When Turkey Day Goes Awry

Norman Rockwell has set us all up for failure.


Just look at this picture. The perfect roasted turkey served from the platter for all the guests to "ooooooooh" and "aaaaahhhhhh" over. The perfectly set table with white linens, matching silverware (I've analyzed this picture under a microscope; they match, trust me), and the look of excitement and Thanksgiving enjoyment from loving family gathered for the special occassion.

There's even Uncle Bob down there in the corner. He's the fun uncle that all the kids love and the one who will arm wrestle anyone for the wishbone.

Now when I volunteered to host this year's Thanksgiving at our newly expanded home, I didn't have my expectations set as high as this idyllic picture from back in 1943. I had just hoped that I could make it through my inaugural attempt at cooking a 20 lb. bird with success, that my stuffing would be moist, and that the day would be uneventful and relaxing.

No sweat, right?

Let's start with the star of the day: The Turkey. A 20 lb. turkey is a nice sized chunk of poultry. Ye olde internet has about 5 million suggestions on how to handle such a bird and they all gave different directions. I was left scratching my head. The folks at the turkey farm where we got ours said 15 minutes for every pound of unstuffed turkey. I figured that would be around 5 hours. Other sources suggested it would only be 3 - 3.5 hours. Some said high heat while others insisted on low. Bake in a bag. Open pan roast. Tent with tinfoil. Lather in butter. Smear with olive oil. So many suggestions. So many hints.

SO MUCH PRESSURE!!!!

I opted to allow myself at least 5 hours like the turkey farm suggested. I decided to start at 325 degrees and then up the temp towards the end to get that golden brown. If Grandma in the crisp and clean white apron can do it (up above), why can't I?

I should probably mention here that shortly after everyone arrived, the kitchen faucet broke. There was water spraying everywhere. Jeff was under the sink trying to fix it while Kennedy and my brother-in-law were in her bathroom hand washing dishes. He couldn't get it fixed so the remainder of the day (and even this morning) I have no water in my kitchen.

Awesome.

Where were we? Oh, yes - the turkey was cooking. People were mingling and there were many bodies in my kitchen. Too many bodies in my kitchen. I started to perspire. I have learned something about myself over the years. I love to cook and am fairly decent at it. I love to feed people and am fairly decent at that too. But stay out of my dang kitchen, folks! It makes me crazy! Especially on a day when I'm trying to cook the one thing that has caused stress and strife for billions of homemakers over the years. We've all heard stories of over cooked and under cooked turkeys being laid out for guests and the difficulty in knowing whether to wait for the blasted red turkey timer button to pop out ("do you think it is broken?"). It's no wonder that when the hostess finally sits down to eat she has no appetite - she has just run a culinary marathon and is too exhausted to enjoy the fruits of her labors.

So I'm nervous because everything else is cooked and ready to go except for that stupid carcass in the oven. My projected 5 hour cooking window has come and gone and the turkey is far from done. I'm really trying to hint to my guests to make their way into the family room to watch some TV, or to visit, or to do anything other than watch me frantically watch that red turkey button. I'm not sure how much longer we can wait. My holiday creamed corn is thickening more and more on the stove top and is threatening to turn to porridge rather than the prize winning delicacy it truly is. I worry that my stuffing can only handle so much heat before it starts to dry out, and when do I put in mom's sweet potato casserole (with those adorable mini marshmallows) so that it lightly browns to perfection?

Jeff's working on the faucet. I'm putting on an ungraceful cooking show for my audience of guests who are STILL IN MY KITCHEN, and my internal fight or flight response kicks in. I just want to throw in the towel and head to Cafe Rio (by myself) for a little R & R. I have no qualms about eating a sweet pork salad on Thanksgiving. It's a day for thanks giving. I'm thankful for sweet pork in salad form. It works for me.

Long story getting even longer, the tension between Jeff and I is rising. He's been fiddling with that dang faucet (that I told him to either fix or replace months earlier), we're now almost to the 6 hour turkey cooking time and the turkey is only semi cooked, people are starving, I'm trying to keep everything warm, and I'm fighting back the sting of tears from the pressure cooker situation. Who volunteered me to do this?

I did.

Jeff whips out the turkey and just starts carving. The top layers of turkey are cooked (barely?), so he just whittles away what he thinks we can serve without making our guests violently ill. I hurry and stick my mom's sweet potato casserole in the oven close to the broiler so that it can quickly brown up. Everything is set on the table and I grab tin foil and cover it all so that it doesn't lose heat too fast. I'm sweating, and still thinking about sweet pork, and trying to get everyone comfortable and seated.

And then I smell something.

A funny burnt smell? A smell reminiscent of camping trips and cook outs? I sniff the air and wonder why I'm suddenly craving s'mores. I open my oven. I see an inferno of flames jetting out from under the broiler.

THE MARSHMALLOWS!

In my frenzy, I had forgotten that marshmallows, when cooked, puff up. Those adorable little things puffed up so much that they touched the flame of the broiler and caught fire. There was a fire in my oven! This is a first for me so what did I do? I closed the oven door. I don't know if I thought that by closing the door it would somehow deprive the flames of oxygen and they would extinguish themselves, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Jeff opened the oven door again and I started to try and blow out the flames. The guests, all patiently waiting at the table and enjoying the Thanksgiving Day Spectacular that was being performed in my kitchen, found this all quite amusing. They laughed. And laughed. They pointed fingers. And laughed.

I, however, was most definitely not laughing.

The sweet potato casserole was doused. A lovely blanket of smoke had settled on our blessed occasion. The temperature of the food was plummeting, the borderline-cooked turkey was sadly plattered and set on the table, and Kennedy was asked to bless the food.

But the difference between an ordinary Thanksgiving and a memorable, EXTRAordinary Thanksgiving is when the fire alarm goes off during the prayer.

Awesome.

With echoes of laughing in my ears (oh, rest assured, they were laughing AT me, not with me) and a very thin barrier between me and a very ugly crying scene, I sat down to eat my dinner.

And, staying true to tradition with millions of other housewives, I didn't eat very much.

I was worn out.

{sigh}

*************

Post note:

As a thank you for reading my very lengthy tale of Thanksgiving Travesty, I offer you this photo showing what happens to marshmallows when they are set aflame. I can finally see the comedy of yesterday's mishaps.

So, go ahead and laugh.

My guests all did.

;0

Bearing Children is Horrible For Your Self Esteem

The votes have been tallied.

The verdict is in.

As of today, 2 out of 4 (that's 50% for you non-mathematicians) of my children say that I am not cool and I am extremely embarrassing.

(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

You may recall that I have dealt with this devastating blow before. You can read about the horrific details here. I guess I had just hoped that it was a fleeting moment of moody judgement on my daughter's part or that she had just eaten something for lunch that didn't settle well with her.

But now the problem has grown and it is spreading like a vicious virus - attacking the mom adoring mind of yet another one of my offspring.

2 down and 2 to go.

I try and convince my eldest kids that I am fun. I like to laugh and have a good time. I have friends who like me and think that I am the bomb.com. (See I even know the trendy phrases that all the cool peeps are using these days.) I can tease, and socialize, and be spontaneous with the best of them. I'm not that old or that out of it and I really do know what it is like to be in their shoes.

But, alas, they won't budge on their high standards.

I am simply not cool.

In public, I tend to say a friendly "hello" to Taiden's peers and that seals the deal in the my-mother-is-a-huge-embarrassment-please-don't-associate-me-with-her department.

(Since when is saying "hi" such a crime?!)

When shopping for brassieres with my one and only girl, I like to make it entertaining by waving the undergarment in the air just to see her reaction. It's amazing how fast she will scatter and hide in the clothes racks.

(Since when is spontaneity such a forbidden thing?!)

I try and tell them why I am cool. I give them examples of my ultimate coolness at present, but they ain't buying it.

I present exhibits A - D.

I can still water ski even though I'm 103, suffer from the occasional bout of severe gaseousness, and really enjoy classical music.

I'm not afraid to wear a fruit basket on my head and be mistaken for Carmen Miranda on Halloween. (I was the Chaquita Banana Lady, yo.)

Only someone with an excess of coolness could pull off wearing a shower cap on Grizzly River Run. (And look so good doing it.)

See? See? Isn't that all the proof they need?!

They just can't see past my reputation as mom.

So I'm stuck here for awhile.

I Like Who I Am, But...

...today I really wish I was her.

She rocks the quirky, Chucks wearin', bike ridin', wing donnin', daydreamin' beauty thing like none other.

Kennedy and I have been listening to this song the entire weekend and have decided that a red balloon way up in the clouds is, perhaps, the perfect place to be.

"There are those who think that I'm strange, they would box me up and tell me to change, but you hold me close and softly say that you wouldn't have me any other way..."

(If I could wear butterfly wings and get away with it, I WOULD!)

Curse You, Candied Popcorn (Which I Was Eating On Saturday), That Broke My #2 Molar Right in Half......

...But bless you nitrous oxide for making it all worthwhile.

Three cheers for an alcohol and drug free youth which enables me to completely appreciate the mind altering effects of laughing gas.

Thanks to Randee for watching my Shaw-zam for 3.5 hours while I was in the dental chair.

(Inhaling deeply.)

Happy Birthday to Our Resident Cartoon Character

My Brittan Boy is 9 years old today.

He is devilishly handsome and continues to carry that mischievous twinkle in the corner of his eye.

He is smart.

He is intense.

He is passionate about life and living it.

He is a thinker.

He is a natural athlete.

He is complex and multifaceted.

He teaches me daily.

He is a magnified mirror image of myself.

He is generous.

He is quick to forgive.

He's a sugar fiend.

He is a hugger.

He is ours, and we feel so blessed.

Love to you, Brittan!

The Otherworldly

When this blog was in its infancy (its very much in the 3T stage now), I briefly shared an experience that is, quite possibly, the most eerie that I have ever personally encountered.

In honor of Halloween, I will share it again.

And tell another spooky tale that is real and haunting.

Happy Halloween, folks!

***********

My Freshman year of college, my roommate and I left Happy Valley for the weekend and headed up to Bountiful to my parent's house. She and I were ready for a break from the stress and the homework and our dirty apartment. A couple of our guy friends also came up. We were all excited for a change of scenery.

Plans were set to watch a movie in the basement. Since we were all in a rebellious sort of mood and because getting scared always makes for a good time, we decided to watch The Exorcist. None of us had ever seen it and, because we were good kids just looking to spread our Freshman wings of freedom, we lapped up the chance to watch a show that was still deemed taboo and off limits.

(Plus, my parents were gone so there was no adult common sense to stop us.)

The cassette was popped into the VCR and we anxiously waited for the story to unfold. It wasn't long into the movie when the air in the room started to not feel right and we knew (what we already knew deep down inside) that this was not a show we should be watching. I ran upstairs for something. When I came back down and turned the corner to where my friends were, I heard a deep, menacing voice. I froze. I looked at my friends and they were frozen too.

"Did you hear that?"

Nods all around.

While I was upstairs, they had turned the movie off. They had pushed the STOP PLAY button, shut the TV completely off and, as I was coming around that corner, we had all heard the same voice.

"TURN IT BACK ON."

I still remember the chills that ran the length of my body. It was very real. The voice was distinct and clear. We all heard the exact same message and we all lost all of the color in our faces.

And that, my friends, is why The Exorcist is still taboo and off limits.

And why Satan will never be invited into my midst again.

*********

The father of a boy that I dated in high school was responsible for cleaning and maintaining several chapels in Centerville. That was his full time job. As the occasion would arise, he'd have to work after hours in the evening. One particular night, he was finishing up his work, turning off all of the lights, and double checking to make sure the locks were all secure. As he passed by the chapel, he started to hear the organ play. The music was intense and elaborate. He figured it was some of the youth goofing off. The chapel lights were all off. He wanted to catch the pranksters so, without turning any hallway lights on, he opened the chapel doors quietly and slipped in. The emotional music continued to play. He felt his way to the light switches and flipped on the lights - ready to scare whatever hooligans were pumping the organ pipes. The lights went on. The music stopped.

And nobody sat at the organ.

True story.

*****************

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Why Personally Writing 10, 476 Letters to Corporate Headquarters Pays Off...

I'm not sure if it's the Southern California girl coming out in me, but nothing compares.

Now, 4.2 miles from my home.

Hallelujah.

(Bless those onions.)

Protect Your Dental Floss...

...for there may be, lurking in the corners, a 2 year old who loves the minty freshness.

He'll pull it, lick it, then string it through the house.

(And sing a happy song all the while.)

A Space of His Own

Taiden couldn't be more enthused about his new room. He has an urban/industrial/skater vibe going on with a splash of BYU.

He's enjoying his independence in putting it all together and deciding the perfect spot for each and every thing.

(And, boy oh boy, are there a lot of things.)

The results are worthy of any 11 year old's approval.

This Elder (who doubles as a missionary bank) appears cheerful in his pursuit of converting those who have joined The Dark Side.

I wonder if The Church has ever considered Incognito Tracting?

Underdeveloped Tastebuds

Hard work should be rewarded.

Ideally, the hard work should be intrinsically motivated - the satisfaction of doing a good job and knowing it was done well being the prize - without any external carrots dangling above.

But when dealing with kids, I've learned this concept is sometimes a foreign one.

Two of my piano students (uh-hum, my only piano students) were challenged, by me, to learn to read all of the notes on the staff. You can't learn to read a book if you don't know your letters. Same is true in piano. Not knowing how to read the music staff makes for a difficult time playing Tchaikovsky.

I promised these two students (uh-hum, my only piano students) that we would go out for ice cream once they learned their notes. I did inform them that, as a former school teacher and currently the meanest piano teacher in the continental U.S., I was going to be tough when deciding whether or not they had, indeed, reached their goal. They had to rip through those flash cards as though their mellifluous lives depended on it.

I'm pleased to say that this week that goal was reached. Thanks to Elephants Get Big Dirty Feet, F.A.C.E., Good Boys Deserve Fudge Always, and All Cows Eat Grass, these two sweet girls accompanied me today to get some premium dairy indulgence.

The minute we walked in the door, the smell of waffle cones and gourmet cookies welcomed us. The ice cream case was lined with a wide range of flavors. A separate case contained Italian Gelato and Sorbets. Free samples were offered.

I sampled Chocolate Hazelnut. Fresh Coconut. Amaretto. Passion Fruit. Strawberry Lemonade Sorbet.

(Hey, there were no posted signs confining the number of samples to be consumed. My over analyzing is not limited to major life decisions, folks.)

I told the girls - sisters actually - that they could have whatever they wanted. Waffle cones, waffle cups, old fashioned sundaes, mix-ins, cookie sundaes, shakes, floats. Their hard work was much appreciated and their reward, if they so chose, could be grand enough to induce a sugar coma.

The younger of the two stepped up first. She had eyed the almost-fluorescent-pink-and-yellow ice cream affectionately named Cotton Candy.

"That's the one I want," she smiled.

I inquired about a waffle cone.

"I don't like waffles." More smiling.

Rather than point out the difference between a breakfast waffle and the ones on display in the shop (which are technically just a glorified ice cream cone), I just decided to be mute.

"Any toppings?" I encouraged.

"Um......................I want Nerds."

My gag reflex tickled slightly at this moment because I am a texture person. Food textures mean a lot to me and if the wrong combination is presented in my mouth - no matter how delicious the flavors - I can't partake.

I grinned at our ice cream artisan standing behind the counter patiently waiting for our order.

"I want caramel sauce too," she quietly added.

"Whipped cream and a cherry?"

"Yes, please."

Her older sister ordered the identical sundae - Cotton Candy ice cream, Nerds, whipped cream and a cherry - only she opted for raspberry sauce rather than caramel.

I ordered the Strawberry Lemonade Sorbet.

Their young palates thoroughly enjoyed their creations. They ate every last bite and didn't once notice the melancholy melty colors of the moistened Nerds.

(I wonder if Tchaikovsky ever ate Cotton Candy flavored ice cream?)

POST NOTE: This motivational tool for learning to read all of the musical notes on the staff will be available to any piano students that I have.

I have a few openings, uh-hum, if you know anyone who might be interested.

We Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled Construction to Take Down The Wall

Welcome to our house, new addition.

We're glad you're finally here.

(And not just over there.)

Our kitchen table anxiously awaits its new positioning in the kitchen.

A new position that will center it more in the new dining area and allow it to breathe rather than being shoved up against a wall or the kitchen counters. Our chairs have been hammered these past several months. It's hard to be gentle and kind to your furniture when it is in your way all of the time. Once the flooring is all done, the table can relax and enjoy its new permanent residence.

Hello, My Name Is Kristen and I've Lost 8 Lbs. on the Construction Diet

{Is it possible to patent a diet?}

Kristen's Construction Program for Weight Loss

1. Buy an itty bitty house - preferably a cozy house with only one family room. No basement or bonus rooms. When purchasing this house, limit your offspring to either one or none.

2. Make certain that your itty bitty house has no garage.

3. Multiply and replenish the earth.

4. Allow your children to grow, take up more space, and accumulate throngs of toys through birthdays, Christmases, and potty training successes.

5. Multiply and replenish the earth some more.

6. Stuff every nook and cranny of your itty bitty house with the necessities of life. Practice shuffling piles of papers from one place to another. Organize one area only to find out that you've caused more clutter in another area. Enjoy and relish this ongoing game. Be creative in your endeavors to keep the recommended amount of food storage - behind entertainment centers, under beds, packed under desk areas in the kitchen (try and hide this behind a cute curtain and count how many times you have to straighten that d#$@ curtain each day). Store a lovely blue water barrel in your front coat closet.

7. Calculate how much square footage you have per person. (Ours was roughly 300 - 316.)

8. Realize that, as much as they love you, your teenager(s) don't want to be with you every minute of everyday and that their friends don't want to either. Notice that when these said teenagers have friends over, everyone else (including yourself) is exiled to their rooms for the afternoon or evening. (This exile is always by choice...not by force. But how much teenage foolery can you handle?) You will question yourself about how you ever decided to buy that itty bitty house with only one family room (and no basement or bonus room). This is normal.

9. Wait 6.5 years and then be blessed with one more multiplying and replenishing. Be faced with the challenge of housing 3 boys in one bedroom. Enjoy 2 years of no sleeping because when the baby cries, he needs to be moved away from his sleeping brothers. Learn to sleep in a diagonal position in your queen sized bed so that that small bundle of sleepless energy doesn't smack you in the forehead all night.

10. Decide a house addition is in order.

11. If you decide to be your own contractor, you can count on at least 2 - 3 times the weight loss of hiring someone to do it for you. Since we opted to hire that out, my weight loss is slightly less but I have kept my full head of hair (no need to rip it out). The choice is yours.

12. Orchestrate in your imaginative mind, what would happen if your sons found some mysterious bones during excavation. Paint an elaborate mental picture that if bones were found, could they possibly be the remains of one of the wives of the polygamist who built the home? Watch too many episodes of CSI to try and figure out how such a situation might be handled.

13. For kicks, have a wind storm blow down some walls.

14. During daily walk throughs, try and keep your toddler out of the sawdust. Then try and keep the sawdust from getting tracked into the existing house.

15. Get some exercise by getting your groove on.

16. Do a few projects yourself. I chose to paint my kitchen cabinets, 2 bedrooms, and 2 bathrooms. I'm hoping to still lose a few more pounds by painting the new pantry and kitchen dining area. Consuming fumes rather than real food is a surefire way to get the weight off. The brain cells that are killed in this process just add to your overall reduction in size.

17. For optimal weight loss benefit, bathroom projects are key.

18. To change unhealthy cravings and addictions to certain foods, take the targeted food into a bathroom in the middle of remodeling.

19. Try to enjoy your above mentioned food amidst the sights and smells of the bathroom makeover. Need a little more intensity? Closely examine the toilet seal on the floor and imagine its years of use.

20. Mmmmmm............

21. Plant yourself on the toilet that now resides in the shower and finish your good eats. If this doesn't ensure the food aversion you're looking for, I don't know what will.

DISCLAIMER:

Results will vary from person to person. While the construction diet did work for me, there were also side effects that included:

Bags under my eyes

Dark circles under my eyes

Irritability

Insomnia

Sudden outbursts of unexplained tears

Headaches

Bad Hair Days

Frequent outbreaks of cereal for dinner

Mood Swings

White trash tendencies

House Project 2010: Weeks 12 - 20 (PART ONE)

This post is 8 weeks in the making, so it is lengthy. I'm dividing it into 2 parts since I don't expect people to want to take an hour to read a single post. So, one post today and a second post in the next couple of days.

Life has been busy, but we feel so blessed right now. Feel free to just peruse through the pictures, but if you have time, read the captions as well. The story of our construction has ended up with some interesting facts that might interest you.

***

Looking back, the last thing I wrote about our house project was a post introducing you to The Great Wall of Separation.

I will be forever and always, eternally and endlessly grateful for this wall.

Although it has lacked in keeping out the construction sounds, has eaten up half of my kitchen eating area, and requires a person to scoot around it sideways to reach the laundry room or our current bedroom, it has kept the dust and mess and debris to a bare minimum. This thin divide has allowed me to keep my mental faculties (mostly) intact, and the dust has not been much worse than what it typically is. I chalk this up as miracle #457 in the last 4.5 months. It has been a life saver and I am its loyal fan. Would I go through this whole process again? I would shout a resounding "YES!" if and only if I could bring my plywood partner along with me.

The wall is still standing and should be removed within the next week or so. We still don't know what our new addition feels like in connection to our existing house, because we still haven't been able to access our new square footage through the new dining area/breezeway. I have learned great patience through this process and this is just one more thing for me to wait for and anticipate.

The whole kit and caboodle should be finished within the month. There are still a lot of things to be done, but I'm hoping that I can still follow through with my promise to Kennedy that she can host a Halloween party here. There may not be enough time to load the addition with furniture and decor (our carpet is on back order and we'll be cutting it close), but teenagers don't mind sitting on the floor, right? Kennedy just needs to think of it as one giant dance floor...

8 weeks of construction production has produced the following changes:

BEFORE - Old, weathered, unlovely porch...

AFTER: Every part of the porch was resurfaced. Decorative shakes were used and the columns were made a little heavier.

BEFORE: Stairs up to master bedroom, unpainted walls, untrimmed windows

AFTER:

BEFORE: Fireplace

AFTER: As the rock from our kitchen wall sat outside, Jeff kept insisting that we use it for our fireplace. I kept reminding him that our contractor said the cost of labor would be too expensive. We settled on the fact that we would have to use fabricated (fake) rock which we didn't love but it would have to do. Jeff would then bring up the fact that it was pertinent that we use our Farmington rock - handled by our authentic pioneers - and I would remind him that it wasn't in the budget. This went on for around 2 months. I finally asked our contractor to get us a firm bid. Long story short, it only cost us a few hundred dollars more to have our home's rock used rather than the fakey stuff. Jeff was finally content. The guys who did our finish work beat up an old beam for us to make it look weathered and worn. We love how it turned out.

BEFORE: Lockers for the kids' backpacks, jackets, and such. Notice the built in bench for removing shoes and the cute bottom cubby to put them in.

I had them line the inside and outside with bead board.

AFTER: just waiting for coat hooks

We ended up with a seam in the bead board (on the backside) that couldn't be hidden. We had them build another bench for shoe removal since it is right next to the door that heads out to the courtyard and back yard. Still waiting for this to be caulked and painted.

BEFORE: Our old red kitchen with green counters and those funky mirrors in the corner. WHO PUTS MIRRORS IN A KITCHEN? They were odd and a pain in the neck to clean. When we moved in 11.5 years ago, that was one of the first things I wanted to get rid of. We're kinda slow around here, so 11.5 years later and they finally got the boot.

Jeff removed the mirrors while wearing ski goggles for protection. It was quite a sight to see. I think the final count was 21 years of bad luck.

AFTER: WHITE SUBWAY TILED KITCHEN and chunkier new counter tops (Basalt Slate finish). LOVE, LOVE, LOVE this look and can't believe it's the same kitchen.

It was hard to get a good picture with the flash on (above - hello, shiny tile) but without the flash it looks dark (below - the construction wall in the kitchen keeps it kinda dark). When we have the wall down and our chandelier above our kitchen table, things will brighten up a bit.

The walls in the dining area will soon be painted a cheerful, pale green.

Any suggestions of what to do in the corner behind the sink, or what to do near or around the window?

This area is the only space in my entire house that is decorated and good to go. Everything else is in major disarray or is ready to be transformed into something else. This is the spot where I go to be put into a happy place. It's the only area that is clean and shiny and pretty.

CURRENTLY: Gregson Paint Center - in my kitchen, snuggled up to my bestest friend