I'll Just Call You Grandpa...

Isn't it funny when kids figure out that their grandparents are actually your parents? It's like a light bulb buzzes on and they realize how the whole puzzle fits together. Sometimes a dysfunctional puzzle, but a puzzle nonetheless. Brykn has known for some time that Grandma and Grandpa Wall (aka Grandma Lauri and Grandpa) are my parents. In fact, he's referred to them on more than one occasion as "your parents." Particularly when he's giving weight to something he and Grandma have conjured up....And, well, there's a lot of conjuring and mischief between the two of them. It typically begins like, "Your mom said (insert mischief here)."

Terral Fawn Wall...aka, "Grandpa"

We just, however, had a new discovery..."Grandpa" has a real name! Holy cow! Who knew? When did this happen, anyway? This unique discovery occurred over a fun afternoon of roping sheep--we're country kids, what can I say? Brykn said to my dad, "Grandpa, what's your REAL name?" Grandpa said, "My name is Terral Fawn Wall." To which Brykn responded with a very puzzled/concerned/dumbfounded, "Humm....I think I'll just call you Grandpa."

Great plan, little dude. Great plan. I think that's the name he likes best, anyway.

Sweet Revenge...

The mood: vindictive.
The plot: a distinct disagreement between West Weber Woman and Thai Chicken Pizza.
The characters: chicken, an oven, and West Weber Woman.
That's right, this story's about to get interesting...

Pioneer Woman Thai Chicken Pizza won't win. I'll be darned if that stupid peanut sauce and a smoking blender is going to going to get the best of West Weber Woman. Nope. Not gonna happen. Some might say I'm vindictive--I say I'm determined. Strong-willed. Tenacious. It's in the genes, people! (That and bargain hunting, but that's another story for another time.)

So, I'm getting out the cookbook again. You know the one: Pioneer Woman. The book that brings all your buttery, heavy cream-filled dreams to life. Only this time I'm abandoning Thai Chicken Pizza and seeking revenge via White Chicken Enchiladas.

First, let me say that this recipe is not for the calorie counters. It's not for those who want to avoid a heart attack or even those who try to stay under 500 grams of fat per day. That's right, it's "heavy." It's heavy with cream, butter, more cream, chicken, and...more butter...and cream. Notice a pattern here?

I gave myself a pep-talk before this White Chicken Enchilada meal preparation even began. "You've got this," I said in my busy little brain, "You've totally got this." Then, I decided I should probably abandon this phrase. After all, this was EXACTLY what I said right before the blender began begging for forgiveness after a few good thumpins on the counter. I decided to go with "These enchiladas are going to be calling me Mama!" But, that was weird, so I decided to forget the stupid pep talk and start cooking.

Yup, they're burnt!

First, let me say that I have never roasted a pepper.Today, I was about to roast 3. I read and reread the instructions and had pretty good success--mostly because it's really just a matter of burning the crap outta them under the broiler. I've burned lots of garlic bread the same way, so this was a walk in the park!

I told you the cream was plentiful!

Next came making an amazing enchilada filling from copped onions, cream, butter, perfectly grilled chicken breast and garlic. What an intoxicating combination!

Awe....can you smell it? It's truly magic!

Followed by the filling of the enchiladas, the making of the lusciously creamy and buttery (I told ya--lots of cream, lots of butter) and cheesy sauce that covers the entire pan. Oh, oh, oh, yeah, baby!

This is the "Whala!" part!

And, whala! West Weber Woman has a pan full of enchiladas that I'm pretty sure will make the people of Mexico proud...or at least my kids. I added multi-grain tortilla chips (which are more yummy and have comparable nutrition facts as the baked tortilla chips--ha, NOW we're watching the calories!) and a pan of Mexican rice which was also a Pioneer Woman recipe.

Homemade goodness, people!

Okay, confession time....this makes the whole ordeal sound pretty easy. Well, it wasn't! Total time for this euphoria-inducing recipe? 2 HOURS! This would've been fine on a lazy weekend (is there such a thing?), but on a weeknight it was too long. We ate dinner late--really late. Good thing my fam was patient. Okay, they weren't patient. They were banging forks on table and crying. A little hollering by the kids, a little of me yelling, "I'm TRYING!" and a little "But, Mom, can't we just have a hot dog?" But that's all besides the point.

Little West Weber Woman. I sure hope she's responsible for cleaning up that mess!

 Lucky for me, I had a fantabulous little helper. I call her "Little West Weber Woman." She just calls me "Mom" which is by far my most favorite name.

Awe, REVENGE! Take that, Thai Chicken Pizza! That's right, "I've got this. I've totally got this."