Why this reprieve, you ask?
The twins have been at an all day and all night sleepover extravaganza. It started yesterday morning and it ends in an hour. *tear*
Redhead and I have been on our own here at the house. Just me and my first born. And yes, I love all my children. But there's something about my first born.
We get each other. We leave each other alone. We still feel camaraderie when one of us is on the computer in one room and the other is watching TV in another. We give each other space.
And we both love Food Network. And Saturday Night Live.
So we started our 24 hour deferment from the rest of the family by cooking. I got all the ingredients to make Pastor Ryan's Chicken Tikka Masala from The Pioneer Woman's blog. This stuff is heavenly. I started cooking around lunchtime, but the Redhead and I aren't picky about exactly when we eat.
I've only made this one other time, and I think I went overboard on the optional spices. So this time I reined myself in. It was perfect. I had to stop myself, lest I end up eating Tums for dessert. Killer heartburn is my reward for indulgence.
This was bliss. We ate and watched Chopped. It's one of our favorites. Then we watched Pioneer Woman. Then Undercover Boss - cause we got tired of just watching food. Then we just lounged around in our separate spaces -- him in the living room, me in my room. Yellow Dog meandered between the two of us all day. The whole, quiet day. No yelling. No fights. No requests to intervene. No messes in the kitchen. No whining to go anywhere or do anything because "It's so boring!"
Along about 9:00, after we'd had our second round of Chicken Tikka Masala, Redhead and I decided we had a hankering for something sweet. Only we had to scrounge around for it. We had vanilla ice cream in the freezer. And some whipped cream. Not enough. "Hot fudge sundaes sure would be good," the Redhead observed. I pulled out my well-loved Ben & Jerry's Cookbook.
And turned to the appropriate page.
This involved lots of chocolate and butter and sugar and cream. Amen. We pulled out the double-boiler (which I only have thanks to Aquaman) and got busy. We had all the ingredients. Only I didn't read all the way through and fully understand that the sugar had to cook for a while. First 20 minutes with just the butter and chocolate. Then for an hour once you add the cream. An hour? Jeez. We could've gone to the Dairy Queen drive-thru and been back home in 20 minutes. But we were committed at this point.
So we babysat that hot fudge. We stirred. Let it simmer. Stirred. Let it simmer.
All this stirring is making me smirk.
Even Yellow Dog was tired of all that stirring.
But finally, at 10:30 at night, we had our hot fudge sundaes.
We ate them while watching Saturday Night Live. Pretty perfect evening, if you ask us.
But now the party's over. It's time to go and pick up Thing 1 and Thing 2 and hear all about how much fun they had while we were stuck at home. Doing nothing. Poor us.
"I'm going to go and get your brothers," I tell the Redhead on my way out the door.
"Do you have to?" he asks, only half joking. And I can't say that I don't agree, knowing that we'll be back to doors slamming and fighting and the thunder of feet up and down the hall.
I must make it clear that I love all of my children. Every inch of them. But if you have more than two of these things, you are beyond man-on-man defense. You are outnumbered. They form a herd. A smelly, kicking, screaming, farting, complaining, sneezing, biting, scratching herd. So do yourself a favor and separate one from the group. Cull one little calf from the herd. It is delightful. They are wonderful creatures, one on one. It restores your faith in humanity. Or at least in the belief that you're doing an okay job at this parenting thing and that you just might be raising children that you want to hang out with some day.
If there's hot fudge involved, anyway.