I wonder how many well-intentioned vegans have been driven to meat by the Tofurky...

In a follow up to my previous post, I'll report on how Thanksgiving went with my aversion to eating things that had parents or things that come from things that had parents.

It all started well enough. I decided that instead of just sitting at the table eating green beans and rolls while everyone else told me how wonderful the turkey tasted, I'd go ahead and make myself a mock turkey out of tofu. I found a recipe, made a grocery list, and almost bought all of it.

B2 and I went to the grocery store together and in the produce section next to the tofu was a Tofurky... already packaged and stuffed for $12.99. Since the kitchen was going to be a bit monopolized, we figured this was a great alternative and we added it to the cart.

I also purchased the ingredients for a vegan pumpkin pie and made it along with the regular pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and Jello Heath Bar Pudding Pie (which I hear was fantastic). I even attempted a coconut whipped cream topping for it, but that failed miserably. I'll have to try it again some other time.

The good news is the vegan pumpkin pie was fantastic. I even forgot to add the brown sugar and it was still delicious.

The bad news is that it would take a vat of cranberry sauce and four more glasses of wine to make that Tofurky edible. I sincerely apologize to Turtle Island Foods who makes the Tofurky Roast, because I know they have the best of intentions and I'm sure they did their very best to make it taste as good as possible.

But it is not tasty. The Tofurky Roast, in fact, was the one thing this Thanksgiving that truly made me want to eat meat. I don't know if it would have been better if I had made my own stuffed tofu roast... but I tell you this, I'm a lot more hesitant to try after taking a couple of bites of that Tofurky. I would venture to say that the Tofurky is the reason a lot of vegans don't stay that way.

It wasn't just the taste... but the smell... I can't even describe it. You'd have to go out and purchase one and smell it yourself. And I don't recommend doing so.

I wasn't a perfect vegan on Thanksgiving. I did not eat the turkey or the gravy (though I'm sure that gravy would have improved the taste of my Tofurky), but I did have some of B2's amazing stuffed mushrooms that contained sausage and I had a generous helping of the stuffing that my brother-in-law soaked in chicken broth. It was delicious like you can't imagine. I ate B1's mashed potatoes that probably have my arteries clogging as I type this and they tasted heavenly and I even put some cool whip on top of my vegan pumpkin pie since my coconut whipped topping was a failure.  Baby steps.

I have a month to figure out how I'm going to handle Christmas (the food of choice for Christmas in my family is a standing rib roast, potatoes cooked in heavy cream and garlic, and asparagus smothered in Bearnaise sauce... we keep paramedics standing by) and I'll spend some of this month researching recipes that I can bring along with me to share. Perhaps a creamy butternut squash soup? We shall see.

The Spaz questions Thanksgiving, her morality, & cranberry sauce

Over the past several years I've been an on again, off again vegetarian, vegan, pescatarian, etc. I go back and forth, struggling with my morality and my love of cheese and my hatred of my ever expanding ass. In the end I always come back to the fact that I don't like the meat industry. I don't like any industry that causes harm to any living creature. 


So where am I now?

I'm not going to try to classify myself. I guess I'll just say I'm doing the best I can. I'm trying to be mindful of what I buy, what I eat, and what my role in it all is. I'm trying to be honest with myself.

And honesty isn't always easy, especially when it's yourself you have to be honest with.


Every once in a while someone recommends a documentary or a website or something that reinforces my decision to try not to contribute to these industries. Someone posts a link or talks about it in passing conversation and I think to myself... oh no, I'm going to watch this or read this and I'm going to have more information and more moral dilemma.


Most recently it was Food, Inc. and Forks Not Knives. Both of these are incredible films that really have opened my eyes to what I'm really feeding my family and myself. They're also both available on Netflix and I can't recommend them enough.


In this time in history, we have so much education about food and the reality of what goes on in the meat industry. We have a wealth of information right at our fingertips about everything, really. It seems irresponsible to just shut my eyes and buy a package of ground beef at the grocery store when I know that I'm really buying a package of cruelty.

I hear people reason with me... or maybe with themselves... about how industry standards have improved or the cow doesn't think like you and I do or how all those films are sponsored by radical groups like PETA.

The industry is one that kills animals. Let's be honest with ourselves. They're not bringing Bessie into a nice, calm barn after she's lived a happy life grazing in the field and giving her a sedative so she falls into a happy, dreamy sleep before she's painlessly euthanized far away from any other cows that might witness the deed.

It's slaughter. There's a reason why they call it a slaughterhouse. It's scary, it's painful, and it's ugly.

And I really don't want to be a part of that.

I type this in the wee hours of the morning on the day before Thanksgiving. A day when I'll attend family functions where more than one turkey will be served, perhaps a pig, an overload of dairy products and probably a few chicken or cow parts thrown around, too. There was even talk this year about getting a Turducken. That's right. Why just kill one animal for our glutenous celebration when we can kill three and tie them all together!

And I'll be a part of it this year. I can't save the turkey that's being served at my in-law's or the one that's being served at my mom and dad's house. They're both already purchased and defrosting in a sink somewhere as I type.

This year I'll make pies. Pumpkin, Pecan, and Chocolate. And they'll contain evaporated milk and eggs and whatever they put in those Pillsbury refrigerated pie crusts.*  We'll top them with whipped cream and everyone will be joyous and merry.


What will I eat? I don't know. Perhaps I'll try to pick around and do the best I can with my options. Maybe I'll try to make a vegan pumpkin pie and top it with some coconut whipped cream. Perhaps I can find a couple of side dishes that aren't accented with bacon or heavy cream or cheese or italian sausage. There's a slim chance. I can have cranberry sauce, right? Or I might just have a couple of glasses of wine and dig in.



Maybe I'll try to bring a couple of vegan things along with me and hope that my family will give them a try and maybe, just maybe, not ridicule me too much for being "such a hippie" or just plain difficult.


It's not just outside of the home that I feel like I'm fighting the battle. It's within my own home, too. The Man is opposed to eating anything that doesn't involve things that had parents. Sure, he'll choke down a salad before his steak as long as it's got some creamy dressing, parmesan cheese, and bacon bits. He'll eat broccoli covered in melted cheddar. Asparagus? Bring on the Bearnaise sauce!


And the kids think they're being punished if they don't have cheese pizza, macaroni & cheese, grilled cheese, or cheeseburgers on a regular basis.


It's a constant battle. With the people I love and with myself.  The last time I really went for a long stretch without meat, I cried because I wanted a hot dog so badly it hurt. Of all the things in the world, it was a hot dog that broke me.


So I'll try again. I'll do my best and if I fail I'll just pick myself up and try again.


Happy Thanksgiving, y'all. I truly hope you have a wonderful day filled with family and friends and laughter and love and all that makes a holiday wonderful. I know I will.


*Partially Hydrogenated Lard - mmmmm... pig fat pie. I can't wait!

Mom and Dad wanted to say something

A bit of dialog from the first evening with my mom and dad after they've returned from their North Carolina home:

Mom: Beth? You know how you write about things you don't like? Well I want you to write about something. I want you to write about shampoo bottles. Why don't they write it really big on the bottle? I want it to say SHAMPOO in really BIG letters!

Me: So you don't wash your hair with conditioner?

Mom: YES!

Dad: No, you know what you should write about? How hard it is to find cranberry juice. Just plain cranberry juice. I ended up getting some blend of three different juices. At least it was all juice.

I'm so glad my mom and dad are home again. I missed them so much. :)

So much more than just praying hands

When I was a little girl I spent a relatively decent amount of time at my Grandma and Granddaddy's house. My Granddaddy was one of my favorite people in the whole world. He was always happy to see me and always had time for me. Even though he had 10 other grandchildren to love, whenever I was with him I felt like I was his whole world.

Granddaddy, much like my own dad, was a big story-teller. Being Catholic, my grandparents had a little statue of praying hands sitting on a side table in their living room.

I didn't know they were praying hands. I didn't know much about them at all, actually, so one day while Granddaddy sat peeling potatoes at the dining room table I asked him what that statue was.

Granddaddy smiled and told me a story of two brothers. The two brothers came to this country, poor as could be. They came here on a boat from a country far away and their dream was to make it in America.

Those brothers struggled at first. They were poor, hungry, and looking for work. They had no place to live and were dirty and slept out in the cold. In time, they both found jobs and worked hard to make something of themselves. They helped each other and before long, they both had successful businesses and homes that were warm and clean. They each got married to beautiful girls and had children who became great people.

In the end of the story those two brothers were so proud of themselves that they gave each other a high five. And that's what that statue was, their high five.

When Granddaddy died I was barely 9 years old and he was the first person I had ever known to die. It was unbelievable to me that he was gone forever. No more trips to Cumberland Farms to pick out ice cream from the cold case, no more being thrown on the bed over and over again until poor Granddaddy was exhausted but still did it "one more time" just to make me laugh, no more sitting in his lap as he watched one football game on the television and had another on the radio, no more of his stories, smiles, or laughter.

I remember so clearly my dad telling me that Granddaddy had died. We were sitting in my mom and dad's bedroom and I stared at him blankly and said "Okay" and left the room.

I went into my sister's old bedroom, which had been turned into a guest bedroom at the time and I sat on the bed with my back to the door and stared out the window. My mom came in and said "Honey, it's okay to cry."

But I couldn't cry. I couldn't even fathom it being a reality that he was gone.

Days later, after the funeral, my Grandma sat me down and gave me those hands. "Granddaddy wanted you to have these."

It was then that I cried.

I still have those hands, over 28 years later. They went with me to multiple apartments in college, home again, to my first home, and now to our home here. And every time I look at them I smile and remember his story.

The Spaz checks the calendar a few times and freaks the hell out

Last night as I was letting the dog out for his before bed pee, I looked upon our 4 bedroom, 2 bath ranch house with the minivan parked in the driveway and thought to myself "Holy crap, I'm a grown-up."

It's true. I really can't deny the fact that by my age I should be a grown-up. The odd thing is that I don't really feel any older than I did 10 years ago. I honestly just feel dumber and more frazzled.

Because it's true what they say about the older you get, the more you realize you don't know. 10 years ago I thought I had it all figured out. But the last decade has gone by so fast I feel like I should be nauseous from the ride.

I don't have a damn thing figured out.

In just a few months I'll be turning 35. I had to count back to make sure that was right, because it doesn't seem like it should be. 35 sounds like someone who should be accomplished, know where she's going, have a plan, a retirement fund, and an expensive watch.

Not I, my friend. Not I.

I'm nervous that the last 10 years have gone by so quickly, that the next 10 years might sneak by even faster and I could quite possibly still be sitting here with no accomplishments (besides the fact that I will then have raised three children to adulthood, hopefully with at least some mild success), have no idea where I'm going, no plan, no retirement fund, and most importantly, no expensive watch.

35 years old, y'all. What the hell?

The Spaz speaks out for moms EVERYWHERE!

From: Domestic Spaz (beth@domesticspaz.com)
To: info@draftfcb.com
Subject: Windex Commercials - here's a FREE advertising pitch from a real mom

Message:

To Whomever Decided It Was A Good Idea To Show A Mom Cleaning Up After Her Entire Family:

I'm a real mom of three kids in a messy house. I buy Windex. Never once has picking up a spray bottle of Windex Multi Surface ever caused time to stop so that I could merrily go around cleaning up all of the messes my family makes before they even hit the ground. In fact, the idea that it's the mom's job to clean up all the messes in the house is so overdone and irritating that it has caused mothers from around the country to convene on facebook and discuss how irritated we are with your ridiculous commercial.

And really? A commercial where a lazy ass man sleeps in a lounge chair while his wife washes the windows? Who runs this ad agency? Mr. Cleaver?

When y'all decide to run a commercial where those irritating birds look through the window to see a 15 year old kid saying "I use Windex Multi Surface cleaner to clean up all the sticky and nasty messes my self-entitled and irresponsible ass makes in the house that my mom and dad work their tails off to pay for. I love using it so much I think I'll clean up the rest of the house and still have time to do my homework and empty the dishwasher!"... well THAT'S when I and mothers across America just like me will be flocking to the stores to buy your products.

Sincerely,
Beth Hubbard
aka Domestic Spaz






PS: Upon further research, I discovered that DraftFCB no longer holds the SCJohnson (the makers of Windex) account. Ogilvy & Mather currently holds the Windex account. Perhaps their ads will be less misogynistic. :)

Are you listening to Ego Leonard?

In this house, we tune into all things that have anything to do with LEGOs. Our house is LEGO aplenty. Goober loves his LEGOs like I love a nice chardonnay and a hot bubble bath. They're his happy place.

So when I heard that an 8 foot LEGO man washed ashore in Siesta Key, I had to check into it.

What I found was a website for Ego Leonard.  I absolutely can't wait to share him with Goober when he gets home from school today. 

I would like to introduce myself:


My name is Ego Leonard and according to you I come from the virtual world. A world that for me represents happiness, solidarity, all green and blossoming, with no rules or limitations.


Lately however, my world has been flooded with fortune-hunters and people drunk with power. And many new encounters in the virtual world have triggered my curiosity about your way of life.


I am here to discover and learn about your world and thoughts.


Show me all the beautiful things that are there to admire and experience in your world. Let’s become friends, share your story with me, take me with you on a journey through beautiful meadows, words, sounds and gestures.

And all I can think is... Ego Leonard knows what's up. Ego Leonard has the right idea. Ego Leonard is awesome.

We all have a lot to learn from Ego Leonard. As far as I can tell, thank you Google, Ego Leonard was created by artists. Possibly these artists? Or maybe these artists?

Or maybe some other ones? I'm sure the mystery will be solved by someone with more investigative ability than myself. But just as is my opinion on how the heavens and earth came to be, my opinion on how Ego Leonard came to be is that it doesn't really matter. It's more important to figure out what he's trying to tell us. And, in my opinion, Ego Leonard is trying to tell us this:

You're doing it wrong.

Fifth Grade is when the mean girls claws come out...

Today Munchkin and I ran into a local pizza place to grab a few pizzas and there was a girl about Munchkin's age sitting with her mother waiting for their order. The girl said hi to Munchkin twice and Munchkin turned her nose up and solidly ignored her. After the second time I turned to her and said "Aren't you going to say hello?"

Munchkin gave me a look that meant "Be quiet, Mom!"

When we left the restaurant I pressed her further. I was fully anticipating having to admonish her for being rude.

"What was up with that? Why wouldn't you say hi to that little girl?"

"She's MEAN to me at school, Mom. She calls me names. She's a mean girl."

Now, Munchkin is slightly younger than the rest of her class and she may be a little bit immature even for her age. Her birthday is in August so she started kindergarten when she was just barely 5 years old so most of her peers have all had at least a few months on her. When I look back on it, I always think I should have probably kept her in Montessori school for one more year before she started kindergarten, but that's just one more of those parenting decisions I can't change now.

So I think she might be a little more susceptible to bullying from more mature girls. She's in 5th grade now and, let's face it, girls are just learning to be catty and mean at her age. To top it off, Munchkin is sensitive. She doesn't let things roll off her back very well so she's probably a fabulous target for a practicing mean girl looking to get a reaction.

So how do I toughen up my little girl? How do I teach her to ignore those mean girls and understand that everything they say is only to make themselves feel better because they have their own problems with self-esteem? Bullies just really, really suck.

Children are a treasure...

There are some days when having children is a blessing. Days when you get to wake them up from their beds and they're groggy and smell like sleep and they smile at you. Days when you get to teach them something new and watch the wonder in their eyes. Days when you can just relax and watch them happily play at a park, without a care in the world. Days when you watch them accomplish something great and days when you realize you're doing a great job raising them.

Today is not one of those days.

Today is one of the days when I wonder what I was thinking when I allowed myself to get pregnant once, and twice, and thrice.

It begins with the sinus pain brought on by seasonal allergies. Today they were so bad that my teeth hurt from the pressure and I had to just lie down and close out the world. Children don't like to be closed out, though. There were nerf gun fights and Munchkin's ear piercing screams when she got shot in the eye by a nerf dart. Seriously, how do 10 year old girls even make that high pitched of a noise? There were children searching in vain for kittens that didn't want to be found and fighting over them once they were found. But eventually, some twist of fate smiled upon me (it's name was Claritin) and the pressure subsided allowing me to rise from the darkness and attempt to take on parenting again.

After a couple of hours of child neglect, I was confronted with milk filled cereal bowls and general mayhem around the house. Nothing had been done. No homework, no chores, nothing. And when I expressed my discontent, I was greeted with whining and gnashing of teeth. Being a mother is a thankless job.

Bug is overwhelmed with his homework and wants all of us to know all about it. He goes from maniacally throwing papers to the ground in an angry rage, to crying, to just plain ignoring the fact that he even has homework. If one of his siblings gets near him while he's attempting to do it, he threatens their life. I don't really know how to help him and I wonder if it's time to take him to a doctor to prescribe him something. We've cut out almost all preservatives and artificial colors, aside from what he gets at school, but it doesn't seem to have been helping him with his anger issues. The homework will always be hard, but his inability to deal with it in any sort of normal manner is the real problem.

It's always difficult to know how to make the best decisions for your children.

Operation Kitty Liberation Day

Today is Operation Kitty Liberation. Today is the day I set the kittens free. Free to roam about the house, that is.

Since we got Mordecai and Rigby, they've been contained to the Master bedroom and bathroom. They're so little that I've been worried they would get lost somewhere or caught between the cushions of the couch or fall down the crack between the bunk beds and the wall.

With good reason, too. Just last week Rigby got himself lost in the few minutes we let them roam around the house to show them off to my brother-in-law, E. After a good ten minutes of attempting to locate the source of the muffled cries we heard from the general location of our TV viewing area, we realized he had gotten himself trapped inside The Man's theater style chairs.

The Man was on his way home from work at the time and I very much wanted to rescue Rigby before he arrived home as I was sure I would hear crap from him about how the cats were running around and getting into things. E was belly down on the floor attempting to pull Rigby out of a tiny little hollow in the chair by his tiny little paw, when we heard The Man walk in.

"Everybody act natural!" E cried out as The Man walked in and saw his chairs tipped on all sides and the family room torn apart.

It's always an adventure at the Spaz house.

So I wanted to keep them safe in the bedroom where the worst they could do was climb to the top of the closet (and encourage Goober to climb to the top and retrieve them, causing the entire shelf and rod to fall out of the wall... taking bets on how long it will take for that to be repaired), but when I settled in for a nice bubble bath the other night and found tiny little flecks of kitty litter suspended in my cucumber-melon scented bubbles, I decided it was time for the kittens to explore the rest of their natural habitat.

So far they're enjoying the space to roam. They're chitter-chattering at the birds outside through the windows, taking Superman sized leaps and bounds from one flat surface to another, and enjoying the giant expanses of open space to run maniacally from one end of the house to the other.

I see broken glass and spilled liquids in my future.