T-Minus None (#346)

Today I am thankful that Andy’s Engineer Cousin is the one hosting Thanksgiving.

Hosting is hard. You have to coordinate, cook, and clean. And then be cheerful instead of resentful when everyone arrives to eat and party. If you don’t think hosting is hard, then a) you’ve never hosted or, b) you’re a white male with a wife who does all the damned work, and, c) you’re headed for a divorce.

But not hosting doesn’t mean we’ve got it easy.

Andy’s been assigned mashed potatoes (okay, this is not very challenging, I admit). I was assigned “some dessert with maple.” Quite White, Engineer Cousin’s spouse, was miffed last year when I unveiled my homemade chocolate satin pie and pumpkin cheesecake instead of the maple cream pie. Quite White moaned, “I was looking forward to the pie all day! It’s my favorite!”

Maple Cream pie, pre-piped whipped cream.

In vain did I throw Engineer Cousin under the bus explain that Engineer Cousin had asked for something chocolate, not maple.

Yesterday morning I made the maple cream pie, because no one is making the mistake of a maple-less Thanksgiving again.  Yesterday afternoon Engineer Cousin texted and told me that more folks had just RSVPedincluding Andy’s brother and his three kids. So last night I made about 120 cookies (Denny’s kids are partial to my cookies, possibly because his wife won’t let them have any sweets).

At 8 this morning, Engineer Cousin texted again: “I know it’s late notice, but could you bring some gravy?”

It was the moment Andy had been training for. Within minutes, he had all the chicken carcasses he’d been saving out of the freezer and boiling on the stove for stock. Carrots, celery, and onions were added, plus thyme from a pot on the patio.  Then he was was off to H-Mart for chicken livers.

Andy’s as good at whipping up emergency gravy as I am at emergency cookies.

The hardest part was protecting the emergency cookies from my own marauding spawn. Dalton is always hungry—especially for cookies. Andy bought Little Debbie Snack Cakes to serve as decoys. That worked for a bit, but by bedtime, Dalton had made several attempts to “liberate” the cookies.

What? You’ve never slept with cookies on your bedside table?

Last night the cookies slept in our room. This morning, Dalton made a beeline for them and had to chased away.

From the hallway, he yelled, “You have to go to the bathroom sometime!”

When Andy called Baby D into the kitchen later, Baby D ran in, expecting cookies. Instead, his father pointed to a stack of potatoes. “You can help me peel those.”

“What? I don’t want to peel potatoes!”

“Doesn’t matter,” I told him. “You’re eating dinner, you can help make it.”

“But I’ve been doing all the dishes!”

“Which is way less work than cooking or baking.”

“Besides,’ Andy told him, “You need to learn life skills.”

“I already know how to peel!”

“Great,” I told him. “Prove it. Whomever peels the most potatoes the fastest gets a cookie.”

Less than 10 minutes later, Dalton announced he was done. Sure enough, there was a big pile of peeled potatoes on the counter. Andy was still peeling, rather slowly, while listening to a podcast on his airbuds. I handed Dalton a cookie, just as Andy finally looked up.

“Hey,” Andy protested. “He dumped two potatoes back in my pile! I get the cookie!”

Dalton stuffed the cookie in his face and gave two chews. Then he turned to his dad, opened his mouth, and said, “Oh. You want dis? Here!”

And how is your holiday—or regular day —going?

Author’s Note: Don’t worry, I gave Andy a cookie, too.

Enough potatoes for 25 people?

 

Candy Dispenser (#328)

Halloween candy is tricky. If you buy a bag too early, it’s hard to resist diving into it before doling it out to trick-or-treaters. Next thing you know (or at least the next thing I know, possibly my readers have better self-control) you have to buy another bag. Wait too long to buy your candy and all that’s left is the sweet orange wax (i.e., candy corn).

My Chinese-American husband isn’t a fan of holidays or spending money. We’ve compromised on the Halloween candy: one giant bag of the good (chocolate) candy from Costco. Except that twice Andy waited too long to buy it and Costco ran out. (Costco is like that. You’d better buy that ski parka in August if you really want it.) Andy was forced to buy several smaller and more expensive bags to fill my witch’s cauldron. Since then, Andy’s always gotten the candy at least two weeks before Halloween. Continue reading Candy Dispenser (#328)

Rules for Trick-or-Treating (#237)

I have exactly one rule when it comes to Halloween.

Rule #1: Everyone who comes to my door on Halloween gets candy.

I have these rules because I had a racist Southern Grandma. The worst Halloween horror story I ever heard was about that grandma. My mother once told me how her mother would keep two bowls of candy by the door on Halloween. One bowl was filled with Hershey Bars. That bowl was for the neighborhood kids.

The other bowl was filled with candy corns and cheap lollipops. When truckloads of “poor kids” came in from “more rural areas,” to trick-or-treat, they got the crap candy. Continue reading Rules for Trick-or-Treating (#237)

Thanks (#160)

Andy and I didn’t travel this Thanksgiving. We’re staying in LA and having dinner with his three cousins, their spouses, and his aunt and uncle. Andy’s happy, because it’s low stress and highly economical.

He’s got a point. Yet I’m sad I’m not with my own white and uptight family, playing hearts and pigging out. This year, we wouldn’t even fight over politics — even Republican Big Brother agreed that Trump is a walking horror show. Continue reading Thanks (#160)

From the Halloween Archives

Ha, yes, I’ve now been blogging long enough to have holiday posts in my archives. So if you missed them, forgot them, or just want a little something to put you in a holiday mood, I’m offering up some less-than literary Halloween Treats.

Enjoy.

*****

If It Were Not For Pumpkins

When Andy and I first met, we were always at dance events over Halloween weekends. Once we married and all our money went into our wedding, however, we stayed home. Sort of.

The night before Halloween, I pounced on Andy the minute he walked in the door from work. “C’mon, c’mon! Let’s go!”

“Huh? What? Where?”

“The pumpkin patch!”

“For…what?”

“For an orangutan, of course.”

Andy appeared to consider this seriously. “Won’t it eat the cats?”

“No, I’m gonna train it to scoop the litter box.”

“Seems reasonable,” Andy allowed me to tow him back down to the garage. Click Here for More on Pumpkins

*****

Frenchie’s First Halloween

About a month after my wedding, my friend M got married. Surprisingly, given her card-carrying Republican status, her husband was not an American. I’m not going to say where he’s from, but she met him in Germany and we’ll call him “Frenchie.”

Frenchie and M lived in one of the mountain states when they first moved back to the U.S. M said it took a while to get used to no public transportation, dirty windows, and soft bread once more. Frenchie quickly acclimated to large screen TVs, his own car, and crappy beer. HIs first serious bit of culture shock came when Halloween arrived. Click Here for More on Frenchie

 

Over the Moon (#147)

My Chinese-American husband grew up in Hawaii, then moved to Los Angeles. Not only did he not care about different seasons, I’m not even sure he knew what they were until I took him to New Hampshire and Washington D.C.

His immigrant family wasn’t big on holidays, either, whether American or Chinese. The man didn’t even have a Christmas stocking until I gave him one. Continue reading Over the Moon (#147)

Turkey Running (#92)

The turkey always wins.
The turkey always runs.  Turkey Chase

Running is a big deal these days. There’s running gear, running clubs, and races for every holiday. Everyone I know seems to be doing a marathon.

When I was a kid, I only ran when Big Brother chased me. I’m pretty sure that’s the only time he ran, either. Continue reading Turkey Running (#92)

Seasonal Differences (#85)

I would bottle autumn if I could.
I would bottle autumn if I could.

I love this time of year. I always have, even when it meant summer was over and school was starting. Or maybe it was because summer was over and school was starting. Summer in D.C. is hideous. 90-100 degrees, with 95% humidity. The city feels like a swamp, possibly because it was built on a swamp. (Part of Thomas Jefferson’s master plan to keep the central government from governing as much a possible. Pre-Presidential Jefferson would be considered a Libertarian by today’s standards.) Continue reading Seasonal Differences (#85)