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What the frack? (Such a much more polite way to swear doncha think?)

Had you asked me before today when Thanksgiving was, I would surely have told you it was in a couple more weeks, on a Thursday. Plenty of time yet to plan that baby.

For some reason I was absent the day our first grade teacher taught us all the rules for holidays. So I guess I never learned that Thanksgiving was the FOURTH Thursday even when there was a FIFTH Thursday.

You have no idea how not knowing that Mother’s Day fell on some numbered Sunday rather than an actual date has cost me. I learned at the ripe age of 46 that I was the most ungrateful rotten daughter on the entire North American continent, just because the damn card arrived on Monday instead of Saturday like I had expected. I still have no freakin’ clue on WHAT Sunday in May Mother’s Day actually does fall, but that is okay since I know longer commune with my producer, because as we all know, I’m the most ungrateful rotten daughter on the entire North American continent. Having not checked, I may well have surpassed that distinction to include all of at least Western Europe too.

Anyway, I am now facing a Thanksgiving NEXT freaking Thursday and I’m NOT PREPARED! Since I grocery shop on Wednesday, that means I shop THE DAY BEFORE Thanksgiving, after going to the pool and then having to cook my fanny off all the rest of the day to get caught up. Sigh. . . .What have I done to you GOD that you would treat me this way?

So, scrap all my carefully laid schedules for maintaining my mind in a healthy state of only near-anxiety provoking hysteria. The Contrarian will do the Tuesday cleaning–that ought to be rich since what man has a clue how to clean anything but a gun? The Tuesday cleaning is the kitchen and both bathrooms. What you bet I get a swish or two with the magic wand in the toilet and voilá, the usual insipid male statement: “I don’t know why you fuss so much about cleaning. I didn’t find it that hard or time-consuming.”

So that leaves me to get the meal fixin’s on Tuesday and then I am on schedule to cook on Wednesday as I usually do. All in all, I have no clue why I spend two days to fix a meal that is consumed in twenty minutes, but I do, and it’s a tradition and traditions ought to be respected because they are like little islands of calm sanity in a sea of chaos, doncha know?


So I have the dessert which is a wildly complicated cake/cheesecake/pumpkinish thing with frosting. I am thinking of making a turkey, but brining it in the garage when the nighttime temperatures may be only in the low 40’s is problematical. So I’m not sure. I saw ONE duck in the freezer section today, and NO gooses. I could do ham as well. As for the rest, it’s fairly standard and I doubt I’ll change it much. Dressing, gravy, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, corn casserole, Brussels sprouts, cranberry sauce, rolls, veggie and pickle/olive plate. Anything else I am forgetting?

It would not be worth it, but for the fact that we eat the same meal Thursday thru Sunday, so I get a lotta bang for my buck if you will, or I will, or God wills, or Diego allows.

Speaking of said, kleptomaniac, yes the boy is a thief. The Contrarian has had to build a box to contain the kitchen wastepaper basket since our little bundle of poo loves to dumpster dive and then cart it out to the back yard and shred it. Plastic bags are his favorite. Last night the little piker was heading for Diego’s door with my slipper. The other he had already snatched and placed in his bed for later enjoyment. He steals pencils out of the garage, which are tools of the woodworking business.

We have learned to leave no foot attire on the floor or within reach. Yes I said, reach. He will stand on his tippy toes and remove things from the kitchen counters, most recently a bag of cheese which he was deeply inhaling in the backyard when caught. He looks contrite for only moments, before he sashays by exclaiming:

“I dunno what goes on in my head. I don’t mean to do nuthin’ wrong. I just finds myself doing it. It’s a puzzle. I is a very inquiz-tive sort I must say, and I bores easily. Zats my ‘scuses. Now I must run out and poo some more cuz I know you like to collect it.”

He’s a sweetheart.

I am so NOT ready for all this holiday stuff!

How are you coping? Assuming you aren’t those who sit and watch football waiting to be called to the table to gorge, belch, snooze, and watch my football, and then exclaim: “I don’t know why you worry so much about holidays. They all seem to go very nicely with not sweat at all.”

Oh, I was told this today: “Two things women can’t do: pee standing up and back into a garage.”

I guess my backing up skills are not up to the male standard. I think I’m serve left overs all week for that one.