The Apocalypse and Necessity


“Day 2 of the after school apocalypse and the tribe is holding strong with multiple offers for child watching, the youngest members of the tribe have decided to go with necessity…the friend with the golf cart and pool. It’s all about priorities during these trying times. Therefore Theo will be taking the bus home with “telescope”. Thank you, Brandi ( aka mom)

Untimely Demise

I’ve become well know at my children’s school because of the bus notes I send with them from time time. Here is today’s:


“Due to the untimely demised of the after school program, and my inability to obtain alternate childcare, I have absolutely no idea what to do with my children after school.

Therefore Pheobe will take the bus to the top of the hill where they will continue to practice the fine art of driving my boss crazy.

Thank you,

Brandi (aka: Mom)”

French Fucking Fries For The Win!

Oh, french fries. Delicious little fried potato slices dripping with grease and covered in salt. So bad for you, but SO yummy! Now a days we can zip through the drive through when we crave them, or we can buy them in the freezer isle at the grocery store to bring home and pop into the Fry Daddy. They are everywhere and that makes us, as a society, very happy. So what do we do when we want to get healthy, but we still want our fry fix? We make “fries” out of everything! EVERYTHING! *evil laugh and cackle*

In my quest to get healthy I have learned to make a lot of things out of other things that don’t usually make those things. Are you following me? For example, my vegan alfredo from last week, I made cauliflower into a cream sauce. Boom! Just like that! I’m a mother fucking magician, yo! Now that the kids were happy with creaminess on their pasta, I decided to make myself happy with french fries. We had done the sweet potato fries already, yawn, but who hasn’t? Yay, you can bake sweet potatoes and make them into fries, whoop-dee-doo! *eye roll* I wanted to find something…well…different. AH ha! I’ve got it!

I’ve been buying carrots like crazy from the local farm stand. Not to eat the carrots, but to use the carrot tops. I will get into that in a later blog because pesto. That’s all I’ll say about that. So what have I been doing with the actual carrots? Not much. Half of them have been eaten raw, a quarter into homemade vegetable stock, and the final quarter into the trash. *ducks to avoid flying objects* To keep this weeks carrots from going into the trash, I decided to make them into french fries. Once again I sifted through my one and only vegan cookbook, nothing. Then I looked online, meh. Then I used what little part of my brain is left after raising children. Get ready for some carroty goodness!


Carrots (duh), about one pound cut into thin strips. You know, french fry size.

Extra virgin olive oil, or EVOO in the cooking world (totes posh), about 2 TBS

1/4 almond flour

Salt to taste

How to get ‘r’ done:

Fire up your oven to 450 degrees. While it’s warming up, toss your carrots in the olive oil to coat them. I use my hands in a bowl because I’m a heathen, but you can toss them whatever way blows your dress up. Once the carrots sticks are coated with oil, throw in the almond flour and toss them some more. By now your fingers should be coated a little less than the carrots. Cover a baking sheet with parchment paper, and lay the carrots sticks all over it. Sprinkle with salt, and pop those suckers into the oven for about 12 minutes, or until crispy. When they are done, start feeding them to the masses while still hot! French fucking fries for the win!


I don’t like cooked carrots, neither do my kids, but these were a hit! They were crisp on the outside, and soft on the inside. Just like a french fry should be. Not to mention the added flavor the almond flour brought to the table. They even re-heated nicely the next day when I brought them to work for lunch. I’m totally winning at this cooking thing! *does the running man* So, if you’re wondering what to have for dinner tonight, go to your local farm stand, farmer’s market, or grocery store and get some carrots! Your bellies will thank you. I’ll just say, “You’re welcome.”

And A Bottle Saying “Drink Me” In The Other

I have somehow found myself falling deep into the rabbit hole of the Paleo world. I know, I know, welcome to the club, mother fucker. When I first started on this little journey, I wasn’t quite prepared for what was in store for me. There’s so much preparation and attention to detail that goes into strange and bizarre ingredients. Give me some chicken, bread crumbs, bacon, and spinach and I’ll whip up something tasty for you. Now I’m faced with things like fennel, miso paste, and more almond products than I ever thought possible. If you’re allergic to nuts, run the fuck away from anything Paleo because you’ll probably die. I’m serious, the Paleo world is pure nuts. Along with this venture because I’m a gluten for punishment I decided to get a lot of my recipes from vegan cookbooks. I figured if Paleo means no dairy or wheat, than vegan should go along nicely.

For some reason my kids have decided they want to jump down this rabbit hole with me. So here we all are, in Wonderland, wondering what exactly the caterpillar is trying to tell us as we hold up a bit of mushroom in one hand, and a bottle saying “drink me” in the other. Because I was a little worried what the other playground moms would think hesitant to let my kids do the whole Paleo thing, I started them off slow. I first doubled their fruit and vegetable intake, my daughter now clogs the toilet at least once a week, and then I added almond milk. The small boy now pours himself glasses of almond milk, just because. I really tried to keep the recipes as close to what they were used to as possible. Grilled chicken and veggies, steak and veggies…protein and veggies… protein… protein… veggie… veggie… veggie. Fruit, fruit, FRUIT! No more wheat, no more dairy (which didn’t last long because well…cheese.) But for the most part, we were pretty much kicking ass and taking names while we shit up a storm!!!

The other night I decided to take off the kid gloves and pack a Paleo punch at dinner time! I had a two pound head of cauliflower sitting in my fridge for one purpose, and one purpose alone…to make vegan mac and cheese After staring at the cauliflower for a few days while debating on packing the punch, I decided to go for it. I was going to make the vegan mac and cheese! My mother had made it for my father (Mr. Steak and Beer) once, and he liked it or he lied to my mother to make her feel better. So I figured, if my father would eat it, I could get my kids as well. The only problem? I didn’t have my mother’s recipe. Dumb ass. So I flipped through my vegan cookbook. I didn’t have all the ingredients. Then I Googled it. I still didn’t have all the ingredients. Time for plan C, wing it and hope the kids don’t rebel.

Anyone who has ever even attempted to so much as “try” vegan cooking knows that “winging it” is not something you necessarily do when first starting out. Unless you’re one of those reality TV cooking competition people. Fuck those people. When you’re trying to re-create something using ingredients that have nothing to do with the “real thing” it can get a bit hairy. However, I live for hairy. Unless it’s on my body, that shit can go. Regardless, I poured myself a glass of wine and ventured further into Wonderland. Let me just say, although this recipe came out more like an “Alfredo” as apposed to a “mac and cheese”, I KILLED IT!!! Mommy made a delicious vegan recipe the kids INHALED!!! *chest bump**pours another glass of wine* *maybe two or three* After posting it all over social media as I tend to do people wanted to know how it turned out, and to share the recipe. So here goes nothing, peeps! Bon appetit!


1 pound fresh cauliflower florets. Not frozen, don’t be a slacker.

1 cup original almond milk

2 cloves fresh garlic

Salt and pepper to taste

1 handful (1/4 cup) raw cashews. Maybe throw in a few more just because…nuts. You might want to whip out your good ol’ slap chop and bust your nuts before adding them into the recipe. I did. *wink wink*

Cut a lemon in half, and SQUEEZE all the juice out.

What to do:

Boil the florets until they are tender, not soft, tender. Drain the water out, and dump them into your blender or food processor. Add the rest of the ingredients, and hit “liquefy”. Don’t have a liquefy option? Puree that bitch until she’s nice and smoooooth. Once you’ve added enough salt and pepper maybe even more garlic and the texture is to your liking, slather your noodles in the creamy goodness you just created. Toss them around a bit, scoop into bowls, and feed that hungry family of yours!

I highly recommend NOT calling this mac and cheese. If you do, your family may rebel, tie you up, and throw you in the river. I mean, do what you want to do, but you really should call this Alfredo. Welcome to Wonderland.


Back to School and Shitty Shoes

I’m not sure what it is about new shoes that gets kids so excited. You buy them clothes and they shrug it off as they mumble something about “more new clothes, yuck.” You buy them new shoes and it’s like you just brought home rocket boosters. Coolest thing EVER!!! You could have the most tired kid in the world, but as soon as you put new shoes on them, they take off like a rocket. “Look how fast I can go!” “Mommy! Look at how cool l look in these shoes!” I’m pretty sure a new pair of shoes every time I failed as a parent would make me the best mommy in the world.

School starts back up again next week. Praise the lord! Back to school means back to school shopping. Despite upcoming trips threatening to drain my back account, I knew I had to at least get the kids new shoes for school. Especially seeing as how Theo’s current shoes smell like cat piss and cabbage…at the same time. So away we went to go buy new rocket boosters shoes. Naturally that day became the best ever as the kids got to wear the new shoes out of the store (shopping highlight for all kids) AND for the rest of the day. Mind you, this was not until I threatened them both with their lives if they so much as got a speck of dirt on them. “Run, jump, whatever…but get them dirty and you are both done. Got it? Good.”

Both pairs of new shoes made it through the day still looking like new. Mission accomplished. Well done, minions! While folding laundry that night, I kept getting a slight whiff of poop. I knew Pheobe had pooped before she went to bed, so I naturally blamed the odor on her typically pungent poo. The next morning I woke up, went down stairs, and happened to look down at the pile of shoes. There it was. Dog poop. On the bottom of Theo’s new shoes. When I woke him up for the day being the awesome mom I am I whispered to him, “Theo, there’s dog poop on your new shoes.” I’m am fairly certain I have never seen Theo wake up so quickly.

“No way,” he said. “Not my on my shoes. Maybe on Pheobe’s, but not on mine.”

I assured him it was, in fact, on his shoes and walked out of the room. Fast forward a half hour. “Mommy, you were right, there IS dog poop on MY shoes.”

“Told ya so.”

“Mommy, I checked because I thought you were lying to me.”

Because I obviously lie about dog poop all the time. What? “I would NEVER lie about something as serious as dog poop! However, when we get home from camp today, you get to clean it off. Awesome, right?”

Needless to say, he hasn’t worn his new kicks since. Instead they sit by the entryway, quietly and dress neatly next to one another. I can’t figure out if he scared of getting them dirty again, or waiting to completely destroy them the first day of school. With school stating in two days, we shall soon find out.

That Is Definitely NOT A Garden Shed!

The morning commute in my car is never short of interesting. Especially when it so accurately details the different ways my kids’ brains work.

Theo: Look!!!

Pheobe: *GASP* A garden shed!!!

Theo: No, it’s a hawk! Look!

Pheobe: Yeah…no. I’m pretty sure it’s a garden shed. It’s a little house…in a garden…soooo…it’s a garden shed.

Theo: Pheobe! *angrily* Look up! On the wire! It’s a hawk!

Pheobe: Oh! Yeah, that is definitely NOT a garden shed.

It’s conversations like this that caused my son to look at me the other day and say, “You know mommy, sometimes I don’t really like Pheobe. When I don’t like her I think it would be better to just go sleep outside where it is quite.”

My response, “Theo, honey. A lot of us feel that way, but remember, she lives in Pheobe Land and we are all just visiting.”

Pheobe Zen

Baconator Fries Cause Disappointment and Sadness

Dear Wendy’s,

It’s a common known fact that women tend to crave certain foods during different points in their lives. When I was pregnant with my son, I craved butter. With my daughter it was sour cream. I may or may not have subjected myself to eating both with a spoon out of a tub. With each woman it’s different. However, when it comes to PMS, all women crave the same thing: fat, grease, and more fat. It’s almost as if we can live without it. We crave it to the point of driving ourselves mad until we finally fold and fill our mouths with mounds of cheese, bacon, and anything fried. Once we have fulfilled this craving, we can go back to nibbling on our salads and sipping our seltzer waters.

When I get that animalistic craving for all things unhealthy it you, Wendy’s, that I turn to. I picture Dave Thomas with his arms out stretched, beckoning me to the drive through window where mounds of food wrapped in a crisp red and white bag await me. Yesterday my PMS grabbed a hold of me once again. I made my way through the wind and the rain on the back roads of New Hampshire, and found myself on your doorstep with dreams of Baconator Fries dancing in my head.  As the drive through window slid open, and the red and white bag touched my hand, I could almost taste the salty fries on my tongue and the gooey cheese sliding down my throat.

My eyes followed the sharp edges of the bag, and plunged inside with desire. Encased in a steaming plastic cocoon, where my Baconator Fries. I popped the top so I could finally taste heaven in my mouth. Once the steam had cleared, this is what I saw.


Disappointment. The cheese, barely melted, was no bigger than a sneeze and the bacon was maybe one whole piece…maybe. The fries were soggy, and resembled the fresh cut fries promised on tv about as much as a chihuahua resembles a cat. My need for cheese and grease compelled me to eat it, but not until after I nuked it in the microwave to finish the cheese melting process and warm up the soggy fries. Even then, I was left with nothing more than complete and utter disappointment in my mouth.

The whole event has left my PMS induced inner fat girl distressed and still craving anything that will clog my arteries thus causing a heart attack. The fact that the “new” Wendy’s girl is so slender and healthy no longer baffles me. With food this hard to swallow, it’s any wonder she has eaten anything in the past year. i am sad, Wendy’s, so so sad.

Sorrowfully yours,