jAnUaRy 9

 It is finished. Done. And in the case of the sausage balls, perhaps a bit over done. And as far as that goes, I think I may be a bit overdone myself. 

We went to bed with the temp hovering around eighty degrees upstairs. All the fans were running and if we kept still, we could kind of keep on the cooler side. However, after a bad, terrible night of sleep, I woke up cold. I quickly turned all the fans off and found a pair of warm long pants, a 3 X large fleece hoodie and a pair of socks. The high today was only about sixty two, maybe, and I hadn't been keeping an eye on the temperature, so I was unawares that cooler weather was slipping onto the playing field. 

I went into the office with the coffee for the usual quiet time with Jesus and before I knew it, it was almost noon and I hadn't started any of the cooking. We were supposed to have pot roast for dinner, so this was a problem. Good pot roast needs to crock all day, from early morning, on low. So I did the next best thing, I got out an old school stock pot and proceeded the old school way to make a roast. I had a host of things I planned to cook today, and so after the roast I got out the old cast iron skillet and proceeded to make Salisbury steak with gravy, of course. And then Mac 'n Cheese (Jo's request, with the FAT noodles), BBQ beans (from a can) corn, green beans (also from cans), By this time the kitchen was a nuclear disaster area. I was tired, tripping over things, dropping things, irritated at myself. I overcooked the second batch of sausage balls because I didn't hear the timer. I wished I could just get it together. I wished I was like June Cleaver. She never dropped things, or cussed when she did. Her knees never hurt. She seemed to have inexhaustable energy. While I was mulling over this (just kidding June didn't cross my mind once today), I realized I had lost the carrots for the roast. I looked around for where they might have run to, and found them tossed over in the corner, hiding amongst the vast amount of potato chips that seem to be accumulating there. They were matchstick carrots, which normally I would not use for a roast, but it was all I had, so I threw them into the simmering broth with the meat and mini baby reds. It was as they slid out of the package that I caught a whiff of something...not so fresh, and realized, too late, that the carrots were past their prime. I picked up the bag and gave it a good sniff, hoping desperately that I was wrong, that it was something else I was smelling, but please not those carrots. 

But no. It was the carrots. So in the middle of all that mess I had to get out a strainer, and a colander, and some hot pads, pick out the roast, which, fortunately hadn't cooked to the point of falling apart yet, pour the broth and potatoes through the colander into a bowl, and then use the small strainer to strain out every single matchstick carrot. 

In the middle of this mess, the dog pooped on the floor. 

The Mr., who blessedly was downstairs when the doggy made his doodle, was kind enough to clean it up. I went on straining carrots. Ugh. 

Finally I had to quit because I had to get the girls from school. It was a nice respite from the kitchen. My knees went from screaming cusswords at me to quietly complaining. The girls were absolutely adorable. No Henry the Eight I am, I am, today, though. Just a short quiet ride to their house, while they perused the Scholastic Book newspaper the school had sent out, to decide which books (and toys) they couldn't live without. 

I made the executive decision, based on the middle finger my knees were giving me, that I was not making pancakes, as I had planned, or waffles. So I swung into the store and picked up some frozen pancakes and waffles, and also some real carrots. 

Back home, I saw that the roast was done, so I took it off the heat and used the broth to very quickly catch the carrots up to the potatoes and meat. While that was happening I took care of the garbage, which was climbing the walls, even though it was taken out last evening, and washed a boatload of dishes. The dishwasher usually takes care of this, but the dishwasher was loaded to capacity and already humming away. The carrots being done, I divided the roast into four TV dinner bowls and added the carrots and potatoes, and also the brown gravy I had just made (from a packet...hated to not make fresh, because of the sodium content, but I just couldn't stand up anymore) put the lids and labels on, and put three in the fridge, saving the fourth for the Mr. Then I wiped the dishes down, put them away, wiped the countertops, swept the floor, mopped it, took out the dog, turned out the light and went straight to my chair with 1000 mgs of tylenol, a lidocaine knee patch, a pillow under my knees, a heated blanket, and fell asleep. 

But as I was leaving the dining room, Ally, who was at the table, casually asked me Mom, what's for dinner? I paused for a moment. There was no way I was going back in that kitchen. Turkey sandwiches, I said, with finality, thinking of the one meal that would require zero dishes, if we use the paper plates. 

She ordered a pizza. And that was Ok, because she shared with us. 

Later I got a text from Auntie Kathy that she fell off an eight foot ladder trying to put plastic over the window on the opposite side of the porch that the Mr. and I had just worked on. She is Ok, but she hurt her back and is stiff. I told her I would take her to the ER, but she is stubborn. She says nothing is broken. I told her to call me if she changes her mind. I have a measure of guilt, because I knew she wanted us to do something with that window before we left, last Saturday, although I wasn't exactly sure what she had in mind. We were starving, as we had not eaten all that day, so we left. If I had had any kind of inkling that she would be climbing an 8 foot ladder to try and tackle it herself, you bet your Dallas Cowboy socks I would have stayed and done it for her. 

I will call her in the morning and see how she is. 

And tomorrow I have to deliver the food to Dad. It's going to be a long day of driving. Three hours there and three hours back, but I can rest my mind, knowing he is eating something besides chicken nuggets. 

I'm replaying Arya's words in my head right now. Gramma you are too old to work so hard! You need to rest! I think I will take her up on that, right about now.