A St. Paddy's Day faux Irish Stew

My original title for Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books was The Faux Gourmet. It came from the fact the one highly critical (but very helpful) reader said she (I'm presuming it was a she) would never cook with canned soup. I make King Ranch Chicken with Healthy Heart Campbells' cream of mushroom and cream of chicken soups.The reader insisted she made hers with made-from-scratch white sauce, which sounded like more work and too bland for me. I honestly read recipes on the internet for duplicating the taste of the canned soups but they were tons of trouble and still had some of the ingredients purists would object to. So I remain a happy faux gourmet.
Tonight I had Jacob, and Betty was coming for dinner, since we missed our usual dinner out for the week. I had meant to open a can of my fancy tuna and make a salad with all kinds of veggies and tuna, but then I realized I had that leftover lamb I've been eating all week and even took to Sue's last night. So I did all those things no true gourmet would do--I made two instant packets of brown gravy that were in the cupboard (that's a whole 'nother story about Norwegian hamburgers, for another time). I added a bouillon cube, dumbed in the cubed lamb with a small can of green beans and a healthy bit of frozen corn. I thought I had frozen peas but I didn't, so the green beans were a substitute and they worked well. Added pepper and thyme but not salt since I figure the prepared gravy and bouillon took care of that. Served it over a mixture of penne and rigatoni pasta, and it was delicious, if I do say so. The leftovers will go to Christian who will love them.
I have been accused--who, me?--of letting Jacob manipulate me, so tonight I was quite strict. No, he could not have chicken nuggets--he was eating stew. He must have gotten a piece of gristle, because he thought the meat was too chewy. But he ate all his noodles and some of the stew, so I gave him ice cream, followed by the banana he wanted. When bedtime came (a little late because I was doing dishes), I was firm: TV off, use the potty, brush your teeth and get into bed. I gave him a few minutes to play with his toys, then let him pet Scooby goodnight, and firmly closed the door to his room, telling him I loved him and "Sweet dreams." He said he'd go to sleep better with a little more TV, but  I didn't fall for it. So at after 9:30 I can hear him on the monitor, having conversations with his toy figures--or maybe himself.
We read a book that had a picture of a goldfish.
Me: Jacob, hows your goldfish?
Jacob, very philosophically: Fine. He hasn't died yet.
Earlier in the evening, we stepped next door to see the new baby--they were out in the back yard. The baby slept so peacefully in his mom's arms. We took his big sis, three-year-old Abby, a pink bunny and for new Grayson, a tiny T-shirt that says "It ain't easy being the cutest cowboy around." Jacob wasn't actually as interested in the baby as I thought he'd be, but he was most interested in being the one to present the gifts.
Grandkids, good friends and good neighbors surely make life sweet.

A new baby, a cat, and what defines TexMex?

My niece and her husband welcomed a second baby girl into their family this morning--Madeleine Elizabeth McClain joins big sister Emery. Madeleine weighed six something lbs. and was 18" inches long--a dainty girl, which is nice since her mom and sister are both dainty. These really are the years of babies in our family--though my brother now has the two youngest grandchildren and with a total of five has almost caught up to my seven.
My big accomplishment was to take the cat to the vet for flea treatment. Wynona spends his days and nights on my desk. Cats always pick a favorite spot and it usually changes every six months or so. Not this time--the desk, according to him, is his. But I began to find this fine black grit on the desk, a sure sign of fleas and particularly disturbing since that's where I eat when I'm home alone--I wore my hands out disinfecting the desk two or three times a day. So tonight, at some cost, the cat is bathed, medicated and flea free. And nowhere near my desk. I think he's mad at me for taking him to the vet. I know he's in the house but I have no idea where.
My project for tonight is to write up the history of Whataburger, the hamburger chain that began in a kiosk in Corpus Christi in 1950. Now 60 years old, it is one of the largest and most praised chains in the country. But then I'm going on to study TexMex--and just how do you define that? I'm  having such fun with this food book.

Church attendance, writing, babies

Well, I didn't go to church again today and then spent much of the day in angst over it. I think I don't go because I don't like to go alone. I truly enjoy the service--the music in my church is rich and wonderful, the quiet moments of prayer are soothing, and the sermons often challenge me to new ways of thinking about my life. This morning I used the excuse (to myself) that I was enthusiastic about writing a piece I'd been putting off for a long time--and I did write it, plus polished up a newspaper column and sent it off. And I have an idea for a new column--just wish I knew where to go with it. But all of that could have been done this afternoon. My resolve is to get myself in gear and go to church next week--oh, not next week. All the kids will be here, and I'll be fixing a huge breakfast. But the next week for sure. And I think the following week Jordan and I are off to Houston for Morgan's second b'day.
Tonight Jordan and I took Jacob to Hoffbrau because I had a two-for-one thing for my birthday and it expired today. Jacob was not having a good day--his teeth hurt him and he hadn't napped. Halfway through dinner he decided he wasn't sitting in that high chair any longer without screaming. Jordan had her dinner put in a "to-go" box and left me to eat in solitary splendor. I soon joined her, and she explained that she knew he was about to have a meltdown. He had capped it all by throwing his sippee cup on the table where it spilled her glass of wine all over everything. For Jordan, that was the final straw. I'm still not sure which one was having the meltdown--mother or baby or maybe both--but I sympathize with her. We ran by Barnes & Noble to pick up something she wanted and then came home where she finished her dinner and Jacob turned positively cheerful, favoring me with his silliest grins. I don't remember teething or screaming in restaurants or any of those things with mine, but my kids tell me I have a selective memory. And I don't think we took them to restaurants until they were seven or eight. It's a new worled of raising children.