Archive for the ‘Holiday’ Category

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Was not achieved at our household on February 14th.  With two performances (Mom’s and Dad’s) and children focused only on the lollipops in their school Valentine mailboxes, along with Father Time’s uncompromising cracks of the whip, not to mention the Sandman’s early morning work, exacerbated by the pain of having a broken espresso machine, the morning was full of sighs, huffs, pained expressions, and, we’ll call it, amplified voices.  I made waffles from scratch with vanilla paste OUT OF ANGER.  Has anyone ever made homemade waffles out of anger?  I suppose it’s better than smashing the Baby Alive doll, which I have not done, ever, nor do I wish to, though I wouldn’t mind if, by some miracle, the urinating toy would end up in a pile at the local Goodwill.

We also managed to disturb a number of Episcopalians at the church where my husband worked a soloist.  We left mid-service for my two-year-old who announced, out loud in the echoing, cavernous, wood-bedecked sanctuary, “I have to go poo,”  right after she returned from going pee, a need which she also announced, with equal clarity and volume.  When we left the church (the house of God, right?) she asked me, “Is that Daddy’s show?” Wow.  My husband effectively upstaged GOD.  Not bad.  I suppose Daddy is the center of the universe or, perhaps, some religious education for my children is in order.

Needless to say, we survived our ’shows,’ went to a gymnastics birthday party (your favorite, too?), visited with friends and managed to have some serious fun by the day’s end.  Though despite fourteen days of commitment to love and food and those really hot photos, there was no romance and about $40 worth of champagne went unpoured.  Overall, it was a very good day, though the events of it would make for a lousy sonnet.  Perhaps we’ll reclaim the romance on some fantastic 7th of July, that is, if we are not trying to make up for an unpatriotic Independence Day that may have occurred three days earlier.

And now, at Saving Private Mommy, the Olympic Games can begin.  Four days late.  Thank God for streaming video.

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I’m not a fan of clichés since I like to think outside of the box, and I usually bend over backwards to avoid them, but at the end of the day, sometimes clichés get the job done.  Especially if that cliché is a chocolate-covered strawberry on Valentine’s Day.  Now that’s a hackneyed idea that should be embraced, or rather, bitten into, since hugging a strawberry is a waste of time.  To make a long story short, I’ll explain my choice in hopes that you, too, will drink the Koolaid.

Chocolate strawberries are tasty, elegant, and, let’s face it, full of fiber.  They are a lighter option than the brownie sundae, unless you eat twelve of them, like I did at my husband’s work Christmas party.  They do give you that gourmet experience with a very low-fuss preparation process.  I’m going out on a limb here, but I’ll assume that most folks don’t go gangbusters over the idea of crafting those fussy, but tasty, little petit fours.  While you deserve the indulgence, time is money, and who wants the pressure to always be firing on all cylinders when it comes to cooking for a holiday?  I hope you don’t mind that I went over your head and authorized you to make a clichéd, easy, yet gourmet dessert.  I hope you’ll consider finding a spot for these on the table since you already have a lot on your plate whilst your irons are in the fire and your candles are burning at both ends.  Watch out for the tablecloth!

• Melt chocolate chips in a saucepan over medium heat.  Remove from stove when melted.

• Dip in strawberries.  Let cool.  Refrigerate.  And go ahead and count these eggs before they hatch.

• Eat.

So make this very tasty and easy cliché, and save your midnight oil for some other occasion, like hiding your wealth from the IRS at 9 PM on April 14^th, a time when you really need to knock it out of the park.

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I’m so sorry that I almost ruined your Valentine’s Day.  Really.  If you decided to go with the Saving Private Mommy At Home Dinner, you were probably interested in finding out what the MAIN COURSE would be at least fifteen minutes before you sat down to eat it.  I’m sorry that I got a bit buried and distracted by talking cupcakes and seasonal verbs.  I hope that I’m catching you before you went to the meat counter, and that you haven’t sought out some time-consuming help in the unkind embrace of a recipe from Martha Stewart. She’s lovely, but such a Nazi about measuring, and she would never let you sneak in a jar of sauce like I will, if you choose.

This chicken parmesan recipe is the lead actor in an all-star, Valentine’s Day, Broadway cast of foods.  After a bruschetta overture, followed by caesar’s opening scene, chicken parmesan will enter the stage costumed in a baked coat of golden breading, with tangy sauce and cheese to make the scene truly climactic. With  a heart-shaped brownie denoument, the rest of V-day 2010 will be history.  Let’s get cookin’, good lookin’.

• First you need to Rachel Ray the chicken:  butterfly a boneless, skinless CHICKEN BREAST (one per person) and stick it in a ziploc bag with a splash of water in it.  Take a heavy saucepan and beat the shit out of it. Do this until it’s thinner.

• Whisk an EGG or two in the bowl.  Combine BREAD CRUMBS and PARMESAN CHEESE at a one-to-one ratio, maybe a cup or so if you want. You’re the boss. Dredge (I love that word) the chicken breast in the egg first, then the bread crumbs.

• Place it in a baking dish that has been greased with OLIVE OIL.  I’m at a point in my life where I pretty much won’t tell you to make anything without drizzling olive oil on it.  So do that, please. Thanks.  Bake in the oven at 375 degrees for about 25 minutes or until golden.

• Meanwhile, back at the stove, you cook some spaghetti noodles until they are almost done.  You drain them and let them sit in the sieve and continue to cook.  You didn’t do for them what they could easily do for themselves.

• Remove chicken from the oven and top with a seasoned TOMATO SAUCE, either Spaghetto, your personal, homemade favorite, or a jarred variety.  You pick.  Boss.  Top with more parmesan cheese.  The more, the merrier.

• Return to oven for about 5 minutes or until the cheese is melted.

• Place the cutlet on a bed of noodles.  Spoon on additional sauce to your taste.  Tell your heart that you didn’t fry the cutlet; don’t tell this to your Valentine.  He/she won’t even notice.

Have a great dinner.  Don’t forget the wine.  You might choose sparkling wine to go with the bruschetta, and then transition to red for the chicken.  If you end up naked at the end of this meal, you’ll know you are an excellent cook.

We’re celebrating 14 Days of Love and Food!  Check back tomorrow for Day 11 of musings on various matters de la corazon.

RE-RE-RE-RE-REPOSTED SHAMELESS PROMOTION AND AQUA ALERT:  If you like this blog, please vote for Saving Private Mommy on Babble.com.  Greta has made the TOP 100 Bloggers list already, and is seeking a position in the TOP 50!  What a greedy little whore.  Go to Babble’s website.  You’ll find Saving Private Mommy on or around page 2. Greta thanks you for your support!

That little sweet beauty is a tiring step toward redemption.  It’s tiring because it was made between 9:30 PM and midnight.  It’s redemptive because it’s a cute, tasty little cup of dessert that could be likely to deliver the following monologue, in a high-pitched voice much like Mr. Bill.  No, exactly like Mr. Bill.

Yay, we’re having a holiday all up in here and never mind that not a single glitter heart was hung in the house, despite the children’s frequent request for decorations.  And I’m so cute and pink and fluffy that when I arrive at school in the Martha Stewart carrier, no one will remember who has the highest math score in the class or that Kimmie is mean to Zoe.  My holiday cuteness will even distract from the awkwardness from the Traffic Circle Bully’s showing up at the party and acting weird around the moms and kids she yells at before  8:30 in the morning.  And we won’t remember that this HIGH PERFORMING MAGNET SCHOOL (at which I will take my plunge into the Great Beyond, at the eager bite of some squirrelly second-grader), could possibly be shut down next year due to budget cuts, which will secretly or, not-so-secretly, be enjoyed by parents at other schools who despise its elite status.  Yes, I chase away the anxiety that some children have over their lisps and their undiagnosed dyslexia, and I will make everyone think that the one who baked me is more likable than usual because, well, vanilla paste is good and how bad can someone who brings cupcakes be, even though her two-year-old spent the whole day inside without a good walk or trip to the park or time to attempt jumping rope?  We won’t mention the laundry either.  Yes, I will be a self-contained explosion of perfection.  With a Ju Ju Heart on top.  So even though it sucks to make me late at night when one could be checking email or getting some zzzzz’s or chatting with the man or woman of the house, I am worth it.  I erase all that is imperfect.  I bury it, suffocate it, in fact, under a thick layer of butter, powdered sugar, and food coloring that came all the way from Woodridge, IL.  Where the hell is that?

Okay, little cupcake.  Enough!  Shut up and get in the box.

We’re celebrating 14 Days of Love and Food!  Check back tomorrow for another heart-shaped blog.

RE-RE-RE-REPOSTED SHAMELESS PROMOTION AND MAGENTA ALERT:  If you like this blog, please vote for Saving Private Mommy on Babble.com.  Enough votes could make Greta go viral.  She’s always wanted to be a virus.  Go to Babble’s website and click ‘alphabetical’ just above the names of the nominated sites.  You’ll find Saving Private Mommy on or around page 9. Greta thanks you for your support!  That link, if you missed the first 2 times, is right here.  Oh thank you, oh thank you!  Here it is again.  And again.  One last time.  Bye!

Just in case you forgot.

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Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, behold the Valentine’s Day gift list, the most scandalous of gift lists because there is not a single item on it.  That’s right.  And, no, I’m not trying to be an arty minimalist.  It’s just that, for one, I really lack a knowledge of good material things.  I would provide you a link to Tiffany & Company, but I wouldn’t know where to direct you.  In fact, my tastes were officially called in to question today, by a friend of a friend of an acquaintance, who upon hearing that I was taking my aunt to a Congratulations On Your New Job Lunch snidely asked me, “Are you taking her to Burger King?”  While my car has been spotted in the drive-through more times than my future cardiologist might like to see, that doesn’t mean that I don’t know a good foie gras when I see one, another gift to my kind heart which deserves a good walk around the block today.  The comment, however, is understandable given the fact that the mouth from whence it came resides in a veritable Buckingham Palace at the northern tip of our esteemed county.  A 4,500 square foot palace that has a patch of yard the size of a dog run and looks shockingly like the tract estate twelve feet away from it, as well as the other fifty-four on the ordinary avenue.  A palace that has no gate or guards to protect what is probably a vault of costume jewelry.  Or at least a teak box from Pottery Barn.  The almost rich are so tedious.  And sometimes mean.  But I digress.

So, I’m not exactly the best person to advise you on what perfect, hip, and practical item you need to get for your Valentine.  I can tell you what works really well for me, beyond the usual ‘things’ like sweaters, roses, chocolate, and McDonald’s gift certificates.  It’s verbs.  I like verbs.  That is, things that are done for me.  Action presents.  That is a great way to show love.  Cash is cute, but so easy and painless, especially when it is lent to you by Citibank or is very easy for you to drop in the first place.

Today I was given an outstanding gift.  If you read yesterday’s post, you know that I had a Broadway opening tonight in a northern California suburb.  I was tired, stressed, and battling a twenty-four hour headache.  My husband took on 100% of all parental duties to let me sleep in, take my aunt to lunch, and take a post-lunch nap.  What a good day.  He brought a sandwich to the theater for me, too.  Of course, it was a Broadway opening, so I deserved at least that, but still.  And then my mom watched our two-year-old so my husband and the big girls could see my show, before the New York Times reviews it.  It’s a wonderful thing when someone does something for you.  I felt very grateful.

So now, I’m looking for ways to gift my time for Valentine’s Day, not just by offering the ‘privilege’ of my presence at, say, a dinner, but some kind of gift of doing.  Maybe I’ll make the time in the morning to do extra fancy hairdos for my daughters.  Or finally sew their snowman duvet covers.  Or bring my husband a cappuccino in bed.  Maybe I’ll make him a tasty lunch for work, or offer to iron his clothes or his pillowcase for him.  Ironed sheets define luxury.  Perhaps I’ll need a conventional gift like some beer glasses or pink stuffed animals to fill in the gaps, but I’m going to commit myself to giving a gift that costs a bit of my sweat.  I hope they’ll notice my odor.

If you have gift ideas to share, please leave your comments.   THANK YOU!

We’re celebrating 14 Days of Love and Food!  Check back tomorrow for another heart-shaped blog.

RE-RE-REPOSTED SHAMELESS PROMOTION AND MAGENTA ALERT:  If you like this blog, please vote for Saving Private Mommy on Babble.com.  Enough votes could make Greta go viral.  She’s always wanted to be a virus.  Go to Babble’s website and click ‘alphabetical’ just above the names of the nominated sites.  You’ll find Saving Private Mommy on or around page 9. Greta thanks you for your support!  That link, if you missed the first 2 times, is right here.  Oh thank you, oh thank you!  Here it is again.  And again.  One last time.  Bye!

Just in case you forgot.

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