As you know from a few posts back (don’t you love my newfound self-confidence), my faucet totally bit it in my hand. But I kept cooking. But come on. How long could I really go on like that?
I was secretly hoping that my husband would take out a $50,000 loan or possibly even donate some sperm multiple times and my new and vastly improved kitchen would no longer be the stuff of late night fantasies but all day long cooking marathon reality.
Well, needless to say it is rather hard to get a loan these days and our children have no worries about accidentally marrying someone from the same gene pool. Oh! And my kitchen continues to crumble.
I knew the sperm donation thing was out of the question when my husband decided to do a little DIY switch out of the old faucet for the lowest priced name brand faucet at Lowe’s. Mind you, we are not a DIY family. We grew up with Jewish parents. As far as I know, Jesus was the last Jewish handy man and he didn’t have any offspring to pass those skills on to.
While I was uber-impressed that the husband not only switched out the kitchen faucet but also the two bathroom faucets and repaired some pipes which appeared to be made of sloughed snake skin, it made me a little nervous. Like, okay. He got the cheapest name brand faucets so it’s not like he expects these to be my dream spouts. But, like, okay. If he changed these out and they are functional and I am more or less okay with them because, yeah, they are a great improvement over the crappo broken crap that was previously there then maybe I will have to settle for mediocrity as everything gets gradually switched out in place of bottom line but better than what was previously there crap.
Did I mention my New Year’s resolution? I will try my hardest to live in the present instead of the past and future. So, starting January 1st, I will embrace the functionality of my kitchen and be grateful for all that I have *now.* Heck, I might even try doing that *before* the new year.
My other New Year’s resolution will be to change my earrings a few times a month, thus totally rocking my ear adornment world. Yup, I know. For over a decade I wore the same style earrings day in and day out: big, chunky 22 karat Indian gold jhumka hoops. And it looked chakachak. But I haven’t been to India in years (7 to be exact) and my gold collection needed updating since some pieces are broken and or lost. Gold is expensive and I simply cannot afford to have heavy pieces falling from my ears, reuniting with the earth it was mined from.
So earlier this year I made the economical switch to ss hoops, which cost about a dollar a piece. But, damn, that’s boring. So now, after years of deep, spiritual soul searching and awakening of my spirit, I have decided to concentrate on trivial, maniacal details which have thus been ignored. In light of my rapidly aging body, I need to definitely pay more attention to my earwear.
Lately I’ve been modeling the viking knit earrings gifted to me a few years back by my sister-in-law, jewelry goddess and social worker extraordinaire, Helen Reiss.
Of coarse, all this attention to my personal withering beauty means that I will have to do some shopping in the new year. No time for that today, despite passing by the bevy of haute couture boutiques situated along the avenue in Gainesville.
My husband is not one for shopping, so instead of visiting Gainesville’s finer stores, we headed to Hawthorne Trail for a little bike ride with the kiddos. Bike rides at Hawthorne Trail are, perhaps, my most favoritest thing to do in Gainesville.
Today’s adventure was a little painful. My son rode his bike into me. Normally, I would try to maneuver out of the way, but the Tug-a-Bug does not make me the most spritely of bicycle enthusiasts. We crashed. My daughter (the bug I was tugging) was okay but my son was kind of pinned between our two bikes. This was within the first 3 minutes of our outing.
Around mile three a foreign man on rollerblades surprised my son and, in his distraction, he road off the trail and wiped out. I was surprised that the man was Russian and not *French.*
Of course, a mother is always pained when her children are hurting. But no pain compares to the ache of my ear caused by my daughter’s constant whining. If it wasn’t too cold, I was pedaling too slowly. If it wasn’t that I rode too fast, I caused her great boredom. Her hands were cold. Her butt hurt. She was hungry. She hates carrots.
As a reward for my daughter’s intolerable behavior, we decided to stop off for some ice cream. Right near the park is this place:
which you know I wasn’t going to. I’m not even sure if it is open.
After some debate over frozen yogurt vs. vegan ice cream (my husband gave me a look like, “Why did you have to brink that up”…a look I know because I hold the trademark for it), we headed to Yogaberry on West University. We parked. We locked out bikes. We went inside.
The place was deserted (note: 1 ‘s’ not 2). Yogaberry is closed until January 2nd. Ha! Vegan ice cream won.
We headed over to East University. We parked. We put money in the meter. We walked over to the shop.
No lights were on and there was a sign posted on the door.
My husband and I read the sign. We shook our heads. We burst out laughing. This was the craziest, most honest sign we have ever seen posted on the door of an independent food business. I cook. I know that for a food business, profit margins run small and the effort that one has to put into is is huge. Karma Cream is such a cutesy shop and I love it and envy it and hope it works out. But these crazy people who run it keep it open 24-7…which is totally freaking whacked.
We got back in the car, listened to the kids squabble all the way to Alachua and went home to cook dinner. Which just was weird. It was so weird. I should have taken a picture because I don’t think you could even comprehend what a mess I could make of a meal. Call it a casserole and be done, was what I said to the craziness on my stovetop. Into the oven it went, fat baking into fat. The only salvation for this meal.
My poor husband. I am encouraging him to keep a counter-blog to what I do over here. A behind the scenes, real life assessment of my cooking. Photo documentation of all my spot on misses in the kitchen. I hope he does it. I need the laugh.