“Thanks for not yelling at us so much this morning, Mama.” – Jack, age 9, on getting ready for school
Fucking winning today!
Category: child-rearing
The Rest of My Life and What the &*$% to Do With It
Yesterday we celebrated my husband’s life. September 15, 1982 – November 12, 2019.
It was a great celebration. There was booze (essential to most celebrations), there was family, there were friends, there was food (which actually didn’t suck, or so I was told – I can attest to the fact that the booze didn’t suck!), there was one fan-fucking-tastic speech (given not by me because 1. I don’t think the widow should have to; B. I am a chicken shit and the thought of speaking in front of people turns all of my bits wobbly and sweaty and 3. I just didn’t want to but Ash’s brother did it and it was spectacular), there was lots of laughter, there were a few tears (not by me because apparently I’m dead inside but I’m sure others have feelings), there were children running around like crazy outside having the time of their lives because they have no idea what’s actually going on inside, and there were so many hugs (I hugged the shit out of many people, which if you know me, you know that’s not quite my favorite thing, but I did it and I even liked it. Mostly.).
You know what there wasn’t? My husband. We were celebrating him without him. Which he would be ok with. He hated celebrations. He hated attention. He hated anyone to fuss over him, other than me, he couldn’t get enough of me fussing over him. Shit, I’ve been fussing over him for so long that I haven’t quite figured out what to do with all this extra time of no fussing. I guess that’s why I write. Because Ash isn’t here to fuss over. (This is probably one of the most well written paragraphs in history – awards probably coming my way). I could also use this time to pay bills that apparently don’t stop when your spouse dies, but who wants to do that? Me, I do, I used to be very responsible. This widow shit is seriously mass murdering my brain cells.
He wasn’t there, though. For obvious reasons. And man did I miss him. My kids missed him. They couldn’t quite grasp why we were celebrating Daddy without Daddy. Um, because kids, that’s how it works. People die and you have a few options 1. do nothing; b. funeral/depressing memorial service; and 3. my favorite option – a celebration of life. So many of my family and friends poured their time, love and attention into this shindig and there’s no way I could ever possibly thank them enough. The decorations were perfect, the slide show was tear inducing, the memory box with the note cards for my boys was unbelievable. All things I could never have pulled off in a million years. But they did, for Ash, for my babies and for me. That’s love.
I think I felt so much love yesterday that I didn’t have time to feel sad. Sure, there were moments where I got choked up, but for the most part, I was smiling, laughing and loving all the fun stories and memories surrounding everyone. I think we could all feel Ash in that room. Or I sipped the champagne a little too aggressively and that’s what I felt. Either way, it felt good. And the boys and I got through it (so for the boys it was like a giant playdate but that was perfect too. Exactly what they needed. They even went on to have a sleepover with some great friends and one saint of a husband who’s wife I owe $51!)
And some of my friends and I went to grab some dinner and continue the laughter. But then I came home. And I was all alone. It was dark. My babies were tucked in somewhere that wasn’t with me. And God hasn’t given me Ash’s forwarding address or new phone number (rude) so I’m not sure how to get a hold of him. I crumpled last night. I read every single card in the memory box. They brought smiles to my mouth and crocodile tears to my eyes. I didn’t sleep well.
I woke up today, sad, a little scared and so alone. That’s the thing that’s the hardest. How do you transition from spending your whole life with someone to oops, we’re going to have to take him back, you’re on your own now? I know I sound like pity party, table for 1. And I guess that’s what’s happening right now. Dammit. But, fuck, it’s unfair, unlucky, unbelievable, unfathomable – how many more “un” words do you want?
Today was hard. It was an emotional hangover from hell. My eyes were scarcely dry. I went to church, which was new for me. I took my kids to a candy bomber thing (not sure why I keep taking myself to so many people-y places but I do). I had dinner with my parents tonight. So I’m clearly not alone. I’m surrounded. I’m supported. I’m loved. But my friend isn’t here anymore. I have nothing to fuss over. My babies are fast asleep. My dogs are fast asleep. And here I am. Staring at this screen. Wondering what the fuck am I supposed to do with the rest of my life?
One Month Down, The Rest of Our Lives To Go
Today marks one month since Ash’s death. It’s been an incredibly long, yet incredibly short month. My boys and I are still standing. Thing 1 just got straight A’s on his last interim report, Thing 2 just sang “Jingle Bells” in his preschool Christmas program. Life goes on. I’m proud that my boys are still thriving. They’re surrounded by great family and friends to help navigate them through these rough waters so to speak (Jesus, I’m getting metaphor-ey – can’t be a good sign of things to come!)
I didn’t realize how hard today was going to be. I feel sad, tired and way older than my 37 years. Yesterday I wrote about how strong I am. Today I feel the complete opposite of that. I cried in the elementary school. I teared up at the preschool Christmas program. I’m crying sitting here thinking how tired I am. Selfish cow – present!
Here’s what I have done in the last month:
Cried.
Laughed.
Yelled. Mostly at my dogs and children.
Apologized. Mostly to my children for all the said yelling.
Drank too much.
Eaten too much.
Gone out with friends.
Got a fence.
Got new blinds.
Replaced my bedding.
Booked a trip to Disney. And Universal Studios. (don’t tell my kids)
Cleaned up limitless amounts of dog piss in my carpet. (Someone, for the love of me or God or dog, take this damn puppy – I’m kidding – sort of.)
I’ve questioned life.
I’ve questioned God.
I’ve questioned Ash.
I’ve cursed even more than usual. Which is a lot. Like a lot a lot.
We saw Santa. (Colt doesn’t want socks if you were wondering)
We watched a parade. (you know the one)
I’ve lost 4 pounds (only 104 more to go!)
I started doing yoga daily.
I started jogging (less often than daily).
I’ve talked to friends.
We’ve visited with family.
We put a puzzle together.
We endured our first holiday.
We’ve done countless, meaningless tasks every single day for the last month.
Life has gone on. It didn’t stop for our broken hearts. It just keeps on keeping on. And we’re keeping up. But today, I don’t feel like keeping up. I feel like curling up on my couch with a warm blanket and hugging my babies tight and crying until my eyes hurt. But that’s not possible either because have 2 basketball practices and Christmas programs and haircuts. Because life goes on. Whether we want it to or not. Whether we’re ready for it to or not. Life goes on.
Unexpected Breakdowns
I’m going to toot my own horn for a minute. Don’t worry, it’s not something I do often (unless of course I’ve been sipping on the Tito’s for a while and I promise I haven’t been this morning), but today I feel like it. So I am.
We were dealt a life changing hand September 2018, obviously, or I wouldn’t be writing this. I would say for the first 2 weeks, I was a crumbling mess of tears, nerves and anxiety. But then I put my girl panties on (literally because eating was my coping mechanism and I needed the big girl ones to fit around my fat ass), raised my tits up (thank you Mrs. Maisel) and I dealt with it. I found my inner strength (and maybe Xanax) and we continued to live. We lived the shit out of the last year.
Ash and Jack went to a World Series game in LA thanks to some very dear friends. Jack got to play baseball with Duke’s baseball team. Some of Ash’s best friends from high school came to see us. We went to Jamaica for Christmas. We took Colt to Target for hours one day and let him shop the hell out of it. Ash even bought him some random junk, which was very unlike him! We sold a business. We went to Houston, Ft. Worth, Salado and Austin, TX. Both boys rode a horse. Ash shot guns at cacti. We played countless rounds of family golf! Ash and I went to Durango, CO where we took very short hikes and cried too many tears. We went to another World Series game thanks to an awesome brother in law (and our very favorite Washington Nationals won the whole thing! Like, whoa! Divine intervention. Me thinks so!).
You get the point. We lived. We held our heads high. We did not break down in public. To look at us, you would never know what we were living with day in and day out. Even our closest friends were always shocked when Ash couldn’t come some place, or didn’t feel well or found out he threw up several times a day every day but still pushed through and LIVED. He is for sure my hero (that wasn’t always true and those that know me, know why, how, when, etc.). He was so brave through this fight though.
But guess what? So was I. (Told you I was going to toot my own horn.) Some days were worse than others but for the most part, I was dressed, my makeup was done, my hair looked decent and I was mostly friendly (other than at preschool, something about chipper, bright eyed and bushy-tailed preschool moms made me want to crawl in a hole and never come out, sorry ladies!) I went out with friends, I laughed, I made inappropriate jokes about our situation, took my kids to do fun things, took care of Ash. I can’t take all the credit of course. We have one hell of a support system around here, family, friends and even strangers. But dammit, I was strong. I am strong.
Now you’re wondering where the hell are you going with this, Kellie?!?
So here goes. Saturday, you heard about Saturday. I was an angry elf. And then I was a teary elf. I got the sympathy cards. I had the breakdown. I ended up letting the boys sleep in my bed (not my favorite thing in the whole wide world if you wanted to know.) I stayed up too late bingeing The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (best show ever, go watch it!). At one point, I needed to take a trip to the little girls room, somebody (ie the young boys that I don’t necessarily want sleeping in my bed) used the last of the toilet paper so I opened the cabinet above the toilet to find some more. Nothing strange there, except that it was. My husband’s side still had all his things. Deodorant, cologne that he never wore, some medications, shaving cream, razors, all the normal things a man would have for the bathroom.
And I just lost it. Out of nowhere. Unexpectedly. I crumpled to the floor in a heap and just sobbed. And I thought of all the reasons I was angry at him. He left me. He left the boys. He left the dogs. We had a rule, no more children than there are adults and now there’s only 1 adult, 2 children and 2 dogs. He broke the rule. And I am so mad. He never cleaned up his messes. He was always critical. He never liked my ideas. Until he did, because my ideas are mostly awesome! (haha!). He didn’t clean the garage. He left me in this house where now 2 Jones men have died. And I wanted to write it all down. I wanted to write him a letter and give him a piece of my mind. Tell him all the ways he’s pissed me off. But I couldn’t do that, could I? Because he left me. And our boys. And I know it wasn’t his choice but it doesn’t stop the anger. Or the unexpected breakdowns. Like opening the bathroom cabinet.
Yesterday I started cleaning out the garage. My dad’s boss let me borrow his dump trailer. My husband is a bit of a pack rat. He never throws anything away. Why throw it away when we can just lose it in a heaping pile of other junky shit in the garage. So it was a big task. My brother and mother helped because they are angels on Earth! But I found something again. Another letter. (also $25 in Canadian money so I’m probably a little rich now). It was a letter from Ash and my boys for Mother’s Day and it was just thanking me. Thanking me for “all you do for us everyday: laundry, dinner, groceries, special sandwiches!, coffee, paying all our bills on time so we don’t go to jail!!!!, letting us know when we need to go sit on the stairs, keeping our daily schedule intact, always showing us love and patience (okay that isn’t even possible) – but you are always there when we need you, when no one else will do.” It goes on to say other many nice things, and while it brought tears to my eyes (Ash didn’t do nice, really – unfortunate that my love language is words of affirmation. His wasn’t! Makes me laugh now – we somehow made it work, though), it also dissipated some of my anger with him. Had he been given a choice, he never would have chosen cancer and living our entire life in one year and leaving when everything was so good. The last sentence of this letter that I found is “God put us together for a reason and he made you a mother for a reason.”
I sure wish I knew the reason why He didn’t keep us together for longer. More unexpected breakdowns are in my future, but for the most part (other than in writing), you won’t see them. You will see me smile and laugh and make inappropriate jokes.
Hello, My Name is Kellie and I’m an Angry Elf
One of the grief processes – anger. I have it in spades. I never know what’s going to set it off. Could be one of my children scraped his nerf gun against my wall for the 3,257,851st time in a 5 minute period. Could be the new puppy my children just had to have pissed on the floor yet again because she doesn’t understand going outside and I’m not sure she ever will. Could be that my underwear is on inside out. Which it is. Right now. Because that’s my life now.
It’s funny. But it’s also making me cry. Today is one of those days where I’m teetering between punching everyone I see in the throat and just crying my eyes out for no good reason. (I have not yet tried the aforementioned throat punching, but I have tried the latter and it’s scaring my children). I guess there’s a good reason for it. I’m 37. I have 2 children. It’s almost Christmas. And I’m a widow.
I took my children to a Christmas parade this morning. It was freezing. It was windy. I didn’t want to be there but the boys did, so I made it happen. 2 of their friends met them there. They are 4 boys 10 and under. To say they have a lot of energy is the understatement of a lifetime. Candy is being thrown at them. They are of course aggressively attacking like Darth Maul with his double light saber at every Dum Dum and Tootsie Roll being tossed their way. Have I mentioned it’s a parade? And parades are crowded if you didn’t know. In my mind, parades are for children. I mean, they’re throwing candy. If I want candy 1. It sure as hell ain’t Dum Dum’s and peppermints and b. I can damn well buy my own candy whenever I want. It’s one of the perks of being an adult.
Well, I’m standing back behind the boys out of the line of fire, and a family comes and stands directly in front of me with very young children. They squeeze in right by the line of boys with their metaphorical double light sabers and one of my boys accidentally bumps into this new family’s little girl. Mama Bear said words to my son. Then my other boy stepped on the precious little girl’s foot. Mama Bear says words to my other son. And it is at this precise moment that I realize I am exactly where I don’t need to be. Anger was becoming my new best friend. We were ready to hold hands and skip our throat punch fists right into Mama Bear’s thick and pasty neck. Does she know what my boys are going through? Does she know that it’s Christmas and that those 2 rambunctious, candy chasing boys are actually showing some joy on their faces because of this cheap ass Dollar Tree candy? Does she know they lost their father less than a month ago? Does she know that her family cut right in on my boys’ space and then proceeded to get angry when my boys used said space?
No, she doesn’t know any of this, so me and my new best friend put our fist away.
Then we move on to Winter Wonderland at one of the local school’s. Santa is going to be there. Bounce houses. Food trucks. Crafts. All sorts of the shit that makes me drag my feet and prepare my fist. But again, my boys come first, and they wanted to go. So go we did. And I think they had fun. However, I only let their fun last for just the tiniest little bit. My poor 5 year old, passive, sweet, wonderfully weird boy that he is, got cut in front of, he got booted out of his games in the middle of them, he got pushed out the way, he got balls taken from him while it was still his turn. Again, not the place for me to be today. I can feel my best friend’s heat rising up my face to the tips of my ears. We left immediately. We didn’t see Santa. We didn’t eat lunch. We didn’t craft. We just got the hell out of there.
When we got home, I checked the mail, as one does when they get home for the day. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a sympathy card in the mail. Today I got 3. One of them was from Ash’s oncology team at Duke. All the anger dissipated and it’s place came sadness, loneliness, pain, loss, grief. And I let myself feel it. And I let myself cry. And my children think I am crazy.
But now, I don’t feel so angry and I don’t feel so sad. I had my moment and now I can move on. And I think that’s exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.
Next weekend is the Celebration of Life. Tomorrow I am supposed to go through all our pictures and decide what to use for a slide show. All of Ash’s life condensed to one slide show. I’m not sure there’s enough wine in the world. Wish me luck, friends. My fist and I are going to need it.
Insights From a Dead Man
Today I was cleaning my office. There were piles and piles of paper on my desk. Old bills – that probably got paid, several children’s drawings that you know are shit but feel terrible about throwing away, so many sympathy cards that I both love and loathe, books, more insurance notices than I could ever possibly need (hello insurance company, I’m aware my husband died, I’m the one that informed you, could you please leave me alone now?), photo books that we made over the years. You get the picture, my office is a mess, still is, because underneath all the piles I was searching through, I found a notebook.
Ash was big on notebooks. He loved to write things down and then forget he wrote the things down, ask what he did with the notebook where he wrote the things down and get mad at everyone for misplacing the aforementioned notebook. It was a thing. It happened a lot. We got used to it. I’m not sure he did, though.
Anyway, at the bottom of one of the excessive piles on my desk I found one of Ash’s notebooks. In it, there was a letter that he wrote to me on my birthday this year. I won’t share that with you because that’s just for him and me. But I also found just some things he wrote down that I think can help us all and I’d like to share them with you.
His Advice to Jack, Colt and me (and everyone else too):
You can do anything you put your mind to. Seriously. Write down your goals.
Choose your friends carefully. Good friends care about you. They hold you accountable. They support you. They do not try to get you do do bad things. They have your back.
The most successful people are also the most focused and hardest workers.
Surround yourself with happy, positive people. Life is too hard to be negative. Life is too good to be negative. Life is too short to be negative.
See the good in life and in people.
Live by the golden rule. Know the difference between right and wrong, between good and bad.
Make the right choices.
Live with a clean conscience.
And lastly, Kellie, Colt and Jack go play golf! Top Golf counts, but not every time. You must play family golf at least once a year.
Ash lived in his 37 years. He lived more than most do in a whole lifetime. And he loved to give advice, solicited or not. I am extremely grateful to have found this today. I am extremely grateful that he chose me to spend his life with. I am extremely grateful.
I will heed his advice every day. I will also mess up every day, but that’s ok, too.
And I can’t wait to find more notebooks.
I Am {Black} Widow, Hear Me $%#@*&%^
Well, I was going to share our journey, through terminal cancer, through chemo and travel and treatments and surgeries. I didn’t do any of it. And now Mr. Wonderful is … Continue reading I Am {Black} Widow, Hear Me $%#@*&%^
V Day Blues!
The funny thing about life changing news is that it changes everything and yet changes nothing at all. Take today for instance, the day of love, the day you’re supposed to surround your loved ones with all the good feelings you feel for them, especially when one of your loved ones is facing his mortality.
I woke up feeling all those lovey feelings. I gave Mr. Wonderful his silly valentine – a Harry Potter puzzle because he’s been really into putting puzzles together lately. I accepted long ago that a romantic he is not and gifts he does not do! (Thank God for my mama showing my boys how to treat the special lady in your life!!) – (SIDE NOTE: I bought myself an Apple Watch for Valentine’s Day – Mr. Wonderful said he would never buy me one because “it’s like a shock collar” but said if I wanted to get if for myself, I could, which I did, so happy love day to me!)
Anywho, wake up, love everyone, give gifts and go about my day getting the boys ready for school, lunch packed, coffee made, everybody dressed, teeth brushed, you know, all those glamorous jobs we do as parents. Mr. Wonderful generally does not get up in the morning, but he had chemo yesterday, and they hop him up on mega doses of steroids for the next few days, so he’s feeling a little more rambunctious and gets out of bed before me this morning. Weird. Slightly irritating.
So, he turns on the TV – a cardinal sin in my house in the morning. My children cannot handle TV in the morning. They turn into brainwashed zombies that can only stare at the magic box of power. Could be a Cialis commercial, could be CSpan, doesn’t matter, it comes on, they are glued. Does not bode well for trying to get out the door on time, which we struggle with on our best days. So I plead, probably more like yell if I’m being honest “Noooooooo, turn that off, no TV in the morning before school!”. He doesn’t turn it off. I’m annoyed. Irritated. But I keep it to myself and go about my morning.
Coffee is made, children are eating, I have gotten dressed (well, threw on some yoga pants and a sweatshirt – that sort of counts as getting dressed because there’s a bra involved) and return to the kitchen to get my morning cup of Joe. To my surprise, the TV has been turned off and Mr. Wonderful is in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. Very nice. Now, a large kitchen, I do not have. There is not room for 2 people to really work in it together. So I dart in to get that very necessary cup of coffee, thinking I’ll be quick, he won’t even know I’m there. Well, I should have known better. He did know I was there and he was not happy that I was there. Snarky comments were made. I may have returned said snarky comments. Irritation abounds. Mr. Wonderful shouts he has now emptied the dishwasher “TWICE IN A ROW”. Well hold the fucking phone, honey. I didn’t realize you had done it TWICE IN A ROW. Where is your medal? Where is your ceremony honoring your persistence, your helpfulness, your tenacity? My goodness, twice in a row. Let me roll out the red carpet!!!!!!!! I may have applauded him, slowly, he may have said I was acting like a bitch. It may have been a pretty shitty way to start the day of love.
So, now, here I am, writing this, feeling agitated all over again.
My whole point is, even when you’re hit with some pretty unfathomable, earth-shattering, life changing, kick me in the vagina news, not much really changes. We’re still married. He’s still a pain in the ass sometimes and I’m still a bitch sometimes. I guess we just have to get all of our annoying behaviors out a little faster just to make sure we have the time to get them all in. (That made sense in my head, not sure it does on paper!)
So, as you can see, this writing thing is going to jump around a lot. I will get back to the story of what’s happening, but I needed a little lightness in the dark. Like annoying the shit out of your valentine!
She bakes! She bakes!
Seriously y’all! Just made some bomb a$$ cookies! I’d share the recipe but it’s complicated and intricate and just, really only those advanced bakers should try it. I mean the details alone kept me busy most of the day!
Although I won’t be sharing this top secret recipe, I will show you the final product!
😂😂
Y’all don’t be jealous of Mama and her mad skills!! xoxo
Taquito Bandito
Hello party people. It’s me again. I’m back like backstreet only they’re not back. I think we’ve gone over this before. When we left off, I promised you a bean and beef Taquito recipe. And I will give it to you. Promise. But first I have a couple things to say. Shocking, I know!
So, first things first, my six-year-old got student of the month the very first month of school. Now let me tell you this, he certainly is not student of the month at home but it does feel good to know that what we teach him at home is actually sinking in I would assume. I don’t mean to sound offensive about Jack. It’s just at home he’s going through a shall we say asshole phase (may as well call a spade a spade). To be fair though, his dad and I are probably going through an asshole phase as well. You know how your kid is doing something and you’re watching it and it’s driving you nuts and you’re about to yell at him and all of a sudden BOOM! It hits you that he’s acting exactly like you. Pretty freaking annoying, isn’t it? I guess that’s just the way the cookie crumbles so to speak.
But anyway, back to student of the month, (not that I’m bragging or anything, (I totally am)) we are so proud of him and it is an amazing accomplishment. So we took him to his favorite restaurant to celebrate on Friday night. Restaurant meaning burger shack. They also serve custard. And I’d like to talk about custard for a minute. Holy slap your mama tasty. Custard is the shiznit! Now we were in line and I debated on whether or not I should go for the custard. I’m trying to lose weight. I’ve been doing the couch to 5K thing. I’m on week two I’m happy to report and I’ll get to more about that later. So I was trying to be good. However, they had pumpkin pie custard the night we went. And I try to tell Mr. wonderful that I wasn’t having any. As a matter fact we went through the line and I didn’t order any. Mr. wonderful got some kind of cookie sandwich hot fudge 5,000,000 calories in a bowl so I figured I would have a bite of his and that would satisfy my custard appetite. Well wouldn’t you know I failed again. Not only did my husband get up and get in line and order me some pumpkin pie custard, but he also added a scoop of vanilla to it and rainbow sprinkles. Yes I said rainbow sprinkles because I love rainbow sprinkles. I always have. I always will. And I am not ashamed. Holy moly double guacamole, was that shit good. It was worth every ridiculous calorie it had in it. Seriously. If you live in the area, it’s kill Devil custard and that pumpkin pie custard with vanilla custard was just really worth everything. It was so good I’m not even making sense right now. Heed my advice and go get some immediately before it runs out and before they shut down for the season. You’re welcome in advance.
Moving on to couch to 5K or whatever that nonsense is I’m trying to complete. Not that it’s nonsense. Actually I’m very much enjoying it. It goes by fast. So far the jogging isn’t too bad. And it makes my day just start way better than if I just slept in. I’m on week two. Just started it today. And I highly recommend it if you’re looking to get moving like my big fat booty needed to do. So since I’m doing all that jogging, you know like half a mile currently, it only makes sense that I carb load. I’ve already made dinner for tonight, high-five me. It’s a baked macaroni and cheese with bacon so really how can you go wrong. I’ve not tried it before and I am kind of combining a couple of recipes to make it something that I want and that my boys will eat. So pretty much double the cheese you know triple the noodles whatever, I’m just kidding (sorta)! I’ll let you know how it turns out. And give you the recipe. Carboloading is fun. For us half mile runners. Not unlike half marathon runners. Nearly the same thing in my opinion!
So now that you’ve read (you did read it, right?!) through all this boring bullshit I’ve put in your path, here is the much anticipated (in my egomaniacal mind) beef and bean taquito recipe!
Ingredients:
Vegetable oil
1 pound lean ground beef
1 can pinto beans, rinsed
1 onion halved and sliced thin
2 jalapeños, stand, seeded, and minced
3 garlic cloves, minced, or you could be like this mama and just use minced garlic
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp chili powder
1 8 oz can tomato sauce
1/2 cup water
3 tbsp minced fresh cilantro
Salt and pepper to taste
Corn tortillas
1 large egg, lightly beaten
Directions:
Brown hamburger, drain and set aside. In a separate bowl, mashed pinto beans with a masher. It really says with a masher. If you want to use a spoon, I won’t tell anybody. You do you boo.
Heat 1 tablespoon of oil over medium heat. Add onion and cook until softened and lightly browned. Stir in jalapeños, garlic, cumin and chili powder and cook until fragrant. Stir in tomato sauce, water, cilantro, half a teaspoon of salt half a teaspoon of pepper, drained beef and mashed beans. Cook, stirring often, until mixture has thickened and begins to sizzle, about 10 minutes. Now, this recipe didn’t call for it, but I also added about a cup of shredded Colby Jack cheese because mama don’t cook if cheese ain’t involved. My arteries love me. So if you want to add cheese, mix it in and stir until fully melted. Then transfer meat mixture to a separate form. And let cool for 20 minutes.
Wrap corn tortillas in a wet paper towel and microwave for approximately 1 to 2 minutes, depending on how many you use.
Brush the top edges of the corn tortillas with egg wash. Place desired meet him out in corn tortilla and roll tight.
Now, you could use a deep fryer if you have one, or just heat oil in a large skillet on the stove and fry them that way. I chose the skillet way because it seems less messy. So once you have your taquito all rolled, place them in hot oil and fry on each side for approximately five minutes.
Voila, you have taquitos. The recipe made a shit ton so I ended up by freezing a good bunch of them after we finished eating. Works out well because then you can just pull them out, especially during football season, pop ’em in the oven, probably on 400 for 15-20 minutes (totally pulled that out of my ass, I really have no clue) until they’re heated through and bon appétit, you have a snack.
So that’s it for today y’all. I’ll check back in and let you know how the bacon mac & cheese is, but really how could it be bad?! Bacon. Cheese. Win. xoxo
JonesBoysMama 