Bounding Through the Snow and Yesterday’s Dinner

We were more or less snowbound, after having received about a foot of snow. “Snow-schmow” I said, and we dug ourselves out of the driveway to attend a Christmas recital that my daughter was performing in. She did not want to leave the house, having not awakened until past noon. My husband did not want to leave either, since golf was going to start about the time the recital was ending. I didn’t want to leave either, but we committed to the recital, and the conservatory did not postpone it due to the weather. I figured if they were hearty enough to get to the recital, so were we.

It was a hair-raising trip to the faraway northern suburb where we were supposed to be at 2 p.m. We barely made it off our side street and onto the main thoroughfare. On the way, we saw numerous cars in the ditch. It was still snowing and the snow was drifting in the stiff wind. Conditions were treacherous; however, we made it safely.

On the way, both my husband and daughter were complaining about having to attend with the weather being so nasty. My daughter accused me of being a “stage” mom, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. Music is very important to me, as is fulfilling commitments once you make them. If I was a bona fide stage mom, I’d have had her butt auditioning for serious parts years ago.

I like these little recitals. I’ve actually attended some where my kids weren’t even playing. They start with the youngest kids and work their way up from there. Attending them always makes me reminisce about my children’s first recitals. The first pianist was a little girl who could not have been more than four years old. She was preciously plinking out “I Saw Three Ships” with her mother. By the time they ended, with my daughter playing a rather tricky arrangement of “The First Noel”, I was feeling all warm and glowing. Her tone was magnificent, and even though she stumbled at the end, she recovered nicely.

When we finally arrived home, I started making dinner, which was a stuffed roast chicken. Soon after, my daughter’s boyfriend arrived, in his big Cadillac. As I was finishing up making the gravy and the vegetables, he proceeded to make Kraft macaroni and cheese, at the bequest of my very spoiled daughter.

I could tell he had made this dish for my daughter before. He knew where all the pots and pans and utensils were, and where all of the ingredients were in the fridge. I teased him about being Chef Boy-ar-Dee, and we successfully dodged each other around the kitchen island. Then I thought that the poor boy is totally whipped. My daughter was downstairs in the basement begging my husband for something. Then she was going to subject The Boyfriend to yet another viewing of “The Notebook.” I sympathized with him and told him that even I would not subject my husband to a viewing of “The Notebook” because it’s too much of a chick flick for him.

Though we offered, they didn’t want to have roast chicken for dinner. Too bad, as it was the most delicious roast chicken I’ve made in a very long time!