Y’all! I have so much to tell you!
First, I would like to say I am sober, but drunk on happiness.
I will begin at the beginning.
When I got to work Friday, I was told to best decide how to spend the hour I would work, because our office would be closing early. An hour. Psh. I made two phone calls and completed one project and asked Mentor which project to do next and she said it was time to go home.
I don’t know what the hell we did Friday. *asks* Oh, yes, we had Chinese food!
Saturday I called my mother. We had a delightful chat, and then I mentioned to her, “Our package has not yet arrived,” to which she said, “Yes it has,” and I asked the room, “Did we get Grandma’s package?” Lots of head shaking and shrugging.
Turns out, my package for my parents arrived early (!!!) and the package my mother mailed to us on the 15th was nowhere in sight. (!!!)
I was disappointed. My mother was concerned. She was all, “There’s a lot of money in that box,” and I was all, “Were my fruitlings in there?”
Y’all, I’m sure the kids would be a skosh somber not getting their yearly-far-away-grandparent income, but me not getting my mother’s fruitlings would be DEVASTATING.
The tracking reported
my fruitlings our package as held up at the post office because my address was invalid. You can imagine my surprise, having received mail at my invalid address all week. I said I’d go to the post office Tuesday.
But then, Sadie barked at the mail carrier, so I made inquiry with him.
He gave me the number to call the post office and I called and the lady said although they weren’t open, I could come pick up my package. I told her I’d be right there. Cept, y’all, I was a. hot. mess. I wasn’t really even presentable enough to talk to the mail carrier, and yet, I put on my boots and went to the post office.
Turns out, my mother actually DID write the wrong address on it, because loopy handwriting. I suffer similarly, because Tuesday, the clerk at the post office asked me if my 9s were 5s and I suppose my mother and I should try harder to write slowly and carefully, lest we are too loopy. *giggles*
I baked and music-ed all day and night Saturday. I baked all the fings. All, all, all the fings.
5 loaves of challah — My yeast wasn’t expired, but it wasn’t good, either. Made little islands in the water — and no bubbles! Tsk. The Mister had to go out and get yeast.
3 dozen snickerdoodles (The Mister’s fave) — My cream of tartar canister was stuck closed, so as Bubba wrangled off the lid, I laughed and told him it’s a bonding agent so he could laugh too.
3 dozen double chocolate cookies (A la Norm) — Those cookies are so sweet, I took a bite and announced I couldn’t eat more of it, but the kids love them and have announced, “They’re gonna get gone first.”
5 dozen anise cookies (via Barbara Scott Leonard, y’all remember her? Silver in the Barn?) They’re fabulous, but Papa and I are the only people who eat them, so I’m shipping some to a writer who also loves all things licorice, and taking some to The Green-Eyed Shopgirl. I make up names for people when I don’t know their names. You do that, too, right?
Rum and rum. Cause eggnog and more rum.
Sassy baked the chocolate cake which I will cover with chocolate ganache tonight.
Dipped pretzels and stuff in chocolate and white chocolate, too.
Rolling out sugar cookies tonight, too.
Yesterday, we did the ham, mac n’ cheese, (with cheese Sassy shredded) peas, carrots, and challah (Moo helped knead) and today I made pancakes, bacon, and sausage for brunch.
Then I had a lovely little nap. Mmm, nap.
Sassy and Moo peeled potatoes and Bubba shredded them, which is when I realized we didn’t have enough eggs for the latkes. I told The Mister about the lack of eggs, and he said he was sure it would be fine, in the most condescending of ways.
I am a good cook and I am resourceful. I would say I’m a kitchen witch, but I have no spells for egg multiplication. Apparently, he was expecting one egg to do five eggs’ worth of binding like a Mottern Family Miracle, but I had no such hope. I sent Moo out to ask our neighbors, but they weren’t home. In the meantime, The Mister judged me and made faces at me and I could not even with his helpless, patronizing attitude!
The smoke alarm went off, proving my oil was, in fact, hot enough, which is when The Mister came into the kitchen. “That’s plenty enough eggs, Baby, it’s fine,” [let me try to hug you since you would just as soon punch me in the face] and then, only then, did he realize I was not talking about not having enough deviled eggs. (Did I mention I made deviled eggs?)
So then he went out in search of eggs like the hero he is supposed to be. For fuck’s sake Man, IT WAS AN OFFICIAL EGG CRISIS!
And then we laughed and laughed.
Latkes. *sigh* I don’t care how many you make, you’ll wish you made more. *sigh*
So yes, It’s all about the food. And drinks. And the love and the snuggles. And the sleep. And the music and the movies.
Oh yeah, we had presents, too.
I don’t know what we’re doin tomorrow, but I know it’ll be happy, and I hope all of you have had a happy weekend, too.
Heart heart You heart.