That’s the best part of a family gathering. This weekend was the celebration of The Kid’s third birthday (it’s officially on Tuesday) and we partied yesterday here at The Homestead. The crowd filtered out around 8 last night. The Sister returned to Long Island at 11 a.m., right around the same time that my father and stepmother bid adieu on the way back to their house on the St. Lawrence Seaway.
The house is now blisteringly quiet. The Kid is napping. The Wife is off for a run. All that can be heard is the clicking of the keyboard and the faint muttering of the announcer on the MLB Network.
The second best part of a family gathering? The stunning array of leftovers. We anticipated 18, but ordered food for 15-16. We had 15, but the six pounds of pulled pork and various salads that accompanied was apparently overkill. Today’s grocery trip reminded me that we need a bigger refrigerator in the next house. I gave up on putting things away with a sense of order and just started shoving things where there was room.
Everything but my father’s tortellini salad, the rolls for the pork and the beer was gluten-free. Not that it mattered, as The Kid ate a piece of corn bread and some Van’s french toast.
Today’s trip to Wegmans was solo and horrendous, though mutually exclusive of one another. Solo, because The Kid really wasn’t up for the trip, nor was The Wife. Horrendous because I have a raging chest cold and zero patience. I don’t know why, but the dairy department at Wegmans insists on restocking the shelves by putting the very large pushcarts full of yogurt so they block the shelf and aisle at the same time. After I got hit by someone else’s cart the third time, I decided that I no longer cared about others and was going to use my cart as a weapon. Naturally, my blood lust was for naught as the store seemed to empty, leaving me with clear aisles but a lingering case of cart rage.