Chicken Enchiladas

This is one of my family's favorite meals:

3 chicken breast halves cooked shredded or cubed (boiled, fried, whatever you have time for)
2 Cans Cream of Chicken soup
8 oz. sour cream

Mix and divide among ten burrito style tortillas:
Cover the bottom of your pans with a little sauce. Roll the enchiladas up and place seam side down in either a large baking pan or I use a 9x13 and a 9X9 - six in one, four in the other. Then pour equally:

One can of enchilada sauce (I use Rosarita)

Cover with aluminum foil and bake at 350° for 35 minutes. Cover with grated cheese (as much as you like). Put back in the oven uncovered for another 5 minutes until cheese is melted. So genius. So easy. Serve with a salad so you can get some veggies into those kids!

My Parasitical Twin

I kind of grossed myself out with my title. I saw this documentary that had people born with parasitical twins and like one guy had another mouth on the side of his head and it even opened and closed. A baby had whole extra torso and limbs and it had to be removed. Now I don't feel like whining on Whiney Wednesday.

I was going to complain about zits again because this week I have had three bad experiences with them:

1. I had a Siamese twin zit that had two heads. Two heads are NOT better than one.

2. I gave birth to something from my chin that had an umbilical cord and a heartbeat.

3. I had my husband get one in my scalp (what the?) that resembled my cousin. Too bad it didn't look like Obama so I could have sold it on E-bay. Actually......

Now, see. Zits aren't so bad in your 40's when you think you could have been unfortunate enough to have an extra mouth on the side of your head instead. I'm feeling a little more grateful. Still sucks.

Parking Wars

I went to that store known as "The Evil Empire" today. I can't understand why on such a mundane day the parking lot is completely full. As I'm driving down a row to find a parking spot a teensy car full of teenage boys tries to whip out in front of me from the side. I wasn't going to back down. I have the right of way and my mini-van is way bigger. As I was saying, all of a sudden there was this speed bump from out of nowhere. I looked at him. He looked at me. It was a stare down. I didn't mean to have a stare down. I wasn't wearing my glasses and I was just trying to focus on his face (in case I knew his mother). He put on his brakes and his passengers experienced a force called "inertia".

I wanted to burst out into an evil laugh, "bwa-ha-ha-ha!" I totally did that on the inside. My toot for the day is we are finally in that place that we can hold our own. We can approach parking spot poachers who steal our spots. We can afford more insurance.

Got any good parking war stories?

"Mother" - Another Word For %!#@&

I've been on the search of good blog reading. I have found it very difficult to find very many that don't involve potty training. Don't get me wrong, they are cute blogs and stuff, but I do like to play with children my own age, too. There are a lot of "Mommy Blog" networks out there. It's like the word "mommy" has taken over who we are.

Don't misinterpret what I'm saying, being a mom is a very huge part of our lives. Some women don't get that chance and we that are should consider ourselves lucky. It's not as easy as 1+1=3 all the time. It's 1+1+X+Y+another X + Dr. + OBGYN ÷ $ sometimes = 0, 3 or 8. And some women just never wanted the whole "alien growing within" experience.

Fifi has three children. Those who know me know I have a ba-jillion stories about each one of them. Being a mom has definitely been the most worn hat. It's been my favorite hat stained in my children's slobber, baby vomit, fecal matter, urine, blood, dirt, cake, homework, tears and the only way to keep those stains under control is with continuing love smoothed on it. There's nothing like the mommy hat.

There comes a point when it is so ragged and you don't really want to wear it in public and sometimes you have to anyway. It's part of who you are. There comes a time it embarrasses your children when you wear it. That's when finally Motherhood pays off!

Mom: "Remember that tantrum you threw in the mall and EVERYONE looked at us?"

17 Year Old: "C'mon, Mom. I said I was sorry a million times."

Mom shouting: "I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE LOOKING AT STUPID JEANS!!!! I WANNA GO HOME!!!"

17 YO whispering firmly: "Mom, stop it! People are looking at you."

Mom shouting: "I DON'T CARE! I'M SICK OF LOOKING AT STUFF! I WANNA GO HOME."

17 YO walks away like she doesn't know her own mother. Mom follows making gurgling sounds with the mucus that has formed in the back of her throat, snorting, sniffling.

So worth the stretch marks at this point. Then there was that time I accidentally farted in front of all her friends. I'll save that for next Monday.

I think motherhood is very much like breeding dogs. I've never bred dogs, though I seriously refer to my children as puppies. They say that when you have a female dog (AKA bitch) and she has a litter of puppies, it makes her a better bitch. Some women are the same way. It's only after they have a puppy or five they become a better bitch. They can't be so wrapped up in themselves and learn to attend to other needs. I've heard many a time "she just needs to have children." C'mon, you've heard it, too. Now you know why that makes sense.

Even though like dogs, we are left with sagging breasts forever, the pups move on, gain some independence and we have to go back to remembering who we were. That's why we have this identity crisis thing happening.

Back to good blogs - if you know of any good blogs that don't trigger the smell of a dirty diaper in my head, please refer it. I need to put a blog roll on my sidebar and would love other women who are also going through mid-life (or close enough) and even men, if they aren't scared off from female dogs.

Trying to Remember

Choosing a Fresh Fish

I keep reading about the benefits of fish in your diet. It's an excellent source of Omega-3 Fatty Acids which reduce the risk of strokes, heart attacks, lowers your triglycerides. I don't like the supplements because they tend to make you burp tuna all day.

I don't really like fish much so it becomes a problem. Finally, I found a fish I can eat. It has red flesh, glossy eyes, firm skin - everything you're supposed to look for in a fresh fish. And no fishy aftertaste. It's absolutely perfect! I don't know how they get all the little bones out of these little suckers. They're a special fish grown in Sweden and taste great tossed in your salad.

I Hate Buffets

What's worse than a bus load of teenage boys at a buffet? Being there at the same time. It was like the school cafeteria all over again, but worse. How can it be worse you may wonder? There weren't any teenage girls there to help them keep their social skills in check.



No, there wasn't food flinging or alphabet belching. It was just very crowded and I felt like I was in the land of the reeking giants, because my nose was in direct line with thier armpits. Their hairy, sweaty, hormone infested armpits. Lucky they were wearing shirts and I didn't see their pits but we moms know what is under those cheap graphic tees.



I bet the restaurant made a loss tonight because the boys kept piling their plates up higher and higher with any food they could get their hands on. That's the problem. Some of them used their hands instead of the tongs or serving utensils provided. Their hairy little knuckles reaching for fried chicken and self-serve ice-cream cones. I tried not to think of them picking their nose and hoped the bus stopped at the bathroom first so they could wash their hands before they were set free.

And because these ravenous creatures eat so much, it's us, us, that have to pay the extra price. Though I barely eat $4 worth of food (I just don't know how I gain weight), I have to pay $10 to make up for their gluttony.

So that's my whine for this lovely Wednesday. Though I'm considering sending my own son to eat there so I can save on my own grocery bill.

Life's Answers Right Here

When I was a teenager I had this poster with a chimpanzee with his hand on his forehead that said, "Right when I knew all life's answers they changed the questions." And you know the sad thing, no one really asks you for the answers. Nope. Here we are halfway through life and no one wants to draw from the fountain of knowledge that we have.

We have all become "The Baby Whisperers" because we have already raised them to teenagehood, or adulthood or at least in school all day. Pro-fessionals! 'Cause we can tell them what we did right or what our neighbor did wrong and that's why their kids are losers and ours aren't. It makes me feel sad for people who don't have kids as cute as mine.

We can doctor any recipe because we've made all the mistakes, though I still have a little trouble getting toffee to turn out perfect every time. We can make a meal out of nothing (it's called casserole) and we've collected all the best recipes over the years. They just need to ask.

We can balance a checkbook and give financial advice to people who make crazy decisions with their money. We know how to spend money:

"No. Don't buy the boat because you'll have to buy a gas guzzling truck to tow it."

"Yes. Buy the shoes, you'll never out grow them."

Marriage problems? We have them all worked out. That's what that prayer thing is for:

That prayer is actually talking about husbands. It's "The Wive's Prayer." It should have an addendum that says, "And a good attorney in case it doesn't work out."

If only we knew back then what we know now. That's why it's important for us to share our knowledge with others, give them our valued opinion and let them know what we really think. Let's toot our horns for how wise we have become. Let's toot them for everyone else to hear! We have a lot to say!

Can I Help You to Your Car, Ma'am?

When you look at yourself in the mirror day after day you don't notice the subtle changes that happen to you. You know, you change your hairstyle so you can keep up with the times, change your make-up a little to hide a few wrinkles because they quit making your favorite kind, and you don't really notice those few, tiny extra pounds that have added another chin some maturity.

So when I went to the grocery store, paid for my groceries and the checker asked me if I would like help out with my bags, I was in shock.

1. I'm not old.
2. I'm obviously not frail.
3. I was twice the bagger's age - she was probably 16.
4. I was actually more than twice her age, but not by much.
5. The bagger probably weighed 85 pounds.
6. I was not double her weight - just had to make that point.
7. I could have carried her to my car.
8. I didn't need help to my car, but if someone could carry them inside my house and help me put them away, I would be much obliged.

I mean really, ladies. Why would a store hire a waif to help people to their cars with groceries? Isn't that a worker's comp claim waiting to happen? Like she could pick up my sack of potatoes and never be seen again.

Then, just last week I bought a lot of groceries on sale, lots of canned foods, things for my food storage attempt in case of a disaster and when they asked me if I needed help to my car I said yes. This was the first time ever I said yes. So the cute little guy that looked kinda like David Archuleta loaded my mini-van up with bulk food galore. I reached into my purse and grabbed a couple of dollars and stuck my hand out to give to him. Well, usually when someone makes that gesture the other person holds their hand out to receive, right? He looked at me really weird and asked, "What's that for?"

Am I from another planet?! It's money and I'm trying to give it to him. "Your tip for helping me with my groceries," I informed him.

"Oh, no. That's okay," he says and looks at me like I have the plague. "I think they only do that on Base. I don't think we're allowed to take it, anyway."

Now, back in the "old-fashioned days" we tipped. Well, I never tipped because I never needed anyone to help me to my car before I got middle-aged. But my mom always tipped the bag boy. Well, now that I know I don't have to tip I just may start having 85 pound little girls help me load my car.

Forget About It

Marvelous Muffins

This is the best ever muffins you'll ever make.

In case you don't know the difference between muffins and cupcakes I better explain that cupcakes are made with a cake batter. Muffin batter is much thicker. The trick to making good muffins is mixing all the dry ingredients together and mix all the wet ingredients together and combine the two mixing gently - stir these by hand. Over mixed muffin mix makes your muffins a rubbery texture.

So here's the recipe:

In a large mixing bowl mix:

2 Cups flour

1/3 Cup sugar

2/3 Cup brown sugar

1/2 tsp. salt

2 tsp. Baking powder

1 tsp. baking soday

In another bowl whisk together:

1 egg

1/2 cup Milk

1 cup sour cream (I use fat free)

1/2 cup melted Butter (the real stuff)

1 tsp vanilla

Gently mix the wet into the dry and fold in 1 cup Milk Chocolate chips. This makes 20 muffins. Bake at 375° for 20 minutes. This is a great recipe for anytime and neighbors especially like getting them as a treat.

Drives Me Crazy

You wanna know what really drives me crazy? This is the one thing that can push me right over the edge of sanity, crashing into insanity.

At our age, we've been driving for about 25 years and we've become pretty professional. Certain people need to be banned off the road - but not me or you. We are experienced and have quick reflexes. We could teach others to drive if they just take note of our perfected driving. Except teenagers who almost gave me a heart attack because, well, you know, they already know how to drive better than us anyway. Like you get comments such as "You didn't signal three seconds before you turned" or "you're driving too close the the car in front of us. That's tailgating." Hmmph!

So, tell me why certain drivers hurry like a bat out of Hell to pull out in front of me to the point I have to step on my brakes. And then they go slow -like they can't even go the bloomin' speed limit. And to make the matters a little more frustrating - there isn't a single car behind you. WWHHHYYY?!

Knock-off Bags

We visited Jamaica a few years ago an I bought a cute "Dooney and Bourke" purse for a steal. Well, it wasn't genuine. I didn't think anyone could tell the difference between my purse and the real thing. Then my husband tried to sell it on E-bay and someone informed him that this was not a real "Dooney and Bourke" and he could get in big trouble for selling it under that name. It was still in perfect shape, but the truth is - it's a fake. And some people can spot fakes a mile away.

On the weekend I went to lunch and I saw a cute young mom standing in line with her cute blonde hair and her cute young figure. She had cute long, straight hair and a cute velour track suit on. I envied her cute little petite body. Then she turned around and it was like something out of a horror movie. Screeeeeeech! Her face was like a prune, like tanned leather, like a Prada handbag knock-off! She had to be a grandmother 20 times over. Not that there's anything wrong with being a grandmother 20 times. But quit grasping on to something that is gone! Way gone. Very gone. So over. It looks as ridiculous as an old man driving a red sports car with his second wife (who is the same age of his daughter) on his arm. You may as well wear a fluorescent T-shirt that says, "I'm having a mid-life crisis."

It's okay to take care of yourself - actually, it's better than okay. And if you have a slim body that you've worked hard for, that's okay, too. But you shouldn't go around shocking people when they see the face of a zombie when you turn around! What's wrong with having "age appropriate" hair? What's wrong with wearing age appropriate clothing? I don't mean you have to wear a shawl, but if you are wearing "Roxy" sprawled across your body, isn't that going too far? The teens just think you are weird - and so do the grown ups. You can still look great even if your son's friends don't think you're hot!

Like a favorite handbag, we are showing signs of wear. The best bags are taken everywhere. We may not have that sparkling new appeal but we've had a lot of adventures. Lets toot our horns and celebrate experience and time!

I'd rather say, "Yeah, I'm forty-ish and I look good" than "I'm desperately hanging on to my youth." You might be in denial if you look behind you and find a pack of young boys who suddenly lose the expression in their face. C'mon, no one likes a knock-off!

Who Am I?

And we thought "identity crisis" only happened when we were teenagers! I can tell you exactly who I am. I am a text book. Really. As a baby, I hit all my milestones right on target. As I was growing up, hitting puberty, menstruating every 28 days - text book. When I had my babies, everything was text book except they had to use the "vacuum extraction" with my Golden Child. But it went according to the book.




Now I'm experiencing mid-life crisis and everything is by the freakin' book. I was hoping that I was a little above all that stupidity. I've experienced almost every. single. symptom. Including questioning who I am. See if you can relate to any of these.

1. I am a mother. I think I'm a pretty good mother, too. My kids are fed - I feed them almost every day. I send them off to school. I offer lots of bright colored toys to stimulate them. I have a son (Genius) who is nineteen, a daughter (Golden Child) who is seventeen and another daughter (Little Miss) that is in fourth grade. I didn't make these kids by myself which brings me to the next point:


2. I am a wife. I married a wonderful man. I've been lucky enough to stay home and clean house, change diapers, do laundry, cook gourmet dinners and look like the perfect family.


3. I'm an employee. I had to go to work full time because hubs decided he wanted to be his own boss.


4. I'm a friend.


5. I'm a sister.


6. I'm a daughter.


7. I'm a neighbor.


8. I'm a client.


9. I'm a patron.


10. I'm a little bit Rock-n-Roll, but not a little bit country. Maybe a teensy bit.


11. I'm a cousin.


12. I'm an aunt.


13. I'm an in-law, but not an outlaw.


14. I'm a member.


15. I'm so undisciplined.


16. I'm a lady.


17. I'm a statistic.


18. I'm a fan.


19. I'm a smart ___ (cookie)


20. I'm a chocoholic. Is there a problem?

I'm sure I could think of other things I am. I could have a list of things I'm not. I won't even try to rate myself on those things I am. Sometimes it's hard to be good at everything all at once. I get overwhelmed with so many hats to wear. I find one hat at a time is about all I can handle. Sometimes wearing one of the hats above for too long affects how another one will fit. You know what I mean - you wear the mom hat all day long and then Hubs wants you to wear the wife hat and you're too tired to put it on.

Or you wear the employee hat all day and you're too tired to wear any other hat than the chocoholic hat. This is a picture of a chocoholics hat. I should have taken her picture with it on.

I guess that should remind us to have fun wearing them, no matter what hat you wear.

Forgetful Friday - What Are Memories?

So let's talk about memory. Do you remember what that is? I looked up the definition in case we forgot:

"The mental faculty of retaining and recalling past experience."

So let's break that down. What is a mental faculty? It's a room full of disturbed teachers. Retaining is "to hire for the payment of a fee" and recalling is the same as re-dialing a phone number. And "past experience" - well that's an easy one. On every job application it asks you for past experience. So every skill you've ever learned to this point is being jeopardized by disturbed teachers taking on jobs as paid telemarketers who will keep recalling you!

And why are these teachers forced to take on these jobs? Are they underpaid? Under appreciated? Maybe because they have to teach my neighbor, Di's demons. It's like as soon as she moved into the neighborhood we had thoughts that were unpolitically correct. Like "there goes the neighborhood" because they were the biggest rednecks you've ever seen. I mean, the sons really can't help it if they are 6 feet tall by the time they were in 4th grade. But they can help the fact when they are 16 and they wear cammo pants and want to play with your kindergartener daughter! Some countries they call that arranged marriages, but my peeps call that ..... well...... a dirty word I don't want any search engines to tag.

Now I forgot what I was writing about. This is Forgetful Friday afterall. But anyway, my favorite new thought is: "The more you learn, the more you know. The more you know, the more you forget. The more you forget, the less you know...."

Straight-to-My-Thighs Thursday

This is my most requested recipe. Whenever we have get togethers with other people I'm always asked to bring these Peanut Butter Bars. People go crazy for them - like vultures on a carcass! My secret is in the peanut butter - I only use Adams Natural No-Stir.

My World Famous Peanut Butter Bars

1 Cup Margarine (not butter - butter makes them crunchy)
1 Cup Brown Sugar
1 Cup Sugar

Mix with mixer until mixed. Then add:

1 Cup Peanut Butter (crunchy or creamy)
1 tsp. vanilla
2 eggs

Then add:

2 Cups Flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 Cup Quick Rolled Oats

Don't burn out your mixer motor mixing this! Then spread in a jelly roll pan (12" x 16") and bake at 350° F for 20 minutes. If you use a different size pan you will have to adjust the time. They should be lightly browned on top. Cool for ten minutes and then spread peanut butter all over it (no need to measure but approximately 1 cup.)

Frosting

1 Cup sugar
4 Tbsp. marg or butter
5 Tbsp. milk

On medium heat bring to boil for one minute and add:

1/2 C. marshmallows

Stir until dissolved. Then add:

1/2 C. Milk Chocolate Chips

When almost dissolved pour on one end of bars - it will be runny - work quickly. Then tip the pan so it will spread all over. Be careful, I got so excited making these once I didn't notice the frosting oozing over the side and I burnt myself. If your family really likes frosting you can double the recipe.

I did that once and it made Little Miss throw up at school. She blamed my Peanut Butter Bars and added that she liked them better the other way. That's just the way Little Misses can be. So I don't recommend eating them for breakfast even though they have oatmeal, eggs and peanut butter which are all acceptable foods to eat for breakfast.

Whiney Wednesday

I'm going to whine and try to contain it to just Wednesdays. One thing that really makes me whine is my skin. I don't know what to treat - the zits I'm getting or the wrinkles I'm getting. I have tried a lot of stuff and spent a lot of money on crap that doesn't work.

I bought a moisturizer that was supposed to turn back the clock and make my skin youthful in appearance. It worked. I look just like a teenager - with my brand new zits. Did you know the proper way to pop a zit is to stick a needle in it sideways, pricking the head and then squeezing it? Then hold a cottonball on it soaked in alcohol. Just don't drink alcohol before you go popping your zits, though. That may not turn out very pretty. It is a surgical procedure, you know.

I really thought I was getting too old for zits. Not to mention I took Accutane ten or so years ago. So they give our zits a special name - "adult acne". My mom said now they have a condition they call "senior acne." Will I never out grow this problem?

When I was a young teen and first started getting zits, my dad decided to flaunt this fact by singing a little jingle:

"Fi's got zi-i-its, bigger than her ti-i-its." I think when God was handing out zits I thought he said tits and asked for some great big ones that everyone would notice.

Tootin' Tuesday

My first Toot! I'm not really sure where to go with this. I was thinking I could toot my own horn or maybe talk about bodily functions. Nah! I'll just toot and show you this sweeeeeet little find I bought for my 17 year old daughter for a high school dance coming up. She'll look so bee-yoo-tee-ful! I could just toot all day long about my daughters.


Metallic silver with little rhinestones - so cute. Don't you think shoes say something about who you are?

These say, "There's a price for beauty." At the end of the night it doesn't matter that your feet are screaming, as long as you look good.



Little Miss wears these shoes:




Her shoes say, "It's all about comfort." Jeans, sneakers and a glittery T-shirt. I'm not willing to pay the price of glamour yet, but I can't help it that I'm so cute.

My shoes.....hmmmmm. None worth photographing. But they would say, "I have to dress up for work but the minute I walk through the door, it's time to take them off."

What do your shoes say?

Mid-Life Monday

Welcome to Mid-Life Monday. These words are somewhat synonomous because we dread them both. Now let's just go back to bed.

I could also title this special occasion as "What else is going to fall apart?" Besides my body, marriage and mental state, that is. But besides that I'm fine.

So, are you sensing the passing of your youth? I sure the crap am. I look in the mirror and wonder who that matronly figure is looking back at me. I pray that I don't run into any old boyfriends as I leave the house. They wouldn't recognize me anymore anyway, so I don't know why I even worry about it.

I was pulled over by a police officer the other day and he asked to see my driver's license. He studied it and looked at me over his sun glasses, glanced down at my license again looked at me. "This says you weigh 140 lbs." So now I'm thinking he's going to book me for providing false information.

"Well, I weighed close to that at the time," I said while clearing my throat and glancing down and to the left, which in body language means you've just told a lie.

He looked up at me and said, "Do you have red hair?"

"Well, Officer, they wouldn't let me put optional, and I tried a new haircolor that week." I could feel myself shrinking.

"Looks like you have a birthday coming up."

"Yeah," I uttered. He didn't question my year of birth.

"Where are you headed?"

"To Hell, obviously." Well, I wanted to say that but I didn't. Or maybe I should have said, "I'm just trying to avoid going over the hill." I actually said, "Well, I need to get to where I'm going real fast before I forget where I'm going."

He let me off but the thing that really upset me is he said, "Have a nice day, ma'am." Aren't old ladies called ma'am?