suburban kamikaze

Chicken pot lie

It is a longstanding tradition here at Suburban Kamikaze to begin every Thursday with a confession.

Ok, so that's not true. 

But now that we have, it could be a thing. And we are desperately in need of "a thing" here at Suburban Kamikaze, where the stuff of big-time blogging - cats, recipes, readers - is in very short supply.

We tried to establish a more disciplined theme and publication schedule once, but it was anarchy trying to corral all of the other themes and it also turned out that there was not as much interest in the stuff under my couch as I had anticipated.

But whatever, Internet. Now that I've got you hooked with a confession, you will be putty under my couch.

What is it that we love about a confession? I suppose it has something to do with the feeling of superiority it provides, the feeling that no matter how we have wasted our lives trying to reproduce stuff off the recipe cards inside the Martha Stewart magazine at the hair salon, somewhere out there, someone else has done something even worse.

This week it was me.

And I'm not just talking about pretending that Confession Thursday was a real thing. Because at this point, the gap between that being a complete fabrication and mostly fabrication is starting to close a little bit. Truth has a funny way of coming true like that. 

But I didn't come here on Confession Thursday to write about truth. That would make no sense.

I came to write about a teeny, tiny not-truth:

I didn't make the chicken pot pie.

The chicken pot pie came to us almost exactly as it was when Mr. Kamikaze first cast his eyes upon it - only a lot colder, from a box inside a freezer in the aisle at Costco.

I didn't plan to lie about it. It's just that he looked so happy when he saw it. And he made a point of complimenting me on it. Asking me whether it was corn starch that made the sauce so thick? What was I supposed to say? I have no idea? What kind of an answer is that?

I know how discouraging it is to come home from work day after day to find that the girl and I have visited  grocery and specialty stores across the Midwest, hand selecting entree after entree, filling every cabinet in the house with boxes and bags and unrecognizable, but expensive-looking containers of the kind of food he doesn't like.

Does an olive grow anywhere on the planet that has not been in our refrigerator? How many different kinds of bread can a counter hold before something that looks like bread to him will appear?  

I know how hard it is for him, with his crazy, olives-don't-count-as-dinner dietary requirements.  So I let him believe we had made him a chicken pot pie, out of, you know, caring and stuff, and whatever else goes into a chicken pot pie. Carrots, I think.

Once the misunderstanding was out there, there was no way to roll it back up. Not even with the rolling pin I might have dusted lightly with flour and left out on the counter. 

Photo: The author often once never prepares homemade chicken pot pies at home for the members of her family, so the fact that anyone would believe she had is really beyond the point at which she could be criticized for not correcting the record. Which, for the record, she just did. So.

Top 10 List of Confessions to My Family Members

10. Sometimes when I say I have to go to bed early, it is just an excuse to get away from you and read in bed. 9. Sometimes when I say I have to go to bed early but I am really just going upstairs to read in bed, I don't even read anything. It is enough just to get away from you. 8. Sometimes, when you accuse me of never answering my phone I think, "Gosh, what if they were trying to reach me with some kind of emergency?" And then I laugh so hard. 7. Sometimes when you call or text me with food requests and poster board emergencies, my second thought is "I should really be grateful that poster board and spicy chicken cravings are what pass for emergencies in my family." But my first thought is usually, "Are you fucking kidding me? How much poster board can one family need?" Because seriously. How much poster board can one family need? 6. I only go to the grocery store when we are out of wine or olives. And sometimes capers. I know you already knew about the wine and the olives. Now I'm just coming clean about the capers. 5. You know how when you text me from college, or work or high school gym class just to be sure that I got your previous five texts asking me to look for your wallet, mail your retainer ASAP!, buy poster board or pick you up from school because you forgot that your period comes every single month? I don't really mind that much. 4. We really do have a money tree in the backyard. I just told you we didn't so I wouldn't have to explain the real reason we take so few family vacations. Also, picking money is hard work. 3. Remember that time when the tooth fairy left you nothing and I explained that your tooth value was tied to a weighted commodity futures index fund that also included agricultural products, oil and metals? That was not entirely true. 2. Remember how when you were little and your father and I said we had to go through all of your Halloween candy to be sure it was okay to eat and then it turned out that none of the Twizzlers and only about a third of the Snickers bars were safe to eat? Your father ate all of the Snickers. 1. It might seem like I complain about you a lot, but the truth is, I wouldn't trade you for anything many things.

from the archives: Parenting is an art and we are all out of poster board

23 Things Some Women Should Maybe Stop Doing

1. Reading advice lists that have "Every Woman" in the title. That is an awful lot of women. 

2. Getting suckered into someone else's idea of what you should or should not be doing. Unless they really seem to know what they're talking about. And then maybe you should. Who am I to say?

3. Taking stuff seriously that comes in lists of 23. Everyone knows that credible recommendations only come in lists of 10, 11, or 18. Or unnumbered bullet points. Also, I read something really useful once that came in paragraphs.  

4. Not Viewing Food as the Enemy: If food is not the enemy why it is robbing you of so much of your time? Think of what you could accomplish if you never had to set foot in a grocery store again. Or clean up after someone else had eaten it. Food IS the enemy. Anyone who tells you differently is working for the teenagers.

5. Making verbs out of nouns that were kind of suspect to begin with. Unless you want to, in which case, verb away. Obviously.   

6. Feeling like you deserve the raise you won't be getting. This will only lead to bitterness. Better to have another glass of wine. Remember, you can't spell "winner" without wine.

7. Taking bad pictures. For chrissakes, it's 2013. Celebrity diet news and volumizing mascara have been around longer than Facebook. Stop treating your social interactions as anything less than a Vanity Fair cover shoot. 

8. Failing to live up to the virtual lives you see on Facebook. Like it or not, the Internet has raised the bar on what constitutes a life worth living. If yours doesn't measure up, for fuck's sake, get yourself invited somewhere a celebrity might be.

9, 11, 16 and 22. Taking advice from celebrities, who are no more likely to know what they are talking about than you do.  Unless they do. In which case, you should probably subscribe to their Twitter feed.

10. Wearing flats. Nothing says "I've stopped trying" like a pair of heels you can actually walk in. 

12. Taking a pass on your sex life.Whoever says your "number" is unimportant probably thought they were never going to need algebra again after high school. You can't spell sex without X. I'm pretty sure that's algebra.

13, 14.  Anyone who tries to convince you that you should give up "trying to be chill" and stop "fearing the label 'crazy' " may not be "giving you the best advice." If you are hearing "chill" and "crazy" on a regular basis - and it is not coming from inside the house - you should maybe give it some thought. 

15, 17-19. Pinterest, relationships, vacation days. Chill. Go a little crazy. Do whatever the fuck you like. Just do it in heels.

20, 21, 23:  I'm inclined to agree. But I'm not going on the record until I know where Zooey Deschanel stands.

You're welcome.

-SK

 

From the bad advice archives: The hardest thing about parenting teenagers: So little celebrity advice

18 parenting lessons learned in only 18 years

1. When people say things like "you cannot put a price on that," it doesn't mean you won't be paying for it.

2. Sanctimonious parents often really do know what they are doing. The trick is to figure out what they know without having to spend too much time around them.

3. There is nothing dumber in parenting than starting an argument with your mother-in-law over her style of feeding, caring for, or entertaining your children. She is feeding, caring for and entertaining your children. Do the math.

4. You can spend a lot of time trying to get to the bottom of questions like "why are there marshmallows on the pool table?" but it won't improve your bank shot.

5. Be very skeptical of parenting books that promote some trendy new "system" or "method" or "way" of raising cooperative, successful and attractive children.  It is virtually impossible to get kids to read these books.

6. If you do not have a system for keeping track of scissors, nail clippers, left shoes, cell phones and permission slips, the result is exactly the same as if you did, except that you will have established yourself as the go-to person for tracking it all down when the system fails.

7. It is important to keep at least one small part of your life for yourself even if it is only the part you spend thinking about taking a shower. Actual showers are where you will be signing permission slips and mediating sibling disputes for the next 18 years. 

8. Keep a pen handy in the shower. 

9. Don't get too attached to anything in your house that is made of glass or can be thrown.

10. When someone from the PTA approaches you for the first time, tell them you would really, really like to help, but their projects are stupid and the other parents are irritating. Then say, "I'm just kidding," and give them your husband's cell phone number and e-mail address.

11. Pedicures are a waste of time and money. Schedule them regularly.

12. Celebrity parenting advice is not as useful as you would think.  

13. The best way to keep your sanity throughout the teenage years is to spend them on a tropical island with a handsome stranger and a supply of rum drinks. The second best way doesn't work.

14. Surround yourself with people who can talk about something besides their kids. Make sure at least one of them has a really dark sense of humor and a tattoo. 

15. Don't look under the couch cushions until you have come to terms with the fact that what you see as a piece of furniture, your children will always see as a place to eat chips and salsa straight from the package. 

16. While no one really believes that wolves are capable of raising human children, if you set the bar at the wolf standard, you will spend a lot less time frustrated over things like the fact that your kitchen looks as if coyotes have been using it. 

17. If you can dream it, you can do it. Just kidding. Your dreams are finished. Get over them.

18. Make new dreams. Really, really, tiny dreams.  Take a ridiculous amount of pleasure in them.

You're welcome.

-SK 

How to get a man to have sex with you during "Pawn Stars"

"What will you give me for this?" I say, putting myself between man and television, where a quartet of Las Vegas pawn dealers negotiate over somebody's 30-year-old collection of I-couldn't-care-less.

I am wearing a pair of green-light underwear, under the ridiculously obvious system I use to signal my level of romantic interest but which Mr. Kamikaze still finds confusing after 20 years.

How hard is it to recognize that any animal print pattern is a go?

Look, I say, when I go to bed wearing cheetah print underwear, I do not expect to wake up in them.

"Leopard," he corrects me. "Snow leopard, looks like."

You know you are really off your game when an attempt at seduction turns into a discussion of taxonomy. There is no such thing as too obvious, apparently.

Scarred by rejection during the early parenting years when so many of his wrong-headed, middle of the night, first thing in the morning advances were rebuffed, The Suburban Man, it seems, does not appreciate subtlety in women's underwear. 

Mr. Kamikaze likes to say he likes them all - on the floor.  Hah!  Don't try to convince us that you can't tell the difference between a $140 pair of La Perlas and the 3 for $10 pile at J.C. Penney. You could bring down the economy that way.     

My point is, no one ever tells you there will come a day when you will have to compete for your husband's attention against a History Channel reality show set in a pawn shop.

We expect to have to work a little harder when we're unlucky enough to suffer inclinations during extra innings or a toilet replacement cliffhanger on the DIY network.     

I've got contingency underwear ready in the event the Cubs ever make it to the playoffs and I know how to turn a discussion of 30-year-old plumbing sediment or door framing technique into a series of suggestions that can trump all but the most riveting episodes of This Old House.

Who doesn't? That stuff is practically porn in the suburbs.

But a bunch of pawn shop guys dickering over how much to pay for somebody's old toy collection? That is the worst idea for neglecting your wife I have ever heard. The Suburban Man cannot get enough of it.

It's like the inside of the garage or a drywall stack at Home Depot; it calls to him in a frequency I cannot hear. What's worse, I can't just override it with a better offer. I am forced to haggle.

Mr. Kamikaze looks up from the television and coolly appraises my wares.    

"What are you looking to get for it?" he says.

"It's all in working order," I say. "I don't see another one like it around here." 

"Let me call a buddy of mine who knows about these things," he says.

"That will cost you extra," I say. "I'm looking to make a deal right now."

I've got his attention, but he knows better than to give me what I'm asking. 

"Look, it's cool and all," he parries, "but I don't really have room for it in my shop."

"Maybe I'll shop it around a little," I say. "Or maybe I'll just go shopping. I could use some new underwear." Apparently.

We close the deal, eventually. But he drives a hard bargain. 

 

from the Secret Life of the Suburban Man Archives: Do-It-Yourself Television

Mommy's Customer Service Center and Wine Bar

Hello. Thank you for calling  Mommy's Customer Support Center and Personal Assistance Hotline. To continue in English, please press 1. 

For quality assurance purposes, your call may be monitored or recorded. It is also possible that your call will be ignored while Mommy finishes a fishbowl-sized glass of Pinot Noir while surfing the Internet for naked pictures of English movie actors. Your call is very important to us!

In order to provide a more efficient level of service, please select one of the following options:

For homework assistance, press 1.

For algebra-related homework assistance, press x, where x = Mommy's grade on her 10th grade algebra final multiplied by the number of ounces in a fishbowl-sized glass of Pinot Noir. 

For food-related grievances or demands, press 2 pieces of sandwich bread together with your choice of available spread or meat filling.   

To report a lost or stolen house key, press 3 times on the doorbell while reflecting on whether or not you have shown a sufficient level of responsiblity to be issued another house key.

For transportation support, press the button that raises the door to the garage where you will find a selection of bicycles capable of delivering you to your destination.

If you wish to report an intractable sibling dispute, press 4 chrissakes, why does it matter who gets to sit in the front seat?

If you are facing a social emergency that requires last minute laundering of your cutest jeans/favorite hoodie, press the buttons on the front of the washing machine. They are self-explanatory.

Please hold while your call is transferred.

Hello. Thank you for contacting our sibling dispute resolution center.  For help in settling a television-related dispute, press the off button on the remote control.

For help in settling a dispute over whose musical taste is superior, press your fingers into your ears and move away from the source of the Bieber.

For information on how to settle a dispute over seating arrangements, get up and press 1. Or 2. Or 3. The important thing is that you get up.

For all other inquiries please remain on the line or press zero for the amount of allowance you will be receiving this week.

Thank you for calling Mommy's Customer Service Center. Our offices are currently closed.

 

From the Mommy Can't Hear You Archives: iPod Mommy, Remote possibility

I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee

How to Explain Sex Toys to Your Children on the Spot Without Panicking, Obfuscating or Careening Wildly into the Shoals of Too Much Information

Well?

Oh. You thought I was going to explain ... ?

This is a little awkward. You see, I was hoping you would know and -- you're new here, aren't you? Or perhaps you have not been paying attention?

I can't imagine what I could have said or done in the past to indicate a source of useful advice here.  The fact is, when it came up in my living room recently,  I found myself panicking. Then obfuscating. And finally, careening wildly into the shoals of too much information.

The soon-to-be sixth grader and I were watching a PG-13 rated movie that seemed safe enough.  A mediocre romantic comedy like a dozen others the girl has seen without incident.  I like to screen movies in advance when I can, but occasionally if the movie jacket indicates something relatively tame, I will forgo this ABSOLUTELY CRITICAL STEP in favor of watching it with her, which, if you are the type of parent prone to panicking, obfuscating or careening wildly into the shoals of too much information, is actually worse than simply letting your child watch it alone.

In my defense, I can only say, that up until this moment, I truly did not see myself as the kind of parent prone to panicking, obfuscating or careening wildly into the shoals of too much information. In fact, I am now embarrassed to admit, I even imagined that I was an enlightened sort of parent on these topics. "It's just biology," I may have said once or twice over cocktails with the slightly condescending air of someone bemused by the inexplicable squeamishness of others. You know who you are, you prudish, myth- and ignorance-propagating others.

Then comes the scene where a grandmother ties a set of what are referred to as "thunder beads"  around her neck, mistaking them for a necklace - to the great amusement and shock of the other guests at a bridal shower demonstration of what are sometimes coyly referred to as "marital aids."

"What are those?"  the girl asks.

PANIC:  "What are what?" I say. The scene drags on.

"Those," she says. "The thing the grandmother has tied around her neck like a necklace."

OBFUSCATION:  "Hmmm? I wasn't paying attention. I didn't really hear."

"Thunder beads," the girl says. She shifts her attention from the television screen to my face with the perfect instincts of a child who suspects she is being misled.

MORE OBFUSCATION: "I'm really not sure,"  I say. "I have never heard of 'Thunder Beads'." I give myself one point for truthfulness, even if it is a hair-splitting sort of truth.

"Yes, but what do you think they are?" she says, demonstrating one of the pitfalls of Take Your Daughter to Work Day in a family full of journalists.  

Her newsroom skills are impressive. She rephrases the question, hones in on the ambiguity in my answers and pushes me to the wall. She is relentless.  "I have never heard of thunder beads," I repeat. She allows an uncomfortable pause to build into silent pressure, until finally, I find myself CAREENING WILDLY INTO THE SHOALS OF TOO MUCH INFORMATION.

The discussion that follows includes the following: masturbation, orgasm, batteries. I cannot tell you exactly how I managed to bring it to an end, except to say that there was very little in my soliloquy to recommend my skills as a parent, as a native English speaker or as a sexually-literate adult. 

Later, I recount my ordeal to Mr. Kamikaze, who is as sympathetic as always. "Jesus," he says, "you were one stammer away from describing double penetration."

That is ridiculous. It never even came up. And I have learned my lesson, which is this: As a parent you must anticipate every possible question, compose eloquent, age-appropriate explanations and be ready to give them at a moment's notice, possibly from 3 x 5 index cards that you have prepared in advance.

I am just kidding of course.  I have only prepared one card. It says: Go Ask Daddy. 

from the Sex Ed archives: Sex, Lies and Pomeranians

Boy, Esq.

My friends are always asking me to share my best techniques for getting children to behave, to cooperate and to help around the house in an agreeable manner.

For a long time, I imagined this was an area of parenting in which I was considered an authority. I was happy to share my tips.

If I had nickel for every time someone asked me to explain the coffee can system I could fill a coffee can with nickels.

But slowly I came to realize that these requests always seemed to come at cocktail parties or other social gatherings. No one ever asked me for advice over the telephone.

I was a source of entertainment, not expertise. I was doing stand-up and I didn’t even know it.

So go ahead and laugh at my coffee cans, my little slips of paper, my constantly evolving systems of points, check marks and gold stars, the privileges bestowed and revoked, the statements of principles taped to the refrigerator, entire justice systems erected and scrapped over a period of days.

But when you are finished laughing, ask yourself this: Was the Magna Carta written in a day?

Because I am not dealing with ordinary children here.

I have a 12-year-old who could talk a second-year law student out of his position, whose recall of precedents would get him past the bar exam in most states and who can spot the loopholes in new household legislation before the glue is dry on the coffee can.

Here is an example.

A few years ago, exhibiting the kind of parenting creativity that will eventually earn me a patent – and then who will be laughing? - I came up with a New, Improved System for Ending the Epidemic of Constant Bickering, Sibling Spats and All Around Lack of Cooperation in our household.

It went like this:

New Improved Parenting System for Ending Epidemics of Constant Bickering, Sibling Spats and All Around Lack of Cooperation

Materials Needed:

One empty coffee can

One pad of multicolored Post-It notes.

(Buttons, coins or other tokens can be substituted)

Paper to label coffee can

List of chores or good behaviors that can be used to earn points

List of privileges or treats that can be earned by performing chores or exhibiting good behaviors

Independent, outside auditor (recommended)

Procedures:

1. Adopt an accounting system that reflects the relationship (in points, stars or tokens) between behaviors or chores you wish to be exhibited/accomplished and various treats and/or privileges to be used as incentives.

2. Adopt a separate accounting system that reflects a subtraction of credit for failure to exhibit certain behaviors or complete assigned chores.

3. Keep track of good behaviors exhibited/chores accomplished by dropping a token or post-it note into the can whenever necessary.

4. Keep track of failure to exhibit certain behavior or complete assigned chores by withdrawing points, tokens or stars from coffee can.

5. Allow child to redeem points by choosing from list of treats/privileges.

I feel certain that this is a system that could work eventually, despite the setbacks we experienced.

It started out fine. My One Cooperative Child (a.k.a. “the suck-up”) was ready to give it a go.

Then Boy, Esq. started in.

Boy, Esq.: I have a question.

Mommy: Yes?

Boy, Esq.: Does “trip to bookstore” mean we get to buy a book? Any book? Does it have to be a book?

We settled upon a reasonable system for determining what kind of purchases could be made during a book store reward trip and 45 minutes later, we were ready to restart.

Then:

Boy Esq: When do we get to go to the bookstore? Whenever we want? Because what would be the point if we had to wait until you wanted to go to the bookstore? We get to do that already.

A lengthy discussion followed wherein we settled this issue and numerous others. Could points be borrowed or traded? What if one child had enough for a trip to the bookstore but the other didn’t and couldn’t be left behind? Also, would the accounting system use negative numbers?

But what really killed the system was my failure to develop a corresponding system of appeals.

Boy, Esq. hit upon this after a discussion of whether or not credit could be earned or subtracted for chores or behaviors not explicitly enumerated on the can.

As the creator and arbiter of the system, I felt that I should be free to consider other behaviors.

As many a freshman legislator has learned the hard way, there is no way to anticipate every possible circumstance when you are drafting new laws.

Boy Esq. was willing to stipulate to this, but was troubled by the system’s lack of appellate procedure. Could protests be lodged?

In a flash of brilliance, I decided to include “arguing about the system” as a two-point offense.

This was a critical improvement, despite the obvious equal protection implications.

But by the end of the first day in conference committee, we had developed more amendments than would fit on the outside of the can. So we decided to scrap the can and go to the notebook system.

The notebook was plagued by “self-accounting” and some outright forgery. At the moment, I cannot say exactly where it is.

Thank you. You’ve been a wonderful audience. I will be here all week.

photo: Was the Magna Carta written in a day?

© 2007 P.M. Dunnigan/Suburban Kamikaze