"I struck out 1,720 times, but every one was almost a home run." Mickey Mantle
I’m not gonna lie. The past week or so has been rough here in three handed land. Really rough. It seems like every move I make is “swing and a miss.” I invented a new recipe for salted chocolatecupcakes. Like a good, but busy hostess I had tasted each element, but served the guests at my get together before Ihad a chance to taste the finished product. Big mistake. These were not salted chocolate. These were cocoa essenced salt. One of my guests aged 35 years as all water was sucked out of her face. Somewhere a camel keeled over from dehydration because he smelled these on the wind. Like, I should just mash the AMPLE leftovers into a block and put it in my yard for the deer to lick…except I like deer. Then my grape jelly….didn’t despite the fact that I had it at a temperature and added enough pectin to theoretically turn it to mortar. My kid missed the bus…twice,I got called some pretty mean names, I think I’m managing to put on my baby weight post baby, and ever since about the 28th week of pregnancy I’vedeveloped a form of narcolepsy that completely prohibits me from staying awake late enough to participate in the joys of marriage. It’s a shame. I like the joys of marriage.
So, I decided as a bit of a mental defrag, to visit some of the blogs I enjoy. Man, that was like grocery shopping when you’re hungry. These people NEVER strike out, or so it seems. First, I went to Moozann’sMind. Wow! What an amazing woman of God! Did I mention that I volunteered for a position in my church this week and didn’t get it? Guess I’m not as wiseas Moozann. Hmmmm. Tried Single Dad Laughing. That's a good parent right there. This dude never gets mad at his kid (or so it seems) and manages to be honest and self-deprecating without sounding whiny. Me, I do whiny all too well. Thought I’d go for a laugh instead, and went to Rants from Mommyland. Those are some seriously cool chicks over there. They write commercials and use phrases like “oh even yesser” without sounding ridiculous. Man. They call their readers hookers and assume we will know it's a compliment. (I didn't. I had to go to one of my cool mom friends for a translation.) Anyone who knows me knows of my several failed attempts to incorporate cool vernacular into my vocabulary. Important note: overweight, bespectacled housewives willnever be able to successfully utter “True dat.” It’s a fact. I will so never be a cool mom. Heck, I’m a few steps removed from Mom jeans. Sigh. Can’t cook, chaos breeding, uncool. Who in the world am I to write a blog to teach anyone anything?
Then today, a breakthrough. I placed a plastic sheet on the living room floor (see “Pac Man Kitchen in the next few weeks to see why there instead of, oh, say, my kitchen) and laid upon it my bushel (!) ofJonagolds, a bowl, a pot, my composter, a paring knife and two potatopeelers. I figured I might as well get theapples out of my pantry and put up before I battle .000 on those as well. I have big plans for those apples: juice and jellyfrom the peels, butter and sauce from the flesh. And apple pie slices. Lots of apple pie slices. It wasn’t long before my dynamic duo, the Stuttering Samurai and the potty training Pantsless Wonder came sniffing around. “Watcha doing?” They asked. “Putting up apples. Wanna help?” Of course they did and soon they were enthusiastically if inefficiently helping me peel away, munching on the peels as they went. Suddenly it hit me. I’m THAT mom. The mom who makes cookies with my friends’ kids, the one whose 2 year old is skilled enough with an apple peeler that I don’t’ worry about him hurting himself. I’m the one who carries a plastic sword in my belt loops when I’m cooking just in case I need it. And I guess, given the point of this endeavor, that’s not such a bad kind of mom to be. And I’m pretty sure, as D kissed me,smearing apple goo all over my face, that I heard the sound of a baseball hitting the sweet spot.
