So... I'm all on my lonesome, for only a short while. I have to be at my group in just over an hour, and I do not believe that I will create some form of disaster in my home in that time. It will all happen after the three oclock hour.. once the chicklets get home. See, I really am a good parent.. passing blame onto their children.. tsk.
I wish I had a dog that would eat crumbs, rather than look at me like I am passing off another piece of poison at her. So I do have some crumbs that I have to clean up... some little biscuit and cheese package that Mr. Shoppingman bought for the queenly child for a treat in her lunch. Nice treat.. he knows what he is doing... he knew those packages would drive me to haul out the largest knife in the drawer and try to rip them apart that way that makes packages explode. Then I backed up from the counter to look at my fine floor creation.. just to step on a smallish pile of biscuits hiding behind my foot. I have crumbs... and no one to eat them.
Speaking of knives.. it's not safe to have a hissy fit about putting runners on the feet of an almost 8 year old girl... who insists that she can not possibly put the runners on her feet. So, as I stand having a wrapper attack, then I turn and am holding a huge knife... (even better parenting skills here)... so I turn to her and yell... "great, now I am yelling at you with a knife in my hand!" Luckily the package exploded, so I was able to put the knife down... I am my own comedy of errors.
And from other scarey tales before nine oclock.. the dentist calls. They were confirming my appt for tomorrow, and the chicklets. Of course then I tell her in a real hurry because we are now quickly departing for school after the runner incident... and apologize but have to cancel the kids appt for three in the afternoon. Silence. "You need to give 48 hours notice", she says. Yes, I thought of that Friday night.. but you were closed. "Yes, we would have taken that into account" she replies. "When did you open?" I asked her. "At 8:30", she answers. "Oh, so you would have just found out the information about the cancellation 15 minutes ago, that I would have left on Friday night over 48 hours ago?, I ask her. "Yes", she says confidently. "Well, I am now 15 minutes late from cancelling from Friday night... what else would you like me to do?....I ask. She was silent. I have had my fill of little receptionists invading my ear space and pissing me off, this poor girl didn't have a chance. I will not apologize.
So, back to the original story of the day..... it's all about leftovers, and my thoughts about them. See, when you have left overs.. it is exactly as it is stated. Left overs. Does that mean the left overs get eaten into right unders? I am not for certain... but I am having some trouble digesting that. I also know that there is always someone left out with left overs. If someone went without dinner on the "actual dinner date", then that person goes without once again because of the left overs. So, if that person thought you were cruel once to create the "dinner that has leftovers", then that person will really begin to start taking it personally when it arrives for a second time, even to be despised even more. I am not sure what action should be taken on this. If the person is truely "down and out" over being left out of the family dinner adventure, is it fare to start creating something that will spark their digestive interests. Because really, leftovers were invented to ease the burden of the "disorganized" and "un-talented" in the kitchen. If there wasn't a spark in the beginning... there still wont be one now. Is it at this point that I pull out the pot, boil up the water, and dump the spaghetti in?.... of course I have reservations about that one... because I know there isn't enought ketchup to go around for sauce.... and even with the left overs happily waiting in the fridge, this boring pot of spaghetti will become the attention grabber of the day... and truely the left overs will be leftover leftovers. And that's embarassing.
All of this and more... has me scared.
No comments:
Post a Comment