Houseguests, Children’s Cookbooks, and a Fainting Spell

After eleven straight days of house guests, recipes from a children’s cookbook, and a fainting episode to cap it all off, I decided to take a break from my Apple a Day project. I wanted to make something just for fun. Something I knew would taste good and that didn’t come out of the cookbook I bought my niece and nephew for Christmas, the one they excitedly brought with them when they came to visit, no doubt with a little urging from my brother.

My brother, his wife, his father-in-law, and their two children spent their fall break with us. Halfway through their visit, my parents and their little dog showed up. It was a lot. A whole lot. But I had so much fun, and I saw more of the town I live in over those eleven days than in the two years we’ve lived here. We had outings and late nights, sticky little hands, and a kitchen that never stayed clean for more than an hour at a time. Cooking with my niece and nephew was an adventure in itself. Sugar was on the counter, sugar was on the floor, and somehow honey was in my hair. They took their jobs as chefs very seriously, reading each step out loud and proudly showing off every finished dish like it belonged on a magazine cover.

Here’s the thing, though. Even on a good day, I’m really bad at remembering to drink water. Over those eleven days, I’d say I was lucky to have had 20 ounces total. Let’s just say my urine wasn’t the color of a well-hydrated person. Yesterday, while my sweet mother-in-law sat downstairs coloring, I stood up to go check on her. Everything went black. I had one clear, conscious thought, “Oh, I’m gonna fall,” and fall I did.

Now, for the five people reading this, please don’t freak out. I didn’t lose consciousness. I did, however, ignore ChatGPT’s advice to call 911 and instead texted my husband, who was in his office downstairs. My blood pressure was normal, so we decided, or rather I decided, not to go to the ER and just see if I felt better.

Today, I feel fine. Normal, even. But I’m drinking water like it’s my only job. If there’s a lesson in all of this, it’s that when you’re busy taking care of everyone else, it’s very easy to forget to take care of yourself. A glass of water takes about ten seconds. I’m going to try to remember that.

I feel so fine, in fact, that after a week of Cinnamon Roll Focaccia, Rice Krispie and Candy Sushi, and homemade ketchup, I decided to skip Katherine Meagan’s Walnut Roast with Tomato Gravy and make windowpane potato chips instead.

If you’ve never seen them, windowpane chips are made by pressing a small herb leaf between two paper-thin slices of potato and baking them, so the leaf shows through like a little stained-glass window. Mine didn’t come out great. Some fell apart, some browned too fast, and a few looked more like abstract art than windows. But they were so relaxing and fun to make. It felt like a lifetime since I’d stood in a quiet kitchen, just me, my thoughts, and something cooking.

As I sat there slicing potatoes on the mandolin I am terrified of, I thought about the past week.

There are 16 years between my brother and me. I was away at boarding school when he was born. If I close my eyes, I can still see myself standing in my dorm lobby, holding the payphone while my dad told me I had a baby brother. When he was six, I got married. My parents moved to Florida, and I stayed in Pennsylvania. So, aside from holidays, I didn’t get to see him much as he grew up. I missed a lot of the in-between moments, the ordinary days that make up a childhood.

Somehow, despite all those years and all those miles, we ended up being very much alike. Our conversations this week meant everything to me. We laughed, we cried, we rolled our eyes, and we ate far too many Little Debbie cakes. Watching him now as a father, with his own two kids, I kept thinking about that phone call in the dorm lobby. That baby brother grew up into someone I genuinely love spending time with, and I didn’t realize how much I needed that time until we had it.

So this week, I was very happy not to make the Walnut Roast. Don’t worry, it’s coming next week. But I still wanted to keep my promise to myself to make something once a week and share it here. Sometimes that means following the plan, and sometimes it means assembling a few lopsided potato chips in a quiet kitchen and calling it a win.

Stay hydrated, my friends. We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming next week.