Today was Monday. A good Monday. Monday are always a food day in our house. I go shopping and then whoreganize everything. Today I rotated and inventoried the food storage and it might have been the best time I have had all month. Gosh, food storage thrills me. It brings out my inner hoarder. It's like socially-acceptable hoarding. Encouraged hoarding. Right up my alley.
While I was fawning over my food storage, Violet snuck the bag of mini cucumbers and ate 10 of them. 10. Then she moved onto the Go Gurts, her favorite prey. She downed 3 of those. And then she annihilated the last hard boiled egg. Luckily the apples weren't set out, otherwise one of those would have been gutted and then the remains would have been hidden under the couch. The girl can PUT IT AWAY.
Once Violet was finished eating the house and Van was plucked from preschool, I made myself a little lunchy veggie omelet and sat down to do my most hated thing in all of the time of ever. Paperwork. Even typing it makes me want to throw up all over my keyboard. I hate bills and forms and anything that requires me to followup with anything ever. But sometimes it can be a good thing. Like how I found a parking ticket that the Provo Police gifted to Ethan almost a freaking year ago. Fun fact about our pal Ethan my husband: he SUCKS at taking care of policey things. Tickets, court and rules in general. True or false: Ethan has been arrested for not showing up to a court date about a traffic ticket. It's true. He called me to come bail him out and I said "I will be there soon". And then I let Van finish his nap, I made a lovely dinner of grilled salmon and rice pilaf, bathed the boys, put them to bed, drove to Sonic and got a big fat Coke Zero with vanilla and then I fetched my felon. Ethan, I promise I love you.
During dinner I added to my list of kitchen injuries. Caught my knuckle on the cheese grater. A few days ago it was a steam burn on my finger. Last week I sliced my finger. I excel at hurting myself in the kitchen. My hands and arms have scores of scars. But don't tell my dad. He truly gets mad at me. Last year, I got a super duper bad burn from some hot oil. I showed my mom and she immediately told me not to show Dad. Eventually he found out, I think one of my sisters tattled, and he called me and demanded a confession. And then I was scolded.
Last night while watching "Cutthroat Kitchen" with Ethan, I was reminded of a little story from a few months ago. A little while ago, my friend sent me a link to a casting call for a Food Network show asking for home cooks to compete in a Master Chef-type competition. So I sent in an application. It wasn't long and it took a few minutes so I thought it wouldn't hurt to try. I did it and didn't give it another thought. A few days later, I got a call from Los Angeles. It was a casting agent for the Food Network. We had a phone interview and the lady on the other end was super nice and fun. It went really well. She asked me to go further in the casting process. "You are just the type of person we are looking for!" And she loved the fact that I wrote a cookbook. Oh boy. Nerve-wracking. I was emailed a bunch of paperwork to fill out and background check and all. I talked to my mom and sister and they were setting up people to help with my submission video. But I still wasn't sure if this was something I should commit to. Then came General Conference (a big weekend of Mormon talks and sermons). It seemed like so many talks were about motherhood. "Allow yourself to focus on your children for the small season they are in." "Don't let the world make you feel unfulfilled by motherhood." Usually, I wouldn't think much about those type of thoughts, but this time, I got the message loud and clear. For me right now, it's okay to do exactly what I am doing in my life. I am up to my eyeballs in being a mother. I know I won't ever regret doing what I do now. So I turned down the opportunity. And guess what, I had forgotten all about it until now. I suppose I wasn't missing out on anything after all.