Saturdays…when we get s$@t done.

Saturday mornings, our routine is this:

5:00 a.m.: Hear our child (Beebs), start to chatter. Husband (J) gets up to go for his long run and makes coffee. Beebs stays in her room, undisturbed.

5:15 a.m.: Beebs gets a little bit more animated, but still seems happy. I remain in bed, Oxford, the petulant old-man cat, nestled up against my leg.

5:30 a.m.: J leaves for the lakefront to run. Beebs is still chattering away. I continue to lay in bed, attempting to not remember what it was like to sleep past 5 a.m., but remembering and feeling ohsosad.

5:31 a.m.: Beebs starts to cry, and my resolve to leave her in her room until 6 a.m. is shatter. I drag myself out of bed, disturbing the cat, shaking out the cobwebs from my brain, and plod down the hall for our first-born.

Sigh. My life is so so so different. Saturday mornings start with an early wakeup, and our big outing of the day is to the grocery store. Generally, I meal plan and make lists on Friday evening so we are all set. My life needs lists for EVERYTHING otherwise I remember NOTHING.

We go grocery shopping AFTER J gets back from his run, showers, and has breakfast. He goes early enough that we can be out of the door between 9:30 a.m. and 10 a.m. Not too shabby.

I try to get breakfast ready for J as soon as he’s done with his shower. (What’s great is that he does the same on the mornings I do my long run. We like to scratch each other’s backs like that. He’s pretty much the best.) This morning, it was a garbage omelet. Garbage means I take all the produce I can salvage from the week before and throw it in with some eggs. Lucky us, there was bacon left, so that went in with some green pepper, chopped green onions, and swiss cheese.

For lunch, I try to think of something kinda fun that we don’t eat all week. Today, I adapted this recipe, which I have made before and thoroughly enjoyed, but wanted to slightly change it. I subbed out the red pepper sauce for pesto and eliminated the basil leaves. Not too shabby! I cheated and used the pesto from Trader Joe’s, but pesto is really, really easy to make. I use the Mark Bittman recipe when I feel so inclined.

So, here we are, 1:04 p.m., and I think it’s family nap time. Beebs, the notorious non-napper, has fallen asleep despite the massive construction on the building next to ours, and there is a slight break before the next World Cup match.

Until next Saturday!

 

 

Hello. (An introduction of sorts.)

Hi there. I’m Amanda.

 

I live in Chicago with my husband, our daughter, and our grouchy old-man cat. I have a proper day job, but I also have a passion for all things food. I’m a runner too. Mostly because I love food. More miles means more cheeseburgers, right?

About six years ago or so, I started really enjoying spending time in the kitchen. I had started dating a new guy that enjoyed food as much as I did. We started going out to eat, and I started trying new things. I decided that I wanted to try making new things in my own tiny, ill-equipped kitchen.  I would get home from work and lose myself in chopping, stirring, and tasting. Gone were the papers on my desk, the voicemails to address, I was just a girl in my apron, making a GIANT mess, usually with a glass of wine or two. If I was lucky, I was able to serve it to this sweet guy. If I was REALLY lucky, he’d do all of my dishes. (Spoiler alert: I’m really lucky.)

Eventually, that guy and I got hitched, I gained some proper kitchen equipment, and I started embarking on slightly more complicated recipes. I became bolder in my deviations from the standard recipe. I became one of those people that EYEBALLED things. Measuring? Only if I’m baking, thank you.

Well, about six months ago, I had a baby and my life changed drastically. (Duh, right?) Gone were those leisurely evenings after work of stirring, sipping, and leisurely enjoying a lovely dinner with my husband at the end of a long day under the watchful eye of our creep of a cat. Now there is child retrieval. Snuggle/laugh time. Baths. Bedtime stories. Bedtime that is just too early, but necessary. Nursing. Washing of bottles and pump parts. Wait. WE FORGOT TO EAT DINNER. I became one of those people who forgot to eat or that ate cereal for dinner. I realized pretty quickly that I needed to get organized.

Grocery shopping lists gave way to menu planning. Menu planning lead to more intense searching of simple, healthy, and easy recipes. Freezer-ready meals became more appealing. The crockpot moved to a more accessible place in the kitchen. Saturdays and Sundays were devoted to grocery shopping and cooking for the week.

Basically, I became a mom. I use my crockpot for stuff other than Velveeta-based party tips, go to bed at 9:30 p.m., and refer to my 20-something neighbors as “those kids.”

That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a lovely meal. So here I am, trying to figure out how to embrace motherhood AND the occasional risotto.

Cheers.