Thursday, November 27, 2008

Pickin' the turkey

Turkeys to the left of me!
Jokers to the right!
Here I am stuck in the middle with my glass of nice warm brandy.
-Bob Dylan (Opa´s remix)

Thanksgiving was a great excuse for me to leave work early. Yeah, sorry everyone. I gotta go stuff my face and drink mass quantities of alcohol. You guys have fun with the whole 'work' thing, Yes, I know I can be a real ass sometimes. If you don't believe me, first re-read any blog where Angie is mentioned. If that does not work, just ask her.

We went to Grams & Opa's for the big bird devouring. They recently got a new kitchen which passed the 'cooking a big-ass turkey' test with flying colors. At some point in her life, Grams must have had a nasty encounter with some uncooked food. I personally don't mind the 'one degree shy of burnt' approach, though.

After several hours, Grams asked me to come look at our winged supper. I peeked in and took one look at the dark, golden turkey and could tell it was ripe.

'Yep, stick a fork in her - she's done'

'Ok, I'll leave it in for another 30 minutes'

As it turns out, Grams' mental meat thermometer was dead-on. The turkey was juicy and absolutely perfect. I resisted all urges to ask questions like 'is dark meat always red?' and 'can I have another one of the pink pieces?'.

Eisi showed up late with some lame excuse about missing the train. At least he made up for it by bringing tongue tattoos. Yes, tongue tattoos.

I thought a turkey would have been more appropriate, but Angie picked the horse. I only added this picture to prove my point about being an ass.

The boys picked a fish, which is the next yummiest thing next to Mr. Ed to have tattooed on your tongue.

Next in Eisi's bag of bribes was a piece of candy that can whistle. Peter immediately snatched it up and started bragging about how he could now whistle. Nice try, Opie.

Eisi tried to console Peter's crying by breaking out some toy cars with balloons attached to them. You blow the balloons up and then they race across the room. This is great except for the fact that the boys do not have enough lung capacity and cheek power to actually blow up the balloons. Oh, I'm sorry. I just thought that, you know, since you can whistle now that you would be able to blow up that balloon all by yourself.

After the crying stopped, it was time to jump on someone. Silly Opa had settled into his comfortable arm chair wishfully hoping for a few minutes of silent digesting. The animals saw this enticing red flag and charged.

In less than ten seconds, Peter had moved the footstool to the back and David had made his first jump. I was pretty impressed on how well they coordinated their attack; I just wish they could work together like that at home.

After 25 jumps too many, the boys were finally getting tired. We packed up the animals and headed back to the zoo.

I am still enjoying the last sweet months of Mama's breastfeeding designated driver phase, so Angie was behind the wheel. Somehow she managed to stay off the sidewalks and by the time we made it home, both boys were sound asleep.

Because of my incredible überhuman strength, I was able to carry Peter in one arm and David in the other. As I climbed the steps, Bob Dylan came knock, knock, knocking on my brain's door again.

Turkeys to the left of me!
Jokers to the right!
Here I am stuck in the middle with my lovely horse-tongued sweetie.
-Bob Dylan (Papa´s remix)
Ladder Talk:
[Turkey, tattoos, balloons, and Opa-saulting tuckered the boys out too much for ladder talk]

1) What was the best part of your day?
2) What was the worst part of your day?
3) What would you like to do tomorrow?

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