How I Almost Killed my Family on Thanksgiving

***Prepare yourself to be shocked, and to never want to eat over at my house again.***


This was a bad Thanksgiving. I was absolutely trashed. Substituting on my friend's paper route seemed like a good idea at the time. She needed the help, and my boys needed the experience and a little bit of money. It was only four days, how hard could that be?
Never. Again. Ever.

It was awful. We were terrible.

I think we set the record for complaints.
I was a grouchy, emotional zombie, all tied up in knots. Thanksgiving was at my house; all my siblings were in town. I was doing the turkey, dressing, potatoes, jello salad, and cheesecake. Typical of me, I began days and days ahead of time.
Except for the turkey.
I was planning on brining it, but it just didn't happen. Instead, I stuck it in the microwave for about 15 minutes the day before to begin the thawing process. That thawed the skin, and maybe a little deeper, and cooked the place where I forgot the little metal clamp on the bag. After pulling it out of the microwave, I stuck the turkey in the roaster pan with the lid on, handed it over to one of the older boys, and instructed him to put it in the downstairs fridge to thaw.
Thanksgiving morning, I staggered to the kitchen to start my preparations for the big day. It was around 9, and dinner was at 1:30. Shoot! I needed to get that turkey cooking right away! I went to the basement to grab it from the fridge. The blood forsook my face when I found the fridge empty. He must have re-frozen it! I opened the chest freezer and my lips began to tingle. Not there! I ran upstairs, ransacked the upstairs fridge and freezer (as if a 22 lb turkey was hiding behind bags of frozen peas). Nowhere. My turkey was nowhere. I saw spots.
I drug the offending boy out of bed and demanded to know what he did with my turkey.
"Turkey? I never touched the turkey, you just gave me that empty pan to put away. I put it in the storage room."
I swayed on the spot and tried not to get hysterical. I dashed to the room, and found the roasting pan on the ground, lid still in place. I lifted the lid and hefted the heavy pan under his nose.
"You call that empty?!!!"
He shrugged.
"I thought you said to put it downstairs. That looked like a good place."
My mouth opened and shut again several times, no sound coming out.
What was there to say?
My practical mind clunked into place. I turned to Lewis and told him that there was no way I could serve this bacteria-ridden piece of poultry. He insisted the turkey was fine. I consulted google, and no one on google agreed.
I dug deep, and remembered a horrifying story my mom told me about chicken slaughterhouses. According to her, they throw the carcasses in heaps. After they are well on their way to the dust from whence they sprang, the processors throw them in a bleach solutions and pack them for sale. Then off they go to the shelves of our favorite stores.
Bleach!
My mind clung to that idea like a life buoy.
I filled the sink with water, and added a bit of bleach- not enough to kill anyone, but enough to kill any germs breeding in the turkey. I soaked it inside and out. Then I rinsed it like no turkey has been rinsed before.
Then I cooked the crud out of it, and broiled the skin.
Then I served it. With a tremulous smile.
I watched everyone like a hawk.
And only the offending son threw up.
How's that for irony?

Obama Teleprompter Malfunction

This absolutely cracked me up! Thanks for passing this along, Jen.

Obama's Home Teleprompter Malfunctions During Family Dinner

A Sweet Gig.

I've realized lately, that I have a pretty sweet deal going on over here. Do you know, the place beside me at the table is the hottest real estate in town? The spot next to me on the couch during morning scriptures is fought over. Logan never wants the drive home from violin lessons to end because it's 'our' time together without anyone else. My husband shivers with delight to get a hug, kiss or shoulder rub from me at the end of the day. My little guys melt when I wrap my arms around them, like mommy hugs are some kind of drug. Dainon's eyes light up and he flexes enthusiastically when I punch him on the shoulder. It's like I'm a sought-after celebrity that no one can get enough of. Who knew that along with the dishes and laundry came so much power to make others so very happy?
It's a very sweet gig indeed.

When is the last time you really screamed?

Mine was the other day when one of my older boys shoved their cell phone to my ear and played a voice mail. It was from a girl. I heard the phrases "I've been watching you....If you want this relationship to work, you need to....I LOVE YOU...."
Then I screamed, loud and long. Then I think I fainted.

***Warning to you young ladies out there. My boys will not be played. Their mom has a black belt in feminine wiles and will instruct her strapping young men in the martial art of resisting you.***

Man Secrets Revealed

My son Dainon has just started going to dances. He has mastered the smooth art of conversing with the fairer sex throughout a three minute song. Apparently, that's not all he's learned. He imparted some secret man wisdom to me the other night that left me speechless.
Want to know how to impress a girl at a dance?




Wait for it....

















Wait for it...........








You dance with her fat friend.

My New Career (again?)

So we all stayed home today, and were really, really bored. Then the kids started sniping at each other and I thought about auctioning them off. My oldest son Dainon started editing photos of himself for his Facebook profile. I saw what he'd done, then I begged him to let me take some of him and mess with them myself.
I begged, pleaded, shed a tear or two and then he let me! Now, I have a really cruddy point and shoot camera. It does a terrible job with faces, the flash is so harsh and no flash is blurry, but I had a fantastic time. I was giddy.
Am I a pro? Alas, a lack. But my son will no longer have a lame facebook presence. Any little thing I can do as a mother, you know?
I present to you: The Many Faces of Dainon

I love his eyelashes. Did you know he stole them from me? Mine kinda fell out after he was born.

He let me mess with his hair too. The sacred forehead is showing. That sucker hasn't seen the light of day in years.

This one reminded me of some Andy Warhol print.

I call this one "Edward" I think he should be all pale and sparkly for Halloween.

I'm lovin' the hair. Would that mine had curl like that!
The eyes have it.
This one has a 'rebel without a cause' feel to it. Yeah, it was such a blast to do, too bad Logan won't let me take pictures of him. Maybe I can bribe him with something?

Hey, Loganski, I've got some chocolate soy milk for you!

Bullet Dodging no More

With all the sickness going around, the pukies, swine flu, the regular flu, bad colds...etc. We've come off pretty easy. Until today. I suspect the tide is turning. I have one guy in bed with a really sore throat, one with a rumbly tummy, one with painful swollen glands, and another one because it didn't seem fair for him to be the only one in school. I mean, if we're quarantining, we'd better do this thing right, right? So what's the forecast for today? Chicken Soupy with a strong chance of Netflix.