Woulda Coulda Shoulda

It’s a funny thing about putting one foot in front of the other; it works just fine until you get to a point where you realize you can only keep doing it if you shut out everything else. Then you put one foot in front of the other with your fingers in your ears and your eyes closed and people look at you funny.

So that’s what I’ve been doing since last Friday. I’m still doing it, to some extent. My parents are here, which is fantastic, but there is now some question of whether Chickadee is coming home for Christmas, as she has managed to come down with a mighty case of The Crud at precisely the wrong time. I maybe didn’t realize how badly I need to see her until it became possible that I wouldn’t, and that on top of everything else… well, it’s just been a long week (hello, understatement).

So mostly I’ve been vacuuming and dusting and scrubbing. Also, I’m over at Feel More Better, talking about not talking about it. I’m still feeling a little unsteady, but my house is really clean.

I spent half of yesterday prepping/cooking and then got up at 6:00 to start throwing everything into crock pots. What? You don’t do that? It’s awesome, because then instead of musical ovens your guests come and say, “What can we do to help?” and you just wave an arm at your counter full of crock pots and say, “Nothing. It’s all done.” And then they back away slowly. Yay!

This year I’m thankful for lots of things, like that I didn’t break any other bones while cooking stuff, and that my family and friends are awesome, and my readers (that’s you) are lovely and supportive, and that this year is almost over. (CAN I GET AN AMEN?)

Of course I am missing having Chickie here—she won’t be home to visit until next month—but in the spirit of my new the-glass-is-half-full-dammit outlook, I compensated for her absence by putting meat in every single damn dish. (Sorry, honey. I’ll make whatever you want when you’re home for Christmas, sans “chicken juice,” I promise.)

Otto is blasting “Alice’s Restaurant” while hard at work on the turkey and I’m about to go make some rolls, but I have some crappy iPhone pictures to share with you because I’m taking a break and I’m a giver like that. (more…)

Yesterday Monkey and I went to the supermarket to start buying all of the things I’ll require for our upcoming Thanksgiving dinner, which meant that my cart was full of unfamiliar items (to him, though to be honest I am trying some new recipes and some of it was unfamiliar to me as well) amongst the regular milk and spinach and whatnot. [Note that I said it was the START of shopping for Thanksgiving; Otto will no doubt be sent out to the store at least twice more as I start prepping and discovering what all I've overlooked.]

Anyway. We shopped, we came home, Otto was arriving home from the office at the same time, and we all commenced unloading the groceries. We were almost done when I came across a large bottle of mayonnaise in the bottom of one of my bags. Except… I didn’t buy mayonnaise.

Otto and I discussed this matter in depth, even quizzing a deeply affronted Monkey (“I don’t even LIKE mayonnaise!”) as to whether he’d tossed it in the cart. He had not. I had not. I’d never seen it before. We concluded it must’ve been a “oh nevermind” item from someone ahead of me in line that ended up in my bag. But then Otto combed through my 3-foot-long receipt and discovered that I had, indeed, paid for it. (Full price! IT WASN’T EVEN ON SALE!!)

Where did it come from? How did I end up buying it? Can I return it? (“Excuse me, I appear to have inadvertently purchased this mayonnaise.”) Is it a SIGN that I should put deviled eggs back on the menu? I am SO confused.

I’m sure you never would’ve guessed this (ha ha), but the departure of my daughter coincided with the triumphant return of the Apron Of Coping—our code-phrase ’round here which loosely translates to “Mir is cooking and baking in a futile effort to avoid feeling those pesky and unpleasant feelings.” Some people are emotional eaters, some people are emotional chefs. I consider myself an excellent multi-tasker because I am BOTH. I bake goodies for the gluten-eaters in the house and then I make other sorts of comfort foods for me.

Today I’m making soup. That’s a little messy to eat while curled up under my desk, but I’ll do the best I can with it. Desperate times, desperate measures, etc.

Anyway. It of course reminds me that many of my memories are inextricably tied up with various delicious treats, so I’m over at Feel More Better reminiscing about goodies and memories. I tried really hard not to drip any ice cream on that post, too.

I spent half the weekend curled up in a little ball under my desk. Oh, haha! Not really! God, there’s crumbs and dog toys and stuff under there. I do my best fetal position checking-out-of-life withdrawal either in bed or on the Man Couch. (Man Couch has recliner seats. Obviously.)

At one point while I was doing my very best impersonation of a couch cushion, Otto sat down with me and we watched Best In Show, which I’ve somehow never seen before, but actually made me laugh quite a bit. I’m glad I can share this sort of breaking news with you. (Make sure to see this movie from twelve years ago, y’hear? Also, I hear that gas recently went up in cost a little, like it’s more than a buck a gallon now. Let me check into that and get back to you.)

So there is no One Grand Event that took place this weekend, unless you ask Monkey and Licorice*, so I shall cobble together a post for you out of small, inconsequential things like watching old movies and such. It just seemed fair to warn you so that the excitement doesn’t completely overwhelm anyone.