Weapons of Mass Destruction

What could this be?

Anyone? Beuller??

It is this. Or these.

Santa brought me not one, but two of these big beauties.

We have one cast iron skillet. It's 10 inches. It doesn't hold a whole pound of bacon.

It doesn't fit 4 haddock fillets at one time. Liver and onions (droooool) requires two batches of onions and countless batches of liver pieces.

It's like cooking with dollhouse furniture.

As you can imagine, it doesn't see much use in this house. It is, however, the first pan I reach for when presented with meat, fish, potatoes...most everything.

This year, Santa decided it was time to upgrade to the 12 inch. And for good measure (and because he knows it will get used here) he threw in the 16inch.

butter and an egg, for scale. And my crooked fingers.

Holy Moly. Now THAT's what I'm talking about! I can't lift it. Even with two hands.

But that's okay; I don't plan to take it for walks.

Clearly, there is more to the story of the cast iron skillet, as the title of this post implies.

Let's just say that without The Old Ten-incher, there would likely have been a Thing One-And-A-Half, and one completely insane postpartum Mother breastfeeding Two Things.

(Note to OB/GYN's everywhere: Six weeks my left foot!)

I slept with that skillet for a year.

Only had to use it once. Cast Iron Rocks.

Apparently, I eventually fell asleep.

He's not at all sure this was a good idea.

p.s. We'd already used the big one, and I took pictures before we'd oiled it. Distract yourself from the soiled-looking interior by looking at my filthy stove.

Wait....

What?

The Day After

I have a foodover.

That's a food hangover. Ouch. Ugh. Ack.

Christmas was fabulous. The food was done in time, the presents were wrapped in time; we ate, we opened, we gave thanks and were grateful.

And then we ate again.

We're still eating.

I am far, far too lazy to post any pictures today. I may actually put clothes on today, but as it's just past noon, my enthusiasm for doing so is beginning to wane.

(Meanwhile, Chris just left here. Thing One got to the shower before me, and I am in my favorite (read:ratty) pj's. Chris doesn't count.)

I leave you with this: The Things got a new wii game. It contains many active games, one of which is Swordplay. Thing One is a champion boxer (on the wii), and has made it her goal to dominate in this game as well.

The Big Guy decided to give her a run for her money. He was giving it all he had, swinging like a madman. he got in ONE hit, and she yelled, "Hey, you just hit a girl!"

He paused for a split second...and she nailed him. Knocked him right off the platform.

I hear the rustle of tin foil calling to me...somebody just took the baked stuffed shrimp out again, and I must have one. Or two....

To My Everyday Heroes:

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas to the men and women in our Armed Forces, who are standing guard for us tonight and every night.

Merry Christmas to those who will work tonight, and miss seeing their small children's faces filled with awe and delight when they run to the tree in the morning.

Merry Christmas to those who will have to leave in the wee hours to get to work, and miss it.

A very special Merry Christmas to you, the health care workers who staff the hospitals and clinics 24 hours, and to whom the word 'holiday' has a whole 'nother meaning; namely, which ones will I be missing with my family?

Hats off to you; you Emergency Services personnel and the support staff who stand beside them on holidays and weekends all year.

Policemen and women, our Military, firefighters, doctors, nurses, clerical staff, janitorial service workers, security staff, all of you who toil through the holidays and nights and weekends, the 'off' hours, while the rest of the world sleeps.

For I remember it well.

Thank You. Bless you. And Merry Christmas.

It is not without sacrifice that I am able to 'stay home' with my kids.

And tonight, it's worth every hardship, every sideways look I get when I mention 'I live on an island', all the extra work it takes to make a life here.

I know I am blessed beyond words to have the ability to be here when my little Griswolds-in-training hit that tree in the morning.

I wonder who is more excited??

p.s. Every year at Christmas I am reminded of an old friend, Nelson O., for whom I once worked 36 hours straight so he could have the time off with his small children over Christmas. (ouch, though. Never. Again.) I pulled his name out of a hat; there were many on that shift in the same predicament. I was young and single and had a huge family cooking for me; they were parents with little kids who wouldn't be home Christmas morning. He was overjoyed! It remains, to this day, one of the Best Things I have ever done for anybody.

Merry Christmas, Nelson, wherever you are!