Pasta Therapy

You know, some days I just really want to SCREAM!!!! But, I must remember to breathe. Here's the scoop (which, I'm sure, many of you already know this): motherhood and teaching go hand-in-hand, only teaching you get to give the kids back. However, that doesn't mean they're not on your mind 24/7 - worrying about them succeeding as if they are your own, having nightmares they won't pass their tests or turn their work in on time, worrying if they get enough to eat throughout the day. They really are like your own sons and daughters. My kids are adults now (both are back at home due to the affordability crisis of housing here in Florida. It's so bad.) They don't bother me much, they do their own thing and pretty much stay out of my way BUT yesterday! OMG! Did they get a dose of this ScreaminMama! Because it was a day of teaching DISASTER! Kids ready for summer and just wanting to bust out of the classroom, nobody listening, everybody acting like it's romper room... aye aye aye! You just want to yell and scream and pull your hair out and smack them all upside the head - but of course you don't. You just do your best to breathe in, breathe out. But then you get home and you just can't hold it in anymore. So your own kids, along with the dogs and the cats and the pet rat and the chickens (yes, they could hear out the window), get screamed at with full capacity lung force and expletives that no living soul should have to succumb to. That can only mean one thing - time for pasta.

Now we're not talking spaghetti or penne or farfalle (though all delicious and appropriate for times such as this) we're talking a mountain of luscious ravioli, bursting with delicious ricotta cheese and smothered in homemade sauce and meatballs (butter was the 1st choice but I'm already dealing with angina and clogged arteries). Now, it's not Grandma's homemade ravioli but Celentano does a decent job of it and so a pot full of water was on the stove in two seconds flat of entering the house while dousing two slices of bread with olive oil and mozzarella, garlic and parsley and placed under the broiler. Mind you, I'm still screaming because yes, this is multi-tasking at its finest. At the precise moment the cheese toast was placed under the broiler, the sumptuous rounds of ravioli were poured into the rolling, boiling water and just like that, the cheese toast was done. Out they came, mozzarella all melted, and in the mouth they went, sliding down the esophagus and to the tummy to instantly start the relief process and subdue the screaming. Not even sure I tasted much but it was gooey and delicious and started the fiesta just right as I now fished the ravioli out of the water (they cook fast) plated them and smothered them with the sauce and meatballs. No time for grated cheese because down the hatch they went without pause. It was divine and just the thing I needed to calm my nerves.

Why can't salad do this? Well, it just can't.

So, down all the ravioli went and before you know it, all was gone. I waited a moment for things to settle, then made my way to the sink and rinsed my plate. I barely made it of the kitchen when I caught a glimpse of the Tony's Chocolonely hazelnut chocolate bar sitting on the shelf that I just bought because it was buy one get one free. Needless to say, it went down just as easily as the previous course, only with a little more conviction. And that was that. Full relief. Now it was time to brew some fresh espresso, sit back and watch a good movie. It took quite a bit of fuss, but yes, life is good again - though I won't be going on the scale anytime soon. Let's face it, we really can't have the cake and eat it too without consequences. So the diet will have to wait again til summer, when of course all will be well until we start the cycle all over again next year. Until then . . .

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