When I Grow-Up.......

So for some of us, there is always a certain amount of drama and uncertainty, coupled with manic chaos and sometimes, though not always, high-pitched whimpers – that accompany each holiday and it’s many varied food preparations.

I’ll just begin by saying, no matter how much I think I am prior-prepped, no matter that I have made a list and checked it twice; somehow, someway I am going to forget something and you can bet your sweet bippy, it is not going to be something small or minor, and it is not going to be remembered in time to prevent a full-out panic attack.

The night of Thanksgiving eve, I was preparing as much of the food as I could ahead of time. The pie was made, the sweet tea was done, and the onions and celery for the cornbread was sautéed as well. 

As I was about the wind it all down, I thought to myself – why not just go ahead and mix-up up/crumble-up the cornbread and biscuits for the dressing. I could add all the dry ingredients ahead of time, and in the morning, all to do would be to add the eggs and the broth.

I opened the cabinet to retrieve the condiments for seasoning and as I reached into the cabinet I realized what I had forgotten – chicken bouillon. I had cleaned out my cabinets the weekend before and my old container was expired. I had thrown it away and made a note to myself to make sure to buy another – as I would need it. 

WELL GUESS WHAT?! It’s 8:10 pm, I had no make-up on, I had been scrubbing around in the kitchen all afternoon – and now here I was, running up town to the grocery store – looking like I don’t know what - in my pink rubber (yard) clogs.

I climbed into my husband’s truck, as he had driven mine to South Carolina for the holidays. I had ridden in his truck before, but never actually driven it. It’s dark. I can’t see what I’m doing. First off, I can’t even find the key on the ring I have in my hand. Everything else is attached – but I don’t see a key. I have to call him to ask.

There’s a button on the key fob that makes the key “pop out” he says – the action itself is scarily similar to a switchblade. I apologize for interrupting his dinner with family and I hang-up the phone.

I crank up the truck, but can’t figure out how to turn the lights on. I didn’t even know they made vehicles anymore that the lights didn’t “just come on”. I have to call him back. Again. He is trying to explain to me where the manual switch is for these lights. I’m trying not scream out loud, even though my brain is screaming anyway – THAT I JUST NEEDED TO BUY SOME BOUILLON. WHY IS IT SO HARD?!

I will say, the rest of the meal went off without a hitch. And one day, I really am going to be able to cook just like my Mama; calm, cool, collected – and FULLY PREPARED.