Listerine & Vinegar - Great for Feet, Terrible Cocktail

As many of you know, the relentless pursuit of maternal perfection occasionally necessitates a bit of temperance, just to keep the momentum fresh. During that short, almost undetectable, period of time, I will turn my attention ever so slightly to a personal, cultural interest, which, truth be known, really ultimately benefits the children anyway, if I'm being completely honest with myself.

Anyway, as I was perusing Pinterest, I found this recipe for a homemade Listerine foot bath/pedicure. Apparently, the chemical reaction of the vinegar and Listerine is somehow magically calibrated so as to melt away dead flesh like corrosive battery acid while at the same time caressing, with angel-kiss tenderness, the supple skin underneath. It sounded a bit ambitious, but because my feet look like this: 

What did I have to lose?

I soaked some socks in vinegar and Listerine and wore them while making work calls/chair-dancing to 80s music videos. I accidentally left them on about half an hour longer than planned because my three-year-old woke up from her nap demanding food and beverage service.  After I peeled off the socks, I performed a bit of wartime torture on my feet with a medieval looking device known in extremist pampering circles as a pumice stone.

 

Then I slathered on this stuff that I'd probably gotten as a bridesmaid gift somewhere along the way. I am choosing to regard the color as that of "fire-roasted island coconut" and not as what is more immediately recognizable to me as the combination of weeknight Boone's Farm and regret.

In the end, I did detect some improvement in the condition of my foot skin. It's hard to tell whether the Listerine made much difference. I kind of suspect that the real champion here is the pumice stone, which I sawed against my heel like I was trying to start a fire.  Either way, my feet smelled delicious.  And tasted even better!  ;)

Reason to Pant

One of the things I like to do since having kids is try to stay somewhat in shape.  Just a shade more specific than "vaguely recognizable as a human" shape, which is what I was going for before I had kids.

I really don't like to run unless there's a fleeing ice cream truck involved, but I do it anyway because (1) it's free, (2) it requires virtually no equipment, (3) it is accessible almost anywhere and in almost any condition, and (4) it gets me out of diaper changing duty for 30 minutes to an hour.  

I would forgo (1)-(3), if I could just get (4).  I've tried baths.  Does not work.  

The Couch to 5K program fits the bill for someone who is a beginning runner or an inconsistent runner, like me. You will routinely catch me in Week 1 of the program, having advanced and regressed alternately over the course of several months. I graduated to the Bridge to 10K program once in the last three years, so it doesn't feel completely futile.  I have found that paying a $35 entry fee coupled with some meaty humble-bragging to anyone who will listen that I entered a 10K serves as great motivation to persevere in a training program that I would otherwise scrap for an Always Sunny in Philadelphia marathon.


So, if I can coax myself out of bed before my husband leaves for work, I will run for exercise that morning.

Then, riding on the high of having achieved something any grade school kid accomplishes every day at recess, I will cap off the day with a little body weight floor exercise while watching Downton Abbey.  I'll do some girl push-ups, some triceps dips, some lunges, some squats, a few seconds of a solid plank. Then I will do this floor routine from an old Jane Fonda video that I memorized during that coming of age transition between 8th grade and high school. It consists of outside leg lifts, inside leg lifts, back leg lifts, crunches, a snappy attitude and a hidden agenda.

I do all this while my husband eats chips, reclines in the rocker, and critiques my form.

Not Suitable for Husbands (or anyone with discernible taste buds)

Tonight, I tested the vows of my marriage during our family dinner by substituting turkey for beef and cauliflower for potatoes.  

It all started when I called for my family in a fashion of what I hoped would be regarded as ordinary.  I was aiming somewhere between casual and indifferent.

With his plate protectively guarded against his chest, my husband first examined the counterfeit replacement vegetable like a coroner searching for defensive wounds. Then, with the painstaking precision normally reserved for such endeavors as brain stem surgery or nuclear bomb dismantling, he gingerly sampled a microgram of the substance, which confirmed his suspicions that the mushy white matter was indeed inedible--bordering on fatally poisonous. Then, with no further ceremony, he swiftly and resolutely retracted his fork away from the offending dish and advanced toward the peas.  No apology was offered; none was expected.

My three-year-old, bound by the "make a happy plate" clause of the "so you will grow big and strong" contract, calculated that paying the damages in an early bedtime outweighed the cost of compliance. In the end, she managed to strike a "three more bites" plea which commuted her sentence to time served.

The baby and I finished our portions happily, with disparate degrees of sincerity.  Me, with the maniacal defiance of a cornered pit bull.  Her, with an underdeveloped sense of taste.

Actually, I exaggerate. But I later learned that you have to steam the cauliflower for quite a while before it will be soft enough to mash to the proper consistency. (I had given it somewhere around ten minutes.  Next time, I'll try twenty.)  And then it must be seasoned and creamed to reduce the chances of cauliflower detection, although the more judicious of the vegetable opponent community will not likely be fooled. 

The turkey meatloaf tasted fine, but it isn't as hardy as its bovine cousin, so we were a little thrown by having to use a spoon to scoop our meat.  

The foregoing description, coupled with my limited photographic skills, paint a poignant picture.  But, in all honesty, I had a generous second helping of everything, and the baby ate better than she had in days. 

And yes, I use paper plates for every meal.