Tonight a couple of friends who are on the road a lot are staying with us, and since they don’t get homecooked meals very often, we’re pulling out all the stops in terms of comfort food: country fried steak, mashed potatoes, butterbeans, macaroni & cheese and chocolate pie.
Yes, it’s a little high in calories, but the good news is that you’re so happy after you eat all the goodness that you actually sort of enjoy the sensation of your arteries clogging.
And besides, I’m making the macaroni & cheese and chocolate pie with skim milk, so – HELLO – they’re totally good for you.
Last night some Birmingham bloggers (along with some other friends) came over to our house for a little get-together, and we had the best time. We had music and food and Kim made these bacon-wrapped cocktail sausage thingies that caused every single man in attendance to vow that they’d never eaten anything so delicious. In fact, I don’t know when I’ve seen my husband so enthusiastic about an appetizer, thus shoring up my theory that men have a special allegiance to any food that is wrapped in bacon, amen.
At one point last night I decided to sneak down the hall and check on the little man, who was asleep, and as I was walking up the two steps from our living room to our foyer (these would be the same two steps that led to Mama’s brief stint underneath the Christmas tree last year), I somehow managed to catch the toe of my shoe on the edge of one of the steps, and I tripped up the steps like the graceful swan that I am.
At first I thought maybe I could recover and sort of stumble into the hallway so that no one would realize what happened, but unfortunately the forward motion of the tripping catapulted me into a table in the foyer that just so happened to have two – no, three – glass items on the top of it. Once I slammed into the table, the resulting clamor stopped every bit of conversation dead in its tracks, and afterwards my husband said the only part of the entire fiasco that surprised him was that I didn’t take out one of the sidelights by the front door in the process.
So I turned beet red and assured everyone that I was FINE, REALLY, I PROMISE as I attempted to straighten up the glassware, and when I finally made my way back to Alex’s room he was awake again, buried under the covers, crying his little eyes out thanks to THE NOISE FROM ALL THE TRIPPING.
Oh, make no mistake, people: I am verrrry impressive in social situations. You might want to take some notes, even.
So if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish supper (STARCHES AHOY!), get the young’un to bed, then somehow convince three grown men that our first television priority of the evening is to watch “The Real Housewives of Atlanta” on the DVR.
You might want to wish me luck with that last thing.
See y’all tomorrow.

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