My back, it is killing me.
I know what happened. My friend G had come for an overnight visit on Friday, you see. That night we’d gone out to dinner and to see The Kids Are All Right (good movie! Though I am the everlasting optimist and was a bit bummed at the ending), and once we came home it was time to light a fire and roast marshmallows for s’mores.
Yes, folks, it is occasionally cool enough at night to sit around a fire and roast marshmallows. It’s not the most legal thing to do here in housing, but considering how much “rent” we pay it should be allowed. Besides, if our houses burnt down, we’d be doing housing a favor. One less house to tear down!
Anyhow, after a delicious breakfast at a local diner and a lovely walk at the wildlife refuge, it was time for G to head home. That meant it was time for me to pack up the raised AeroBed we have for guests, as we’d invited Kurt’s buddy and his family over for dinner. And the last thing I needed when I was going to have five rambunctious kids (and that’s including my two) in the house was to have an expensive air mattress still out for them to destroy.
So here I am, wrestling and wrangling the damn thing, trying to get it small enough to go into its little carrying case so that there’s still enough room for the mattress pad that goes with it, and I have to unfold the damn thing like four times to get it small enough for my preferences. And instead of taking it out and unrolling it properly, I’m getting so annoyed that I’m flinging it around to open it up so I can start over.
That’s probably why my back is killing me now.
I can sit just fine. It’s getting up or switching positions that causes me massive pain. I took some Motrin earlier today, which seemed to dull the pain a bit, but I’m pretty sure it’s worn off already. I spent most of the afternoon either in my reading nook or laying in bed — reading. ME napped for a good long while, since she hadn’t had her morning nap, and Grace was being really, really good and entertaining herself. At one point, though, Grace decided she needed to be on my bed with me, so she grabbed a book too — and we cuddled and read.
It was the sweetest thing ever. Oh, how I love that kid. And she is so much like me! That is, except the parts where she is just like Kurt.
Backache notwithstanding, I also managed to make dinner, although Kurt helped a lot. What, you ask, did we eat?
May I present:
Chicken Carne Asada Tacos with Pickled Onions! (And yes, that is my own photo. I’m quite proud of how gourmet it all looked on the plate.)
This recipe could be completely tweaked to whatever your preference is. You want beef, make beef instead. (Side note: I hate that it’s called Chicken Carne Asada, since “carne asada” means “roasted meat” — as in beef.) You want ground turkey? Go for it. How about a veggie substitute, like soy crumbles? Heck, throw in black beans as the protein. It doesn’t really matter.
The pickled onions were super yum. I don’t like raw onions, but the short boiling time and the marinating in the acid of the orange and lime juices took all the bite out of the onions. For me, this is a plus. They tasted even more sweet after sitting in the juices, too. We didn’t use Cotija cheese, mainly because finding any Mexican ingredients in this Portuguese town is nigh on impossible. We had feta, so feta it was. Of course, we did toast the tortillas like we always do. Heat a cast iron skillet till it’s just about smoking, mist each side of the tortilla very slightly with cooking spray, and throw it in the hot, hot pan. Twist the tortilla around in the pan so that it doesn’t get too burnt in one spot (it helps to have asbestos hands), and flip when the tortilla starts to bubble. Repeat on the other side. This only works with flour tortillas; my family doesn’t care for corn ones. I use my Japanese cooking chopstick to flip the tortillas. It makes sense to my brain!
And of course we had to sprinkle chopped cilantro on top. Cilantro’s one of those polarizing ingredients. People either love it, or they hate it. Me, I came to love it. I wasn’t sure about it as first, but eventually it grew on me. And now I can’t stop eating it! In fact, I tend to sub in cilantro when I can’t find flat-leaf parsley at the commissary, which is pretty much all the time.
Hopefully by tomorrow my back will be back to normal, so I can get back to my housewifely duties. Laundry waits for no woman!