transfer half the chicken to your hot skillet and brown it on all sides, being careful not to cook it all the way through.  Transfer browned chicken to a platter and cover with tinfoil.  Wipe out your skillet and repeat this step with remaining chicken.  Tent and set aside.

Heat one teaspoon of olive oil in your skillet.  Add snow peas and cook until bright green, less than two minutes.  Add a few shakes of ground ginger and about 1/4 teaspoon of red pepper flakes.  Cook until fragrant.  Add 4-5 cloves of minced garlic and cook for another one to two minutes. 

Whisk the sauce again before adding it to the pan.  Reduce heat to medium high and stir frequently.  When the sauce begins to boil, add chicken and stir until heated through.  Remove from heat and stir in the cashews.

Serve over white rice and enjoy!

The stuff that makes up for the rest of it

1. The adorable pinched face she pulls when she's whispering.  Just now she whispered, "What's that NOY-EEZ?" complete with a claw-fingered hand gesture to indicate her sinister opinion of whatever it was.  Don't worry, baby, it's just the dishwasher.
2. "Mama! MA. MA.  I want my ZERT!"  (dessert)
3. The noise she makes when she turns her fingers into a pistol and chases her brother around the house: BEEYAW!  BEEYAW!  Take that, BROTHER.
4. She will eat almost anything as long as it's on my plate.
5. Unless her brother tells her it's gross.  Then you can forget it, MOM.  She wants mac 'n cheese.
6. Or a hot dog, "monkey style" (warm, whole, held tightly in her chubby little fist).
7. She's a decent cleaner-upper and can be counted on to pitch in with with more enthusiasm in her left pinky toe than her brother has in his entire "NOT MY WHOLE ROOM!" body.
8. She is better potty-trained than her big brother.  I'm convinced she'll win the race and be the first to cross the self-butt-wiping finish line.  The fact that she was so early and so easy to potty train makes up for many mountains of other woes.
9. She REALLY knows how to pucker up for a kiss.  None of that tight-lipped slobbery crap, nope, she's all pout.  I take advantage of this as many times as possible throughout the day.  And no kiss from Genoa is complete without an "I YOVE YOU" to go with it.
10. She says please and thank you, for the most part.  When she REALLY wants something, she brings out the big, good grammar guns: "Mommy, may I please watch a show?"
11. The way she puts her hands on her hips, while admittedly fraught with perilous attitude, is the most adorable thing I have ever seen in my entire life. 

On Being Had

So.  Where to begin with this can of worms?  How about right here:

On Tuesday night we locked Genoa in her bedroom all night.  She had been warned: if you get up even ONE time, we'll lock the door.  And she got up.  And we locked the door.  And she screamed at us in her signature style, which sounds like a furious cross between the Tasmanian devil and the actual devil, for an hour before piling her pillows two stories high, tucking herself in and falling asleep for the entire night. 

I know it sounds terrible: we LOCKED her in her room, but it had come to that.  Over the past week, she had become increasingly defiant, resilient to consequences and immune to punishment.  We had nothing left to do. She'd had us by the short hairs for too long.

THINGS WE HAD ALREADY TRIED TO GET GENOA TO STAY IN HER BED AND SLEEP FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY:

1.  Co-sleeping.
2.  Nursing her to sleep and then gently placing her in the crib/co-sleeper/bed.
3.  Swaddling.
4.  Not swaddling.
5.  Feeding her right before bed.
6.  Feeding her PORK PRODUCTS right before bed.
7.  NOT feeding her right before bed.
8.  Letting her cry it out. 
9.  Letting her cry it out some more.
10.  Moving into her bedroom with her and sleeping with her all night.  For a year.
11.  Night weaning her.
12.  Slowing inching my way out of her bed, teaching her to fall asleep just holding my hand, then with me just sitting next to the bed, then with me four feet away from the bed and finally outside her door.
13. Bribing her with princess crap.  (Which worked until we ran out of princess crap.)
14. Totally weaning her.
15.  The SuperNanny method: replacing her back in her bed without eye contact or speech.  (We did this with limited success for a few weeks, but getting up at 2AM to place a child back in her bed FORTY TIMES in a row is exhausting.) (And, yes, I counted.)
16. White noise. Blackout shades.
17. Extra special Flamingo covers sewn by my mother.  Extra special Disney brand princess covers.
18.  Threatening her.
19.  Screaming at her.
20.  Taking away toys/privileges/princess paraphernalia.
21.  Spanking her.
22.  Completely removing myself from the situation entirely and letting Dave both put her to bed AND get up with her in the night.  For two months.  (She still woke up at least once a night asking for me).
23.  Letting her brother sleep with her.
24. Threatening to remove her brother from her bed.
25.  Removing her brother from her bed.

And I'm sure I'm forgetting a few.

My point is that it's not like Dave and I got annoyed one night and decided to lock up our kid.  It a took a long time to get there.  966 nights of putting up with her crap, to be exact.

Last night, the memory of being locked in her room fresh in her mind and with the explicit threat of a repeat performance if she came out of her room EVEN ONE TIME, she... stayed in her room and slept ALL NIGHT LONG.  Dave and I listened to her on the monitor as she quietly played with her toys and then eventually talked** herself to sleep. 

My only regret is that we didn't go there sooner.  Two out of three of my siblings were locked in their rooms at night without (much) permanent psychological damage; my baby sister was locked in her room THROUGH KINDERGARTEN and we often found her curled up in a pile on the carpet right in front of her door in the morning.

Up until now, there was no other consequence to which Genoa would respond; the child wouldn't stay in her bed to save her own life.  Now we know what works and we're going to use it.  Hopefully sparingly.

I could write another ten thousand words about how Genoa's issues with sleep are ONLY THE BEGINNING, but I'll spare you (and her future embarrassment) the details.  Let me suffice it to say that if there was even the tiniest smidgen of a part of me left that still wanted another baby?  My daughter has killed that part, dragged it out in the backyard, axed it into pieces and buried it deep in the frozen ground.  Genoa is the last two-year-old I will ever survive.

** Things we overheard on the monitor last night included her brother getting up and bugging her (he was admonished and immediately sent back to bed) and my favorite, the speech she seemed to be giving her dolls about how "f*ck is a BAD word!"  Look no further, PARENTS OF THE YEAR, right here, FOR THE WIN.

Resolutions

Obviously my main resolution this year is to finish my book and one of the things I've been struggling a lot with is writing description.  It's my least favorite part of READING, so I guess it makes sense that writing it is kicking my butt.  The other day I was in the middle of a scene in which I needed to describe a sleeping child and even though I've had over five years of daily experience with sleeping children, I literally had to take a pen and paper up to Genoa's room and sit next to her bed watching her sleep before I could write about it. 

I've been reading everything I can about how to write better descriptions and it all points to the same thing:  I'm not bad at WRITING description, I'm simply bad at NOTICING stuff.  I am a completely unobservant human being, a fact I only JUST NOW noticed, because I am unobservant.

So my resolution for 2009 is simple: pay attention.  Start noticing.  I'm keeping a pen and paper handy 'round the clock and if I keep it up, I'm hopeful my prose will mature.  Maybe I will too.

On Mr. Rogers

My mom sent me this article today and I enjoyed it enough to merit a link:

15 reasons Mr. Rogers was best neighbor ever

My favorite part was learning why Mr. Roger's kept his weight at 143 pounds:

"the number 143 means 'I love you.' It takes one letter to say 'I' and four letters to say 'love' and three letters to say 'you.' One hundred and forty-three."

I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but I grew up only allowed to watch PBS.   I LOVED Mr. Rogers and always felt like he was a member of my family, a close one.  I'm still sad about his death and it's nearly impossible for me to even think about him without crying, much less watch an episode of his show with my kids.  A kinder man has rarely walked among us.