crazy mixed up family stuff
This year my dad's birthday coincided with President's Day. Can I tell you it was a disaster?
My sisters planned a lovely dinner to honor my father. Asked me to pick up a bottle of champagne and make a stop at the bakery, which I did. Dortoni, the Italian bakery by Drew's house, does a beautiful French cheesecake with a luscious fruit topping, and I also picked up a raspberry mousse cake.
And they would do everything else. Except that they didn't shop for the ingredients for the lovely dinner until 4:00 Monday afternoon. Didn't start cooking until almost 6:00. I don't know what went on in that kitchen, I walked out when H burned the garlic and shallots and had a major meltdown.
The menu was supposed to include a Tuscan vegetable soup, garlic bread, penne a la vodka and chicken marsala. Except that when we sat down to eat, sometime after 10:30, they hadn't yet made the marsala.
And then came the drama.
I don't say anything because I know what would happen if I did. Even though I bought the champagne, the cakes, and a good deal of the groceries, I'm likely to hear the old refrain that I "don't contribute anything".
But Becca...She'd come out to the house for the day, had class the following day. She had a meltdown, and honestly, I don't blame her. Jen wound up driving her back to school, and neither of them had any dinner.
I suspect the family had birthday cake when Jen came home. I wouldn't know, I went to bed around 12:30.
My father had a good time, though. He enjoyed the food and the wine, and he was reminiscing about the trip he took to Paris with my mother many years ago.
And I think that's the bottom line. When you're 87 years old, you deserve to enjoy your birthday.
My sisters planned a lovely dinner to honor my father. Asked me to pick up a bottle of champagne and make a stop at the bakery, which I did. Dortoni, the Italian bakery by Drew's house, does a beautiful French cheesecake with a luscious fruit topping, and I also picked up a raspberry mousse cake.
And they would do everything else. Except that they didn't shop for the ingredients for the lovely dinner until 4:00 Monday afternoon. Didn't start cooking until almost 6:00. I don't know what went on in that kitchen, I walked out when H burned the garlic and shallots and had a major meltdown.
The menu was supposed to include a Tuscan vegetable soup, garlic bread, penne a la vodka and chicken marsala. Except that when we sat down to eat, sometime after 10:30, they hadn't yet made the marsala.
And then came the drama.
I don't say anything because I know what would happen if I did. Even though I bought the champagne, the cakes, and a good deal of the groceries, I'm likely to hear the old refrain that I "don't contribute anything".
But Becca...She'd come out to the house for the day, had class the following day. She had a meltdown, and honestly, I don't blame her. Jen wound up driving her back to school, and neither of them had any dinner.
I suspect the family had birthday cake when Jen came home. I wouldn't know, I went to bed around 12:30.
My father had a good time, though. He enjoyed the food and the wine, and he was reminiscing about the trip he took to Paris with my mother many years ago.
And I think that's the bottom line. When you're 87 years old, you deserve to enjoy your birthday.
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