Happy New Year! Okay, maybe not so happy. As happy as to be expected during a global pandemic. Fairish New Year? It is a new year, right? It's kind of hard to tell, when you are living the same day, everyday. Existing in some kind of loungewear limbo. Fairish New Year of Loungewear Limbo? Sure. F**k it. Let's go with that.
This holiday was clearly different from years past. Family dinners were replaced with family Zoom meetings. Half of my face attended most of these gatherings. There's only so much room in the computer camera for my husband, the two boys, and the puppy. It was Oreo's first Christmas! Obviously, his adorable, furry self had to be present. So, that left enough room for about 1/2 to 1/3 of my face. But it was a holly jolly half face. Grateful to be able to see the ones that we love, in some form, even if the audio made everyone sound like Beavis and Butt-head. Like, lets open presents, huh huh huh. The crackling of the wrapping paper ripping through the speakers creating a seasonal static.
Since there wasn't going to be any cooking for holiday celebrations with extended family, I decided to try a couple of new recipes. I chose ones that were more time consuming. Steps that take extra care and ingredients that take a little more love. That way, it is even farther to fall, when my sweet babies refuse to eat it. One of these recipes were for meat pies. My sister shared it with me. We are a family of food fanatics. Eating enthusiasts. Grub gurus. Ingestigators? I made the pie dough from scratch and simmered the meat in warm spices. The house smelled amazing! Then I hand wrapped all of those little pies and baked them off. I was so excited to present these little golden brown parcels of precious care to my family. It didn't go great. The littles' reviews were as follows:
"Those look gross."
"Those smell disgusting."
After I picked my pride up off of the floor, I decided that I didn't spend all day on these beauties for them to be flat out rejected, before they are even tasted. F**k that. I calmly explained that they would eat those gorgeous meat pies on their plate, or there would be no dessert. Or snacks for their movie later. My oldest took it like he was a contestant on Fear Factor. Eating it as quickly as possible and taking big sips of water to wash it down. Nice. My youngest, however, was not as easily swayed by threats.
"There will be dessert tomorrow night?" he asked, looking at the his plate with complete disdain. Was he serious? I told him nope. No dessert ever again. Okay, I didn't. But I really wanted to. To his credit, he ate it. It took him forty minutes, but he got that shit down. So much for a new festive favourite.
The holidays were different this year. There were holly jolly half faces and rejected recipes. But, it was still special. And I am pretty sure that a year ended and a new one began. So, Fairish New Year of Loungewear Limbo! In the words of my youngest:
"I don't ever want to see those meat pies again."
Does Mommy need to lose her shit?
Not this week.
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