I have a confession to make.
I *may have* just used my five day leftover butternut squash soup as personal taco leverage
by asking my husband, Justin, to pick up Mexican food on his way home from work for us all (since I don’t want to cook)
and then when he said he didn’t really feel like stopping anywhere today,
I just casually threw out,
“That’s OK. There are plenty of leftovers here anyway.”
Friends,
I know full-well that we have been eating off of that giant pot of soup I made last week like
this is the actual Great Depression.
We are one step away from eating it barefoot on a stoop, all from the same bowl,
pictured in black and white as we stare off into the stark distance.
I have served it as the main dish, and as a side.
I briefly considered drizzling it on waffles and calling it breakfast.
I tend to show no self-control when making big pots of things.
I blame it on my Southern grandmother’s genetics.
My personality is good, OK?
I can’t be absolute perfection in EVERY area.
I have tried to show restraint to the amounts I put in pots, but let’s just say one night of pasta here could be marketed to the town as a fundraiser.
My girls have even gone so far as to say that the sight of me getting the big pot down from the cupboard is enough to trigger a trauma response in them, because they know that what is coming next could be labled “Everlasting Dinner.”
It’s been days of Same Dinner, Different Plate.
One day I promise I’ll judge portions better.
We even had the squash soup last night, after a brief sniff-test, in brand new fancy bowls that I got for my birthday.
It was clear by the way Justin winced and said,
“Oh. You’re…..finally using these dishes,” he was trying to will himself to remember every second we ever spent in couple’s counseling, and to force his face into submission.
He has reached the absolute end of his leftover tolerance with this soup.
*hangs head*
My confession is that I, Kerri Green, knew that,
and used it to my pollo ascado advantage.
He has put up with the girls having boyfriends,
and me bringing home a cow that stared in through the sliding glass door as we ate Christmas dinner,
but he draws the line at Butternut Soup Day Six.
He didn’t say it with words necessarily,
it was more of the way his inhale kind of rattled.
I am pretty sure no one has ever more quickly decided they had suddenly mustered the energy
for stopping somewhere they hadn’t planned on.
I am happy to report T-minus One Hour to Tacos for me.
Dear ones,
I am no dummy.
*taps fingertips together*
Earlier in the week I was saying to my friends that, for some reason, when I make banana bread I feel at the height of domesticality;
Like I have somehow reached the pinnacle of what could be expected of me because –
“JUST LOOK AT ME OVER HERE USING UP EVERYTHING.”
It matters not that these are brown and decaying!
Just watch me transform it into sustenence!
Like indiginous people using up every part of the whale:
Banana bread!
I am practically an Ingalls!
Really, this is just all in that same vein.
It’s just me utilizing every part of a meal:
The actual food, and the idea of it.
They say leftovers are only good for a certain amount of days,
But I say keep them, and just continue using them in other ways that are creative.
Follow me for more tips and tricks on keeping your home life flourishing.
ME: *Day 9*
*stares into the open refrigerator with no intention of withdrawing a single thing*
“There’s more butternut squash soup……
Or, we could just call in a pizza.”
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
