Rotting Beached Seal

So in efforts to try out a few vegan recipes with cancer fighting kung-fu, I explored sea vegetables.  Went to the health food store and everything.  I thought I'd cook up the lentils of this one recipe so I could finish the rest later around dinner.  You know, get a head start.  What happened was disaster!  I put a 1 inch piece of this kombu (dried seaweed) in with the simmering lentils and the house started to smell bad.  Really bad.

We usually gather in the kitchen for family prayer before going our separate ways but we were all complaining and gagging so we left to pray in the master bedroom.  After Neal and Sophie left, I kept trying to think "walk on the beach" but my gag reflex was screaming "rotting beached seal!" I finally fished out the floppy kelp strip and tossed it in the trash, took the trash to the curb and finished the recipe as directed. 

After taking Rhys to school, I was suppose to volunteer at the school district office by stuffing goody bags for an upcoming fundraiser 5K.  I couldn't stop smelling the fishy smell.  I drove home, opened windows despite the temperatures being in the 30s, showered and put on fresh clothes before heading out to the district office.

When I told my sister about this, she reminded me that I had a phobia of kelp (floating in water, not washed up on the beach) so why would I deliberately do this to myself.  Also, she reminded me of the dead whale (piece?) that got washed up on Morro Bay's shores when we were there on a family trip as kids.  It reeked.  I told her this was pretty much like that.

The irony is that I am exploring these recipes to give us more healthy, yet vegan options. (We are flexitarians, not even full blown vegetarians.) And what do I do?! After picking Rhys up from school, I return to the district office to give them 40 minutes more of my time. I sit Rhys down at a table and put a donut in front of him to keep him entertained.  Then while I am busy at my task, I give someone permission to make him a little plate of fast food lunch that they have supplied for the volunteers.  Several fried chicken nuggets, a giant cookie later, I look up and ask them what he is drinking. "Tea."  They gave my Mormon, 4-year-old boy, iced tea.  I love the South.  So after switching it out for a water, I grabbed a giant chocolate chunk cookie on the way out the door and we return to our lightly ocean scented home so I could meet Neal there for lunch and tell him how I fed our son and myself garbage.

I'm hoping that it will all even out and we will have ended up living on a "neutral" diet.  I don't feel like a failure-- just a rough morning and a good reason to laugh at myself.