My Stories

Dinner is almost ready but it's proving more difficult than initially anticipated. It was supposed to be a simple stuffed chicken breast with a tomato basil sauce. But it's turning out to be about as simple as doing my taxes. I'm not sure if I should add the basil in the stuffing or carry the one and add 2 dependents.

Dinner is taking most of my focus but not all. My mind somewhat wanders while I cook for the family. I do not hate cooking, I do not enjoy it. It is something that must be done and that is how the rest of my evening will be.

My daughter has a new badge that must be ironed onto her girl scouts uniform. This job will also fall to me as it turns out that Hossmom is about a crafty as a giraffe doing scrapbooking. I don’t know why she isn’t that crafty and what it is that eludes her about such things. She is more of a thinker than builder I suppose. She tried to iron on my daughter’s troop numbers at the beginning but gave up after 45 minutes of cussing and screaming. I took the numbers and went upstairs. I didn’t have the heart to tell Hossmom that the glue wouldn’t stick with the protective paper still on the back. I just tried to finish it quietly, which I did.

After that is done I’m thinking about mopping the floor. The minions are not what you would consider clean eaters. I think the concept would be totally foreign to them. It would be like trying to introduce calculus to them. Without a doubt, ½ a banana or strawberry ends up on the floor under their seats. The dogs won’t touch it because it doesn’t smell like meat or ass. Eventually, the minions feet will smush it into the hardwood when they get up from the dinner table. I’ll use my putty knife to scrape it up but after a few days of this only a good exorcism mopping will get the ghost food stain off the floor.

It’s also homework night and I have promised the kids that if they hunker down and do a good job they can have some cookies that I made today. I made them from scratch, a little trick I taught myself during the long winters of being a stay at home dad. When it’s to damn cold out you have to find stuff to do inside and making cookies from scratch fits the bill. We can also make homemade bread, cakes and once a coconut cream pie. The last one was a complete failure as the coconut cream topping invaded the territory of the filling. There were motions passed, U.N. interventions, and broken peace accords but the topping eventually went on a full out invasion. It was over in a matter of hours. It turned out to be more of a coconut cream soup which wasn’t half bad. I’m thinking of trademarking it.

After all that, it’s bedtime and stories. I’m currently reading Wizard of Oz to my daughter at night. My mom read it to me when I was her age. Although I don’t quite remember the story including so many beheadings. Once again a child hood myth is destroyed. The Wizard of Oz is a very violent book. Extremely violent and scary. I’m sleeping now with the closet light on.

It’s going to be a full evening and it was a full day. But right now I have to concentrate on finishing dinner and chopping this basil. Fresh basil is the best, brings out the true flavor of the dish. I cut my finger though because I’m a bit distracted. Behind me is the laptop and Netflix is running. I’m watching Battlestar Galactica, a series I never watched when it was “reimagined” in the 2000’s. I’m hooked and once again I feel that I must apologize to my wife for the level of nerdery going on. All I’m missing is a beats farm and a job selling paper at a midlevel paper supply company. Bears, beats, Battlestar Galactica.

It’s an interesting show, full of sex, intrigue and betrayal. I do believe that they call these “space operas.”

And that’s when it hits me. Holy crap I’ve become a 1950’s housewife.

What the hell am I doing? I’m cooking dinner thinking about my crafting that I have to do later. I’m going to read a book that doesn’t include robots or a murder mystery where the only guy that can solve it is a lone detective that refuses to let the dead rest. I’m actually stressing about how difficult it is going to be to mop and get the stains off the hardwood floor. I make cookies. I bake cakes. I make homemade bread.

And I have to watch my stories. Sweet merciful Jesus I’m watching my stories while I cook. This is nothing more than a Soap Opera. All I need is for Ricky Martin to make a guest appearance and I’ll gasp at the sexual trifecta that will soon become apparent. I’ll call my friends and discuss it with them while holding the phone with my shoulder so I can tie my apron better.

But this is what my family needs so then this is what my family will get. This makes things run smooth, then so be it. They are happy and I am to. Tonight when my wife gets home to a nice dinner with a good table setting, I’ll pour her a brandy and perhaps even service her later on should the kids give us some alone time and actually stay in their rooms.

However I make you this promise. Tonight the Tinman is a robot, the Scarecrow is an alien hell bent on eating brains and Dorothy has a score to settle with the Wicked Witch of the West. Dorothy has a score to settle. She’s a loner and only she can speak for the countless victims of the Witch. Toto will be played by the part of Edward James Olmos.