I'm Not Sure Why I Even Bother

First, let me say that I sure have been a busy blogger today. Some days I can't think of a thing to say and other days I've got TOO MUCH to say.
I guess more happens on the weekends. Weekdays are just too scheduled and predictable.

My ham turned out quite tasty. I nixed the glaze packet that came with the ham. I'm not a natural foodie by any stretch of the imagination, given my addiction to diet pepsi and all, but I do try to chose a healthier alternative when I can. So that meant making up my own glaze. Armed with 6,875 recipes for ham glaze that google found for me, I just decided to wing it. Pineapple juice, brown sugar, mustard (prepared and dry), a little bit of cayenne and black pepper. It worked and I'm quite pleased.
However, when it comes to holiday dinners, I just cannot get the whole thing to work. Everything is done at different times and I usually have one dish that is a complete disaster. I've pretty much mastered Thanksgiving, excluding the annual turkey meltdown (that's a given) , but the other holidays give me fits.

When you're a perfectionist, OK just doesn't cut it.
When you're a homemaker and preparing food comprises 75% of your daily tasks, OK is not enough.

The ham was great. The homemade whole wheat crescent rolls were tasty. Same goes for the vegetables. But that stupid hash brown casserole just didn't work. It has worked before. It's the same recipe. It was just OK. I hate OK.
I like Yum! Wow! Great!

Pffffft.

I stress about holiday meals, but I shouldn't.
No one cares.
I care.
Craig and Caroline couldn't care less. I could serve tuna sandwiches or chicken nuggets and they'd be perfectly happy.
They have every right not to care, I can' fault them for their feelings. It just makes me feel dumb for sweating the details.
It's just that we never do anything special.
Sometimes I want special. Something that everyone appreciates. Not because I like receiving a pat on the back or need the affirmation, but because I enjoy doing it.
But, it's pointless.
I stress out and Craig says "you don't have to do it." He's right. I don't HAVE to do it.
But, you see, I want to do it. I want dinner to come out perfectly.
Not just for me, but for everyone.

Preparing food is all I have to offer sometimes; but it's perceived as superfluous.

I'm not warm and fuzzy.
I'm not particularly creative.
I detest chaos.
Hugs from me don't come out of the blue.
I love my family, am loyal and worry about them constantly, but I'm not the huggy, warm, mushy type.


There wasn't some sort of horrible dinner time blow up or anything. No tears shed or sharp words exchanged.
I'm not looking for sympathy; I'm just thinking out loud. Unleashing my inner conflict and self loathing out into blogland. It's nice to vent and not have to listen to someone else's point of view. A one sided argument. Only I'm not mad at anyone.

Well, that's not entirely true.
Quite frankly, I'm mad at myself.
Mad because I'm too hard on myself, creating stress and pressure when it's absolutely unnecessary. Mad for being upset about something completely and utterly ridiculous. Mad because I'm sucking out all the joy in my life by setting unrealistic goals and ideals.

I shouldn't be surprised. And I'm not.
This always happens.
Will I ever learn?
Probably not.

One day we'll have a picture perfect holiday dinner with cheerful attitudes, lively conversation and brilliant food. Until then, I'll get over my funk, grab a handful (or two!) of jelly beans, put away the pile of dishes waiting for me and figure out what to do with six tons of leftover ham.