Thinking about Thickeners

What are xanthan gum and high fructose corn syrup doing in my balsamic vinaigrette?

I pondered this after a recent bout of label browsing ... something I'll admit to almost never doing.

Aside from the HFCS providing a bit of sweetness to my salad lubricant (I'm guessing, also, a preservative quality?) it and its gum pal add something intriguing: TEXTURE.

Which led me to think about all the "goo" we use to make things tasty. The cream sauce over the chicken has to be think enough to stick to the top and pile onto the plate, not zoom around the rim, attempting an escape. The dressing must sit ON the lettuce, rather than filtering to the bottom where one must either discard the remainder or slurp it up indelicately.

Soup, unless it be the broth-around-lumps type (ie: french onion, chicken noodle), must be thick enough to stick to the spoon and easily make the trip to the face.

Melted butter would saturate a few popcorn pieces on the way down, creating a few soggy butter bombs amongst the fluffy goodness ... so we use coconut oil, etc., to make the goo stick but not soak.

All these thoughts led me to recall reading that toothpaste bubbles and tingly mint are absolutely extraneous; they don't mean cleaner teeth. We've become accustomed to the FEEL of them, hence we shy away from "paste" that is just that: paste. Same thing with bubbles in shampoo and soap. We feel cleaner if we have the foam.

All this random thought to say: perhaps if we changed the way we "needed" our products to behave, we could more easily change our food intake and consumption of chemical-based home and personal care products.

Slurp.

WTH Wednesday: I'm Just A Girl (What Do I Know?)

Ok, so I am trying really hard not to "go feministic" here.  Truly.  I generally don't have a "girls-can-do-anything-boys-can-do" chip on my shoulder. 

This is more of a red-faced, hopping up and down, shouting, "WHY DOESN'T ANYONE LISTEN TO ME?????" kind of rant. Have you visualized that tantrum? It's followed by a good ol' Charlie Brown "ARRRRRRGH!"

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I tell the mechanic on the phone: I know what's wrong.  I know where the leak is coming from.  What I don't know is how to explain it in automotive lingo.  So my description runs like this:

"Ok, so the guys who replaced my windshield a while back - I called them when water started leaking into my car.  I figured it was the windshield and they needed to fix it.  They came out, and when I showed them the location of the leak inside the car, they knew whatexactly the problem was; and it wasn't the windshield.  You open the hood, pull off some kind of shield thing, and under THAT is a rubber channel that's supposed to point the water away from the middle of the car to the side.  Only it came unglued, so the water ran straight into the car.  So they reglued it.  So it must be lose again. It leaks when it rains."

Silence.

"So your windshield is leaking? We don't do much with that."

"No. It's not the windshield.  It's leaking into the car from under where the windshield attaches to the car.  There's this strip under there..."

"What year is it?"

"2006 Impala."

"I've never seen anything like that in a 2006 Impala."

*crickets chirping*  

Really, what is the appropriate response to (the implied) "Since I'VE PERSONALLY never seen this issue, I doubt what you describe is REALLY the problem"? (again, if I was going to really rail here, I would ascribe something to his thoughts like, "silly girl - you know not the mysterious inner-workings of the automobile" ... but I'm resisting, remember?)

"Ok, well we'll take a look at it.  Phone number please?"

So I drop off the car.  The man at the desk is not the same person I spoke to ... so a bit of repetition on my part, followed by a blank stare.  I cross the street to the coffee shop.  I have some child-free time to read a few magazines and watch my Buschemi-esque grease monkey (that's an endeering term, right?) sleuth.

He opens the hood.  He peers into the car.  He pulls off all kinds of panel pieces.  He pulls up the carpet.  He puts it up on the lift (I had to Google that, by the way).  Although I rarely see him, I imagine he is puzzled, scratching various body parts and readjusting his hat frequently.  

I walk over and get a pedicure.  As the beautiful, fragrant bubbles caress my tootsies, I get a call.

"Mrs. Maize?"

"Yes."

"This is [insert shop name here]."

"Uh-huh."

"When did you say you had that windshield replaced?"

I try to dig back into my memory, all the while knowing the futility of this conversation.  He says he's not giving up, but he isn't quite sure what's "going on."

After two coats of "Chop-Sticking to My Story" and the requisite drying time, I head back to the shop.

I will truncate this story by saying: what I said was wrong? was wrong.  Only, in HIS defense, instead of the "thingy" being disconnected, it was merely inadequate; the water was running OVER it.  Directly into the air filter, which sits over the passenger's feet.  He proclaimed it a stupid design.  He couldn't believe it didn't have some kind of cover on it.  And his master plan was, amusingly enough, to make one out of duct tape.

I have no problem with that.  I love me some duct tape.

I HAVE A PROBLEM WITH HAVING TOLD THE MAN WHERE TO FIND THE SOURCE OF THE PROBLEM ... HOURS AGO.  $100 AGO.  THREE MAGAZINES AND A PEDICURE AGO.  

Am I alone here?

WTH Wednesday: Train Derailment

I call it my Daily Cadence.  The way my day goes.  Mostly it has to do with my internal life; the thoughts spinning about my cranium, arranging themselves any-which-way till I beat them into submission or brain-dump them onto paper.

Sometimes, it's also physical.  The pace of life.  The way we roll.  First we make the bed, then we get dressed...

When I say "we," I don't really mean My Hero.  I mean Mommy, Monkey and Manatee.  How we function day-to-day.  How we manage to get out of the house in the morning, how I manage to get dinner on the table most days and laundry done before it stinks (gah!).

The thing is, I talk to myself a lot.  Now that I live with people, my monologue has gone inward.  Which means I am the silent narrator.  I'm commenting on life in general, mixed in with planning next steps for the day, week, year.  What's for dinner? Did I say the right thing to Kelly today? Are these pants really worth trying to repair? ... all jumbled in there.

But then... horror of horrors: the constant, or at least predictable rhythm of interruption - the children.

Look, I don't expect my life to be silent and orderly.  I have kids.  I get that.  I also don't expect to complete all tasks without interruption with anyone else at home with me (including My Hero). What frustrates the POO outta me, though, is when I go an entire day without 1. finishing a task, or much worse 2. finishing a complete thought.  I call this "Train (of thought) Derailed" and it makes Mommy VERY, VERY cranky.

Example:  I have a "No Talking To Mommy When She's In The Basement" rule. Why? Because I have counted ... and I get anywhere from 2 to 4 minutes from hitting that last step until someone is at the top of the stairs.  Calling out Moooooooooommmy?  Mom?  Followed by a request (food), a tattle (he's climbing on the furniture) or a random question (where did we get the sandbox?).  ALL I WANT TO DO IS PUT THE DRY CLOTHES IN A BASKET AND THE WET CLOTHES INTO THE DRYER, PUSH ALL THE BUTTONS AND GO UPSTAIRS.  Why, oh why, can I not do this?

It's like the Phone Phenomenon, which I think was more an issue for OUR moms; as soon as Mommy is on the phone, the kids go nuts.  Why? Attention.  They either want the attention or they feel they can get away with things because Mommy is distracted.  Now in the age of emails and cell phones, I think part of that phone traffic has been reduced.  But the issue remains - for me it's "Look, Mommy's attempting to be productive.  How can I reassert my very being into that equation?"

Yes, my children are more important than the housework!!  But that doesn't mean I relish the derailment.  There are small windows in the day wherein the children are playing quietly, or alone, or at least not fighting, and I sit, motionless and hostage, afraid to rise.  Like right now.  I have a load of laundry in the washer as I type.  Kiddos are playing (together! a miracle!) with Connectagons in the parlor.  If I were to cross their lines of sight, I GUARANTEE I would get that same 2-4 minutes before SOMETHING would go TERRIBLY wrong ("MOMMMMMM!   He took all the RED ones!!!  He won't let me have ANY!").

So why am I writing this? What do you care?  Well, I guess it's nice just to put into writing.  Why some days I am completely frustrated and defeated and confused and irritated.  It's because I can't (yes, you can have that) get a complete (I think it's in the top drawer) thought out.  (NO, YOU DO NOT NEED TO WEAR A COAT TODAY, IT'S 90 DEGREES!!!!)

Am I alone here?

WTH Wednesday: Snackies

Snack snack snack

All day long

Snack snack snack

While I sing this song 
(with apologies to Adam Sandler, and you, dear reader, if you now have this song in your head.  What crap we listened to back in the day, eh?)


We just made it through a very looooong summer.  It was long because: 1. I have children  2. I have children  3. somewhere along the lines I ... birthed children.

Ok, so it wasn't THAT bad.  But we had daily disagreements on the following topics: 1. "don't annoy your brother" 2. "don't scream at your sister" 3. "go OUTSIDE" 4. "please wear SHOES outside" 5. "no, we are not watching television," and 6. "NO, you do NOT NEED TO EAT right now.  You just had  (insert meal
here).  Go play."

So now a break to pause and reflect on the Child Snack Culture.  If you're a Mommy, you know exactly what I'm talking about.  It was the first thing I heard about when we left my daughter's preschool: "What'd you do today?"  "We had a SNACK!" "uh huh. what ELSE did you do?"  Every day: The Snack Report.

We eat breakfast at 8:30.  Preschool: 9-11:30  We eat lunch at 12 ish.

Soccer: snack signups passed around at first meeting.  Soccer starts at 8:45 (we ate breakfast at 8).  Till 9:45.  Then, as kids leave the field, they grab a snack and a drink from the obedient parent volunteers and leave for home.

Gymnastics Camp: starts at 9, ends at 12.  We ate breakfast at 8:30. I am instructed by my daughter to be sure to bring a snack tomorrow ... "for after we're done."  As in, right before I pick her up.

Vacation Bible School: snack (THEMED, to boot).  Sunday School/Nursery: snack.  The extended care program for Kindergarten (two hours, tops, after the lunch I packed): snack.

According to the Pennington Biomedical Research Center:

"Snacks are important part of a child’s diet. It is important to understand that young children need more frequent meals than adults, and they need snacks between meals to support growth and development.  A mid-morning and a mid-afternoon snack can increase a child’s intake of dairy, fruits and vegetables.  When the snacks are planned, the child will most likely have a healthier snack. Also, having snacks will cut down on the feeling of hunger and less likelihood of overeating at mealtimes by going for second helpings." (emphasis mine)

I would love to increase my children's intake of nutrient-dense, low calorie (or even high fat, in terms of dairy) foods.  For them to be munching apple slices (sans the caramel dip, Puh-leaze), sesame sticks, organic yogurt (hold the hormones) or broccoli trees.  But in this over-processed, convenience-addicted, contaminate-paranoid, allergy-sensitive society, the snacks provided are shelf-stable carbs at best; dyes, HFCS and preservatives out the wazoo at worst.  Little Hugs? Cheetos?  Pudding from the shelf (as opposed to the cold, dairy section variety, which at least has a bit of redeeming nutritional content)?  "Rolled up sheets of fruit-flavored rubber that look suspiciously like wallpaper"? (Barbara Dale)

Look, I'm sympathetic to the snack idea.  It's a treat.  It's a bribe.  It's a break for the teacher/caregiver (BELIEVE ME, I'm sympathetic).  But an hour after they've had, hopefully, a nutritious, well-balanced meal at home? They can wait another 30 minutes.  Keep your Freezy Pop and pass the hummus, please.

WTH Wednesday: there should be a universal form for ... everything

I just returned from the pediatrician's office, where I paid $15 to have them fill out a medical form for me: you know - the one that says, "yes, my child is healthy and has had all her shots."  Similar to the one you need, say, to kennel your chihuahua.


Anyway, aside from the irritation of having to PAY for such a form (ok, I know, I'm paying for the physician's time in filling out the form, or signing it, or at least having the office staff make some unintelligible squiggles and STAMP the doctor's signature and office information at the bottom.  Whatever.),  I was thinking:  Every place that needs a form has a different form.  Daycare, camps, school, multiple sports and clubs... and EACH FORM IS DIFFERENT.

They want the same info.  From the same professionals/persons and/or parents.  And yet the forms are all different: Columns. Check boxes. Y/N.  Places for dates (or not).  Fronts and backs.  Fronts only.   Squished-up spaces.  Lots of room for notations.  30-yr-old fuzzy Xeroxed type.  Colored paper.  Crappy paper.  Neatly printed and updated-each-year.  Archaic fonts.  Crisp, new fonts .... etc.

So why isn't there a standard form?  If I want to donate my grandmother's full-length mink coat*, I might need to fill out IRS Form 8283 for my tax return next year**.  Why aren't there standardized, generic, regular forms for most, if not all, things?  With large, boldface titles and numbers at the top?

Think of it!  Need to have your family's contact info on file?  Just download and print Universal Form 348 and hand it in.  (Or better yet, fill it out online and email it to the party who desires it, who STILL might print it for ease of access).

Saved -- Time:  Picking up specific forms to be filled out (or having them mailed or emailed by someone), taking certain forms to be filled out by professionals (email them the form, they can fill out at any time, in any format) and returned to the interested parties.

Saved: (potentially) paper, stamps, the mailman's posture.

Saved: Office staffs' spit-laden fingers from leafing through stacks of mystery forms

Saved: Secretaries' dry, fluorescent-lighting-tired, squinting eyes from searching for a form's identifying feature before dealing with it appropriately.

Ok, I think I'm being Pollyanna about all this.  What happens when Business A doesn't need most of the information on Form 227?  (this is why you get a stack of forms in the clipboard, but only have to fill out the "highlighted sections" ... which, come to think of it, could also be done digitally, but I digress.)  What about Big Brother, watching over the intrawebs, waiting to snag your personal info as it goes hurtling through cyberspace?

Still, it seems like a workable idea to me.  Am I alone here?

* I do not have a full-length mink coat.  To my knowledge, none of my grandmothers ever did, either.
** If I DID have a full-length mink coat, I would not be donating it.

WTH Wednesday: Which part of TOXIN sounds good to you?

Ok, I get it. I am reading a women's magazine, therefore, there MAY be an inordinate concern with improving one's personal appearance. And aside from glancing at the fashion trends (really? sweater dresses are BACK??), I tend to avoid the section altogether. But this caught my eye: (Good Housekeeping August 2010)



OUCHLESS INJECTABLES
Skin plumping injections can hurt, so many doctors pre-anesthetize skin or add a numbing agent to the filler. But that means extra shots and wait time -- and a watering-down of the filler. Hence the new plumpers with lidocaine. One example: Juvederm XC (around $600 per syringe), a hyaluronic acid filler recently FDA approved for the treatment of moderate to severe facial wrinkles and folds. [...] (emphasis mine)

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Ok, I get it. It's your face; if you want to poke it and fill it and tattoo it and pierce it, you are SOOO allowed. You're a grown up, right? and you EARNED that money, right? (maybe).

But I'm sad. You earned those laugh lines. Those lines around your nose? Your great-grandma had those, too.

What about "botulism" and "neurotoxin" makes one say, "ooh, sign me up!"?

Why do you want to look like Nancy Pelosi? Steve Martin? (who caused me to actually STARTLE when I last saw him on screen).

I know we are an appearance-obsessed culture. I know that is not going to change. I know technology soldiers on, and we make use of what suits us. I know that "sex sells." I also know you can't make the logical leap I'm about to make.... how much cancer research could have been done in place of the strides in botulism? How many mouths could that $600-a-shot treatment feed?

I just sit and wonder, and really, feel sorry for, the person who says, yes, my $600 is well spent smoothing out this wrinkle (temporarily) as opposed to having the porch redone or heading to Maui or painting the church library or having new swings put in at the park or having food show up anonymously on someone's doorstep or having seat warmers installed in my car or having a life-sized canvas made of my dog ...

I just don't get it. Am I alone here?

WTH Wednesday: Rude or Not? Respond or Not?

So I was reading in Good Housekeeping, August 2010:

"The woman in front of you in the express lane has way more than 10 items. Do you point it out?" (There's a sampling of answers from readers, then the "official" answer from the advice columnist. The title of the page is "Good Advice: Everyday Manners".)

Answer One: "Yes. I would kindly say, 'You know what? Counting counts!'"
Answer Two: "No. There are more important things to worry about."
Answer Three: "Yes. I'd ask if she knew other registers take large orders."

Peggy, the "expert" says: "Yes. If you sense she might be receptive, say in a friendly tone, 'Excuse me; you probably don't realize this is an express line.' She'll either move or ignore you. If her items are already on the belt, say nothing. Or, if you have only one or two things, you could pleasantly ask to go ahead of her before her order is started."
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So I'm reading this, and I'm thinking ... When was the express lane invented? Could it be that its inception was based on a basic lack of civility? because we stopped noticing that someone behind us only had 3 things and we had a family-of-six-stocking-up-for-the-month cart? because we aren't friendly enough to ask, politely, if we might hop the line since we only have a few items? Did express lines come with the "super" market? I doubt they existed at the Five and Dime.

And honestly. "Counting counts!" Who SAYS that? How does one RESPOND to that? I am also wondering ... the two "yes's" came from a 66 and 54-year-old, successively. The "No" was from a 26-yr-old. Can I make any generational assumptions?

Look, I'm not saying it's not flat-out rude to take your cart full of stuffs to the "only 10 items" line. What I'm pondering is, truly: WHO GETS THIS BENT ABOUT SOMETHING LIKE THIS? And who, in the case of a near emergency ("I'm double-parked and my daughter is screaming because her mosquito bite is bleeding she's ripped it off and I need to get this cold pack and Benadryl out there, can I hop in front of you?") can't manage to ask, politely, to be shown priority? And isn't this something you go home and fume to your friends about ("this idiot woman in front of me with the coupons flying all over and writing a check and she had at LEAST 20 items in the EXPRESS LANE") instead of making a big deal about in the store?

I'm a big fan of the rules. Truly. I try to obey them. I just don't see getting so upset when someone ELSE doesn't follow them. Am I alone here?