It has been a busy few days over here at Casa de Merrill. We have a full house of east coasters, with more scheduled to arrive in the next few days. We’re even going to have a pair of Aussies with us for Christmas, which will turn our holiday into an international affair!
Tuesday was a multicultural shin-dig at Karis’ school. Each family was supposed to bring a dish from their country of origin. Karis wanted to do something Italian. I put on my thinking cap and decided the easiest way to feed seventy-five people would be Italian Wedding Soup! I am obviously inexperienced in providing meals for massive school functions. Soup? What kind of an idiot brings soup to a function that doesn’t have bowls? This idiot, right here.
Also, I should mention that it was a vegetarian version of Italian Wedding Soup, and some may view that as sacrilegious, but I bet you’d never know the difference if I didn’t have to announce it on a recipe card in case you’re allergic to deliciousness.
The kids all gathered on the little multipurpose room stage to sing a few songs. I got excited to see Karis in the front row, then another group of kids came to stand in front of her, effectively blocking her completely because she wasn’t on a riser like the other rows. I was totally bummed. Karis couldn’t have been happier. She is a master hider. Even if she had been in the front row, she would have somehow managed to wedge herself behind the kid to either side of her. I can only assume the wall of cameras pointed at her made it that much worse. I swear, the Hollywood paparazzi have nothing on the parents of Orange County.
I have officially acclimated to the Southern California weather. That, coupled with my Raynaud’s means I am beginning a quasi-hibernative state. (I think I just made up that word. If you’re reading this site, you are obviously possessed of a higher intelligence, and therefore able to figure out that I mean it is very hard for me to get out of bed. I’m cold, dammit!) I think my next novel heroine will have a mild case of Raynaud’s disease. (Raynaud’s disease – not to be mistaken for Raynaud’s syndrome – is basically a fancy diagnoses for people who have extremely shitty circulation in their extremities. I usually have purple, frozen fingers.) The hero to my next heroine will happily let her put her frozen hands and feet on his warm torso. I actually had my husband put that into his wedding vows. It didn’t work. Luckily, he takes the rest of his vows seriously.
Okay, Internet. I’m off to soak my hands in a nice hot tub of water. What’s that? Why don’t I just do the dishes? Oh, Internet, it’s like you don’t know me at all.