I am a Grinch

        Today did not have the ideal beginning. It's Wednesday, so it's my day to cook and clean and take care of problems that may arise. In the past week, we've started registering families to participate in a Christmas gift give-away sort of thing, like Angel Tree, or whatever. You know, when you walk into your church and there's a list of families and what they want for Christmas? That's what we've been doing all week, and preparing for for weeks before. The lists are made by appointment, so if a person who registered didn't get a phone call for an appointment, they weren't selected to receive gifts. Some people don't understand that, so they come anyway.

          We also ran out of beans this week, so I substituted some chicken-and-rice. So I had to boil the chicken to cook it. While I was working on the chicken, the doorbell rang. At the door were 3 Mayan women who wanted to register their children. I figured, “Eh, what the heck, it can't hurt to put them on a wait list.” So I did. Turns out it was a bad idea. They went and told all their friends to show up.

          While I was registering them, the chicken boiled over. So then I was trying to take chicken off the bone, re-heat beans on the stove, and cut bread all at the same time. And the doorbell kept ringing, and Mayan families kept wanting to register. I ended up telling them that we couldn't accept any more people at this time, which was HORRIBLE because their children were right there, listening to me say that they couldn't get Christmas presents this year. I felt like such a grinch. While I was answering the door and trying to get across to these women what was going on, my rice burned and my beans burned and glued themselves to the bottom of the pot. Then I was trying to cut bread really quickly to make up for lost time and I sliced right across my finger, right at the tip, where it's the most pain-in-the-ass place to bandage. As soon as I dealt with my spurting finger, the doorbell rang again, with more Mayan families. I almost burst into tears right then, except that's not something I do. I was like “Seriously, if my whole day is like this, I'm going to dissolve into a little puddle and just give up.”

            So then I kicked an empty fork box across the floor really hard. It didn't go very far, but I felt better. Then I cut up some oranges, so the kitchen smelled like oranges instead of burned things. But then I burned my wrist on a 400 degree pan, so now neither hand is fully functional......

           So it goes.