For dinner tonight we had shiskabobs with sweet potato, apples from our own apple tree, ham from our own pig, zucchini from next door, and pineapple. Served with our own sweet corn and brown rice.
Well,it could have been…
The epic badness I called dinner started around 4:30 while mixing everything up in the bag of marinade. As I mushed and mixed my bag exploded spewing juice and chunks all over me and the floor. Of course a dog came running, and since I had no extras of any of the ingredients on hand I shoved the dog away, while frantically scooping everything up into a strainer and then attempted to wash it off in the sink. It was one of those times where you’d like to throw a fit and cry but since you are the mom nobody is going to help anyway so you might as well just swear a few times and get on with it.
So I did. Rinsed off, re-bagged, re-marinated, refrigerated, and well cursed, only a few hairs were left when it was time to make the skewers. Already dinner was not looking as delicious but I still had hope. Then John was late. This was a problem because clearly shiskabobs go on the grill, and clearly I have no business going anywhere near a grill. In fact I’m pretty sure the last time I tried I was 21 in collage and drinking enough beer that it didn’t matter how my brats (in buns!) turned out. As John was delayed later and later I decided to bite the bullet and do it myself. It’s a grill, its charcoal, how hard can it be right? I can start fires, I can cook over fires, Ivy says she’ll help.
Turns out Ivy is no help.
At this point I’m still hoping that John will swoop in and save us, but it seems to be going OK… and going and going and going… then I realize that I am slow cooking my shiskabobs.
In case that didn’t make you gag, let me just let you know right now that slow cook shiskabobs that include ham are not good, not good at all. The girls and I are hungry so we eat it some anyway. Ivy eats very little, then feeds the rest of hers to Storm while I am not looking. It’s bad enough I don’t even have the heart to yell at her for it.
All of a sudden I realized it was 7:00 (Clara’s bed time) I had more to grill, Clara seriously need a bath, food was out on the picnic table where the dog would grab it if I didn’t put it away, Ivy wanted to play in her sprinkler and John still wasn’t home.
-stripped my filthy dirty daughter Clara naked
-brought food inside
-found Ivy’s swim suit
-put rest of dinner on grill (still assuming John will show up any moment)
-set up sprinkler
-moved Clara over to play in sprinkler with Ivy
-finished cleaning up dishes from outside
-took dinner off grill, stashed in microwave so the dogs wouldn’t get it
-went to go get Clara for her shower (and mine too, don’t forget the spewing bag incident)
When I reached the girls Ivy looked at me and asked “Mom, what’s on your shorts?” After a flurry of questions, answers and running around the yard I confirmed that Clara had pooped near the picnic table and I had carried her over to the sprinkler with out noticing, getting poop on my shorts, shirt, legs…
John got home while I was upstairs putting Clara down to bed. As soon as I got downstairs I told him that while dinner was in the microwave he might want to be careful, since in addition throwing it on the floor, and slow cooking it I also had probably moved it around two different times with poop on my hands, but that I had only touched the wooden skewers so if he was feeling brave he could probably cut the food off instead of sliding it off, discard the end pieces and still salvage some of dinner.
Part way through my explanation John got a funny look on his face…I guess he was hungry when he got home.
John went and had a shot of Scotch, and I re-gave up grilling.