I'm a Virgo. Born in mid-September, this has predestined that I love details, love organization, am a bit fussy, and need cleanliness in order to survive. This works out well for my Libra husband, because he just slowly backs out of the room and rolls with the punches whenever I go on a crazy cleaning spree.

Mess causes me stress. (Ironically, this was my nickname growing up). Scotty's closet, that odd-shaped room off of the family room, has slowly morphed from a cute kid's area into a trigger for a panic attack for me. I've taken to simply closing both doors in order to pretend the mess is not there.

No more, friends. I am taking control of this giant stuffed-animal-Leggo-graveyard-home-to-Brian's-countless-bottles-of-Gatorade dump.

It was this:

And over the weekend, we turned it into this:

As of today, it looks like this:

Those boxes and racks are my elfa Shelving from The Container, freshly picked up earlier this morning. By Monday, we should have a completely new room - fresh paint, pantry shelves, a desk for Scott (!!), and a place to put all of his toys.

I am beyond excited about this project. The good people at The Container Store are helping to make my vision a reality, and it should be glorious. I love organization so much that if forced to use, I think I would pick a closet re-design over jewelry. Really. What can I say? I put the "fun" in "functionality."

Presto Neighborhood Cafe
www.prestocafelv.com
4950 S Rainbow Blvd, #130
Las Vegas, NV 89118
(702) 293-3332
Dine-in and carry-out available

Wow. Just wow.

Run - don't walk - to Presto. It's amazing. It's literally a party in your mouth of pure joy.

My mom is the one who came up with the idea of visiting this random, tiny little cafe. Nestled in a strip mall on the corner of Rainbow and Trop, in the location of a former Hurricane's, is this little gem. She read about it in Vegas Weekly and it intrigued her. Ever the dutiful sidekick, I agreed and we made the trek yesterday for a quick lunch.

On the same corner as a gas station and a Walgreens, this cafe looks rather non-descript on the outside. Inside, it's painted a cheerful pea green and immaculately clean. The food is behind sparkling glass, and the man at the counter was more than happy to go over the menu with us in detail. They have a variety of fresh-pressed juices, sandwiches, pides, and they proudly serve breakfast all day. Curious about the pide (pronounced "PEE-they"), the man pointed to this sample bread item behind glass, a long, oval shaped thing they stuff with goodies and then bake. She opted for the Greek pide while I choose the veggie sandwich with a side of one of their special salads: Israeli couscous with shaved Parmesan cheese, truffle oil, and wild mushrooms.

While we waited for our food, I asked to sample the other "salads." I'm using the term salad loosely here, as "fresh, bright, and refreshingly new flavor combinations" fits better. Of their selection: farro with asparagus, spring onions, radish, parmigiano reggiano, arugula and lemon (that's all one "salad"), beets with citrus, pickled onion, and hazelnut vinaigrette, a cauliflower variety with golden raisins, almonds, and curry,  a quinoa salad with pea sprouts and prosciutto,  a black bean mix with cilantro, lime, fresh sweet corn, roma tomatoes, and avocado, a strawberry concoction with arugula, apple, blue cheese and sherry, and finally, a tandoori chicken mix with mango, papaya, coconut, cucumber, and red onion. Do you see what I mean? These are creative, unusual combinations that surprised and delighted us.

Of the group, we sampled tiny containers of the quinoa, the beets, and black beans. It was hard to pick a favorite -- all were wonderful. My mom liked the beets the best while I favored the quinoa. But honestly, you couldn't go wrong with any of the three. They tasted super fresh, as though they had just been made minutes earlier.

Then, our food came. And I almost passed out from joy.

My sandwich was a thing of beauty - roasted eggplant with a thick slice of tomato, roasted red peppers, a generous schmear of goat cheese, olive tapenade, and field greens all stuffed on two toasted slices of olive bread. And that couscous - I don't think I have words for it. (I'll try). The truffle oil, usually not one of my favorites, was light enough to give it a slight woodsy taste without being overpowering. The Parm and the grains with the mushrooms? A serious delight. I could have eaten a pound of it. Amazing.

And my mom's pide?

It was a true testament to the spectacular deliciousness of warm bread. Stuffed with cherry tomatoes, a yummy pesto, feta cheese, olive tapenade, and roasted red peppers, we both agreed it was our favorite item (though that couscous was a close second). Delighfully soft and squishy, with the dough a perfectly toasty temperature, the cheese dripped off while the olives offered a slightly salty taste.

I'm pretty sure "Pide" is Greek for "heaven."

All in all, our meal was less than $20. The food was served on blue trays and paper plates. It's super casual, quick, healthy, and very kid-friendly. I encourage everyone to "get their pide-on." Quickly. :-)

Friday

7:16am:  Scotty has a bit of a dry cough. Quick temp check reveals...98.6. Normal. Off to school, little Bear!

2:42pm: School pick-up. Scott's face is flushed, eyes are bright, nose is running. It's clear. Just a head cold, I reason.

3:17pm: First indication something is seriously wrong: the Bear refused frozen yogurt, our traditional Friday celebration. I shrug it off and let him draw on the chalkboard while I happily nom on my pomegranate-and-Nerds concoction.

5:54pm: During dinner, my mom points out one of Scotty's ears is bright red. He's super warm to the touch and acting very out of sorts. I drag him out of the booth before our food even arrives. He's coughing in earnest now. We head home quickly.

6:32pm: Temp is at 102.6 and climbing. I dunk him in a cool bath immediately and start the Tylenol/Advil rotation. It's going to be a long night, folks.

8:15pm: Our freshly-bathed Bear is not cooperating. I attempt to bloster him onto a pile of pillows to stop his wretched coughing, but he keeps slithering off. I make the unprecedented Parenting decision to sleep in his room tonight. Armed with my pillow and blankie, I squeeze next to 27 stuffed animals and one body pillow. Brian assesses the situation and comments, "Why don't you just let him in our bed? It's way bigger."

He's a smart man.

So while Brian's at the pharmacy buying Vick's, I break the good news to a miserable-looking but now-delighted three-year old. "The big bed?" he squeals before tearing out of the room at top speed. I watch as he flings himself horizontally on the bed, happily making linen angels. At least something brightened his spirits.

9:10pm: We all settle in for a long winter's nap.

10:45pm: Everyone is still wide awake. Scotty can barely go a full minute without a coughing spasm. Brian and I continue to stare into the darkness, silently.

11:12pm: I begin to contemplate the pediatric ER.

11:13pm: What's our co-pay again? Have we met the deductible?

11:14pm:  Brian's going to kill me if I tell him we have to go to the ER. Wait, is that a rattle I hear in his chest? Is that rattling? We did vaccinate him for whooping cough, right? Is he wheezing? That sounds like wheezing. Maybe I should break out the nebulizer...my gosh I'm tired...

Saturday

2:30am: Did I doze off or have I been awake this whole time? Crap, let's check his temp.

[[long pause]]

[[Scott shrieks as though I just doused him with acid when I turn the light on its lowest setting.]]

Double crap, temp is back up to 102.5. More Advil.
[[cue the screaming]] 

[[Now Brian is moaning as well]]

3:15am: All is quiet. The kid's face is so close to mine, our noses are practically touching. Maybe this co-sleeping thing isn't so bad. He sure is snuggly.

3:17am: Except when he wakes up in a coughing fit. Which he just did. All over me. I wipe the grime off my forehead with my bare hand.

4:03am: Is he asleep? I gently raise my head ever-so-slightly off the pillow to get a look at his face and feel a tiny, sticky hand pushing my head back down. Nope. Not asleep.

4:45am: Is this night ever going to end?

6:03am: When is daybreak again? As soon as that sun is up, I'm outta this bed. And calling the doctor.

6:51am: Up and at 'em! Let's go friends! I've never  been so happy to see a new day!

8:43am:  The three of us are seated uncomfortably in Dr. Awesome's waiting room. My temp is now at 101.6. I'm hoping she prescribes something for me, too. Is that illegal? Why don't they serve coffee here?

3:45pm:  The day passed in a blur. After watching "How to Train Your Dragon" three times and countless episodes of Bubble Guppies, Brian's eyes glaze over. Scotty and I both pass out on the couch. A knock at the door and it's my mom -- with food! We're saved! Hooray for confetti Pop-Tarts!

7:05pm: I bathe a very sleepy, tired, and cranky little Bear and we both put him to bed. I follow very quickly in my own. Scotty's face when I told him we couldn't share "the Big Bed" almost broke my heart, and it's then I realize I love sleep as much as my child. Please don't judge.

Sunday

8:05am:  Am roused by a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed little Bear. He wakes me up shouting that the cinnamon rolls are ready! Get up, Momma! At least one of us is feeling better.

10:28am:  I decide this day has nothing for me and climb back into bed. Goodbye, cruel world.

12:21pm: I attempt to go downstairs.  Nothing sounds even remotely appetizing except the brownies my mom brought over. The soup that Brian made early - oh wait, I forgot! That sounds great. Mmm, nummy soup and brownies. Best. Lunch. Ever.

12:27pm:  Oh, I don't feel so good...

12:32pm:  I fall asleep on the couch. Fever is at an all-time high: 102.0. I realize I may be dying. Good thing the kidney bean crisis from last week prompted me to get my affairs in order.

2:43pm: I Google Urgent Care Facilities in town. Open on a Sunday. Of a three-day weekend. That accept our insurance. This is a fun Google search...

3:17pm:  I arrive at a nondescript facility deep in the heart of Henderson. I remember that I hate Henderson. The waiting room is a 110 degrees and there is actually a man wearing a rainbow-tie-dyed shirt cleaning the exotic fish tank. Every chair is taken. The receptionist seems less than enthused. One of her false eyelashes is falling off.  This is what it must be like in a third-world country, minus the chicken crates, stray dogs, and distant sound of gunfire. I take my seat next to the 18-month old kid with dried boogers and attempt to not breath.

4:05pm:  Still waiting.

4:15pm:  Blissfully, the fish guy finishes. A tiny bit of precious waiting room real estate opens up. I make my escape from Booger Nose and high-tail it to the still-wet chairs by the tank.

4:35pm:  Still waiting.

4:45pm:  I'm fairly confident the receptionist has passed out at her desk. Did she give me my ID card back?

5:05pm: Hooray! They call my name.  I jump up like I've won the lottery.

5:15pm:  My doctor's name is Dr. Hibbert...like in "The Simpsons." Well, that's still better than Dr. Spaceman, I guess.

5:22pm:  Dr. Hibbert tells me I have the flu. Hands me three prescriptions and promptly sanitizes his hands.

6:36pm: I am back home, on the couch, meds in hand. Three blankets later, I'm still shaking.

7:33pm:  Scotty goes to bed. I follow quickly thereafter.

9:22pm: Still shaking. Must. Get. More. Blankets.

11:31pm: Get them off! I'm so hot! Dying! INFERNO!

Monday

7:22am:  Once again, I'm woken by a chipper, Augmenten-fueled Bear. We head downstairs to watch yet another episode of Bubble Guppies.

8:48am:  I'm 12 minutes into the episode when I realize Brian and Scotty left 20 minutes ago for breakfast. I turn the channel quickly. What's on our DVR?

9:12am: I briefly contemplate if, in fact, I'm related to Lena Dunham.

12:01pm: Brian and the Bear return. I have not moved from the couch.

3:30pm: Reinforcements have arrived! My mom glides in like a white knight, relieving Brian from Bear duties. I continue to lie on the couch like a lump. Sandwiches are procured for dinner, peace envelopes the kingdom.

6:20pm:  My mom leaves. I almost cry, but then remember she is only 12 minutes away. Hooray for Hualapai!

9:01pm: I'm still up! Maybe I'm starting to get a bit of energy back? The meds are working? Or "The Biggest Loser" is just really good this season? Either way, it's a miracle I'm not in bed already. Perhaps I will survive?

Tuesday

The weekend has ended. I logged more hours on the couch or in bed than I have in 3.5 years. My mom blissfully relieved me from parenting duties yet again this morning, saving us $12/hr plus a booking fee. I took a shower this afternoon and feel *mostly* human. The moral of this story?

Get the flu shot. You'll never waste a weekend.

If you watch the news, you know that the West Coast has been gripped with the frigid hand of winter. Yesterdays' high was 33. Seriously. If there is one thing the good people of Southern Nevada (and Southern California and Arizona) do not like, it's cold weather. We simply fall apart. Mind you, the sun is shining brightly in a cloudless blue sky, but my goodness, if that thermometer doesn't go over 45, we are a mess.

Consequently, we spend lots of time indoors, under blankets, talking about soup. Mmm, soup.

After BeanGate last week, I got back on the horse and tried this recipe. I'd like to point out - I used canned beans. Delicious, safe, canned beans as I value my and husband's lives. Paired with roasted broccoli (me) and grilled cheese sammies (Brian and the Bear), it was a perfect Meatless Monday dinner. Enjoy!

3 Tbl extra-virgin olive oil (I used grapeseed oil; also delish)
1 yellow onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
32 oz low sodium vegetable broth
a bunch of baby carrots, chopped
4 cups freshly chopped dino kale
14.5 oz Italian-style canned tomatoes
2 14.5 oz no-salt added CANNED Cannellini beans, drained and rinsed

Saute the onions in a large soup pot over low heat for 8-10 minutes. Don't rush this step (using too high of heat) as a slow cook will create a wonderful caramelized flavor that will be tasted throughout the soup. Add garlic and let cook for 3-4 minutes. Add broth, tomatoes, carrots, and kale; let simmer. Add the beans (to heat) when you are ready to eat; the beans will take about 10-15 minutes to heat up. This is a great soup to make in the early afternoon and let simmer for the rest of the day. The house will smell great!

And yes, kale and I are over our fight. He's back in my life and things are better than ever. It's complicated, okay?

Like most of Americans, I set two resolutions this New Year's: eat better and save money. Not exactly original, but I like the openness of each and the fact I can interpret them accordingly for the next twelve months.

With that in mind, yesterday I broke out the ingredients to last night's dinner with pride: dried beans, some kale, canned tomatoes, and some spices. My veggie chili was perfect for this crazy cold snap and made only better by the fact I could prepare it all ahead of time.

Brian came home early (a shocker!) and we were sitting down to dinner by 5:30. The chili was great and the flavors were fantastic, but my beans were undercooked. They crunched. I had never reconstituted dried beans before, but I followed the directions on the back by soaking them for a few hours. Maybe they didn't soak up enough juice in the chili? Beans are an enigma to me anyways, so I just kind of shrugged it off. Brian quietly crunched through his chili and we both smiled at each other from across the table. Chalk it up to yet another bad dinner by Kim.

(FYI: I used to be a great cook. Really. Once I made my own pasta noodles and stuff. But over the years, absent-mindedness combined with a child to watch has turned me into a disaster in the kitchen. On Monday night, I made the boys mac 'n' cheese they consumed like soup. Too much milk. At least Brian is *mostly* forgiving and patient.)

As we sat on the couch later that night, after Scotty had gone to bed, unaware of how bad his mother's cooking has become (he noshed on chicky nugs and apple sauce, not chili), I commented to Brian that our digestive systems are going to hate us for putting so much raw fiber in there. Still giggling, I Google'd "Uncooked beans" just to get an idea of what was to come. But in the search engine, right under "Uncooked beans," it expanded to say "Uncooked beans TOXIC." I gasped. And started reading. 

"RED KIDNEY BEAN POISONING"

Red Kidney Bean Poisoning is an illness caused by a toxic agent, Phytohaemagglutnin (Kidney Bean Lectin). This toxic agent is found in many species of beans, but it is in highest concentration in red kidney beans (Phaseolus vulgaris).

I ran to the garbage and pulled out the bag from earlier in the day. Yup, red kidney beans. Crap!!

The syndrome is usually caused by the ingestion of raw, soaked kidney beans, either alone or in salads or casseroles. As few as four or five raw beans can trigger symptoms.

Oh my God! I just consumed like, 300 beans! And so did Brian!

Several outbreaks have been associated with "slow cookers" or crock pots, or in casseroles which had not reached a high enough internal temperature to destroy the glycoprotein lectin. It has been shown that heating to 80 degrees C. may potentiate the toxicity five-fold, so that these beans are more toxic than if eaten raw. In studies of casseroles cooked in slow cookers, internal temperatures often did not exceed 75 degrees C..

Okay, this is a positive. I did not use a slow cooker but I also didn't check my water temperature. It boiled - 212 degrees - but for how long? Was it enough time? And the toxins are worse if they are slightly cooked, not just raw? Gah!

Onset of symptoms varies from between 1 to 3 hours.

What time is it? Okay, it's nine o'clock. No symptoms yet. Wait, what was that? Did my tummy just turn over? Is that a toot or the beginnings of explosive diarrhea? Why did my colon just move?

Onset is usually marked by extreme nausea, followed by vomiting, which may be very severe. Diarrhea develops somewhat later (from one to a few hours), and some persons report abdominal pain. Some persons have been hospitalized, but recovery is usually rapid (3 - 4 h after onset of symptoms) and spontaneous.

Other websites pointed out that in certain cases, consumption of undercooked beans was, in fact, fatal.

WHAT!?

I cannot even begin to describe what flashed through my brain in those several moments.  Here's a taste:

Scotty...OMG Scotty...would he be well taken care of? He would be destroyed by our loss. Destroyed. This would ruin preschool for him. And his whole life. And the living trust and estate planning we did last year - was it enough? Do we have our affairs in order? But I'm too young to die! I don't even want to go to the hospital and pay out stupid co-pay! I just want to go to boot camp tomorrow like everything was fine. And what about Brian? Did I give him a toxic amount? He looks a little pale. What happens if one of us died and the other didn't? We've never talked about getting remarried or even dating. This can't be happening...maybe I should induce vomiting? My organs are going to start shutting down. Probably in the next few minutes.

::big, long, blank moment of nothingness:: 

I never even got to see Napa.

And then I'm pretty sure I had a panic attack.

Brian laughed (nicely) at my tears. He assured me we were going to survive. I was still trying to wrestle with the idea that a.) I'm dying and b.) I'm dying from such a random, stupid, preventable thing. How would I explain this to my mom? Who would explain this to my mom?? Would they do an autopsy? Check the trash? Interrogate the boy?

But then miraculously, the clock ticked past 9:30pm and neither of presented with even the mildest of symptoms. And I went to bed, to quiet my mind and pray fervently that I, in fact, did not just accidentally poison myself or my husband. With beans.

So yes, you guessed it. We're still here, all in one piece. I woke Brian up this morning to make sure he was still breathing before I went to boot camp. He grumbled at me but then I reminded him of the beans, he replied, "Oh. Oh yeah, I'm fine. Go to boot camp." Whew.

So please, dear readers, remember this crazy tale of woe. Undercooked beans are no one's friend. Death by Beans would be a terrible way to go.

I'm back!

It's been a bit of stretch, I know, and I took some much needed time off from writing. The craziness of December has morphed into the quietness of January and for that, I'm thankful. So if you want to catch up on our adventures, here ya go...

As most of you know, my mom moved to Las Vegas in early December. This is just a temporary move but it allows her the chance to escape Indiana winter until April. The process of traveling 1,700 miles with a 13 pound cat is an adventure unto itself (and I've encouraged my mom to write a guest entry for the blog - let's see if she takes me up on it) but there's nothing more unwelcoming that finally arriving in Vegas to find your apartment covered in ants. Henceforth known as AntGate, she is still suffering with the little buggers. It might be due to the blast of arctic air we are experiencing, but they want to get inside and stay warm. In her apartment. Yuck.

While she settled in, we hosted Christmas Eve and Christmas Day dinner at our house. After the flurry of activity and then recovering from my setbacks doing #26Acts (up to 23!! Almost done!), Christmas seemed to just appeared on our doorstep like a big surprise, as though I had not been working on holiday prep for the last two months. Our Christmas Eve dinner was marred slightly by the fact I burned the lobster tails (my first go at even cooking the little guys - clearly, I'm Midwestern by nature and should not be allowed around seafood). Scotty, after recovering from his panic over the smoke alarm, spent the rest of dinner reenacting Momma's "dance" around the kitchen, waving his arms madly while shouting, "There was smoke in da oven...and den da alarm went 'Beep beep beep!' and den Momma waved her arms like dis and said, 'Stop, alarm!' I was scared!"

Ah, happy holidays, indeed.
 

On Christmas morning, Scotty received his much-requested back-ho loader and cherry picker, Brian got a nice set of Ferragamo cufflinks, my mom opened the first two seasons of "Downton Abbey" and I got a wine aerator. This is significant because a.) the wine aerator is awesome and b.) the wine aerator is dangerous.

As you can see above, wine is poured from the bottle into the funnel-thing at the top and then into the glass. All of us nodded knowingly at each other that yes, we, in fact, could tell a difference between aerated and non-aerated wines, but the simple fact was the little gizmo was really fun to play with. Consequently, we went through two and a half bottles of wine during dinner.

I don't remember much about Christmas dinner.

The next big highlight of break was forcing Scotty to do his homework. He was bummed but a good sport. Writing your name is hard work, you know?

We took in a few movies, hit the local parks, and tried to make Zigmund the cat feel more at home. Actually, Brian and I tried to stop Scotty from torturing the cat since he's 13 years old and not used to tiny hands grabbing at his fur constantly. We were then rewarded with typical three-year old behavior: Scotty started telling on Zigmund. So for the next week, all we heard was, "Zigmund scratched me," "Zigmund jumped on the counter," "Zigmund licked me" in a whiny, needy voice. You parents of more than one kid - I don't know how you do it. I can barely handle a toddler and a cat.

New Year's Eve ushered in more seafood. Clearly, I didn't learn my lesson, so this time I sought out a crab big enough to drag a man to his death.

I succeeded.

Yet, I remain a staunch landlubber at heart, as this was the only tool we had to crack such behemoth legs.

Next time, I think I'll just stick with chicken.

Anyways, the wine aerator was out in full force again, which lead to my brilliant suggestion that my mom and I should climb the mountain behind our house to watch the fireworks on the Strip at midnight. Brian and Uncle Jim, wisely having switched to bourbon earlier in the night, declined our invitation. And so with a chilled bottle of Vevue in my trusty Cubs bag, two Silo cups and a Maglite flashlight, my mom and I jumped the fence and headed for the hills.

And then she promptly rolled down a ravine.

Okay, so was more of a large ditch with sharp boulders, but it was scary nonetheless. One minute she was standing next to me, the next minute, she was literally rolling on her side in the fetal position. Fueled by New Year's excitement, good Scott-go-get-'em-genes, and perhaps a  bit too much Cab Franc, Karen, ever the dutiful hiker, hit bottom and popped back up on her feet again. She rubbed some dirt on her injuries and we continued our desert adventure.

It was worth it, since the fireworks were totally amazing. I captured approximately zero fireworks on my camera phone that night.

After recovering on New Year's Day (and stripping the house of all Christmas decor - whew!), we ran into a bit of a road block on January 2. See, my attempt to upgrade iOS6 on my mom's iPhone caused her to lose all of her contacts. We sought out some detailed information on how to restore the info from the Verizon lady, and despite following the directions to a T, I promptly deleted everything on my mom's phone.

Like, everything.

This happened exactly fifteen minutes before I had to leave for Junior League, at which point I sped to the meeting sobbing my eyes out, and then had to suffer under unforgiving fluorescent lights for over two hours. Sitting right up in front next to the President, I prayed there was no mascara caked under my bloodshot, puffy eyes. I did not make eye contact with anyone during the entire meeting.

It was not my finest hour.

Thankfully, the nice people at the Apple store were able to restore *most* of her phone, though she is still missing contacts and pictures. She took it like a trooper, however, and one of my resolutions this year is to not touch other people's phones, regardless of the strength of my good intentions. And to always back-up your phone.

Always back-up.

I spent the rest of break scrubbing my tile in penance. But see? It looks pretty good, right? Guilt/sorrow/anguish makes you scrub really hard. 

And with that, I've never been so happy to return to routine and normalcy. Well, kind of.

How were your holidays? Any fun stories? Did you get a wine aerator, too?