Overstuffed...

Today, there are three boxes of ornaments on the couch, the game is on, five kids played cards while two are on the computer, one went to the movies with friends and two are napping.  Everyone rotates through the kitchen scrounging for a steady stream of turkey sandwiches, stuffing, apple date cake and blueberry pie.   There is a stack of recycling, three milk cartons, two OJ, three diet cokes, two root beers, five waters and a sprite, not to mention Saturday's paper, five cardboard boxes from packages and a three inch thick stack of Christmas catalogs from Friday which needs to be taken out.  A barbie and fifteen teddy bears grace the couch and giant Jenga blocks in a Stonehenge formation adorned with dinosaurs create a walking hazard in the dining room. 

I've not ventured up or downstairs, for fear of finding out more.   I have two loads of laundry to fold and sixteen shoes I see which need to be put away so I retreat to my bedroom to the computer. No one is seeing anything.  Everyone is content and full.  Real life will start up again soon, but for now,  the Christmas carol station competes with Spotify disco, and books, games, movies and balloon dances trump homework, housework and schedules.   

I am overstuffed with joy, all of them are home.  There have been dances and paper books created, jokes and pranks, impromptu song fests and dancing, balloon cheerleaders and emergency runs for milk, bread, pie crusts and apples. Someone is making homemade mac and cheese. Another kid is experimenting with hot chocolate. They're also going for track practice runs, signing cards and decorating for Christmas.

It is a necessary rest in between the ordinary and the more that is to come, what with Christmas, exams and other things.   Every minute feels both wonderfully endless and fragile.   I polled the kids about going to evening mass and they opted for Sunday at nine, to let today continue to spool out uninterrupted by going out.  The weather echoed the idea, with huge soaking cold rain from four o'clock on.   So we played more cards, moved along a wash and emptied a laundry basket, looked for dresses online and started new games. My daughter set up the Nativity set for Christmas, and we watched the football and quizzed me on baby animal names.  I learned a baby oyster is called a spat, and a baby platypus is called a puggle. I read a book. 

Such a day...overstuffed with peace.  It's a great day to be here, to enjoy all of it, to be present, and to allow time to spill out like water.  It is a grace and a gift. 

We Are Beyond Blessed

I have a new piece over at the National Catholic Register,  I hope you enjoy it as you begin the preparations for the day. 

Happy Thanksgiving, We Are Beyond Blessed.

Culinary Free Radical

If consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, my brain is officially gremlin free. At least, it is with respect to all things in the kitchen when Thanksgiving rolls around. 

Sometime back in my formative years, it got stuck in my psyche that making a dish the same way twice was some sort of cheat on the cooking experience, both for the eater and the chef. Like tracing a picture or violating copyright laws, repeating a meal was a less worthy, less creative endeavor than inventing a new one. I’d make a cake from scratch. People would say, “Hey, that’s delicious.” And I’d never make it again. Even if someone requested a specific recipe, I’d have to add a little something, so it would never be exactly the same. For example, after the first time of making pumpkin pie and getting rave reviews, the next time I added a touch of apple slices, just to make it different. That didn’t work very well. 

Thus, as an adult, it has been a source of vexation to have to serve the same meal day in and day out to meet the demands of multiple palates with a minimum of refusal. My children would be happy with bagels with butter for breakfast, peanut butter for lunch, and pasta and carrot sticks for dinner six days out of seven. So when the fall High Eating Holiday season begins, (Thanksgiving to January 1st), I set my cooking muse free. She starts with the basics: turkey, cranberries, potatoes, green beans. Then, the tweaking gets serious. Unfortunately, with only two months to express herself, my inner artistic chef does not handle her newfound freedom responsibly. 

First, the stuffing needed mushrooms, sautéed in butter and maybe a touch of wine. She added all the other ingredients, onions, peppers, celery and thought, you know, we could chop a bit of other vegetables and emptied my veggie drawer in the process. What about a little garlic or ooh, chicken broth in those potatoes? Yeah! Now we’re talking. You know, we could boil those green beans but what about braising them with a touch of balsamic vinegar? Then they’d be special! No dish can go untouched and multiple trips to the gourmet grocery store ensue. 

The problem with trying to out Martha Stewart the Food Network is two-fold. 1) No one can afford my foodie cooking habit, and 2) No one eats it. One time, I found a cranberry dish I thought was cool and made it, but everyone looked at it and an emergency run was made to the grocery store for those round shivery red discs instead. Over the years, I’ve submitted cooked pumpkin slices with onions, cornbread stuffing and all manner of pie to make each Thanksgiving “just a little different.” I even flirted with ordering a fried turkey. 

Each year, the response has been about the same, the kids take their slices of turkey plain, their boiled potatoes mashed, their green beans with a dash of butter, pop-n-fresh rolls and disc of cranberry Jell-O. I’ve pointed out we could get the exact same meal at the local hospital. I saw hopeful eyes glancing towards the car. 

To cope with my need to experiment, each of the children plus my husband have taken ownership of a different dish at Thanksgiving to ensure that nothing remotely resembling the caramelized carrots with parboiled brussel sprouts in a reduced vinaigrette ever makes its way to the table ever again. They’ve put me in charge of dessert, where I’m allowed to make one outlandish item provided real pumpkin and real apple (not merged) pie remains on the menu. 

This arrangement worked last year. 

“This pumpkin chocolate chip bread is awesome Mom.” 
They love it. There’s not a crumb left. 
“Wow!” 

Don’t ever expect to see it on my table again. Maybe if we add cranberries, chopped dates, toasted pecans…then it would be special.