I come from Irish/Finnish ancestry. Catholics and Calvinists. Just so you can comprehend the amount of guilt that went into my upbringing.
Occasionally, I just have to inadventantly give my very religious parents the Faithless Middle Finger. Let me take a bit of your time and set this up for you:
I was trolling through Costco with the children this past week. They were cooking Austrailian lamb, and the boys asked me to stop to let them try a sample. I was surprised that Youngest eagerly held out a paw; he is a notoriously picky eater. They not only wolfed down one sample - they each wanted another! And another! A leg of lamb quickly found its way into our buggy. I can't remember the last time I cooked lamb - I am married to a vegetarian. (He is also half Jewish-this will apply further on in this tale.) I decide when we get home to invite my parents over for dinner the evening that I cook the lamb as my father loves lamb and my mother won't cook it. Hey! How about Saturday? Since it's a 5 pound leg 'o, I invite my sister and bil, too.
We got an invitation to attend an Easter brunch at friends' with children, so of course we jump at the opportunity. This is my most crafty friend. She will have crafts! T-shirt to adorn! Cookies to decorate! Wonderful Food! I'm bagging my extended family for Easter day festivities - this is way too good an opportunity to pass up.
A friend whom I've known Forever calls and we talk about future plans. I mention what K, the boys and I are doing for Easter. She says "You aren't having your family over?!"
You must understand, I always host the festivities. My mother's kitchen is an original 1956 General Electric Profile appliance special - and those suckers are worn out. As in she has 2 burners that kind of work on her flip-down burner units, and one oven still works - well, sort of, etc. One day 10 years ago my older sister and I were buzzing around my parent's kitchen, trying to get a brunch on the table for 2 priests, 5 nuns, and 7 of us. After repeating 'Try this one burner - oh you have to jiggle the switch' and 'that oven isn't working and the other one cooks low - add 25 degrees to the temp' and then realizing that mom's toaster and blender were iffy, and that her coffee maker was an 8-cup v. a 12-cup - are you beginning to get the picture? And everyone was out on the patio visiting and sipping juice and cocktails, while my sister and I were Keystone-Copping It around this dysfunctional, ancient kitchen. I looked over at my sister and she had Sweat. Running. Down. Her. Nose. I yelped out "The only thing working in this Fucking Kitchen is the two of us!"
The sliding glass door to the patio is whisked shut. I clap a hand over my mouth, and my sister and I look at each with The Big Eyes. The crowd is silent for maybe 10 seconds, then everyone starts talking again. I see my mother's face in the kitchen window, sporting her Angry Eyes and Skinny Lips. My sister and I are leaning on the counters, roaring with laughter. Then we get back to work. And continue to double over in laughter for the rest of the morning.
So, you can see why no one is anxious to host festivities at the parents' house. This was 10 years ago, and things have only gone downhill over there since. We have the biggest house, the house that is kid-proofed; we have the Beer On Tap.
Anyway, back to the conversation about hosting Easter Dinner. Nope. Not doing it. I then mention the lamb that we are having Saturday. The side dishes. The dessert. Friend is silent for a few seconds. Then she states "You do realize you are fixing a classic Passover dinner?" I am silent for a few seconds. Then we both ROAR with laughter. I am going to be laughing while I cook tomorrow, and especially when we all sit down to enjoy our Classic Passover meal. Noodle Kugle, anyone?