Truly Inspired...

The Husband loves Guns.
He looooooves Guns.
Did I mention his love for Firearms?
We have quite the collection...all safely locked up of course in our gun safe.
Its gotten to the point that when he wants a new one, or a new gadget for one, I make him sell some stuff to make up the money.
Well, we are looking to sell our house.
We have a lot of , how do I say this...craaaap.
So, I've been purging stuff via Craigslist, but since we live in the boondocks, most people want to meet to pick it up.  It's cutting into our overhead.
I've planned a yard sale for this month.
Yes, I know its February.
If it is raining or snowing, or cold as blue blazes, then we will postpone it.
But, to get the ball rolling...I've made The Husband a deal.
I was hit by Divine Inspiration and Motivation while listing Craigslist items.
Every single cent we make in the yard sale, he can have for his Gun Fund.
Yes, ladies, you heard me right.  He can have all of the profits.  Every single dime.
Needless to say, he already has a pile upstairs of stuff he wants to sell, and has plotted out stuff in the building that needs to go.
WHOOT!
We may get a lot of this stuff out of here quickly, and make a little cash at the same time.
Nothing like a little inspiration to get people moving right along!

Remember....

January 28 1986

My first 'I was...' moment.
I was home on a snow day and they broke into The Price is Right to broadcast the launch.
I was in the fifth grade.
I remember my dad saying 'no no no, that's not right'  over and over again.
And I looked at the photos today of the explosion, and I cried.

Found IT...small problem

We found our Forever House...however, there is are a few small problems.

One...our in no way shape form or fashion is ready to be listed.  Right now, it looks like the train section of Toys R Us threw up everywhere in our living room.  There is just STUFF everywhere.

The Husband and I spent the entire morning yesterday morning ripping out our Master Bedroom closet.  OMG.  Two people should never acquire that much CRAP...EVER.  Why we were hanging on to half that mess is beyond me.  So off to Goodwill The Husband went with a pile of CRAP.

Linen closet in the Bathroom is my project this evening after The Toddler wakes from his nap...he is currently passed out in our big bed.  Not moving that for all the tea in China.

However, back to the topic.

Our requirements for our new home are a few simple things:

1--I do not want to see one freaking single junked car on the street.  Anywhere.  Not in a back yard, side yard,  on the street, under a carport...no where.  Because those suckers freaking multiply and grow ragged blue tarps over them that deteriorate at a rapid rate into waving flags of depressed blue strings.

2--I do not want to see one single pack of teenagers hanging out in someone's driveway having a good time on Sunday afternoon.  Because THOSE suckers freaking multiply into a pack of teenagers wandering the street and ringing my effing doorbell at midnight on a Wednesday to leave a broke down bicycle on my front porch.  Uh huh.

3--I do not want to see one single lawn that looks as if it is ready to be mown for hay.  Because that sucker will never get mown.  EVER.  I will have to drag my $99 Wal Mart push mower over there on a Saturday afternoon and mow it because I can no longer see my neighbors heat pump above the waving fields of grain.

4--We want a good school system.  Ours currently SUUUUUCKS eggs.  We didn't think of that nine and a half years ago when we were childless and just fine with that.

5--We do not ever ever ever ever ever ever want an open floor plan...ever again.  Yes, its fun to hang out together.  Uh huh.

6--Nice big backyard.  Which we have already.  That's given.  If I could take my backyard with me.  I would.

7--I want real pavement on my street.  Not tar and gravel wanna be pavement.

8--Central air.  Can't live without it here.  Well, you can, but you'd live at Target all day.

Well...after those requirements are narrowed down, and we saw all the Broken Houses last weekend....we were disgruntled to say the least.  So we did a tour today through a neighborhood that we are currently stalking the holy hell out of.

We stopped at two houses and walked around and deemed them 'ok'.  One need some exterior work, but the interior looked great.  The other was priced waaaay out of what it was and where it was.

Then, at the back part of the neighborhood, we found IT.

The Toddler was asleep at that point, so we took turns.  I feel in love.

Its a two story colonial.  On a quiet street.  No trash next door.  No trash across the street.  No vagrant teenagers.   No junk cars.

It just shone like a beacon at the end of the street.   A cream colored beacon that had been well taken care.  And the neighbors had landscaped their property.  And there was a privacy fence.  And a workshop built on.  And and and and and....

But it is 'Rent to Own'.  What the hell?

Buuuuut...after a lot of Googling...I found IT..

It's in our price range.  It's there...and clean...and available...and not Broken.

But our house is nowhere near ready.

So we are cancelling our vacation in May, and taking a week off in February to get this house ready and rolling.

And I am pestering the crap out of my realtor to see if IT is even feasible to consider.

I need to pack.

Check Engine and Other Efforts in Futility

My BFF emailed me on Wednesday.

My BFF also abandoned my tail nearly two years ago to pack up and move to Maine.  I'm not bitter or anything.  Nah.

But anywhooo....

She and her husband had bought the same car that I had just bought.  They got theirs first a few months ago.  I bought mine earlier this week.  Again, long story.  

However, they had a light on in the car that she was wondering what in the world it meant.   They hadn't called the dealership and couldn't find it in the manual.  So she sent me the image on her cell phone...

It was this light, and surprisingly enough, I was very familiar with this light.  Knew EXACTLY what this light meant...

This light is a warning light that a tire is low.  Yup.

It is not a warning that there is a golden horseshoe close by.  It it is not a warning that a round bottomed woman is going to cross your path.

It means very simply that one of your tires is losing pressure.

Wanna know how I know this so well?  This light came on in our truck when we were six hours from our home, in backwoods WV, with a podunk Toyota dealership thirty minutes away on back country road.  After a lot of yelling and scrambling and shuffling the Owners Manual, we find what that symbol means.  But none of our tires is flat...or low.

So we turn off the truck.

We wait ten seconds.

We turn it back on.

The light is still there.

Craaaaap.

So across the mountain and through the woods we go.  Get to the podunk Toyota dealership.   They work us in.

Its the spare.  The spare is low on air.  Which, I am glad that it warned us, cause if we had needed it, and been screwed on the side of the highway in summer heat with an infant, I would have been pissed.

They reset the computer, filled up our spare, and away we went.

A light that reads "NEED AIR" would have spelled it out rather quickly.  "NEED AIR IN SPARE DON'T PANIC" would have been even more appropriate.

But no...that weird symbol means I need air in my tire.  Yeah, that was REAL clear.

Then there is the story of the MAINTENANCE REQUIRED light.  What in the world are you supposed to do with THAT light?  Really?  MAINTENANCE REQUIRED.  What kind of Maintenance...and why is it Required?This light came on while The Husband and I were between Tampa and Orlando, running six hours behind schedule because our cruise ship was tilted over so far coming into Tampa Bay that the water was pouring out of the pools and that slowed us down a little bit.  Plus gave us a cool story to tell. We were trying to get plenty of ground under us before we gave up for the night.  

Suddenly this light appears on the dash of my practically brand spanking new Corolla.  I had just BOUGHT the car for CRYING OUT LOUD!  I'm about to start crying.  We have a dog in a kennel that needs picked up the next evening by 6pm.  We have another 14 hours of straight driving ahead of us.  What ??? 

So we yank it to the side of the road at the first rest stop...at which we see this sign:

Uh huh...what the hell...we are in Florida!   Not Morocco!  And of course I have The Husband that is flat out terrified of snakes...and my MAINTENANCE REQUIRED light is on...and it's a Sunday...at like 4pm...OMG.  If that acronym had been around, I would have been using it...A LOT.

We started digging in the owners manual while I am frantically trying to call the dealership where we bought the car...of course they are closed...its freaking Sunday in the Bible Belt in 2005.

Then we found it.  You know what MAINTENANCE REQUIRED means?

It's time for an oil change.

Holy cow.  Scare the beejeebers out of someone won't you?  For an oil change.

A light that says "TIME FOR JIFFY LUBE" would have been more appropriate...hello!


And last but not least...the light we have all seen...

I've seen that light more than I care to admit.  My first car was a 1978 Ford Thunderbird.  My parents drove Beaters.  They beat them in the ground, then beat them some more.  My dad would take a piece of black electrical tape and tape over an offending light if he couldn't figure out what was wrong.  Yup.

The CHECK ENGINE light is pretty obnoxious.

What do you mean CHECK ENGINE?  I can open up the hood and see that it is still there...I checked it.  That's about all I have...otherwise, complete loss...where's the black electrical tape?

Broken Broken Broken...Freaking Broken

The Husband and I scrambled on Saturday morning to straighten our house up and hide some of the clutter before The Realtor showed up to do an assessment about putting our house on the market in a few months.  It looked presentable when she showed up.  Thomas the Train had thrown up everywhere again, but The Toddler was playing nicely with them.

Needless to say, The Realtor was over the top thrilled with the condition of our house…which I thought was really strange.  Like, she was super duper excited and just kept exclaiming how well we have kept it up, how nice our little upgrades are…blah blah blah. 

I thought she had lost her ever loving mind and was just feeding us a line.  She sold us the house we live in now, nearly ten years ago.  She’s stayed in touch.  We like her, but I thought she was losing it.

So The Realtor sent us an email on Saturday night with houses in our price range and specifications.  Garage, three or more bedrooms, a family room and a living room, etc. Nothing drastic.

The Husband and I poured over the list and wrote down the ones that we thought would be really great to take a quick peek at.  Scout the neighborhoods, stalk the neighbors, find our Forever Home.  Whoo hooo!

So Sunday, after my car drove away (another story for another time), and I got over my hissy fit over The Husband Shanghai’ing me and selling my car that fast (again, another story for another day), we piled in the truck and headed off with our list and our GPS.

First house…we were really really hopeful.  Pics on line showed that it needed a little TLC…nothing major.  The streetview on Google was pretty good.  Houses were clean and well kept.  It was in a nice neighborhood. 

Yeah, we drove by it at first because it didn’t look like the picture anymore.  They must’ve pulled up its original listing picture ever how many  years ago.

GAG.

The place was rotting.  Literally.  The doors were rotting, the siding was rotting, the back deck was rotting.  The back door was so rotted that it just popped open. The water leak upstairs had rotted out the living room ceiling.  There was a pile of trash in the back part of the living room that was as tall as me.  The appliances had been ripped out in the kitchen and tossed.   

Mater lives there.

It was a heap.

I literally cried.   I did.  I choked up and got really sad over the mess.

This beautiful home (at one time), with beautiful floors (at one time), with a beautiful back yard (at one time) was destroyed.   Absolutely destroyed.  It was just sad now.  At some point, it was loved.  The paint colors were not picked out by someone who couldn’t have cared less…and the flooring at one point was stunning.  But it was sad. 

And they were asking WAY too much for it.  I’m not sure I would buy it…I might have to win it in some Loser Raffle before I took it.

We got back in the truck, and The Toddler kept asking what was wrong and why were we not going in?   We explained it was Broken.  Because I could not use any other descriptive words in front of The Toddler that would have accurately described it.  I don't need him going to Daycare and announcing what I originally said as I took in the mess at this house.  Broken was about as best I could do at that moment.

Then we went to Number Two:  Broken

Number Three:  Broken

Number Four:  It’s Okay.  Not Broken, but not the Forever House we are looking for.   Tiny corner lot.  Beautiful landscaping.  But it was just Okay.

Number Five:  We didn’t even stop it was so Broken.

Number Six:  Again, we didn’t even stop.  Broken Broken Broken.

Number Seven:  DING DING DING!  Gorgeous place , but about 15 miles too many for The Husband to drive to work.  Well kept, well maintained home.  *sigh*  Ok, ours ears just perked up.  We have a little glimmer of hope again.

Number Eight:  Broken…again, we didn’t even stop because every house on the block is Broken.

Number Nine:  We were hopeful as the neighborhood was looking well kept and nice.   The house…Majorly Broken.  So Broken that I walked around back, and walked back to the truck. Told The Husband to not even bother getting out.  The Toddler still didn’t understand why we were looking at Broken houses.  He wanted his Playroom for his Train Table, NOW.  Because that was our selling point to The Toddler to get him out of the house.

Number Ten:  It was Okay, but there was absolutely no yard whatsoever.    Like I could mow with the weed eater…or scissors.  With a small child, it was just silly.  And it was under high voltage power lines.  No thank you.

We stopped driving around, reset the GPS for home, and left.

We get back home, to our big lot, our ‘well maintained’ house and our familiar neighbors.   Our neighborhood is Okay…the schools are Okay…I'm almost to the point of saying 'forget it...I'm good'.

At least it isn’t Broken. 

WOW.

Sunday Simple Supper

I was too tired to go nuts making our Sunday Supper this weekend.  I only got one made...so no double dinners today.  We'll have Sketti on Monday as a leftover. 

Vegetable Venison Soup and Grilled Cheese sandwiches

Recipe below for the crock pot:

I use about 2lbs of venison, but that is because it cooks down so much.  Use a pound of whatever ground meat you prefer.  I really like using ground chicken myself.
Bag of frozen soup mix vegetables.  I get the big PictSweet bag.  I like a LOT of veggies.  My mom was pretty skimpy on the veggies when I was a kid.
I used a jar of homecanned stewed tomatoes, but a big can from your grocer will be just fine.
Depending on how 'soupy' you want it.  1-2 cups of your favorite vegetable broth or stock.  Do not use beef or chicken stock.  Then it just tastes really beefy or really chickeny.  And I know chickeny isn't a word.   The vegetable is neutral.
1 pack of McCormick Beef Stew seasoning, salt and pepper.

Brown your meat.  

While that is browning, go ahead and start your crock pot ingredients. 

Toss in tomatoes, seasoning pack, frozen veggies and add vegetable broth, salt and pepper. 

Once the meat is brown, add it in and stir.  Then decide if you want to add more vegetable broth.

Put the lid on and set on low for four to five hours...and forget about it.  It's that simple.

The Toddler requested grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner.  No, he did not request sketti and meatballs..which was weird.  My grilled cheese sandwiches are nothing special.  Grilled cheese is about it.

So we had soup and sandwiches for Sunday Supper.  And even The Toddler ate some soup.  He's slowly wading into soups.  But he's coming around. 

For a cold windy winter night.  It was kind of nice.

Baked Sketti...recipe and pics below!

When The Husband is at drill...it's just The Toddler and I...and The Dog of course.  The Dog is not on my good list this weekend...but I digress.

You ask The Toddler "What do you want for dinner?"  I don't care what time it is, what day...his answer is 'sketti and meatballs'.

For a child that does not have a single drop of Italian blood in him that I can find on the geneaology charts, he loves Italian Food.  Fettuccine, spaghetti, ravioli, lasgana, noodles with light sauce, bread with oil...on and on.  He LOVES Italian Food.

Lucky for him, his momma can cook Italian Food like no ones business.  For a woman with no Italian blood, I don't do a bad job.  I need to perfect my alfredo sauce, but I have the red sauces down.  They are simple, and not over sweet like the bottled ones.

Last night, I made Baked Spaghetti with Meatballs.  

Recipe below:

Two large cans of crushed tomatoes
Can of tomato sauce if you have one
Schwans Meatballs, or your choice
Box of spaghetti
Italian Seasoning, garlic cloves, salt , pepper
Shredded Italian Cheese and Parmeson
You can also layer in pepperoni if you want...I didn't because The Toddler won't eat pepperoni.  Weird kid.


Two large cans of crushed tomatoes.  I like to add a regular can of tomato sauce in there, but there was none at Whole Foods, and none at home.  So just the crushed tomatoes.
Pepper, Salt, three crushed cloves of garlic, and Italian seasoning (I use the Mrs Dash grinder with Italian Herbs)
Let simmer with the lid vented on the back burner for about an hour. Low simmer.  If you can't go an  hour, that's fine too.  This is more of a dinner you cook on Sunday or Saturday, not a rushed Wednesday night. 
If you want to use pre-made spaghetti sauce, you will need two jars.  I used to add a small can of crushed tomatoes to that to make it saucier.

While my sauce is simmering, I bake my meatballs.  No, I do not have a meatball recipe.  I can't get them to stick.  I need to learn.
But in the meantime, I use Schwan's Italian Meatballs.  They are really very good.  I made almost an entire bag of them last night because I like a LOT of meatballs in my baked spaghetti.
Bake per package instructions.  Once they are done, I put them in the sauce to continue simmering.
Leave oven on for baking in a bit.

Now is the time to start the water boiling for the noodles.  I add a big glop of olive oil to mine. 
Cook your noodles per package directions, rinse well.

I have a Corning Ware deep dish casserole that I have been using for about 15 years now.  I am going to cry when I break it.

Ladle in sauce and meatballs on the bottom. 

Fork over a good mess of noodles, and layer over the sauce.

Ladle in sauce and meatballs next.

Sprinkle with parmesan and shredded cheese, add another layer of noodles, sauce, cheese...so forth.

Until you run out of room.

Top with cheese and cover.




Bake for 35-40 minutes at 350 degrees until bubbly.  I highly recommend a pan under your casserole.  Sometimes it bubbles over, sometimes it doesn't.  I hate cleaning cheese out of an oven.

Scoop and serve.

Mater is a Narc...

The Toddler and I had a play date of sorts today with his girlfriend.  I really hope she is his future wife...(The Husband and I first met at this age, so I am hoping this sticks).  She's a sweetie (and will be known as Sweetie from here on out), and I like her parents a lot.  Sweetie is in love with The Toddler, so we met up at Chuck E Cheese's today.  Sweetie's mom and I are already putting together pictures for their wedding.

First off, I despise Chuck E Cheese.  Mediocre pizza, overpriced games, craptastic prizes that the kids long for.

Needless to say, this was my third trip, The Toddler's second.    The Husband and I had a brainfart a number of years ago and went...childless.  Yeah, it was like another four years before we conceived.  I totally give the credit to Chuck E Cheese for that gigantic dose of birth control.

We get there, and turn the kids loose.  They have a blast...alternating rides on the Bob The Builder ride.  Literally.  I've got 50 freaking tokens in my pocket, and all they want to do is ride the Bob The Builder bulldozer.  Geez.

I manage to get him to play a game, but he runs back to Bob the Builder.

We get them on another ride...then he runs back to Bob the Freaking Builder.

By the time we ordered our pizzas, I was tempted to find an employee, slip him a $20 to just turn the Bob the Builder ride on permanently.  But they won't do that, it turns out.

Seriously....they won't.  I tried.

$20 in pizza and tokens later, we had won enough tickets to score two sweet plastic snakes and a jelly spider.  That he could probably swallow.  Goodie.

Then The Toddler threw the fit of all fits, because Buzz and Woody were in the display case...for 300 tickets each.  I had 46 tickets to my name.  I am not about to go around the freaking arcade and attempt to win 300 tickets.  For toys he already has.

The tears started...then the sobs.  My child, who only throws hissy fits in the doctors office, is throwing an all out tantrum at Chuck E Cheese.  Fantabulous.

I just smile at future co-mother in law as we poked our kids into their coats.  He's sobbing and wailing.  He wants Woody and Rex.

Sweetie gives him a hug.  He pushes her away.

I explain we will come back next time with The Husband, as the girl at the front tries to scan the numbers on our arms to make sure we belong together.

I get him to the car, still wailing.

He wails all the way to Whole Foods.  He wails all the way into Whole Foods bathroom.  He wails while he is peeing.  He wails all the way out.

Then we pass the Gouda display.

Three toothpicks of some weird  three year old Gouda cheese, and he's content.  And then an orange slice.  And some cheese puffs.  And another type of cheese I cannot pronounce and thought smelled terrible.  Then some bread samples.  He chowed down all the way through the store.

He was a happy camper.  Whole Foods is like a grazing ground for toddlers.  Why had I never seen that?  How ideal!

Then I let him pick out his cookie.  We get a cookie every time we go.  It's a treat. They are good.  If you haven't had one...you need one.  You really do.

He picks his chocolate chocolate chip cookie.  I pick mine.  Same kind.  You can't go wrong.  Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookie.

We check out.  He clutches his bag with the cookie in it.  He's singing a chocolate chip cookie song that he made up.  He's smiling.

We get to the car...we load in the groceries.  He climbs in his car seat.  He opens his bag and realizes he only has one cookie.

Nuclear meltdown.

Because I am not giving him two chocolate chocolate chip cookies.

Damnit...I went to Chuck E Cheese and ate weird pizza and played video games.  One of the cookies is mine.  I am not sharing.  He gets a cookie, I get a cookie.  I did not buy the gorgeous brownies they had in the corner.  I got a cookie, per the deal.

He wails out of the parking lot.  He wails down the street.  He wails through Starbucks drive-thru.  (He also asked if the clerk was a boy or girl...I answered boy...I think.)  Cause at this point I need a shot of something.  He wails out on to the interstate.

All the while he is wailing, he is also eating his cookie.  So he now has chocolate chocolate chip cookie smeared from ear to ear...mixed with his tears.

Freaking pitiful.  But I am eating my cookie.  Yes, I am a bad mommy.

Then silence.  He's done.

I check the rear view.

He's asleep.  Still holding a corner of the cookie.

And he sleeps all the way home.

Sweeeeet.  I can get groceries put away, get some laundry folded.  Sit down for a few minutes with a book and a Diet Dew to cancel out the cookie.  Sweeeet.

I pull in the drive way.  I get him out of the car.  I sneak him upstairs to his bed.  I put him in.

And freaking Mater falls out of the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt and clocks him in the head.

Uh huh.

I've had a crabby toddler on my hands.  A car full of groceries.  Laundry piled everywhere...oh please let him stay asleep.  Please...someone?  Whoever...just let him stay asleep.

Nope.  Not happening.

"Momma...I want to watch a movie."

Goodie.  Damnit Mater.

A TEN...come on TEN...I need a TEN

I need a BIG NUMBER 10 FOLLOWER...

Who wants to be NUMBER 10?

Come on...I need a 10...a 10...anyone got a 10????

I'm sick like that...and really like hearing myself talk...

Come on TEN...

Movin' on...

It has come to that moment in our life when we look around our little house and realize, it’s time to move.

When we bought her nine and a half years ago, our neighborhood was growing…there were lots of kids…the schools were good.  It was a well kept little subdivision.  It was nice and rural, and quiet.  We loved our little house in the back corner…that was completely screened in by trees.

In those nine and a half years, we’ve saw the our neighborhood turn from good to ‘yeah, I don’t want to move in there’.  The kids are all little hoodlums roaming the streets all hours of the night.  The school system sucks eggs to say the least.   Our neighbor hasn’t hauled his pile of pop cans off since we moved in…and has added a washer and a dryer to the mix in his backyard.  It’s no longer rural or quiet in that direction.  Overdevelopment has really hurt.  We are not going to get what we want out of this house.  We’ll get enough for a nice down payment on another one.

I love our little house…and she’s been great, but she is not where we are going to grow old.  And it makes me sad.

Like the dent in the windowsill in the kitchen…that’s from The Husband banging the crap out of it with a cutting board.

To the bathroom that I painted at 3am while the Husband was away at a military school.  Back in the days before The Toddler, I would stay up all night doing painting projects and home improvements.  Not so much anymore. 

The really crappy paint job that I did in the master bedroom.  I didn’t buy enough paint, didn’t/don’t like the color I did buy.  And was interrupted at 11pm by The Husband coming home two days earlier than he was supposed to.  He was not amused that the whole bedroom was upside down and he was exhausted from being up for 36 hours on a training mission.  Not my fault he came home early.  At least I was just PAINTING. 

The stain on the bedroom rug in the shape of a combat boot…from The Husband not letting his boot dressing dry completely before tromping across the carpet. 

It makes me ill to think of all the packing and cleaning we are going to have to do.

And moving.  I hate moving.  So wherever we move to, this is IT. 

I hate the loss of control and the disaster that it becomes. 

I do not relish the painting and cleaning, and repairing, and fixing, and cleaning…and did I mention CLEANING?

We moved six times the first three years we were married.  The move before the one when we bought our house, I swore up and down I would never do it again.  I even left boxes packed up and refused to unpack until we were in our house.  We’ve been in this house nine and half years.  We’ve added another human to the mix.  We have a lot of CRAAAAP.

I don’t want to live out of boxes and sort through things. 

I don’t like chaos.

I’m not happy about it at all…but then again, really excited for the next step.

Stay tuned.

Sunday Supper(s)

Today is Sunday.

Two suppers cooked and in the fridge.  Whew.

I didn't take a pic of the antelope sloppy joes.  There just isn't anything all that photogenic about ground meat in a sauce.  It's generic.  And not all that appealing.

But heres my recipe:

2lbs of ground meat...browned.

Squirt of dijon mustard
About 1/2 cup of ketchup
2 cloves garlic minced
Dash of Worcestshire sauce
Salt and Pepper
And I threw in some Ms Dash garlic and onion
1/2 can of tomato sauce and half a can of a small can of tomato paste
You can add more if you want them a little saucier

I put mine in the crock pot on low for about four hours and let them meld. 

Second recipe:  Chicken Pot Pie(s)

I have never made chicken pot pie before.  How hard can it be? 
I baked a whole chicken and deboned it
1 can of cream of mushroom and 1 can of cream of chicken soup
1/2 can of evaporated milk
Frozen green beans, peas, corn and carrots
Salt and Pepper  (needed more of this so I will adjust for next time)


Crust is a biscuit recipe

2 cups of flour
3tsp of baking powder
A stick of melted butter
2/3 cup of milk
1/2 tsp salt

The problem...I made WAY too much filling.  I mean WAAAAY too much filling.  A whole chicken is too much for small pot pie.  So I managed to get my first pot pie made in my casserole dish and realized that I wasn't going to get everything in that dish plus some, so I put The Husband to working on the second round of crust.  He doesn't mind working with dough and flour.  I hate working with dough and flour...I just want to keep washing my hands.

Then there was the baking. The recipe called for just 30 minutes.  At 30 minutes, my crust was pretty, but the insides were not warm.  I had too deep of a baking dish going on.  So back in for another 15 minutes with aluminum foil over the crust...then another 20 minutes...Finally...

 It was pretty...and tasty!  Even The Toddler enjoyed every bite.