Fixin' Supper

I’ve been thinking about food a lot this summer. If you’ve read this blog very long, you know that I spend a lot of time figuring out how to please a very picky 10yo vegetarian at the table. And perhaps it was the media blitz surrounding Frank Bruni’s new book Born Round: The Secret History of a Full-time Eater [no, I haven't read the book yet], wherein he talks about his love affair [and tortured relationship] with food — but at any rate, I’ve spent a while considering how much I enjoy food. I love growing it, thinking about it, preparing it and eating it.

I love no holiday more than Thanksgiving — a gathering of family and friends, careful preparations and a groaning table.

And I have been thinking about how this feels like a very positive part of my life, this love of food and sharing it with my friends and family. And I notice that the 10yo — honestly — could care less about food. She eats every day, but much more because she is hungry than because she likes food, per se. She’s a fan of Cheetos like any other 10yo, but her food cravings and desires don’t go far beyond that.

There’s a part of me that can read all that and say, OK, probably a healthy thing. Why on earth would you be concerned about a child who eats when she’s hungry?

I’m not really. But I wonder about what created this love of food in me, and I wonder if there’s a way to consciously share that. I enjoy thinking about how to make better tasting, more nutritious meals for my family. And in this day of instant anything, that seems to me like an enormous gift to them.

You know we don’t do anything small around here. I was just telling the MIL that the other day — she’ll be joining us for the first time for Thanksgiving this year. And she was so nice, saying, hey, please don’t go to any trouble, etc. I just laughed when I read her email — I wrote back and said, Oh, it’s no trouble. And I really don’t think I could do Thanksgiving small. I’ve tried. One year, it was just the 9yo and me for Thanksgiving. So she was probably 4 or 5. And for 2 people, I made enough food for a party of 6-8. I even did a turkey breast instead of a turkey. But still, we had leftovers for days.

This year, we’re having 18 at last count. Respectable, but nowhere as big as we used to have growing up — all my mom’s brothers and their kids would come to our house. And most years, we had a few “extras” as well — other friends or family we’d pick up along the way. [Nowhere to go on turkey day? Let me know. I just warn you, we can be rather overwhelming. And loud. And the after-dinner Scrabble is a match to the death.]

The guest list to date:

• Ashby, me, the 3yo [the 9yo will be with her dad this year]
• Ashby’s mom
• My parents
• Nashville sister and her husband
• Nashville aunt and uncle
• Nashville cousin C and her fiance
• Nashville cousin N and her son
• Murfreesboro cousin [I think.]
• Jackson aunt and uncle
• Whiteville uncle

The menu to date:

• Fried turkey [From the men's group at church.]
• Roast [Me. I haven't decided what recipe yet, though I really loved the one I did last year and apparently failed to blog about. I have no idea how I'll find that recipe again. And you thought I was blogging for you.]
• Homemade rolls [Nashville aunt]
• Broccoli casserole [Nashville aunt]
• Cornbread dressing [Nashville aunt]
• Green bean casserole [Nashville sister]
• Golden Baked Potatoes [Nashville sister]
• Chocolate chess pie [My mom]
• Mincemeat pie [My mom]
• Cheesecake [Me. I blame Twitter.]
• Some other stuff — possibly salad or hors d’oeuvres [Jackson aunt. She and I have to get together.]

Still to be figured out:

• How to sneak a healthy item or two onto the menu
• Who’s bringing the wine besides Nashville aunt [Volunteers for white? We already have lots of red.]
• What we’re having Wednesday night [Odds say it will be spaghetti, though.]
• Who’s cleaning up after dinner while I go for a walk [Don't be the one to point out how little I'm cooking on that menu.]

You would think I could remember this. But every time, it strikes me anew.

This morning for instance. We have a very strict routine in the morning. MWF, I get up at 5 a.m. and head for the gym. On MW nights, Ashby picks his clothes out the night before, so that when he gets up at 5 a.m. on TR, he doesn’t have to turn on the light and wake me up. On TR, I get up around 6 a.m.

I screwed things up this morning [a Wednesday] by deciding at 4:55 a.m. that I was too darn tired to work out, having stayed up too late last night. So I decided to “sleep in” til 6 a.m. Maybe 10 minutes later, just as I was drifting back off, Ashby says, hey, I need to turn the light on to get my clothes.

I said, No, just turn on the closet light.

Now, in this poor man’s defense, he’s only lived in this house for about 3 months. And I guess he’s never had occasion to turn on the closet light before. I’m just throwing that out there.

But seriously.

I said, the chain for the light is on the left side of the closet, right about level with the shelf. He stands there in the dark, feeling for it, for a good 2 minutes. I said, forget it. Just turn on the light. I hide under the covers.

Three or four minutes pass, and I haven’t heard any coat hangers moving back and forth. I look. He’s just standing there, looking into the closet. Then I realize. He turned on the lamp, in order to look for the light chain in the closet.

The other salient point to this story is that I am really, really cranky in the morning. You could use several really rude words to describe my typical morning attitude, and I couldn’t argue.

So I’m pretty sure I yelled when I said, Just get your damn clothes and turn off the light!

I had forgotten one of the first things you should know about men: They like to fix things.

Later [not that much later -- the 3yo came calling about 10 minutes later. That's a whole 'nother story, which involved me being even ruder.], I got up and went to look in the closet. Yes, the light chain was on the left side, even with the shelf, just like I remembered. But it had gotten hung on the interior door frame of the closet, thus being invisible unless you looked up at the bulb and then followed the chain down. Poor guy.

This is the time of year where I normally have a freakout about everything that’s going on. What? OK, OK, so I have that freakout 3-4 times a year.

• Let’s see…work is breathtakingly busy. Has been for weeks.
• We’ve had something to do every weekend since before the wedding. And we have something fairly big planned every weekend until Aug. 30-31.
• School starts in 6 days.

On the positive front:

• The 3yo is definitively potty-trained.
• Ashby starts teaching at Hunters Lane High School tomorrow, so all adults in the household are once again gainfully employed.
• School supplies are purchased and the 9yo has a closetful of uniforms.

On the more-insanity-to-come front:

• The 9yo is taking dance lessons again this year.
• I’m teaching piano lessons again this year.
• The 3yo starts soccer at the end of the month.
• And Ashby has some yet-to-be-defined evening classes to take for his certification.

You don’t even want to see my Google calendar, because that’s not even all. Don’t mind me; I’ll just be here in the corner hyperventilating.