My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Leftovers Again?


Things in FreshHelldom are serene at the moment. Which does not mean that both children are angelic (Frankly, angels seem a bit boring to me. I mean, are they really that happy all the time? How dull. What are they, lobotomized?), but we’re back in the groove. Even if that groove is sodden from the rain. Not that I’m complaining about rain – not me!

I’ve added a new crop of photos to flickr – birthday shots, the horse cake, general summertime doin’s and Cece’s kids. I was not able to get group photos or photos of adults because we were too busy chatting and lassoing children. Maybe next time.

Yesterday, I picked the girls up early from daycare in order to go by the library on the way home. The library closest to us; the one that was closed over the weekend. Dusty was not pleased to see me because she had just gotten in the pool. Never fails. I thought: oh she’s always talking about us going to the library. Maybe I’ll run by the store, pick up some food (cheese bread and blueberries) to tide us over, pick them up early and head to the library. This is what Dusty always begs for. Until I actually do it. Then, I end up dealing with surliness and the ruination of her life. Tough noogies, kid.

After much harumphing, drying off and changing, and rescuing Red from her group, blueberries and bread were consumed, along with bottles of water, and we arrived at the library right before the dark clouds released a universe full of rain upon us. Dusty got a Captain Underpants book and two others. Red got two dinosaur-related board books. All the treacherous way home, she looked at them and growled, “Rawr! Rawwwwr!”


I made a startling discovery the other day while looking through my new "Food For Two" book. Perhaps this is obvious to everyone else (and if it is, you can just chuckle to yourself over your superiority to me – I know I’m not too swift these days), but I’d always wondered why, in all these perfect-wife/housewife books there was such an emphasis on completely new and different meals every day, why leftovers had such a bad reputation. Because, here’s how I do it: I plan two large meals that will last 2-3 days each when there’s more time to fix them, and two or three quicky meals that can be prepared on the nights when there’s no time to make anything more elaborate than pizza, garden burgers or spaghetti. The kids eat from a rotating a la carte menu of rice, beans, vegetables (corn or carrots or broccoli), fruit (whatever’s in the house), cheese, etc. I am not so foolish as to think that children will eat most adult meals. Their taste buds are too sharp to stand things all mixed up with onions and garlic, etc. Unless they happen to like that kind of thing. Like Red used to until she turned 18 months old and sold her mouth to the devil. Now, she pretty much eats fruit, rice and parmesan cheese.

Anyway, "Food For Two" was written with couples or roommates in mind, and for people with little space, little time (batchelors and working girls)...and maybe no refrigeration. And it hit me. Back in the day, when there may not have even been ice boxes or any kind of reliable refrigeration in many homes or apartments, you pretty much shopped and cooked DAILY because otherwise food would spoil. You had no choice. Duh.

This somehow became “tradition” and the proper way to run a respectable household. All this blather about men expecting a new meat every night makes my husband laugh because he claims men couldn’t care less about all that drivel. So, the 1950’s housewife was saddled with the burden of cooking and serving (never mind planning) three completely different meals a day simply because her mother and grandmother did it. Because they HAD to. They didn’t have a Fridgidair in the kitchen to keep things cold enough so food wouldn’t kill you. And nobody bothered to tell the new housewife that her life didn't have to be such a drudgery. But, the men weren't about to tell her - it all worked to their benefit. I mean, imagine what mischief women could get up to if they weren't kitchen slaves?

History’s swell, dontcha think?


9:15 a.m. ::
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