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battered (and fried)
December 17, 2007
One of those weekends where you are actually glad when it�s over and you can go back to work.
On Saturday, I had to get up, drag myself out of the house, and stare down a mediocre omelet because he was hungry, and then I got subjected to a good dose of pre-C Wally World. I picked up one last present for E; a fleece throw that rolls up and straps together for taking along in the car. She�s always cold in the car. And although I had intended to pick up �Ocean�s 13� for Spouse�s last gift, he decided he�d rather have �Bender�s Big Score� (the Futurama DVD) instead, so I bought it for him. Otherwise, it was just some groceries and boring stuff like Prilosec and fabric softener, and then home to housework.
Saturday also included much laundry, which meant much upping and downing on the basement stairs. This was complicated by the fact that Spouse is trying to kill me. He left a roll of plastic garbage bags sitting on the stairs, a detail I missed due to a massive armload of dirty towels blocking my view. I came squarely down on it with my right foot, and it squirted out from under me and sent me plunging. I flew past the last four steps and landed heavily on my already bad right side, on the cold, hard concrete.
I�m actually pretty sure I sprained my ankle�not that I had the option to stop working. With the holidays closing in, there is just entirely too much to do. I had a bathroom to scrub and all that laundry and a dirty kitchen and�well, put your head down and push. Got it done, battered or not.
It would have been nice if Spouse had bothered to get off his ass and check on me when I screamed and fell, though.
Since Saturday�s �light snow� turned into Saturday night�s �snowstorm�, we got up and cleaned walks, cars, and driveways on Sunday morning. Spouse ran to the bakery for sweet rolls, and after I�d had my coffee and Persians, I set to work on the dust bowl that is was my house. I cleared clutter, beat rugs, dusted, vacuumed, and polished, and lit some nice candles to make things homey, then went and cleaned myself up.
I�d had no intention of leaving the house�planning to clean, then bake Spritz cookies and wrap gifts. But once Spouse was showered and dressed, he decided we needed to run to the store. I needed to pick up some supplies for a Christmas potluck at work, so I said what the hell and we ran out to Woody�s. Spouse picked up a bottle of vodka for Christmas Eve, and I hurried around and got everything I needed for a crock-pot full of Beanie-Wienie (what�I make fantastic B-W!) and we ran home so he could catch the Packer game.
And whilst he ran all his maintenance on the computer, and watched football, I made my Spritz. This is my personal favorite in the Christmas cookie department, and they came out really well this year. I whipped the hell out of the butter, bought fresh almond extract for the occasion, and used parchment on the pans�they did splendidly. And since I like a cinnamon red-hot in the middle of mine, I even went for authentic Ferrara-Pan Red-Hots�, rather than those tiny bland ones in the cake-decorating aisle. This is the cookie that is Christmas to me, so I go all out. But with the beating I took on Saturday, I�m more than glad that my cookie gun is electric.
About the time I was wrapping up the cookies, Spouse put a ham on to bake for dinner. So I took care the few odds & ends of leftover laundry, and made a batch of scalloped corn to go with the ham. And made mashed potatoes, steamed carrots and dinner rolls to go with, as well. His menu, my execution. If it was my menu, it would have been a bit less stodgy.
But all that activity and injury had really taken its toll by last evening. I was hurting so bad by dinnertime that I was frizzled, frazzled and fried, and kept weeping. I ended up taking 4 Advil along with my meal. I gave the dishes a quick rinse and stretched out on the couch with my quilt, thinking I�d watch a little TV, but once my ankle stopped throbbing, I pretty much went out like a light. When I got up at 10:00 to make a move to the bed, I told Spouse I was pissed that I didn�t get everything done (still zero gifts wrapped!), but he said he was pretty impressed with my weekend�s accomplishments.
He would be. He couldn�t have gotten all that done in a year, let alone a weekend.
Reading: �Son of Rosemary�, by Ira Levin.
Listening: Nothing special. Just the radio going, playing assorted crap.
At Random: click here
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