And that's what I get for complaining....

   You know, Tuseday night I got on here to blog and thought to myself, “Man, I don’t have anything interesting to say. My life’s kinda boring when J’s not pulling some goofy crap like moving the car around the parking lot while I'm grocery shopping, and Monkey’s not going through any big life changes like sleeping in a big girl bed.”  Well, now I’m eating those words.

   Last night my husband and I were watching two girls who are friends with our daughter as a favor to their mother, who is our dear friend.  Things were going rather well; the girls were all outside playing with J while I was inside trying to put away the giant mass of food another friend of mine had dropped off for us.  She’s beginning a new revolutionary cooking routine that does not include processed foods, so we are the happy inheritors of all her baking goods and misc other items.  As I was putting them away I noticed a large puddle in our pantry.  Thinking Monkey had had an accident, I cleaned it up, grumbling all the way.  Then I walked myself outside to wrestle Monkey inside so I could change her pants.  When I got out there I was puzzled to find that Monkey hadn’t had an accident.  I knew it couldn’t be one of the other girls because the oldest is potty trained and the youngest is in diapers.  I then began wondering how long that puddle had been sitting there and shuddered at the thought.  Finally I shrugged it off and went back inside to cook spaghetti for the girls.  As I was collecting my ingredients from the pantry, I passed by another, larger puddle.  Confused, I looked at the dog, who looks guilty on a good day, knowing that this couldn’t possibly be her work.  She hasn’t had an accident in almost a year.  I walked myself back outside to reconfirm that Monkey was, in fact, dry.  At this point J is wondering why I keep coming outside to stare at our daughter’s butt and why I was not busy cooking.  So I explained to him, and he followed me inside, only to find a puddle right where I had just mopped up the last one.  

  

    Now, I have never heard of a drip pan, except for in passing, and I’ve never cleaned one or dumped one or could even locate one on our refrigerator, but never to be outdone by my husband, I immediately launched into a theory that the refrigerator must be leaking from the drip pan that I have never cleaned/dumped.  Obediently J pulled the fridge from the wall, only to reveal that my cleaning skills really are lacking.  But on a good note, we found all of Monkey’s alphabet magnets.  J mercifully began to clean the floor and diagnose the problem, while I shepherded the kids inside so that I could continue cooking dinner.  Keep in mind that these girls are now trapped in the living room after having the big backyard all to themselves, and my cooking area has now been reduced by about half thanks to the giant fridge sitting in the middle of my way.  Oh, and it was about 6:15, and the girls were getting hungry.  

   So as I was chopping onions and garlic, and browning meat, J was asking for a flashlight or a butter knife or some other tool, and I’m cringing, knowing that we live on base and if he tries to “fix” something and isn’t successful, then it would be our fault and I don’t know what that would all entail to fix correctly.  This is making me a bit snippy with J.  Then he tells me that it’s not the fridge (or my lack of fridge knowledge concerning the drip pan).  Apparently (and this is where he lost me a little) there are pipes in the wall that are setup weird and this weird setup breaks and leaks easily.  And now our tile floors are water logged where the fridge is sitting, b/c who knows how long it has been leaking before the floor couldn’t soak up anymore and it started running out into the middle of the kitchen and into the pantry.  Then I had an attack of mother’s guilt because I kept thinking “How many times were those puddles not a product of Monkey’s accidents?”  Maybe I’ve been blaming my kid for nothing, and now she’s going to have a complex that will cost me a bunch later when I pay for therapy.  And then I was angry with housing for costing me so much money on hypothetical therapy.  Meanwhile I was almost finished with dinner, and I was trying to set the table, but there was a giant fridge blocking me off from the kitchen.  This meant that I had to walk through the living room, around the hall, and into the kitchen to set the table.  Or I could squeeze through the 1/2 foot gap that was a available.  Being a sensible person, I squeezed myself through said gap.  Now, I am no skinny minnie, so it took a bit of maneuvering and a bit more time than my other route would have, but by George I got through, carrying three bowls of spaghetti too, I might add.  J looked up from what he was doing and said, “You know, I’m kind of impressed.”  

   So finally I managed to get the girls to sit down at the table and begin to eat.  Then I remembered that they needed something to drink.  One wanted milk, the other water, and the other just kept repeating what I was saying.  (She ended up with milk too.)  It took about three trips through the tiny crack.  I think my original voyage had widened it, or J had had sympathy and decided to widen when I wasn’t looking.  Either way, I was slipping through there a lot quicker.  

    At this point, J had already made his diagnoses, so I assumed this would mean he’d put the fridge back in its place and call housing in the morning to address the issue.  But   here he was, still behind the fridge.  I was getting a little nervous, thinking he was going to tear down the wall and fix the pipe himself.  When I mentioned that he shouldn’t take it upon himself, he scoffed saying, “Aundraya!  I wouldn’t do that myself!  I don’t have the right tools.”  Well, thank God for that, at least.  So then I’m standing there, waiting for the refrigerator to go back into his place, and it’s not moving.  J comes out from behind the fridge and starts cleaning!  Okay, I’m not ungrateful.  I love when my husband cleans, but not when I need him to restore order to my kitchen! Finally fed up with maneuvering through the tiny crack and getting increasingly move hungry, I finally spit out, “Would you just move the damn fridge?”  (I know, not one of my finer moments.) And my darling J, understanding man that he is, just grinned at me and said, “I love you.  You’re a good Mommy and a great wife.”  Soothed, I rolled my eyes and helped him move the fridge back into its place.  After shoving some towels under there we sat down to enjoy my tweaked spaghetti recipe, while listening to the three girls chit chat amongst themselves.  

    Then J and the girls retired to the living room for a movie while I busied myself cleaning up my kitchen and peace and normalcy was restored.  And that’s what happens when you complain that you have nothing to blog about.

   Oh, and when my dear friend came to pick up her girls, she informed me that there is a 24-hour emergency number for housing, in case of these after hours issues.  Well, imagine that.

    As I said I tweaked my spaghetti recipe, so you can check it out here.  I’m also going to share a quick and easy recipe for Blackened Tilapia Hoagies.  These were super quick, and yummy with out that heavy filling you get from hamburgers or a poboy.

 What you'll need:

4 Tilapia fillets
Old Bay Blackening Seasoning
1 Tbs Olive oil
Lettuce
Tomato
4 Hoagie Rolls


Simply season each fillet with about 1/2 tsp blackening seasoning.  Then heat the oil in a skillet over medium heat.  Add the fillets and cook about 2-3 minutes per side or until cooked through.  Meanwhile toast your bread if desired.  Serve topped with lettuce, tomato, or whatever you want.

Monkey's pink plate.

    Well I think that's enough excitement for one evening.  Y'all have a good night :-)