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An Iffy Spaghetti Encore

Clean-out-the-fridge night stretched into tonight, which is the usual, automatic pizza night. Tonight's prize used food was spaghetti, at least it was once intended to be that.

The noodles, when I cooked them originally, were still hard because I wasn't used to rice noodles. They're weird.

I should have checked them before calling everyone to the table. Mom always said to taste the food first, but I've cooked noodles enough times that I thought I could skip it. Wrong. Mom was right.

Spaghetti the second time around gets thrown in the skillet with the sauce, and I had to hydrate the poor, rigor mortise rice noodles with a large quantity of water.

The glop we had in that pan after a bit of boiling and cooling off was the consistency of modeling clay. I'm sure it could have stood in for modeling clay if we had run out just today.

It's no surprise everyone opted to have grilled cheese, PBJ, and tuna surprise. Tuna surprise was Kris's treat. Yum. It always sounds like eggs-a-ronious from those silly Ernest Goes to Wherever movies.

We had a family night watching The Three Amigos tonight. I don't have time to watch much of anything, so it feels good now and then when I don't have too much work hanging over my head to sit and wewax with my family.

Wewax has to be said in an Elmer Fudd voice. That's the only one that works.

Today ended a week of frantic sewing for me and four of my helpers in the shop. We've all been working as hard and fast as we can, eating Peanut M&Ms for fuel, and fitting all these lovely brides with dresses perfect for them.

I come home covered in thread. It's common to find pins and needles on my floors. We're not trying to be untidy, but if you can imagine a cartoon version of my shop with a flurry of needles and thread flying in a constant cloud, you'd be pretty close to what it's like.

Our poor vacuum in the shop sounds like a sick cow. It's time to clean it again. I've become very quick at pulling apart the bottom, cleaning out the intake, and cutting loose enough threads from the beater bar to make a sweater. It's gross, but those 10 minutes every couple of weeks is nicer than running it to the repair shop all the time.

For now, I can take off Saturday and Sunday to enjoy my family and home, which is where I love to be best.


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