1. I made 48 of these suckers last night at 10:30. Marlboro Man, the kids, and the cowboys had to go work cattle in Kansas this morning, and I wanted to send them with a portable breakfast treat.
My cuticles were nice and moisturized this morning after being submerged in melted butter for an hour last night.
IV. They’re going to Kansas again tomorrow, so I’m going to make these to send with them, minus the tomatoes, because I don’t think they’ll hold up very well.
So when they work here on the ranch, I usually just deliver the burritos right after making them. When they go to Kansas, they have to leave at 4:30 am…so I have to make them the night before. Here’s what I do:
* Roll the burritos in individual foil squares.
* Pile the burritos in foil roasting pans.
* Cover the pans with foil.
* Pop them in the fridge overnight.
* Wake up at 3:30 the next morning.
* Pop the pans, still covered in foil, into a 300 degree oven to warm slowly.
* Last 10 minutes, I raise the oven temperature to 375 just to make sure they’re nice and hot.
* I immediately transfer the burritos to mini insulated coolers and send ‘em out the door. They keep ‘em warm until breakfast time!
And then I pass out.
8. Umm…I regret to inform you that he hurt his shoulder. He played great—he tacked a guy and everything. I mean, took him OUT. But yesterday morning he couldn’t lift his left arm.
And now he’s working cattle in Kansas. Poor Marlboro Man!
At least he looked good in his uniform.
5. Umm…I regret to inform you that my feet hurt. Because I am the daughter of an orthopedic surgeon and am therefore an amateur orthopedic surgeon, I have diagnosed myself with bilateral plantar fasciitis, most likely caused by excessive walking on our gravel road in the evening. Or it could have been all the walking I did in cowboy boots at Alex’s college orientation last week.
Or it could have been that I am evidently an old woman all of a sudden.
A. You should have seen my beloved and me at 4:00 this morning. It was pure comedy, except it wasn’t funny. He couldn’t lift his arm, I limped to the kitchen to make coffee, my eyes were puffy because I was up so late making muffins, he couldn’t get his shirt on, and I had to carry the bottled water to his pickup.
As I said…funny not funny.
But at least we’re disintegrating together!
x. Speaking of injuries, I have a lovely tale to tell you. Please stop me if I’ve already told you this. Since I have an unofficial diagnosis of plantar fasciitis, my mind doesn’t work the way it used to.
It was the night before Easter of this year. The girls were filling Easter eggs for our hunt at church the next day, the boys were running around the house with their buddy Patrick, and I was in the kitchen where I belong. I had a cookie jar that was filled to the brim not with cookies, but with assorted pieces of Easter candy. During the course of my cooking session, I had made my way to the cookie jar a couple of times (okay, seventeen times), lifting the lid off the jar and retrieving candy treats here and there.
I was just about finished with what I was cooking when it happened again. The candy urge. I fought it for a minute or two, then told myself “Well, this will be the last time since I’m finished in the kitchen. One last little candy nibble won’t hurt.”
So I made my way back over to the cookie jar and lifted the lid, at which time the lid slipped out of my hand and crashed to the floor, shattering into a million pieces, one of which bounced off the floor and stabbed me square in the ankle. It was such a freak accident—I mean, what are the chances that the one time I sneak a piece of candy (okay, the eighteenth time), I drop the lid of a jar and cause a shard of ceramic to become lodged in my ankle?
And make no mistake about it: It was lodged in my ankle.
At first, I felt dumb. Then I just felt dumb. After that I felt dumb, but I also felt severe pain, so I reached down and removed the shard from my ankle and cried out for my mommy. It was a little bit of a puncture situation rather than a cut and it probably warranted medical attention, but I cleaned it and doctored it myself for the following reasons:
1. I had all the necessary supplies in my medicine cabinet.
2. I would have been way too embarrassed to explain the cause of my injury to any ER doctor.
3. I’m an amateur doctor, anyway!
I hope you’ve enjoyed this lovely story.
Happy Monday, friends!