Monday, August 29, 2011

lake of caramel

I'm spending some time at home for all sorts of reasons, none of which are worth really discussing.  But let's just say that I found myself frighteningly close to purchasing a one-way ticket to Italy and/or volunteering for a stint in a war zone, and I knew it was time to take a little break. Luckily my bosses were really generous about the whole thing, and so here I sit, "relaxing" at home.   

Relaxing gets the quotation marks, because I'm not the best at chilling out, and there have been some...exciting...moments since I got home. 

Saturday we had some friends over for dinner.  Right before I jumped in the car to drive home Friday, I tossed Fiona in the back seat.  She was a horrible car companion, very boring and quiet, but I knew she'd redeem herself making salted caramel ice cream (a special request from Mom).  

Making the ice cream batter went much smoother than my first attempt, which probably had something to do with having an extra set of hands in the kitchen.  When it was time to churn the batter, though, Fiona and I had our first spat.  

I left everyone on the patio chatting to quickly toss the batter in the machine.  I was obviously not thinking straight, or was just really excited for ice cream, because I neglected a hugely important step.  I DIDN'T PUT THE BOWL ON THE BASE.  So I turned the machine on and started pouring the batter in to the base of the machine.  Luckily I realized what I'd done before I poured in every last drop, but it was still a huge mess. There was suddenly a lake of caramel in the kitchen, and I was so ill. 

I poured as much batter as possible back in the mixing bowl, cleaned Fiona up as best I could, pulled the churning bowl from the freezer and set it on the base, and tried again.  It worked (as you can assume most things will when you do them CORRECTLY), but I was worried I may've gunked up the motor.  So while I fumed, Mom got to work cleaning with a paper towel/wooden skewer contraption...

Thankfully neither the ice cream nor Fiona seemed to suffer from my total idiocy.  In fact, it was completely amazing scooped over brownies and "lacey" cookies...

I only wish I could have enjoyed it more, but I haven't been feeling well at all. In fact, I pretty much convinced myself that I've acquired an ulcer.  Whether it's an ulcer or my first brush with heartburn in my entire life, my esophagus hurts like nothing I've ever felt before (and no, there is no logical correlation to my eating habits).  Subsequently my appetite has taken a nose dive.  In what I can only imagine is a logical next step, I spent most of yesterday extremely dizzy.  Even I, one of the most anti-doctor people ever, was ready to go to urgent care first thing this morning. 

And then the dog groomer called us early this morning to let us know our dog had a huge bruise on her throat. Since I'm home and the parents are at work, I got to pick her up from the groomer and take her to the vet. It turns out I'll make one nervous mother if I ever have kids, because I was especially worried. The vet assured me that Gracie is fine (apparently dogs, like humans, bruise when they have blood work done, and she had just had her annual vet appointment Saturday). Still not sure if I'm fine, though, as I've now talked myself out of my own trip to urgent care. 

I'm here for another week, but I'm hoping we've gotten all of the excitement over within my first few days, or I'm going to go back to DC just as strung out as I was when I left...

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