Worst case scenario

Ok, the stove repair guy is coming “sometime after lunch”.
I am really REALLY hoping that he has the parts for whatever has broken in my most fucked of ovens in the first place.
I’m not sure I’ve ever conveyed how much I hate my oven.
And how deeply envious I am of those who don’t cook who have very fancy ovens that they use as extra cupboard space.
It is a crappy Fisher & Paykel that has never risen to the challenge of almost daily use I need an oven to withstand.
The door hasn’t shut properly for probably the last two years.
We’ve had to call for a repair guy four times.
It’s only 7 years old.
In my mind, ovens should last a lifetime.


As perhaps the best indication that Aurorix is a far better and more effective drug for me than Avanza, I have already developed a contingency plan:
– instead of shortbread there will be chocolate offerings:
Orangette’s chocolate blocks (THANK YOU to Emma who pointed them out to me during the whole nougat fiasco) (I’m going to make one version with pecans and dried cherries, and once version with almonds and raisins)
– Nougat will be attempted once more
– My MIL’s “after dinner charms” which are simply a dessicated coconut creation with some chocolate melted over the top

For the cooking I will have to do:
– glazed ham
– this month’s Daring Bakers challenge
– cheese blintzes
I will use Mum’s oven. Which is small. And fast. And which, during every other peak entertaining time, has burnt the crap out of what I’ve put in there. So you know, am feeling really confident about that. NOT.

You know, I have a very strong conviction that the 8kg ham we’ve paid a house deposit large sum of money for (our order for which the butcher, in Mascot – which is an hour’s drive across to the other side of the city – had misplaced when Chef went there to pick it up for me yesterday – but then they sourced another one during the FORTY FIVE minutes Chef was waiting there and were going to deliver it to Chef’s work on Saturday but then they rang me last night to say they had found my order – under the wrong name with the wrong pick-up date on it – ALL THEIR FAULT – and were going to deliver it the Chef’s work today instead. OY EFFING VEY) will not fit in mum’s oven.

Mum is home and can I just say, Digesics make you loopy.
I am very very stressed.
And stretched very thin.
And it is hot.
Which means I’m sweating.
And I hate heat.
And sweat.

My MIL rang this morning and offered to take Jasper for the day.
So you know, that’s a good thing.
And Oscar’s school has an end of year family picnic/sports afternoon.
So I’m picking Felix up from school at 11 (if my Mum had ever done that for me on the last day of the school year I would have been so stoked) and will take him for a picnic and some cricket and other shenanigans on the edge of Narrabeen Lake for just a few hours of trying not to think about what I have to get done in the next 48 hours.

I cooked the dinner in mum’s oven last night so I don’t have to think about dinner tonight.

I think that’s what is commonly referred to as a small mercy.

I’m also not thinking about how I was probably meant to buy gifts for my step-family and their kids because you know what, they’re not getting anything except homemade goodies. And somehow I think the effort involved in that is going to be grossly under-appreciated anyway.