I have new suspicions that my mother has rehashed her plot to kill me. She and my father returned from my cousin’s beautiful Dallas wedding with some form of the Bubonic Plague and as the responsible child I went to care for them. I cleaned the house, pumped them full of Gatorade, called their doctor (who I am sure by now, knows me by name) and washed dishes (my personal kryptonite). Just as it seemed that they were on the mend, I caught it and quickly gave it to Husband. I noticed he was sick way before I realized that it had gotten me too. I brought him Gatorade and Tylenol and quickly retreated to my own personal turmoil. I woke up the next morning convinced that I was well enough to go to work. I pulled it together enough to get my kids to Grandparent Daycare and down the highway, but by the time I arrived at my desk it was clear that this was not my best thought out plan.
I was “encouraged” to leave. Now I know what that little monkey from Outbreak felt like. I must have looked like Gwyneth in the Contagion previews, because people looked afraid to share the same air space. I am always down for a day off without my LoLo Monster and Suga Buga so I left work thinking I would get some rest before my big weekend. I was going to be baking all day Saturday so that I could take pictures of my desserts for my website. I would take the time to get well and rest beforehand. That way I could wake up early and drop the kids to my sister, who had already agreed to watch them for me so I could cook uninhibited by responsibility.
Saturday would be for baking, but now Friday would be for me. I went home, grabbed another Gatorade, took a Hydrocodone, turned on HGTV and laid in bed. Normally, I love watching HGTV, but this Friday I noticed something that perturbed me. It may have been because I was sick and cranky, but I was totally annoyed by how unrealistic they are about my options for redecorating. They say that these are projects that I can do at home for $1,000 or less, but they are lying. I don’t have a band saw, a random carpenter friend who will work for free, a sewing machine or a fancy air-powered nail gun. Who are they kidding? If I had that kind of skill and resources I would not need HGTV. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know that I am not going to build a lamp, water feature or retaining wall in my spare time and for me to get someone else to do it is going to cost me more than I have to spend. If you really want to impress/relate to me HGTV, I want to take someone with little to no skill and a limited budget and make something happen without a carpenter and his fancy tool magic. I want you to take someone like me to a store and work within my budget. We can even go rent tools from Home Depot if you want, but just only the client gets to build it.
What can you do with my very real limitations? It reminds me of a show that used to come on Food Network called “How to Boil Water”. It taught people how to cook at the most basic level. I miss that show. Now everyone on that network acts like I just happen to have pancetta and star anise, cubeb just lying around in my house. Really, people? I think Giada is great, but sometimes I just want to know how to make a regular meatloaf. That is why people like Rachel Ray, but even she has gotten a little carried away with the ingredients. I was now disgusted and decided to go to sleep.
I woke up achy, but better and called my mother. This is where her nefarious plot gets crafty. My sister is often busy because she has 4 active kids. She is usually at some game or practice and therefore unavailable to make as many visits to my parent’s house as I do, but somehow she found her way into Toxic City on Friday. On Saturday morning, when I was calling her about my kids she was calling God on the porcelain phone about her stomach. This means that I was going to have to go grocery shopping and make a complete dessert menu while parenting my two attention seekers.
What was I going to do? I did what anyone in my position would have done. I called my Mommy! She started this and she was going to finish it. She complained, but came over and watched my kids while I baked and baked and baked. I baked from 1 PM Saturday until 10 AM Sunday. My desserts were photographed by the nicest man ever, a friend of Seattle, from 11 AM – 3 or 4 PM and then I was left with a house full of sugar and 2 restless babies who mercifully slept until 10 minutes after the photographer left. I got no rest until after 9 PM when they went to bed and even then Suga kept losing her “paci” and crying until I got up and returned it to her mouth. (She cries with her eyes closed and mouth open. It is a total diva move.) 9 AM felt like 5 AM used to feel after a really good party. It was the longest, hungriest (I did not eat because I was recovering, but maybe my jeans will fit now), most draining weekend.
I warned Typhoid Mary (my mother) that I was on to her scheme and that I wasn’t going down alone. I reminded her that I my kids will have to come live with her if she keeps this up. I think she got the message. She put some desserts in a to-go bag, promised to disinfect her house, kissed my check and left.
I don't think we will be having this problem again!
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