My brother A is staying with us for a while. Could be just until Christmas, could be a few months - sorta depends on the whole job situation down here in Scottsdale for him, but I'm happy he's here. A is 5 years older than I am (and just a few months older than M) and though he only arrived on Thursday, we've had a good time. Stayed up too late too many times, but playing cards, trivia games, catching up. Whatever. Tomorrow, A and I plan to go for a walk to wander the neighborhood a little, and it will be really nice to have the company.
Last week was my birthday, as I previously mentioned, and I'm a bit sad to report that only two of my good (local) friends actually remembered. I shouldn't let it bother me, I know, but I would be lying if I said I didn't care. Was I expecting a party, ticker-tape parade, piles of gifts and cards? Of course not. I'm 28. A "happy birthday!" would have been nice though.
But the friends who DID remember my birthday - friends I've had for over 7 years now - and my family, are what really count. My In-Laws bought me 2 turkey platters and a gravy boat for my birthday gift. Not the most exciting gifts, but as I was without both platter and boat 2 days before Thanksgiving, I was more than THRILLED to unwrap them :) M decided in the end to not go to class Tuesday night, and so we went with his parents, to dinner at Buca di Beppo, where a platter of spaghetti was dropped on the floor just inches from M and I (I knew there was a "kitchen table" at Buca. I did not know there was a "splash zone"). We drank wine and ate pasta and cake and talked and planned, and it was truly lovely. I really do enjoy my In-Laws.
What I didn't enjoy, or understand (and this is my ONLY gripe about my MIL), was why, the day before Thanksgiving, my mother in law felt it was absolutely necessary to make M a cake. Because I wasn't busy enough in the kitchen, or had enough dishes to worry about. Wednesday, M and I rush off to work. I finish my shift and run to Wal-Mart for some last minute stuff, rush home, inhale a bowl of Cocoa Puffs for lunch, and ask MIL if she'd get the cornbread started for my stuffing and get the turkey thawed while I went to pick up M from work. As I'm leaving, she's gathering the cornbread ingredients...and preparing to make a cake. *groan*
An hour later, M and I walk in the door to the smell of cake...and burning. MIL had underestimated the size of my cake pan, so the batter puffed up, spilled over, and (having placed the pan on the TOP rack of my oven), hit the heating elements, burned, and spilled all over the inside of my oven. The day before Thanksgiving. In my CLEAN, ready-for-turkey sink, is the cake. Wet batter. Partially cooked batter. MIL, FIL and M are standing around the sink, picking the cooked batter out and nibbling on it. I honestly think I was in a bit of shock, because now my turkey still isn't thawed, I have a hundred things to do that now include RE-cleaning the sink AND the oven and about 12 unnecessarily dirty dishes. And they're standing around eating cake from the sink.
When MIL and FIL left to pick up dinner and M went to class, I had no choice.
I called my mother. And I bitched. And it felt good.
And later, MIL cleaned the oven. In all honesty, was it that big of a deal? No, I was just overly stressed out, worried about everything, and a bit blue about my birthday. And looking back, the cake thing was pretty funny anyway.
A said tonight of the whole Thanksgiving process "Next year, it will be a piece of cake.
. . .
No pun intended"