Kristen Anne Glover

Five in Tow

Ode to the Costo Cart

So lonely without you...

The first time I laid eyes on you,

Standing in your tidy queue,

While I flashed my membership ID,

I knew you were the one for me.

I’ve wondered what could be the harm,

For mothers to grow another arm?

But since that was not to be,

YOU were the one who completed me.

My heart skipped some beats,

When I saw your double child seats.

The twins were happy side-by-side,

While my daughter took a ride,

Atop a throne created by

A king-sized package of two-ply.

I even had room left over,

For an absent-minded rover,

And a boy who seems to adore

Eating samples off the floor.

Finally!  I could shop without a care,

Of children running everywhere!

Tell me, what grocery cart can compete,

With this amazing feat,

Of keeping little ones in line?

Oh, Costco cart, be my Valentine?

No diamond shines half so bright,

As your chrome chassis in the light,

Which carries your sleek profile,

Effortlessly down every aisle.

Loaded down with kids and eats—

(At least enough to last three weeks).

Still I could turn you on a dime!

Costco cart, you’re just sublime.

You know you make my knees go weak,

When your wheels swivel without a squeak,

Oh Costco Cart, my heart is true,

There is no other cart but you!

Enough Snow

Today it snowed for the first time all winter.  Big, fluffy, apologetic snowflakes tumbled out of the sky.   Even though the kids have complained for weeks about the lack of snow, all was forgiven in an instant.  There was enough snow to make children forget how long they’d been waiting.

The kids grabbed their coats and mittens and begged to wear the snow pants that have been collecting dust since last winter, even though the dusting of snow on the grass hardly required a trip down to the storage room to find them.  Do they still fit?  Look how you’ve grown!  Do we have enough for everyone?  There was enough snow for snow pants.

Out the door they scampered, giggling and wrestling and pushing their way to the yard.  There was enough snow on the cars to make a snowball just the right size to smack a sister in the face, enough snow coming down to wet a few curious tongues, and enough snow on the hill for an attempt at sledding with the brand-new cherry red Artic Wolf Snow Disc we picked up on clearance at Walmart last March.

Before long, it was decided that the thing to do on a snowy day like this was to build a Snow Fort of Awesome before beginning the Snowball Fight of the Century.  With the help of a slew of neighbor kids, construction began.  All available snow was collected from deck rails, windshields, and sidewalks.  It was piled high in the middle of the yard and rolled into balls which quickly formed sides.  But, it’s hard to make a Snow Fort of Awesome with less than an inch of snow.   Not to mention the fact that there wasn’t any snow left for making snowballs.

But there was enough snow to make a make a ramp into the yard for the sled, and enough snow to wrestle in, and enough snow to give a friend a good, cold face wash.   There was enough snow to make fresh tracks with underused boots, and enough snow to outline the branches of every sleeping tree.

Then, just like that, it was over.  The fluffy flakes stilled and blue sky appeared through the grey clouds.  The neighbor kids headed home and the sled was put away.  There wasn’t enough snow for a proper snowman, and there wasn’t enough snow to cancel church in the morning.

But there was enough snow to make cheeks rosy, enough snow to make hot chocolate a necessity, and enough snow to make an ordinary Saturday afternoon feel like Christmas.  There was enough snow to make five children very happy.

My Least Favorite Chore

I bet Williams-Sonoma likes to make stock

Today my to-do list included the following item: Make Turkey Stock.   Actually, it was on my to-do list yesterday as well, but after I had crossed off every other item (including Pay Bills and Catch up on Laundry), the Turkey Stock remained.  I decided to procrastinate.  After all, you can’t very well start making turkey stock at 9 o’clock at night, right?

But you can only ignore a turkey carcass for so long.  After all, it takes up half my refrigerator.   So as the new day dawned, I knew it was inevitable: today was the day.  I could no longer avoid his picked-over presence.

Of all my domestic duties, making turkey stock is one of my least favorite.  There’s something about getting up to my elbows in turkey grease that makes me feel like a culinary martyr.  Boiling the rich marrow and gelatin out of the bones and separating all the fat and skin from every scrap of useful meat sounds very frugal and sustainable and healthy.  I love the idea of having all that marvelous broth measured out into containers and stacked up neatly in my freezer.  I can think up a million dinners I’m going to make with the meat I’ve scavenged off the bones.

But.  I.  Hate.  Doing.  It.

I don’t like the smell of the turkey, and I don’t like the fat, and I absolutely hate all the stringy tendons and membranes and bits of turkey anatomy that I can’t quite identify once it’s been brined and roasted and sliced and served and eaten before making its way to my stock pot.  I don’t like the mess of pots and pans and strainers and containers that litter my kitchen every time there’s a turkey to dismantle.  I dread skimming turkey fat off the top of the stock, and I never quite know what to do with the leftover bones.

I think I’m going to become a vegetarian.

Instead, I have to “mom up” and do what needs to be done.   That’s what we moms do, after all.  Countless times every day, we do what needs to be done even when we’d rather do something else.   At least until our children are big enough that we can call it a “chore” and make them do it.   This, incidentally, is my long-term solution to the turkey carcass problem.

Since my only child of turkey deconstructing age was conveniently preoccupied with some excuse she called The Fourth Grade, I had to do this job myself.  So after I cleaned out the cat box and organized my cupboard of plastic storage containers and vacuumed the blinds, I got right on that turkey with nary a thought to putting it off a moment longer.

I stood by the kitchen counter, tryptophan oozing through my veins, and I thought to myself, this is how polygamy got started.  Some guy came home and found his wife picking meat off a turkey and he said to her, “Wouldn’t it be great if you had some help with that?” and WHAM!  She found herself sharing a last name with some gal from town who liked to boil things.

It’s not a bad idea, really.  If there was another wife around here I’d definitely let her make the turkey stock while I educated myself on various herbs that may or may not be poisonous in order to concoct some homemade teas which may or may not be fatal if consumed by a second wife who may or may not live to regret ever having come in contact with my husband.

But I’d let her finish the stock first.   After all, it is my least favorite chore, and second wives don’t come around every day.