How not to cook a turkey

Ahh. We survived Thanksgiving. I managed to cook most of a Thanksgiving meal alone-- and clean the house single-handedly, while S. lay recuperating from a, er, procedure that required him to be pretty much flat on his back for a couple of days. I even managed to erect the Christmas tree and string it with colored lights, bubble lights, and two different kinds of garland so the family could trim it after the meal. In truth, it was the most pleasant and relaxed holiday we've had in years.

Two days later I cooked another turkey, this one a gift someone had passed to my sister, who in turn passed it to me. Now, I have never cooked a whole turkey, as we are a white-meat-eatin' bunch. I knew I had to remove the package of giblets, which is a nice euphemism for "blackened and horrifying internal organs that we took out but put back just in case someone other than your cat actually wants to CONSUME them" and though the wrapper said to remove the neck, it looked pretty well gone to me.

Four and a half hours later, I found it, in all its gristly goodness, inside the cavity which I had tentatively searched before cooking the bird. I guess it was waaay down in there. What an end for a turkey--not only will we kill, pluck, and dismember you, but we'll also stuff your excised body parts back inside you like some kind of mafia murder! I also realized I had cooked the entire thing upside down, which of course is a little embarrassing, though my mother in law assured me Emeril recommends this for juicier results.

After I got past the horror of bones falling out everywhere, weird fatty stuff, cartilage, and various other anatomical surprises, I managed to salvage a nice amount of white meat, which was what I was after in the first place. The legs, thighs, and wings went to family members who eat such things. The rest went to the cats, who were in turkey parts nirvana.

Possibly the only meat-preparation experience that even comes close is the year A. boiled the carcass in an attempt to make turkey broth. "Turkey Frame Soup," I recall, was the straightforward and unappetizing title of that one. I scrubbed my roaster pan with a silent vow to stick with turkey breasts in the future, and to beware of gifts that come with their necks stuffed inside them.

Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank

It's happened. My little girl, all arms and legs, has stretched her way out of a size 6X and has entered the world of girls' size 7-14. A survey of her closet revealed she needs some dressy things for church and the upcoming holidays, so I thought--a couple new dresses. No big deal, right?

After searching numerous stores, I found a few cute dresses--but all in the little girls' (4-6X) department. The selections in the bigger girls' section were a discouraging variety of sparkly formal numbers that resembled prom dresses--pretty, but a little much for your average Sunday--and cut down versions of women's dresses. And of course, mini tramp-wear such as the one pictured above.

Now, if this Barbie-esque gown showed up in C.'s closet she'd probably faint with ecstasy, but that's not the point. She's SIX. Where are the sweet Peter Pan collars? The smocked bodices? The jumpers, petticoats, and trimmings that announce to the world that you are a little girl, not Britney Spears in training? Oh, yeah, they're over at Strasburg Children, at $100 and up a pop.

One would think that a size 7 girl and a size 14 girl would have very different fashion requirements. As I recall, when my mother and I were shopping for me in that department, lo those many years ago, the styles were slanted more toward the younger end so that by the time you were a size 14 you couldn't wait to graduate to the glamorous Junior section. Now, it seems, the opposite is true: Early teens can look like fully developed, sexually mature women, and the little girls can come along for the ride.

Just as it's silly and pathetic for women of a certain age to wear miniskirts, it's ridiculous for a flat-chested child to wear a dress that in its normal environment is designed to highlight the curves of a woman. Call me old fashioned, but certain styles--the first little heels, first spaghetti strap dress or sweetheart neckline--should be rites of passage as a girl grows, instead of her being encouraged to look sexy when she doesn't have a clear concept of what that even means. It's not cute. It's sad, and even scary.

My search continues. Several hours on Ebay yielded some promising options and a list of search terms of brand names that still manufacture girly-looking styles for girls (what a concept!) so I'll find something yet. If all else fails, there's always my sewing machine.