Formerly Fiesty

My husband and I got to talking the other day about the early days of our relationship, when we worked at the same organization. It so happens that he kept some e-mails I had sent, and he was recently rereading them.

"You were fiesty," he said.

Those three words had the effect of a stereo needle skidding across a record. Did he just say "were"? As in past tense?

I picked up my wounded pride and headed to our bedroom to be alone and let these words sink in, as well as to seethe and drown in self-pity. A little while later my husband came in.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Sure," I shot back. "I'm just mourning my lost fiestiness."

"Look, I didn't mean it like that."

"How do you think that made me feel?"

"Well, you shouldn't feel that way."

"Don't you dare tell me how to feel!"

He slowly backed out of the room and shut the door. And while I was pissed at him, I was even madder at myself.

The truth is, friends, that I used to be a girl who got stuff done. I dragged my mom to financial aid nights, so I could find out how to pay for college. I studied in London for a semester and worked a full-time job while I was there. I paid for my wedding dress, as well as for a good chunk of the reception.

Fast forward, and now I realized I was immersed--possibly drowning--in my husband, my children, my debt, my inertia. And I felt utterly lost. My only defense was to hide myself away from it all, mostly by falling asleep on the couch in front of the tv after everyone else went to bed -- my "me" time, such as it was. But as long as I was no longer getting things done or actively participating in my own life, part of me was still gone.

I'm coming back, slowly. I'm trying to get organized and stay on top of things. I want to give everyone in my family--myself included--the time and TLC they deserve.

And that will take all the fiestiness I can muster.

Soup's On!

I actually do like to cook. But you know how it is -- things get busy and you wind up slapping together some quick-fix, 15-minutes-from-stove-to-table thing that no one remembers an hour later.

Now that Fall is here and the weather has gotten a little cooler, my mind turns to planning warm, comforting foods that stick to your ribs and make your tummy happy. Stuff that simmers and fills the house with smells that put a smile on your face the minute you walk in the door.

I made just such a recipe tonight, and even Teenager loved it, and he's not a fan of tomato-based anything.

Stuffed Pepper Soup

Ingredients

• 1 pound ground sirloin
• 1 green bell pepper, chopped
• 1 cup finely diced onion
• 1 (29 ounce) can diced tomatoes
• 1 (15 ounce) can tomato sauce
• 1 (14 ounce) can chicken broth
• 1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
• 1/4 teaspoon dried sage
• salt and pepper to taste
• 1 cup white rice

Directions

1.   In a large stock pot brown ground meat. Drain fat and add pepper and onion. Cook until onion is translucent, not letting them brown.

2.   Add tomatoes, tomato sauce, broth, thyme, sage and season with salt and pepper. Cover and simmer for 30 to 45 minutes, until peppers are tender.

3.   In another saucepan boil 2 cups water, and add rice. Cook until rice is tender and then add to soup. Heat soup through and serve.

Makes 6 servings

Next, I plan on dragging out my bread machine. I've gotten mixed results with it, but I'll keep trying.

The Pitfalls of Instant Gratification

Don't get me wrong. I love eating out rather than cooking, browsing the Internet and watching OnDemand TV.

Still, there's something to be said for a homecooked meal, walking into a quiet library and waiting for reruns.

My kids don't get this.

My soon-to-be 14-year-old (we'll call him Teenager to protect the guilty) and my high-functioning autistic 9-year-old (let's call him the Lego Kid) are all about the now. And I get that. I was both 9 and 14 myself once. But some things--especially big-ticket items--really do have to wait. The kids have a problem with this.

Teenager wants a PlayStation 3 system. "Fine," my husband and I say. "Save your birthday and Christmas money." Teenager says he wants the system before Christmas.

Uh, no, that's not going to happen.

Aside from the fact that we just don't have the money for it, it's the principle of the thing. Wait. Have a plan. Save your money. Shop around.

My husband and I learned this lesson the hard way--some days, we're still learning--and we want the kids to learn from our mistakes.

We're all getting better, one baby step at a time.

Before we went to Myrtle Beach this summer, we told the kids they'd have to save their own money to spend down there. They did. In fact, they each saved over $100. I was especially proud of the Lego Kid, who actually thought about what he really wanted instead of handing over his money for a lesser item.

I guess what I'm saying is that we are all tempted by instant gratification. But it's a hollow reward, often followed by guilt and the hunt for the next thing. And it seems to me that people who are always looking for instant gratification are never happy. Nothing ever pleases them. I don't want that, for myself or my kids.

Just like anything else, the destination is made sweeter by the journey. 

My Name is Donna, but I'm Far from Donna Reed

The only thing Donna Reed and I have in common is our first name.

I don't vacuum wearing pearls, heels, a dress or any combination of the three.

When I vacuum at all, that is.

Fact is, I'm a slob. I've been this way for 46 years. It's not something I'm proud of, and I continually fantasize about what it would be like not to be a slob. To be able to walk around my bedroom without stepping over laundry piles. To be able to see the bottom of my kitchen sink. To be able to pick something up without raising a dust storm.

To this end, I've decided to put my fantasies into action. I'll also be blogging about my attempts to save money, find a second part-time job, get out of debt, raise two boys whom I hope will someday be contributing members of society, and anything else that strikes my fancy.

I may not be Donna Reed, but I can become a better housewife.