Calling a Vegetable a Vegetable

Last weekend I made a new recipe.  I'd come across it weeks ago via that Tasty thingamajig- you know, the high-speed videos of dishes being prepared that your mean, mean friends purposely share on social media at the times when you're absolutely starving?  That.

This was a relatively healthy meal, and it looked so good, and simple, and I was just sure that our whole family would find it ever so delicious, and also?  I am a schmuck.

That in itself isn't exactly news, so I'll be more specific:  I am a schmuck who is repeatedly taken in by claims like, "This healthy thing tastes exactly like that other not-so-healthy-but-oh-so-tasty thing!  Pinky swear!"  Then I have the gall to be astonished when cauliflower doesn't taste like fried rice.  Of course it doesn't taste like fried rice; it's cauliflower!  

I knew things were going awry when I was cooking the not-rice in the pan and it smelled like cauliflower.  I thought that perhaps the cauliflower would stop smelling so much like cauliflower as it neared the end of the cooking process, or maybe once I added the eggs and the soy sauce.  I mean, yes, the post was titled "Cauliflower Fried Rice," but the guy says, "Oh-ho, yes!" after scooping up a forkful of the False Rice.  I made the mistake of believing "Oh-ho, yes!" meant "My taste buds are enjoying this!" or even just "This doesn't taste like a bowlful of cauliflower!" because, as we've established, I am a chump.

I'm fine with healthy foods as long as they're marketed as the honest, healthy food they are.  I love spaghetti squash, but I'm not going to tell you it tastes like spaghetti, because it doesn't, because it's not.  It's not pasta.  It's a vegetable, and that is okay.

Thankfully, after everyone had eaten all the steak out of their cauliflower bowls- which Derek manfully polished off, because he will eat pretty much anything if I have cooked it and has since the day we married, because he has the wisdom of Solomon- husband then made the most divine grilled cheese sandwiches I have ever tasted in my entire life.  Now, the man is a superior grilled-cheese-maker (a specific brand of Italian bread + thinly sliced deli Provolone + butter + garlic salt + a dash of Derek), but I think it was the contrast between cauliflower and cheesy, salty, buttery goodness that did it.

The remainder of the Cauliflower Fried Rice was unceremoniously dumped in the trash that evening, but I'm thinking I should've stashed some in the fridge to taste before each meal.  Imagine how good Ranch-Style Chicken would be after a little cauliflower, oh, or chocolate chip cookies!  Our kids are going to love this new family mandate!  I know exactly how they'll react to the news.

I'm Too Tired to Come Up With a Creative Title

I don't know how much sleep I got last night.  I do know that I went to bed a little after ten pm and got up at 6:40 am.  I also know that my son woke me up countless times last night, yelling and crying.  I say 'countless' because I stopped counting after I got up the seventh time.

As a result, I'm tired today.  Eyes burning every time I blink tired.  Keep crashing heavily into furniture because my balance is really off tired.  Having trouble making my keep-me-sane start-of-day list tired.  Takes me a full minute to answer a simple question because my cognitive processes are so delayed tired.

After getting our older son his breakfast (the younger slept in- proof that God's mercies really are new every morning), I slowly made my way up the stairs to change and wash up.  After getting dressed, I stumbled into the bathroom, squeezed toothpaste onto my toothbrush.

About fifteen seconds into my teethbrushing, I realized something was amiss.  I wasn't sure what.  I get really stupid when I'm tired, so I looked vaguely around me, trying to figure out what was going on.  There was some small part of my brain trying to communicate something important to me, but I couldn't quite decipher the message.  I continued to brush in a sluggish fashion, my eyes wandering around the bathroom, looking for inconsistencies.

Finally, a thought made it through the fog:  My toothpaste sure tastes funny this morning.

After that thought had made its way ever so slowly to my hand, I pulled the toothbrush out of my mouth.  I stared at it stupidly.  Something was wrong with the appearance of it, I just knew it.  What color is my toothpaste supposed to be?  Hmmm.  Oh, yes, that's right- white.  My toothpaste is white.  Okay, what color is that stuff on my toothbrush right now?  Let's see.  It's not white.  It's... yellow.  So what's wrong here?  Ummm... white is not the same as yellow.  No, no, wait.  There should be white stuff on my toothbrush.  Not yellow stuff.  White.  So... yellow stuff on my toothbrush is not a good sign.

After this fun little internal dialogue, I turned my attention to the taste in my mouth.  In addition to the brilliant revelation of My toothpaste is white, I also came up with My toothpaste is minty.  I realized that my mouth did not taste minty.  It tasted... what was that?  Camphor?  Definitely something medicinal.

Let me go ahead and skip ahead to the part where I open the medicine cabinet to find out what's wrong with the toothpaste tube.  Let's likewise skip the part where I puzzle over the fact that the folks at Colgate have changed the name of their toothpaste to "A and D Ointment."  Let's also skip the laborious thought processes involved and the ridiculous amount of time it took to me to figure out that I had been brushing my teeth with the same ointment I slather on my children's nether regions when they have a diaper rash.

This little episode had one positive note: It shocked me awake.  I did my best to wipe all the ointment out of my mouth with a towel (because, man, that stuff really sticks to your molars), brush my teeth with actual toothpaste, and make the wise decision to stop storing the A and D Ointment right next to the toothpaste.

One hour in this everlasting, exhausting day down, half a billion to go.