bagged meat

We made taco salad for dinner the other night.

I know. So boring.

Except I need to know if what I am about to say is just a me thing or if it's generally accepted as GROSS.

We are still living that temporary apartment life and we are starting to run out of things because you don't stockpile when you're going to have to move it all over again.

I am referencing things like glass containers to store food.

I am all about reducing plastic use here, people.

Except we still have ziplock bags – which are 100% plastic – because I haven't yet found a way to not have those. How do you do it? Please share the wisdom of your ways.

Anyhow. Tacos.

All of our (as in three) glass containers to store food were being used. All of the bowls were dirty.

There was thismuch taco meat leftover. Juuuuust too much to be able to eat the last few bites and call it a day.

But there was nothing to put it in.

So says me.

Tim grabs a ziplock bag and is all, "Here, use this!"

And I looked at him like are you serious?

He was definitely serious.

While he scooped it up from the pan and dropped it in the bag he was all, "Are you going to eat this? You're going to eat this, right?"

And he was saying "this" like you'd ask anyone if they'd eat leftovers from a meal that was just so amazingly delicious.

Ummm….do I have to answer?

Maybe? (Read: never)

*gag*

Here is where I get caught up.

Meat doesn't go in bags.

Sandwiches.

Grapes.

Doritos.

Pizza slices.

Carrot sticks.

Even a half eaten hamburger.

All of those things I can see in a bag.

But loose meat?!?!

Bagged. Ground. Loose. Meat.

And let's take it a step further because really there is always an end game:

You want me to open a bag of loose ground meat and pour it.

We are now pouring bagged meat onto a tortilla. Into a bowl. Wherever it's supposed to go, it's going to get there in such a fashion that is akin to liquid coming out of a jug….

I just…I can't.

I can a lot of things but this is one area I just cannot.

I'll have you know that the bag of meat is still sitting in the refrigerator. Probably conforming to whatever shape it has been squished into.

Really none of what I am saying is heading in a direction that ends well.

So let's just leave it at that.

The cold, squished, loose ground meat is never getting eaten.

(I probably just crossed the line with that)

it’s not you. it was me.

I feel like I should say something but I don't really know what to say?

It's kind of annoying writing things sometimes? Not annoying in that writing is annoying but more like annoying that people I know and am related to read what I'm writing and sometimes don't like what I have to say or how I say it.

That's the annoying part.

Sorry family. Love you but do not love your attempts to put restrictions on what I say. Or your judgement on what I say.

After I took a hiatus from social media for awhile, I guess I kind of realized how ridiculous it really is in the first place. We all know it's the highlight reel. We are, in the whole, either posting THE MOST AMAZING things or THE MOST TERRIBLE things.

Everything else is about food or animals.

amiright???

The last time we moved and I posted a picture of our new house to…I think it was Facebook….pretty sure. Anyway, so I did that and then I head 'round the grapevine that someone I had gone to church with told her mom, who then told my mom, who told me that basically this person was like OMG THAT IS HER HOUSE???? when she saw the picture.

And the OMG part wasn't like wow!!!! But it seemed like it was OMG like OMG. Look at where she is living versus wherever it was they live (because I don't really know).

If was a blatant comparison and it felt like I had inadvertently made that person feel bad.

I didn't like that. I didn't even mean to make anyone feel bad or feel like they weren't accomplishing things in life (which is not true), but I did.

That is the crux of social media and why many people have issues because they see OMG THAT HOUSE! And then they look at their own house, which is probably amazing, and they think they're doing life wrong.

And they aren't.

They don't know all the things about that house that were nuisances or problems (hello ants that never went away and an awful monkey inspired bathroom we had to redo and an air conditioner that could. not. keep. up. in the summer).

All they saw was a picture and that was it. An instant assumption: She lives in this amazing house!!!!! Why not me????

I'm probably making way more out of this than what actually happened, but that it happened really stuck with me.

You do you.

I'll do me.

We will both be awesome at it.

I don't want to do something or say something or post something that might make someone else feel less than they actually are. We are all amazing and unique and walk our own path.

Do I suffer from the grass is greener syndrome sometimes?

Of course.

I think that's part of human nature.

However, I am also realizing that the grass will never be greener than where you are currently standing. You might think it will be, but in truth it can only be greener if you're the one watering your own damn grass instead of staring at someone else's.

That's why I continue to keep any social media I post at a minimum. Do I want to share our house?

Yes!

Will I?

Maybe.

I think I have to kind of get over what others think. I know that I cannot control how others think. I know that there is nothing wrong with being proud of something you have done and sharing that success.

It's hard for me to do that. It always has been.

If someone ever asks about me and basketball I'll be like, "Yes, I played in college."

If Tim is there, he will tack on all, "What?! You were inducted into the hall of fame!….pshhhh you played in college! You were amazing!"

I don't know where the line of humility should fall, but my personal one tends to be on the side where less is shared versus more.

Maybe that's why I don't share as much?

I mean, I have always been that way. I'm actually just now realizing that the reason I never had any friends in school was probably my fault.

I was always really quiet but I had the classic resting bitch face. Not intentionally, that's just how my face looks when I am not actively participating in anything.

I always thought no one liked me because I was quiet but I really think it was more no one wanted to talk to me because I acted like stuck up snob.

I probably gave off that vibe and really it was just me being insecure and not knowing how to properly open up and make a friend.

It's sad because I am sure I missed out on a lot of really fun friendships and super awesome people…and there's nothing I can do about that now, except not be that way going forward, making new friendships.

So, if you're reading this and you know me in real life, mainly the high school and college days….it wasn't you. It was me. You are awesome and I just didn't know how to be a friend.

I've finally had the self realization.

It only took…..forever.

the keeping room

I'm not sure if it's where we are living or the type of houses we are looking at or if I've just been living under a rock, but *apparently* the cool new (but not really because you'll see) thing to have in your house is a keeping room.

One of the first houses we looked at when we moved was a sell by owner type of deal. When we went to see the house, the entire family was there to show us every. little. thing. to try to explain why it was such an awesome place to live.

I appreciate the effort but I'd like to decide that for myself, since I'm the one who will be living here, now.

When we made it to the kitchen (because every room had a chapter of information to digest), the husband showed us this area off the kitchen and was all, "This is a keeping room. I had no idea what that was until we started selling this house. It was a room where they used to put pies to keep them warm."

He was really proud of this fact. He wanted everyone to know how amazing it was that they had a room that was supposed to be used to keep pies warm.

And so I'm looking into this room that had a full sized table and chairs and nice windows and I'm thinking, "What a colossal waste of space for a pie. Who even makes enough pie to fill this space? And even if one does make that much pie, it's probably only on Thanksgiving and even then you wouldn't want to use that whole space for pie. I can think of plenty things that need space during Thanksgiving and none of them are pies."

A keeping room.

What is even happening here?

Keeping rooms and movie rooms and full kitchens in the basement.

That has been the running theme during our house hunting.

Full on projector, giant screen, surround sound speaker system, mood lighting, recliner chairs. The whole bit.

And kitchens.

Two full kitchens in the house.

That's entirely too much work for me and another colossal waste of space.

One kitchen is enough.

Apparently the reason for all of this basement renovation is for the mother-in-law.

If you ask me, this upgrade to the mother-in-law suite has gotten way out of control to the point no one even sees her anymore because she's so busy in her full sized kitchen and movie room and separate garage entrance.

Everybody knows that the whole point of a mother-in-law is childcare. So why are we trying to take that away? What are we thinking? We're only punishing ourselves.

While we are on the topic of punishment, since when is it imperative for every bedroom to have their own full bathroom?

I had to share a bathroom with three boys until my mom made one for me downstairs when I was in high school. And even then everybody used it.

But now we all have our own bathrooms, complete with that many more toilets and showers and sinks to scrub.

Wow….have I gone waaaaay off course.

Keeping rooms.

It allllllllllll started with keeping rooms.

And turns out, they're not even for pies (a little FYI history link for you).

What a farce.

(But really we are probably buying a house with a keeping room and I have no idea how to decorate it. That's really what I wanted to say but that obviously never happened)

I am *that* mom

I am that mom who lets her kid wear whatever he wants. Mismatched socks. Shoes on the wrong feet. Shirt purposely backwards. 

I am also that mom who has no problem letting her kid wear costumes on any day he so chooses, to any place we happen to be going.

The grocery store was Gotham City today. Kellan made sure everyone knew the Night Stalking Vigilante was there along with Batgirl and Bat baby.

One grocery store employee was like, “I’m impressed you can even say vigilante.”

And I was just like, “You have nooooo idea what kind of vocabulary gold mine you’ve stumbled upon.”

If the store isn’t busy, Kellan will run in the open areas more than he will walk.

He will find the villains.

He will have complete conversations with people as Batman. I smile and play right along.

If we are all in, then we surely aren’t breaking character.

I am that mom and I have zero issue admitting to it. I encourage it. I allow it. I am not at all embarrassed by it.

I am proud of Kellan’s ability to bring the real world into his imagination and manipulate it in so many amazing ways.

Maybe once upon a time, before Kellan, I would have been appalled at the mere thought of one of my kids running around like that.

That sure was a silly thought.

Without having children, I would have missed the magic of a child being allowed to be himself and play freely.

The only way I can do that is because I stopped caring what others think. After a few days of mom life, I realized that trying to force a baby to do what “they” say he should do was not going to work. Kellan doesn’t play by those rules, and because of his determination to go against the norm, I’ve also thrown all of the books and advice columns out the window all, “This is not my kid. This will never be my kid. We are going to do this our own way. To hell with advice.”

And since then….life has been peaceful in that department. 

Though I’d be a millionaire if I had a dime for every time I heard:

“Your shirt is backwards.”

“Your socks don’t match.”

“Your shoes are on the wrong feet.”

“You’re wearing two different shoes.”

And to all those we just smile and say, “Yes, they are. That was the plan.”

Kellan picks out his outfits very carefully every morning. Every single item, head to toe, is planned out and has a reason and a purpose.

It is one of my favorite things for him to come out of his room to declare who he is for the day and see how he has decided to express that in his outfit.

There is no way I am ever discouraging his imagination and his desire to be who he is, regardless if society agrees.

Society has it completely backwards, if you ask me.

And really, I should know.

I live with Batman, afterall.