Category Archives: Uncategorized

Beet It

Dave had the beet burger at the Kitchen Next Door this summer and said it was fantastic. I am new to beets, and I don’t like hamburgers, so it wasn’t something I would think to order, but I did when my mom was in town this fall, mostly to freak her out. Fantastic. The beets are earthy, the goat cheese is strong, the arugula is perfect. I am new to beets in the last 3 years, and the way I started to like them was roasted on a salad with goat cheese and pine nuts. The beet burger is like that perfect salad, but you can eat it with your hands, it’s filling, satisfying, delicious.

When I say “I don’t like hamburgers”, I mean, well, let’s leave it at YUCK. However, I do like the idea of hamburgers. It would be nice to have a go to meal to order and 90% of all restaurants instead of always having to hem and haw and decide things.

So, imagine my excitement on Thursday when I saw a beet burger on the specials menu at the Southern Sun. Beet! Burger! Ok, I wasn’t that excited but I was intrigued. Were they copying the Kitchen Next Door? Was it an homage? I asked the waiter if the beet burger was as good as the one at the Kitchen Next Door and he said I would have to tell him. The beets didn’t have as strong of a flavor, but the sauce was really yummy. Garlicky. There appeared to be some pumpkin seeds in the beet burger, which I thought was interesting and added texture and flavor. A decent amount of arugula. The only thing I didn’t like was that when I took a bite, a bunch of chunks fell out in every direction. But then I ate those pieces with a fork and cleaned my plate. It was very good, a perfect size, delicious, filling.

I’m not sure which one was better, but I am excited to have the option of ordering beet burgers all over town.

The Fish is Dead, Long Live the Fish

Jack got a fish for his birthday. That was on Tuesday. It was alive yesterday, as far as I know. Now I have to get a new fish and see if I can replace it before anyone notices. If this doesn’t happen is less than a 48 hour period, does that mean that no one really cares about the fish anyway?

Jack and Jane

At dinner I had the makings of a great blog post in my head, but when I got home I got sidetracked. I needed to make a grocery list for round one of Thanksgiving shopping, which meant I needed to plan the Thanksgiving menu, which means I needed to just surf the internet instead.

Over a year ago, I commented on a picture of my cousin (on facebook) when she was little, to say that she looked exactly like Jack. Somehow that thread appeared in my news today, so I was forced to make this collage instead of accomplishing anything off my list.

Can you see a resemblance?

Baby Jack

A long time ago, I made Jack promise to never grow up, and to always be my baby. He agreed for a while. Eventually, I released him from his promise and he seemed pretty excited. But today was just too much. Four years old?

We ate the traditional birthday pizza snake, and this year he had root beer bundt cake. Pictures are on my phone, which I left in his room. Then at bedtime, he wanted to me to lay in bed with him and discuss his future. Something about a lab and potions… I fell asleep while putting him to bed, because it is exhausting having a 4 year old. And I may have celebrated with a glass or two of wine.

It’s my birthday too, yeah.

Note to Self

I do a lot of mental landscaping of the yard. I think about making lists of landscapers. Sometimes I think about calling the landscapers and getting some estimates. I think about reading magazine articles about planning gardens. Sometimes I think about working in the garden. But I wanted to make sure that I don’t think about digging up this bush, because it looks really pretty in the fall. I mean, digging up the bush would be a lot of work, so it probably won’t happen. But I want to make sure none of my imaginary landscapers do anything to it either.

Mystery, Solved

We had a big 20 hour mystery at our house, that was just solved. In reverse chronological order, here is what happened.

5:00 pm: Mystery Solved, confirmed via txt.

8:00 am: Asked Luke for confirmation that my hunch was right. He did not know what I was talking about.

7:00 am: Woke up and thought, “duh.”

12:00 am: Went to bed

11:50 pm: Posted a picture on facebook of the 1973 Ohio University Marching Men marching band record album that was the center of the mystery. Stated that someone had snuck into my house and left it on the windowsill.

9:06 pm: Speculated wildly about who left the album. And by “wildly” I mean, I assumed it was my friend Rob since he’s the only person I know that listens to records.

9:05 pm: Said, “How did someone get in here to leave that on the windowsill?! The door was locked!? I wonder how long it’s been there. I wonder how anyone could have gotten in.”

9:00 pm: Noticed the album on the windowsill!

8:55 pm: Half-heartedly cleaned the kitchen, heartily mixed drinks.

8:50 pm: Lost a race to our house, to our friends who drove. Found them sitting at the kitchen counter having a drink.

8:45 pm: Said, “I am trying to conjure up feelings of embarrassment about the state of the kitchen and the overall cleanliness of the house but I can’t. If they beat us, maybe they’ll be cleaning the kitchen when we get there.”

8:20 pm: Said, “We are stealing your daughter, you have Luke. It’s a race to our house to play cards. Bike vs. car. See you there!”

Is that enough information to figure out the mystery, Encyclopedia Brown? The real mystery is why I would say, “How could anyone get into our house?” to two people who had been in my kitchen for 15 minutes before I got home. Or why I would limit my ideas of who would have planted the record to “people who listen to records” instead of “people who play jokes” or “people who are in my house.”

Good one, MacBrides!

She’s Craftyyyyyy

I thought it would be fun to do a craft with the boys today, and for once, it worked out! Usually by the time I get everything out and get everyone set up, they have lost interest. I have been wanting to create some sort of stamp forever, and since I don’t have time, skill, or enough creativity to do it, it hasn’t happened. But yesterday Jack needed me to write a thank you note for him since he had been to a birthday party and was really excited about the party favors. When I finished with the note, Dave said, “Make your mark, Jack.” And he drew an awesome little guy. An awesome little guy that was begging to be made into a tee-shirt design.

One trip to the craft store later, we were ready to do get crafty. I knew it would take me a while to make the stamp, so I used two secret weapons. The first was letting the boys each pick out some crafty stuff to buy. The second was inviting some friends over. Crafty friends, with longer attention spans. Worst case, they could entertain the boys while I finished my project.

Long story short, I turned Jack’s drawing into the stamp above, and we made two shirts. More are available to order as Christmas gifts. The eyes and mouth glow in the dark, fyi.

One of Luke’s craft supply choices were pom poms, and he decided to turn them into a comic. It’s too tiny to scan and share, so here is the dialog:

One day everybody was minding their own business when an evil pompom fell from the sky. Suddenly, more started falling. One person said, “I see an evil pompom plane.” One person caught an evil pompom. “Oof.” The evil pompom bit the person’s arm off. “Help”

So there you have it. A successful day of crafting.

Bike Commuting

I posted this picture of Dave taking the kids to school on facebook and now everything thinks Dave is a super hard core bike commuter. (OK, it’s true, he is.) But do you know what is missing from this picture? The bike ride home. See, I planned to go to work that day, but after 30 seconds of scraping off the windshield, I remembered that I can work from home so I went in the house. Even though I had showered, and was wearing a skirt, and tights. And I had done my hair. So what happened later? Dave took the car to work, and didn’t make it home in time to pick up the kids. So I hopped on the bike, in a skirt and boots – not winter boots, but cute boots. Then I pedaled over to the daycare, picked up Jack and his sled, then went to school and picked up Jack. Yup – super hard core bike commuter, in boots and a skirt. No pictures to prove it, so you just have to trust me.

Who is in Charge?

The other night my poor baby boy came up stairs crying because he had a bloody nose. I took him into the bathroom and sat him on my lap while I pinched his nose for some period of time that seemed like an eternity but may have been less than a minute. Jack told me that I was pinching too hard and that he was fine and wanted to go back to bed. I thought, “Wow! He recovered from that scare so quickly. What a big boy.” Because I remember sort of freaking out about bloody noses as a kid. Of course Jack has more experience with them, living in this dry air, and living with an older brother who occasionally “hits him too hard with a pillow accidentally.”

I took Jack back to bed, tucked him in, laid there for a second until he screamed, “IT’S HAPPENING AGAIN” and I bolted awake and pinched his nose again. Some indeterminate amount of time later, he patted my arm and said, “That’s good, Mom. I’ll lay down and come get you if I need you.”

I trotted off to bed like a good little mommy, shaking my head at my big boy and his calm maturity.

I got in bed, closed my eyes and slept for 5-10 seconds before hearing, “MOM! MY NOSE IS BLEEDING AGAIN!!!”

This third nose bleed (ok, I am sure it was just a continuation of the first one) is the one that woke me all the way up. This time, instead of being in awe of the way my 3 year old can take charge of a situation I thought, “WHY AM I LISTENING TO A THREE YEAR OLD? Who is in charge here?” Not him, and certainly not me. So I turned to my good and loyal friend, my constant companion, the internet. It turns out, you are supposed to pinch a bloody nose for 10 minutes. Not a random about of time, or until your 3 year old gets bored, and you both just really want to go back to sleep. It’s 10 minutes people.

Jack and I sat on the couch, and I pinched his nose for 10 minutes by the clock on the microwave. Then we all went to bed and slept until morning. Thanks, internet.

Halloween

Many, many years ago, I was a joint for Halloween, and my friend Joanne was Mimi from the Drew Carey show. We went to a party and there were a lot of Victoria Secret Angels there. The next year, Dave was Fidel Castro and I was Elian Gonzalez. My costume was just my terrible short boy hair cut, a disney shirt and a life vest. At the party that year, there was a sexy nurse, a sexy kitten, Pamela Anderson, and a Hooters Girl. The Hooters Girl was actually a man at least. The following year, I finally gave up and went as slutty Catholic School girl. If you can’t beat them, join them, etc etc. Especially before you have kids and you still fit into your grade school uniform. You can read a million blog posts about the slutification of Halloween, and a million facebook posts from moms of girls who couldn’t find a decent costume for their daughters, but I think the pendulum is starting to swing away from slutty and go back over to scary.

I was feeling particularly lazy this month, and I decided my costume, if I ever came up with an idea, should just be comfortable. We have been watching The Walking Dead, and we love the movie Zombieland (double tap) so I figured Dave and I were going to be Zombies. (Zombie is the new black.) But I wanted to mix it up a bit somehow. Like, Zombie Pioneer Woman, Zombie Catholic Schoolgirl, Zombie Mad Scientist. Then I thought, Mad Scientist would require less effort and makeup. I gave myself very aggressive angry eyebrows, put on a lab coat and goggles. That seemed a little lame, so I threw on my blond wig, and my striped tights. The goggles were annoying so I took them off. Then I thought! Witch Doctor! I made a tiny witch hat and pinned it to my head and put a stethoscope around my neck. Comments from my family before we left the house: You should just be a mad scientist. Your eyebrows are scaring me. You can’t tell that is a witch’s hat. My response: I don’t care.

But it was interesting because people couldn’t really figure out what I was, and I blame the years of slutty costumes. Most people guessed, “Some kind of nurse….” and the subtext was, “slutty nurse: yer doing it rong.” But my deviled egg costume from the year before prepared me for an evening where no one could guess my costume, so I didn’t care.

Happy Halloween!

MetaMegan

kids, bikes, books, food