Category Archives: Sweet Domesticity

“If it isn’t Captain Clip-On.”

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ONE THE GIVING OF THE FANGS

Recently I asked Strudel what her favorite part of Christmas is. I almost Pocahonta’d my pants when she said “FEAST.” Franny did the same, asked me what I was making before she went off to her dad’s for her first leg of the Xmas Cycle. (I get her back on the 26th.) I was thinking of not cooking at all since it’s been such a disaster lately.

I don’t think I even wrote about Thanksgiving and how it went–I wrote about it right before things went all LEGAL DOCUMENT and OMG A CAMEO STARRING MY MOTHER etc.

I was thinking about bunking on cooking because I was the first one with the stomach bug that was going around, and I was still kind of weak on Thanksgiving. The girls INSISTED I cook, and I already had the ingredients, plus I invited my sister, so I figured I should go for it. Sadly, I had to cancel on her last minute because P. was vomiting ON Thanksgiving Day, and I did not want to bring her into to a den of germs.

So we rallied and started cooking while P. was laid up moaning.

The girls helped, which was awesome.

Just as we were sitting down to dinner, Franny left and started barfing. Later on Strudel pretended to be barfing. “Yes mother, I made it to the toilet, vomited neatly, then flushed,” which had much the same effect in that I ended up coddling her and made a little bed for her on my floor. About a week later Strudel caught the bug for real.

2011 can bite a nutsack really. I am stabbing this year in its back on the way out.

I decided to just do a breast this year, which is still a sizable chunk of turkey. Of course I brined it and it came out very well. I took a picture and was going to post it, but it was a little…hmmm.

Uhhhhhhh

Ah yes, that’s what legless turkey makes me think of.

There was also some sweeee potato casserole, something I have come to very late in life. Dunno why.

And I made a pumpkin cream pie, which was mostly eaten by the person who was well enough to eat it, me.

I redid Thanksgiving a few days later using leftover stuffing and turkey and fresh cranberries and potatoes and there was much rejoicing.

Back to Christmas, which I started with waaay up there. Now through all my ambulations you can maybe understand why I am hesitant to cook a “FEAST” for Christmas. But if I do, it will be duck.

TWO A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT DEADBEAT DAD

A few days ago Strudel asked me about Christmas Steve. I had been telling the girls that I thought they were well-behaved enough this year that he might not even show up.

“I think YOU are Christmas Steve,” Strudel said.

“Mmmm,” I said noncommittally from the cheese log where I was perched.

“I think YOU do all the things.”

“Do you really think I would eat part of your gingerbread house and give your sister a trophy that says #1 SUCKY on it in Sharpie?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“I see.”

“Are you Christmas Steve?”

“Yes, I am,” I said. She cried a little then, but now she thinks it is very funny.

“It was YOU ALL ALONG,” she says.

THREE RANDOMATA

Franny asked for guinea pigs for her birthday, and has been asking for them for months. I felt bad because as her birthday approached in October, her dad was serving me with paperwork to get back to 50/50. I did not want to be a dick about it, but I also did not want to be solely caring for her pets half of the time. I have lovely cats and chickens and other things that deserve my attention. My attitude is, guinea pigs are not my thing, but I will help and supervise to make sure they are getting proper care and nutrition.

So, after things had been settled court-wise, we took the plunge for Christmas.

This is Cloud and Misty. I am relieved a hundred times over that she did not name them Hammy and Porky as she originally threatened to. Misty, interestingly enough, is the name of one of my lawyers. Franny heard it and loved it. And now we have Legal Pigs. They are darling. I really wish I would have kept them as a child instead of hamsters, but they would not have done well with my mother’s laissez-faire attitude toward pets.

Speaking of fuzzballs.

Gertie hogs my cheez log. The girls have been with me for about a year now and they are doing really well. The kittens turned a year old in September but they still have a little of that adolescent thing hanging on. One thing that I did not really expect is how separate they all are. There will be no more than two cats on my bed at any given time. Gertie is like Nietzsche in that she will follow us around and see what we are up to. Matilda will sleep on my shoulder at night. Mere is still kind of her flaky temperamental self, but does well as long as I don’t pet her below the shoulders. She’s got that cat-sensitivity thing.

Someone stole the ladder, so we decorated the pear tree this year. Tres Charlie Brown, no?

What is happening in legal doings? I will tell you. Last time we spoke, I had just emerged from a courtroom, where I felt like I had been put on that life-draining rack Wesley ended up on in The Princess Bride. Since our next orders were to mediate, I thought things would be kind of calm since then. NOPE.

SeaFed’s lawyer sent an email saying that he had been “forced to withdraw” from SeaFed’s case. There is some speculation that it is less money-related, and more personality-related. I did not blog about this, but as we were standing in the hallway post court hammering out details of the parenting plan, his lawyer said to mine, “Your client is being VERY cooperative in this.” SeaFed would not move on anything.

At first I read this as a condescending head-pat, but now I wonder. Of course I said nothing and kind of forgot about it, since there were bigger fish to fry, and we were busy frying them.

I also discovered that SeaFed had been spraying my lawyer with emails, which she was ignoring, since he has counsel who should be contacting us for anything crucial. Then the withdrawing-attorney thing came out. Then last Wednesday SeaFed started hammering my lawyer and cc’ing me. He was threatening legal action over some confusing language in the temporary plan. He is absolutely a cornered animal right now.

I know I shouldn’t be at this point, but I was pretty shocked how nasty his tone was and how pointless and inappropriate his questions were. My lawyer advised me that this is a common tack to run up the other party’s bill. I implored her to shut him down and begin ignoring him. I think he is going to be a nightmare on a pro se basis as this continues.

And there was one other thing I did not tell you, because I did not realize it until a day after court when I got all my paperwork and read it. SeaFed was suing me for attorney’s fees in the motion to modify the parenting plan. As if I was just opening that frivolously!!

So, I have a couple of theories…behold the crinkling of my tin foil hat. SeaFed retained his lawyer to fight child support, and his lawyer suggested the best way to smash child support was to make a motion go back to 50/50 time. At the same time, of course, I was moving to modify the parenting plan, so I assume his lawyer hung on for that. Perhaps SeaFed did not see that as my next logical step. Attorney withdrew because of lack of funds, because SeaFed gambled everything on me losing the motion to modify. Or, he withdrew because of jackassery. It will remain a mystery.

This is the worst cat-and-mouse game ever. I am invisible and the cat has bells glued all over it.

The next move is to mediate. Our deadline is by the end of January, and the mediator is not even available until after the end of this month. She has requested that we mediate separately, and she is a guardian ad litem with training in child psychology so she wants to speak with Franny separately as well. This seems hopeful.

I have a bad feeling SeaFed will dig his heels in and not move on anything here, which will push us to trial next year. What’s he got to lose if he is going pro se? Or perhaps they will mortgage his house or he will beg his father for money.

The next thing also is I have a trial date on January 13 that I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT in all this–child support hearing. I was sent the paperwork alerting me that the trial is approaching and the prosecuting attorney’s office wanted me to sign all the motions and child support worksheets. If we both sign, it’s just settled.

Since he has not submitted one jot of requested financial information, I assume he is not going to sign the paperwork either. They have all his financial information from their research. I submitted up-to-date paystubs and bank statements and signed it all and sent it back. I reckon what will happen is that I will be made to show up on January 13th and it will go through automatically, really. The prosecuting attorney’s office had already decided there was justification to modify the child support order from $0, and now they have appended the recent court actions granting the right to change the parenting plan. I am hoping this will be the most in and out, non-teary court experience I have had.

The potential amount I am being awarded monthly is $340. I want to tell you I think all of this is over $340 a month. I cannot help but wonder what his wife thinks in all this. How would you feel if your spouse/partner had a child who someone else took care of most of the time and took care of 90% of the financial stuff, and not due to an agreed arrangement?

Anyway, that amount should cover her food, really, which will be a great boon. No complaints. It gets bumped again next year when she turns 12, and that should be it until she’s 19. We should “break even” on court costs and legal fees about two years into child support, but the knowledge that there will be official paperwork in place keeping everything straight is priceless.

Penultimate Poultry

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I am thinking about past Thanksgivings. I’m not going to get all Christopher Kimball on you; you cannot out-crazy that level of crazy. To put it another way, if you find yourself on the street corner smearing poo on your hair and lighting yourself on fire just to compete then you have probably taken a wrong turn somewhere. I am just remembering.

The first time I cooked Thanksgiving dinner I was living in Phoenix, away from family and home and anything that seemed familiar, like snow and Polish people in giant coats. November in Phoenix is when things just start to cool off a little. The air smells like orange blossoms and it is possible to open your windows without candles melting in their holders. The air-conditioning bill finally drops below $100.

I made wee Cornish game hens. I had been cooking steadily for about a year-and-a-half at that point. I think I wanted to do something different, and I think the other half of me was too chicken (nyuk) to make a whole turkey. My mother was there; she complained about the lack of turkey. The meal was good, I think. I don’t really remember any other detail of it, other than the terrible counter space in the 1950s kitchen of that rambler, and my mother complaining.

The last time I suffered through my mother’s Thanksgiving dinner was probably 2004. The turkey was dry, as usual, and the stuffing was Stove Top. The gravy was her usual miasma of grease, hard-boiled eggs, and too-large giblet chunks. I didn’t get gravies and sauces until I discovered fine dining–reductions, demi-glaces, jus, and thick pan gravies that I learned how to make myself. She was as happy as a clam, which is an apt comparison, since clams are unsophisticated creatures with no taste buds.

The following year I made Thanksgiving at my apartment, my first year brining. Strudel was 6 months old and we passed her around all night while I poured wine and mashed and chopped and stirred. I made a gorgeous turkey with a mahogany skin, since I accidentally had a red wine on hand to baste it with instead of a white. It looked like a work of art, like it had dragged itself off a cover of a food magazine and beached itself on my counter. It tasted wonderful.

“This is okay,” my mother said. “It all needs more giblets, though.”

The lesson I took from this, beyond how to be tactless to one’s host, was that she likes it her way, and I like it my way. That’s all.

My house has vomiting right now, and assorted other unpleasantness. There is a turkey breast brining in the refrigerator…will anyone want to eat it? It is a mystery! Stay tuned. Happy Fangsgiving.

Sick Day. Current Mood: Krav Maga

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Strudel, holding a doll: SHE HAS TO DIE, THIS ONE HAS TO DIE!

Me, attempting to edit soups: No one has to die.

Strudel: THIS ONE DOES! THIS ONE IS GOING TO DIE!

Me: No one has to die.

Franny, to Strudel: You have to die.

Me: No one has to die.

Strudel: No, I don’t, do I, Mom?

Me: Yes, you have to die.

Strudel: *SCREAMS*

Franny: I’m going to glue your mouth shut. *Approaches* This isn’t toxic so it won’t taste bad.

Strudel: Do you know what Mom’s going to do to you?

Franny: NOTHING. She wants you to be quiet too.

Me: Don’t feed your sister a glue stick.

Presently: pants are flying off and there is leg wrestling.

Dear MF Diary: YOU CAN PIN AND MOUNT ME LIKE A BUTTERFLY

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Dear Sparkleprincess Unicorn Slambook,

HI HOW ARE YOU? This is that post where I am saying I should be doing something else right now, specifically editing recipes. That’s going well. What a difference a day makes, as they say, or maybe that’s more like eight months. Sometimes you have to dump things for a while and have a good cry to find your passion for them again. In other news, I hate posts like this, because it’s sort of like when someone is making a grocery list in their head while they’re having sex with you.

“Eggs!”

“Yeah, EGGS, baby!”

“No, we are OUT of eggs.”

My boner!

Longcat is long, so you know it’s warm.

New contract is going well. It’s in one of Seattle’s “fun” neighborhoods and the commute if very reasonable. I am making zucchini bread. The recipe calls for “three medium zucchinis” but if your zucchini is the size of a baby, then the recipe should call for “half a baby,” eh?

I thought my Victorian recipes were pretty complete other than that pesky “conversion to British” thing, but it’s taking a bit. Cups are going over to grams, liquid measures are going over to ml. A British pint in not a US pint, but you are so smart and probably knew that already.

Goethe gerroff my zucchini batter.

That’s better.

I do still have my other two cats, of course, it’s just that Gertie Pie is the one who comes around.

I am listening to the Song of Ice and Fire series via audiobook. I think at this point it’s almost a habit more than anything. I hate it when I get into this loop where I can’t decide if I’m enjoying myself or not, yet I continue. This seems like a very human thing to do, eh? Deer are more “there is not try, only do,” I think. Sometimes I wake up while listening to them and I’m on some weird chapter and someone is getting stabbed and I’m all WTF is happening, you fell asleep again, dummy. But most of the time I am upright and listening properly.

Lemon cucumbers for days! I eat them like apples. Yum!

En dotry nouvelles

Franny called yesterday, from her father’s house. I’ve been so scattered with new job and the abrupt end of old job that I realized I’ve been blurting on Twitter but have not written properly about things. Franny called to say she misses me and cannot wait to come home on the first, and that she was delighted to receive a letter from her sister yesterday. It sounds like she’s having fun visiting as well, though. I told her that just an hour before I had walked to the local plastics store and bought two sheets of plastic to construct a guinea pig habitat–she’s getting guinea pigs for her eleventh birthday in October. It’s going to be her jam, with heavy supervision from me to make sure the enclosure stays clean and whatnot. So now I’m reading up on them on a few sites. Really enjoying this one–it’s chockablock with guinea pig “activists” among the actual decent information, so occasionally you can watch them run someone off for not doing everything exactly right. OH INTERNET.

Two things have happened. I received a letter from the prosecuting attorney’s office saying that all the 4,000 pieces of personal and financial information they had requested from me had been received; were adequate; were processed, and now I have a COURT CASE and that I would hear from them regarding court date etc. “soon.” I may hear from them soon, but I reckon that I won’t have an actual court date until sometime around Q2 of next year. That’s OKAY. I am a tortoise.

For my mediation appointment with SeaFed we were required by the mediator to submit a statement saying why we wanted to mediate. I’m grateful to her for this since it clarified everything for me like bang. I would not allow myself to reply “I don’t want to mediate” so I made myself put “to appear cooperative,” which is a pretty shitty reason to do anything you’ll spend a lot of money on and get nothing out of (forced parenting class during my divorce comes to mind as well). He replied, well past the courtesy deadline the mediator asked for, naturally: “My purpose in mediating is to nullify the temporary living arrangement we’ve been adhering to and return to the original parenting plan.”

Well, that tore it. What a colossal waste of time this expensive discussion would be. I was also lulzing at the fact that when SeaFed is put into some kind of grown-up communication situation, he never uses one word when three officious ones would do, much like I imagine a twelfth-grade honors English essay reads. With a great sense of relief, I cancelled the appointment, saying that I didn’t think it was the right venue in which to make a change like this…because…it’s NOT.

The plan for now is to carry on until things change somehow, meaning he gets mad enough about child support to sue me to move to 50/50 time and I lose. I know he will object to child support once he officially gets a chance to do so (it’s worth noting that he STILL has not mentioned that I’ve filed for child support in any of our communications). I’m relieved that child support and the state of the parenting plan are two separate issues, requiring separate efforts, paperworks being filed, attorney fees. I got an email from his father the other day that led me to believe he has no idea that his son is being sued for child support, which makes me think SeaFed hasn’t hit his dad up for attorney fees yet.

Since my brain is back with a vengeance and steel trappin up and down and all over town, I’m going to create a schedule for this next school year, holidays included, using last year’s calendar for reference to see whose turn it is to have Thanksgiving and whatnot. This is partly prompted by sadness and irritation at his lack of ability to get his shit together to figure out what time he’d like to pick his daughter up at the appointed location before the day of this summer. I don’t have time to fuck with this shit now that I am back to a desk job for now. It’s the same old shit as always, but I’d like to take a break from confused, last-minute emails for the school year, thank you. The last time I made a schedule for SeaFed to follow ended with him drunkenly screaming at me from a party. But that will not happen again, because we are older and wiser now, yes? (Ha.)

So, I have been validated by the County of King: I have a COURT CASE. Soon I will have a COURT DATE. I have cancelled mediation. I have lost my hobbles and this has become such a small part of my life and concerns…why my 2004 self would hardly recognize my 2011 self. Looking forward to having a last hurrah out of town before school starts.

Jacque Brel+Miss Piggy+CBT-Capoeira

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Hey my camera came! I was just a tiny weeny bit depressed between the time the old one broke and the new one came. More like bummed, really. I love it except it’s so skinny and the screen is so big it kind of looks like an iPhone. I don’t want to lay it on its face, though. I hope it stays standing up well even when I am running around cooking and snapping or whatever.

You know what else came? A letter from the prosecuting attorney’s office (Child Support Division). BLARGH. The good news is that they are continuing to take my claim for child support seriously.

Whenever I get mail like this I honestly feel I’m going to shit myself, or at the very least have a panic attack. I almost did–I could feel my chest tightening up and everything. I was all alone when I got it. I could feel my brain racing around, what-ifing, predrafting the letters I have to write to continue to keep the ball rolling. I love how everything court related is HOOMHAH (me) vs. WHAT’S-HIS-BUKKIT. Let’s keep every interaction as adversarial as possible, even information requests.

I am completely Pavlovian with court stuff. I think it’s probably pretty normal to say “Oh shit, what does the government want??” but it’s certainly more dialed up in me now than it was pre-2004. Anyway, it should be pretty simple to send back what they want and then, I don’t know…wait another 6 months maybe?


Black, Italian, and Thai basil, in a place where they are both safe from the chickens and will get sun for most of the day.


I planted a gulfstream nandina. I love nandina.

My front flower garden is doing pretty well. I’m trying to aim for a balance of economy and beauty. I just bought some decorative grass on whoa clearance, which will continue to provide color and contrast even when nothing’s blooming. I bought the smallest number of lily bulbs I felt I could get away with knowing they would divide themselves, etc. Same with tulips and daffodils. It’s not too bad considering this was all grass when I moved in a year ago.


I don’t remember buying yellow lilies. I figured I just got a bunch of stargazers. Ah well.


This is the “sunset” rose, and was first to bloom. I forget its proper name.


Double Delight, looking crappy at the moment, but the bush is healthy overall and will bloom again very soon. Double Delight smells like Pond’s Cold Cream. I also have a Mr. Lincoln (red) and a Heirloom (purple) planted.


The solution to being stuck with this shitty decaying hot tub. GROW MY PRETTIES, GROW LIKE THE WIND! I’m hoping to have some decent screening by next summer. Hydrangeas, of course, are deciduous shrubs but I am not out in the yard much in the winter anyway.

Speaking of trashy crap…

The last of the carpet has been pulled from the garden. Before it is sent to Coventry, the chickens have decided to enjoy it for a while.


Molokai hangs out.


The coop has been enhanced a bit inside to accommodate the fact that the new ladies be laying now. There is also a new pop hole since it sits in the sun for part of the day at this house, but was constantly under a giant shady laurel before.

Also, my antlers I got in Idaho are mounted. Holy MAN was that something, the antler store. It was a huge fireworks store (POSTED: NO SMOKING WITHIN 50 FEET!!) and if you looked up, BAM, taxidermy. You could smell a musky reek in the store. “I hope your stuff doesn’t end up smelling like SKUNKS!” the register lady said. I had to sign a form swearing that I would not misuse my fireworks, even though I didn’t buy any.

I have not mentioned much about the trip, and I discovered when I was on my way when my camera was broken, but I stayed at my friend Kelly’s house and had a wonderful weekend.

Anyway, antlers. I have been wanting antlers for years, but the best thing about them is that I realized they were exactly what I wanted to display my rosary collection. When I was in college and ramblin’ around the Southwest I would stop at every little chapel and I ended up buying a lot of them.

So, camera. Court! An antelope head named “Jennifer Aniston.” I got nothin, really.

YO DAWG

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I heard you like bling so I put bling on your egg so you can floss while you raise your cholesterol.

CAT PLANET PLANET OF THE EGGS. Man I wish they hadn’t made Raocow’s videos private. :'(

Purple is always weird on eggs, isn’t it? It’s like the red and the blue don’t want to fully integrate. I thought it looked vaguely planet-y. We bought a Paas glitter kit and then enhanced it with that super smacky gel food dye. I like Spectrum. The girls were having a kit yearning, and then were disappointed with the tiny amount of crap that was actually in it. But for $2.50, eh, no risk in letting them take a walk on the commercial side. Surprising so one, the PAAS dye sucked penises.

Strudel broke one of her eggs, so she eated it.

Purple egg with cracking.

Unhappy Zombie Jesus Day

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I told the girls I would not be extorted for Easter baskets any longer, and offered to make a cake. I didn’t get suckered into providing Easter baskets until Franny’s dad started doing it over at his house, having been freed from my Satanic Communist regime of not feeding the girls waxy crap candy in the morning, relating to a holiday we don’t even believe in anyway.

Whew. I really need to look into periods, since I seem to be using up all the commas.

ANYWAY, I haven’t made a Grand Canyon cake in a while, which I thought would be fun.

You make different colored layers.

Then you stack them all up.

Then you split the cake gently. BEHOLD A CANYON. EDUCATIONAL!

Also you pour in the whiskey sauce and let the canyon sop it all up. Don’t forget to have a short snort of Jack before going out to plant herbs and alyssum.


“Happy Zombie Jesus Day”

Then Chewy comes along and knocks it onto the floor.

BRAP BRAP.

We are having Thai sticky rice for dessert.

The giblets were hiding in the neck. WHOOPS.

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Dear goddam diary, today Strudel, through a series of questions about her health, revealed that she was coughing up blood. Off to the doctor first thing in the a.m. for her. I would have gone to the doctor myself but New Years came and places were closed. I put my ear to her back tonight and I feel like I heard a rattle. I think I am having sympathy lung pains tonight.

Also, what’s a housebound psycho to do? Umm…make Thanksgiving dinner, I guess? Why not? I got a turkey on the HELLA CHEAP now that the holidays are over. And everyone’s sick but me, so there is LOTS of turkey left for turkey noodle soup tomorrow, and quesadillas, and pot pie…YUM.

I made sweet potato casserole for the first time ever. I mashed the yams with a little nutmeg, butter, salt, and pepper, drizzled on some maple syrup, sprinkled pecans, and of course, added marshmallows. I cannot believe I shunned this for years. It was never really part of my Italian Thanksgiving experiences growing up, though. If there were extra “odd” sides it would be rutabaga for my grandpa and some spaghetti.

So today was fixing people meals and fetching them drugs and drinks and in between that trying to get some work done. I don’t know how to tell you this…for the first time ever I went out in pajama pants to the bus stop. I have been like uncontrollably bleeding and have been all “Hold up dog let me find my jeans before we ho ho hospital.” School started on a two-hour delay so it’s not like I went out under the cover of sin-hiding darkness even.

AH JANUARY. I am starting to remember why I don’t write much in January.

Are We There Yet, Papa Smurf?

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JESUS is Christmas really next week? Fuck. I have been thinking about my friends who I love and appreciate, and I keep drawing blanks on presents. I think I will be a last-minute Lucy this year.

I’m having that thing right now where my head is just kind of hissing inside when I stop to think because I am so busy and engaged otherwise. I have been preparing a lot of offal this month–kidneys, pickling lamb tongues, and so on.

Much like my winter mania, sickness has hit the land early. Franny cannot remember anything right now, and Strudel is a little plugged up and cannot hear. Comedy ensued last night, as Franny asked me the same questions repeatedly and Strudel shouted “WHAT?” every time her sister spoke.

“Mom, what are you making for dinner?” Franny said.

“WHAT?” Strudel yelled.

“I told you, a roasted turkey breast,” I said.

“WHAT?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Jesus Mary Etc, it’s the lost dwarfs, Deafy and Forgetty.”

“Mom!” Franny protested.

“WHO lost a DOOR?” Deafy Dwarf shouted.



In Other News: Hello Goethe.

And Hello Matilda.

They huddled in the crate behind their mother, who was petite and bright eyed and looking at me critically, as cats do. No yowling or desperate clawing from this bunch like the other cats in other crates, though I wouldn’t have blamed them if they did.

“So, what happens to their mom when I take them?” I asked.

“Oh…she goes into the adult cat room. And waits for someone who wants an adult cat.”

I looked at the adult cat room, overstuffed with adult cats sleeping, playing, eating, and generally looking like a fuzzy used-car lot. I pictured the mother in there, too, after we had gone.

Hello Mere.

We are both happy AND sad, all at once. I am okay with complicated feelings.