Most of the turkey leftovers are gone, as are my houseguests. Outside, a nasty mix of rain and ice is falling. I'm procrastinating starting dinner because I spent the last four days in my kitchen and I'm all cooked out.
Thanksgiving is over, all right.
We had a wonderful time with my mom, my brother and his family. We ate and drank and stayed up too late and laughed and ate and drank some more. It was fun.
The kids enjoyed playing with their cousin, who is almost four. She introduced the kids to Star Wars, and they're downstairs right now watching it with Earl.
I have a lovely pork tenderloin in the fridge, and I'm thinking of letting it continue to chill out there and calling Domino's instead. I love, love, love to cook, but after Thanksgiving Day, various other assorted meals and a brief stint this morning as a short-order cook (a pancake breakfast to send the travelers off with happy tummies) I'm just not into it tonight. And I should mention that my sister-in-law made dinner on Friday, too, so I really didn't cook for four days straight. It just seems that way.
I think I'm just pooped. Ready to go to bed early; ready for the kids to go back to school so I can get some work done and start my Christmas shopping, weeks after I wish I had started it. Ready to put together the little Advent calendar for the kids so it will be waiting for them when they get up tomorrow. Maybe even ready to listen to some Christmas music, although I didn't find the CDs in my first pass through the attic while looking for the Advent calendar.
Earl just agreed to Domino's. That's music enough to my ears for now.
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