I started the day with a strict agenda. Tabbi had a girl scout meeting last night, and I had to have things ready. She needed a family tree and a dish that represented her heritage for their non-traditional Thanksgiving dinner. I needed to finish the laundry and clean the fish tank. And, I needed to prepare the meal that I had scheduled for my family's dinner. Sounds like a piece of cake, right? Well, in my case, the piece of cake is usually too dry and crumbles to bits... but not yesterday. In addition to feeding and caring for Will and Jack, I accomplished all assigned missions. I made two full meals, I did the laundry, I cleaned the fish tank (and flushed the two corpses that were at the top... for anyone counting we are down to only two fish now...) and I made Will Spaghettios for lunch (his first time eating those oddly fluorescent orange noodle-like treats... single tear). When all was done and the boys were still napping, I even had time to sit down and organize a get together with the ladies. I am good. Oh. So. Talented. I was one frilly apron and a string of pearls away from Donna Reed and proud of it.
Then, we sat down to dinner. The All in One Meal Meatloaf that looked so promising in the magazine was barftastic. The meatloaf didn't actually cook, and I am pretty sure meatloaf tar tar is a poor choice. The thinly sliced potato layer, that I spent forever on as I had to peel the potatoes (who does that????), were strangely fiery hot and yet completely hard and uncooked at the same time. All in all, my All in One was a colossal failure. In addition to my culinary failure, I managed to dry a white long sleeve t-shirt (my uniform) and set in a a stain that I was previously determined to get out through 400 washings if need be. But, no... I was in a hurry to get back to my All Full of Crap Meatloaf, that I didn't bother to check it and spray, wash, repeat. And, I am pretty sure our surviving fish (Chubbers One and Two) are on their way to the fish tank in the sky, because they are both hanging in the "race car" and not moving. I am pretty sure if it were a convertible, they'd be at the top o' the tank, belly up.
So, good thing Betty Crocker didn't show up to issue me my a-line 1950s dress, heels and red lipstick to fit in with the other Domestic Goddesses, because I have fallen from grace. I rescind all bragging and boastfulness from yesterday (to those I bragged and boasted to) and vow to leave all potatoes up to Ore-Ida and their culinary genius aka frozen tater tots.