I also just realized that the name of this blog is more than just about my cooking. My life is getting to the point that it's almost healthy now. I'm still working on it. I still have doubts. For example, I know that Picky, and perhaps members of his family, are reading this blog and my other blog. That is probably one of the reasons I haven't been posting that often on either.
I know he read this post because he showed up at Z's birthday party with my kitchen knife, of all things. Leave it to Picky to blemish a party day with some petty nonsense. But, I was happy to see the knife. I have to think in the Almost Healthy mindset. Instead of being worried that his family knows how I feel about their treatment of me, I should be comfortable in the fact that I never treated them badly; I bent over backwards to cook them amazing food and cater to them. It is ridiculous that I feel any sort of angst over admitting out loud that I was treated absolutely atrociously. How does that make me the bad person? If Papa Picky (Picky's father) refuses to ever come to my house again, that means I will never get bullied by him again. I shouldn't feel bad; I should rejoice.
Maybe if I complain on here about his keeping the patio table my former mother in law gave me after saying he was just going to keep it until he got a dining room table will lead to him showing up randomly with my patio table. Here's to hoping for a shred of decency. Or, he can sit outside at his new place at one of the two patio tables with seating for ten and eat take out by himself. I can still be happy that it's not my problem any more.
Anyway, had to get that off my chest. Here is some proof that I have been living, not just ruminating about what Picky's family thinks of me:
S loves talking about Mexican food for some reason, but it seems like whenever I make it, he only eats a little bit. He loves talking about tacos. In fact, he is dressing up like a taco this Halloween. I'm not kidding. Well, I made these shrimp tacos the other night, since Z has trouble chewing the steak in the steak ones I love to make. They were a huge hit.
Here is a favorite breakfast for Z. He asked for it on his birthday. It's nothing fancy, but it reminds me of my childhood. I love it that he loves it. Bananas, peanut butter, and honey:
The weather is getting beautiful. The kids and I love to eat outside, and now that Picky isn't here to object, we get to do it whenever we want. It's wonderful, even if we have to push some cheap folding tables together. I made this cajun catfish with browned butter the other night, and it was scrummy:
I was so proud of myself last Sunday. I posted on Facebook that I deserved a mother of the year award. I made baked French toast for breakfast, folded three loads of laundry, put together my new vacuum / steamer and vacuumed the house, took the kids out for a picnic lunch in a park, and we played ball there and went on a nature walk, made THREE dinners from scratch - one for that night and two for the week, and built a fort with Z. Picky blew it off saying I thought I was mother of the year for just cooking and doing laundry, but I am confident that I did more in one day as a parent than he could pull off in a month. Two months if it was football season, or if a new video game just came out. And, I got the added bonus of not having to do anything but heat up dinner all week, and we had delicious, homemade food.
Here was the most popular meal from the week - chicken and pasta with artichoke, peas and lemon:
And finally, even though I said I wasn't going to talk about Picky any more, I was pretty perturbed that he complained that I wrote about "hating his family" on my food blog. I didn't say I hated them. I said I was upset at how I was treated surrounding food, especially considering the fabulous meals (and endless creme brulee!) I made for them without complaining. Just scroll through the posts on here and check it out. But, since I already vented about it on this post, I might as well finish it off with a laugh. I was in the ER this week to admit a patient, and I saw someone's snack sitting in one of the employee areas. I will most likely never get to cook for Papa Picky again, but if I do get the honor, I think I will hook him up with something like the spread I saw in the ER:
I questioned putting this up, but then I realized he has always treated me with barely concealed hostility, almost since the day he met me. I can continue to cower and be afraid, and listen to his family members telling me how it's my fault and I deserved to be cursed at and treated like dirt on the bottom of his shoe, or I can be Almost Healthy about it and have a good laugh.
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