Short Bus to the Head Start Program

Head start. Coming out of the gates strong.

In an effort to fulfill my new year’s resolution of cooking & entertaining more, I made a commitment. A concerted effort. I picked up my phone, called my mom and asked her over for dinner tomorrow night.

It might not sound like much but, for me, it is huge. I haven’t “formally” asked anyone over for dinner in a looooong time. Well, Kitty has come over. But it’s been…you know…those spur-of-the-moment things when you’re cooking something and it’s looking like it can feed an army and you’re single and your BFF calls. Stirring the pot, doing the shoulder-to-ear clutch with your cell phone (difficult at best…do not try this at home without supervision), you’re eye-balling the contents, thinking to yourself, “Oh for the love of the saints I can’t eat all this.” And your friend, who is also single, has just finished her laundry and is aimlessly wandering around her house and in need of refreshment so you tell her to bring over a six-pack and enjoy the batch of Chicken & Dumplings that is angelically simmering on your stove…oh and, Kitty, don’t forget to bring the Gerard Butler movie to watch, k? THAT is easy. THAT is effortless. But I’ve just committed to my mom coming over. And I committed to cooking. Listen up…I’m challenged enough on my days off to get a shower before 1pm, collapsing on the couch due to the hygiene effort, napping until 4pm, putzing until 6pm, put-makeup-on-face and go out for the evening with friends.

I used to not be like this. I used to cook. I used to entertain. (Marriage had a big part in this, I think.) And now look at me. A sorry, lumpish, sybaritic mass that needs to get off her backside and cowboy up.

Exactly. And that’s what I’m doing. The Studio has closed for the week between Christmas & New Years so I’m not working. High time. Perfect time for making headway.

Mom? Thanks for being the first again.

The menu? Hot-and-Crunchy Chicken Cones w/Mango Slaw. Green salad w/Champagne vinaigrette. Leftover Christmas cookies. Fingers crossed.

Now I worry…because I don’t have the just-so placemats with which to set the table. Go away, Mr. Neurosis!