Full Fat Mocha in a Maternity Dress

Sometimes you need to find just the right "power mommy" look for a school function.  Conferences, parent-teacher nights, concerts, etc.  Usually my "power mommy" looks includes, flip-flops, old jeans, may-hap a jacket, a scarf or a fleece hat.  Sometimes I might wear them all at once if the weather cooperates.  Last week, though, I needed to pull out all the stops. 

Thursday January 27th was our school's 9th annual Oral Interpretation Festival.  "What's that,"  you ask? We-he-hell, let me tell you.  It's when you round up as many kids as possible to memorize and recite poems on the local high-school stage with a microphone and spotlight.  This was not an easy task.  Last year I merely volunteered when Bella participated.  I helped at a few practices and a little at the show.  This year I was running it.  All of it.

I knew I would be facing some participation challenges when I got blank or petrified stares in the classrooms back in December when I went to hype up this event.  I quickly had to improvise from saying, "Raise your hand if you like to perform in front of a crowd," to "Raise your hand if the thought of doing this makes you so nervous you'd like to throw-up," and even certain teachers raised their hands.  It was sort of like rounding kids up to go in for a voluntary trip to the dentist on a stage for all the world to see. 

But in the end I got (begged) about 30 kids grades 1st through 6th to "come join the fun!".  And overall, it was fun. I got to know the office staff quite well, and became an expert at all things Shel Silverstein. Plus I got to use the phrase, "The microphone is your friend, but it's the kind of friend that doesn't want to be touched or licked."  How many times in your life will you get to say that? 

We had practices, I made announcements, designed programs, called parents, and on the Monday before the event I felt totally on top of things.  By Tuesday I still felt very positive, but had some misgivings about my overall preparation.  By Wednesday afternoon I was sitting in my car at Costco crying. As it turns out, I was paralyzed with indecision estimating how many cookies and lemonade I'd need to buy and from where.   I began to question my entire math upbringing which made me question why I thought I could handle putting all of this on to begin with.  And now since it was an odd 65 degrees out the last week of January, I was beginning to sweat and panic. I quickly put the windows down, took a few deep breaths and steadied myself.  I didn't want everyone walking by with their jumbo crates of toilet tissue and pita chips to hear some crazy, sweaty woman crying in the Costco parking lot.  What would they think? 

"Oh, how sad she forgot her Costco membership card."
 Or, "Oh, how sad.  That woman is stark raving mad.  Well, at least I haves me some pita chips."

I grabbed my to do list that had now been scribbled on, slashed, burned and redone 50 odd times that day, flipped it over and called the friend that I thought would most be able to answer my cookie conundrum.  She texted me 15 minutes later but by then I was already rolling.  I had that epiphany that we mommies usually have after having a good cry fest in any assorted parking lot.  I could do this.  I would have the right amount of cookies and lemonade more importantly I knew exactly what I would wear.  Anyone who doubted the show's impending success would "live to regret it" as Gabby had taken to saying quite a lot lately. 

By Thursday I had it all under control again.  I went for a bike ride, colored my hair and laid out my outfit.  I decided to wear a former maternity dress my sister, Lynette had given me.  This sounds just wrong I know, but to my credit, Lynette's thin, she got it in her first trimester AND it's quite stylish.  Lynette and I both giggled that with the right belt and jacket it could serve as the perfect sassy dress for a non-pregnant woman.  This show deserved just that type of sass for just that type of non-pregnant woman.  You can check the link below if you don't believe me. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCQ9pDb9QKs

See?  You totally can't tell it's maternity. 

Anyway, the show was a success.  Several moms stepped up to help, the kids were cute and I only momentarily panicked 5 or 6 odd times. After the show, people enjoyed an average amount of cookies (which will be increased next year) and lemonade with happy faces.  Families finally milled out, Aaron took the girls home and I cleaned up.  I ate leftover broken cookies, drank a few glasses of lemonade, but the last thing I did at 8:30 at night was to stop and get myself a celebratory cup of coffee with the remnants of a Christmas gift-card.  I'd been saving it for a special occasion.  This was it.  Putting on a flawless school event, while simultaneously  boosting the confidence of our youth!   I ordered a small FULL FAT mocha because after all, I was wearing a maternity dress.  It's not like I didn't have the extra room.


http://www.zazzle.com/cranky_mommys_full_fat_mocha_bag-149300036952628766?rf=238059376856533572

"The laundry moved. The LAUNDRY MOOOOOVED!!!!"

Summer time is here and that means 3/4 of our family has no schedule, no set bedtimes, nothing to do, nowhere to be and the concept of time has melted into one ambiguous lump like those creepy clock pictures by Salvador Dali.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Persistence_of_Memory

I love it. My girls love it. My husband loves it for us, but we all feel horribly sorry for him that he still has to adhere to the rules of the real world when we do not.

Gabby who has a heart of gold says almost every morning, "Poor Daddy. Why does he have to go to work in the summer?". Bella, the realist, will reply almost every morning, gesturing frantically in the air, "Because he has a JOB, Gabby. He has to work for us so we can do all the fun stuff!" Rightfully said, my dear.

But life as we know might be ending. I have a real, honest to goodness INTERVIEW coming up. It's a part time dream job, so I'm actually really crossing my fingers to get it. I know I can do it while still continuing to be the happy over-caffeinated mom my family is used to. So last night I went for a mountain bike ride with Yeti Jen and then we went suit shopping. This is truly the blind leading the blind. We delighted in the fact that we had sweaty helmet heads and I still had elastic lines on my belly and legs from my shorts and here I was trying on a suit.

I have not tried on a suit in 10 years. I blatantly told this to the very kind sales woman who took us on as kind of a project. It worked. I found the perfect suit and now I just have to get my self ready in a happy way and not go all Annette Bening from American Beauty where she slaps herself for being so weak after doing an open house. "I will get this job today. I will get this job today."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SS06JvtlAc8

Anyway. I get home late to find that our precious girls were having a sleep-over together in the basement, or "Horror Land" as they like to call it. As far as basements go, I think it's pretty sweet. It's finished, has plenty of room for two bike trainers, a treadmill and a partridge in a pear tree. As far as they are concerned, though, the balance ball is haunted and there's a creepy amount of spiders "and their babies who are waiting to eat us!".

Nonetheless, they made it all night. But this morning I awoke to the sound of baby elephants charging up the stairs...which is unfortunate since I tend to throw dirty clothes down the stairs and sometimes that makes for a treacherous run. I heard, running, giggling, screaming, then thuds, and more running. By the time they got to me, they were panting and Bella screamed in my sleepy ear "Horror land was scarier than ever!!!! THE LAUNDRY MOVED!! THE LAUNDRY MOOOOOOOOOOVED!!!!!"

"Yeah, Mama!," Gabby continued. "It chased us up the stairs!!! You should take care of it today! Wight now!!! Get up!!! Do that laundwy...and make us bweak-wast!"

My interview is tomorrow. I've got a full pot of coffee brewing because I have several things to do to get ready. But perhaps, I could throw in a load of laundry or two. Because even though we all giggled, I did peek down the stairs and I half-way believed them.

http://www.zazzle.com/cranky_mommys_home_brew_laundry_tshirt-235387200796354522

...As to Get the Prize

My grocery shopping skills have now officially been finely honed to an elevated art-form. Like most things in my life, this is out of necessity. The majority of my day goes something like this:

1. Ridiculously long "to-do" list.
2. A silly short amount of time in which to complete this list.
3. A debate in my head between my slothful angel and my over-achieving angel as to whether I'll finish or not.
4. The phrase crazily uttered aloud "Oh, I'll finish it alright. I have plenty of time."
5. A cup of coffee frantically made, spilled on my shirt and swallowed too hot to fuel my efforts in order to put the U.F.C. smack-down on my slothful angel.

Repeat steps 1-5 at least 3 times a day and viola (or "vi-oh-lah" as my daughter would say). There is my day.

Grocery shopping is usually squeezed into a window of 25 minutes. Enough for some, but not nearly enough for me. As mentioned in an earlier blog, I have my list organized by aisle/peripherals of the store and coupons stapled in order according to that list layered on the top left corner.

I have also learned to leave my cart and run for the item down one aisle and doing a mad sprint up the next back to abandoned cart to save time on wheeling the cumbersome beast to and fro. Occasionally I have dropped a can here or there and twice I've run into people--literally slamming my full body weight against someone with only a loaf of bread or a bag of 2% shredded Kroger brand Mexican cheese to cushion the blow. Most people just hear my flip-flops slip-slapping and they move to the side in horror.

I know all the "fast checkers" and which baggers can handle my frantic pace. I always compliment them on how fast they are as I'm wiping the sweat from my brow and unstapling my coupons. They always seem to want to get me out faster as if I have a fever of some sort. And perhaps I do. It's called, "You are gonna be super late to pick up your half-day Kindergartner, you slow, slothful, tortoise of a being."

Gabby gets out at 11:40. Today I did all sorts of things that I didn't necessarily have to do until 10:45 a.m. Setting myself up to lose, is apparently what I do best...I mean, in a way, it really does make me work smarter and faster. But the level of stress is just insurmountable at this point and somewhere between the grapes and the hummus, I often wonder to myself, "Is THIS really how normal people function?" the answer to that is always a resounding "No," in my case, but that's beside the point. Why not just take Gabby with me? Well, here's a quick why. She does great in the store. Really great. In fact, sometimes I get really creative and we play Grocery Bingo with homemade cards and all that jazz (slothful angel got pummeled that day). But mostly, I am painfully aware that this is my last few months with her as a morning Kindergartner. From here on out, she will be lost to full day school. We will not have our afternoons of lunch, playing out back, cozy reads, mid-afternoon hot cocoa/coffee dates, Go Fish-a-thons, park walks, bus-stop tree climbs, just the two of us, trying to make up for those first two years that our entire family ignored her because Bella talks all the time.

I just don't want to waste that time with her at the store.

Any way. Everything was going as planned until I spent more than my self-allotted time per section on the bars section. You know, Cliff bars, Kashi, Luna, etc. It's a science. Price, flavor, protein content. My five minutes turned into seven and before I knew it, I was doing the Homer Simpson squeal of fear and surprise as I glanced at my watch and saw that I hadn't even made it to the check out and it was 11:31.

At 11:33, I was trying my hardest to be a good listener to the bagger who was telling me about the blizzard of 06' when she worked at the Pepsi Center, AND Wendy's, but secretly my slothful angel was riding a unicycle around my head celebrating it's victory, tooting for some reason a clarinet. But still. I knew it took only 5 minutes if I hit every green light (which of course I WOULD) to get to Gabby's school. If I could do my trademark full-cart sprint out the store to my car, I could still make it work. I grabbed my receipt muttered a thanks and had just started to get my cart a really rocking, when it happened.

A 90 year old woman in a motorized wheeled cart moseyed out right. In. Front. Of. Me. Right in the middle of the aisle that surely is big enough to stay on the right and get passed on the left by people like me...moms mostly. Hmmmm. Just like a bike path. But there she was, right in the middle. My end of the game hail Mary shot had just been deflected. Three minutes. It took three minutes to go from one end of the check-out stands to the front door. Her hand was not all that steady and it kept slipping off the go button. So here I was tailgating a 90 year old woman in her motorized grocery cart and several times I almost rear-ended her.

Up ahead now at 11:38, I can see the opening to the store. I try to nonchalantly whip around her and gather up my full speed again, only to almost run into the assist-a-ride Arvada bus that she was destined for. As I bank a hard left to get around the back corner, I catch just out of the corner of my eye, a car that was crossing behind the bus--the car that would undoubtedly hit me, run me over and bring my untimely, inpatient death. I come to a screeching halt--almost forcing my sweet 90 year old friend to rear-end me (ironic, isn't it?) and there go my bagels and bananas that are stacked precariously on top of a bag. Off the side, rolling...under the bus. Then I hear a familiar voice.

"Nice, Macarelli. Real nice."

It was my friend Michele and her 4 1/2 year old daughter heading into the store--they had been witness to it all.

I didn't even really have time to justify my actions.

"I...uh (scramble for the bagels, grope for the now mushy bananas destined for banana bread)...can't (pant, pant) gotta get...Gabby!" I wave frantically in the air back at them, throw the groceries in the back, run the cart back around the bus at the entrance, see my old friend scowl at me from the motorized lift. "Sorry! Have a nice day!" (pant, pant,)

I test our Subaru's all wheel drive on the way to the school and believe it or not, roll into the parking lot, groceries spilling all across the back, at 11:41. I race up and Gabby comes running to meet me happy as a clam.

"Honey. I'm sorry I'm late."
"You're not late, Mama. (wrinkles up her freckled nose like it's gross to even think about) Let's play." She drops her back pack, smiles at me and heads off to the monkey bars.

I drop onto the grass, like I just finished a race (and let's be honest, I did) and then I see it. Coffee stains all down the front of my shirt. I have no idea how long they have been there. Did I get them at breakfast? Did I have them at the bus-stop? The grocery store? Or did I chug from my travel mug while I was driving 75 mph in a 25 mph zone without even being aware of my actions? I decided it didn't matter. Because I did it. I finished it. I got there. And now she and I had the WHOLE afternoon to be together. Do most people my age literally race a 90 year old in a motorized cart? Probably not. But I needed to get that prize.

*1 Corinthians 9:24. Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.

http://www.zazzle.com/cranky_mommys_to_do_t_shirt-235698394496868797

http://www.zazzle.com/cranky_mommys_white_mocha_t_shirt-235147987130406354

The "score of the century" Up and Dies a Fast Death

About a year and a half ago, my husband delighted in showing me "the score of the century"--which was an add in a magazine for a sort of coffee of the month club with the added bonus gift of a sleek, sexy looking chromified coffee maker. "Can a coffee maker look sexy?", you ask? Well, yes it can. I doubted the merits of this program, and worried about getting sucked in to paying inordinate amounts for crappy mail-order coffee when we can pay inordinate amounts for reasonably good coffee right here at our local store, but he insisted I was missing the point.


"No! You are missing the point. We only order the first batch to get the coffee maker and then I cancel our subscription. I already have the first possible day you can cancel marked on my calendar on my computer at work. Trust me."

I knew he undoubtedly DID have it marked on his calendar, but I still questioned the quality of the coffee maker we'd be getting. As it turned out, I was wrong. Sort of. For a year and a half, our pretty little honey did all we hoped and dreamed. What was more, my husband delighted in pointing out the same coffee maker at all of our friends' houses:

"See? Everyone who is intelligent has done the exact same, intelligent thing."

I loved to hear her chugging away in the morning. I loved her filters--even the efficient looking cone shape. I loved how easily I could fill the glass carafe without spilling it all over. I loved everything about her...until the day she just up and died.

Without warning one morning she just gave up her caffieneted ghost. No notes of goodbye or reasons WHY she was leaving us, she just did. Perhaps we just used and abused her too much and she aged too fast. Perhaps she was flawed to begin with and we ignored the warning signs. Whatever the reason, I awoke after a late night staying up doing laundry, packing lunches and finishing an all important Law and Order only to hear my husband calling up the stairs as he left for work, "Bye Honey. Oh...and I think the coffee makers broken."

I jumped up quick at this. "Wait. WHAT?"

"Yeah, I went to make coffee this morning and nothing happened. Okay, bye!"

As the door closed, I felt oddly abandoned. That entire conversation happened too fast. The death of a friend isn't usually dismissed so cavalierly. I had to investigate for myself.

Five minutes later after pressing buttons, unplugging and replugging, tapping, shaking, begging and pleading, there I was morosely stirring my International Mayan Chocolate Lover's instant Delight. Hmmm. "Delight" is a strong word. After drinking it, I knew why they were trying to subconsciously force my enchantment. Standing there in front of my friend's corpse, I felt accused and dirty.

"You left me no CHOICE!" I hissed to her. "No cho-o-o-oice!"

Three hours later I was feeling the affects of my withdrawal. I forget exactly what I had planned for the day but it was a LOT. There was some volunteering, some painting, some driving, I think we went to gymnastics, but I can't be sure. It was all a blur of sleepiness. I had no time to go get a NEW coffee maker which was what I wanted to immediately after I half-heartedly drank my International Mayan Chocolate Displeasure.

Aaron, on the other hand was feeling none the worse. He has access to copious amounts of coffee at work. I was actually contemplating where I could go to get some free coffee. Even going back to work now seemed a good possibility. "I'll bet the teacher's lounge at the girls' school has it. Perhaps I could just sneak...".

Believe it or not, three days later I finally brought the brand new baby home. After much research on Amazon, some coupon rustling and four phone calls to Aaron from Bed, Bath and Beyond, we found a replacement.

This time I've dubbed it a "he". I have yet to name him, but he is undoubtedly masculine and not nearly as a pretty on the eyes. Not even six-pack abs Men's Health magazine masculine. More like someone that comes over and breaks your plant-stand in two minutes by walking, masculine...and sort of hairy. Either way, I giggled as I walked into Bed, Bath and Beyond with my cup of coffee from the coffee shop. I'd held out so long and I just didn't see me making an educated decision without some positive, alert reinforcements.

So the next time your "score of the century" coffee maker goes out, don't feel bad about going through the drive through. I will never get those three days back. And although everyone around me treated me the same after, I can't shake the feeling that I may have done something inappropriate during my time of mourning and caffeine alienation.

http://www.zazzle.com/cranky_mommys_drive_through_t_shirt-235423913126258546

Twas the Night Before Bella's Birthday

Twas the night before Bella's 7th birthday and all through the house, not a creature was stirring except for one crazy, frantic mama who unfortunately hadn't had enough coffee.

This year Bella opted out of a traditional birthday party (which I was thrilled about) and instead plans on going to "Build-a-Bear" this weekend with her Daddy. We thought this was the cutest thing ever. How many more years will she most likely want to forgo presents and festivities in lieu of spending some quality time with her father and some quality money in a creepy place filled with glass eyes and miniature clothing sets? Probably not too many. But we still wanted to do the old-school party from our child-hoods which consists of a favorite dinner, cake and perhaps the grandparents and/or one friend. So we were calling that the "non-party, party". This was working out perfectly. I was envisioning a total lack of effort, yet a happy, tranquil get-together.

Mmmm-hmmm. I was equating having the "non-party, party" with doing absolutely NO PREPARATION for her birthday until the day before. I had a few gifts, but that was about it. Most people could pull this off, no problem. But most people probably don't decorate more for Halloween than they do for Christmas. Which again would be fine if I hadn't taken down about 1/2 the decorations already and had them splayed haphazardly about the house like the Great Pumpkin himself had exploded.

I got home from shopping at 9 p.m. and realized that the "non-party, party" had just been a clever ruse by the Evil Birthday Troll to sucker me back in. Nonna and Baba (my in-laws) were coming, with my sister-in-law and niece and Bella's best buddy and his family. I still want my in-laws to like me and think I'm a good mom, so I couldn't leave the house the way it was. It could completely blow my last 12.5 years of work. It dawned on me at 9 p.m. that I still had about 6 hours of work left. This left me with a choice. Make up a pot of coffee and zip around like Cinderella with the birds as they help her do her chores or pretend that I only have 1 more hour of work and drink an EmergenC . I chose the EmergenC. Big mistake. 2 a.m. was really when my efficiency level dropped to zero. See below.

9 p.m. I turned on the oven to bake the birthday cake and pumpkin muffins that Bella wanted to take to school.
11 p.m. Both b-day treats baked, cake flipped to an aluminum covered cardboard pizza lid with wooden skewers masking taped to the bottom for extra reinforcement, then put in the freezer to ice the next day.

*See footnote at the bottom.

12. a.m. I start to put away the Halloween decorations that I usually throw into cardboard boxes. This season I had the bright idea to get orange and black storage containers to "better organize" my life. I wish I never had this thought, because now I felt obligated to do the organizing.
1 a.m. I start on the mound of laundry that had been stealthily working it's way up our basement stairs.
2 a.m. I start to carry the boxes up to the attic.
2:02 a.m. I get side-tracked and start to windex mirrors.
2:03 a.m. I get double-side-tracked and start to clean the toilets.
2:05 a.m. I lay down in the girls bathroom(so...sleepy) and notice a big treasure trove of missing barrettes under their stepping stool.
2:10 a.m. I get back up (I lost 5 minutes somewhere in there. It's probably hiding under the stepping stool) and drag the boxes into the attic, bloodying my knuckles in the process.
2:15 a.m I am organizing the attic, sorting through camping stuff and putting away old Bike2School posters from a fundraiser earlier this Fall, wondering "what is wrong with me?"
2:30 a.m. I hear the dryer buzzer and stumble down the stairs to hang up Aaron's work shirts and pants.
2:45 a.m. I start on dishes.
3:00 a.m. I realize that I'm standing with the hot water running over my hands, and there are no more dishes left in the sink. My pulse and breathing are slowing down and I feel like Elliot in the scene from E.T. where he falls asleep standing up with a handful of Reeses Pieces, wearing his long-underwear. Only I was eating chocolate chips instead. 3 a.m. fuel of champions.
3:15 I give the counters a final wipe, start the dishwasher and go to bed.

Now this is where it gets really sad. The next thing I know, Aaron is holding a cup of coffee under my nose saying, "Hey, honey. Maybe this will help you wake up." I'm thinking, "Oh, this wonderful, sweet man. He made me coffee to wake me up." But then he quickly swipes it away and takes it to the adjoining office where he was working from home that day. The coffee was not for me. He just cruelly gave me a whiff and then SNATCHED it away. Thanks honey. Thanks for that. Later he justified his cruelty by saying, "Well I know you don't like your coffee black. You wouldn't have liked it. It was just to wake you up."

That day was a blur of pumpkin muffins, spaghetti and meatballs, Winton's food coloring and the smell of Swiffer products. But all in all, I was happy I did it all, because the "non-party, party" turned out pretty sweet. I got to truly enjoy my oldest daughter turning 7 because I had done all the prep the night before. It was the perfect way to celebrate, even if my knuckles were bloodied and bruised. At least I bandaged them up so no one would gag when they saw me serving up the cake.


Birthday coming up? Do not make the same mistake I did. Do yourself a favor. Make up the pot. Don't even hesitate. Your 2 a.m. -3 a.m. stretch could be so much better.

http://www.zazzle.com/cranky_mommys_home_brew_tshirt-235547725300798123

http://www.zazzle.com/cranky_mommys_home_brew_magnet-147179074176811472

http://www.zazzle.com/cranky_mommys_home_brew_laundry_tshirt-235387200796354522

*This time the cake flipped right onto the board like it was supposed to. Much better than the first time I tried it when Gabby was turning 1 and it flipped right onto the floor, where I quickly joined it, alternately crying...and then eating some...off the floor. It was a good cake. I was able to save half.

40 % off at King Soopers!!!

Grocery shopping today took on a new level of importance. I was nearing the end of my list (organized by aisle, West to East, of course) and I came upon what I'd been anticipating for the last two days ever since I saw the weekly King Soopers circular in my almost extinct newspaper. 40% off of all bags of coffee. FORTY PERCENT!!! Also take into consideration that I regularly clip (usually rip in half) coupons, so I had a Starbucks coupon, a Seattle's Best AND a Caribou! I was almost twitching with excitement as I perused the selection. Usually we buy the Starbucks cheap brand at Costco, but it doesn't really give me the same satisfaction of holding and smelling all those cute lil' bags. They are kind of like chubby little babies that in addition to keeping me up all night, happen to have the pleasant quality of smelling like coffee!

So I stocked up on two Starbucks Espresso Blends, used the Seattle's Best for my friend as part of her Fall/Housewarming present--Cinnabon flavor!!! Something my husband, Aaron would definitely frown upon saying, "It's all just processed flavorings. It's not even real coffee." But I'm no snob. I'm a sucker for artificial flavorings and preservatives when it comes to coffee...but strangely not cereal and they are housed in the same aisle. And then I got a Caribou breakfast blend that gave me warm happy thoughts of standing in line at D.I.A. waiting to get Caribou coffee with Aaron at 5 a.m. before our flight to Calf. a few years ago for a wine-revelry vacation.

The irony didn't escape me that what I saved in coupons, I undoubtedly burned through earlier in the day when I stopped at the drive-through Starbucks on Hwy 93 for a small, I mean TALL Caramel Macchiato. But still. It made me feel so thrifty. And all those chubby little coffee baby bags in my cart made me feel so maternal! And the more coffee I make at my house, the less I'm likely to stop at Starbucks, insuring that I may get to be a stay@home mom forever since we won't need a second income. Thanks, King Soopers!

http://www.zazzle.com/cranky_mommys_cappuccino_tote_bag-149427384950228037

She Broke Both of her Thanksgiving Drumsticks

My parents moved to Africa last Spring to pursue a Dairy Consulting job of my Dad's. This is all fine and good. I'm very happy for them. But as it turns out, it's the final straw that broke my (get-out-of-hosting-the-holidays-at-my-house) camel's back.

Back when we were newly-weds, didn't have kids and both our families liked us, we would joke in the early Fall to our parents that "whoever asks us first, gets us," as if it were a prize. 12 years have gone by, and many grand-kids now stand in the way of us being even slightly important to either sets of parents. We're most likely seen as an annoyance. I've known this for many years, but I pretend not to notice for one reason alone. Thanksgiving should be left to the experts.

Since I haven't made mashed potatoes for at least 6 years (to the shock and awe of my farm-raised family) you really don't want me starting now. And I anticipate with IMMENSE pleasure, this feast that I can in no way replicate. And even if I could, the odds are slim that I would. It simply takes too much time and I have to buy a kitchen full of things that I never use 99% of the year.

This usually isn't a problem. I can weasel my way into either family's spread just fine. My sister, who is an excellent cook/chef/baker, etc. used to be my automatic holiday fall-out shelter. But three years ago she moved with her family to Malaysia also for a job opportunity. Aaron's parents would be the next logical choice, but my poor mother-in-law tripped on a curb, and broke both of her feet. It would feel strange to see her wheeling her wheel-chair into the dining room with the turkey on her lap, "Here it...(bump the corner of the hallway, back-up, re-roll)...IS!" Not to mention that Aaron's sister and her 6 year old daughter have recently moved in with my in-laws, so again it would be a real shame to force anything else on the poor woman.

So let's sum it up. My sister left, my mom has abandoned us for Africa and Sally broke her two drumsticks. Looks like it's all on me this year. Feel free to post any and all of your Thanksgiving recipes. I will be needing them. You can bet I'll over-consume some Cranky Mommy's Home-brew for the day...until I make the noon switchover to wine.

Here is the apron you too can wear if you are in a similar situation; your mom and sister move out of the country and your mother-in-law breaks both her feet.

http://www.zazzle.com/cranky_mommys_home_brew_apron-154149063562846321



Happy Thanksgiving!