Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Making Lemonade

Here's just a glimpse into the past 24 hours . . . not all of it . . . just small parts of it.  Because a lot can happen in 24 hours.  A lot can happen in less than that.  Or at least around here it sure can.

I needed a quick supper last night because the kids had dental appointments yesterday afternoon.  I also needed something that everyone likes.  So chicken tacos it was.  My go-to chicken is cooked in my crockpot because clean-up is a snap, and I don't have to be here to do anything with it.  When it's done, I can shred it and use it for tacos or enchiladas or potpie or a casserole or BBQ or whatever.  When I pulled my chicken out of the freezer yesterday morning, I saw in the very bottom of the freezer a ziplock bag of chicken stock.  Or so I thought.  I pulled it out, too.  The first thing I noticed is that the bag wasn't labeled.  I always label everything I freeze.  I was also surprised to find it in there, as I thought I'd already used up the last of my homemade chicken stock.  I opened the bag to smell it.  It didn't smell like anything.  It was frozen.  So I thawed it out and smelled it again.  It still didn't smell like anything.  I didn't taste it because I just didn't.  So I poured it in my crockpot, added a little Mexican seasoning and then threw my chicken on top.  When we got home, the chicken was cooked perfectly.  I shredded it up and fixed the kids' tacos.  I made myself a small salad with the chicken on top.  And then I tasted a piece of the chicken.  Had I not known better, I would've thought I'd bitten right into a lemon, rind and all.  I have no idea how that bag of lemon juice got in my freezer or where it came from (well, actually I do), but it definitely wasn't chicken stock.  And, oh my, it was sour!  As in pucker your lips and spit sour.

So what do you do when supper is ruined?  Serve it up anyway.  I don't know why.  I already knew what would happen.  I didn't tell my little secret to anybody.  I was hoping they wouldn't notice.  But I knew better.

Mason (who is the super pickiest eater ever on the face of the planet) took one bite and then promptly drank his entire glass of water.  He was just a spitting and a sputtering.  I asked him what was wrong.  He said, "That stuff the dentist put on my teeth . . . well, it just made my food taste funny.  I have to go get this stuff off my teeth."  At this point, I am dying and trying as hard as I can to keep my composure.  I waited another minute and asked him if he was going to eat it or if I needed to fix something else for him.  He asked for macaroni and cheese.  So I told him to go throw his food away, all three of the tacos on his plate, and I got up to fix the mac and cheese.  I've never allowed him to throw that much food away before or fixed him something else in the middle of a meal.  He was shocked and gave me a very questioning look (I really think he thought I'd lost my mind), but I told him to go ahead and do it.

By this time, Ellie has pushed hers aside, too.  That's nothing unusual.  There's no guarantee she would've eaten it even if it really had been good.  And Hannah Kate?  Well, that girl loves to eat.  She eats pretty much anything and everything.  She loves tacos.  I told her that I'd fix her something else, too, and that she didn't have to eat those tacos.  But she kept eating.  Girlfriend was really trying her best to like those sour chicken tacos.  And she ate two whole tacos before I finally convinced her to give it up and eat a bowl of chili leftover from the other night!  I still never fessed up to my mistake.

As for me, I was just too tired and too aggravated with myself to fix me anything else.  Since I'd had only a salad for lunch, I was hungry.  So I ate it.  But do you know what is not a good idea to do when you have a urinary tract infection (I know . . . this is way too much information)?  You should not eat chicken cooked for six hours in straight up lemon juice because the next morning that acidity has hit your bladder, and you are very well aware of it.  And not in a good way either.

I took Mason to the doctor last Friday with what I thought was strep throat.  The nurse took one look at him and declared he had the flu.  I disagreed with her, but she kindly swabbed him for the flu and for strep.  The pediatrician came in, took one look at him and declared he had the flu.  Are you kidding me?  Because that thought never once entered my mind.  And ten minutes later she came back with the great news that the strep test was negative.  But that flu test was positive.  So tamiflu was our best friend.  Mason did really well throughout the weekend so I sent him to school yesterday for half the day.  Besides still being tired, he seemed back to his usual self.  So this morning I sent him back to school again, and Ellie and I went to Bible study.  After Bible study I pulled my phone out of my purse to call a friend I was going to eat lunch with.  I had several messages from school and texts from Seth (who is not even in this state this week) that Mason had thrown up at school this morning and needed to go home.  That very first call came two hours earlier.  But thankfully Seth called his mom, and she was able to pick Mason up since no one could get in touch with me.  So after a stop by the grocery store to get a bottle of cranberry juice (because I love having nurse friends who can tell me what to do without me having to go to the doctor!) (for the UTI, not the flu), I picked up Mason, and we came home.  He's been okay since, but after a conversation with our pediatrician, tomorrow will be another sick day at home.  Ellie has also had an ear infection during this same time so we are on day 10 of sickness in this house.  And I am ready for it to die quickly!

I love lemonade.  I really do.  My favorite though is an Arnold Palmer . . . half tea and half lemonade.  That's a summer staple for me.  I decided today that I am officially ready for summer.  Heat, sweat and all.  Bring. it. on.  Because I am ready to make some lemonade.  But I don't care to have any chicken with it.

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