Please Rescue Me

I grew up in the rural Midwest with traditional rural, Midwestern values, and not just of God and Country.  I was raised with a spirit of independence and self-reliance.  That is to say, if there's something that needs to be done and one is capable of doing it oneself, one ought not to ask for help.  To do so is just plain undignified and a sure sign of weakness.

For the most part, Baird appreciates my spirit of independence.  Once when we were dating, he stopped by my apartment to pick me up, and he found me standing on a chair, changing a light bulb.  He offered to do it for me.  I told him I was perfectly capable of changing my own light bulbs, thank you very much.  Generally speaking, Baird likes that I don't go into "helpless female" mode very often.  Occasionally, however, he tries to rescue me when I know I don't need it.

Since we've been married, there have been occasions when I have almost screamed at Baird, "I didn't ask for your help, so I don't need your help," when he has offered his assistance with a particular project.  Sometimes he thinks I'm in over my head, and so, in an attempt to be the hero, he tries to swoop in to rescue me.  I tend to react strongly when I know I'm not in over my head, but I can see he clearly thinks otherwise.

There is, however, one area where I always need rescuing, and that's when it comes to mice.  I've mentioned before about how much I hate these critters.  They honestly give me the heebie jeebies.  It is a physical reaction.  I freak out.  I scream.  My heart races.  Quite frankly, a mouse is the one thing I always need to be rescued from.

So, this morning I was doing laundry.  I hadn't gotten around to washing all the yucky, dirty towels from last week's furnace project, so I put that at the top of my to do list today.  To say these towels were disgustingly dirty would be an understatement.  They were absolutely filthy rags.  I thought about shaking them out first, but honestly, I didn't think there was much that would shake out, so I stuffed them all in the washer and went on my merry way.  When the wash cycle was complete, I opened the door and began transferring the towels to the dryer.  And that's when it happened.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a brown thing clinging to one of the towels.  I thought it was a leaf, so I started to pick it off the towel.  As I touched it I realized it wasn't a leaf...it was the freshly laundered carcass of a dead mouse.  EEEEEEEWWWWWWW!!!!!!   Eww, Eww, Eww, Eww...oh, yuck, yuck, yuck...ick, icky, icky, ICK!  OH!  GROSS!  How does this kind of thing happen to me?  That's what went thru my head as I flung the carcass across the room and then stuck a five-gallon bucket in front of it.  I jumped up and down screaming for well over a minute.  I finally ran upstairs and washed my hands over and over and over, and then I washed them again.  I went back downstairs and ran some bleach and hot thru the washer, but that was as far as I went down the laundry trail for the rest of the day.  Even though there were at least six other loads waiting to be done, I decided to declare a leave of absence from the laundry chore.

Next I did what any modern housewife would do in such circumstances:  I updated my Facebook status to read:  Teresa Shattuck has a serious case of EEWWWWW!!!! after realizing I just laundered a mouse carcass.  There was a lot of empathy for my plight out there in the social networking world.  No fewer than 28 people commented on my status, and most people felt the exact same way as I did about discovering this vile item in my washing machine.

When I relayed the days' events to Baird at Awana tonight, I ended with a plea to be rescued.  My knight in shining armor obliged, and the offending carcass was removed to the alley garbage can before I arrived home from my Commander obligations.

Thanks, Baird, for rescuing me when I truly needed it.  You're my hero!

Success at Regionals

Since early November, Drew's been involved in the Little Huskies wrestling program.  He takes this sport very seriously, and it's been fun to watch his development as a player.  He's showed the mental toughness it takes to be successful in this sport.  This year, he kept practicing in spite of a bloody nose...in spite of getting a (baby) tooth knocked out...in spite of dislocating his shoulder.  But all those things are exactly why, as his mother, I can hardly stand to watch him wrestle.  It just about does me in to see my child contorted into a pretzle during a match.  Even tho my dad wrestled back in the day, and I grew up hearing the stories about what it takes to be a successful wrestler, it wasn't until my own son took up this sport that I understood why my grandma never went to my dad's meets.

Today, however, I checked my protective mamma persona and went to Drew's meet.  He was wrestling at Regionals today, and I wanted to show my support as he takes the first step toward his goal:  making it to State.  He did well, coming in 2nd place in the 74-lb. weight class, which is good enough for him to move on to Sectionals next week.

As soon as we arrived home, the first thing Drew asked was, "May I call Grandpa and tell him how I did?"

Drew and my dad have always had a good relationship.  Since Drew's started wrestling, it's given them another thing to bond over.  Earlier this month marked 50 years since my dad was the first Iowa high school state wrestling champion in the town where I grew up.  Drew placing second at Regionals today is another step toward following in his grandpa's footsteps.

Before Drew wrestled his final match, I asked him if I could take a picture of him.  He struck the traditional wrestling pose, and it reminded me of my dad's wrestling photo I'd seen while growing up.  I've always thought Drew looks like a carbon copy of Baird, but when I compared these two pics, I see my dad's wrestling toughness in Drew's eyes.

Snow Globe Sleepover

Tonight Erin invited her XC buddy H over for a sleepover.  I've never seen two teenage girls so enthusiastic about snow, ever.  In fact, I think they very well may be the only ones in the country who are still enamored with snow this late in February.

I'm not sure who came up with the term "sleepover," but I've always considered it an oxymoron.  "Overnight hang out" is a much more accurate term for what teenage girls do when they're together past 11pm.  Tonight was a perfect case in point.  Erin and H started making banana bread at 11:30.  A couple of hours later they realized it was snowing big, giant flakes outside.  They decided to place themselves directly into this middle-of-the-night-snow-globe moment, and they captured their play on film:

Erin's enjoyed every moment of this, the snowiest February on record.

At least someone is!

This Old House - Part 2

So I mentioned yesterday about the furnace issue.  At last post, the water was gurgling thru the pipes, the house was back above 60 degrees, and it looked like we were on our way to sleeping in a warm house.  The best laid plans...

It became apparent last night that the hot water was not making its way thru the all of the pipes, and the temperature in the house began to fall again.  My handyman hubby knows when to throw in the towel and call in a pro, so this morning we called a plumber to help us out.  The problem was fixed by early afternoon.  As each child walked in the door after school, they all had the same observation, "Ahhhh!  The heat's on!"

After I said good night to Drew, I chcked the thermostat, and was thrilled to see it  look like this:

It's gonna feel soooo good to wake up to a warm house tomorrow morning!

This Old House

Our house was built in 1922.  It seems like there's always something to fix.  About 5:30 this morning we all heard this horrible noise coming from the basement.  None of us knew exactly what it was, but one thing's for sure, when a noise like that comes from the general vacinity of the furnace, it's never a good sign.  Baird took the day off work to address the problem:  the motor that runs the hot water thru the pipes to warm up the house was shot.

Baird shut the water off to drain the pipes and get to the motor.  As the house plummeted to 56 degrees and we had no running water, it felt like an indoor camping experience.  Thank God for a working stovetop, oven, and hot tea!

The mess:

The metal:

The motor:

The man behind it all:

Around 2pm, the water was back on, the motor was running, and the house was back up to 60 degrees.  Thanks, Baird, for being my favorite handyman!

Legacy Link

I've mentioned before that Drew is a legacy for the first time this year.  Today we discovered a really cool legacy link:  Erin's Breakfast with a Book project is used as the example to follow!

Kitchen-Style Cabin Fever

Every February I get a serious case of cabin fever.  Februarys in Chicago will do that to a person.  I'm in the middle of such a spell right now, and it's spilled over into my cooking.

While I'm pretty good at serving my family variety, I have been known to fall into ruts.  There was my Thai noodle phase, where at least twice a week I was serving some sort of rice noodle with meat, veggies and sauce.  I realized how bad it was getting when I served Thai noodles for the third time in ten days and heard Baird say (more to himself than to me) "Oh, it's another Thai noodle night."  I got the message, and made sure to put some extra space between Thai noodle meals.

It's not quite that bad right now, but for the last couple of weeks, I've been feeling stuck in what I'll call a winter food rut.  It seems like we've been eating a lot of soups, stews, and chili, with the occasional roast chicken or beef thrown in for good measure.  Honestly, I'm tired of it.  I'm ready to walk out my back door and pick fresh herbs from my garden.  I want the bounty of the farmer's market sitting on my kitchen counter.  One could say I have a case of kitchen-style cabin fever.

In order to cure my cabin fever, I've decided to cook a new dish once a week.  Not just any new dish...an international dish I've never cooked before.  Tonight was the first meal.  I made Cuban Black Beans and Rice from Cook's Illustrated.

I learned that sofrito is a cornerstone of Latin cooking, and the specific elements in the mix differ from one Latine cuisine to the next.  A Cuban sofrito consists of onions, green peppers, garlic, cumin and oregano.

To make my beans and rice, I soaked black beans overnight.  I enriched the beans with chicken broth, salt, garlic, bell pepper, onion, and garlic and set them to simmer.  I drained the beans, saved the bean juice, and rinsed the rice.  I used my food processor to blend green peppers and onions.  I cooked lean bacon and then sauteed the herbs and veggies in the rendered bacon fat (veggies in bacon fat...there's no way this will be a bad dish!).  I stirred in the rice, beans, and the bean cooking liquid I had reserved.  I added a bit of red wine vinegar and salt.  I baked it all in my new Dutch oven.  I fluffed it with a fork, let it rest, and served it with lime wedges.

This recipe actually reminded me of Cajun dirty rice, but with less heat.  It had a complex, earthy flavor, which was just perfect for a cold, dreary, February night.

I'm already feeling better!