I don't know how to spell it. Autocorrect keeps messing with me. I'm making 6 ginormous lasagnas. It's for Ari's robotics thing - I call it robot camp, but he is not amused. The kids work solid for two months building a robot and then take it to an international competition. This year the competition is in Tennessee. When I heard 'international', I admit, Tennessee didn't make my short list.
Because they have to work pretty much non-stop on this, the parents take turns bringing in dinner. With the teachers and mentors, there is a full roster of 60. Feeding 60 people. And most of them are teenage boys. I made all the sauce yesterday (I had to borrow Arlene's big chili pot as well), but today I have to assemble. I am writing this in a valiant effort to put off grating a mountain of cheese. I am now up to *4* people who have wandered in and said "doncha know you can just buy those at Costco or something?". I am trying to be domestic.
I also have to borrow a couple of ovens by 3:00. Because it would have made sense to arrange this last week, or even yesterday, you know that I haven't. I've already been to the store once this morning, but I have assembled all the stuff. I am ever thankful for that oven ready pasta. That didn't exist when my Mom used to make lasagna. Actually, I bought the other kind a few months ago by mistake, and just used it like oven ready. It doesn't really work, though the boys persevered and ate it anyway. It was a little crunchy.
A few hours later... Two are in my oven. Two are at the other Mom's place. And the other two? The house across the street, which was supposed to have a teenaged girl home in it at three to help me, is empty. Sarah texted me to say 'sorry, have volleyball, oops'. I am staring at these two lasagnas that have to be in the oven rightthisverysecond. She texts back 'you know where the key is'. I do. It is not there. I make Christopher go look. He can't find it. I am contemplating heading into another neighbour's house I have a key for, but I really, really don't want to explain 'oh hi, welcome home from work, I'm just going to take my lasagnas out of your oven and leave your house smelling awesome after you've been at work all day and by the way, there isn't one for you'. That just seems harsh.
Christopher just drove them over to Arlene's. I will pick them up on the way to the school. And hump all these hot lasagnas out of the car, in the rain. I have done a mountain of dishes, my kitchen is destroyed, and the fridge is now empty.
I could have just gotten them at Costco.