“I hope dinner turns out ok,” I said to my husband just now.

“How could it not?” he asked.  Rarely do I serve yucky food.  I mean, I like to eat, and I like to eat good-tasting stuff.  I really avoid food that doesn’t taste good.  My kids haven’t figured this out fully yet, and still actually turn up their noses at dishes like Apple Crisp.  There is some hope: Fritz has proven that, as they age, they get more daring (or just hungrier) and are willing to actually try different things.  Frequently, he will say something like, “Wow.  This is really good,” in reference to some dish I have been making for 15 years.

But tonight is an experiment in leftovers and things from the pantry.

First off, I had gotten a big pork loin on sale a while ago, and happily served it to a guest this past week.  The loin was huge – over 4 pounds – and we had more than half left over.  We ate some as leftovers, but that gets boring quickly.  I googled “leftover pork” recipes and found lots of stir fry type dishes.  I’ve done that before and wasn’t overly interested.

We also had a lot of mashed potatoes leftover, so I googled “Pork shepherd’s pie” and found a recipe that I used as a base for what is in my oven now.

Although we had a big pile of potatoes, I know that Fritz, who loves mashed potatoes, won’t be thrilled with the shepherd’s pie.  I had to reserve some potatoes from the casserole.  But I didn’t think there were enough potatoes to feed both my teen boy and make the shepherd’s pie.  I do have some more red potatoes, but…I also had two sweet potatoes that I’ve been trying to use up.  They came in the veggie box from a local farm I support.  We’re not huge sweet potato fans here, and my husband, especially, prefers them with tons of brown sugar and other things designed to completely disguise the taste of the sweet potato.  But I decided to risk cooking one and mashing it in with half the regular mashed potatoes to see how that tasted.  It seemed pretty good when I licked the beaters.  We’ll see what he thinks in a little bit.

Next, the recipe mentioned drippings/gravy.  I have a jar of turkey gravy in the pantry that I have had since, probably, Thanksgiving.

“There’s not much difference between turkey gravy and beef or pork gravy, is there?” I asked my husband.

He raised his eyebrows, wondering if, for once, my dinner would disappoint.

Lastly, I have a bag of mixed veggies in the freezer that needs to go.  I managed to get half the bag added in, even though the recipe doesn’t call for anything like that.

Oh, and I used up all my dijon mustard recently, and refuse to buy more until after we move, so I substituted some brown deli mustard I want to get rid of.

And so this is how dinner evolved.  I’m going to go clean the kitchen now and check the oven, and we’ll see how things taste in just a bit.

I managed to take a brief nap yesterday at lunch time.  It’s amazing what 30 minutes can do to get you through the afternoon.

I had a dream about cookies.  I was piling them on a serving tray, perhaps for a party.  There were all kinds of cookies: some covered with powdered sugar, some gooey ones, all very interesting and different looking.  I love cookies and was salivating over the prospects of sampling the lot.

I awoke with one thought: My goodness, this is going to be a long Lent.

“Mommy!  Why are you wearing Daddy’s pajamas?”

“Because my belly is getting too big for my regular pajamas.”  And because I am too cheap to cough up the money for maternity pajamas that will be worn for a few months. 

“Really?!?” 

I suppose I could suffer through the rolling waistband for 4 more months, but I risk stretching it to the point that it’s permanently ruined.  While the girls have very much noticed my expanding abdomen, they apparently did not equate that with necessary wardrobe adjustments.  They thought me wearing Bill’s pants very amusing.

And then the conclusion: “Mommy, you’re getting fat.”  Nice.  Great to have ego-boosting children.

“It’s not fat.  It’s a baby.”  That’s my knight in shining armor, defending the honor of his fair maiden.  Alas, it merely drew their attention to him.

“So, Daddy, your belly is as fat as Mommy’s!” 

Must have conversation about hurtful words…and, no, definitely his belly is not anything like mine.  It’s like the difference between the 14th century view of the world (flat) and what Columbus envisioned.

*******

In other news…

Mary said this morning:

“I will just die if I get a porcupine for my birthday!’

Duly noted.  I’ll stick with something less prickly.

*******

Rolled my ankle when my running stride landed just right (or wrong) on one of those gumball tree seed things.  They’re all over the road in my neighborhood.  I thought it was no big deal, but it has only gotten worse throughout the day.  I may have to not run or even walk tomorrow.

*******

Billy turned 12.  We took no pictures.

*******

I think the camera is up to 200 pictures now.  Some good ones, too.  Peter earned his Tiger badge at the “Blue Derby” this weekend – a combination Blue and Gold Banquet and Pinewood Derby.  His derby car took first in his den and 3rd in the Pack overall.  Bill did polish the axles for him, but it was his car.  We took pictures.  Bill made his own car.  Even better pictures.  Someday I’ll download them.

Unlike Ann Coulter, I’d have no trouble picking Randall Terry over Mitt Romney in the general election:

Ann Coulter to campaign for Democratic presidental candidate Randall Terry

I received an email yesterday that irked me.  Perhaps I don’t have the full picture, but it seems to me to be that someone else erred and now a group of us have to pay for it – literally, cash.  That’s my perspective.

I wrote a response.  I did not mention that I thought it was a self-induced crisis.  I explained my moral reasons why I did not fully support the endeavor to begin with (a point on which I had previously been silent).  When I was finished, I said to Bill, “I don’t know if I should send this.”

“Does it feel good?” he asked.  “Usually if it feels good it means you shouldn’t send it.”

“I never send those,” I replied.  “I don’t usually even write those.  No, this doesn’t feel good at all.”  Gut feelings were not helping here.  Sometimes it’s the words we don’t want to say that we really should say.  Sometimes we just need to keep our opinions to ourselves.

I read the email to him.  “That doesn’t sound bad,” he said.

“Maybe I should wait anyway.”

“Good idea,” he concluded.

So it’s been sitting in my draft folder.  And I’ve been waiting for the “reply all”s.  I rarely respond “reply all” – and usually only do it if it is requested (“Please reply all with the dish you plan to bring”).  But some people always seem to reply all.  I’ve been one of 372 people who received an email announcing the birth of a new baby…and had 86 strangers clutter my inbox with reply all: “Congratulations!!”  Why?  Why do you think you need to let all 371 other people know that you offered your welcoming words?  Nobody is keeping track.  Nobody cares.  Just hit “reply”, not “reply all”.  Is it that hard?

So far, no “reply all”s.  Although I’m certain few of us want to pay out of pocket to solve the situation, I don’t know how the others view the situation.  I’m sure that nobody else shares my moral dilemma, which stems from me not taking the moral high ground 6 months ago.  Gut feelings were working well back then, and I pushed them aside, and now I regret it.

{sigh}

I realized, belatedly, that, perhaps, three Masses in five days might be a bit too much for a 4 year old, especially when two of those Masses were not quicky daily Masses, but were instead loooong special sacramental Masses.  Especially the one with 43 confirmandi and the bishop who questioned every single kid about his/her confirmation name or asked some other question about the faith (that was Fritz’s confirmation Mass). 

And the 6+ hour drive on Day 4 didn’t help either.  Nor did being in a different time zone – one in which it was much closer to bedtime than dinner time for little children.

Yes, that was my child screaming so loudly in the “baby” room that she nearly drowned out the bishop’s homily.

Fortunately, I didn’t really know it at the time, being in the second pew behind my niece as her sponsor-proxy.  I just kept thinking, “My goodness, that child is loud.”  Apparently, she really wanted to sit with me.

******

I think I have about 200 pictures on my camera to download.  Some go back to January, and the gingerbread houses that the kids built.  But they will have to wait, still.  This is a make-up week for school, and a clean-the-house day, and a get-the-grading-done-day, and a cook-for-an-event-day, and a pay-the-bills-day.  Not a download photos day.  Or a blogging day.

Did I mention we’re not moving next month?  Oh, no, that seems to be delayed to coincide with my due date.  I keep telling God, “I trust you!  Really!” And then He keeps testing me on that.

Crazy-busy week, this.  Fritz is being confirmed on Thursday, so some planning for guests and their care and feeding and coordinating with the church, etc to do.  It’s a low-key event, but still.

I try very hard not to read the comments at most “news” articles.  It’s one thing to get involved in a discussion on a blog, even a popular one.  Quite another to listen in at a mainstream article where people seem to enjoy seeing their name in print and will type the most ridiculous and ignorant things.  But regarding the HHS mandate, especially regarding the Army stifling/censoring the free speech of Archbishop Broglio, I’ve been glancing through some of the comments, just to see what the “average Joe” is thinking.  (Note: I can no longer find the article at Fox News I saw, which I find very interesting…)

Heaven help us.  Somehow, my refusing to pay for someone else’s birth control pills is imposing my religious views on others?  I suppose I’ll next be required to pay for their porn magazines?

It’s no longer “live and let live” – a motto which attempts to gag as hate-speech any efforts to point out the negative societal consequences of poor (immoral) choices. 

No, now we need to shut our mouths and open our wallets, too.  Pay tribute at the altar of the false gods, or be fed to the lions.

It’s interesting that this freedom of religion crisis (and it is a crisis) is coming right now, as my oldest is about to be confirmed.  That old Baltimore Catechism instructs that the sacrament makes one a soldier of Christ.  I don’t think the “army” will be a metaphorical one.

So, I have a hundred photos on my camera from the past month, and I’m sure tons of exciting events have happened in my life, but the days are becoming rather blurred.  Instead of flexing any creative muscles or actually downloading pictures, I’ll just give another link:

Pelvic Floor Party: Kegels are NOT Invited

Many thanks for this info to Lina.  I hate kegels anyway.  What to do instead: squats.  Go Crossfit!

Speaking of…check out this inspirational photo from their site.

This line made me laugh:

Children just do spend a certain amount of time being miserable. You might as well have their misery be about something real.

The Komen Foundation will no longer give money to Planned Parenthood!