Sticks and Stones

I quit work early today and have been making pies since 1 pm so as to avoid kitchen chaos tomorrow: 

  • Four pumpkin pies. 
  • Three fireball whiskey pumpkin pies (as an experiment)
  • Four Tollhouse Pies

Grant and I got the food shopping done yesterday, which is a miracle in and of itself, especially because there was very little of our normal bickering. Though it did take a long time just to MAKE the list because Grant kept interrupting me when I was trying to write something down by saying something HE wanted written down, which then made me keep forgetting what I was about to write and then we would both stare at each other with these blank looks: a clash of things forgotten. Somewhere up in the universe are little floating cartoon thought bubbles with works like “butter” and “charcoal” colliding into each other.   

There are a lot of things to remember for our holiday food traditions and we didn’t want a repeat of the “Cool Whip Incident of 2018”. 

Thanksgiving is my most favorite holiday of the entire year. Food, Family, Football and the traditional Thanksgiving Day FIGHT where at least one of us loses their cool every year because they are not able to overcome someone else’s snarky words.

Whoever wrote the poem…

Sticks and stones may break my bones

But works can never hurt me. 

…has not met any west coast Siwinskis. Sticks and stones are soothing compared to the trash talk that happens in our household, especially during the holidays. It usually involves a board game or the mad rush to get the food prepared and unburned but fully cooked in perfect synchronicity (which has happened maybe 5 out of 28 times.) 

One of the boys has a video from a few years ago when our youngest Mitchel blew his cool and spewed a very gruesome but quite epic threat upon his gloating oldest brother Duncan who was I’m sure taunting him relentlessly with words “that can hurt you” during a game of Monopoly. To tell you exactly what he said would mark me publically for potential Bad Mother Prison because it’s always the mother’s fault when the child does or says bad things. 

But one thing is for certain about these Siwinskis of mine: they are not fragile people who are easily offended. Most of the world’s nonsense (and there is a lot of it) rolls off them like water on a duck because their skin has grown thick from rude word calluses. Unless of course the words are from one of their own. Those still sting.

I just hope it’s not me on video this year. I’m generally pretty joyful (wine) on Thanksgiving, unless of course SOMEONE doesn’t give me enough warning about when the turkey will be done, which can result in lumpy mashed potatoes. Like the Tragic Thanksgiving of 2017.

Something You Need to Know

I’m a little worried about my tongue right now. I was cleaning the turtle tank and I had a brand new bottle of ‘Poo be Gone’ (it’s actually called Sludge Destroyer) and could not get off the little foil cover over the top because I keep my nails short. I’m too reckless for pretty nails. Anyhow, I could HEAR my mother: “DON’T USE YOUR TEETH TO OPEN THINGS.”

Her voice was super loud even though she’s dead.

So I actually looked over my shoulder to make sure she wasn’t there before I used my teeth. 

To open a liquid product called SLUDGE DESTROYER. 

In my defense I was trying to get a lot of things done in a short period of time and did not have time to walk the ten steps into the kitchen to get a pokey thing.  I was just hoping to get a start on that little piece of foil with my teeth and then use my fingers for the rest. But the foil thing pulled off quite abruptly and then somehow (and I have tried to mimic this in my mind several times since and can not see how it could have happened) landed “wet side down” on my tongue. 

I keep trying to tell myself that so far TurdZilla has managed to thrive in water containing a heck of a lot more sludge destroyer than what landed on my tongue. She has been with us almost seven years of her twenty to thirty year life expectancy and thus far has shown zero signs of an early death. No one likes her, by the way, except me. So it’s gonna be me and TurdZilla at the old folks home even though she is David’s turtle. Grant will be across the hall because I’m probably not going to live with him when we are in a nursing home. I’m thinking we will just steady date each other then, to add a little spice. Besides, I only promised forty years of actual marriage. 

But I got a lot of that stuff on my tongue and it did NOT feel or taste good at all. My theory is that because I had just brushed my teeth there was no sludge on my tongue from a long night’s sleep for a good defense barrier to the ‘poo be gone’. I ended up spitting a bunch of times right into the newly cleaned turtle tank, mostly out of shock but also (once again) the kitchen sink was a whole ten steps away. And that made me feel bad for the turtle because that’s pretty rude, but more importantly, it’s been a whole day and the sludge destroyer spot on my tongue is slightly rougher than the rest of my tongue. And while this could be because I have been dragging my teeth across it since the incident, I’m still a little worried.

The lesson here is of course that land turtles are much easier to take care of than aquatic turtles. 

You’re welcome. 

P.S. My mom just told me to also tell you to not open things with your teeth. She too says you’re welcome.