Liralen Li (liralen) wrote,
Liralen Li

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"I watch you cook."

I had a very busy work day. John took Jet off to Joan's. He said that the parking lot for the polling place was just jammed, so didn't even try to vote in the morning.

I had meetings from 8-1, and had six meetings in that time period. By the time I was done with all that I was ready for some time alone. So I went home, ate some lunch, and then went to vote. I'd seen John drive off in the middle of the morning and drive back a bare 20 minutes later, so I knew it couldn't have been too bad unless he'd just given up again, but that would have taken even less time.

So at 2, I hit the polls and didn't have to wait at all. That was great.

I think I took longer to fill in all the boxes than I took to get to a booth. That was good. There were a lot of local issues that I cared a lot about, and it was good to get all that done along with the Big Stuff.

I will admit, now, that I hate Bush, with a passion. He and his staff are liars, people want nothing more than to dictate my morality, and an idiot. I've never been tolerant of stupidity and probably never will be. But it's not as if I think Kerry's that much better. He's just Not Bush. There is some niggling black part of my heart that does say that if Bush gets another four years, everyone that voted for him will get what they deserve and the rest of us can blame them for it. Whoever "wins" is going to have a hard time of it with the mess Bush has already made of it all.


Doesn't help to have half a dozen emails and notes from folks from other countries saying that they're hoping Americans will come to their senses. I'll do my part, but I know it's not just me.

Anyway. I voted. I did my part.

I went back to work for a bit, did some things, then ran off to get Jet at Joan's.

First thing he wants to do is go swimming. When it finally sinks in that we are NOT going swimming or to Salad, he starts to ask for McDonald's. So I say, okay, Momma's going to start making dinner, when it's mostly done, Daddy will go with you to get McDonald's. He seems okay with that until we pull into the garage. "NOooooooO! I want to go to McDonald's with Momma and get my food NOW."

It's not a terrible contradiction and it lets John stay at work later and he has a lot of catching up to do. So Jet and I go to McDonalds and get him his dinner. We bring it home. He places every piece carefully on his placemat, asks to say grace, and then stares at me, "Where's your food?" he asks.

"I don't have any food. I was going to cook my food, and then get your food so your food doesn't get cold." I will admit to complete exasperation at this point. I scold him a bit about how my plan was better, and then I realize he just doesn't have all the scheduling and consequences connected up, yet, in his head. He just doesn't have the ability to comprehend what I'm trying to get across and he bursts into tears.

I hug him, reassure him that I love him lots even if I'm exasperated with what he's doing. He cries for a bit more, but soon settles down as I try to simply explain what I had hoped to do.

He sits up, thinks, "Momma. You cook your food and eat with me. My food is getting warm. It's too hot."

"But it's going to get cold."

"No! It's going to get warm. It's too hot right now. I watch you cook."

Simple answers to simple problems. So I get up, set him at the counter so he can watch me, and I cook. I take the whole chicken, pull out the back ("Momma! You're hurting the chicken! You're cutting it." I explain about how it's already dead so I can't hurt it anymore, just like the chicken in his nuggets are already dead, so it doesn't hurt them for him to eat them. He absorbs this.), crack the keel bone, and spread it out. I smash garlic, pepper, salt, and thyme together, and spread the resultant paste under the skin of the chicken. I heat up a cast iron skillet, oil the bird, and when the skillet is good and hot, I slap the chicken in it. I then take a soup kettle, put five quarts of water in it, cover the bottom with foil, and put it on top of the chicken. Much sizzling ensues.

Pressed chicken without the hundreds of dollar press.

It goes quick. 13 minutes one side, 17 the other and it's done. I make stuffing, microwave broccoli, and we have dinner. John comes home while I'm cooking. He tends to a bunch of things until I'm done.

We all sit down to dinner.

"Jet, is your food cold?"

"I'll touch it to see." Jet says, climbing up on to his chair, he presses his hand against his chicken, his fries, and his drink, "Warm. Warm. Warm! See it's all good and warm." he says cheerfully. Good sport.

We say grace. We eat.

I was impressed that Jet was willing to stick with the consequences of his choices.

I am exhausted, though, by the time all this is done. I watch voting returns for a little while, but then just give up and go to bed. I ask Jet, three times, if it's okay that I just go to sleep and he says sure, each time.

I go to bed. Next thing I know I hear a "Nooooooooo!!! I want Momma!" down the hallway... and then John opening the door very quickly and whispering, "See... Momma's asleep." A half sniffle, half acknowledgment from Jet, and they go their own way again. I went to sleep.

John took care of all the night duties and I was very thankful.

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