I thought today was going to belong to me. The kids are back to school today after Snowmageddon Round 1. They'll be off tomorrow (and possibly Thursday and Friday) for Round 2. This morning I thought I was going to make some giant chocolate chip cookies and then write, write, write.
Instead, I forfeited my shower time for a trip to Wal-Mart to grab a few things for work and for Valentine's Day and a for meal I was asked to take to a friend who just gave birth. I need to make and deliver the meal before Snowmageddon Round 2 begins this afternoon.
Whenever I get asked to take a meal to someone I panic. I am not one of those people who has a standard recipe that I throw together at a moment's notice. It's like I have to consult the stars. I have to feel the right thing to make. Usually, I come up with an idea and I run it by Ryan who frowns and says, "I'm not sure other people like that as much as you do."
Today the stars told me to make a platter of grilled burritos. They are easy to eat, reheat, and can be used as dog food if Ryan turns out to be right. I mean, really, is there a more versatile meal than that?
I've already made the giant chocolate chip cookies, which will be delivered with the burritos and a jar of salsa. At first I was sad at the thought of giving them up, but it's probably better that I don't keep them. I have unrighteous desires regarding them. I say I only want a tiny piece of one, but you know as well as I do that that statement would not pass any polygraph test. If you love something, give it away.
The beans are simmering on the stove. I've got the Food Network on, as I usually do while I cook. I hypothesize that I will become a better cook through osmosis by having it on; when I'm stirring and saute-ing and kneading, I will be subconsciously tutored by Paula Deen and Bobby Flay. I can't say I've got any proof to support this, but I'm sticking with my theory anyway. It can't hurt and my mom does it too, so I feel validated.
It's time to zhuzh the beans and mix them with the meat. I'll let them get to know each other while I shower and when I finish getting ready, I will wrap them in tortillas with some cheese and grill them the way my mom grilled them for me.
Today was supposed to belong to me, but it didn't. Tomorrow won't belong to me either. Tomorrow I will belong to my kids and the snow shovel and the sticky kitchen counters. It's okay, though. Writing feels good, but it feeds only me. Today I get to feed someone else. Or at least their dog.
Remember! Tomorrow is the deadline for Winter Angst Poetry. The competition is coming along nicely, so add your voice to the depressed, frigid chorus!