Turkey!!!

Okay, I know that most folks make turkey for Thanksgiving. But why cook my own when I can have MIL's dry turkey and many, many pies for free? But that doesn't stop the grocery store from giving me a turkey, and since I now have two in the freezer, things are getting crowded. I really don't get all excited about the turkey anyway, but I could really use some leftovers. Turkey soup, here I come! Unfortunately I have to first reduce the giant, frozen turkey in my freezer to cooked turkey bits before I get to the Soup phase.

So now the giant, frozen turkey is in my sink, partially frozen. I had him out yesterday to thaw, but he decided to thaw a little bit, then give up and just lay around (thats how I know its a male turkey). I have the brine all prepared, and it looks good to me, but I have to yank all those turkey bits from the inside of the gobbler before dunking him. Of course, the grocery store doesn't give away small turkeys, either. This one is 18lbs. My mother apparently served a 10lb turkey to five and had a few leftovers. I have this hulking turkey-beast for three (me, Hus-bun, and Hus-bun's buddy, one of the nicer fraternity brothers, recruited for the occasion based on his ability to function decently in a private home and the fact that any home-cooking he gets is cooked by him. He could use a good meal).

In other news, my MIL wanted to know if I called the pediatrician to ask about formula. Ask what? I wondered. Well, it turns out that she thinks formula is too expensive, and she's pretty sure the doc would let us put Crabby on something cheaper, and maybe supplement with vitamins. "He's pretty healthy, he should be fine." she says. I'm pretty sure the medical advice of my baby's doctor isn't based on economics. MIL has several grandkids (thats right, I don't know how many neices and nephews I have); one, whom she raised, is only 6 years old. But her knowledge of child-rearing dates from roughly 1965. I guess I can't blame her too much.

Anyway, I don't need to be cranky, because its snowing! Right now it looks like it intended to snow for real, not that pretty, postcard snow we got the other day, the kind that falls in fat flakes but vaporizes when it hits the ground. We'll see if this keeps up. I have a sweet little sled for Crabby, and I so much want to pull him around over a field of untouched snow. Of course Crabby hates wearing a snowsuit, refuses to sit still, and besides, we live in an apartment with almost no grassy space and about a million little kids. But if I didn't have my daydreams, I'd be stuck with daytime TV.

giant man-socks

My baby brother has size 17 feet. He loves to receive hand-knit socks, so I've done my share of massive, takes-forever, why-did-I-choose-stockinette-for-this socks. But he really enjoys them, and they're great in-between projects, to clear my mind. Like after I read a really intense book, one with a bunch of detail, or where the characters really became "real", or one that introduces a whole new idea, and then I need to read a few mindless cheap romance novels to clear my mind before the next really meaty book.

I never knit anything much for the Hus-bun, and it never occured to me to wonder why. But now, four inches into his manly socks, I understand. He has the world's beefiest ankles. Seriously. as in, if I just kept going on this sock, it would easily be a sleeve for me. This is one big sock: not long, but with plenty of girth allowance. Big, big socks. (I'll post photos later, right now I have a cold and I don't want to move.)

This is why I won't knit sweaters. (Actually my whole knitting life is a series of excuses for not knitting sweaters. I have Sweater Guilt, like I feel that, as a knitter, I should have a sweater or two to my credit.) Anybody who would appreciate and wear one is either so insanely tall, or as wide around as a small island. Thats just too much commitment to one project for me. They'll have to be happy with the mutant man-socks instead.