Brigid Day

I had just finished a brief phone call and went into the living room to survey the level of toy mess.  I glanced up at the clock and it said 4:00pm.  Whoa!  How did that happen?  It was just 2:30 not too long ago.  Time sometimes gets away from me when we are out and about, and even sometimes during the morning, but the afternoon rarely races by, especially on a rainy day when we are stuck inside.  So I went to the kitchen to begin a plan for dinner.  (I am beginning to see why I don’t get as much done as I would sometimes like – a lot of planning and surveying, not much doing…)

I get to the kitchen which is a mere three steps from the living room and glance at that clock which kind of slaps me in the face by saying 3pm.  Huh?  Check living room clock again to be sure I haven’t lost it.  4:00pm.  Kitchen – 3pm.  What?  So I take a moment to think about it.  The living room clock is battery operated, so if it were to start telling the wrong time it would be slow, not fast.  The kitchen clock is also battery operated, but the oven clock and microwave clock are electric and all agree it’s only 3:00pm.  Glance at living room clock again, notice couches that my husband moved this weekend curiously close to the wall the clock is on.  Notice pile of pillows curiously directly below the clock.  Damn.  It’s only 3pm.

That hour that was robbed from me, not robbed in a physical sense, but robbed in the mental sense, then took five hours to pass.  No lie.  Time started standing still.  Ugh.

Maggie appeared and I asked her if she had moved the hands on the clock.  She said she wasn’t sure.  That was just a momentary stall to figure out how bad the situation was.  Then she said that a tiny little mouse snuck into the house and he moved the hands on the clock.  I asked if it was hickory, dickory dock and she lit up and said “Yes!  Hickory, DickoryDock, the mouse snuck in the house, the clock struck one, he changed the time and down he run.”  She seemed quite pleased with herself.

After the hour finally passed and it was really time to make a plan for dinner, into the kitchen I went.  I got out the chicken that I had bought at the grocery earlier today.  Let me start by saying I hate raw chicken.  I hate buying it, I hate putting it in my cart (I usually stow it on the bottom rack so it doesn’t contaminate any of my food), I hate touching it, I hate cooking it, and by then, I hate eating it.  It totally grosses me out.  Today I got home from the grocery to find the chicken in a plastic bag next to the ground beef, not in a plastic bag, next to the kids yogurt and our cheese!  Gross!!!  Raw meat does NOT go with ready to eat foods.  Ever!

I began cooking chicken and over-cooked the outside while the inside was still raw – one of my specialities.  I finally cussed the chicken and vowed to never buy/cook chicken again.  We eat plenty of it out and the kids barely do that anymore because they think it will taste horrible like the chicken I make at home.  So no more raw chicken for me, thank you very much.  Maybe in the dead of winter when I want the oven on I will try again, but if I never saw another piece of raw chicken I would be a happy woman.

So, now I am off to eat a big piece of chocolate.