I signed up to feed the missionaries. I know they probably wish I wouldn't BOTHER since my cooking is about as appetizing as watching a fly land on the raw meat you just purchased. BUT- none the less- I’m greedy for those BLESSINGS that come to those that serve.. SO I just keep signing up MONTH after Month… MY dish- Red Beans and Rice. New Orleans Style… I did my research. I picked a recipe that had a mouth watering picture. I soaked the red beans overnight. I went to Wal Mart to pick up all the ingredients.
Internal Monologue: What in the heck is a HAMHOCK? I didn’t see anything in the pig section of Wal Marts freezer food labeled hamhock. Oh well… probably not too important. SKIP. What the heck is liquid smoke?? Eh… SKIP. What is corn flour? Hmmm I’ll just mix flour and corn mill. That’ll be corn flour right? So…SKIP. AH! Something I RECOGNIZE! 4 cloves of garlic? Ok… Here are four garlics. Wait… is that garlic or white onions? OH! Good thing I checked… Hmm garlic… THERE in the BOXES- I need four- this doesn’t say cloves… oh well. CHECK. I selected the rest of the ingredients I RECOGNIZED… which was basically the onion, bell pepper, and spicey sausage.
WHILE I was at Wal Mart at 10pm with BOTH my little darlings, I wanted to see if BY CHANCE Wal Mart had ANY INCREDIBLY BRIGHT hot pink, green, bright blues, poppin orange fabrics! (I’m trying to liven up Brooklyn’s room now that she’s not a baby anymore. She’s TWO). I’d ALREADY hauled my kiddos to both Hancock Fabrics and Hobby Lobby and found NOTHING that hit the spot. I did find a couple that I could SETTLE for… but at 9.00/yrd (when I need like 25 yards) I wanted to be sewing GOLD. (That’s a good one… SEWING. I have no idea how to sew… This is just part of my motivation to LEARN). Well I looked with fingers crossed. (Well kind of, more like sideways looped inside of a Brighton’s drooling mouth). While Bry Bry chewed my finger down to the bone (like it was actually beginning to THROB), Brooklyn danced through the fabrics singing, “I love THIS ONE the mo-o-st…. it is so beautiful-ll-ll….” To very um… NOT beautiful fabrics. Seriously. NOTHING that I’d imagined in my most vivid dreams. NOT even REMOTELY similar. SOOOOOOO, totally bummed I snatched a whole role of soft, princess pink, silky slinky mess on the clearance rack for $1.50/yrd and tried to locate a worker to measure it for me. The ladies who work the sewing department had long gone but I saw a chic with a “Can I help you” vest, and I bolted after her. She turned, saw me, and- since she was hittin the gossip like sauce- on her CELLULAR DEVICE, she pretended she DIDn’T see me and darted three aisles over. Seriously! Its not like I could run her DOWN to CATCH her… I can barely push a buggy straight, ESPECIALLY when trying to steer AROUND a two year old sing star.
So I checked out. I asked the cashier if she could have someone measure the fabric for me. I wanted all that was left on the role. She said.. “Oh- is this $1.50 for the whole role?” Ugh… I wish. “NO- per yard. That’s why I need someone to measure it.” She looked at the top of the material again. “Oh. Ok. It says on here 20 yards” and PROCEEDS to try to type in 20 yards in her computer. Brighton’s sucking of the finger had grown so intense his face had turned red and he was started to murmur. LOUDLY. “Ummm… there isn’t 20 yards LEFT on that role. Someone needs to measure it.” Brighton’s murmurs turn to full out WAILS of starvational agony. Brooklyn, in turn, tries to sing OVER his crying. My nerves? Starting to spark. A fire could have spontaneously erupted AT any given moment.
Thank goodness for Miss Competent. “No… see how there is a 20 on this top, here? That means yards.” AND tries to type it in her computer. AGAIN. I almost tell her she’s an IDIOT… but decide I’ll PAY 20 bucks for a couple of yards to GET the HECK OUT of Wal MART. A dude and his boyfriend are whispering about this little hang-up. AS EVERYONE knows only ONE cashier can work after nine p.m. EVEN though there are like 42 cash registers AVAILIBLE. SOOO everyone is lining up behind me. And all at once time stops and I realize I am THAT lady. The lady with the DANG thing that won’t ring up. WITH the screaming baby. WITH the monkey toddler climbing the buggy and singing Twinkle Twinkle at the top of her lungs.
OH but Genius has more to say, “You know what? I can’t get this to ring up without a ticket… I think someone is going to have to measure it for you.” Gee. REALLY? Why didn’t I think of that? “YES! And who can do that??” The reincarnated Einstein shrugged her shoulders, remarkably… SPEECHLESS.
Brighton’s wails were echoing through my head like an air horn in a tin CAN. “I’ll figure it OUT! THANK you! Have a blessed night!” I sweetly tell the poor gal. AND, even though I didn’t have my diaper bag and my breast feeding wrap.. and since I was already THAT lady… I sat on the bench in front of the WAL MART doors, lifted my shirt and let the world watch THAT lady. The one who BREAST FEEDS in public. WITH NO COVER. WITH the TWO year old running back and forth on the bench dancing and blaring JINGLE BELLS in October. OH. AND the lady that has on NO make-up and a greasy ponytail. All I needed was some red paint to go around my neck and I’d been complete.
Brighton was rooting so hard, he was snorting and choking. He went comatose in ten minutes flat. My nerves settled a bit. With all the dignity THAT lady can have, I tromped BACK to the fabric area and found a chic trying to hang up baby clothes. “Can you measure this for me and give me a ticket?” She looked swamped and exhausted, but she obliged. Five yards. Five. Not TWENTY.
GLAD to have survived my Wal-Mart experience I felt like the COOKING should be a breeze. #1- Its in a CROCK POT. How hard can it be?? Well… luckily Starling came home as I was about to put FOUR garlics into the crock pot. “THAT whole THING isn’t a ‘clove.’ And you need to chop them UP.” Oh. I was thinking that was a LOT of garlic… So I opened one garlic up and there were like TONS of ‘cloves.’ I chopped up four of them and wiped the sticky goo onto the side of the crock pot. I didn’t buy all that other jazz junk I’d never heard of, SOOO I improvised with a TON of Tony’s.
I made corn bread- WHICH- recipe comes from a TRUE New Orleans man (who walked into my house one day and saw the smoking ‘cornbread’ on my stove and came to my rescue walking me step by step through making edible cornbread). And IT turned out PERFECT. The rice, too, was fine. (Starling asked me when we first got married if I wanted a rice cooker. NO! What on earth would I do with one of those? I mean- HOW hard could it be to cook RICE? Well… he ate some of my first attempt. Well… TRIED… it was all brown and crispy- like- almost chip a tooth tough… He told me HOW to cook rice. He tried my SECOND attempt. Then he bought me a rice cooker. I’ve never had a problem with rice again).
In the middle of me trying to cook all this mess I get a bang on my door. My neighbor kid tells me that a cat has snatched up Cleo, my bunny, and took off with her. I dart out the door. Thank GOODNESS I am DRESSED. I take off in the direction the alleged CAT has gone just in time to see my neighbor’s dog barking madly in that direction. AND then cat drops bunny. Dog stops chasing cat. Dog chases Cleo. BUT my neighbor’s dog just likes to chase things. He didn’t want to kill the bunny. And he’s Cleo’s hero for scaring the cat- the REAL murderer. Cleo was SCREAMING. I NEVER knew a bunny made any noise. MINE never has! But she was screaming like a lady getting mugged in the Wal Mart parking lot. “Cleo! Cleo!” I called to her. I didn’t figure she’d come to me. She’s a rabbit. Getting chased by a dog. But she flew under a vehicle and flew in front of me and dropped into her Pick me UP position and I snatched her up. She curled up in the crevice of my neck and buried her face in my hair. The POOR thing! I soothed her and took her back to her room that she happens to share with the laundry. When I put her down she climbed back into my lap and licked every parcel of salt off each leg hair. Brooklyn, who didn’t know to be traumatized by me telling her a cat just tried to EAT Cleo, sat down by beside us and started petting Cleo softly saying, “po-be Cleo.” (Pobre Cleo- poor cleo in spanish). I headed back to the kitchen. I checked on Brooklyn a few minutes later when I heard her singing, “Rock a bye Cleo, in tha tree tops.” Brooklyn had climbed behind the laundry basket where Cleo hides and had her wrapped softly in her arms singing to her. Awww… It was a sweet moment. I went back to the kitchen. After a bit I heard Brooklyn’s hysterical laughter. Awww, let me see this, I thought. NOT AWW! NOT. AWW. Brooklyn is dunking Cleo’s head in the water bowl laughing like the Mad Hatter. “BU-ROOK-LYN!!” She immediately stops and looks at me. “But- I just…” I interrupted her, “Do you want me to dunk YOUR head in the water!?” She shook her head no, “But- I just….” I pointed to the door, “OUT. Cleo has just had the WORST day of her LIFE.” Brooklyn softly said, “I’m sorry Cleo..” bent down and kissed her head, “I love you.” I comforted Cleo. AGAIN. Then heard a thud and a crying Brighton.
I ran into the den where I’d left Brighton in a cardboard box. (Yeah- well… I needed something he could sit up in AND reach all of his toys. The box was PERFECT. So don’t judge me). Brighton and his BOX where NOT in the middle of the room where I’d left them. They were slammed up against Starling’s metal filing cabinet. AND Brighton had a HUGE red mark on his forehead. “BROOKLYN! What happened?” She was kissing Brighton’s head before I even got to him. “I don’t KNOW, MOMMy! What is wrong with Bry Bry!”
WELL- it was pretty plain to ME what had happened. Brooklyn had used Brighton’s cardboard box as a race car and catapulted it into the filing cabinet sending Brighton crashing his face into the metal. But, Brooklyn was nearly in tears as she kept saying, “I’m sorry Bry Bry! I not wanted to hurt you! It was- it was jus a little ax-tu-dent!” I calmed Brighton. I calmed me. THEN I took Brooklyn in my arms and told her Brighton was okay and I love her and Brighton loves her and we just have to be extra careful because Brighton is still too little to fly.
I gave Brooklyn some of the red beans and rice to sample. She took one bite and said, “Umm… I’m all done. Can I have some spaghetti-o’s please, Mommy?” I didn’t blame her. The red beans didn’t look so good…. Kinda like a bunch of onions floating in a bowl of water. I attempted the THICKENING power of cornmeal and flour. Then I had floating onions and big clumps of powder. It was looking LESS and LESS appetizing. BUT? WHAT could I do? The missionaries would be at my house in less than an hour. I decided to focus on the desert. Rice Crispy treats. Something easy that I couldn’t mess up. Hmm. I scraped the “treats” into the grass and went for a second GO. OmgEEZE. I plopped the brown, crispy, ROASTED marshmallow treats (that looked more like a science experiment gone WAY wrong- and TASTED like such) onto a plate.
The missionaries had arrived and dinner was what it was. “Ice cream is for dessert.”
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