FOOD FOR SOUL MAGAZINE: December 2015

BLUE MONDAY...BLESSED MESS

The first day of the week, Monday after Thanksgiving....I woke up in such a funk it was unbelievable. What was wrong with me? It was rainy and cold outside, but that never usually got to me. It's perfect writing weather. I knew I was a little worn out for one. It had been a very long exhaustive week. The kids and I had volunteered at a community wide Thanksgiving dinner the day before the actual celebration serving nearly 1,000 or more people. I wasn’t stressed about doing that since I am passionate about this kind of work and since no one was coming for Thanksgiving at our home, I knew it would be a restful one with little preparation.

I had invited my adult children the week prior but hadn’t either heard back from them, or they had other plans as far as I knew. Therefore, my husband and I decided we would cook a simple meal. We were not in a hurry to clean the house, or prepping the meal all week like usual. It was just going to be my two teens and us so no biggie. When I expect guest I usually prepare the foods days in advance, so all I have to do is heat up and serve on Thanksgiving.

But as we all have experienced, things don't always go the way we plan.

So this is how the day went down. My husband and I decided to sleep in instead of getting up at the usual 5 a.m. to prepare turkey. I receive a text by Child #1 that she and her family were going to join us and that she was cooking some dishes. I tiredly groan over to my husband announcing we needed to get up and start cooking. We get into the kitchen where there were mounds of dishes from the night before. Hubby commences to washing, and I begin preparing my cornbread for stuffing.

Happily chopping away while listening to Christmas music…I suddenly realize the cornbread had a horrific odor. Oh my Lord….I had accidentally cooked it with Masa instead of cornmeal! I had to toss the entire thing out! I had no more ingredients to do a make-over. I felt like I was working in Cut-Throat Kitchen where someone had traded out my ingredients for $5000 to sabotage me. What was I to do? About that time Child #2 shows up. We had no clue he was coming. Surprise!

Instead of jumping up and down with the excitement of guest arriving, I immediately go into counting heads to ensure we have enough food. He reassures me that there is no need to worry about cooking extra since he was just there to visit escaping the fact that others were expecting a meal.

Child #3 text me, on her way. When she arrived, she comments… “Smells like tamales in here”. Gee, I wonder why? The chaotic cornbread was consumed by the trash and permeated the house. Not the smell I was going for. It wasn’t even 11 a.m. yet. I’m getting a little panicked as turkey had been put in roaster literally one hour before their arrival. I knew it wasn’t going to be ready till late afternoon. It was a 25 pounder! Anyhow, child #4 text me, “What time is dinner?” I tell Hubby we have got to go to the store to get more food. We make a mad dash before store closes to find many other parents were in the same boat.

The store was packed! Items were missing off of shelves. I couldn’t find even 1 can of French style green beans, my main purpose for running back to add to my small casserole. I improvise and find frozen. Getting more mushroom soup, and other fixings, as hubby is now starting to huff and puff stating, “Do we really need that? My reply, “What honey? You don’t want butter on your bread or mashed potatoes?” No fried onions on the green-bean casserole? As if I was randomly finding items to drain our bank! I already knew we were in a tight spot and really couldn't afford the extra expense of food, but I couldn't just not prepare the meal for them. I allowed my mothering to get in the way of common sense.

I should have just ordered a pizza and called it a day.

I was highly irritated by the time I got back to car when child #5 calls me, “Can you pick us up something to eat? We’re starving” Are you serious? The fridge had breakfast items, lunch items, and milk. All they had to do was prepare something.

I replied with some caution, but the answer was “UH NO!” We were not spending another dime. We get back to house where the dishes are still piled in the sink, no one bothered to help take care of them while we were gone so mom could have a clean work area to prep their food for consumption.

I felt my heart begin to palpitate with agitation. Big brother decides to take his totally deprived-of-food siblings for take out. Perfect timing to escape the catastrophe in my kitchen. To top it off, it was a hot day for a holiday such as this and with all this cooking! We had freezing weather just days before, but on Thanksgiving the temp would climb to 80 degrees (but of course – only in Texas) would it change on that day! I was about to go into self-combustion at what felt like 150 degrees in my kitchen.

I have a very small kitchen, 1 counter split between sink that is cluttered with dish drain, coffee pot, and a few small appliances I use often. The table in which I was to work on was covered in groceries and ingredients to prepare meal. Our dining table was stacked with school books and work from all week. I even turned to my desk which sits nearly next to stove and pushed my keyboard aside to chop veggies. I was nearly in tears with frustration and overwhelmed trying to piece together a dinner that was nearly impossible in that tiny overcrowded room we call a kitchen. I felt like I was working in a shoe box.

Why would they call this a room?

The definition according to Merriam Webster dictionary is: An extent of space occupied by or sufficient or available for something <room to run and play>.

There was nothing sufficient about this ‘room’! I had more room in my utility ‘room’ to produce a meal then this tiny over cluttered kitchen. My husband and I bumped into one another like ‘grumpier old men’ as we snarled a few times at one another.

Can you feel the love and gratitude on Thanksgiving? Truth, I was glad to see my children, but I suddenly was cast into this meal preparation I was not prepared for, and I certainly would not have stood on bad ankle serving the day before at a community-wide dinner if I knew I was going to suddenly be operating my kitchen like Chopped off of Food Network.

I was lacking oven and stove-top space. Thank goodness we stuck the turkey in the roaster. I only did that to avoid an overly hot kitchen with oven on all day. But, oh that wasn’t a problem either…because the oven quit working mid-way through cooking and especially after I had placed a rice casserole in.

Can you say crunch crunch? The rice never cooked thoroughly. My adult children looked at me in disbelief when I started to cry during 3rd breakdown in kitchen, this time it was not being able to find utensils to stir food, measuring cups, or anything else I needed for that matter.

My younger children #5, and #6 had flip idly stored them somewhere while putting away dishes, and probably in the same place our missing forks and spoons are.

Like everything else that comes up missing in this house, they grew legs and walked off.

I was increasingly getting upset as no one, hardly offered to come in the kitchen and lend a hand until after my frantic mindset. I was hurt. I was in disbelief that my children in which I have profusely taught charity, and servant-hood for nearly 24 plus years mostly believed in practicing this in someone else’s home…just not with their ‘mom’...well at least not that day. I get it, they are grown working, exhausted too...but not the teens, and besides Hubby was breaking his back over dishes constantly despite being on his feet all week and climbing ladders at work. Yet, they have on many occasions all in one way or another helped out growing up, whether it was changing a siblings diaper, mowing a lawn, cooking dinner, sweeping floors, mechanical work...helping us move...etc...they just weren't feeling it that day.

Everyone headed outside to visit and chit chat as I was still in the kitchen feeling jilted. Hubby even escaped the mayhams of my meltdowns. Finally, my middle son offered up some help on mashing the potatoes.

My eldest son grabbed the ham that wouldn’t fit or cook in oven properly, grabbed some wood and tossed on the grill. My husband grabbed his work torch to roast the sweet potatoes that didn’t cook in oven. It was simply culinary.

Team work was starting to take place. By the time my dinner was cooked, my kitchen looked like Thanksgiving had exploded in it. Overflowing trash, chopped goods on floor, pots stacked in sink, herbs and spices spilled nearly everywhere, foil strung out, my nerves shot, and yet I knew this was the day to be thankful for. I looked around and knew in my heart I had to find a reason to be thankful in all of this mess.

It had been such a difficult week as it was with four major appliance break-downs and two of which took place on Thanksgiving.

An automobile that was profusely leaking from every possible hose as if it were hemorrhaging…from being bludgeoned to death. It's still screaming for its grave. But I keep giving it CPR and hydrating it.

I knew despite the crazy coincidence of crap falling apart, it was still a day to be thankful. As I focused in more on the overcrowded stove, I remembered a time I had no meal to cook.

When I thought of the stove not working right, I remember not having a stove to cook on.

To the right I saw the dishes mounting to be washed once again, and thought of the time when I had no running water.

When I heard my children coming in and out of the house laughing and talking, I was reminded of a time when I thought I wouldn’t live to see them grow diagnosed with an illness that could have been terminal.

When I began to complain about my ankle hurting, I remembered serving an elderly man at the community Thanksgiving meal the day before who had walked for miles on bad legs to bring some food back to his sick wife.

As I moaned over the vehicle trying to stroke out on me, I remember having to walk for several miles to and from work while carrying my first child nearly 30 years ago, and then toting two tots and newborn just years later for nearly 2 years to and from work on the metro. I’ve never had great success with vehicles. They break down often. In part because I have never owned anything new. Not that I don’t desire it, just haven’t been able to. We just finished paying off my middle son’s tonsillectomy, a student loan, $64,000 in medical debt over the course of six children, school fees, and replacing broken appliances over the years. Who can afford a new car payment? Anyhow, getting off track here. I didn’t want to spend my evening stressing or complaining.

I realized I was operating in a Martha mentality:

Luke 10:38-42 (NIV)
At the Home of Martha and Mary
As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!” “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

I didn’t want to be like Martha. I didn’t want the opportunity to visit with my children to pass without me grasping those moments God has graciously allowed for me due to preparations. I served the food, hot or cold, crunchy rice and all, sat down, and finally relaxed as I listened to them tell stories of my interrogation sessions when they were growing up. They all had a good laugh on that one. Just as we were wrapping it up with last visiting son heading out.

Child #1 calls to let me know she was just leaving from her home with goods, by this time the evening was over. She was very disappointed. We were wiped out. Lack of communication really can cause much undo chaos. Planning a get together takes a little work, and needs communication. There is no reason between texting, FaceBooking, Twitter, or Instagram…that a child cannot communicate these days! And there is always the good old fashioned phone call. Hmmmm that’s a new concept. Off my mother ‘soap box’.

Nonetheless, she was able to share her goods with her family. I was blessed to have been able to break bread with five out of the six children I have Thanksgiving. I may have woken up with Monday blues but I believe it had more to do with the fact that days before my tiny kitchen walls held laughter, family, and creative chaos even during the storm of trying to serve up a dinner. It was more than just a blunder in my blender. It was a blessed mess.

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