I spent all yesterday in the lazy boy. Chad shared his cold with me. I’d rather him be stingy. And now…I find myself counting down the minutes. Waiting for the hit. Craving it. Needing it. Wanting it.
Damn Afrin.
I have found myself addicted to Afrin on more than one occasion. Apparently my body addicts itself to it rather quickly. I used it once last night and once this morning and I already feel it’s pull. The worst it ever was…I lived in Clemson. I had used it for several nights in a row to get through a nasty respiratory virus and BAM…I was in need of a 12 step program.
I think it’s hereditary. I seem to recall my Dad hitting the Afrin during hay fever season on a daily basis. I blame germs. I’ve been trying to tell people for years now. No one listens to me.
Tonight I had a massive dinner fail. After doing my weekly grocery shopping/meal planning with my bestie on Monday…she had me convinced of the glory and family togetherness that a make your own pizza conjures up. I bought two tubes of refrigerated pizza dough. One for a margerita pizza for Chad and I, and one for a plain pepperoni for the kids. Now…I’ve watched my share of the cooking channel. I knew enough to use flour when working with dough. I just overshot on the amount I needed. We had flour everywhere. And I mean everywhere. I also had the bright idea to trapse across the street to my neighbor’s basil plant to pick fresh basil. Don’t worry. I ask permission first. I also thought this would be a great experience for the kids! “Hey kids!!! Come with me and pick fresh basil!!! It will be like we live on a farm!!!” It was picture perfect until little miss decided to drop all her basil in the middle of the street in order to “leave a trail.” That was a catalyst for a lecture on waste. I mean…who was she leaving a trail for??? It’s not like we had been abducted and our only chance of survival was the trail of basil that our knight in shining armor would detect…leading to our rescue and a follow up love story.
Anyway…after I got over the fact that I now only had enough basil for a 1/4 of the pizza…I had the bright idea to wad up the dough to make a circle pizza instead of just unrolling it on a 9 X 13 pan…like the directions instructed. This is where I started to get frustrated. At this point I had 2 girls…covered in flour, one can of dough ready to go, and one can wadded into a ball that refused to take on any other shape…no matter how hard the 3 of us pounded and stretched it. I was losing my patience. And quickly. At one point…I think I yelled at them,
“That’s it!!! You’re done!! I’ve told you to quit touching it and your are disobeying!!! Out of the kitchen!!!”
Then I thought back to when we were in the isle at Kroger…talking about how fun making your own pizzas are.
I’m pretty sure that all my daughters were thinking about was what a stark raving lunatic their mother becomes when making our own pizzas.
Then…I forgot to bake the dough before topping it. And since you can’t really take off pizza toppings after they are in place…I just decided to cook it all at once. How much difference could it really make?
Turns out…
alot.
The cheese was burned. The dough was raw. The only thing that tasted half-way descent was the basil. And that’s just because I didn’t have anything to do with it.
Moving on.
Things that are making me happy:
A weekend of painting and button diddy jars.
.
Family game nights.
The babe in my old dress. I distinctly remember loving this dress when I was 4.
My child on my Father’s shoulders.
Old milk bottles.
Bathing my littles with this.
And the fact that I was interrupted from typing this blog post by a 7th grade boy who needed to talk to his mom…and the meaningful conversation that we just had in the kitchen.
Goodnight friends.
Sweet dreams.