Alisa. 37. New Hampshire. Married for almost three years to this wonderful, funny, smart guy. Previously married. Went through in-vitro fertilization to have my five year old magical son Keegan. Stepmother to the charming Isabelle (6). Gushingly in love with our baby boy Harper(1). Policy Wonk and dreaded bureaucrat. Lover of fine cuisine, honeybees, truly romantic moments and the underdog.
Curried Beef Short Ribs

Note: I found this was more realistically four servings.

Finishing this dish with lime zest and juice brightens its rich flavors.

Yield 6 servings (serving size: about 3 ounces ribs, 2/3 cup rice, and about 2 1/2 tablespoons sauce)

2 teaspoons canola oil
2 pounds ...continue reading

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Hairnets And Gloves

Okay my worst nightmare happened this week.

Erika's camp counselors referred to me as the "lunch lady." It's not bad enough that Tom has been calling me this all week. But that was a joke. Now I have apparently fully assumed that identity to the outside world. Don't get me wrong, it's not like there weren't signs:
The going to sleep at night mentally visualizing and counting juice boxes. Do we have enough?
The waking up in the morning and my first thought. "It's Thursday it must be pita pockets."
Perhaps it was on Wed. as I stood demonstrating the fine art of the "Fluffernutter" sandwich. The secret is all in how you spread the bread my friends.

Well atleast Adam Sandler has already written my theme song. It also explains why I now refer to Tom as "Sloppy Joe."

Woke up in the morning.
Put on my new plastic glove.
Served some re-heated salsbury steak
With a little slice of love.
Got no clue what the chicken pot pie
Is made of.
Just know everything's doing fine
Down here in Lunch Lady Land.

Well, I wear this net on my head
'Cause my red hair is fallin' out.
I wear these brown orthopedic shoes
'Cause I got a bad case of the gout.
I know you want seconds on the corn dogs,
But there's no reason to shout.
Everybody gets enough food
Down here in Lunch Lady Land.

Well, yesterday's meatloaf
Is today's sloppy joes
And my breath reaks of tuna
And there's lots of black hairs comin' out of my nose.

In Lunch Lady Land, your dreams come true.
Clouds made of carrots and peas.
Mountains built of shepherd's pie
And rivers made of macaroni and cheese.
But don't forget to return your trays
And try to ignore my gum disease.
No student can escape
The magic of Lunch Lady Land.

Hogies and grinders.
Hogies and grinders.
Hogies and grinders.
Navy beans.
Navy beans.
Navy beans.
Hogies and grinders.
Hogies and grinders.
Navy beans.
Navy beans.
Meatloaf sandwich.
Sloppy joe.
Slop, sloppy joe.
Sloppy joe.
Slop, sloppy joe.
Come on.
Sloppy joe.
Slop, sloppy joe.
Sloppy joe.
Slop, *farting noise* joe.

Well, ah, dreamt one mornin'
That I woke up to see
All the pepperoni pizza
Was a-lookin' at me.
It screamed, "Why do you
Burn me and serve me up cold?"
I said, "I got the spatula,
Just do what you're told."

Then the liver and onions
Started joinin' the fight
And the chocolate pudding
Pushed me with all its might
And the chop juey slapped me
And it kicked me in the head.
"It's called revenge, Lunch Lady,"
Said the garlic bread.

I said, "What did I do to
Make you all so mad?"
They said, "You got flabby arms
And your breath is bad."
Then the green bean said,
"You better run and hide."
But then my friend, sloppy joe,
Came and joined my side.

He said, "If it wasn't for the Lunch Lady,
The kids wouldn't eat ya.
You should be shakin' her hand and sayin'
'Please to meet ya.'
She gives you a purpose
And she give you a goal.
You should be kissin' her feet
And kissin' her mole."

Now, all the angry foods
Just leave me alone
And we all live together
In a happy home
Thanks to
Sloppy joe.
Slop, sloppy joe.
Sloppy joe.
Slop, sloppy joe.
Sloppy joe.
Slop, sloppy joe.
Come on.
Sloppy joe.
Slop, sloppy joe.

Well, me and sloppy joe got married.
We got six kids and we're doin' just fine
Down in Lunch Lady Land.

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