Noodle brain

We invited friends over to watch football and eat dinner last Friday. Thursday night I decided we should eat lasagna.

Friday morning I checked my pantry for ingredients. I noted that I had seven lasagna noodles left from the last time I made lasagna. I decided I probably needed more.

My husband volunteered to go to the grocery store, so I texted him a list of required items.

When he brought the food home, I remembered that I’d forgotten to ask for lasagna noodles but I explained to him that I thought I could probably get by with my seven noodles. He said, “I can go back to the store,” but I said it wasn’t necessary. I could make it work.

He left but returned maybe twenty minutes later, two boxes of lasagna noodles in hand. I thanked him (he is so generous and kind) and returned to my tasks. I even made homemade sugar cookies, the kind you cut out because I had refrigerated dough already but I could not find my rolling pin anywhere. I resorted to using a water bottle and the exertion made me sweat.

I cleaned and cooked and washed dishes and made a salad. Although I figured I’d need eight noodles, I boiled twelve, just in case. I’d be generous with the noodles, I thought. Then I began assembling my lasagna, one layer at a time. I finished and slid it into the oven and started cleaning up the mess.

I’d spread the noodles on parchment paper and since I boiled extra, I had some left. I considered saving them in the fridge but realized I probably wouldn’t use them, so I tossed them into the trash. It seemed like a lot of noodles.

At that moment, I knew. I assembled my layered lasagna . . . noodles first, cheesy mixture, mozzarella cheese, meat sauce, cheesy mixture, mozzarella cheese and meat sauce. I completely skipped the second layer of noodles. I opened the oven, considered whether I could deconstruct the lasagna and decided I could not.

So, after all that care–assessing the pantry, sending husband to the store twice and then cooking enough noodles just in case, I used four noodles because my brain was apparently busy doing something else while my hands were cooking.

I told my husband and he insinuated that maybe I’m losing my mind and I told him that I found it amusing–not that I’m losing my mind–but that I forgot the noodles after all that concentrated effort to get enough noodles. I said, “hey, it’s low-carb lasagna” and suggested that we maybe don’t mention it to our friends. I didn’t think anyone would notice.

And they didn’t. They complimented my lasagna.

But of course, I couldn’t resist telling the tale of my absent-mindedness. So now everyone knows that I’m not perfect. (Possibly losing my mind, but mostly just imperfect.)

ALSO, in my defense, when I was a teenager, I once made a cake, poured it into the pan, remembered that I forgot the vanilla, poured the batter back into the bowl, washed and regreased the baking pan, and poured the cake batter right back into the pan without adding the vanilla. So unless it’s a very slow acting situation of losing my mind, I prefer to believe that it’s just one of the things. It could happen to anyone. I’m not losing my mind. (Listen. My joints are disintegrating. I need to believe that my mind will not fail me yet.)

Note: Surgery two weeks from tomorrow. Do you know that they cut you open, hack off your joint, replace it with a bionic joint (ha ha), WAKE YOU UP, stand you up, make you walk and send you home by 4 PM? Does this seem crazy to anyone else?