kissin' wears out

I was going through my mom's old recipes yesterday. Not sure why, exactly, since I am not cooking anything for Thanksgiving this year. Seriously. Even though I am sort of accidentally hosting a sizeable shindig, I am not cooking a single. damn. thing. Thank you, Sprouts Farmers Market, for catering (literally) to the domestically challenged. I am surprisingly unapologetic about it, too. Years past I would have explained and justified and excused and apologized ten ways to Sunday for my woefully inadequate domestic skills. But I don't know. I just don't feel that bad.

One of the only things I've actually learned as a parent (aside from the mind-boggling vastness of what I do not know), is that time is precious and I don't want to spend it doing things I don't want to do just because I feel that I "should." As my BFF Claire always says, "'Should' is a bad word."

This is not to say I don't waste precious minutes on a lot of stupid shit. I will spend hours, DAYS, and an exorbitant amount of dollars crafting a Christmas ornament wreath I could buy for half the price on Etsy, because that brings me JOY. But running around like a sweaty maniac in the 24 hours prior to Thanksgiving so that I can serve mediocre, luke-warm food that is ready in seven different shifts is just not something I enjoy doing. Oreo pops, picture perfect cupcakes, and a biannual pumpkin pie? Yes, please. Fisting a slimy turkey carcass and spending the ensuing 8 hours in a hazmat suit trying to eradicate salmonella from my entire home? Thanks but I think I'll pass.

It reminds me of this time one of my aunts was stressing to my mom about the chore of buying and writing and sending Christmas cards. My mom's response? Don't do them. It might not feel easy, but it really is.

Of course, my mom didn't always follow her own advice. But by the time she passed, she had evolved into one of the more skilled liberators of "shoulds" I ever knew. It takes a lifetime of practice, but my end goal, a salty blue-haired grandma in a leopard velour tracksuit who gives zero f*cks, will be well worth the effort.

You too can engage in the emancipation. Just give it a try. You won't be sorry. Set those f*cks free. Send those shoulds packing. Fly away, onerous expectations. And bask in your newfound freedom :)

Anyway. I was looking through my mom's recipe book. This is the emblem on the top of her old recipe cards:

"kissin' wears out. cookin' don't."

Well shit. Guess I better up my kissin' game ;)

Have a great Thanksgiving, friends. Hope it's full of YOUR kind of happy.

Like shrooms and alcohol.

Siri just doesn't get me.