Dearest Husband,

It is just past 10:00 on Thanksgiving Eve - if there is any such thing.  I have yet to start working on the three things I’m assigned to bring.  Given the fact that Oldest Daughter is sick yet again, I’ve lost what little vim and vigor I was feeling about the mother of all meals in the first place.  And yet I will persevere because .. I was assigned.

Somehow my little discovery this week that I really should be ingesting at LEAST 1800 calories a day, bringing my daily total to 1500 after my 300 calorie burn workout each day, has really rained on my Thanksgiving Day Parade.  Ha.

Thanksgiving is a day for people who like food.  People who enjoy cooking and like eating it.  I do not.  Not only do I not really like eating that much (except when I’m pregnant - which makes it almost worth it to go through just for the enjoyment of food aspect), but a table crammed full of a variety of strange smelling offerings is quite enough to make my throat close up and my gag reflex trigger.

Now, I don’t know why I was born this way and though some people have told me that I’m lucky - I disagree.  It’s not lucky to feel nauseated at Thanksgiving Dinner, people.  That’s sad.  Everyone is talking about what they are grateful for and all I can think is that I’m grateful I haven’t gotten sick all over the table.  Okay - that might be a bit much… but only a bit.

Everybody loads their plate up with the strange smelling, mushy, brown Thanksgiving food - the smell of it steaming off their plates.  I can almost smell the stuffing now.  And I’m doing my best to block it out.

I think it might go back to my childhood.  It always does, you know.  The adults ate in the dining room while my brothers and I were consigned to the kitchen.  This was brilliant, because that was the room that housed the garbage can.  And if one was careful enough, one could pick at one’s food for a reasonable amount of time and then go “scrape” their plate in the trash.  You know.. just scrape it off since there was no such thing as a garbage disposal at the time.  Except when I scraped my plate, I tossed everything I was forced to put on there into the garbage.  Then I tossed my napkin in, which was gently cradling all the food I had pretended to eat so as to make a dent in the food on my plate - just in case anyone was paying attention.

It was a tradition I indulged in year after year, wondering why the Pilgrims had such horrible taste in food and deciding that they had to eat such soft, squishy mush because most people had no teeth by age 25 back then.  In any case, I survived year after year and I’ve now reached adulthood and I still do not like Thanksgiving food.  I do not like turkey.  I don’t love gravy.  I detest stuffing.  Sweet potatoes are… give me a second while I take a few deep breaths.  And for the love of all gratitude on earth, WHY must it all be brown or orange?

And yet, I appreciate the tradition.  Even though I don’t like the food, the smell of it brings back a lot of memories of my family gathered together and it’s almost enough to overpower the stench of poultry and gizzard gravy or however it’s made.  That tells you how much I love my family.

And that’s what matters most - family.  And I’m grateful for that, even if it comes floating in a gravy boat and buried under a pile of stuffing.

Hold your nose and swallow, Katie.  Words to live by.

Your Loving WIfe

Dearest Husband,

I don’t know where today went, but I wanted to write you a little note before it was time for you to come home.

This morning was crazy - I was running late before I even got out of bed.  I got Oldest Daughter to dance class, ran a couple errands with the little one, picked the older one back up and headed to the almighty Home Decorating store to look for a couple garlands.

For some reason, Oldest Daughter didn’t throw a fit when I turned the radio on, which was… rare.  Probably because “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” by Elton John was on and she was duped into thinking HER music was playing since that comes from one of HER movies.

After that song ended, this song came on…

I’ve heard that song before, and I think I’ve mentioned it to you before. But it got me all teary (motherhood has turned me into SUCH a crybaby), and I thought once again about how incredibly grateful I am that our little girls have a father who loves them so much and who is there for them. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but when it comes to choosing my children’s father - I did a dang good job.

Your Loving Wife

Dearest Husband,

While I am happy that you are getting overtime so we can continue to wittle away at our debt, I’m not a fan of you being gone on Saturdays.  I’m further not a fan of being sick while you were away working on a Saturday.  I’m further FURTHER not a fan of being sick while taking care of grouchy, sick kids while you are away working on a Saturday.  And now you know.

So I’ve had a lot of time to formulate a honey-do list in my mind while you’ve been gone.  There’s nothing like working like a dog to support your family, only to come home to a wife who is waving a page long list under your nose of things she wants done YESTERDAY.  I know.  You’re welcome.

My mom will be coming over at some point today and I believe I will go ahead and have her do my hair color.  I’ve decided that something breaks in you when you go to school to become a cosmetologist.  Women tend to have more fear about altering their hair, especially if it’s long.  I used to be that way.  Not now.  I have no qualms about walking into a salon and chopping my hair off.  I have no problem with highlighting or coloring my hair any sort of color.  The color is especially easy because I know it’s USUALLY fixable.  Though there was that one time in beauty college when I called my mom crying because I had dyed my hair kind of a purplish-black color.  That was the closest I ever got to going goth.

Anyway, we’ll see how it goes.  I’m enjoying my hair short, but as always - I’ve gotten bored of it already.  I really wish we could be like those dolls that just wind their hair in and out.  That would be much more efficient.  And who needs room for brains anyway.

Your Loving Wife

Dearest Husband,

I was working on the computer and Oldest Daughter was over next to Youngest Daughter. I didn’t see what happened, but Youngest Daughter was suddenly laying on the floor, wailing.

The older one ran to me and I asked what happened. She said, “I’m COLORING!” I said, “I asked you what happened - WHAT happened?” She replied, “She fell.”

So Youngest Daughter came to me and I hugged her until she stopped crying. A moment later, Oldest Daughter paused in her coloring and said, “I told you a big lie, Mom.” I said, “Oh?” She nodded and said, “Yes. I told you a big lie. I felled her.”

Points for honesty… sort of. We need to work on her grammar.

Your Loving Wife

First of all - I know I have been sadly lacking in posting anything remotely related to food making.  I’m going to be revamping some things on this website soon and adding an actual blog to share the inner workings of my mind with anyone who is just dying to know.  Or, more likely, anyone who is bored enough to read.

I’m going to break a few things down and change this area to mostly just be a place to share recipes.  I tend to rotate through the same meals I’ve posted on here and at the risk of being repetitive, I’ll refrain from posting and reposting them.  Since the man of the house is currently teaching himself to program iPhone applications, I doubt my recipe box function will ever come to fruition, but you can always use the search tool to find a recipe on here.  I’ve had to do that a time or two.

With that being said - on to the good stuff.

My mother-in-law gave me her breadmaker and it sat on my counter looking nice for at least a month before I forced myself to read the very simple instructions on using it.  One time through and I became determined to modify my white bread recipe to work with the bread machine.  My trial run using the standard recipe that was included was enough to teach me that I don’t want to use it to bake anything.  The crust was way too thick.  BUT, the worst part of making bread, in my opinion, is the mixing-kneading process and whadyaknow - the breadmaker can do that for me.

Three tries later, I’m ready to pass my information out to anyone who feels like using it.

Into the bread pan (my bread maker says liquids first, but follow what your directions say):

1 1/2 cups hot water
1/4 c oil
1/3 c brown sugar

5 cups all purpose or white flour
1 1/2 t salt
1 t all purpose active yeast

Set bread maker to white, dough, large settings and start. After the dough has been mixed and has risen, remove and cut in half. Form two loaves and place in breadpans (make sure to spray them first so the bread won’t stick). Let rise for 30 minutes, bake at 350 for 30 to 35 minutes depending on preference.

Remove from pans immediately and let cool on racks. Don’t bag up until they’ve cooled completely or they could get soggy. Eat with lots of butter and jelly - that’s the best way to do it.