If people assume that I know my way around a computer because I blog, they couldn’t be more wrong.

My brother routinely tells me I’m antiquated in my computer program usage (or lack thereof). I call my corel wordperfect documents “word documents,” which bugs him to no end because apparently real word documents are microsoft (I think?). In my book (laptop), if the title has the word “word” in it, then it’s a word document. (And I don’t capitalize my computer proper nouns because I’m sloppy.)

He’s trying to get me to use fancy things like Google docs and Open Window and such. Over the phone, he lectures me about downloading and reformatting and saving files, and I dutifully scratch key words onto a note card, but my eyes have long since crossed so I hardly can even see what it is I’m noting.

I’m not sure why I’m sharing this with you, except to let you know that I really don’t know all that much. Like I said. For some odd reason, it’s important to me that you all understand how very inept I am. Heaven forbid, I should lead you to believe I actually have some computer skeelz.  

Did you know there is such a thing as a Shakespearean insult generator? It’s quite fun. I recommend every person memorize a couple. You never know when they might come in handy.

For example, as you read my mindless blithering (like in the opening section) you might find an urge to holler, “Be not lost so poorly in your thoughts, thou impertinent tardy-gaited whey-face!”

Or, when your husband says, “These muffins are pasty,” you might say, “You have become a fusty, toad-spotted malcontent!”

Or, when one of your mouthy offspring mouths off at you, and you snip, “You, minion, are too saucy.”

It’s quite satisfying, me thinks.

And, while name-calling is forbidden (but frequent) in our household, the kids could totally get away with it (and maybe even receive a pat on the back) if they did it in Shakespeare.

(And yes, I very incorrectly refer to Shakespeare as a language, not a person.)

My cousin-in-law has occasionally blogged a little tidbit called “recently Googled” where she shares her Google searches. I’ve found it tremendously entertaining but had no idea how she did it. (See opening remarks.) But then a new Google page started showing up (again, see opening remarks) and suddenly I could see my most recently Googled phrases. I was tickled.

Recent searches:
Does barley have gluten
How it’s made netflix

Oh dear. What do you know, that’s all I can find. I, just now, performed innumerable searches to figure out how to find (the rest of) my search history but I’ve come up empty handed. (Brother, Brother? O wherefore art thou, Brother?)

Shoot. That was anticlimactic.

It’s probably just as well, though, since some of my searches were more than a little embarrassing.You really don’t need (or want) to know all the things I don’t know about.

My little boy, describing his drawing: “This is Jesus, hanging on the hook where he died.”

Ever since my cousin posted her recipe for taco seasoning mix, I’ve been making my own and storing it in the freezer. It’s total taco dust magic, this mix is, so it’s high time I share with you guys.

Pre-mixed, it’s a work of art, a palette of Tex-Mex colors.

Post-mixed, it’s the color of dried up dirt, which, I suppose, is also one of those famous Tex-Mex colors.

Several tablespoons of spicy dirt (yum, yum) mixed into a pound of browned meat (and onions and peppers) or a pot of beans (and onions and peppers) plus a bit of water to soup it up real good, and you have yourself some fine and dandy taco spicilicious filling.

Delicioso, perfecto, AND buen provecho, mis amigos!

Taco Seasoning Mix
Adapted from my cousin’s blog Whole Eats and Whole Treats

Consider doubling or tripling the recipe.

This is a little on the spicy side. If you like your tacos milder, dial back the peppers. (Like you couldn’t figure that out yourself.)

2 tablespoons chili powder
1 tablespoon cumin
4 teaspoons cornstarch
2 teaspoons each, salt and black pepper
1 teaspoon smoked (or plain) paprika
½ teaspoon each, garlic powder, onion powder, and dried oregano
1/4 teaspoon chipotle powder (or cayenne pepper)

Combine all ingredients and store in an airtight container in the freezer.

To use: mix 3 tablespoons taco seasoning mix with 2/3 cup water and 1 pound ground beef. Heat through and simmer for a few minutes.

I was raised with a father and two brothers who would eat almost anything, and in monstrous-large portions, too. I was pretty much just like them—in middle and high school (until I became obsessed with starving myself), I finished up all the leftover food on my friends’ lunch trays, earning myself the nickname of The Garbage Disposal. (My friends also, in high school, called me The Oatmeal Child, an example of foreshadowing considering I now routinely buy oats by the 50-pound sack and make granola twice a week, along with many batches of oatmeal—cooked, baked, and steamed—and a plethora of oaty baked goods.)

It’s come as quite a shock to my food-loving system that my current dearest and nearest family members don’t eat with abandon. They have preferences and aversions and all the verbal skills necessary to tell me so. Many times, their opinions feel like a curse, a battle to be fought, a force to be reckoned with. (Wait. I said that wrong. I’m the force to be reckoned with.)

However, I’ve had a good 15 years to acclimate to their most unusual behavior and I’m beginning (yes, I’m a slow learner) to realize I kind of (once in a while, maybe, sort of) appreciate it. My family can taste the difference between baked and cooked brown rice, differentiate between pizzas baked in aluminum and insulated pans, and when the apples in the apple crisp are still slightly crunchy, they don’t say, “Oh yay, apple crisp! Sweet!” and munch-crunch it down—they ask me to put it back in the oven because they want it to taste right.

It can be tricky to figure out how many of their opinions are just their hang-ups and how much is actual good advice, but I’m listening to them more, or at least noting their comments, because they are helping me to hone my skills. I have to work to get their approval, and as someone who is more easily pleased, this can be a good thing. (I still expect them to eat most things.)

All that to say, I tried a new granola yesterday.

My oldest daughter—the nit-pickiest one of the whole bunch—went out of her way to inquire about the ingredient list because she thought the granola was “awesome” (or “fabulous,” or some such word that I can’t recall at the moment), kids in general kept sneaking tastes, and my husband—a diehard basic granola fan—told me he was excited for breakfast. The man does not get excited, people. Nor does he think about food. That he was thinking about food and getting excited tells you how monumental this granola is, or at least how much he liked it.  (Also, my family’s exuberance is perhaps directly proportional to the great many recipe flops they endure. Quite possibly, they were giving me lots of positive reinforcement in hopes I’ll lay off the weird-tasting foods.)

As for me, I thoroughly enjoyed the granola. I kept snitching tastes out of the oven while it was baking (and I’m never tempted by uncooked granola), and I’ve been snaking on it constantly. It’s the honey, peanut butter, brown sugar syrup flavors that keep calling me back.

And the crunchy almonds.

And the wisps of toasted coconut.

And the oats.

Signed,
The Oatmeal Child

P.S. I always wondered what granola bars would taste like as granola. Now I know.

P.P.S. Except, not really. Because granola bars have chocolate chips, a variety of nuts and seeds, vanilla extract, and the like. So perhaps there’s another stunning granola experience in my future?

Peanut Butter and Honey Granola
Adapted from Julie’s blog Dinner with Julie

This is extra delicious with cold milk on top. It probably has something to do with the peanut butter undertones.

Also, my granola did not get as chunky as Julie’s. Next time I’ll reduce the amount of oats and/or squeeze the uncooked granola into clumps and then try not to break them up too much when stirring.

5 cups rolled oats
2 cups chopped almonds
1 cup coconut
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup honey
½ cup creamy peanut butter
1 cup dried fruit (I used dried cranberries)

Toss the oats, nuts, coconut, and salt together in a large bowl. In a small saucepan, combine the brown sugar, honey, and peanut butter over medium-high heat until creamy. Pour the wet ingredients over the dry and stir to combine. (The wet ingredients were quite thick, almost like cookie dough, so I had to use my fingers to blend it together.) Put the ingredients into a 9 x 13 baking dish and bake at 250 degrees for 60-90 minutes, stirring every fifteen minutes. Cool to room temperature, add dried fruit, and store in an airtight container.

This same time, years previous: mayonnaise, rock-my-world cocoa brownies, Nana’s anise biscotti, cream-topped homemade yogurt

*trying to take silhouettes: I still can’t figure it out
*more card playing, with a cat centerpiece
*the royalty, crafting their paper crowns
*this week’s fort: a wind tunnel—all four kids, plus sleeping bags and cat, fit inside
*after the neighbor lady stopped by with a bunch of old magazines
*writing letters to city council members to request their support of the library
*sucky oranges (that’s what we called them when I was growing up): cut the top off of a juice orange, stab it all over inside, and suck as much juice out as possible before tearing it open and eating out the innards
*a fast lunch: leftover mashed potatoes + several beaten eggs = pancakes
*muffin experimentation: not a winner (though I learned something, so it’s not all failure)
*washing dishes: their assistance is no longer token
*babysitting: notice how she attached the pacifier to her sweatshirt
*bedtime stories: he reads the girls the mermaid books they crave, bless his heart
*musical beds

This same time, years previous: curried lentils, orange cranberry biscotti