Michele Minehart

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Waste not, want not, cook not

November 29, 2012 /

This week my singular goal centered around using up the massive amounts of leftovers in my fridge and thus not actually cooking a new meal. It’s Thursday night and we’re nearly there, due to polish off the leftover leftover dishes by tomorrow. Join me as I relish this accomplishment.

(BTW, it should be mentioned that the american way of using leftovers is to toss the seasoning of another ethnicity into it, namely those south of the border – though I did contemplate a fried rice or an Italian dish, but it used too much cheese.)

Monday
Lunch – (Leftover) Turkey & Rice soup 
Dinner – Tacos (with massive amounts of taco meat from hosting dinner on Friday)
Tuesday
Lunch – Leftover shredded chicken (from hosting lunch on Saturday, thanks Ma!) and veggies with hummus dip. JJ took leftover pork loin. 
Dinner – Quick & Easy Turkey Tetrazinni (with no cream, minimal cheese, and gf noodles! One of my biggest successes)
Wednesday
Lunch – Taco soup. But really, it just tasted like chili. I even had 3 extra littles to feed. JJ took leftover beef & noodles. 
Dinner – BBQ chicken quesadillas with leftover shredded chicken (this was an epic fail, the tortillas were too soft on one half and nearly burned on the other. But I’m a firm believer that a good BBQ sauce can cover a multitude of sins. The kids ate it all with a bribe of an M&M). 
Thursday
Lunch – Leftover leftover Turkey Tetrazinni. Triple word score. JJ took leftover taco soup chili. 
Dinner – “Baked potato” soup using the leftover mashed potatoes. Reviews forthcoming. It said to use 2 slices of bacon, so I fried half a pound. I’m sure it’ll taste great. 
Still in the fridge 
  • A lot of stuffing, but we don’t eat bread
  • Roasted cauliflower that all 3 kids refuse reheated (but gobbled up the 1st time around)
  • Enough pork for lunch tomorrow
  • A bowl of taco soup chili. 
Now in the freezer
  • 3 batches of Turkey & Rice soup
  • A million bags of turkey bone broth (I could have got another million out of it, but JJ was tired of carrying the 5 gallon stock pot back and forth)

Rights, privileges and love

November 26, 2012 /

Way before I joined the world of parenthood, KLR told me about a concept she had heard at a training for work. The presenter* explained that we can view the world and the many things in it as either rights or privileges. This was a game changer for me. His example, as retold to me: one of their many children chose not to listen to a parent and complete a given task/chore/assignment. The family was scheduled to enjoy an evening out at Pizza Hut that evening, and because there were a gazillion children, this was very much a treat and a rare occurrence. As a result of the child’s decision, s/he had to make a bologna sandwich to eat before they left and then watched the family enjoy Pizza Hut for dinner, not allowed to eat anything. He said, “all children have a right to eat dinner, but an evening out for pizza is a privilege.” 

Genius. 
Such perspective has invaded my perspective at multiple levels. It changes the way I view my daily work, my job, the food I eat, the places I shop. There came a time when I discovered that the job of a parent isn’t a right but a privilege. Most recently, my relationships have fallen under this scrutiny. 
The perfect storm of Thanksgiving / hosting numerous people at my house / first trimester pregnancy blah / kids, thus me, getting sick / watching a sappy chick flick caused me to reach a new appreciation for the privileges within my relationships with others, namely, my husband. 
Certain rights exist for everyone in marriages, specifically the right to be treated with dignity and respect, the right to share responsibilities, the right to participate and make decisions in an agreed upon manner. Likely, a few more should be added to this list, but these were the biggies that came to mind. 
I’m privileged to partner with someone who doesn’t just love me, but loves me so selflessly and completely. He loves me in ways that I never knew I needed. While we can expect to share parenting duties, I’m often awed by how he takes on more than “his half” before I need to ask, let alone beg. He lovingly welcomes my crazy family to invade his home and his sense of routine. He doesn’t want to simply accomplish a task, but he does it with excellence (so our house wasn’t just spruced up for festivities, but the the blades on the ceiling fans were washed clean. Seriously.) 
I could choose to view some of these things as rights. But in truth, they’re not. I have a right to be loved, but I have no right to say that I must be loved like this. I hold to nothing that allows me to call the shots. And as I sit back and view this gift in the light of privilege, I’m overcome by gratitude. I, being my selfish and egocentric self, do not deserve such a person in my life. 
Perhaps this is the secret to true gratitude: understanding it’s not due to me. I didn’t earn it. I can’t claim my share based on “fairness.” But I can be grateful. And I can reciprocate. I can hope to love in the same selfless manner, not just to he who has shown me but also others who “don’t deserve it.” 
The challenge with privileges comes when you experience them every day – you begin to expect them. You treat them like rights. But it’s the wrong place to put them, and in so doing we tarnish their beauty. It looses its purity. Perhaps I’m the only snob out there who struggles with this, the high expectations of others to love me as I need it, without question. Perhaps the rest of the world already knows that such a gift should be prized. Perhaps normal people keep their undeserved-ness close, so not to squander the gift of grace. But it’s become heightened for me, and I can only hope it changes the kind of wife I’m becoming. 
 
*I don’t know the name of the guy; I do know he has a DVD out there called “You’re a better parent than you think” but I’ve not watched it. I just took his concept, ingested it whole and fell in love.  

It’s so hard for me to say I’m pregnant

November 20, 2012 /

With time and practice, generally things get easier, right? And after 5 times of sharing with others that a new baby will be joining us, I’ve gained no more confidence or really any new joy in telling others. 

Don’t mistake this in a lack of excitement on my part in anticipating the June arrival. Don’t misinterpret it as shame, regret, or frustration on my part. We’re joyous. Indeed, this one involved a tad more forethought than the last two (not that either of the girls were complete shockers). 
JJ loves telling people. He tells strangers. He tells neighbors before the stick is even dry. So, generally, he gets all announcement duties. Or I slough it off to friends. I’ve had KLR share with the girls more than once, citing that it’s easier for me if she does it. 
Why?
I. Have. No. Idea. 
I have a friend (probably more than one) that relishes telling friends and family, and does so immediately. I whoop and cheer when they do so – the news of a new baby is generally exciting, and I think more people should do it more often. But when it comes to my moment of glory, I get trigger shy. 
It’s probably the way I tend to hate the spotlight, right? My private, inward nature that doesn’t habitually share anything about my own life? 
Mmmhmmm. That’s it. 
I’ve narrowed down the source of my angst to a few options. First, it could be leftover grief or emotion from the first time we shared the excitement, only to have it deflated a few weeks later, even after we were in “the safe zone.” Perhaps I don’t want my reality known for fear that history will repeat itself. I didn’t mind others sharing our grief or knowing our hurt, but it’s an experience I’d rather not repeat. 
The other reason I shy from sharing could be related to the judgment I tend to internalize (real or invented, I’m not sure) around our family size. At least 8 times out of 10, when we tell someone we’re expecting the comment will be along the lines of “don’t you know how this happens?” Um, no. Could you please draw a diagram? Clearly we’re messing it up. 
By now it’s clear that we’ve decided to have a big(ger) family, a choice that both of us had come to a while ago. For us, 4 has always been in the plans. But that’s not the norm, as 2.5 (1 on the west coast) maxes out most. Kids are a lot of work, and people have a hard time understanding why we invite exceedingly more chaos into our already big life. 
Explaining to someone why you want to have several kids is just as hard as figuring out why you want to have kids at all. Often there are no words, just this sense from within that this is the direction we want to head. We’ve had great experience with bigger families. We love the closeness and camaraderie we see with large sibling groups. A guaranteed formula for easy parenting and perfect children? Never. But it’s the chosen method for which we’ve opted. 
Deep down, I fear the forthcoming frustrations of parenting and, by choosing a non-traditional route, I hate that I might be loosing my right to vocalize them. I can hear the echos of, “well, you chose this, so now deal with it.” We do choose it, but not because it’s easy, but because we think it’s good. We fully anticipate challenges; we only hope that having hair at age 45 will be an attainable goal. My prayer is that our Village will support us in a way that doesn’t foster complaining but rather gives space to the same sentiments that parents of 2 kids might endure. They’ll just hear them from us twice as often. 
Because, like this story began, just because you have time or experience on your side doesn’t mean you reach professional status. Some things don’t get easier, but they do get better. 
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