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I know!  Talk about your white girl problem!

The sheer volume of dirty dishes in my house is an unintended side effect of trying to cook healthy meals at home, aka collateral damage.

I get home from work everyday with a dishwashing intention cascading through my mind, and then I can’t I just can’t.  I have the beautiful opportunity to work part-time, and there is a new expectation that more of the housework should be done in my so-called off time.  I think so too most days.  But when I get home, it just feels like a total waste of valuable free time to spend it doing the endless task of unloading and loading the dishwasher.

Jim is still somewhat taken aback that I don’t relish the opportunity to do dishes.  He said his Mom loved to do housework.  (insert incredulous look here).  Then one day he realized that my Mom worked full time+ (teacher) and had 4 kids and his Mom had no outside job and only 1 kid. Still, that did not mean that she loved to do housework.  She probably just didn’t loathe it.  “Hey, that bowl of pimento cheese is not going to clean itself!”

No more to say about not doing the dishes.

Without looking like a total fool, pretentious bitch, ungrateful, lazy, lame… you know the rest.


It was brave, it was bold and it was totally spontaneous.  Last night, I attempted to meditate at 7pm.

Normally a crazy busy time (sorry Carla) around our house, on this night all the needy men-children were occupied.  The boys were enthralled with a new movie and Jim was enthralled with a new attempt at cooking steak.  I came to the computer to look at a recommended website for the kids and my guided meditation reminder popped up.  Why  not?

It mostly worked, but I had to continue to refocus and work to drown out the distractions.   It wasn’t the giggling from “Ice Age Continental Drift” – I’m already pretty good at tuning out animation music and sound effects already.  And I’ve been around Jim’s muttering while puttering long enough to serve as his ventriloquist.  (He’s going to read this and have a little hiccup that I used the word “serve” in relation to him.)

Nope, the distractions that caused meditatus interruptus were my own thoughts.  Of course.  This will come as no surprise to anyone who meditates.  I can finally say I am in this category instead of the “attempting to meditate” classification I struggled to get past for so long.

As I was settling in, I thought, if this works, I should write about it – it’s brave, it’s bold, it’s spontaneous!  And that was it.  Everything I’ve been planning to write about came slinging on through, words, phrases, metaphors, similes.  The yoga class I finally took this week.  How happy my body was to be doing it, I started crying.  Body image.  Women’s walking groups, the kids cute sayings, the generator across the street, the yoga instructor.  On and on, each image had to be sandblasted away.  That’s my current method – a swirling sandstorm that turns my brain’s images into pixels and they rise up into the sky.  Gently, of course, dear meditators.

So, a classic meditation experience in a non-meditative environment.  My experiments to fit in the things that I need instead of waiting for the perfect time continue.

Jim has been obsessed with getting the boys to try hot cereal.

Every kind of hot cereal.

Here’s what we’ve been serving this week.

Note the phrase  “Whole Grain” in the title.

And on the back of this package…  “Buckwheat is a fruit, not a grain…”   Did they have to put “whole grain” on the front just to get us granola stalinists (thanks Alan!) to make the purchase?

I don’t know what to say about this one.

The 7 grain is currently banned at our house.  I have to hide it in an undisclosed location, because Jim will seek it out anyway, despite the ban.

I hear it tastes really good, but here is what it looks like going in and coming out.  For two kids in diapers, it takes a whisk broom and a playskool chisel to get it off their butts.  So it’s banned until everyone is on their own, so to speak.

Here is the norm, and the only one I’ll cook in the morning, mostly because I love to hear the kids request their “Oat meow.”  They’re going to think I’m hard of hearing because I keep asking them to repeat themselves.  (Remind me to show you the video where I get them to ask for a “Popsicle” over and over again).

But there was one more experiment…

The great grain experiment  of 2011 ended right here.  Even the everyvore (aka dog we house, clothe and feed) turned up his big black nose at the bulgur!