Little Pig, Little Pig

LET ME IN!

FB replies: "Not by the hair on our skinny backsides!"

I don't know why I can't get into my account. Do they have a quota on these things now? You can only login x number of times per day? I've never reached a maximum before today!

My only aim in returning there this evening was to add some more items to a photo album - They'll be sold at an auction to benefit research for finding a cure for Cystic Fibrosis. I honestly don't know much about the disease and hope I never have to find out first hand. My heart goes out to the families who've had loved ones taken by it and I hope my little contribution can put them just a bit closer.

Here's one of my humble offerings, a small backpack - any takers?

"Obnoxious Anemone"

Getting There

Arriving home from the grocery store just before 10:00 p.m. on a Friday night when I have to be at work on Saturday morning at 8:00 a.m. really just doesn't work for me. Especially when what's passed at my house prior to my departure looked something like this:


Big Brother is trying to assuage his discomfort...

So I had the wee one in tow as I perused the grand aisles of the Johns Creek Whole Foods Market. Which is usually fine - he's pretty amenable to grocery shopping. (The other one is most definitely NOT.) He did get a little hinky when I started loading him up with veggies; he tried to chew on the ginger root and he tossed my garlic cloves into a nearby bed of ice. Luckily, it was just ice and still mostly solid so the garlic was salvageable. Yay! He was amused by the plethora of carrots I amassed: purple, white AND standard orange, huzzah! And when I enrolled him in the Kids' Club, he quite happily sucked down the contents of the free juice box they offered him.

I always enter that store with a budget of about $30 in mind. (HAHAHAHAHA... Phew. THAT'S a good one!) Today I exited with a fairly standard deficit of $118. Hmm. Well, in my defense, the hulled hemp seed and chia seeds alone cost $20 (as if that argument has anything to do with anything). Does it help that those will last us for about a month or so? Maybe?

One upshot: I recently discovered Natural Foods Warehouse. They're a local, independent bunch who have some quite decent prices on natural and organic things you can buy in bulk. Think Aldi for the crunchy-granola set. If I can limit my Whole-Fooding to fresher foods, like veggies, and my packaged stuff to Natural-Fooding, maybe I can strike a balance around here somewhere. Both stores are further than my local Krogers and Publixes... Publices... Publix stores. In particular, their almond milk is only $1.88 per carton and I think the hemp milk was about $3. Not too shabby. Did some other price scouting tonight at Whole Foods and there were definitely some other staples that Natural Foods stocked for less.

So, getting there... Yes, I'm getting there. To the point. The point where I finally take these trips to the market more seriously, make them purposeful excursions instead of starry-eyed wanderings where I just throw whatever sparkly goodness catches my eye into my cart. Why? Because I still had to go through the drive-through on the way there. Yes, had to. I know that's relative - if I'd planned better or just focused a bit harder on what I was doing, I'd have been able to grab something to eat before I left the house. As it happened, I didn't. And tackling Whole Foods on an empty stomach likely would've netted me a $300 grocery bill - including a trip to one of the food bars. So perhaps that should've been my choice. But it wasn't. Chick-fil-A caught my attention as I got underway and I was a goner.

I almost started crying before I even got to the window.

Basically, I think like a natural foodie, a crunchy-granola, a tree-hugging, dirt-worshipping hippie... But I still act like an unconcious mass consumer far too often and the disconnect between what I believe and what I do is starting to really grind me down. Though I can talk a good game, I still have trouble walking the walk.

Getting There

But I'm getting there.

You Are HERE

Really, I was over at The Persnickety Eater plotting a piece on tonight's dinner, but the Dashboard was experiencing technical difficulties. Not to be thwarted, my inner "A-ha!" reminded me of my "other" blog over here - the one not-really-intended-for-food - sitting ready for other rambling literary, erm, stuff.

Of course, Life tried to persuade me to do other things instead. "Go outside and check on your eldest son, who should be back from returning his friend's football up the street. Take your younger son along so he won't have a conniption when you walk out the door. Spend a few minutes trying to photograph them until the elder shows you a long, bloody scratch on the younger's shoulder. Clean up the little one and send him into a conniption afterall when, even with help from Daddy, you get the Band-Aid stuck in his hair. Finish getting dinner ready then feed your bowl to the youngest because you're thrilled that he's eating the veggies without complaint. Fix yourself another bowl and try to enjoy it even though it's half cold by the time you sit down to eat. Retrieve the Band-Aid, which is only barely hanging on after just ten minutes of wear."

Bound AND determined [what else?], I finally made it back here to the keyboard as the boys (including the biggest one, a.k.a. Hubby) ate their dinners in a relative state of calm. Yes, there were a few odd noises and mini guffaws, but overall an acceptable mealtime.

Now the littler one has a dark chocolate goatee and the bigger one is totally grossed out. Better intervene before there's another mess to clean up and more time is spent NOT writing!

Contemplative

Sitting at my kitchen table, enjoying a bowl of veggies lightly sauteed in extra virgin coconut oil and pasture butter on a bed of quinoa and French lentils, plotting my return to the blogosphere...

Yeah, I might just be ready this time.

But what, exactly, do I need to ready myself for? (Besides people telling me not to end sentences in prepositions.)

I know what I fear and, honsetly, it's pretty ridiculous. What I fear - or at least the best I can distill it down to - is fame. Hmm. That's not quite it. More like notoriety. But not just that. It's the expectation of those things. The expectation that they would/could happen in the first place. The concern that people might expect things of me of which I might not be capable. The terror that people might be unsupportive, rude or downright mean about whatever I put out there - my writing, my recipes, my crocheted projects or other assorted arts & crafts that I happen to feel like creating.

Did I mention that my dinner is DELICIOUS? And that my fears are either wholly unwarranted or entirely overcome-able? Hmm. No? Well, it's all true.

So blogarrific I shall feel should anyone care to comment. But blogtemplative I have been, so all is well.