So um. I don't cook. Like ever. My fiancee is the chef around here. But, due to circumstances beyond my control, dinner was up to me last night.
Guys.
I SUCCEEDED.
My chicken got such rave reviews that I had to share the recipe with my loyal Zebras. It was seriously so moist and delicious that even my finicky 2 year old had some. So, here you go. YOU'RE WELCOME.
My (now) Famous Butter Chicken
You'll need:
4 skinless, boneless chicken bewbies (I actually used bewbies on the bone, all I did was increase the cook time)
2 eggs
1 cup crushed buttery cracker rounds. The more crushed, the better. I didn't crush so well, as you can see. Do as I say, not as I do, children.
1/2 teaspoon garlic salt
Ground black pepper to taste (I just shook my pepper shaker over the bowl a few times, because who really knows what the hell that means)
1/2 cup butter, cut into pieces
How to do it:
Preheat your oven to 375 degrees.
Crack the eggs into a bowl and beat them. Beat them like they slapped your mama.
Combine the crushed crackers, garlic salt and pepper in a separate bowl.
Coat your bewbies (preferably the chicken ones, but, no judgment here!) in the eggs, then dredge them in your cracker mix.
Place the chicken into a 9x13 baking dish. (I didn't have one, so I just put them in two oven safe dishes.)
Put the pieces of butter all around the chicken. Like so.
Put chicken in oven and cook for 40 mins. (Since my chicken wasn't boneless, I had to up the cook time to 55 mins.)
The finished product (I cut into the chicken to ensure it was done because it was so moist that I wasn't positive):
That's it. THAT'S. FREAKING. IT. The chicken comes out moist and your "breading" is delicious and complimentary. Such a quick and easy dish, right? Bookmark this page so you can save it for later and share it with your friends! I've been a single mom and I know what it's like to need to feed kids on the fly.
A very good friend of mine passed away in 2007. It was 2am when I found out, when my boyfriend at the time picked me up from a club. I was struggling with alcoholism, trying to figure out how to deal with life after cancer (and not doing a very good job at it, I might add). The conversation was something like this:
"S is dead."
"...what?! OUR S?"
"YES, OUR S." The frustration in his voice at such a silly question was undeniable.
"What?! How?!" I'm sobbing at this point.
"He hung himself in his trailer."
I cried the whole way home and then continued to sob in the house. I called my dad, woke him up and sobbed to him about it. He was incredulous (probably mostly to appease me in my hysterics) because I was so young to have a friend commit suicide. What could possibly make someone so young want to end their life? It was unbelievable.
S wasn't buried here in America. His body was shipped to Bosnia, where his family is, and buried there. Several months after his death, his girlfriend invited us over. His family had mailed her the DVD of his funeral and burial. I packed my purse tight with tissues and we drove over and watched it. To see his body, his face in that box, a face that was so familiar to me and always full of life, lifeless...and then to see them lower his body into that hole in the ground...my heart physically hurt. It felt as if something was trying to wrench it from my chest. They threw the dirt over his coffin and, his girlfriend, who was pregnant at the time, nonchalantly says, "Welp, he's gone." It angered me that she was so cool about it, but I knew that she was struggling in a very different way than we were. She'd lost the love of her life, her best friend, the father of her unborn baby. Perhaps reacting coolly was the only way she knew how to deal with that level of grief.
How do you deal with something so tragic? I don't know. I went through years of tears and guilt, wondering why he didn't tell me what was going on. I knew things were bad and that he was having a hard time, but I had no idea it was so bad. I should have seen the signs. Well, I saw the signs, I just ignored them because I was mad at him. He was depressed and struggling with his failing business, and he began to withdraw from everyone. We used to see him all the time, several times a week. Suddenly, we would go months without seeing him. We thought that he was getting an attitude; we helped him build his own business and when things took off, he didn't feel he needed the little people anymore. That wasn't the case at all. He stopped by one day, after months of not seeing him, after my first cancer treatments were over and my hair had started to grow back. I remember it so clearly. He sat at the bottom of our stairs and I was sitting on the couch. He asked what happened to all my hair. I kind of smirked, thinking, "oh, NOW you're gonna ask, after everything's over and you missed everything?" and told him that I was sick. He said something like "noooo" or "no way" to indicate that he thought I was joking. My response was, "Don't believe me. I don't care." But, even in my anger, I could tell something was wrong with him. He wasn't himself. He wasn't smiling, wasn't joking. His eyes were dark. Why didn't I see that he needed help? Why didn't I, someone who's struggled with depression for my entire life, recognize pain when I saw it? I saw the signs and ignored them because of my own selfishness. Selfishness, by the way, that was completely unfounded. So I just let him go. I'm not sure we ever saw him again after that.
He came to me in a dream shortly after his death. I know it was him because when I woke up, it felt like he was still alive. Reality hitting was terrible, but I will forever treasure that dream. It was so vivid. The only part of the dream I remember is the one he's in. My car was parked in the garage with the garage door shut. He walked into the garage using the side door and I walked towards him. He was in his typical jeans, white sneakers, tan Carhartt jacket and white baseball cap. With these heartbreaking tears of sadness and apology in his eyes, he hugged me. He didn't say a word. But I knew he was hugging me and crying because he was sorry for what he had done and the pain he had caused. I could feel it.
I know why he did it. The 'why' doesn't really matter anymore. I just can't stop blaming myself for not seeing the obvious signs that I'm so familiar with and stepping in. I would have done anything to save his life. Man, I miss that little shit.
LOL JK I can't bake for the life of me. I make the perfect cupcake by picking them up from someone who knows what they're doing. These came from my mother-in-law and sister-in-law. :)
What I CAN tell you is how NOT to bring cupcakes home.
What is with moms being so judgmental of each other?? I don't get it. Maybe it's because I'm on my 3rd baby and now understand that each child is different and requires different parenting techniques, or maybe it's because I watched my sister struggle with people's negativity. I'm not sure. Either way, it infuriates me. I mean, does the way I parent affect your life? No? Then SHUT UP. I saw a couple of posts today that has really set this off in me today.
I enjoy following mommy pages that allow fans to send in questions to be posted by the page admins for other fans to answer. It's fun to give advice and be able to interact. But the post I saw today just irritated me. A fan decided to write in to basically ask for permission to pass judgment on her friend. She wanted to know how old is too old to breastfeed because her friend still breastfeeds her 2 1/2 year old. Who cares what your friend does? The question and the answers had absolutely nothing to do with her life or her own parenting, so why ask it? To get other people to bash her friend, so she would feel more empowered when she, herself did it. What other possible reason could there be? It doesn't matter what you or I think; the fact is that if it's working for her friend and her friend's child, then what difference does it make to you? This coincides with the breastfeeding vs formula feeding debate. I will be the first to tell you that I chose to formula feed because I'm selfish. I am! I've chosen to give up my body, my sleep, my time, my sanity, my life! to have children. The one thing I want to preserve (as much as possible) are my boobs. But that doesn't mean that's the reason you chose to formula feed. My decisions have no weight on what your decisions are. None whatsoever. So why the hell would I judge you for making a different decision?? In all my selfishness, I think breastfeeding is a beautiful thing and it makes me proud when I see a woman breastfeeding in public because I know how nasty and downright judgmental people can be. You don't know that woman's story, nor do you know that child's story, so take a pill, calm down and let nature happen. I mean, you eat in public, right? If you don't like it, look away. Keep your dirty looks or mean comments to yourself.
My other gripe for today is regarding how women give birth. I chose to have a c-section for my last pregnancy and am choosing it again for this one. My reasons don't matter. Not to you, anyways. Why do people try to belittle me and make me feel bad for those choices? I had my first son naturally, so I know what it's all about. I'm not making my choice blindly. But, in all reality, it doesn't make a damn difference to you whether I'm choosing it blindly or not. I'm the one that's left with the longer recovery time and the visible scarring. Not you. I'm a strong person and really couldn't care less what other people think of me or the way I parent, but I feel bad for the mothers who do. There's a large number of women who actually do feel bad about what others say. They don't have to explain themselves to you. Even women who are forced into c-sections for medical reasons are made to feel guilty about it because of this stupid public stigma that makes absolutely no sense.
And I'm not even going into it about co-sleeping.
The point is that we all have our own personal opinions about how to properly parent, but until you're in another person's shoes, back off. Unless you're seeing a child is clearly suffering from mistreatment or undernourishment, relax. Clearly, people are allowed to say whatever they want whenever they want. But does that mean you need to be rude and demean someone for making different choices than you? No. Like I said in my very first post, parenting is hard enough as it is. Don't make it harder for each other.
I'm frustrated today. At everything. I'm frustrated that my web address STILL won't work. I'm frustrated that I can't do anything on my own anymore. I'm frustrated that my toddler just dumped a bag of chips that was left on the coffee table last night all over the freakin couch. I'm frustrated that everything gives me heartburn. I'm frustrated that I don't have a washer and dryer in my house. I'm frustrated that I don't have a dishwasher in my house. I'm frustrated today.
When I was a single mom, I used to pride myself on being able to do everything on my own. And when I wasn't strong enough to do something, I would cry until I made myself mad enough that I could do it. Now? I'm infantile. My last pregnancy was ectopic and very traumatizing; I had to have emergency surgery to have one of my tubes removed because it had ruptured. My pregnancy with my toddler was also full of problems. I don't really feel like going into details right now, but my doctor strictly told me not to do any lifting whatsoever or I would go into preterm labor. It was very serious and very scary. Now that I'm pregnant again, every little thing worries me. Not only does it all worry me, but I'm sick half of the time anyway. My children like to suck the life out of me from the moment of conception. I have to take my prenatal vitamin in addition to extra iron and magnesium supplements just to prevent me from blacking out on a daily basis. I've also discovered that with this baby, I have developed carpal tunnel! I say all of this to explain my frustration: I can't lift anything. I can't open any jars or bottles or anything. I can't stand for long periods of time. I can't walk for very long or my body throws a temper tantrum and makes me want to rush to the hospital to make sure I'm not miscarrying again. I'm just tired of it all. I hate relying on other people and that's all that's left for me to do at this point. It's so frustrating.
My 2 year old decided that chips was a good thing to have for breakfast today because there was a bag of them left on the coffee table last night. Clearly, I didn't just let him eat chips (we shared the bag and a glass of soda, duh!), but he had the great idea of tipping the bag upside down over the couch. All over the couch, all over him, all over the floor. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask what was wrong with him, was he stupid?? But I didn't. I asked why he did it and made him leave the room. I got out the vacuum cleaner and sucked all the crumbs up. He's only 2 and is going to make plenty of stupid decisions over his lifetime, but today just added to my frustration.
Why don't dishes do themselves? Why are disposable dishes so expensive? And why can't they come up with disposable pots and pans? I mean, they have pills to change the chemical makeup of your brain, but they can't come up with pots and pans that are safe enough to cook in that you can just throw away?? Cmon now. Priorities, scientists.
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