Happy Food Poisoning Day

Thanksgiving brings up several memories for me. At the time, they weren’t so funny… but today, I can laugh and now you can too. You’re welcome.

In 2000, we finally moved into a home of our own. My husband’s family visited for Thanksgiving. I was a new wife and mom and the thought of cooking for all 20+ of them made me excited, nervous and grateful for Martha Stewart’s magazine.

I had never cooked a turkey before, nor had I cooked a pie from scratch. But with my mother and father in law coming to town with their spouses (yep, they all get along), all seven brother-in-laws and two sisters-in-law plus my baby niece, I was determined to make the best-tasting Thanksgiving dinner with the most variety in hopes to appease the masses.

I should have known that I was overdoing it when my adorable groom said, “This is stupid, my family doesn’t need anything fancy. They are going to eat, chill, eat and leave.”

Pfffffffffttttt……whatever!

The trip to the grocery store was hilarious at best. My hubby stayed home with our baby girl and let me take the reins. After I came home—with $350 in groceries—he never let me shop for the big meals, or any meals, again.

I gladly engaged in an argument over money. You see, I bought a Martha Stewart Magazine earlier in the week. I wrote out all the ingredients for the turkey and the 5 pies that I was going to bake plus all the sides. Not being remotely familiar with any of the spices, creams, broths or this thing called bullion, I had to buy all new stuff. So yeah, it was expensive. "But baby—it will be sooooo worth it!”

Next, we thawed the 25-lb bird. Now, most people have to keep their dog away from the bird. We didn’t have this problem. We only had a cat. Who hated water. But in the middle of the night, he decided to swim into the sink—numerous times—to retrieve the neck and the bag of gizzards and liver. We woke up at about 6 a.m. to a sick cat, half a turkey neck and baggie of organs strewn throughout the kitchen. This too should have been a sign….but I didn’t listen.

Cooking began at 7 a.m. and ended with a wonderful meal. Turkey, all the fixens’, five pies…it all turned out great! I was thrilled….afterwards, my husband commented how delicious it was—ha ha! I did it! Albeit $350 lighter, we were happy….until 3:00 a.m.

I woke up to hearing a sound that I cannot define in words. My groom was in the guest bathroom—as to not awake me—how sweet. Now, I can’t tell if he was crying, and he would never admit it, but I can tell you that he was moaning in agony in between loud bouts of explosive diarrhea and excessive amounts of vomit.

My poor baby had the flu….or did he?

About an hour went by with no reprieve. I felt so sad that he was coming down with something. Come to think of it, I wasn’t feeling that well either. I was a bit gassy, but that was it. My stomach ached a little. I probably just ate too much…right?

He was ill for about four hours. Then, he slept. The entire next day, he stayed on the couch and made frequent trips to the throne. I still had a little tummy ache, but nothing too bad. I might have even left to go shopping!

About two days went by and my man had bounced back from that bug. Then the phone rang. He answered. And this is what I heard:

“Hello…what? Really? Who? Everyone? Me too!” And with this he glared at me…”Was she admitted? Is she ok? Mom too? Holy Shit…who else? Have you talked to Dad? No one? Then it couldn’t have been the turkey. Are you better? Is she home? I’ll call her. Sorry bro.”

What ensued after was one of the worst feelings I have ever felt. In my attempt to be like Martha, I unintentionally gave half of my husband’s family food poisoning. In fact, my baby niece, sister in-law and mother in-law had to get IVs at the hospital to rehydrate them.

His father’s side didn’t get sick at all.

We traced it back to that chocolate crème pie. The one with whipping cream. The one that stayed on the counter, above the dishwasher, while I did at least 3 loads of dishes that day. The one that his father’s side didn’t sample (lucky bastards). The one that his mother’s side inhaled. And they all got violently ill. Thankfully, my baby didn’t get sick, but my baby niece was very ill.

I have never lived this down. Although it has gotten me out of cooking for the past decade, I still feel bad every thanksgiving when I think about it.

The funny thing is……They came back 30 days later for Christmas…and I fucked up again. But you’ll have to wait to hear that. It will be a great Christmas Eve story.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

I'mmmm baaaackkkkk

I’m back. And in full swing of things again. It’s been 9 weeks since we returned from our vacation. In that time, we bought a new car (boooo! for car payments), I turned 36, Rich started school, my job became increasingly busy, I took a month off of doing comedy shows, the Giants won the World Series and blogging has taken a much deserved back seat, but so have my workouts.

There is one thing I have learned in the past 9 weeks—if I am not blogging, I am not logging.....miles that is.

So about a week ago, I was talking about going to the gym and my daughter overheard me. She was super excited. Even when I came home and was too tired to get my shoes on. She egged me on to go. I even got a little bit irritated because I felt that she was “guilting” me into going…but that wasn’t true. She needed this just as much as I did. So, we went. I explained to her that I didn’t want to go, but afterwards, I knew I would thank her. And I did.

The next day, I scoped out a new 5k run and I started running again. And I almost cried. It’s harder than it was 9 weeks ago, but I still killed a mile in 12 minutes. I pushed myself to do that. I was very sore the next day, but I love that feeling.

Running is a reminder that time happens at the speed of life and in that time, I can choose to run and clear my mind, cleanse my body and open my heart, or I could just as easily become a recluse, gain my weight back and project anger for things that are out of my control.

There are many things out of my control right now, and I must surrender them. I can't choose the outcomes. I can't change anyone's mind. But I can chose to run.

Running has given me strength, both physically and mentally. I like the endorphins in my brain after a hard run. I feel high, and things are clear. Life seems manageable. Problems that I dwelled on earlier diminish. And I get to spend real quality time with my daughter. Plus, I feel like a size 6 and avoid mirrors so that my energy stays elevated.

And so I run. And she works out in her part of the gym. And our sweaty faces greet each other as she takes the last of my water bottle, which I have secretly saved just for her. And we hold hands and walk out of the gym into the crisp air and a stunning sunset. And then we chat.

I cherish our conversations on the way home from the gym. Out hearts continue to pound from the exercise and our excited words flow freely—without judgment, with a clear mind. I am more present for her than I ever am and she opens up and talks as if she knows this is the safest environment she will ever have. With daddy at school, our conversations continue at home and into the evening while we listen to music, fold laundry and play games or light candles.

So, the other night, we spoke about religion. This blog will have to be continued so that I can properly present my words because I was raised right. I don’t talk about politics, religion or sex in public. But this is my blog and I can do what I want to….so stay tuned!

To be continued…..