Don't Let the Smile Fool Ya

“Swag-Jacker” (short for “Swagger-Jacker”)

I’m sure I’m a little late to the party on this one, but I think it might be one of the best words I’ve ever heard.

I may be 45 years old, and a married mother of three, but you know I like to get my slang on. Sometimes no other type of language will do!  “Swag-jacker” is the ultimate in slang, combining two great slang words, “swag” and “jacking” into a highly descriptive compound slang word.  You will definitely catch me using it now that I know it.  After all, I already use “swag” and “jack,” so it’s just verbal evolution for me.

For those of you who don’t know, “swag”  (also “swagger”) refers to a person’s unique style — in fashion, art, music, sports, etc. — typically exhibited with self-confidence.  This exhibition of self-confidence may be slightly in-your-face, but not obnoxiously so.  “Swag,” or “swagger,” are exclusively used admiringly.  Believe me, you are being paid a high compliment if you’re referred to as a dude (or lady) with swag.

“Jacking” is stealing, as in car-jacking.  So someone who steals is a “jacker.”  You can pretty much “jack” anything:  cars, money, candy from a baby.  But you really don’t want to be caught swag-jacking.  It’s a sign of character weakness.  A clear indication that you don’t have what it takes to create your own swag, so you have to copy someone else’s style (their clothing, their lines, or their moves, to name a few examples).  In so doing, you are jacking that person’s swag, and thus exp0sing yourself as a swag-jacker.

Mind you, not all imitation is swag-jacking.  Sometimes, an act or action by someone (usually famous, but not always — after all this is the age of youtube) becomes so popular that the performing of it is more of a tribute than an actual attempt at jacking the swag of the creator.  A good example of non-swag-jacking imitation is the John Wall Dance Phenomenon. This is just an example of big love shown for Mr. Wall.  No swag-jacking intended.

Thanks to Quent for keeping me up to date.

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Today, though, I got that glass-half-full feeling back. And as the day goes on, mood is swinging wildly upwards.

Why? You may well ask.

Because it’s a beautiful, sunny, 58-degree day as I write this. No other reason at all.

I intend to celebrate with the hubby tonight. We’ll have a very spring-like meal. We don’t even have to argue about the gas fireplace — because I clearly won’t be freezing my butt off.

My dad brought over some very pricey, very good quality salmon. Thanks Dad! So Sebastian will fire up the grill and take care of the fillets. I got some pretty decent looking asparagus at the store, too. I’ll steam that and pair it with lemon butter. Add some couscous on the side, and we’ll be good to go.

There you have it — my mood update. A mood so good I just had to write about it!

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However, the hubby is still gainfully employed and helpfully paying all the bills.   Which means he keeps a hawk eye on the money he’s spending.  While this is plenty convenient in many ways, it has spawned one small, ongoing marital battle during this uncommonly and painfully long winter we’ve been forced to endure here in Lawrence, Kansas.

When we bought this house, one of the very first things I fell in love with was the gas-powered fireplace in the front living area.  Our kitchen, dining and living areas are one big, open space, and the fireplace makes the whole area SO nice and cozy when it’s cold.  There’s nothing I like better on the coldest of nights than sitting on my couch with a glass of red wine, with the fireplace going.  Absolute nirvana!

When the first big snowstorm hit us the day before Christmas, it was only fitting that I turned the fireplace on. After all, we WERE snowed in. And then the weather stayed cold, the snow hung around, more snow and ice came. . . In short, the cold hung on relentlessly.

I don’t do well with cold weather. It ruins my mood. And I’m already kind of moody, so that’s not good. My one solace while winter was slapping me upside the head was my fireplace. It created a cocoon of warmth, allowing me to . . . well, not exactly forget the cold. But at least ignore it temporarily.

Well. They say all good things come to an end. And this one came to a screeching halt about mid-January.

Sebastian had begun to voice a sneaking suspicion that our gas fireplace was driving up our gas bill during the winter months. He has a couple of buddies who work for the gas company, and he decided to run that theory by his buddies. These guys told him that running the gas fireplace does indeed hike up the gas bill.  These guys told him we should only use the fireplace sparingly.  This seems a little counter-intuitive to me.  If you work for the gas company, shouldn’t you be encouraging folks to buy MORE of your product and not LESS of it?

How smug is a husband with a little ammunition for his argument? Don’t even ask. Sebastian presented the testimonials of his buddies to me, and went on a little about how high the first winter gas bill was. Yawn.

Ultimately, he drew his line in the sand. He explained that HE pays the gas bill, so he gets to call this particular shot.  I suppose he has a point, but I won’t ever admit it to him.  I’ll lie quietly in wait.  Then, as soon as I start to bring in some real money, I’m taking over the gas bill. In the meantime, I’ve backed off. Mostly because it’s March and spring is around the corner . . . at least it better be.

Sebastian has (temporarily) won this battle. But, loyal readers, rest assured that I will inevitably win the war. It’s one of the things I do best!

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I can’t say I miss the particular job or agency I was working for, but I sure miss getting paid for my work.

Now I’m officially a starving artist, trying to make a go of it as a writer online.  Not easy!   But I’m 45 years old, and I figure involuntary unemployment is reason enough to get serious about making a living doing what I do best:  writing.

I know you’re thinking to yourself:  “But Carolyn, writing isn’t the only thing you do best!”

Blush!

Well, I can share with my loyal readers all that I do best, then, right?  By writing about it!

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I’m a healthy eater.  Not religiously healthy, though.  I do enjoy a wide variety of food that includes some pretty rich stuff.  Like Baked Brie, for intance.  But I’m always on the look-out for good healthy snacks to offset my indulgences.

I recently discovered Kale Chips. I’ll credit Foodgawker for my introduction to this newly favorite treat of mine, since that’s where I first read about them.  They must be pretty trendy because I keep running into recipes as I surf around on my favorite foodie blogs.

You can easily check out the link in this post and find a few recipes posted on Foodgawker.

I’ve settled on preparing them this way:

I wash and COMPLETELY dry enough kale leaves to cover a large baking sheet (about 4-5 handfuls).  I use the deep green, firm leaves, tearing them into bite-sized pieces (after discarding the stem parts).  Once the kale leaves are completely dry, I throw them into a gallon-sized ziploc bag.  I add a couple of teaspoons of olive oil and toss the kale leaves around to coat them very lightly with the oil (sometimes I’ll massage them a little bit to make sure the oil is evenly spread).  Then I spread the leaves on the baking sheet, and sprinkle them lightly with salt.   Sometimes I also sprinkle a little garlic powder along with the salt.

The recipes I’ve read recommend baking the kale chips at a variety of temperatures, ranging from 35o-450 degrees.  I’ve tried them at 350, 400 and 425 degrees, and I’ve settled on 350 degrees at approximately 15 minutes.  They object is for the kale chips to come out very crispy, and that depends on how much oil is on the leaves.  So I’d recommend checking on the chips once they’ve been in the oven for about 12-13 minutes.  If they aren’t done at that point (and they usually aren’t for me),  just keep checking every minute or so until they’re nice and crisp, but not brown.

The first time I made these, I enjoyed them with a nice glass of chardonnay.  My curious family gathered around to see what I was eating.

“What IS that, Mom?”

“Is that spinach?”

“Are you gonna eat that?”

I explained the kale chip concept to the kids, and popped one in my mouth.  “Delicious!”  I exclaimed.  “Wanna try one?”

Blank stares.

“Can you give us some money for Taco Bell?”

Well, at least I didn’t have to share.

Part II:  Virtuous Healthy Drink Horrifies Anthony

I was paging through a food magazine the other day when I came across an article about juicing fruits and vegetables.  It put me in mind of V-8 juice, which I like.  I decided I need more of it in my life.

So I ran out to the store and got some V-8 juice yesterday, and decided to doctor it up by way of the juicer.  I poured a 5.5 ounce can of the veggie juice into the juicer, and added a few small slices of celery and green pepper, and just the tip of a jalapeno pepper.  I sprinkled in some salt, pepper and garlic powder, powered on, and created what I thought was a pretty darn good healthy drink.

About the time I was pouring my drink into a glass, Anthony walked up to the kitchen island to work on his science homework.  He noticed my drink.

“What’s that?”

“Vegetable juice.”  I took a drink.  Yum.

“Whoa!  Did you just drink that?”

“Yeah.  Why?”

“I thought that was to go in soup.”  He was looking at me a little mistrustfully.

“No.  I just told you it was juice.”

“Why would you want to drink vegetables, Mom?  You can just eat em.”

I took another drink.  A long one.  “Want to try it?”  I offered.

“Okay.  No.  Gross.  Don’t do that anymore, please.”  He was clearly rattled.

“Fine.  I’ll leave you alone with your homework, and just go enjoy my drink by myself.”

“Dad’s not gonna want to kiss you if you keep drinking that.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that, buddy.”

At that point, I hustled off to the shower to get ready for Snacky’s basketball game.  I took my virtuous healthy drink with me to sip on while I got ready.

When I emerged from my room with the empty glass in my hand, I could feel Anthony looking at me out of the corners of his eyes.

“What?”

“Did you really drink that whole thing?”

“Of course.”

“Are you gonna brush your teeth before we leave?’

Wow.

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He was so grateful.

While waiting in the cozy warmth of my car, I decided to check in with Anthony, who was still at his buddy’s house.

The voice that answered his phone was way too deep to be Anthony’s.

“Not Anthony, right?”

“Hi, it’s Kyle.  Anthony’s outside,”  said Anthony’s friend’s older brother’s friend.  “Playing football.”

At the time, it was a whopping 12 degrees.  But only on the thermometer.  In reality, the windchill factor dropped that number at least that far below 0 degrees.  Not to mention a nice deep layer of snow on the ground.

“You’re kidding me.”  I could only hope.

“Haha.  No.  They’re really out there.”

What idiots.

“Well, if his fingers are still working when he gets back in, have him call me.”

“Okay.  See ya.”

Oh, to be young.  Impervious not only to the effects of windchill, but to the concerns of your mama, as well!

(You will all be relieved to learn that the little darlings made it inside after the game with blood still flowing in all extremities.)

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All snow, all the time.

We just had all the roads, driveways and pathways cleared after the holiday (as yet unmelted) snow, when we got 5 more inches dumped on us throughout the afternoon and evening yesterday.

The kids had been back in school a mere 2 days, and now school is cancelled for today.  We got the news yesterday evening, and, of course, Anthony immediately had plans with his crew for a celebratory overnighter.  Of course, I delegated the drive through the snow to deliver him to his friend’s house to none other than the hubby.

Sebastian, Snacky and I stayed in (not like we had a choice) and watched the KU men barely beat a tough Cornell team last night (thank you, Sherron Collins, for a seriously POY, game-saving performance !), and marvelled that the Fieldhouse was packed even in the midst of our mini-blizzard.  In attendance at the game was none other than daughter Quent, who’s been pushing the mini-van around town like a tank.  Because a little (or a lot) of snow isn’t going to stop her from doing exactly what she wants to do.

Just like her mama!  Remember my resolve in digging out the day after Christmas, to get to the gym?  Ditto today, folks.  After all, the snow has stopped and the sun is out — warming us up to a balmy 7 degrees.  I see no reason to sit around.  And the hubby just so happens to be working at home, so guess who’s going to help?  I’m sure you’re guessing correctly.

In fact, he’s out there shovelling as I write.  Guess I better go help?

To Be Continued. . .

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But not today.

I woke up this morning and looked out the front window.  The city crews had either forgotten about our street, or we were waaaaay down on the list. . . like last.

Yet, the postponed Christmas dinner was on.  And the gym was open.  Because, of course, all the other streets in town had been cleared.

My plan fior the day was simple:  get to the gym and work out hard, then go to Mom and Dad’s house and eat an embarrassingly large helping of prime rib and yorkshire pudding (soaked in gravy).

And there was no way a two-foot deep blanket of snow covering the driveway and street was going to stop me.

I informed the hubby of my plans.  He suggested that we wait a little while to see if the street crews showed up.  I told him, gently, that that was not an option.  I explained that the snowbound phase was over, whether Mother Nature liked it or not.  And that I wasn’t going to be bound by the street crew schedule, either.

He sighed.

I stomped back into the closet and put on my shovelling clothes.  Actually, I had to decide on some shovelling clothes, since I’ve haven’t shovelled snow since I’ve been married.  Over a layer of workout spandex, I tossed on sweats and sweatshirt.  Then I broke out my old Dexter hiking boots that I’ve had since high school.  They’re in great shape!  Probably because I never go hiking, and I rarely shovel snow.  I then donned my winter coat and my cute red, black and white stripped hat with the little puff ball on top.  Anyway.  When I emerged from my bedroom, hilarity ensued:

“You look ridiculous, Mom,” said Snacky.

Anthony was too busy laughing to comment.

“Whatever,” I told  them, “we’ll see who laughs last.”  I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be me, though.

“I’ll be out soon, Honey,” said the hubby, as I stomped out the door.

I surveyed the driveway and the street in front of our house. There was no way around the fact that the entire driveway needed to be cleared.  Not too mention enough of the street so that our car could get some traction and crawl on out of the neighborhood.   A lesser woman would have been intimidated by the job at hand.

Thankfully, I was not alone in my labors.  Our dog Princess loyally volunteered to come out with me.   Not that she was much help.  But she’s pretty darn cute, so she gets extra credit just for hanging out with me.

I had half of the driveway done when the hubby came out.  He prides himself on being an expert at shovelling snow, and got right down to business.  Not too long after that, Snacky came out.  He gave me a little break.  And I do mean little.  He moved about 10 shovels full of snow and then claimed HE needed a break.  Then out came Anthony.   He really got after that snow.  I told Snacky he should be embarrassed that his little brother was working harder than he was.

Snacky was not at all embarrassed.  Snacky prides himself on not unnecessarily breaking a sweat.  He takes energy conservation to new levels.

Anyway…

We got the driveway and the street in front of our house cleared.  After an two hours.

Mere mortals would consider that their workout for the day.  But the stairmaster was calling.

We all got our workout stuff on and got ready to go to the gym.  Workout for me, hoops for hubby and the boys.  We saddled up and hopped in the car, opened the garage door and peeled out of the driveway, hoping for enough momentum to launch us into the tire track trail (generously left by the people in big trucks that you can actually drive in this weather) leading out of our neighborhood.

Not so easy, of course.  Another half-hour of the hubby launching the car back and forth, alternating with bouts of the hubby shovelling more snow out of strategic spots (which I helpfully pointed out for him), ensued before we finally managed to manuever the car into position and crawl down the block and out of the neighborhood.  As we squirted out of our block and onto the (of course) cleared cross street, we were all ridiculously happy about our new-found freedom from the confines of our block!

The rest is history.  I got a great (second) workout in.  We made it to my parents’ for a great dinner (thanks Mom and Dad!).  And when we got home, the hubby and I broke out the heating pad and massage pillow to soothe our aching bodies!

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Well, tonight it was the following:

1)  A BLH (Bacon, Lettuce and Ham) Sandwich, followed by 2) a slice of mama’s pumpkin pie, and topped off with 3) a bowl of chocolate caramel popcorn, washed down by 4) a glass of cranberry juice.

He must be growing, right?

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