Nuclear Family Warhead

It occurred to me after my last “Cliffipe” entry that some people may be wondering which Steak and Meat Seasoning NukeDad uses in his mexi-meat.   It also occurred to me that some people may be wondering “What the heck is Steak and Meat Seasoning?”, so I decided that I would share that information with you.  It’s not like it’s a closely guarded secret, heck, I don’t even give measurements.  But then, that’s kinda the point, isn’t it? 

So here it is: a link to the greatest steak, chicken, ground beef, pork, turkey, soup, cookies seasoning ever.  It comes from The Mexican Food Capital of the World, El Paso, Texas; my old stomping grounds.  In addition to the best Mexican food on the planet, El Paso also has a plethora of fantastic Steak and BBQ restaurants.  But that is fodder for another post.  Go to the Great American Land and Cattle Company website to place your order.

To answer the question some may be asking, NO, I have absolutely no affiliation with this restaurant and will receive no monetary gain for plugging it.  In fact, when I lived in EP, I actually worked for one of their competitors.  It’s just great stuff, and people need to know about it.  Happy Grilling!

After church today the Nuclear Family went out to eat.  During the course of the meal I looked over at Nukeboy1 and saw the biggest OMG expression ever.  In his hand he was holding one of his molars.  It wasn’t a total surprise, the tooth had been doing the Macarena in his mouth for a few days, the surprise came when he chomped down on it.  Ouch!  Luckily, none of the other molars sustained any damage in the enamel pile-up.  I asked him to let me see it, but he didn’t want to give it up.  He was a little upset because last week Nukeboy2 lost a tooth, and Grandma and Grandpa were here.  When Grandma and Grandpa visit, a lost tooth is worth 500%  more than usual.  They bring their tooth fairy with them.  

Nukeboy2 was excited, as he has lost 4 teeth in the last 9 weeks and knows that there is a monetary reward involved.  “I hope I lose some more teeth, Dad” he said,  “Why?” I asked him.  “Because I could use the money.”  I told him that if you lose more than 6 teeth in a year that you have to pay taxes on them, but he wasn’t buying it.  I also told him I had a friend who got audited by the tooth fairy once.  Over the course of 4 years he had turned in 24 teeth for redemption, but since God only gave him 20, he had some explaining to do.  He kinda bought that one.  Note to self:go to the shop and hide the pliers.

When Nukegirl saw the tooth she became very excited as well, because her pre-school class had studied dental hygiene on Friday (I’m not making this up, it’s right there on the calendar next to “Meet the letter L”), and she was ready to make a contribution.  “You can borrow my tooth pouch, Nukeboy1!” she said.  They had made “tooth pouches” to put their teeth in once they start falling out, thus saving the Tooth Fairy the hassle of searching inside pillow cases or under beds.  Dare I say, she was actually committed to this contribution?  Time will tell.  

We are pleased to announce the grand opening of the NFW Diaper Disposal Facility.

With the Nurse hailing from New Orleans, the food in the chow hall sometimes gets a bit “flavorful”.  This causes problems several hours later when little Beaker needs to be changed before hitting the cot.  After trying several containment measures like leftover grocery bags, zip lock sandwich bags, and lead-lined 55 gallon drums, it was obvious that drastic action was needed.

Behold!  A 43,000 acre state-of-the-art facility! 

Trucks will begin arriving tomorrow.  My highly trained and dedicated minions will then start the process of turning these previously useless pampers into a renewable energy source capable of powering the Lair and therefore removing us from the main power grid.  All surplus energy will be sold at extortion rates to countries with the highest bids. To be placed on the pick up route, please phone us at 1-888-555-LAIR.  A helpful, courteous henchman is waiting to handle your call.

• Brown alot of Ground Beef
• Season with: Steak and Meat Seasoning, Chile Powder and Cumin
• Add potato (cubed) and diced green chiles
• Lay mexi-meat in small flour tortilla. Fold it in half and you have a soft taco
• Roll it up in big flour tortilla, you have a burrito
• Deep fry burrito, you have a chimichanga
• Place in store bought formed taco shell, you have a crappy taco
• Place in corn tortilla, fry in oil, you have a good taco
• Roll up in corn tortilla, fry in oil, you have a flauta
• Go far enough North and your flauta becomes a taquito
• I could be here all day
• Roll in corn tortilla, put cheese and red sauce on top and you have red enchiladas
• Roll in corn tortilla, put cheese and green sauce on top and you have green enchiladas
• Fry corn tortilla flat, place mexi-meat then lettuce, you have a chalupa
• Fry corn tortilla flat, place lettuce then mexi-meat, you have a tostada
• Try telling a 4 year old why beans have to be re-fried
• Try telling a 10 year old why all Mexican food comes with Spanish rice
• I did the math: you have 267,583 possible meal combinations
• Pitcher of Margaritas HIGHLY recommended during preparation
• Yes, Margartia Cliffipe to follow…later….my fingers hurt

The kids and I differ on these two definitions.  To clarify, lets recall the oft-told tale of the chicken, the pig and breakfast:  If you’re having  bacon, eggs and sausage for Breakfast, who made the contribution and who made the commitment?  Well, they both contributed, but I think the pig is definitely committed. 

This subject comes up during clean up time.  The picture above is of a “pillow house”.  They randomly appear in the den from time to time; sometimes with the knowledge and blessing of NukeDad and NukeMom, but usually not.  Their construction requires the use of pillows (obviously) of all sizes and shapes, and depending on their size and scope, may require a trip upstairs.  They need structure and support, so the use of “the little table” is often employed, as are end tables, rocking chairs, TV floor chairs and V-rockers.

Construction of these domiciles is generally fast and furious, much like Donald Trump’s development of the lower west side of Manhattan.  Once the structure is complete and the “roof” (whichever blanket is left) has been installed, the habitation begins.  There are secret doors, mailboxes, peek-a-boo floor level windows; you name it, it’s in there.  The euphoria of living in a self built abode lasts all the way till dinner time, or whenever Spongebob is over, whichever comes first.

After dinner, when it comes time to clean-up, the conflict begins.  They become squatters.  We’d have better luck clearing the Gaza Strip of rocket launchers than getting our pillows returned to their beds.  “Nukegirl!  I told you that after dinner you and Nukeboy2 would have to clean this up!”  “I know Daddy, but my legs hurt.”  She did it.  She played the ouchie card.   I’d seen this tactic before, and if I survived the Great Disco Scare Of The Late 70’s, then I could make it through this.  “Well, you can soak in the tub when you get done.”  “But Daddy”, she said “they hurt right now!  In real life!”  She wrongly assumed that my line between reality and fantasy was as blurred as hers was.  It wasn’t working.  “Just do it, Nukegirl.”  With a pouty lip and a feigned limp she hopped over to the couch and put one of the pillows back in it’s place.  That was her contribution.

Nukeboy2 was committed.  By the time Nukegirl and I had finished our verbal volley, he already had bed pillows returned upstairs, and most of the downstairs pillows and blankets in their proper places.  The only thing left was 1 couch pillow.  Nukegirl sauntered over, picked it up and with a look of disgust said to her brother: “How come I always have to do EVERYTHING?  You NEVER help.”  Nukeboy2 thought better of retaliation.  He’d rather be a pig than be called chicken any day.

Every year it happens.  Every year the Lair is invaded by an insidious adversary know as American Idol.  This attack is always an inside job.  My lab assistant and her junior cohort simply open the fortress doors and invite it in, week after week.  Then there they sit, staring at the television and cheering for the nobody du jour, and debating with each other over which one should be cast out of the inner circle.  The current favorite is a wispy little blond that sings and plays the piano.  Sure, she’s cute, but that’s about it for me.

The one that catches the most derision is a poser with a bad haircut and even worse sense of personal style.  Each week he gets up and belts out some cheesy song that he’s re-worked to try and make himself look innovative and sings it like a man in dire need of a stool softener.  This madness goes on for weeks, sometimes for 2 hours a night!  After every performance a self-appointed jury gives their opinion to each offender.  Almost without fail, it goes a little like this:

Randy Jackson:  “Yo, yo dog.  It was a little pitchy for me, a little pitchy.  It was just okay for me, not that great.”

Paula Abdul:  “You’re just wonderful, I love your voice, and you’re already a star.”

Simon Cowell:  “That was just awful.  I hated it.” (He’s usually right)

I guess if it keeps the minions entertained and distracted, how bad can it be?  As for me, I climb up to the Crow’s Nest and work on projects for English 112.

They roamed the hills and valleys of the driveway for days.  Three days, to be exact.  The tall pastel pink female was their leader.  She kept them all in line.  Fuchsia was her name.  She ruled with an iron stick fist.  She led her people through the windiest March 22nd they had ever seen.  The only March 22nd they had ever seen, actually.  And their last.  For even though Fuchsia held them together through the long, windy night of the 22nd, and all the way through the balminess of the 23rd, there would be no 24th.  In what would later be dubbed  “The Great 20 Minute Drizzle Of March 23rd”, the Chalk People, like the Mayans before them, vanished from the face of the earth.  Fuchsia, her first lieutenant Magenta, and the children; the poor children: Robins Egg Yellow and Columbia Blue all perished that evening.  An event that will last in the memory of Nukegirl for hours.  Minutes, even.  May they rest in peace.

They made it!  They finally got here!  Well, most of them; anyway.  Nukeboy2 had his heart set on an ant farm, so with the $6,000 in Toys R Us gift cards he got at Christmas, we were off.   The purchase was painless, the wait for the actual ants was excruciating.   See, Uncle Milton (The Ant Farm Makers) failed to mention that on the outside of the box.  I didn’t expect for there to be live ants in it, but I didn’t expect to have to wait almost 3 months for them either. 

Nukeboy2 purchased his ant farm back at the end of December.  We filled out the card for the ants (please enclose $6) and sent it off.  Strangely, there was no option on the card to pay with a Toys R Us gift card.  No matter.  The card read: Allow 3 to 6 weeks for delivery. That’s quite the delivery window, isn’t it?  Anyway, right after that the card read: Weather permitting.  Hmmm.  Upon further review of the e-mail we received, it seems that harvester ants have an aversion to trips through the U.S. Postal Service in sub-freezing temperatures.  Makes sense.  But there is this thing called full disclosure….

The day had finally arrived; the ants were here!  Nukeboy2 came in the door after school and I immediately told him: “Go get your ant farm, the ants finally got here!”  His reply? “What ant farm?”  I had forgotten.  Kids live in dog-time.  1 day seems like 7, so for Nukeboy2, ordering ants two and a half months ago may as well have been 2 years ago.  I could see his Axon’s fluxing and he said “Oh, yeah!  The ant farm!  I’ll be right back!”  It took him almost 5 minutes, but he finally found it under his bed.  “Here it is Dad!”  he said.  Homework would just have to wait a few minutes, I was almost as excited as he was.

We had waited so long for the ants, that in our haste we didn’t read the instructions again.  We knew we had to put them in the refrigerator (Not the freezer!) for 15 minutes to calm them and avoid flesh wounds; what we forgot was the “starter holes”.  They sent a little jabby thingy to make starter holes in the gel, but it was still under the bed.  Along with one of the hole plugs, but that’s another story.  We poured in the “25 to 30″ harvester ants and put the lid on.  What actually came out was 24 ants, several thoraxes, a few heads, some mandibles and lots and lots of legs.

In 24 to 48 hours our little guys were supposed to be digging up a storm, but all they had done is sit there with their faces plugged in the gel sucking in water and “nutrients”.  “Why aren’t they doing anything, Dad?” Nukeboy2 asked.  I didn’t have an answer for him.  “Maybe they’re on strike” I said.  Well, two nights ago, miracle of miracles happened.  They had sucked so much water and “nutrients” from the gel that they actually sucked it away from the walls of the case.  One or two of the poor saps fell into the crevasse, and had to eat their way back to the surface.  Now they’re tunneling like crazy.  Last night they completed their version of  “The Chunnel”.  If you look close, you can see from the bottom right the tunnel is skinny, but from the top down it is like an 8 lane interstate.  I believe the English ants tunneled down, and the French ants were tunneling up.  Just a theory.

This evening my 8 year old daughter was watching The Sound Of Music.  Sitting across from her was my 18 month old son, also watching the movie, but holding not 1, but 2 footballs.  Does the presence of athletic equipment cancel out the fact that he was staring in rapt attention to a musical, or do I have something to worry about here? 

Will he drag 300 lb NFL defensive linebackers down the field, or just dance in one, with an apron and a guitar case?

To her credit, my daughter did not make him play Rolfe to her Liesl.

• Boil Water
• Throw in fettucine noodles (”place noodles” if you don’t like splashes)
• In separate pan heat milk, Philly cream cheese & parmesan
• Toy with it a little, it’s not like I have this stuff written down somewhere
• Drain noodles-resting spoon on the edge of pan to hold back noodles method not recommended
• Write “strainer” on shopping list
• Pour alfredo sauce over fettucine
• I’m assuming you put fettucine back in pan
• Mix well
• Start another pot of water to boil
• Serve Fettucine Alfredo to family
• Yell “Bellissimo!” as you place it on the table
• After 3 bites ask kids why they aren’t eating
• By now the other pot of water should be boiling
• Take 4th (and last, for a while) bite of your Fettucine Alfredo
• Get up and go cook ramen/spaghetti/ravioli for kids
• Give kids their food
• Sit back down and enjoy your cold, clumpy Fettucine Alfredo