Roast Beef Chili

This is a great recipe for using up leftover roast beef.  My whole family enjoys it.

Ingredients

• 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
• 1 onion, chopped
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1 19 oz can of diced tomatoes (with liquid)
• 2 cups chopped cooked roast beef
• 1 package of Taco seasoning (low sodium)
• 1 (4 ounce) can diced green chile peppers
• 1/2 teaspoon cumin
• 1/8 teaspoon red pepper flakes, or to taste (optional)
• 1 cup of frozen corn

Directions

1. Heat the oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Stir in the onion and garlic, and cook until tender and transparent, about 5 minutes.
2. Mix in the tomatoes, roast beef, chile peppers, Taco seasoning cumin, and red pepper flakes, if desired. Bring the mixture to a boil.
3. Reduce heat to medium, and simmer, uncovered, for 15 minutes.
4. Add corn and simmer for another 10 minutes or until thickened.

Serves about 6.

I have also added a can of black beans for another layer of texture and flavour, which was yummy.

Best Friends

Last year, we spent Christmas at my parents’ home. Little Miss Bean was enamoured with all of the Christmas decorations adorning my parents’ house, but she was completely smitten with a two foot tall nutcracker statue. She stared at it, spoke to it and played with it for hours. On our subsequent visits to my parents’ home, she has asked for it and insisted that Sergent Pepper (the name he was given) be unearthed, despite it being no where near Christmas time. This year, we are staying home for Christmas and I decided we needed a nutcracker; so, I bought one and brought it home to LMB. She, of course, was ecstatic. After some playtime with it, we settled on a good corner in which he should stand guard until Christmas has passed. This particular place has another corner about 3 feet away that was just calling for another nutcracker to make the scene complete. So, I went out and found another nutcracker. When I brought it home, LMB was equally as trilled. She squealed, “They’re friends. Best friends. Best friends forever.” Then, she insisted that the two nutcrackers be placed side by side so that they could, “hold hands”. It was so sweet. I love my little girl.

The Sun Will Come Out . . .

NEVER!! When Mr. W was making the pitch for us to move from the northern prairie city of my upbringing to the northern coastal city of his upbringing, he told me, “oh, the winters are so much better. It’s not as cold and it really doesn’t rain THAT much.” HA!! I didn’t really believe him, but agreed to move for other more practical reasons. Now, I am so completely overjoyed when I see the slightest sliver of blue sky through the mass of clouds or a miniscule ray of sunshine. The winters here are not minus 30 celcius, but they are wet and they are cold. Maybe not freeze-to-death if your car breaks down cold, but they are bone-chilling.

Old Crap

I bought my first antique a few days ago. It is a 140 year old Tibetan cabinet I intend to use as a sideboard. I stared at it for a long long time before purchasing unsure if my excitement would fade and I would loathe it in a few months. It is now in my living room and it is beautiful. Even Mr. W likes it and he considers antiques just old crap.

My Birthday My Way

It was my birthday recently.   Mr. Wanderer, as much as I love him, stopped planning romantic outings long ago.  I don’t hold this against him.  He has many wonderful attributes and I don’t need to be romanced, anymore.   True to typical form, my birthday was approaching with no big plans.  Normally, I don’t really care much about my birthday.  However, this year I was feeling different.    It’s been an exhausting 4 1/2 months since Little Miss Banana was born.  Unlike when Little Miss Bean was a baby, Banana is not a good sleeper despite my best efforts.  This, coupled with chasing Bean around, has made life with two at home very tiring.  Not to mention my outings usually entail a quick run to the grocery store or a trip the mall.   This year, I considered my birthday a chance to get out with Mr. W for some much needed adult, couple time. 

So, I took it upon myself to plan the evening.  I made  a reservation at a trendy restaurant, and  I bought tickets to a play.  A play about motherhood.  And kids. And husbands.  Mr. W. had no idea was the play was about prior to going.   He didn’t know what he was in for until, as we proceeded to our seats, he glanced around the  theatre and noticed that he was one of about five men in the room.

 The play was awesome.  Funny and touching.  Witty and shocking.   Among the shocking portions was skit where two of the performers each pulled out a breast and began squirting fake breast milk at each other and a skit where a performer runs fully nude across the stage in a scene where she is chasing her child around the change room of the community swimming pool.  Now, I’m okay with this kind of thing.  It was hilarious and it was in context.  Mr. W., however, is kind of squeamish.   And he’s a bit conservative.  He’s the guy that refuses to carry my purse in public.   He doesn’t like the sight of blood.  Poop sends him over the edge.    Watching him experience the performance was equally as entertaining as the performance itself.    It was a thoroughly enjoyable evening for me.  And, since it was my birthday, Mr. W had to pretend to enjoy it, too.  We’ll see who plans my birthday next year.

To Begin . .

If you had asked me 10 years ago what I might be doing at 3 pm on a Saturday afternoon, I never would have replied that I would be sitting in my livingroom starting a blog as I watch my 2 year old play and listen for my 4 month old to wake. But that is exactly what I am doing. Why? I’m not sure. Ever since I began my second maternity leave, I have been contemplating a new medium for expressing myself. So, here I am. If anyone enjoys my stories, then great. If not, at least I have a record of my thoughts and observations as I journey through family life. I am a late twenty-somthing mother of two. My two daughters are almost exactly 2 years apart – born in June 2007 and June 2009. DH and I have been married for almost nine years. DH prefers to remain anonymous, and frankly so do I, so that is how we shall progress.