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cooking

My Calling as a Waffle House Waitress

My 13 yr. old is very upset with me. Apparently, I am “mean to her friends” and I “embarrass her.” Friday night I let her friend Stacey come over to spend the night. From the start, I could tell Stacey was not satisfied with my “food selection.” For instance:
ME: girls, I have homemade spaghetti for dinner or we could call in a pizza. Which one would you like?
STACEY: ummmmmm. Hmmmm. I’ m kinda sick of pizza. Could we make a homemade cheesecake?
ME: Ummmmm. We don’t have all the necessary items to do that and ….
Stacey: Oh well, we’ll just go to the store.
ME: We will? We as in ME?! Babe, it’s 9:20 on a Friday night, if we went to the store right now, we wouldn’t be back till 10:00 before we ever got started. Then after mixing it all together and then baking it, we wouldn’t even be finished until 11:30 or even midnight. We would be extremely tired.
STACEY: So we can’t make a cheesecake?
ME: Errr ummm… No cheesecake.
When nothing I offered Stacy seemed up to par, I gave up and sliced apples. This seemed to please her… Until she got thirsty.
ME: Stacey, we have milk and water. I have to go to the store tomorrow so right now that’s all I have to offer.
STACEY: Oh. Do you have any lemonade?
ME: Ummmmm. Well, I have some pink crystal light I could mix up real quick but that’s about it.
STACEY: Pink lemonade, huh? How about raspberry slushy flavor? Could I have that instead?
ME: uuuuuuuuumm. I can mix up up pink lemonade and that’s the best I can do.

The next morning (or really mid afternoon because they sleep so late) I woke the girls.
ME: Good morning ladies! For breakfast I have buttermilk biscuits with fresh fruit or homemade pancakes. Which one would you like?
STACEY: Could I have a waffle?

Irritated and had about enough of all this…. I put my hands on my hips and tell lil Stacey the truth.

ME: Sugar, you ain’t sitting in the Waffle House where you place your order of anything you want. Now I have biscuits or pancakes. Which one?
STACEY: I guess biscuits.
So I get out the blueberries, cantaloupe, slice up strawberries and even have mandarin oranges all displayed nicely in pretty lil bowls. I drag out my white lace place mats and find matching glasses so their table will be bright and cheery ūüôā I pour the girls some orange juice and call them in. They ooohhh and ahhhh at the table and quickly sit down.

ME: Alrighty, here is the butter and I have plenty of jelly. We have grape, apple, raspberry and pepper jelly.
STACEY: May I have apple jelly instead?

My eyes lower into cat slits and I stare the lil girl down. But I’m not rude or snippy. I simply remind her of our earlier conversation.
ME: Remember how we talked about this NOT being a Waffle House?
STACEY: Yes ma’am
ME: Alrighty, Good. Which jelly would you like?
STACEY: Grape.
So needless to say, Izzy thinks I am mean and heartless to her friends. What was the little girl expecting, a foot massage? Good grief!!
And I have to ask…. Is it just me? Or is this lil girl just spoiled? Should I have been more accommodating or was I too accommodating and made it easier for her to just ask for more and more?!?!? Lastly, does my daughter have such nerve and ill manners when she is at others houses?
Certainly better not be………..I’ll swat her with my silver spatula! ūüôā

 

Viva ing Las Vegas

I didn’t finish my 50,000 words¬†to complete my ‘novel in¬†30 days’¬†for the National Writing month. My daughter was very, very disappointed in me.
Me: “Izzy, I’m not going to be able to continue working on this book. I’ve got 35,000 words but next week is Thanksgiving and the week after that I’m going to Las Vegas. There’s not enough of me to do everything.” I moaned as I yanked the turkeys gizzard from it’s soon to be rotting carcass.
Izzy: “No, momma, you made a commitment and you need to stick by it.”
Me:¬† “Errrrr ummmm. But I’m getting overwhelmed. I’m doing all the shopping, cooking and taking everything to the The Honey’s house so we can all have a family dinner there.”¬† I¬†say as I stick $47.00 worth of grapes onto a fruit ¬†arrangement.
Izzy:¬† “You can do it.”
Me:¬† “Errrrr. ummmm. I can?”¬† I whimper as I ironed the linen napkins.¬† (Which, BTW…¬†was directly after I hand sewed the ripped lace on three of them.)
Izzy:¬† “You said it…”
The guilt of not finishing my book slapped me in the face so I typed away and got to 40,000 words.¬†Our Thanksgiving dinner came and went. It¬†was fabulous, the food delicious and nobody killed anybody. Maybe¬†I could finish my manuscript¬†before¬†I went to Vegas? Did I really need to go to Vegas? Shouldn’t¬†I stay home and peck endlessly for hours on end to finish my novel in a month?¬† Wouldn’t that be the more mature thing to do?
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm

nah….

 

Runny Fudge and Lumpy Bar B Q Sauce

I’ve beencooking all morning long.¬† Izzy stayed home from school because she’s had the hacks and after some sweet tea with fresh lemon,

she’s now my in¬†house kitchen helper.

We started with secret recipes that my mother gave me.  Unfortunately, my recipe cabinet looks a lot like this:

Ok, this is not really my cabinet. My is much messier.¬† I just can’t find the wire to hook up to the computer so I could show you a real picture of what MY messy cabinet looks like.¬† Although, I have to wonder aloud:

“What in the world does this person have in the 18 gallon bucket?” Very strange.

Anyhow,¬†since my cabinet is a mess and I can’t find my recipes because they are hiding in said messy cabinet, I realize that I need to put all my recipes in a nice orderly manner¬†on my blog.¬† I always think I can just “grab them and go” but ummmmm…

Not so much.

Then I try to rely on others to be responsible.¬† Like my mother.¬† If only she would answer the phone, she could tell me what is in our family secret fudge not to mention Bar B Q sauce.¬† It would be nice if she could carry something other than the $1.99 track phone she purchased from Fred’s.¬† This way, I could reach her when I really needed to.

Nevertheless, Izzy and I have been furiously cooking away preparing fudge (from a hodge podge of three different recipes) and then as the fudge hardens, we start on the coveted family secret Bar B Q sauce.

One hour later

The Bar B Q sauce has major lumps and my fudge is very runny.

Personally, I blame all of this on my mother.

Dear Mother,

Since you are too busy to answer the phone, I decided to write you a letter.¬† On my blog.¬† Good thing I am not bleeding from my eye balls because you don’t bother to answer your phone.

With all this said, I am going to spend the rest of my day in my kitchen. Behind my computer.  Not the stove. I did not have all the proper directions and as a result, my fudge looks like something a very sick horse left behind and my Bar B Q sauce appears to have bite size chunks floating amongst some white residue looking stuff.

Not to be disheartened.

I have a new handy recipe button that my web designer plugged in for me, so it should be interesting to see if I can actually maneuver the thing.

And as for you, Mumsey, you’d better hope I can’t figure out how to work this new recipe gadget….

I might be including some family recipes… jk ūüôā

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr