Stories of life in the suburbs with Husband and our daughter Squishy and son Button!

Sunday, March 27, 2011

For the Love of God, Put On Gloves!

Growing up, my family always had dinner together. Now that my sister and I are adults with our own lives, we try to get together once a week when everyone's schedules are free for a night of dinner, drinks, catching up, and cards at my parents' house. It's one of my favorite things in the world. 

When we all get together, we have, well...one of each. Boys, girls, men, women, mom, dad, grandpa, grandma, young, old (er), sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, baby, teens, adults, democrats, republicans, educated people.

So let's see...when the whole family gets together it's usually the 6 of us, my husband, Squishy, my sister's boyfriend, and one guest of one of the boys...that's 10 people. With the vast differences between all of us, we always have something to talk about or catch up on.

We gather around the kitchen island and have a glass of wine, and help prepare dinner, whatever it may be. Set the table, and eat together. By the time we get the conversation into full swing, it's safe to say that dinner with my family is a spectator sport. It's hard to get a word in edge wise unless you're prepared, and well seasoned for this kind of conversation. Depending on your general mood, it can be taxing on the soul. But a damn good time. 

After dinner is always a card game called Screw Your Neighbor. This no-holds-barred slug fest is the best part of the evening. Cards is usually accompanied by another glass of wine, or an original recipe Sidecar. 

I remember one time when I was preggie with Squishy, we were over making crab cakes. My job was to mince a jalapeno and two serrano peppers. I shucked the seeds out with my thumbs, minced them, and added them to the bowl. Ten minutes went by before Hell decided to take my fingers for a ride. 

All ten of my fingers were set ablaze by what we found out was capsaicin (pronounced Devil-spit) oil, which cannot be removed once it comes in contact with the skin. I soaked my hands in ice, milk, vinegar, vodka (a waste of good vodka), and soapy water. If I took my hands out of the ice water, it took mere seconds for the burning sensation to envelope me, sending me into a twitching fit of near-tear hysteria. I could have gone home, but there was no salvation there! And I wanted the crab cakes, they were really good. Honestly, they could have been a little bit spicier. 

I played cards that night with my fingers in a bowl of ice water, and when it was my turn to play I quickly withdrew my hands from their numbing relief and chose a card without really thinking about it. I cried for the three minute drive home, and slept with ice packs on my hands. I haven't volunteered to cut peppers again. I stick with things that don't attack your senses...like carrots. I'll chop all the carrots. 

I love family dinner....


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