Loaf on the Wild Side

I fixed meatloaf tonight.
Not your typical meatloaf that your mom fixes...
Mine is Antelope Meatloaf...Anteloaf.
As I have discovered with cooking with wild game...it can be a little dry if you aren't careful.
I'm careful.
My Anteloaf is pretty darn good.
So good, that pretty much this whole pan is going to work with The Husband tomorrow to 'share' amongst his co workers.  I might get a piece before its all gone.
The Toddler won't eat Meatloaf, Anteloaf, or Veniloaf...even if we try to tell him its like a meatball.  Uhm...nope.

Recipe:
2lbs of your favorite ground meat.  I use Venison (Veniloaf) mostly, but have a shelf of Antelope in the freezer now to use.
3 eggs for moisture and consistency
1 can of chopped tomatoes
1 small can of tomato sauce
1/2 chopped green pepper
1/2 chopped onion
Packet of meatloaf seasoning
Oatmeal to a thick consistency.  DO NOT USE QUICK OATS.  I couldn't tell you the right measurement of oats, I just know what it is supposed to look like.
Salt and Pepper to taste.
Mix and bake in a baking dish (I'm partial to Pampered Chef but that is a whole other addiction)
Cover with foil and Bake at 350 for 35 minutes.
Remove and coat with ketchup and bake uncovered for 20 more minutes.
Let set for about 20 minutes before serving.  Overnight in the fridge is best.

Serve it up with some unhealthy sides like cheesy potatoes or mashed potatoes with sour cream.

Wheels on the Truck go Round and Round...

Thanksgiving Hits and Misses:

Pros:

Family:  Between the grandparents, the aunts and the uncles, and next year we'll have a nephew joining the mix.  It's nice to visit the Mountains of Home...it's good to be with family.  Even though the visits are all too brief.

Food:  My mom can fix one heck of a ham, and my mother in laws potato salad can't be beat.  We eat like fiends  for three days between the two houses (in two states).  At this point, I really don't want to see anything that resembles ham, turkey, or some sort of pie for a while now.

Travel:  We do like to travel.  It's what we do best. 

Cons:

The driving.  Oh Dear Lord...the driving.  No one in their right mind would do this more than once, but we do it once a year.  We do not travel at Christmas, so we do the Highway Hustle at Thanksgiving.  Six hours to my parents, stay the night, eat, stay the night, get up, pack the truck....four hours south to the Inlaws...eat, stay the night, find something to do to unwind the Toddler, stay the night, get up after contemplating driving the night before and deciding not to, and then six hours Home.  During this stretch...we visit no less than fifteen to twenty public restrooms.  Urgh. 

When we travel on vacation, its just different.  We either pop up the camper when we get there and go out and have fun, or we check into a cozy hotel room or cruise ship cabin, and then the fun starts.  When you get to family, you have to do dishes, eat food that Aunt Edna prepared when someone usually puts her on paper products duty and forgot, watch TV programs you don't necessarily care for, have conversations about politics/religion/child rearing/cars/car manufacturers/economy/neighbors down the street/etc...all while chasing The Toddler, who thankfully keeps me soooo distracted that I don't pay attention anymore...or at least I pretend I am sooooo distracted.

The public restrooms:  I've said it before...what is the hard part of cleaning and keeping a restroom slightly appealing?  I realize that no one in the gas station/restaurant/truck stop...really WANT to clean the bathroom...but isn't there someone in those places that is slightly less disgusting at home?  When I worked fast food, I cleaned the bathroom.  I was nineteen years old and totally skeeved out by what people did in a public bathroom and swore I wouldn't go to their house.  But geez.  Monitor the thing!

The worst bathroom award goes to the BP Gas Station/McDonalds outside of Burlington NC.  You lose big time.  Not only was the toilet just gross, and toilet paper everywhere, but the sink looked as if someone had washed their hair in it and then cleaned the mirror with toothpaste.  Uhm...a paper towel or lysol wipe would do freaking wonders!  I'm so sick of public restrooms at this point.

And let me ask a question of public restroom designers.  If your door HITS the toilet when you open it...do you see the problem????  I don't care to do the dance behind the toilet to shut the door.

And why?  WHY WHY WHY?  Everytime I went into the restroom with The Toddler was someone in a stall having a very loud bowel movement that The Toddler had to comment about...everytime...very loudly.  Keep it down...please.

Ladies...again...what are you doing in there?  You can hear the people waiting in line to pee.  Hurry up.  For goodness sakes...what are you doing??  The Husband thinks I hold the Fastest Peeing Record in the World.  I can get in and out, with washing my hands, in under a minute.  Yes, I can.

The best bathroom award goes to the rest area in Wilkesboro NC.  BRAVO!  Not only are your bathrooms spotless, well appointed, and not completely skeevy, your staff was friendly.  The Virginia Welcome Center on I85 is also another BRAVO.  You can get local brochures, maps, friendly staff and super clean
bathrooms along with indoor vending areas with tables.  THANK YOU.

Movies:  The Toddler got stuck on "Sword in the Stone"  The six hour drive back this morning resulted in him watching that movie four times in full...and we had to play the 'part with the sqwirls' about ten times.   He doesn't wear headphones yet, so you get my drift.  The Husband used to love 'Sword in the Stone'.  Not sure so much now.

Sleeping:  That one really weighs in...and should be near the top of the list...but I was so sick of peeing in public bathrooms when I got home, that's all I could think about.  The Husband and I discussed what we were most looking forward to when we got home.  His was The Bed.  Why?  Because he had to sleep in my old twin bed at my parents house for two nights.  Not too bad, but not the prime bed considering he's about six foot two and its a short twin. Then at his parents, he opted to sleep in the spare twin bed that is literally in the walk in closet in the guest bedroom.  I called him Harry Potter all weekend.  He could have slept downstairs in the other spare bedroom, but noooo...he wanted to be close.  Sweet of him huh?

You see, The Toddler isn't quite old enough to sleep in a bed without bed rails...he won't fit in a crib anymore...and forget the fancy cot we bought for traveling...yeah right.   So I bolster two pillows under the blanket on one side of the bed, tuck the covers under the mattress, and use myself as the buffer on the other side.  I told him he could sleep with The Toddler and I would happily go downstairs to the spare bedroom.  He opted out.  He opted for the bed in the closet....so there.

Food:

Yes, I know it was a Pro...but it can be a Con too.  I cannot take another chicken nugget, french fry, drive thru, truck stop coffee, ham slice, pie slice, Little Debbie Brownie...or knowing my Toddler had just eaten an ENTIRE bag of M&M's because no one thought to just give him some in an empty cup.  I'm sick of eating now. 

And being in the car...

And running out of topics with The Husband during the car ride that doesn't consist of  "can you believe my mother/your mother said that?"   After a while, its not so funny anymore and you start getting defensive about it.  Whether you agreed or not.

And peeing in a public restroom...

Yup...let the Holiday season begin!

Apologies

Apologies to those who follow me, and those who just read and lurk, and for those that just keep hitting the 'Next Blog' tag and landing on me...

I keep messing around with the layout and am still not happy with how my pages look.  So I'll be messing some more in the days to come.  So I apologize that everything keeps getting bounced around and squeezed and expanded and moved.

PS...I keep hitting the 'Next Blog' thing and keep coming up with Bullet Reloading, Rifle News, Hunting and Philippine Boys blogs...Whaaaa?

Stay tuned...I'll get it straight at some point.

Liquorsicle anyone?

Took The Toddler to the pediatrician (because you can’t take them to Walgreens  under the age of 18…so we have to do the pediatrician route) for his flu shot yesterday evening.  I would much rather go to Walgreens for this.

You know what happens when you pull into your pediatrician’s parking lot.  It doesn’t happen when you pull into Walgreen’s parking lot.

Kiddo starts freaking out.

He’s mad.  Doesn’t want a shot.

“No Shot!” he chants from the backseat.

I get him out of the car with a promise of toys in my purse.

We get in.

We check in.

He tells the receptionist “No Shot!”

We play.

We keep other small children with runny noses and non-disciplinarian parents away.

Our name is called.

He tells the nurse “No Shot!”

Now the fun begins.

He doesn’t want to take his shoes off for his weight. 

I’m still bigger than he is, so off they come.

So he screams and shouts and stomps through that.  We get a weight.  Finally.  Sorta.  He’s over 30, under 40.  That’s about all we can work with.

We get to the room.  He is still mad over the shoe incident, even though they are back on his feet. 

He plays for a while with the stash of cars in my purse.  We draw on the stupid piece of paper on the exam table.  That’s all it is good for unless you have a five pound infant that doesn’t wiggle.  All it does is tear and come off the table.  That’s it.  It’s there to draw on, I’m convinced.

The Doc goes by our open door a few times.  The Toddler makes it a game.  He’s happy.  He’s talking and playing.

Then The Doc comes into our room.

It is on again.

The Toddler fights the ear check.  He fights the throat check.  He fights the respiratory check.  He yells and screams.

The Doc leaves, and The Toddler thinks we are done. He’s ready to roll.  Grabs his jacket.

Then The Nurse comes in with THE SHOT.

He flips out.  FLIPS OUT.  There are no words for this Flip Out Moment.

He screams.  The kind of scream that makes your eardrum vibrate and close off.  You know that scream.  It’s the you-can’t-hear- for-ten-minutes kind of scream.  And he keeps screaming.  The Nurse and I are shouting over it trying to figure out the best way to do this.

He fights.

I have him on my lap in a semi-mummy hold.  He’s knocking on 35 pounds and is pure Anaconda. 

I’m sweating, he’s sweating.  I’m swearing I will never do this again.  The Husband will do it next time.

I’m whispering encouraging ‘It’s OK’ “This will keep you from getting sick”  “I love you” words in his ear over the din.  Yeah, I might as well be peeing up a rope.

The Nurse gives The Shot.  Woman needs a Medal of some sort.

He then proceeds to throw the Mother of all Hissy Fits…we’ve apparently amputated a limb in the process of giving him The Shot.  This is worse than during the shot.  I’m trying to tell him ‘It’s Ok…ALL DONE!” and make happy faces.  Uh huh.  I’m REALLY getting through here.  Yeah.  The shrieking has hit an all new level. 

The sweat and the tears are combining into an amazing mess, and I am soaked from both.  I need a bath, sanitized and decompressed.

Consumable alcohol would help.

The Nurse leaves to get him a sucker.

She brings back three…he screams he doesn’t want them.

He’s now backed into a corner, flipping out…won’t let me touch him…nothing. 

Shrieking interspersed with head shaking, tears, foot stomping and the occasional gulping of air.

I’m just standing there holding his jacket and waiting for him to catch  his breath.  It’s like having a feral animal with big teeth and claws in the room and you can’t decide whether to attempt to approach it, or just slip out and leave it alone.  I’m leaning towards slipping out.  Only they have my address there.

She brings back stickers.  She offers them to him.  They are SpongeBob.

He screams he doesn’t want them.

So she lays everything on the exam table.  And leaves.  Lucky woman.

He stops screaming.  It’s OVER.  He’s calming down. Oh Thank You!  I step towards him with the jacket.

NOPE.

He runs over, grabs them all in his little hands, chases The Nurse down the hallway, and hands her everything back and screams “I told you I didn’t want these” as he throws them in the floor.

I would have corrected him, but at that point, it would have been like trying to superglue Mt. Saint Helens back together.

Yeah, not happening.

The nurse got a good laugh…

I had to laugh too.  Or I would have cried.

He did not find us amusing AT ALL.  And proceeded to scream some more and run back to the exam room.

At this point, I am starting to be MORTIFIED.  He’s scaring kids in the next building with the shrieking.  I cannot carry him out like this.  He’s in total meltdown mode.

They are closing.  We have to leave.  We can’t stay in here and continue to terrify kids in other exam rooms.  There’s a rule about that somewhere, because we have our own Nurse escort out now.  She’s waiting in the doorway.

So I scoop him up.  I scoop up our things.  And out the door we go…and into the parking lot.  He is still shrieking like I am kidnapping him.  I try putting him in the car.

Ever tried putting a cat in a pillowcase? 

Kind of the same concept.

I stop trying.  I shut the back door and stand there while he screams in the backseat and beats his feet on the back of the front seats.

The Husband is supposed to meet us.  We are SUPPOSED to go out to dinner.  Key words...SUPPOSED TO.

I call The Husband and ask “Where are you?”  But not quite that nicely you know.  He's nearby.

Not close enough.  He needs to be HERE.  He really needs to see this, is what I am really thinking.

People are really looking at me now.   I just smile.  “He’s Three” I laugh towards the woman getting in her car nearby.  She just looks at me.  Either she doesn’t have children, or her’s were angels ALL the time.

He’s still shrieking.  I’m just standing there calmly.  I’m just not sure what to do. 

I’m never ‘not sure what to do’.  He’s just thrown me for a social script kind of curve.  I can’t seem to get my hands on him or get him to even see me.  He’s just shrieking blindly.

The Husband pulls in.  The Toddler immediately stops.  He’s sitting there watching The Husband get out of his truck.  Quietly.  A hush has fallen. 

I still can’t hardly hear anyway.  It’s like a bomb went off close by.

The Husband opens the car door and reaches towards The Toddler.

The Toddler looks at him very calmly and says “I got a shot…wanna see?” and proceeds to drop  his pants right there to show The Husband his BooBoo.

Right.

They need Liquor Suckers at the Pediatrician’s office for the parents.  I’m gonna bring that up the next time I am there.

Dinner for one...

I'm the only one in the house that will eat beets.

I'm the only one in the house that will eat asparagus.

I'm the only one in the house that will eat spinach.

I'm the only one in the house that will eat broiled fish.

So tonight, I prepared a meal for me.  Just for me.  Without ketchup.  Or some sort of fun finger food to keep things interesting.

The Husband is at a formal military dinner (first one I have ever missed, and I am ok with that).  I just was not up to figuring out childcare, finding a fancy dress to fit my size 14 butt, and spending way too much money on a weekend away that isn't really a weekend away. 

I went last year, and ended up alone pretty much the majority of the time because he is in meetings most of the day. 


This year, they threw a wrench in the plans, so after I decided to not go, they decided to not have the all day meetings.  Oh well. 

The Schwan's guy came today, so we are fully stocked on their yummy chicken fries that The Toddler will eat by the bucket.

So I boiled the biggest beet I think they had at the store for an hour and a half.  Not kidding, that sucker was HUGE.  Like softball on steroids huge.  I won't make that mistake again.  But it was goooooood.


I broiled a lovely Tilapia fillet with butter, sliced garlic, and spinach.

I steamed up a mess of asparagus.

So while The Toddler dined on chicken fries, corn and carrots (mostly chicken fries)...I sat down to a YUMMY dinner just for me.  No one will eat off my plate tonight.  It's ALL mine.  Every single bit.

And we watched Dora. 

The guilt...the burning guilt...

I am the worst mom in the world…

I drag my kid out of bed at 7a every morning…make him get dressed in weather appropriate clothing whether he likes it or not. 

Fix him a quick snack/breakfast for the ride to school/daycare…and his juice. 

I pack his goldfish, his clean sippy for after school, and his ‘fruit snack’ also known as chewable vitamins.

He whines all the way through our morning ritual most days…and most of those mornings, fights me tooth and nail. 

This morning, it was a battle about everything.  From start to finish.  I kept my mouth shut and just kept doing what needed to be done.  Dressed, teeth brushed, etc. 

I drove his whining cranky self the forty five minute commute.  Half way, he decided that his toast was wrong which started a whole new whining festival.  It was hard to not yell at him in the backseat.  I just kept driving.

Then he decided that he didn’t like my news (morning talk radio) and wanted to listen to ‘his own news’.

He proceeded to suddenly want a toy that we had purposely left at home because he threw a fit when he saw me packing it in the bag this morning.  It was to stay home, according to Himself.    When I informed him of such, he told  me ‘turn the car around Mommy and go home’.

I wish.  And then the guilt settled in.

Deep wallowing 'I can't believe I am doing this' guilt.

I wish I didn’t have to work and could stay at home with him and take care of my house. 

I wish I didn’t have to roll him out of bed every morning and do this ritual every day.

I wish I could let him hang out in his pajamas while I prepared healthy meals.

I wish I liked doing craft projects.

I wish … I wish… I wish.

Why did my parent’s generation suddenly decide to really throw us women into the work force?  Really?  Was it THAT important?  Before then, working women were a rarity.  They stayed home once they had kids.  Most of them were crazy and out of their minds by the time they became grandmothers (or in my own grandmother’s case, well before then).

Why did it become so important for us to join the workforce? 

Because we want to live the American Dream. 

Now, the majority of women, whether we like it or not, are either expected to work or volunteer outside the home, maintain our household, maintain our children, keep our happy faces on, and keep it together.

If we aren’t working, we are looked at with disdain for being a ‘stay at home mom’.   How dare we just hang around our house all day AND have a messy house from dealing with a pack of active children all day?

If we are working, we are looked at with disdain for being a ‘work away from home mom’.  How dare we put ourselves before our families and join the work force AND have a messy house from not being able to catch up and living with a pack of active children?

If we work from home, then we are looked at with disdain for being a ‘work at home mom’.   How dare we send our children to daycare for a few hours, or hire a nanny while we work from home AND have a messy house from working and keeping up with active children all day?

Whatever we fall under, our houses are usually a wreck, we eat take out more often than we like, we consider ourselves lucky to get one thing done for ourselves a week (my hair highlighting kit sat under my bathroom sink for six weeks before I got to it).  We never talk to our spouses about anything that isn’t kid related.  We want to just yell sometimes.  But we can’t.

We lose ourselves somewhere. 

Prozac helps us I guess.

My mom worked off and on while I was growing up.  She was home a lot, and involved a lot.  We were BROKE.  Like really BROKE.  But it was ok, I had no idea.  It stressed my parents out though.  I had no college savings, and had to get a job, get scholarships and grants, and bust my tail.  And I was perfectly Ok with that.  I wasn’t entitled to anything, and learned to work hard.

My maternal grandmother worked off and on after her children grew up and left home.  She drove a bus for Senior Citizens and talked crap about them.  She stopped doing that and proceeded to scare the bejeebers out of the grandchildren everytime we visited with crazy stories of my dead grandfather visiting her at night. 

My paternal grandmother never worked and ironed my dad’s underwear up until the time he married my mom…whom he expected to iron his underwear.  Apparently this was their first big fight.  She also never learned to drive a car.  She died of Alzheimers when I was 23 after she had lived with us for 13 years.

I don’t want to get into the why’s of WHY I have to work.   

And I don’t think I would make a good stay at home mom.  I am not crafty.  I am not patient.  I would eat my way through the pantry and refrigerator in under a week, and spend A LOT of time just walking circles around Target.

My son loves his daycare/school.  (I call it school to make myself feel better I guess).  He has friends there, and has projects, and special classes for music and gymnastics.   Its good for him.  He’s learning.  He’s safe.  He’s well loved, and he hugs me at pick up and tells me about it on the way home.

I do miss him.  Terribly.

There are those days, I just want to say ‘Damn you Rosie the Riveter!’  She had to go and save a country during a time of War, and show women that we CAN work, and CAN do it all.  We CAN have a family, and a career, and a life.  We are strong, and smart, and…Damn it…all in the same guilt ridden boat, no matter what.

There's this sound....

There is a sound...that is absolutely GUARANTEED to wake a parent from a sound sleep...

It will wake the dead...

You will wake up in full combat mode.

Your feet will hit the ground and you will be running/or reaching towards that sound.

I bet you already know what that sound is...

The sound of....

PUKING.

Yup...4am comes pretty darn quick when the toddler sits up in bed and proceeds to throw up everywhere.  And he was sleeping with me since the Hubby is out of town on Guard duty.

Poor little guy wakes from a sound sleep, to sit straight up and just let it fly.  And then cry.  And then throw up some more...then cry some more.  And then fuss that I am changing his soaked pajamas and making him put on dry ones. 

So my duvet and cover are in the dryer (that thing is a BEAST to dry)...the sheets are waiting their turn...and he is pretty much surrounded  by every towel I own.  He's even using a lovely green and white striped one that I have as a blanket as he lays pitifully on the couch watching a DVR'd Barney and Friends.

The kicker...Sister in law and her Hubby are here visiting for the weekend.  She's nearly 8 months pregnant.  I am hoping she doesn't pick it up.  I had the stomach virus twice when pregnant...Zofran was my friend.

So I have sent them to Food Lion for some Gatorade (special juice for the Toddler) and some Jello to see how we get through today.  The Hubby will be home later this evening, so this little shopping trip will help get me through the rest of the day.  I guess I need to reup my stockpile from last year next time I go to the store.

So we will just plop our tails on the couch and wait this out...surrounded by towels and pitiful faces.  And proceed to root through the cabinet to find Hubby's old prescription of Zofran that he got during his kidney stone bout.  I told him to fill it and hang on to it.  Now to find it.  I hate throwing up.

Rock the Vote...err Boat...whatever...just Rock It!

Today was the day to exercise our right to Vote.

To Vote for the guy or gal that speaks what we think.

To Vote for the lesser of the two evils in some circumstances.

To Vote for Someone to keep from voting for Someone Else, even though we know the Someone Else is going to win because no one pays attention to the issues and just slings votes around, but then we can say we didn’t vote for that Someone Else.

To Vote for or against an amendment, or provision, or bond, or locality issue.

It’s the time for us to make our little drop in the bucket voice be heard.

Rock the Vote.

However, to a three year old, who is already FOUL about getting up on a Tuesday morning and getting ready for daycare, while it is still dark outside (I’d rather leave for work in the dark than come home in the dark, but honestly, this is getting tiresome), and then being told we were going to Vote, he got a little too enthusiastic. I was wondering why. This kid was not amused two seconds ago, now he is ready to get his jacket and Go!

Apparently, in Three Year Old Land, going to Vote comes out as ‘going to get a Boat’.

I disappointed my child big time.

Not only was there no boat in the church parking lot, but in Three Year Old Land, Voting was pretty darn boring.

I explained, as we stood in line in close proximity to someone that had smoked a pack on the way in, that this is when we choose the people that make the rules.

My Toddler thought about it for a minute and said ‘We don’t take people’s snack…that’s their snack…I have my snack. That’s a rule Mommy’.

My little Conservative Republican…the spawn of a Conservative Republican and a Sorta Conservative but Kinda Liberal Independant…I love him.

The old man in front of me…not the smoker…turned around and said ‘well put young man’.

My Toddler glared at him.

And proceeded to glare at everyone at the precinct…because there was no Boat in sight.

And that’s why I am proud to be an American.

And upon talking to other parents of Three Year Old Land dwellers, the Boat thing is pretty across the board. Lots of fits thrown today, because there was no Boat.

Dang…first they promise a chicken in every pot, now our kids expect a Boat in the parking lot!