During the last month, Matt and I have secretly agonized over a possible job offer which would relocate us to Dallas, Texas. I know…big hair, big boobs, Confederate flags and ugly accents come to mind. Sorry “ya’ll,” but I’m no fan of southern drawl. (Yes, we all have preferences and prejudices. Even me.)
Meanwhile, I concocted this recipe to represent the flavors I may miss out on. And it’s Body For Life approved for the health and diet conscientious. As always, the measurements are approximate, because I never really measure when I cook.
***Not Moving to Texas Chicken***
- 6 chicken tenders (if using breasts, pound thin)
- 3 tsp salsa (I used Pace medium)
- 1 tomatillo, chopped
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 T chopped cilantro
- olive oil
- salt and pepper
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Drizzle olive oil over chicken. Sprinkle with minced garlic and salt and pepper. Spread about 1/2 tsp of salsa on each tender. Sprinkle chopped tomatillo and cilantro on top. Cover with foil and bake for 25 to 30 minutes. Serve over rice or alongside black beans and corn.
You could probably throw everything in a crock pot and cook on low for a few hours and shred the meat and serve in tortillas. In terms of Scoville heat, this is relatively mild enough for my two year-old. But I suppose if you wanted to kick it up a notch, you could add minced serrano or jalapeno peppers to it. Or try it with salsa verde instead. Yeehaw!
Update: I added asterisks because the title of the recipe seemed to be overlooked. I’ve had three people ask me. Sorry to be confusing! I happily introduce “Not Moving to Texas” Chicken.
I think a terrible woman-on-woman crime is the judgment we pass upon each other as “stay-at-home” moms versus “working” moms. I wanted to clarify about my last post that I do think it’s important to have identity; that’s what I was struggling to communicate with my poem Someone. I think some would read it and gag on it, misinterpreting that the best identity in this world is a stay-at-home mother. I would never think a woman is a better or worse mother for choosing to stay at home or choosing to work. In my experience, staying at home with my children has been one of the most challenging decisions in my life. It’s a thankless job and I am someone who absolutely relishes and needs praise. However, I determined long ago that I decided to have children and therefore should ultimately be responsible for caring for them and raising them. I am fortunate enough to be in a financial position where I can stay at home. I have many friends who would give anything to be in this position. I have friends who only want to stay at home with their children. I admire them, because I don’t have their good qualities. But I have different qualities that are good, too. When my infant is school age, I will be dancing and skipping back to work with bells on my toes.
Last weekend our church held its annual talent show. I performed Chopin’s Nocturne in E minor, Opus 72, No. 1. I realize this is a novice piece, which I would never deign to play for any of my classical music friends, several of whom have gone on to pursue Master’s degrees in music. (Some of my former teenage competitors are the five Brown siblings from Juillard.) But I thought this was a momentous occasion for me. As a stay-at-home mom of three, it’s rare, indeed, to steal 15 minutes away to “practice.” Gone are the days of intensive daily two hour practice sessions. Now, maybe once a month, sometimes every few months, I’ll sit down to play something, only to have my children disrupt me with various needs and requests. Regardless, I also thought it was a courageous moment, since I’ve only performed a solo two other times publicly since I quit piano lessons 15 years ago.
Back to the talent show. What an interesting experience. Refreshments were consumed and strewn all over the floors. Children were roaming all over, screaming their heads off, running around, distracting me peripherally. Of course, in their defense, it was “just” a church talent show. But I think it could have been an excellent moment for their parents to sit them down and have a cultural experience. Instead, I felt like I was performing at the county fair, casting my beloved pearls… only instead of swine, it was more like a general cattle call.
PHAT.
As much as I like the look of Baby Phat, I’ve decided to make me a workout t-shirt with the words “baby FAT” on them. (I know, I will look like a megadork. But who cares; we already know that about me.) It’s been six months since I gave birth to child #3 and the poundage no longer melts away. It’s hugging my hips like a tight pair of Baby Phat jeans. It’s hot. (Trust me, it’s not.) My goal this year is to work my PHAT bod back to where I was after baby #1, which means miraculously dropping 20 pounds. The horrors we women go through. Wish me luck!
Tired of kids, messes, cleaning, cooking.
Tired of hearing crying, shouting, tv noise.
Tired of dark, cold, snow, stuck inside.
Tired of feeling trapped.
Tired of life in general.
I am tired.
Ok, I’ve finally caved and decided to join the rest of the world and enter the 21st century. I suppose this blog is more of an outlet of my thoughts and ideas and therefore an extension of my inner self, as opposed to the traditional mommy “brag blog.” Not that there’s anything wrong with the usual Stay-at-home mom blogs. But I will try to refrain from gushing on endlessly about my super-exciting day and the amazing accomplishments of my three kids. If we were in a “who’s got the greatest kid” contest, I’d probably let you win. “Your kid did that? Wow! That’s great!” Translation: Ok, you win. On the outside I’d be all smiles and let you think your child was awesome, because you probably need that validation. Because I believe in graciousness and I was taught good manners by my own mother. But on the inside… I’d probably be thinking, “Big whoop. My kid could kick your kid’s ass.” I didn’t say my mother taught me humility. Haha.
