A Burnt Stock Pot

Well, I didn't paddle a lake or a river today, not even in my head.  We're having Nick's birthday party tomorrow at the park.  Right now, the house is filled with the smell of meatballs and spaghetti sauce.  Picture packages of hoagy rolls in a grocery bag by the door along with paper plates, napkins, plastic forks, cups, extra Parmesan cheese, and various chips.  The guys had a good time dictating which chips they wanted me to buy.  I don't usually buy chips.  There are salad fixings, meatballs, onion dip, and veggies in the fridge.  All the Nerf swords are thrown in a pile on the living room floor.  Nick's planning a battle and Mike and I are in charge of logistics. 

I doubt I'd be good in a mess hall.  I've made about 160 meatballs, burned the bottom of my stock pot black, but managed to rescue the meatballs before they took on the burnt odor.  My feet hurt.  I know I've forgotten something and will have to shop again in the morning.  I'll probably wake up at 3:00am realizing what it is. 

Tomorrow, I'll pick up the cake, cut up the vegetables, and heat up the meatballs.  Hopefully, this time, I won't scorch the bottom of my pot.  Then, we'll load up the truck and the car, pick up a couple of Nick's friends that need a ride, and head over to the park.  Wish me luck remembering that one or two things that I forgot.

Thank you for listening, jb