I’d love to rant and rave about all KINDS of blog posts that I have written in my head as I go from one crisis to another, always 7-19 minutes late for everything, but I don’t have time. Charlie has to ref in about 30 minutes, Morgan has [...]]]> And that’s about the only good news.

I’d love to rant and rave about all KINDS of blog posts that I have written in my head as I go from one crisis to another, always 7-19 minutes late for everything, but I don’t have time. Charlie has to ref in about 30 minutes, Morgan has to coach alone for the first time ever, more shingles just flew off the roof, I forgot to order net clips for the soccer goals, Dave just left for fishing (please don’t come and kill me), and the cat is sleeping on my keyboard making all of this a lot more difficult…

So here is a round up of the blog worthy things that I might have enjoyed writing about in the last month since the carnage:

I FOUND SOME MORELS!

OK, so I guess that was a good day.

THE ASPARAGUS:
…was a mess this year. Due to our crazy warm March things were greening up and my annual burning wasn’t done in a timely fashion. I did finally manage to get the dead stuff cut down, but the weeds are going nuts.

The asparagus doesn’t seem to mind. I’m giving it out by the armload once again. So, if you can think of a reason to visit me…

This year — yesterday, in fact — I made my first ever asparagus soup. It was the most vile looking gloop you’ve ever seen. But it tasted good…

I GOT A NEW STOVE!

(and need to sell my old one…) Here is a tribute to the cooktop that has taken me through 17 chaotic years. Goodbye old friend:

[Look for it on Craig's List soon!]

HELLO NEW FRIEND:

(and pretty pictures of bread made for people other than my family. Very bitter children, have I)

It’s a 6-burner BlueStar. So far, so good. It’s HOT!

And for the Piece de Resistance (that makes no sense, I just wanted to say it):

MY GARDEN:

Or perhaps I should call it My NOT Garden.

Or my Garden Not YET.

And that is why I must go now.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I am now all caught up on my blogging.

I needn’t belabor nature’s harsh pecking order. You know it, I know it. We can choose to close our eyes to the gore, to the unflinching honesty of it all. We can TURN THE CHANNEL. QUICK. TURN THE CHANNEL, dammit!

Why men love to linger, while surfing channels to utter distraction, on the bucolic [...]]]>

I needn’t belabor nature’s harsh pecking order. You know it, I know it. We can choose to close our eyes to the gore, to the unflinching honesty of it all. We can TURN THE CHANNEL. QUICK. TURN THE CHANNEL, dammit!

Why men love to linger, while surfing channels to utter distraction, on the bucolic scene of baby quail bobbing along behind their mother, is beyond me. YOU KNOW THEY ARE GOING TO DIE! TURN THE CHANNEL!

And yet.

They don’t.

So, we are forced to either watch or get up and leave.

Recently, I’ve noticed that Dave isn’t even accidentally watching nature shows – he is actively seeking them out on YouTube. He even laughs sometimes and says, “Here, you gotta watch this.” And I’m like, “No, I don’t. I don’t need to.”

“It’s funny. Watch it.”

And I proceed to watch a Rhino peacefully grazing alongside a couple of wild boars, suddenly scoop one of the boars up with his tusk, goring him. He flies high, high into the air and lands on flat his back from a height of about 15 feet. And the movie cuts out.

“What happened? Is he dead?”

“I don’t know. It’s that funny? Rhinos are tough.”

And I’m left to wonder: is he dead? Is he suffering? Why did the Rhino do that? Why did the movie cut out? That poor wild boar…

It affects the rest of my day. Or the rest of my night. I have thought of that wild boar often since then…

Until I had something new to consume that space in my brain. If there was ever a misguided thought that cats are adorable, cuddly pets to be simply loved and protected, think again. They are the domesticated animal equivalent of the homicidal sociopath. The killer no one ever suspects. “He was always our nicest neighbor. Always helpful and kind.” …while he quietly racked up heads in his basement.

Cats are like that. You lull yourself into thinking, “not my cat” only to walk into a scene like this:

A murder scene.

For, no other description fits.

This wasn’t a cat eating a bird.

This was a death scene. This blood spattered high on the wall, the victim clearly pleading for his life.

I ask you: What in the Sam Hill was going on here?

Terror. Carnage. A miniature CSI scene.

What poor little — or not so little — animal met it’s end on Dave’s beautiful new garage floor?!

I think this one know’s and he isn’t talking.

What do you give the guy who doesn’t want anything?

…No, that’s not quite right either. He always wants a jacket. He has a jacket fetish. We actually have an entire closet in our laundry room to house his collection.

Anyone who has ever picked up a Thai cookbook will know what they say: that store-bought Thai green curry paste is but a shadow of the real thing.

Blah blah blah.

I’ve been a green curry fan since sometime in college when I first ate at Sawatdee in Minneapolis with my then-boyfriend Jim — [...]]]>

Anyone who has ever picked up a Thai cookbook will know what they say: that store-bought Thai green curry paste is but a shadow of the real thing.

Blah blah blah.

I’ve been a green curry fan since sometime in college when I first ate at Sawatdee in Minneapolis with my then-boyfriend Jim — now known as bad-boyfriend Hong Kong-Jim. [He lives there. And no, he's not Chinese -- not that there's anything wrong with being Chinese. And he was a nice guy, just a baaaad boyfriend. ] Thai food back then was counter culture. Not popular. Dark. Exciting. Amazing. [kind of like Jim at the time...]

But now, Thai green curry is like the much-maligned Merlot. Over-sold. Over-consumed. Beneath the trendy.

I don’t care. I still love it.

Love.

It.

Since discovering Aaroy-D brand, I haven’t felt the tug that I used to — when buying green curry paste — to try making it from scratch. But then, while researching recipes that were not allowed by the New Year’s Board of Directors [see previous post], I came across a video on Rouxbe.com that re-kindled that long-forgotten urge.

So, during my last visit to a grocery store, I picked up the ingredients to make it. Came home, threw them in the ‘crisper’, and forgot all about them for about two weeks.

Because — what would a recipe given here be without the challenge of missing ingredients or ingredients gone bad? Surely there is a psychological name for this tendency of mine to sabotage perfectly good recipes.

But I did it! I made Thai green curry paste. It was so fun to make it all in a mortar and pestle — though a larger one would work better. And it was good! Different than store bought — not earth-shatteringly better — but definitely brighter tasting. Brighter is the right word. Fresher, too, but brighter and more alive would be more accurate.

I don’t think you can watch this video on Rouxbe.com without a membership — which I have and love — but these pictures are sort of a snapshot of the same thing, the main difference being that my ingredients were not as well grinded as theirs. I think this was mostly due to my smaller mortar, but also probably had something to do with two-week old lemon grass and slightly different ingredients.

Ya think? [see ingredient list below for clarification.]

First step was to grind the peppercorns with the salt. So cool how easily this was done and how pretty it looked after:

Then, after toasting the coriander (mine, from the garden, also sport some twigs from the stems alongside the seeds) and cumin seeds

you add them to the mortar and grind them up. Ahh the smell!!

Then, you add your finely chopped lemon grass. I believe nice, fresh lemongrass is a bit more forgiving that two week old, from the grocery store, probably already 3-week old lemon grass. Finely chopping mine was akin to chopping dried cattails, but I did my best to incorporate it…

Then you add chopped garlic. Again, mine was pretty dry compared to juicy fresh. I’m using up my biggest bulbs from last summer. While they still taste amazing, the textures is different.

Then the chopped cilantro stems… The recipe calls for the root of the plant, which is so cool, and which I’d have had NO PROBLEM with during the summer months. And I had the stems all chopped up sitting next to the leaves. For some reason, I accidentally threw in the whole pile of cilantro instead of just the stems. I didn’t realize I had screwed up until my paste no longer looked like paste.

I mashed and mashed and mashed…

And this was the best I could do: Next you add the peppers. Jalapeño if you like spicy. I added the seeds and everything. It was HOT!

The water content from the peppers helped smooth things out considerably:

Lastly the onions:

My mortar was starting to overflow and it was hard to really go after it without slopping over the sides. But it still looked pretty good:

It made enough for two dinner-type recipes. I used half to make Thai Green Curry Coconut Shrimp:

And the rest is in my freezer waiting to be discovered sometime next year.

Thai Green Curry Paste from Rouxbe.com:

• 1/2 tsp black peppercorns
• 1 tsp kosher salt
• 3 tbsp lemongrass [mine was old]
• 1 tsp galangal [I used ginger]
• 1 tbsp garlic [mine was old and dry]
• 2 tbsp shallots [I used onion]
• 2 tbsp coriander root (can substitute with cilantro stems) [I used leaves and stems]
• 5 hot, Thai green chilies [I used 3 jalapeños]
• 5 long green chilies [I used regular green and only 1/2]
• 1 tsp fresh turmeric (can substitute with 1 teaspoon dried) [I used dried]
• 1 kaffir lime [I used lime zest]
• 3/4 tsp shrimp paste [I skipped]
• 1 cup Thai sweet basil [I used basil paste]
• 1 tsp coriander seeds [mine had stems]
• 1/2 tsp cumin seeds [my only unadulterated ingredient!!]

To make the green curry paste, first prepare your mise en place. Finely mince the lemongrass, galangal, garlic, shallots, coriander root and the chilies.

Peel and mince the turmeric. Keep in mind that it will stain your cutting board, hands, and anything it comes into contact with. Gather the kaffir lime, shrimp paste and Thai basil and set aside.

In a small fry pan, toast the coriander and cumin seeds until they release their aroma and start to brown slightly.

To make the paste, use a mortar and pestle. Grind the spices, peppercorns and salt into a fine powder.

Next, add the lemongrass and pound until you reach a smooth paste, scraping down the sides as needed. Add the galangal, followed by the turmeric, making sure each is fully incorporated before adding the next. Add the garlic, cilantro stems, chilies and shallots.

Zest and add the kaffir lime, followed by the shrimp paste. Finely chop the basil and add it to the mortar and pestle, pounding everything into a smooth paste.

The paste can be kept in the refrigerator for a few days or frozen for a few months.

_________________

For the coconut curry recipe, I basically made the same one I usually do, found HERE, but I also added 1 tablespoon of fish sauce and — my newest very favorite trick:

Separating the cream from the milk in canned Thai Coconut Milk:

Usually I shake the can of coconut milk to incorporate everything together and then add it all at once, and if I have the time, cook it down a bit to thicken. But in Rouxbe.com’s recipe, they advise scooping the cream off the top and adding that to your protein and stir-frying over medium high heat until the cream separates from the oil. Frankly, mine never did this, but it did get shiny and different looking. THEN you add the watery milk and it all melds together. I really liked the consistency and it didn’t get that sort of curdled look that it can sometimes take on.

If I had more time, I’d go around at night snapping pictures of houses light up at night with multi-colored Christmas lights and decked-out Christmas trees in living room windows, googling their addresses and calling them out online.

I just don’t get it.

I know, I know: “I love Christmas. I hate when [...]]]> Seriously people.

If I had more time, I’d go around at night snapping pictures of houses light up at night with multi-colored Christmas lights and decked-out Christmas trees in living room windows, googling their addresses and calling them out online.

I just don’t get it.

I know, I know: “I love Christmas. I hate when it’s over.” Blah, blah, blah. Some wait for the Epiphany. Fine. But that’s come and gone too. So do me a favor and take down your Christmas stuff. It’s time.

I know not everyone is like me, taking them down the day after Christmas. I’m not a bah humbugger; I do have a reason. We leave for Hayward after Christmas most years and coming back to the Christmas decorations is just a bad thing. I like the new year to come in cool, clean and clutter-free. The tree and all the accoutrements makes for a wonderfully cozy December mood. But the day the presents get opened, it’s over.

Out with the old.

In with the new.

Except…

I seem to have one small problem…

I just can’t seem…

to have the heart…

to take these another 4 steps…

to the trash!

But I’m getting closer.

But really, it was our worst showing ever, food-wise.

Lack-luster dishes and poor timing downgraded Chef Jennie and her line cooks from a coveted 3 star Michelin rating to two. In the aftermath of evening’s worst performance, the board was scrambling to make sweeping [...]]]> It’s a catchy title, people. It wasn’t that bad.

But really, it was our worst showing ever, food-wise.

Lack-luster dishes and poor timing downgraded Chef Jennie and her line cooks from a coveted 3 star Michelin rating to two. In the aftermath of evening’s worst performance, the board was scrambling to make sweeping changes that included moving the Chef to a less prominent role and reducing the number of dishes offered to a more manageable amount.

Chef Jennie was not available for comment, but sources have seen her mingling with other backers. It’s widely known that Jennie has long-lobbied the New Year’s board for a broader range of ethnicities on the menu, complaining bitterly that Betty Crocker’s 1981 Chinese Cooking with recipes by LeeAnn Chin, featuring crowd favorite Sesame Chicken, and this year’s bust, “Beef with Noodles,” are passé and should not be the starting point for the creative direction of New Year’s.

The Chef has been laying low in Watertown, likely recuperating from the ordeal. A close friend of the family said, “Jennie is hardly cooking at all these days. It’s clear from her blog that she loves to cook, but this has hit her hard.” A parent of the Chef’s daughter’s best friend’s little sister had this to say, “I don’t know what’s so great about Chef Jennie. She should stick to gardening.”

Time will tell the fate of New Year’s. With the graduation and departure of two key board members to college, one of whom reached the milestone age of 21, it’s anyone’s guess if this debacle will be the tipping point for the company. The board was keeping quiet on the subject, but at least one key analyst wonders if those two board members will even return unless the Chef turns control over to the board.

–Associated Press Syndication © January 2012

Clockwise from left: chinese ribs, fresh spring rolls, sesame chicken, Pho

annual cream cheese puff glutton-fest

the queen of sesame chicken

clockwise from left: Chicken with Cashew, Beef and Noodle, appetizer bar, butter lettuce for PF Chang Lettuce wraps

YouTube Advisor To The Chef

board members in happier times

Behind the Scenes: Hair and Makeup

clockwise from left: cheers!, one crabby and one happy board member, the sesame chicken queen, mascot to the board acts as pre-midnight pillow for board member who later claimed, "I wasn't sleeping."

Watertown is a small place, so I assume Patty is well aware of my transgression by now. But apologizing is part of the twelve steps, so this is the public apology you, my frenetic stylist, deserve.

I have been unfaithful.

I have strayed from our ten year relationship. I had a delayed seven-year itch. [...]]]>

Watertown is a small place, so I assume Patty is well aware of my transgression by now. But apologizing is part of the twelve steps, so this is the public apology you, my frenetic stylist, deserve.

I have been unfaithful.

I have strayed from our ten year relationship. I had a delayed seven-year itch. It isn’t you. It’s me. I still love you. It didn’t mean anything.

Actually, I was seduced by the bright lights and big city. And the Keratin Smoothing Treatment.

[I seriously did not need to flat iron my roots! Can you believe it? Sorry, I'm sounding too enthusiastic, I know. I need to be contrite.]

And the idea that someone could lend me some new insight on the Bangs Dilemma.

How was it for me? It was fun! It was exciting! Just like an affair should be. [not that I would know about that.] I got to sit in a huge salon. I got to sit in a massage chair! Lisa was great!**

Here was her answer to the Bangs Dilemma.

She gave me a choice: Bangs or Botox. I picked bangs. So I have bangs again. Which is exactly what you’ve been saying to me for seven years. Well, that isn’t entirely true, is it? We both know you first counciled me to grow the suckers out. Then, when you saw what I looked like without bangs, you changed your mind. And I said, “I told you so.” and you said, “You were right.”

Just like an old married couple.

And you will forgive me. Because that’s the way you are. And we’ll go back to bickering about my bangs. And my moisturizer.

But I’m not sure I can give up the Keratin Smoothing Treatment… Which brings me to one more minor detail…

Morgan had a hair affair too.*

Sorry!

*Save yourself the time of telling my how beautiful Morgan’s hair is. I know it is. Her curls are gorgeous. But she has always wanted straight hair. So now, courtesy of Visa, she has it. For about 3 months. Should she ever want it again, she will need a Bachelor’s degree and a good job. And Morgan, save yourself the breath of complaining about that first pic. I included it to show our detractors why you want straight hair. This is what happens when curl meets brush. Thought you straight-hair-curl-wannabes should know that.

**[Lisa Kingrey Johnson at Salon Lili.] –but that’s only a plug for big city folk. Watertownians [and Sheilabird] should stick to Patty like glue.

You think I’m kidding?

I’m not. Pixi mascara doesn’t just look good, it is a time machine. It has opened doors I thought long closed. I, my friends, am a new person.

First, and most importantly, Pixi mascara allows me to stop manically curling my lashes. Before I discovered it, I would probably grab [...]]]>

You think I’m kidding?

I’m not. Pixi mascara doesn’t just look good, it is a time machine. It has opened doors I thought long closed. I, my friends, am a new person.

First, and most importantly, Pixi mascara allows me to stop manically curling my lashes. Before I discovered it, I would probably grab the eyelash curler 3 or 4 times a day, depending on how often I crossed paths with my make-up bag, and pop it over my stubborn lashes and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Because, you see, my lashes would not stay curled. I tried what seemed like every mascara under the sun. Nothing worked for more than 15 or 20 minutes..

I have such straight lashes that tend to point downward, into my eyes. So I’m not just giving them a 45 degree bend, I’m trying to to achieve a 180 to 270 degree curve. Of course it never works. Here’s a pic using my previous brand of mascara after only a couple minutes. Not too impressive.

Now granted, I don’t spend a whole lot of time on this. I don’t really wear that much make-up. To my make-up-artist in training, I’m all but a blank slate: “Put some make-up on, Mom.”

“I AM wearing make-up!”

(and I really am.)

When I asked her to take these close-ups, she said “Pile it on. You can’t even see it!” Whereas when I actually saw the close-ups I was appalled at how much there appeared to be.

There were many other things I was appalled by, don’t get me wrong: the hooded lids, the crepe paper skin, the stray eyebrows, etc. etc. But whatever.

After about 15 years of using various mascaras that allowed my lashes to stay curled for about 10 minutes before pointing straight out, I picked up a tube of Pixi at target.

It’s not Target-cheap though; it was $18. I was aware of the Pixi brand (and their prices) after having switched from Benetint to Pixi cheek gel several years ago based on the simple virtue that Pixi’s clear red cheek gel looked like Benetint, but didn’t come as a liquid in that Godforsaken glass vial — which I had, on more than one occasion, broken all over my bathroom floor.

Not only did the Pixi cheek gel work just as good, it took up less space in my bag (always a plus) and never dripped on my boob when I applied it (don’t underestimate the importance of this). In short, I love it. I’m on my second tube and each lasts over a year. Well worth the price of $18 — yes, the same as the mascara.)

So, I’m sure you are wondering how Pixi mascara saved my life. Now that I’m knee deep into this story, it does seem a bit heavy-handed, “Saved my life…” How about “Changed my life?” Let’s go with that.

Anyway, I do a lot of standing around in the make-up aisles at Target, but not a lot of buying, because frankly, it all seems rather pointless at 46. Sort of a lost cause… Ironically, late last year, I was mailed a Pixi catalog. A tiny little booklet of marketing wonder promising the most amazing (and ludicrous) things. I read it cover to cover. I was absolutely absorbed by it. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the first person testimonial format they used. Maybe it was wishful thinking. But still.

I come from an advertising background. I’m jaded. And I’m old. I’ve been around the block a few times.

So, in the end, I believed none of it. Not. A. Single. Word.

Until the mascara.

Until.

The.

Mascara.

The catalogue said, and I quote: “lash-lifting,” and “With my straight lashes this is the ONLY mascara that holds the curl all day.”

I didn’t believe it. The fact that I still bought it had more to do with the fact that I had hemmed and hawed over the concealers and brightening creams I had read about in the catalogue for so long, couldn’t decide on any of them and grabbed a tube of mascara instead. I actually needed new mascara and I figured, “How bad could it be?”

Now, I could write the testimonial for the catalogue. I could be the spoke person.

The problem is… now… I am finding myself… wanting to believe everything I read! Covergirl Simply Ageless! Yes! Maybelline Highlighting Concealer! Yes! I’ll take two! …wait, isn’t that an oxymoron? Highlighting Concealer? never mind… Unibrows Worry Line Divot Remover! Yes! I mean, no, but I wish.

So you can see my dilemma, can you not? I’m a changed woman. But this is not necessarily a good thing.

[UPDATE TO POST ON 1/21/2012]

Well, now I know what interests you guys. Man, what a bunch of make-up grubbing lunatics you are.

Anyway, in my haste to get this ridiculous entry posted, I left out one teeny weeny detail:

If you haven’t yet run out to Target to pick up the Pixi, add this to your list.

You will need it.

Happy Shopping!

That may sound lame to you, but it is a first for me. I am the grand resolver. I love to resolute. For me, my family. I stop at nothing in my high and mightiness.

So this year, my resolution is to not resolve.

Does that sound lame?

The truth is, I am coming [...]]]>

That may sound lame to you, but it is a first for me. I am the grand resolver. I love to resolute. For me, my family. I stop at nothing in my high and mightiness.

So this year, my resolution is to not resolve.

Does that sound lame?

The truth is, I am coming to the realization that I am simply not in control of my life anymore. I am at the complete mercy of my kids and their schedules.

I always thought the busiest time would be when they were little. –And, it was harder then in many ways. But now? I can’t even pick my nose before I realize I’m late for something. Forgot something. Didn’t do something.

Family dinners are all but impossible. Ohhh, I was soooo convinced we would alllllways have family dinners.

Oh, how I judged those who didn’t.

Two, maybe three a week.

Maybe.

So last year’s resolution of Kid’s Cook Mondays was a total bust. A complete failure. And I’m not very good at failure. It’s eaten at me. Dogged my every Monday. But: it’s pretty hard for kids to cook if they are eating at Subway between soccer and youth group. Or jazz band and basketball. Or soccer and soccer. Or eating at 9:30 when they get home. Or 4:30 when they leave. [In case you are wondering, it doesn't stop me from eating.]

So what should I resolve?

My joke to the family was that we’d be going gluten free for 2012. No one even believed me for a single second.

For, no Menke would make it even one gluten-free day.

Not one.

I did say I wasn’t going to drink any alcohol in January. But it wasn’t a real resolution. More of a guideline.

[...one that I'm really regretting right this very minute as I drink my third thermos of mint tea.]

And I did throw around the idea of doing the Bon Appetit Food Lover’s Cleanse. Went online and checked it out. And then realized we are only home to eat dinner those two, maybe three, nights a week, so what’s the point.

Still, it wasn’t a resolution.

So what do I want to change for 2012? You know, assuming I’m not perfect already?

Nothing.

Because, yes, I am perfect already. I’m taking the year off.

This will be hard — even harder than Meatless Mondays.

I know.

Let’s put that behind us and move on to greener pastures.

Or dead ones.

The potato patch, to be specific.

Potatoes are a cash crop and worth the effort.

[No, not really.]

Potatoes grown in the garden are amazingly different from their supermarket counterparts and worth the [...]]]> I know it’s been a while.

I know.

Let’s put that behind us and move on to greener pastures.

Or dead ones.

The potato patch, to be specific.

Potatoes are a cash crop and worth the effort.

[No, not really.]

Potatoes grown in the garden are amazingly different from their supermarket counterparts and worth the effort.

[No, not really.]

Potatoes are so easy to grow and rarely fall victim to pests or blight and are worth the effort.

[No, not really.]

Like corn, it seems, every year, I grow potatoes, regardless of what my notes from the previous year tell me to do. I think the main reason is that I always have an empty planting box and withered, sprouting potatoes from the year before in the lower garage. It just seems silly not to plant potatoes.

So I do.

And then I listen to my dad bellyache about it for the next several months since I often guilt him in to digging them for me. He’s probably only really done it two, maybe three, times. But you’d think I had him out there slaving away every year since 1995 the way he goes on about it.

“Potatoes? Potatoes! Why’d the Hell you plant potatoes? I’ll buy you potatoes. I’ll pay you not to dig them. They don’t taste any different from the store. Geez”

…and on and on and on.

So it was this year as well. And I really had no intention of having him dig the potatoes. Really, I didn’t. But a series of events forced me to ask.

First, he was going to paint the barn. Then, when that didn’t pan out, he offered to paint the lattice on the screen porch. When we needed to use the parking spot where the lattice was laying, we farmed that project out as well.

Clearly he was in my debt.

And yet, still I refrained from assigning him potato duty. Not that I didn’t tease, and threaten. Sure I did. But I had no plans to go through with it.

Until that fateful Saturday in November.

He had willingly offered to accompany Charlie to his second annual Robotics tournament. Charlie had to be there at 8 am. It was a 45 minute drive, which meant they would have to leave at 7:15 am. No easy task for Gramps. He’s not a morning guy. I totally get that and it was one of the reasons I was delighted he wanted to go. –I take after him; I’m not a morning guy either.

The other reason was that last year’s tournament went all day.

All day. A robotics tournament, all day.

To be fair, I did want to make sure he didn’t feel like he had to do it. I even said, “You don’t have to do it, dad. I was planning to dig potatoes tomorrow, so if you don’t want to go, maybe you can dig the potatoes?” heh heh.

No, no, no, no. My plan worked! He was going. I was thrilled. My dad is the best!

Unfortunately, at 7:15 am the next morning, the loft was pitch black.

Pitch black.

So I threw the covers off, threw some jeans on, whipped my way-too-long-hair-for-a-46-year-old into a ponytail, screamed some things like, “WHAT ARE THOSE CLOTHES IN THE BATHROOM? WHY ISN’T YOUR BED MADE? ARE YOU READY? DO YOU HAVE YOUR STUFF?”

I threw the car into reverse and…

…nearly backed over my mother.

Who had run down the driveway in a panic wearing her gigantic fur coat that she keeps at the loft to tell me, “He’s up! He can take him. It’s fine!”

Which I knew was not true. He might be up, sure. But was he ready to go? Was he in the car? Why was my mother in the driveway, freezing her butt off? Or not freezing her butt off since she was wearing a big bear fur, or coyote. Or something.

“No, no. It’s fine. Just tell him he can either come relieve me at noon or dig the potatoes.”

And then I left her in the dust.

Ironically, it was also to be the first snow storm of the year. Which started around 11am and made it silly for him to drive all the way in to town to relieve me, and even more important for me to get the potatoes dug. And so began a day long email exchange:

The first, from my dad:

In between these two emails he called me and we decided he shouldn’t drive in. And he grudgingly said he’d dig the potatoes.

By this time, I was starting to suspect he was just messing with me. –That he had dug the potatoes hours before and was simply having fun at my expense. I went along with it, acting enraged.

He called me again, to ask me where the garden fork was. He was really hamming it up. I mean for crying out loud. I continued to go along with it. “DAD! It’s in the garden! If it’s not in the garden it’s in the barn hanging up! Where have you looked?!”

KJDJDSHSHST…YOU ARE BREAKING UP…. silence.

And he was gone.

*******

The sloth really didn’t dig the potatoes. He laid on the couch, watching the snow and reading a book all day. Morgan and my mom both tattled on him, so I know it’s true.

And, after the snow melted a few days later, I went out to the garden to see this:

The garden fork, in the potato bed.

So he’s a liar, too.