Cool beans.

As we settle into picturesque suburban New Jersey, we are reminded in everything that we do that we are "not in Kansas anymore Dorothy."  From the new and the exciting to the mundane, everything is well, different.  Not to mention every dish or sandwich I order around here is never right, never.  But that's a whole different story in itself.  Most likely since I am basically Sally of the classic movie about relationships, "When Harry Met Sally."  On the side.  On the side.  Personally, I don't care to be referred to as "high-maintenance"...  I am just a little choosy. (smirk)  I know what a like.

I often wonder...  how hard is it to get one thing done, AND done SIMPLY?!  Why does everything feel so difficult?

Is it because I am a mom of two small boys?  Is it because we have lots of extra steps with a chronic medical condition?  Is it because we are in a new place?  Is it just me???  Do I make things harder than they need to be?

As we have adapted in recent months, we make new friends all of whom are lovely from all areas of the U.S. and have different stories to share.

I believe we collect people in our lives.

We add these new friends to our life collection.

We visit new doctors for the boys Cystic Fibrosis care.  We send Michael to start at a new preschool.  We go new places and try new things.

And we shop at new grocery stores.  Don't get me started on navigating a new grocery store after years of visiting the same one.  Our old grocery store back in Chicago that I frequented is named "Jewel".  Very fitting for a gem that fit me like a glove.  Now the the "Stop'N'Shop" here is too apropos, where every five feet I am stopping and every five feet I am shopping.  The items and the brands that we used back in Chicago are not in the line up and products are all radically sequenced (at least for my simple brain).

On a Sunday afternoon, we have a lovely time apple picking at a farm in rural New Jersey with friends.  The boys love finding the red and bright apple treasures and placing them in our.  Dylan delights in finding an apple, and THUNK!, dropping into our box of apples.  Nothing gentle about this kid much of the time.

After the flurry of busy apple-picking activity and visiting the charming market filled with jams, gourds, and hearty fall vegetables, we all find ourselves in the comfort of the car.  I peer back and see the boys are tuckered out staring off into space.  I pick up a donut hole and pop it in my mouth.  Now what about the rest of the day?  I immediately think of a wonderful pot of my mom's chili.  It is a perfect dinner with our family to end the day.  I begin the task of recalling the recipe and the list of ingredients.

I have made the chili so many times, I can recite the recipe from memory in the car.  I tap on my iPhone the ingredients so I won't forget during my broken thoughts and rambling confusion in the "Stop N Shop".  John Coltrane tunes roll along as we drive through the pretty fall landscape.  Too bad it's been a wet fall.  The trees haven't yet ignited those beautiful radiant tones on their branches that I so love.  The day is overcast and waves of gray roll by.  The greens amongst the tree tops vary slightly, but there aren't the splashes of burgundy, sunny gold or fire orange that I so love in autumn.  Maybe those hues will turn up soon.

We are nearing the store and I have mentally ticked all the items off on my list that I need grab.  Now I start pondering what in the world I am going to do with two big bins of Empire and Golden Delicious apples we just picked at the orchard.  Pie, I guess??

My husband sits in the car as the boys have drifted to sleep to the jazz music in the car.  I dart of the car and hurry in.  Garlic.  Check.  Onion.  Check.  Ooh, and we need lunch meat for sandwiches.  Canned tomatoes and a can paste.  Check and check.  Then I get to the beans.  Red kidney beans.  Check.  But where the hell are the hot spicy chili beans?  I never had trouble in Chicago finding the Brooks brand hot chili beans.  These aren't optional.  THEY ARE NECESSARY.  My eyes frantically scan and rescan.  But no blue label with the hot chili beans I need.  Seriously??

I make my way to the massive display in a different aisle of the baked beans.  An insane number of various types, brands, flavors.  Well, surely I am crazy and it's over here.  I scan and scan again.  None.  Nada.  This store doesn't have the hot chili beans I need.  This is a tragedy and incomprehensible.

I screw my head back on straight and my husband texts me from the car.  I haven't realized how much time has passed, but it's been a while and they are still waiting for me.  I hurry to check out a basketful of items sans the one special ingredient I need.  The stupid hot chili beans.

I unload everything in the car and see the boys are still sleeping angels.  I slump into my seat with a pout and complain that nothing is ever easy...  My adult temper tantrum sets in.  How can I make the chili without the damn beans?!  I beg my husband to bring me to a different grocery store.  He begrudgingly does, one of the many reasons I love him.  The other store which has more specialty items surely has them.

I run, literally run, into the store and find the aisle of canned vegetables.  Hearts of palms, artichokes...  beans!  A ha.  They will have it.  Slowly, I check and recheck each shelf thinking this is a joke on me.  I spin around and see that there are more beans (again, a whole section for baked beans!) but NOT ONE CAN OF HOT CHILI BEANS.

I am dumbfounded as I head past the check outs empty-handed and hop into the car.  My husband is laughing at me and the boys are now awake.  "No dice," I tell him.  He suggests I check one last place since he promised the kids to hit up McDonald's drive thru.

Pathetically, I hop out of the car at the last possibility.  I whirl through and grab other items I need, but knowing they won't carry this item, I inspect the area with the beans.  Nope.  I didn't even have to go in.  I telepathically sensed it just looking at the exterior of the store.

We arrive home, my husband snickering the whole way, and I make the chili.  Sans hot chili beans.  I grumble through the entire recipe, nearly moaning in pain.  How hard is it complete one recipe?!

Hours later the chili is ready and I cringe as we all take our first bites.  (Honestly, my choosy kids slug probiotic drinks, chow yogurt and eat the shredded cheese around their bowl of chili mac.  I live for one day that they eat the "meal" part of the meal.  But, for now, I am content if they eat three high-fat custard-style yogurts just the same.  My kiddos need serious calories and I won't argue with what ones they will put in their little mouths.  That day will come.

My brain processes signals coming from my taste buds.  Remarkably, it isn't all that different.  The chili tastes good.  But of course, it's just not the same in my book.  I briefly catch my husband smirking through his homemade bowl of chili.  He knows that I realize that the chili is good.  "I see you," I warn him.  I laugh too.

So much of the time I struggle with understanding if life is just hard these days or if I am making life hard these days.  Today the answer is painfully obvious.

Lesson learned.  I need to relax.  It is, after all, just a can of beans, only on the side.