What Do You Do With a Drunken Pork Roast..?

One of our favorite meals at my house is Pioneer Woman's Shredded Pulled Pork. There's nothing simpler than dumping some Dr. Pepper and Adobo Peppers (or BBQ sauce, which is what we use) on a pork butt and letting it cook all day. Easy and delicious. It's especially handy when company is coming because it produces quite a few servings and everyone likes it. Win-win!

On Thursday evenings, we've started a tradition of eating with some friends of ours. The kids play while we chat and it's great. I had decided to make the Pulled Pork of Awesomeness for the meal, but when I checked our pantry, I couldn't find any Dr. Pepper.

Sneaky husband.

I scoured the cupboards for any sort of soda-pop-ish beverage that could serve as a sweet meat tenderizer, but, alas, the only drinks I keep stocked in our house are milk and water. Oh, and pink lemonade. I stood in the kitchen, fretting, until I remembered that we had a bottle of whiskey in our top cabinet.

Now, before you start thinking that my husband and I survive our wonderfully chaotic little life by being closet alcoholics, let me clarify that the whiskey was only in my possession because of another PW recipe that called for it. I cocked my head and pondered whether or not whiskey could serve the same purpose as DP. Surely. Right?

So, I unscrewed the lid, shuddered at the stench, and poured a little on top of the roast. I peeked into the pot and thought that the liquid content seemed a little low, so I poured a little more. It still didn't seem like enough, so I drenched the roast, screwed the lid back on the (significantly lighter) bottle and stashed it back in the top cabinet. I then dumped BBQ sauce on top of it, turned on the heat, and walked away to let the roast cook. Or brew. Whichever.

After a few hours, the house began to smell a little sour, but I ignored it because you really can't judge the idiocy of a decision until that decision has come to complete fruition, which, in this case, required a fully cooked roast. So I waited until the allotted cooking time had passed and only a few minutes before our friends were to arrive, I tested the roast.

I lifted the lid and despite the intolerably rancid and bitter smell, I held my breath, grabbed a fork, and proceeded to attempt to shred my shredded pulled pork.

Only it didn't shred. In fact, it didn't move. That dang roast was as solid as though it were still in the fridge.

Not one to give up so easily, I grabbed my butcher knife, shoved it down into the roast, and scraped a piece of meat onto my fork. I steeled my nerves, opened my mouth, and placed the Roast Fail on my tongue.

As quickly as the roast entered my mouth it also exited it, as I gagged and threw up in the kitchen sink.

The taste of the whiskey was so undeniably prominent that I might as well have left the pork and BBQ sauce out of the pot and written "Hot Liquor" under the Thursday slot on our menu board. It was so sour, SO sour, and I hung my head in shame as I mentally added this to the long list of domesticity fails that have occurred in my married life. Poor husband. Poor friends that were on their way over. Poor pork roast. Poor trash can that would have to endure the wretchedness of the poor pork roast.

Thankfully, Pizza Hut delivers to my house.

Have a lovely day.

Vomiting Makes The Heart Grow Fonder.

I think it's safe to say that any sort of stomach bug is my least favorite sort of bug. I had heard of such a bug floating around our area and while I crossed my fingers and took my vitamins and hoped that perhaps it would skip over us, my efforts were futile. Saturday night, Mouse threw up six times in an hour and a half, once Sunday night, and then we all got it Monday night. "It" turned out to be a horribly painful bug, full of stomach cramping and subsequent loss of stomach content. Both my husband and I agreed that this was the worst sickness we'd had in a while, as we laid on the floor curled up in the fetal position, moaning and pounding the floor with our fists.

Yeah, it was that bad.

Thankfully, it only lasted for a few hours with the kids. It lasted for eight hours for my husband and I, and finally after midnight we were able to hold down Gatorade (it never tasted so good). By the next morning, we were at least functioning, and I took advantage of this energy burst to go into psycho-cleaning mode. It seems to me that the stomach bug spreads germs in the worst way and I was determined to nix every last trace of illness in our house. I strapped on a mask and yellow gloves, and after removing the shower curtain, rug, and towels (all of which went in the wash for a spin in the "sanitize" cycle) in our guest bath (where we camped out most of the night), I bleached the entire bathroom. On my hands and knees, scrubbing. GAH. It was awful and felt wonderful. Now, at the end of the day, all of the sheets and comforters have been washed, too. Phew.

While my husband and I tag-teamed caring for the kids and took turns throwing up between hand-offs, it made me appreciate him all the more. He is so sensitive and sweet to the kids and this was especially true last night as he consoled them and held them and loved on them while they were sick. At one point he reached over to me and said, "I feel like death. I can't even imagine how hard this is for you being pregnant. You're amazing." I managed a smile in the midst of a really horrible night.

Now, we are back in the land of the living. Kind of. We're all still feeling tired and weak, but our stomachs are better and the house is sparkling. I'm glad that episode is over.

Have a lovely day.

Melting Boogers.

Gross title, yes?

We finally caught the sicky bugs that have been going around, and this week we've been up to our elbows in fussiness, poopy diapers, Boogie Wipes, and laundry. While we've seen everything from fevers to puke, one thing that has remained consistent is the always-ambitious RUNNY NOSE.

With a two year old who doesn't exactly blow his nose with amazing efficiency, a little trick my cousin taught me has come in quite handy: Melting boogers.

I'm sure many of you know this and employ it, but it was news to me when she told me about it and it's made our snotty situations much more bearable.

Firstly, you soak a washcloth in hot hot hot water. Then you tell your squirmy toddler that you're going to "Melt boogers! And if you're good ... you get to SEE THEM!" Press the washcloth against their nose (as though you were wiping it) for a few moments and if there is snot or boogers in there, they will come out on the washcloth. Cub hates having his nose wiped, but seeing the huge boogers that come out of his nose is pretty much the coolest thing ever, so he complies. I use the nasal aspirator if there are some pesky ones still stuck in there, but, for the most part, the washcloth does the trick. At the end of it all, his nose is clean and he's happy because he's seen some awesomely cool snot. A little shot of Little Noses before commencing is helpful as well.

Then, of course, throw the washcloth in the washing machine!

Boogie Wipes are good to use in the interim, too.

And yes, I totally wrote a post about boogers. That's how I roll these days.

Have a lovely day.