I waited until the baby was asleep and I rolled out another pie crust. I started to make the filling. I followed the recipe until the end, and THAT'S when I realized that they had left out a step! I poured in the filling, thinking it was awfully runny, and after it went into the oven, I realized I hadn't done anything with the brown sugar mixture. It was supposed to go in UNDER the liquid and now it's going to be gross so why is it even in the oven? Idunno. Because I'm an idiot. I'm very, very unhappy, in a grumbly, not friendly sort of way.
What a crappy, crappy, crappy day. It was good to hear that the Cafe Du Monde reopened today. At least I know that one thing is right in the world. Now if I could just be there right now.
I'm sitting here NOT making six dozen pumpin-shaped, orange frosted cookies. I'm not doing the tons of laundry that need to be done. I'm not doing any school lessons with the kids, and I'm not out shopping for stuff I need in the next few days. Well, well. I did, however, eat breakfast, get relatively dressed, and do a load of dishes. Hearing the dishwasher going is always encouraging to me. I'm not particularly tired as I sometimes am, and I'm not feeling blue or anything. The kids aren't being evil. I just feel like sitting here. For no particular reason. Just sitting here. Well, my ritalin is kicking in, and that always brings me to my senses. I swear that damn pill practically talks to me. "Now Rima, it's not so hard. Just go over there, and do this. See? That was simple. Now do this. That's it, you're doing great! It's not complicated at all." So in a few minutes, I will be mixing cookie dough while the kids have their elevensies. Then we'll clean up the foodage and I'll work on Alex's history project with her while guiding Stevie through whatever workbook section she feels like working on. I will, at that time, be completely ignoring the screaming and the crayon missiles being launched by my son. And then, Idunno. Piano, lunch, laundry, math, desperate need for a nap, suddenly inspired Jackman's Table entry... could be anything.
I was browsing through a women's magazine while sipping my morning coffee. There was an article in which several doctors were interviewed for medical advice that they think is important but that most people don't think of. There were expected things, of course, like how every household should have Benadryl and baby aspirin on hand, but my favorite piece of medical advice was this: To insure proper medical care in a hospital, bring individually wrapped treats like cookies and chocolate to give the staff members. I wonder if that was a full-credit course in medical school, or just one of those pass/fail, half-credit things.
Did you know that you can hurt yourself with chocolate? I didn't know that. I do now. You know that "death by chocolate" dessert that some restaurants have? Well, that isn't it. It's here, right in my kitchen and in my stomach, and I am afraid, very afraid. There are worse ways to die, but to never want to eat chocolate again, well, that's tragic. This is assuming that I survive. Tony Bourdain would not survive this pie. (though my crust, as usual, was to be worshipped) Let this be a warning so that lives may be saved! But tell eegee to send the recipe anonymously to Sardi's. Heh heh.
The girls are in bed. The baby is asleep on the couch. This means one thing. I'M GONNA MAKE ME SOME PIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You know that baby toy that is made of different sized rings that they have to stack on the post? Well, my son unscrewed the post and is using it as a microphone to sing. He's a year and a half old. And yes, I'm well aware that it's after eleven pm. That's just my life.
I recently went to a Scottish festival, which was a lot of fun, and many clans had tents set up where you could go and get info on them and meet fellow clansfolk. They are all listed in the program, along with their mottos. This made for good reading. Typically, they are about being brave, being strong, being steadfast, etc. Clan MacKintosh, however, seems to be a little more special. Their motto is "Touch not the cat without a glove". Hmmm.Now I wonder, is this a safety thing or a cleanliness thing? Were they germ freaks and could have basically picked anything besides "cat"? "Milk not the cow...", "Shear not the sheep..." etc. Or is it a safety issue, where they know cats scratch so wear a glove when you touch them. OR do they mean the CAT has to wear gloves to cover the claws? Did the MacKintoshes put gloves on their cats? Can you picture how the vermin must have taunted the poor things, not to mention the dogs, though I would assume the dogs had their own similar problems imposed upon them. Probably diapers.Now our clan motto is "Dread God". (Well, not mine really, my husband's. I'm Puerto Rican and our clan motto is "Ever on guard for falling coconuts") Supposedly, that means to have a healthy fear and respect for God, but I'm married to one and I'm pretty sure that it's because they were naughty lads. I bet there was lots of "Oh please oh please oh please God, if ye let me live, I swear I'll not touch another drap o cratur" ZZZZAP! and " I wasnae kissin' Jenny, I was savin' her from chokin', cross my heart and hope te ACK!"
I am amazed, truly amazed at how deceptive the size of a toddler's stomach is. Angus had another pukefest. He's sleeping now. I was lucky that I had a clean pair of sweatpants left so I can pick up my husband at the station tonight. Our couch needs to be condemned. And on a completely unrelated note, if you are a "lassie", and a Scotsman asks you if you have any Scottish in you, don't answer! It's a trick!
