This Thanksgiving, we had 8 pies at the table. Pie reigned supreme and as we ate, we discovered the ten stages of the Life of Pie.
10) First slice: Pie! Awesome. I'll take a slice. Hold the whipped cream, I don't want to go overboard.
9) Second slice: Well, my last piece was kinda small and it was pumpkin. This is pecan....Where's the ice cream?
8) Third slice: I've already blown the diet. I haven't tried the apple so...this time hit me up some with whip and some ice cream.
7) I can't move....it hurts. "There's a little bit of whiskey pecan left. Want to split it?"
....hmmmm......sure!
6) Pie. It's what's for breakfast. New day. New pie capacity.
5) I'm not full yet. Is there any pumpkin left? There's just a sliver in the blueberry so I'll add that one too. It's too small to count as a serving.
4) Okay, I'm not eating any more pie and I'm hitting the gym this afternoon. I will instead feast on other leftovers. Cranberry stuffing turkey gravy sandwich has more calories than pie. I will just eat a slice of pie.
3) I went for a walk. Huzzah! I'm healthier than everyone else enduring a turkey coma. I will celebrate by feasting on a slice of the roasted apple! No one has yet touched that pie.
2) Don't mention pie. I'm not interested. I don't want any. You can't possibly tempt me. "Hey look, our neighbors just brought us a fresh pumpkin pie. ...Deal me in.
1) We have eaten an infinite amount of pie. It will take an infinite amount of time to work this off.
"Well, pie is an infinite number."
Showing posts with label leftovers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label leftovers. Show all posts
Friday, November 27, 2015
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Enjoy this retro post here....
It's Tuesday and I'm supposed to post today, but there's a lot of stuff going on here, so I pulled this out from the Wayback machine because we have homework and basketball to deal with this evening, I've got to finish a piece for Catholicmom.com and Penelope is owed at least 1000 words.
So this link is to a piece I wrote January 20th, 2008. http://sherryantonettiwrites.blogspot.com/2008/01/to-blog-or-not-to-blog.html
I'll be back to regular blogging soon, be good everyone.
So this link is to a piece I wrote January 20th, 2008. http://sherryantonettiwrites.blogspot.com/2008/01/to-blog-or-not-to-blog.html
I'll be back to regular blogging soon, be good everyone.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Mom's First Meal
Yesterday the kids had a case of the SLOWS in the morning, meaning even though they wear the same outfits every day, three of them needed directives about their attire. One sat looking at a lifeless television screen, as if willing it to begin entertaining. Turning off the cable box had thwarted the plans to watch cartoons but she still watched the television machine itself.
Putting a blanket over the TV, I explained that after years and years of going to the same school and wearing a uniform, getting dressed should not require much thought.
When my son came down with his shirt inside out and poorly buttoned, I revised my prior statement. It still requires SOME.
A second child came down in her pj's and sat in a chair, imitating the older one's actions. Annoyed at having a follower, the first child snapped, "You can't just sit down in the morning and mope and do nothing."
When I pointed out she was doing the same thing, her response was, "Well, I was doing it first! She's copying me."
You know how baby ducks imprint on whatever they see first and imitate that creature's behavior. Well, I keep wondering what impression I must have left all those years ago. Perhaps there was a flat screen tv in the delivery room that I missed that they mistook for me.
Now we were getting to crunch time. Five kids needed lunch made. Five kids needed breakfast. Having collected the socks for all those going to school, I spied a daughter working in the kitchen. The stove was on and a pot boiling. Cooking???? in the morning???? "What are you making?"
"Pasta for lunch."
Meaning she didn't like any of the lunch meats available for sandwiches and since they've outlawed peanutbutter, I get early morning dinner dishes.
So I turned to breakfast and began working the toaster. Two waffles. Two waffles. Two waffles. Two waffles...out of waffles...how about raisin bread. There are three slices left. Two slices of raisin bread. Butter, butter, no butter, only butter, butter. Syrup. Syrup. Syrup. Syrup...oops. That was the only butter. A child cries. I have defiled his waffles. He agrees to swap out for the raisin bread.
The other child is okay with the substitution but begins picking all the raisins out. I give her plain toast with butter and put the plate of refused raisin toast at the table for the toddler set who have yet to dine. The younger toddler refuses raisin toast and pounds the de-raisined raisin toast with her fist. The older preschooler decides since the first refused to follow suit.
Why can't anyone "copy" me in something like making a bed, doing dishes or wiping a table instead of watching a dead television set, sitting and moping or pounding the daylights out of a perfectly fine before buttered piece of breakfast?
And so it was that around 8:30, when the baby and both daughters not in school had finally finished eating and been dressed for the day, that Mom finally got her first meal of the day. You guessed it, the Raisin Bread rejected by everyone else.
Only Mom can manage to get leftovers before 9 a.m. But now I know why no one copies me.
Putting a blanket over the TV, I explained that after years and years of going to the same school and wearing a uniform, getting dressed should not require much thought.
When my son came down with his shirt inside out and poorly buttoned, I revised my prior statement. It still requires SOME.
A second child came down in her pj's and sat in a chair, imitating the older one's actions. Annoyed at having a follower, the first child snapped, "You can't just sit down in the morning and mope and do nothing."
When I pointed out she was doing the same thing, her response was, "Well, I was doing it first! She's copying me."
You know how baby ducks imprint on whatever they see first and imitate that creature's behavior. Well, I keep wondering what impression I must have left all those years ago. Perhaps there was a flat screen tv in the delivery room that I missed that they mistook for me.
Now we were getting to crunch time. Five kids needed lunch made. Five kids needed breakfast. Having collected the socks for all those going to school, I spied a daughter working in the kitchen. The stove was on and a pot boiling. Cooking???? in the morning???? "What are you making?"
"Pasta for lunch."
Meaning she didn't like any of the lunch meats available for sandwiches and since they've outlawed peanutbutter, I get early morning dinner dishes.
So I turned to breakfast and began working the toaster. Two waffles. Two waffles. Two waffles. Two waffles...out of waffles...how about raisin bread. There are three slices left. Two slices of raisin bread. Butter, butter, no butter, only butter, butter. Syrup. Syrup. Syrup. Syrup...oops. That was the only butter. A child cries. I have defiled his waffles. He agrees to swap out for the raisin bread.
The other child is okay with the substitution but begins picking all the raisins out. I give her plain toast with butter and put the plate of refused raisin toast at the table for the toddler set who have yet to dine. The younger toddler refuses raisin toast and pounds the de-raisined raisin toast with her fist. The older preschooler decides since the first refused to follow suit.
Why can't anyone "copy" me in something like making a bed, doing dishes or wiping a table instead of watching a dead television set, sitting and moping or pounding the daylights out of a perfectly fine before buttered piece of breakfast?
And so it was that around 8:30, when the baby and both daughters not in school had finally finished eating and been dressed for the day, that Mom finally got her first meal of the day. You guessed it, the Raisin Bread rejected by everyone else.
Only Mom can manage to get leftovers before 9 a.m. But now I know why no one copies me.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Christmas Ham is Served
The following piece ran in the Island Park News, December 19, 2008
Leftovers are seldom an issue at my home, except at Christmas when my husband in a fit of gastronomic nostalgia, always wants to serve ham. I don’t mind traditions, but there are some logistical issues with this one. 1) My husband buys a very large piece of meat. 2) Our children don’t like ham.
Christmas day is never the issue. Emotionally softened by the glow of the day and the pile of freshly acquired loot, the kids are willing to indulge their father by trying his favorite Yuletide meal. Knowing that there is fresh pumpkin or apple pie waiting for dessert probably helps too. The next day, leftover ham served with eggs will still get eaten. By day three, some of the older ones still consent to consume ham sandwiches if I serve them with chips. Day four, sounds of open revolt are beginning to be heard when dinner is served.
Seeking to avoid a revolution over Virginia ham, my beloved husband proposed playing a board game our daughter received for Christmas during dinner. The kids were keen to play. Setting out the game “Operation,” their father explained the “special” meal time rules.
Everyone had to play. Everyone was served a plate of pasta with the now offending Christmas ham mixed amongst the Fettuccini noodles. If you took on a job in the Operation game and touched the sides, not only would you lose your turn, you had to eat a bite of ham. If you refused to take a job, you had to eat two bites of ham. If you got the ham bone out successfully, you were exonerated from eating anymore of the ham at this meal and could move straight to pie. If you won the game, you could opt out of ham for the remaining duration of the ham’s existence.
The next day, when I offered to play operation, my daughter said, “How much ham do I have to eat?” Kids were offering to do chores to avoid the other white meat. By day six, positive reinforcement in the form of cold hard cash was insufficient to guarantee compliant consumption. A week into eating, it was no longer worth the emotional effort for any sentient adult to consider serving ham to a non ham eater.
Day twelve, the UPS truck pulled up. A large package had come from our family’s gift exchange with a note that said, “Sorry this is late. Merry Christmas! Love…” from one of those fancy gift mail food order catalogs.
“This special Virginia Ham was sent to you…” I read.
I called my husband. “Oh man, we’ve been eating ham for weeks.” He said. The kids grinned. Over the phone, my beloved heard the sounds of ham induce karma from his daughter. “Hey Dad, let’s play Operation.”
Leftovers are seldom an issue at my home, except at Christmas when my husband in a fit of gastronomic nostalgia, always wants to serve ham. I don’t mind traditions, but there are some logistical issues with this one. 1) My husband buys a very large piece of meat. 2) Our children don’t like ham.
Christmas day is never the issue. Emotionally softened by the glow of the day and the pile of freshly acquired loot, the kids are willing to indulge their father by trying his favorite Yuletide meal. Knowing that there is fresh pumpkin or apple pie waiting for dessert probably helps too. The next day, leftover ham served with eggs will still get eaten. By day three, some of the older ones still consent to consume ham sandwiches if I serve them with chips. Day four, sounds of open revolt are beginning to be heard when dinner is served.
Seeking to avoid a revolution over Virginia ham, my beloved husband proposed playing a board game our daughter received for Christmas during dinner. The kids were keen to play. Setting out the game “Operation,” their father explained the “special” meal time rules.
Everyone had to play. Everyone was served a plate of pasta with the now offending Christmas ham mixed amongst the Fettuccini noodles. If you took on a job in the Operation game and touched the sides, not only would you lose your turn, you had to eat a bite of ham. If you refused to take a job, you had to eat two bites of ham. If you got the ham bone out successfully, you were exonerated from eating anymore of the ham at this meal and could move straight to pie. If you won the game, you could opt out of ham for the remaining duration of the ham’s existence.
The next day, when I offered to play operation, my daughter said, “How much ham do I have to eat?” Kids were offering to do chores to avoid the other white meat. By day six, positive reinforcement in the form of cold hard cash was insufficient to guarantee compliant consumption. A week into eating, it was no longer worth the emotional effort for any sentient adult to consider serving ham to a non ham eater.
Day twelve, the UPS truck pulled up. A large package had come from our family’s gift exchange with a note that said, “Sorry this is late. Merry Christmas! Love…” from one of those fancy gift mail food order catalogs.
“This special Virginia Ham was sent to you…” I read.
I called my husband. “Oh man, we’ve been eating ham for weeks.” He said. The kids grinned. Over the phone, my beloved heard the sounds of ham induce karma from his daughter. “Hey Dad, let’s play Operation.”
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
And Now, A Dog and Pony Show!
My blog is up for review at Humor-blogs.com which means we have extra visitors this week.
The complaint has arisen amongst the reviewed and the reviewers that no one checks the archives to see if a blog is consistently funny.
There are two theories to being evaluated.
1) Time to be reviewed, get gussied up, put on your best lesson plan and hope it dazzles.
2) Time to be reviewed, do what you always do, and be praised or damned for what you do normally.
Now, when I was a teacher, I fell into the second category. As a parent, I have come to appreciate the first. We want the dog and pony show, even if we know, that's exactly what it is. One of my favorite quotes is, "If this is the best there is, then boy are we in trouble." It applies to blue ribbon schools, television shows, political candidates....
Thus as a service to all those out there who want to know if Chocolate for Your Brain! can dish out consistent comedy, I commend to you, the best of...I'm giving you the titles, you'll have to click on them to enjoy! It's like getting the guide to the inside of a box of Chocolates. You know exactly what you're going to get. I promise no jelly filled ones.
Yes, I even dressed up for this one. I put on makeup this morning because appearances matter.
In the Archives. This blog started back in late October, I formally launched it --let friends know and spammed out messages November 4th of 2007.
October and November Selections:
Start with First Impressions, it reveals who I am and why I write, something people who review these things sometimes want to know.
Higher Concepts of Math and Me for those who have older kids, will amuse anyone who has had to help with homework.
The complaint has arisen amongst the reviewed and the reviewers that no one checks the archives to see if a blog is consistently funny.
There are two theories to being evaluated.
1) Time to be reviewed, get gussied up, put on your best lesson plan and hope it dazzles.
2) Time to be reviewed, do what you always do, and be praised or damned for what you do normally.
Now, when I was a teacher, I fell into the second category. As a parent, I have come to appreciate the first. We want the dog and pony show, even if we know, that's exactly what it is. One of my favorite quotes is, "If this is the best there is, then boy are we in trouble." It applies to blue ribbon schools, television shows, political candidates....
Thus as a service to all those out there who want to know if Chocolate for Your Brain! can dish out consistent comedy, I commend to you, the best of...I'm giving you the titles, you'll have to click on them to enjoy! It's like getting the guide to the inside of a box of Chocolates. You know exactly what you're going to get. I promise no jelly filled ones.
Yes, I even dressed up for this one. I put on makeup this morning because appearances matter.
In the Archives. This blog started back in late October, I formally launched it --let friends know and spammed out messages November 4th of 2007.
October and November Selections:
Start with First Impressions, it reveals who I am and why I write, something people who review these things sometimes want to know.
Higher Concepts of Math and Me for those who have older kids, will amuse anyone who has had to help with homework.
Game Boy or X Box Live deals with teaching children laundry and Game Show addresses the vexing question, Name that Sound! A child is in the other room. You hear a noise. Run? or Ignore.
December Selections:
Yes, I did seasonal stuff, Sauce for the Goose is a worthy contender, as is The Real Christmas Fruit Cake and Why We have an Artificial Tree.
January Offerings:
Stand Up! Waiting for Mensa to Call and Man Shop! Get my votes, along with 50 Something Betters for rounding out your reading pleasure.
Of course, the other stuff is equally stunning. Some of it is even more fun than LOLcats doing the tango over Niagra Falls. (I don't think there is such a shot yet so if you hurry, you can own that puppy....er...kitten...whatever). Two that work in tandem are Potty Wars and Cold Potty Wars, and for more toddler mischief writ large, try the Adventures of Contrary Boy and She Who Would Be Two, or Pillow Talk!
If Political stuff is your cup of tea, check out Hillary's Family Tree and Cheers for Iowa! and Richard Blane for President is coming next week. Timely satire includes Law and Order in the Food Court from the archives, and Having a You TubeMoment.
And there you have it, a few pieces with nuts, some with fruits, and some truffles and caramels to round the whole thing out. And you can eat it all up without any guilt whatsoever, and all before Valentine's Day.
Happy Reviewing! As for the rest of you, I'm still a mom. Sometimes, you get leftovers.
Deal.
for more humor that's not warmed over or fresh from the microwave, try http://www.humor-blogs.com/!
Friday, November 23, 2007
Leftovers...
Today's offering is verbal stuffing, bits of this and that, mixed to make something really excellent to eat, but not often.
On Thanksgiving morning at six o'clock, the alarm went off.
"Come on Love, we have to dress and stuff the turkeys."
"Feed and clothe the kids, right." he smiled as he hit the alarm.
First a serving of Turkey...
Friday, emerging from the food comas, I happened to smirk at a bag of pecans that warned, "Processed on machines that may have processed nuts from trees." It reminded me of the recall in New Hampsire of Eggnog, where the feds insisted the products be removed from shelves as they lacked sufficient warning...MAY CONTAIN EGGS. Somebody must have egged the government on to do this, or else someone isn't using their noggin.
Mashed Potatoes for Brains...
Pulling out the hotdogs to make lunch, I observed the following label. "Child Safety: When serving hot dogs to young children, cut hot dogs lengthwise, then into small, easy to swallow pieces. Children should eat while seated and be under adult supervision. Please contact us at 1-866...for more information." I called the number to ask whether they could send someone over to supervise. They haven't gotten back to me.
Cranberries...
This year, retailers have recognized that "Happy Holidays" and "Season's Greetings" aren't cutting it with the vast shopping public that may actually be purchasing things to celebrate a religious observance. "Winter trees" flopped big time last year. Determined not to offend, some not so bright bulbs have opted for "Yuletide Season." Guess it's okay to acknowledge pagan religions, after all, there are so many druids running around.
Dessert....
Cutting cake to celebrate my husband's birthday caused our three year old to come a running. "Who's the cake for?" he asked. Our other children cued up for servings. "My favorite child first." their father replied and added with a wink, "Who's my favorite child?" The older four began to smile and one of them volunteered "All of us." but John grabbed the slice and said "ME. I'm your favorite." and hunkered down on the slice.
Gravy....
On the issue of favorites, a favorite story of my dad's. When asked by one of his sons, which of his nine children did he love the most, my grandfather told the story of how he couldn't be a priest because he had lost part of his thumb. He held up his hands. "You see I have nine fingers." he said. "I love and need them all."
Happy Thanksgiving!
On Thanksgiving morning at six o'clock, the alarm went off.
"Come on Love, we have to dress and stuff the turkeys."
"Feed and clothe the kids, right." he smiled as he hit the alarm.
First a serving of Turkey...
Friday, emerging from the food comas, I happened to smirk at a bag of pecans that warned, "Processed on machines that may have processed nuts from trees." It reminded me of the recall in New Hampsire of Eggnog, where the feds insisted the products be removed from shelves as they lacked sufficient warning...MAY CONTAIN EGGS. Somebody must have egged the government on to do this, or else someone isn't using their noggin.
Mashed Potatoes for Brains...
Pulling out the hotdogs to make lunch, I observed the following label. "Child Safety: When serving hot dogs to young children, cut hot dogs lengthwise, then into small, easy to swallow pieces. Children should eat while seated and be under adult supervision. Please contact us at 1-866...for more information." I called the number to ask whether they could send someone over to supervise. They haven't gotten back to me.
Cranberries...
This year, retailers have recognized that "Happy Holidays" and "Season's Greetings" aren't cutting it with the vast shopping public that may actually be purchasing things to celebrate a religious observance. "Winter trees" flopped big time last year. Determined not to offend, some not so bright bulbs have opted for "Yuletide Season." Guess it's okay to acknowledge pagan religions, after all, there are so many druids running around.
Dessert....
Cutting cake to celebrate my husband's birthday caused our three year old to come a running. "Who's the cake for?" he asked. Our other children cued up for servings. "My favorite child first." their father replied and added with a wink, "Who's my favorite child?" The older four began to smile and one of them volunteered "All of us." but John grabbed the slice and said "ME. I'm your favorite." and hunkered down on the slice.
Gravy....
On the issue of favorites, a favorite story of my dad's. When asked by one of his sons, which of his nine children did he love the most, my grandfather told the story of how he couldn't be a priest because he had lost part of his thumb. He held up his hands. "You see I have nine fingers." he said. "I love and need them all."
Happy Thanksgiving!
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