brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

I have short arms.

I mean, I’m short all over, so I don’t have a very long reach, and it’s not like my arms are INCREDIBLY short, but it’s hard to find shirts that fit. In general, unless I get 3/4 length sleeves, the cuffs come down to my knuckles.

My best friend calls me T-Rex, or “T” for short, and mocks me for having tiny, ineffectual T-Rex arms. Which is totally unfair because her name STARTS WITH A T so I can’t refer to her as “T” even though that is her initial, because she has cruelly decried MY nickname to be “T” because I have stumpy arms.

Sometimes I lie and tell people I’m called T-Rex because of my insatiable appetite for raw meat, and supernumerary teeth (NOTE: I actually have supernumerary teeth. Or had. They were pulled when I was younger. They did not grow back, like shark teeth do, THANK GOD). People… only believe me about half the time.

ANYWAY, Niko is 24 months old (TWO!!!!! HE IS TWWOOOOOOOO!) and 2T sized onesies are too short for him, and 2T pants are a bit snug around his tummy, and even though he’s got a tiny head 2T sized shirts sometimes get stuck on his melon, so we went out and got a bunch of 3T sized clothing.

The pants are all too long.

Little dude is in the 75th percentile for height, and his pants are too long.

“It’s like he’s got stumpy little legs or something,” I opined to my beloved husband.

“Oh,” he said. “He takes after me, then. And my dad. And my brothers. Long, lean torsos; short and stumpy legs. We are practically deformed. Sorry.”

I haven’t spent a great deal of time observing my male in-law’s physiques, but let me tell you, Nesko is nothing short of perfect. So I don’t accept the “deformed” rhetoric. But yeah, his very fine legs aren’t as long as they could be, and he does have a problem with shirts not being quite long enough.

Stumpy legs it is. My child has stumpy legs.

Now to see if he also has stumpy arms and extra teeth.

Sorry, kid.

Puberty is going to kick your ass.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

Happy Birthday to me!

To celebrate, yesterday, I made brownies, and Nesko got me a knife sharpener that was on clearance at Target, because he was tired of hearing me rail at the heavens about how our (sort of) expensive knives are crappy and dull and don’t so much slice things as mangle them terribly.

Today is going to be an especially great day because yesterday? I did every single chore on my chore list, including making dinner and cleaning up after. And I did it while my gall bladder was busy punching me in retribution for drinking a Shamrock Shake. I need to seriously reconsider ever eating food ever again.

If you are interested, this is what is on my list for daily chores:

      Make the bed
      Refill Humidifier (ok, this isn’t a chore, but it’s on the list so I don’t forget)
      Wipe down high chair
      Clean off dining room table (this helps keep mail and junk from accumulating)
      Sweep dining room floor
      Pick up toys in living room
      Clear all dishes, clothing, etc from living room
      Pick up toys/tidy Niko’s room (he is really too young to help, because “picking up” is too close to “fill and spill”)
      Remove all dishes from office
      Remove all clothes & towels from office (sometimes one of us will take a shower, then chill in front of the computer while her hair dries a bit)
      Wash all dishes (yes! all of them!)
      Clean kitchen sink
      Clean stove top
      Clean kitchen counters
      Sweep kitchen floor

It seems like a lot when it’s all typed out, but most of it’s pretty basic easy stuff. And a lot of what I do every day automatically isn’t on the list, like making sure there’s no clothing in the bathroom or on the bedroom floor, or making sure all shoes are on the shoe rack. I also don’t have a designated laundry day because we have a washer and dryer so it’s pretty convenient to do it whenever.

On top of the daily stuff, I also have stuff that gets done once a week.
Monday is cleaning the bathroom and also mopping the kitchen floor, for instance. Tuesday is dusting and sweeping Niko’s room; Wednesday I dust and sweep in the bedroom and change the bed linens; Thursday is dusting and vacuuming in the living room and looking over the sales circulars to make a grocery list and meal plan for the next week; Friday is dusting and cleaning mopping the Dining Room, and grocery shopping. This leaves Saturday and Sunday pretty open for relaxing, doing home improvement, or doing big jobs like cleaning windows.

In an ideal world, Nesko does all the dusting and sweeping and vacuuming. I’m allergic to dust and have (poorly controlled) asthma, so sweeping and dusting are very unhealthy for me. As unhealthy as letting all that dust lie around? The jury’s out on that one. I’m not as poorly off as one friend of mine who physically leaves the house when her husband cleans to avoid having an asthma attack, but yeah. In reality, I wind up doing the dusting and sweeping and vacuuming and try really hard to remember to use my inhaler and keep taking my allergy medication to try and keep allergy symptoms to a minimum.

I keep my list of chores on the fridge, and I cross stuff off when I finish it. This helps me feel a sense of accomplishment, and also helps me be mindful of stuff I don’t do one day so I can be sure of doing it the next. With the exception of dishes, I don’t really stress over not doing every single thing every single day. The world won’t come to a crashing halt if the dining room table has some mail and dirty cups sitting on it over night. Leaving dishes in the sink, though, really makes mornings more difficult.

One thing I want to improve on is meal planning. I do a lot of from-scratch cooking, and have a lot of cook books and recipe magazines. But despite my abundance of potential meal ideas I tend to make the same stuff over and over (chicken soup, beef stew, chili, oven fries, roasted cauliflower, lasagna, pasta bake in general, 40 cloves of garlic and a chicken, mashed potatoes, split pea soup, black beans and sausage, macaroni and cheese made with a roux, buffalo pulled chicken) or wuss out and toss some tater tots and dinosaur shaped chicken in the oven while saying TWO TEARS IN A BUCKET. When Nesko was working from 2pm till 10pm every day that was a lot easier to manage. We had a hot lunch together every single day, plotted out ahead of time, and he had leftovers for dinner at work. It was time saving and super economical! Now his schedule is scattered and he works at different times over the week, and we aren’t home together as often for meals. So it’s like “ehhhhh…. it’s me and the kid, chicken nuggets it is.”

I’m thinking of putting together a binder with a meal plan for the week with space for notes and a shopping list with all the recipes for that week behind the list, and go-to recipes (annotated!) behind THAT and organized by category. I need to find an appropriate binder, though.

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I think I’ve mentioned in the past that Niko refers to apples and oranges as “myum myum balls” because “myum myum” is food and apples and oranges are round, like balls. Food balls! He likes to eat both apples and oranges and in an attempt to accommodate his desire for fresh fruit and our own healthy eating initiative, we’ve instituted a fruit bowl that we keep on the dining room table, filled with washed fruit. It is ready to go! All we have to do is eat it! Niko is thrilled and spends a lot of time pointing at the fruit in the bowl and demanding myum myum balls instead of the terrible crap we try to feed him. You know. Like home made macaroni and cheese, or chicken quesadillas, or roasted cauliflower, or the eggs he specifically requested, or from-scratch chicken tenders and oven fries. They are almost as enticing as home made cookies, cooling on racks on the table.

Oh, how we torment him, with food on the table he isn’t supposed to eat in mass quantities!

So he tries to climb up onto the table and steal the food.

Recently, we picked up a bag of mandarin oranges. I thought they were clementines. THERE IS A VAST AND TERRIBLE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MANDARIN ORANGES AND CLEMINTINES. Basically: clementines are totally awesome and tasty; mandarins are syrupy sweet and foul. I WAS DISAPPOINT. Niko, however, disagrees with me and thinks mandarin oranges are the BOMB. And they are very easy to peel, with not much pith, Cara Cara oranges I am looking at YOU. So we’re spending a lot of time recently chasing him off the table.

I am thinking of getting a squirt bottle.

I mean, it works for cats, right?

Yesterday, Nesko and I were hanging out in the bedroom laughing at something (probably fart jokes, we are totally mature that way) and enjoying the way I’ve rearranged furniture in there, when Niko edged in with a huge grin on his face. I mean, the little dude sidled in. Like he was hiding something, or trying to. He had his hands behind his back. What was in his hands? Why, two mandarin oranges of course!

It was some hilariously inept sneaking, let me tell you.

So Nesko congratulated him on his ninja moves in getting the oranges off the table without any tell-tale chair-adjusting scraping, and went to put the oranges back in the fruit bowl… at which point he did a quick count and realized that Niko had actually removed the oranges and stashed them somewhere previously. Like, the day before previously. About half an hour later, I intercepted him with a Halloween Treat Bucket full of mandarin oranges. He was swinging it around, learning about Centrifugal Force.

The fruit bowl is now on the kitchen counter.

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Most people who celebrate Christmas have specific traditions and customs surrounding the holiday. The same can be said of any holiday, but Christmas (at least in the USA) can have really variable traditions. Do you open presents on the 24th, or the 25th? If it’s the 24th, is it just one present or all of them? Do you do Santa? Does he bring a lot, or a little? Are his gifts wrapped, or unwrapped? And then there’s the decor, the food, the parties, the music.

When I was five, my parents bought a house after years and years of renting. One of the first things my mom did was put in a garden, a garden of her very own, one she wouldn’t have to leave behind. She planted some plants she got from her mom’s garden, Lillies of the Valley. And either that year or soon after, I forget when, we started a new Christmas Tradition. Instead of a cut tree (we had a small collection of various tree stands) or a fake tree (we never had one) we started picking out a fir tree with a root ball still attached; a living tree. The adults would troop out after Thanksgiving dinner with a pick axe and shovels and break up the possibly frozen definitely clay-y soil and dig a hole, then cover it with boards. The tree wouldn’t actually be delivered until just before Christmas. We often didn’t get it into the house and set up until the 23rd or 24th. They were pretty ugly trees, too. They were younger than the trees you get when you buy a cut tree (the root ball could add a foot or two of height) and had naked bits and gaps and crooked leaders. And there was the wet, muddy, burlap-sack-covered and sheathed in plastic sheeting root ball to contend with. One had to be careful of present placement, even when plastic and cloth had been put down, swathing the root ball. But oh, the trees smelled so incredibly good. And now my parents have the most beautiful line of giant healthy pine trees along their house.

I miss the smell of a fresh live pine tree. I hate our fake tree. My husband, how grew up with fake trees, wants to upgrade our tree to a better quality fake tree next year. He points out that a cut tree would be hard to get in and out of the apartment, they shed needles, the city picks them up for “recycling” (shunts them into a wood chipper for mulch) before Eastern Orthodox Christmas which means we’d either need to take the tree down early or else dispose of it ourselves (and a tree sat in the alley for a good six months at our last apartment, set out too late or possibly covered by snow and overlooked and then ignored), and we’d wind up spending money every single year on a new tree, and blah blah hassle blah blah blah. And he’s right. But fake trees are so incredibly awful for the environment. Most of them are made in China, which means their carbon footprint just for shipping is immense. They’re made essentially in sweatshops, of PVC, can have high levels of lead, and you can’t (easily) recycle them which means almost every single artificial tree (and swag!) ever made is going to last forever. Cut trees are shipped as well, but a much shorter distance, and the ones that are cut are planted specifically for that purpose and then a new sapling is planted.

So we’re currently at a Christmas Tree Impasse and will probably just keep using our fake tree until it falls apart or something. I guess it’s becoming a tradition in its own right… more so now that Niko has reached the helpful stage.

So, you know, there’s that. (Nesko was the one doing the actual tree assembly. This was early on a lazy weekend morning so he hadn’t showered yet, so I’m not putting pictures of him with dirty hair up on the web. he is, however, wearing a “bumble” t-shirt from “Rudolph.” He still has his teeth on the shirt, the only reason I permitted purchasing it OH MY GOD WHAT A FUCKED UP MOVIE.)

Nesko likes colored lights on the tree and lights that blink or chase or glow or fade in and out or otherwise act in ways that distract me or give me a migraine. So we have white lights that don’t twinkle or fade or dance or sing or do anything ridiculous or tacky (YES YES I AM JUDGMENTAL, UNREASONABLY SO, ABOUT CHRISTMAS TREE LIGHTS ITS JUST WHO I AM, OK?) except for some giant blue bubble lights that just kick all kinds of ass.

(pretend that plastic bag under the tree isn’t there, ok? it held garland earlier and I forgot to pick it up.)

We intend to 1) get more bubble lights (THEY ARE SO COOL) 2) upgrade to LED lights 3) get strands of both clear/white and red because I find red an acceptable compromise color wise and this way we can unplug the red lights and just have white when I’m feeling ornery and have merry berry-like lights the rest of the time.

You may also have noted the mismatched garland and the desperate use of ribbon to fill garland-less space. Also the gaping holes in the tree because it’s a shitty tree. I HATE YOU TREE OK. We have three strands of one garland I love, two strands of another garland I love that totally clashes with the first style, and two strands of a super cheap garland we got at Walgreens the first year we put the tree up and that looks like crap. ALL OF THEM TOGETHER ARE NOT ENOUGH. But that’s ok. You may also have noticed that the ornaments look a little sparse. I have FIVE MILLION ORNAMENTS, most of them incredibly breakable. I have a 21 month old who came running up to me the other morning, arms full of ornaments he’d harvested from the tree. “Ball,” he exclaimed delightedly. “BALL!” and then threw them at me and ran off to get more. I am so incredibly glad I didn’t hang any of the fragile, breakable, some of them antique almost all of them heavy with meaning (or else cheap but very breakable) ornaments. What you see there is all our unbreakable stuff, some of it incredibly creepy and from the 1950s. I should take close up photos of some of the creepier ornaments, which include a ladder of santas with inhuman faces, and a small teddy bear whose eyes are dripping down his face.

Speaking of ornaments, one of our traditions (started when I was a kid) involves buying everyone a new ornament every year. Before we had Niko, Nesko and I used to hit Marshall Field’s (before it was Macy’s) every year AFTER Christmas so the ornaments we got were on sale. Now we try to hit a local small business and shunt our money there (FUCK YOU MACY’s oh god my Christmas traditions involve a lot of hate). When Niko’s old enough to really be aware and take part in selecting ornaments we’ll go back to the pre-Christmas tradition. We’ll also resurrect the tradition of checking out the window displays downtown. But he is just a BAAAAAAAAAABY right now and I’m not taking him out in sub-zero weather unless he’s going to enjoy it and remember it.

The nativity scene is a big deal at Christmas, and the Baby Jesus (HE IS THE REASON FOR THE SEASON YOU GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!eleventy) is in the 25th day of the perpetual wooden advent calendar we have. You may also notice the candles with spinning angel thingy and the jars of candy ALL TRADITIONAL. Them being on top of the tv is not traditional, but our mantle is filled with books so there’s no room over there (OH GOD NO ROOM FOR JESUS ON THE MANTLE history is repeating itself :C :C :C).

You can totally tell when this photo was taken by counting the doors. I do the advent calendar for Nesko (he’s used to the cardboard ones with really crappy chocolate inside. One year I got him one from Fannie May and he was over. the. moon.) and put little candies inside that he’ll like. One of these days I’ll have my act together enough (and will have money enough) to put tiny gifts in there as well. One of our plans is to construct an Advent Calendar with 14 extra doors, for Eastern Orthodox kids/families who are into Advent Calendars, so they can start Dec 1st and go all the way to Jan 7th/Christmas.

See the little porcelain Santa next to the calendar? I was an overly precocious child and every. single. year. my Christmas List was topped by “actually seeing Santa.” So every single year my overly clever parents frustrated me with Santa ornaments and stuff. This guy’s one of my favorites.

Oh man, look at those stockings! They’ve got our (correctly spelled) names on ‘em and everything. How classy is that? For the first time IN MY ENTIRE LIFE there’s a fireplace I can hang stockings by. How awesome is that? This particular fireplace has been blocked off but I think we’re going to install a gas fireplace insert (my father in law and I both had the idea at roughly the same time, without talking to each other, WE SHARE ONE MIND APPARENTLY) next year. And then we’ll have a fireplace. I was kind of bummed by the fact that a gas insert doesn’t let you open the doors and burn actual wood for that wood smoke smell, nor can you pop popcorn or roast marshmallows or whatever. And then I was all DURR WHEN WOULD YOU ACTUALLY DO THAT PS WOOD SMOKE MAKES YOUR ASTHMA WORSE IDIOT. Anyway, stocking contents have to include a candy cane, a Terry’s Chocolate Orange in the toe, some loose chocolates and hard candy and nuts, and small toys/presents. These stockings were a gift from my in-laws and I adore the fact that we all match. LOOK I AM A MATCHY PERSON. I have a condition. (I am not joking about that.)

I worked at Fannie May right before they declared bankruptcy. It was a pretty awesome job in general, and I loved my co-workers, although we had some terrible scams that we foiled (or laughed over, in the case of the tiny old lady with an Irish accent who would try to dump whole sample trays in her purse and then scold us for not having samples out for her to try) and I lost my taste for sweet things for awhile (between that and the bakery, oh my LORD, I just wanted to curl up with a salt lick). That Christmas season I collected all the FM stuffed animals and here they are. Ultimately they’ll be down lower, but I don’t want Niko sucking on their eyes and shoving them under the couch and generally LOVING them, so up they are and up they’ll stay for awhile.

These little angels were always one of the big harbingers of Christmas, for me. So I got my own set. The original ones were owned by my grandma and on her death passed to my mom. I’ve missed these little musical angels for years, and a quick eBay search brought some home to me. Aren’t they cute?

That’s actually all the decorating we’ve done for Christmas, in large part because we have a very active toddler who gets into everything. We currently have two chairs wedged in the doorway between the living and the sunroom (which is where the tree is) to keep him from harvesting more ornaments from it. We’ll do more when he’s older (assuming there isn’t another tiny child getting into things).

Some of our other traditions include Certain Special Movies– “A Child’s Christmas in Wales” for me and those claymation classics like “Rudolph” and “Frosty the Snowman” for Nesko, movies I’d never seen until after we’d moved in together. “The Nutcracker Suite” is a big one for me, and when Niko gets older I want to start going to a production every year. Until then we watch it on PBS and listen to a CD with the music. A glut of cookies, lots of baking, my mom makes rich deep moist boozey fruitcake most years. One present on Christmas Eve and a midnight Mass with candlelight vigil, some kind of catch as catch can breakfast of rolls and milk (coffee for the adults) and candy Christmas morning, presents from Santa and stockings torn into, all other gifts opened carefully in turn. Thank you cards written right after. Christmas cards written and posted within the week after Thanksgiving (I’m late this year due to dashed hopes of getting a family photo taken and printed in time; I haven’t sent out a Christmas card in a few years, though).

One unusual thing this Christmas is snow.

We live in the Midwest (Chicago! woo! Chicago!) which means that every winter we get hit with huge amounts of snow, but usually we get flurries around Thanksgiving and then no actual snow until January. I’ve been seeing a lot of melt recently, but I think we’ll actually have a White Christmas this year.


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Nesko and I have been talking, recently and hypothetically, about travel. One of the ideas floated was him finding a job in Montenegro and moving there for awhile so that Niko could meet his extended family and get a good, solid feel for where Nesko’s family is from. I joked that it’d be great, Nesko could work all day while Niko and I travel and take the ferry to Italy and Greece and have a really long vacation and soak up the sun on European beaches. That led to talk of actual European travel, and Nesko mentioned wanting to travel to Germany, finding a nice Jugendherberge to stay at.

I tried to continue the conversation, but it derailed utterly when I attempted pronouncing Jugendherberge. I swear I did not add a terminating “r” but Nesko heard one and broke out laughing. Sorry, there are no rooms at the Jugend Hair Burger, although I hear their sandwiches are pretty tasty. We tried to work a mustache ride joke in there as well, but it just didn’t fit.

brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

(This actually took place about a month ago. Niko’s had a hair cut since then. It was very windy that day, but fun.)

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Ah, Love.

Oct. 21st, 2010 08:19 am
brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (Default)
There is a reason that I married the person I married.

We were sitting together in Niko's room reading Best Little Word Book Ever to Niko when we lapsed into making fun of the book because we are just classy that way.

Nesko apparently grew up without experiencing Richard Scarry for himself, so it was an all new experience for him... an experience which became alarming when he got to a certain page.



He caught a glimpse of this image and was very alarmed at their "fixed dead wide-eyed soulless stare."



I pointed out that ALL the animals look like that. "HAHA!" I crowed like the petty asshole I am, "NOW YOU CANNOT UNSEE IT."



Then we came to this dude and tried to figure out how he got into his police station. I ventured that he had to go in through the door and then there were steps going down immediately. Nesko countered that his immense head wouldn't fit through the doorway.

"There isn't any glass in that "window." These are animals. They don't know from glass. They just blunder in through those large openings. These are, basically, Pluggers. No-toilet-paper-holder-having Pluggers."

That last two comments pretty much broke me.



"They can only afford to buy 3 eggs at a time. Or maybe they're only ALLOWED to."



"They persist in wearing too-small clothing that shows off their exquisite beer guts."



"They don't have wrists, just stumpy little paw things with barely there sausage fingers. HOW DO THEY USE PHONES AND DRIVE THEY HAVE PAWMITTS INSTEAD OF HANDS.

"They are Pluggers. Richard Scarry should sue Jeff McNally Gary Brookins."

A Day Late

Sep. 23rd, 2010 03:02 pm
brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (me)

I was going to do a “Wordy Wednesday” post talking about some of Niko’s words and how he communicates, as well as a video of him eating with a spoon.

And then suddenly it was Thursday!

I got all PO’d. How do SOME parent bloggers manage to update so regularly?

Then it hit me.

It’s because OBVIOUSLY they are spending all their time sitting on their butts computing and not spending time with their precious snowflake children. Unlike me. The time I spend sitting on the couch reading “The Great Book of Amber” while Niko runs around finding tinfoil to chew on is FAR SUPERIOR to the time other parents spend with their kids, because I’m not online.

I win at being a parent! BOOYAH!

I’m kidding.

Also, I think this was funnier in my head. Sorry for inflicting it upon you.

Anyway, instead of talking about words and communication (or complaining about sleep problems because I’m as tired of writing about it as you all are of hearing about it) I just want to say that I cleaned Niko’s entire room yesterday including mopping the floor. I called Nesko to tell him.

“Good job,” he said. “Did Niko take another nap or something?”
“Haha!” I said. “No.”
“Then how did you manage that?”
“WITH GREAT DIFFICULTY.”

Also by redoing everything multiple times. Niko is helpful in the way that cats are helpful, which is to say not at all.

Later, I stripped our bed. He took the laundry basket and ran away with it, then took the discarded pillowcases and put them in the now-hidden laundry basket (helpful) and THEN kept dragging the mattress pad and fitted sheet back onto the bed (not helpful). As I tried to put the new mattress pad, fitted sheet, etc onto the bed he kept… climbing onto the bed. Gleefully. I guess because Things! Were! Different! And he had to check them out.

That night, Nesko got into bed and had a princess-and-the-pea moment where he had to get back out of bed, grope under the fitted sheet, and remove a pacifier.

Helpful.

Like a cat.

(today he helpfully pointed out all the dots on the sheets. Dot! Dot! Dot! there are many dots, all of which need to be pointed out and exclaimed over. Dot! Adorable, or super adorable? SUPER ADORABLE.)

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The end times are upon us. Seriously.

Nesko has shaved off the goatee and mustache he has been carefully nurturing for years now. I have no idea what the true impetus is for giving it the axe, other than he has a 4 day weekend and so can start growing it back in if he doesn’t like his naked face, and not look like a hobo at work when he goes in that first day. He cited several fairly petty reasons for getting rid of all that facial hair, and in fact, was going to just take off the goatee first and leave the mustache except he looked pretty terrible with a mustache and no chin hairs. So he has barbered his entire face.

He looks weird. Also: hot. You look at the same person every day for over ten years and pretty soon you don’t really LOOK at them. Your brain fills in the blanks. You don’t notice the details. Then they go and do something drastic and shake things up and your eyes and brain LOOK and NOTICE and oh man, he’s so cute. He really is. And hot.

Happy Lincoln’s Birthday, everybody.

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Nesko’s birthday is this Saturday (and next Saturday is Halloween and the Saturday after that is his brother’s birthday. The holidays are flying thick and fast now!) I’m making spanicopita, pastitsio, and chocolate-vanilla marble cheesecake.

I wanted to get good feta for the spanicopita and kefalotyri for the pastitsio, so we went to Andy’s Fruit Ranch. There, we found that kefalotyri is like $11.00 a pound, which we can’t afford right now so I got romano instead. I was able to get almost everything on our list except for Spinach (their fresh spinach looks really good and I don’t want it to sit in the fridge for three days; we’ll pick some up on Saturday morning), and chocolate cookies for the cheesecake’s crust.

They had almost no chocolate cookies.

They had some chocolate flavored maria cookies, but I’ve never had those before and have no idea if they taste like a butt or not. I know they’re a popular cookie, but do they work well in a cheesecake crust? No idea. They had oreos, which are nommy, but they were pretty expensive. They had some ladyfingers that were flavored half chocolate and half vanilla, which is not enough chocolate, and they had cookies drenched in chocolate covering.

Mmm, imported cookies.

Upshot is that Nesko’s going to pick up some kind of hard chocolate wafer cookie on the way home from work tonight so I can crush them into crumbs for the crust. It’s not that big a deal, having to make two trips. In fact, a few decades ago, it was common to make multiple trips when grocery shopping: you hit the butcher, you hit the bakery, you hit the green grocer. Stores specialized in what they sold.

Andy’s Fruit Ranch mostly specializes in import and ethnic things. They had cases of Jupi and Cockta. They had one million Polish cookies. They had Goya and La Preferida products out the windows. This is what Andy’s Fruit Ranch is.

I’m glad to have a resource like them, one that sells 6 different kinds of phyllo dough, 4 different kinds of feta, amazing cuts of meat, frozen Burek. It’s really awesome! We live in a cool neighborhood that has a lot of grocery stores like this, catering to different ethnicities (including at least one halal butcher).

So it’s kind of disappointing to read negative reviews on Yelp or whatever, from people who don’t really understand what an ethnic market is. Sorry, no, a place like this isn’t going to have every different brand of doritos, coke, pepperidge farm bread, whatever. If you want a wide selection of American products, go to a chain grocery store. If you want butter from Ireland and Poland and Germany, honey from all over Europe, 15 different kinds of olive oil, fresh fluffy packages of pita and naan, then come here. It’s this weird kind of entitlement. “Improve your selection, and THEN I might consider coming back!” Do these folks write overly wordy reviews of Jewel or Dominicks lamenting the lack of freekeh, poppy seed filling, Dr Oetker’s products? Do they really think that a specialty grocery store with a thronging clientele is going to come crawling after them? Weird.

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brigid: drawing of two women, one whispering to the other (Default)

Originally published at brigidkeely.com/wordpress. You can comment here or there.

The neighborhood I live in used to be really shitty. I know this because the front door of my apartment has 3 locks and the very tall chain link fence between our building and the one next to it has both regular barbed wire AND big (sagging, falling down) loops of razor wire along it. Also there’s a large amount of old people here, most of them Ethnic, who were probably warehoused out here when property values were much lower.

It’s a way better neighborhood now, full of awesome old buildings with much limestone and terra cotta, hipsters in low rise jeans and goofy looking glasses walking labrapuggles, a few blocks from the lake, with lots of Russian and Polish food in the nearby stores. (Also Korean and Chinese and Indian food, mmm)

Today is the 3rd of July. Unlike Julys past, there weren’t ANY fireworks overnight and none the past week. There have been very few today.

I am loving the shit out of this.

Explosions make me very nervous, and they make Nesko remember fleeing Montenegro in a taxi while it was being bombed. Good times.

I can only assume that the high concentration of old folks is what’s keeping the fireworks at bay.

We are going to Nesko’s family’s place tomorrow to cook out. I’m making chocolate chip pecan cookies (I think I will chop up the caillebaut chocolate I have) and hamburgers and chicken marinated in yogurt. I WILL LET YOU KNOW HOW IT TURNS OUT.

In completely different news entirely, I am doing a Sims 2 story over at http://www.morgendorfen.com. It updates Mondays and Wednesdays.

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