New Recipe: Homemade Chicken Nuggets

Since my little procedure about two months ago, I have had to drastically change the way I eat.  As in, I can't anymore.  Eat, I mean.  Really, I eat almost nothing.  Unfortunately, for several weeks the only things that seem to want to stay in my stomach without making me sick are really bad foods: pizza, lasagna, quesadillas, macaroni and cheese...you get the idea.  I would rather not eat anything than eat those foods, so there have been a lot of 200-calorie days lately.

So I splurged and bought a couple of cookbooks, and I tried a recipe tonight that went over very well with me and my family.  I am sharing the recipe here because I changed it enough to make it my own.

A serving (about 5 nuggets) equals around 150 calories, 25 grams of protein (about), low carbs, some fiber.

Ingredients:
Boneless skinless chicken breasts or tenderloins
Egg whites
Reduced fat Pringles potato chips
Fiber One cereal (original)
Seasoning to taste (I used Lawry's Seasoning Salt, but any seasoning you like would work.)

Preheat oven to 375.  Spray a baking sheet with non-stick spray.

Cut chicken into desired size pieces.  Coat with egg whites.

In a blender or food processor, combine Fiber One cereal (about 1/2 cup for 1 pound chicken), seasoning, and potato chips (16-24 chips).  Pulse until you achieve a bread crumb like texture.  Place this mixture in a gallon-size plastic bag.

Place chicken in the bag and shake to coat.  You can do this in batches or all at once.

Put coated chicken on baking sheet and bake for 10 minutes.  Turn over and bake another 10 minutes, or until crispy and cooked through.  Excellent with ketchup.

I used about 1 pound of chicken and it was enough to feed me, Sven, Princess, and Dexy with leftovers.

I ate two.  Yay!

My Grandparents

My mother's parents were really special.

I was thinking today about what I was going to do this year for Thanksgiving, and it has reminded me of a couple of stories I remember about my grandparents.

My grandpa had a bad heart.  It runs in the family, unfortunately.  Of course, his doctors put him on a salt-free diet and, since it was the 1980's, salt substitutes were horrible, bitter things.  Well, my grandmother found a great one that tasted just like salt.  It was amazing!

After Grandpa died, Grandma went on using the salt substitute.  Eventually she had to go and replace it.  Imagine her shock when the salt substitute tasted terrible!  It was bitter and awful and she was just so confused!

Until she found the big container of REAL salt hidden in the kitchen.  Grandpa had been quietly replacing the salt substitute with real salt for years.  Grandma had to laugh.

My second story is about Grandma.  Grandma lived until 2005, passing away just a few weeks before Princess was born.  She remained vital and healthy for years after Grandpa died, but of course, as time went on she could do less and less.

We always went to Grandma's house for Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve.  Grandma made the same dishes every year, and assigned each of us to bring the same things, so it was a menu you could really count on.  One dish Grandma made sure never to forget was the corn-and-oysters.

Made with canned oysters and creamed corn, this dish truly had to be seen (and smelled) to be believed.  Yet, year after year, the dish was completely clean at the end of the feast, thanks to the combined efforts of my father and my Uncle Pat.  Grandma never really knew that Dad and Pat were the only two eating it.  She thought we all loved it, that it was the dish without which our family Thanksgiving could not be complete.

I remember the year she told me that she just didn't feel up to making the corn and oysters.  "Deb, I know the family will be so disappointed," she said earnestly.  "I just don't think I can make the corn and oysters this year."  "Grandma," I said sincerely, "we'll manage."  Only my father complained.

It's been 5 years since Grandma died, and 23 years since Grandpa died.  Even though I miss them every day, thinking about them makes me happy.  Hopefully one day Princess will have children (she currently plans on having eight) who will tell stories about their kooky Grandma Deb, who wore knee-socks and danced the Futterwagon on the living-room sofa.

Obviously, I plan for an active, lightly medicated old age.

Compatibility: Fighting

Men and women fight differently.  Sven and I, of course, as the perfect married couple, never fight.  We do, however, disagree, argue, snipe, snark, discuss, mull, and wrestle.

After a morning spent in the following sort of dialogue:

Sven: Where are Princess' shoes?
Deb: Ask Princess.
Princess: They're in the toilet. (Giggles)
Sven: Would you just find her shoes?
Deb: Is your leg broken?
Sven: Is yours?
Deb: Is yours?
Sven: Is yours?
Dexy: I hungry.

I leave for work feeling guilty about my negativity toward my loving, hard-working man.  I go to work in a blue mood.  Around lunchtime, I send him a text message saying something like "I love you, I'm sorry I was so nasty to you this morning."  I get no response.

In typical female fashion, now I begin to worry.  Maybe he's really mad.  Maybe he is just tired of all of this.  Maybe he's thinking about how I never cook anymore, or how I've been dressing my children out of clean laundry baskets instead of putting their clothes away.  I begin to fret.

After two hours of fretting, I send the text message again.  He calls me back.  We have the following conversation:

Sven: So what are you sorry for?
Deb: For being so nasty and snipy this morning.
Sven: Oh.  Well, I was pretty snipy myself.
Deb: You were, but I felt bad about it.
Sven: I had forgotten all about it, actually.
Deb: Oh.
Sven: But I accept your apology.
Deb: Thank you.

This is the difference: when men get mad and blow of steam, they feel better.  When women do it, they feel worse.  I came to this conclusion by having an extremely scientific conversation with my partner teacher, Georgia, and my student teacher Eurydice.  Of course there are the exceptions: the enlightened men who never ignore their wives even when they say something eight times and then ask, "Did you say something about needing me to pick up the kids today?" even when you've been reminding them every day for eight days but hey, they didn't actually NEED the information until today so it doesn't count.  Needless to say, those enlightened men will not look at their wives at that point and say, "Why didn't you TELL me?"  But I really believe those men are the exception.

Feel free to disagree with me.  I will text you later to apologize.

Routine

If there's one thing I pride myself on, it is my morning routine.  I am a paragon of efficiency.  I treasure my mornings, for, as you will see, it is during my mornings that I am most myself.

The following takes place between 2:00 A.M. and 8:00 A.M.:

2:00 A.M.: One of the children staggers in, wakes me up, announces "I had a bad dream," and gets into bed with me.

2:45 A.M.: The other one repeats that process.

3:15 A.M.: I accept that I will not be getting back to sleep and get out the computer to write for a few minutes.

4:00 A.M.: I finish with my Facebook, discussion boards, e-mail checks, and general internet playing and get down to the business of writing.

4:20 A.M.: My alarm goes off and is turned off.

4:50 A.M.: I get up and go downstairs to walk on the treadmill.

5:30 A.M.: I stagger upstairs and take a shower.  The children may or may not be awake at this point.  If they are, my shower is cut to 3 minutes and I emerge from the bathroom screaming "Put that down!" and "Don't stick that in your father, he's sleeping!"

5:33-5:50 A.M: Get out of the shower (see note above).  Get out computer just to check on that last sentence.

6:15 A.M.: Get off of Facebook and just check that last sentence.

6:30 A.M.: Say defensively to Sven, "I AM getting ready!"

6:45 A.M.: Finish makeup, move to bathroom to dry hair.

6:50 A.M.: Discover that I have literally no clothes that fit me anymore, cry.

6:55 A.M.: Realize that the dress I saved for years because I couldn't bear to give it away even though it was too small fits, rejoice.

6:58 A.M.: Go downstairs, put shoes on various feet and ponytails on various heads.

7:01 A.M.: Announce I am leaving.

7:05 A.M.: Return to get glasses.  Announce I am leaving.

7:07 A.M.: Kiss a crying Dexy, who is on the driveway lamenting, "I just wanted to say I love you, Mommy!"

7:10 A.M.: Realize I forgot my vitamins, go back in.

7:15 A.M.: Help Sven put the kids in his car, kiss faces.

7:21 A.M.: Swear.

7:25 A.M.: Leave for work, secure in the knowledge that I have nearly five minutes to get there and be on time.

7:38 A.M.: Arrive at work.  Gaze at the pile of work I left for myself the night before.

7:42 A.M.: Swear.

8:00 A.M.: Greet my first class of the day with a smile and a song.  That other stuff can wait.

Popping and Locking

I had my first appointment with a chiropractor today.  This was a "free consultation," so the last thing I expected was to actually get what they call an "adjustment."  I was wrong.  I left the massage parlor (where his office was, don't judge me) fifteen minutes after meeting him with a spring in my step and a pip in my pep.

This was my first adjustment.  Needless to say, when the very attractive chiropractor was massaging my glutes (a.k.a. "fanny") to find out "where I carried the most tension," I felt a bit strange.  Not awkward, but so comfortable I just knew something was wrong.  After all, I'm a happily married woman!  I shouldn't be comfortable with a tall, well-built, blue-eyed blonde man (estimated height: 6'2") rubbing my derriere, but there I was, happy as the proverbial clam.  Alas, the butt analysis was negative ("Feels real good," he said. "Thank you," I replied) so the focus shifted to my spine and neck.

We moved on to the neck adjustment.  One excruciating crunch later, I felt lighter and more alert.  We moved on to the mid-back.  This adjustment was accomplished by me folding my arms over my chest while he basically threw his body down on top of mine.  Before any of you begin transposing the surf scene from "From Here to Eternity" onto a chiropractor's table, let me assure you that this adjustment was accompanied by me making the least sexy sound known to man.  This combination of grunt and groan had all of the aesthetic appeal of a diarrheic bagpipe player who forgot to remove his instrument before a strategic retreat to the loo.

The lower back, which I expected to be the motherlode of adjustment, so to speak, was surprisingly anticlimactic.  Bend this leg, straighten that one, turn your head, cough... you know how it goes.  Once I was done, Dr. Nick (really) told me, "I really hope I see you again."  I went straight home to my wonderful husband, Sven, whose idea this was in the first place.  I hope he's pleased with how well it went.

I know I am.  Next time, I'm taking a camera.

The kindness of Relative Strangers

I heard on NPR a version of the following story:

Since it's been 20 years since the Anita Hill/Clarence Thomas scandal, apparently Mrs. Thomas decided to make amends.  (Maybe it's been 20 years.  Maybe not.  I'm not a journalist.)

So, Mrs. Thomas, in an extraordinarily selfless act, decided to reach out to Ms. Hill.  She phoned her (at work) and left her a very touching voice mail, which she describes as "extending an olive branch."

In this phone call, Mrs. Thomas invited Ms. Hill to finally apologize to her and her husband.  Nothing says selfless like, "Hey, it's okay.  Apologize to me.  You've earned it."

I don't know whether or not Ms. Hill's allegations were true, and I don't care.  It's actually irrelevant to this story.  The beautiful thing here is someone actually thinking calling someone who has accused your husband of sexual harassment and not only bringing it up, but asking that person to apologize to you, is "peacemaking."

This gives me so many ideas, I don't know what to do with myself.  I can't wait to start reaching out to all of the people who I think owe me apologies.  The list begins with, but is not limited to:

• Victoria Beckham
• Jane Austen (Death is no excuse for being obstinate.)
• Natalie Portman
• The Old Spice Guy
• Stephenie Meyer
• George W. Bush
• George Bush Sr.
• George Bush (mows the lawn next door, no relation)
• Mittens (cat; can still miaow plaintively.)
• Jon Hamm
• The writers for SNL '09-'10 season
• Glee
• Heidi Klum
• Steve Martin
• Stephen King
• Stephen Weber
• Weber Grills
• Lil' Wayne
• The Ghost
• Mrs. Muir
• Anyone named "Penelope."

I will expect my apologies forthwith.  You're welcome.

These are the jokes, folks.

Place: In Sven's new (non-wrecked) car

Time: Any, as long as we plan to be in the car at least 15 minutes.

Cast:
   Sven: The designated driver and egger-on
   Deb: The long-suffering navigator and general party pooper
   Princess: The comedian
   Dexy: The sidekick


Princess: Knock, knock.

Sven: Who's there?

Princess: Interrupting cow.

Sven: Interrupting c-

Princess: MOO!

{General laughter}

Dexy: Knock, knock.

Sven: Who's there?

Dexy: Interrupting cheese.

Sven: Interrupting cheese who?

Dexy: {long pause}  Cheese!

{General laughter}

Princess: Why did the chicken cross the park?

Sven: Why?

Princess: To get to the other SLIDE!

{General laughter}

Dexy: Knock, knock!

Sven: Who's there?

Dexy: Interrupting poo poo!

{general laughter, except Deb}

Deb: Now, Dexy, you don't have to work blue.  You're better than that.

Dexy: Poo poo!

Princess: Pee pee!

Sven: Kids-

Dexy: Interrupting poo poo!

Princess: Dexy won't let me tell my joke!

Sven: Tell your joke, Princess.

Princess: Why did the...knock, knock.

Dexy: Knock, knock!

Princess: Dexy!

Dexy: Poo poo!

Deb: I need a Valium.

Fin.

(I edited the above to make it much shorter and less maddening than real life.  You're welcome.)

Short Takes: Folksy Household

Deb: Sven, get in the bathroom and weigh yourself!

Sven: Why?

Deb: Because it says I haven't lost any weight at all in four days.  Just do it, okay?

Sven: Sure.  {Goes into the bathroom.  Returns.}  I lost seven pounds.

Deb: We're getting a divorce.

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Princess: Mommy, you know panties?

Deb: Panties?  I believe I am familiar with panties.

Princess: You know the part of the panties where you put your legs through?

Deb: Yes, the leg holes.

Princess: The leg holes are the panties' nostrils.

Deb: That makes perfect sense to me.

*******************************

Dexy: Want cheese, Mommy!

Deb: Okay.  {Hands him a cheese.}

Dexy: No, I don't want cheese.  I want a banana.

Deb: Okay.  {Takes back cheese, gets out a banana}

Dexy: No, I don't want a banana.  I want a Pop Tart.

Deb: No, no Pop Tarts.

Dexy: BUT I WANT IT!

Deb: How about a cheese?

Dexy: Okay.

****************************

Have a great week, everyone.