“You just make up all the ingredients ahead of time.” Tim made this comment soon after I arose this morning. He crouched on the carpet next to his coin-collection book of silver dimes.
I had just been processing out loud many elements of our weekend that I need to make happen, somehow, including lunch today for those of us who may or may not be around at the noonish hour. I wanted to fix nachos. It takes time to prepare the layers of ingredients, including cooking hamburger meat with seasonings, cutting up the peppers, grating cheese, and so on. Then of course the meal is quick to bake, but the finished product doesn’t keep well. Cheesy tortilla chips get soggy fast.
Tim’s brain hummed happily, I could tell, as he went on telling me how to make everything and put each element in a plastic bag (as in Ziploc). “Then you bring it all out when we’re actually ready to eat.”
I was annoyed. Tim was nearly done with his whole morning routine before leaving to hit garage sales by 9:00. His “plastic bags” were all in a row. He loves things that way, and I’ve learned to love him for it. How else would I, a low-energy, artistic-type loafer (a word used a few times this week in interesting contexts) survive? It’s frustrating not to be able to explain how doing things ahead takes away from my creative routine (which on weekends includes time, I always hope, for unscheduled stretching of mind and limb). Tim doesn’t understand. He doesn’t have to worry about recharging his muse (or whatever it is I do). Somehow he’s always “on.” It’s the way he’s wired.
The reason we’re still together, though, is he has learned to love my loafingness, and he doesn’t push his way on me. Even when it sounds like he might be, like this morning. I could say to him, sarcastically, “And I could never have thought of that,” and he could catch on real fast, looking up at me over his reading glasses (that for some reason make him exceedingly sexy) and rephrasing – I don’t remember how, but his words told me, Wait, I didn’t mean to do whatever I do that upsets you. And I backed off, too, and took a shower, and then I ate a leisurely breakfast and afterward made nacho fixings and put them in plastic bags.
Tammy taught us a creative way to have a “scrambled egg bar” – essentially, all the ingredients desired are put into plastic ziplocs (I think quart-sized freezer bags), along with however many raw eggs (minus shells) – then you squish the contents around as thoroughly as you wish, and drop the bag into boiling water till the eggs are cooked. A relatively low-mess way to do it, and lets everyone make their own custom scrambled eggs. I think she does this when camping with the kids.
Just thought I’d share… : )
Was I clear that each person, individually, makes their own baggie of raw egg and whatever else? Re-reading it, I don’t know that I made that obvious.
Anna, thank you. I’ll definitely remember that for camping. I did a similar thing with tacos on one trip (though we didn’t boil them :o)). Sometimes I can do ahead, and camping is a great time to, because then stuff is ready and I can go enjoy (unless storms blow our tent away or something). But being efficient too often (or trying to be) is crazy-making in my case.
you know? I never thought about eggs in a bag. I need to try that at work. I always have a vat of water going and there are baggies.
Happy Mother’s Day, Deanna. :)
Thank you, Jodi. I hope your Mother’s Day was good, even relaxing, maybe? Let me know if the egg thing comes in handy.
sweet.
not the eggs – the other bit.