Some days, I have all my ducks in a row. Some days, I don't even know where my ducks are, and they might have been shot and are already being plucked by a happy hunter by the time I notice they're missing.
Like yesterday. I headed out to the kitchen at 4pm to start cooking, only to find the leg of lamb I'd pulled out of the deep freezer to finally cook had not thawed, and I'd underestimated just how many pounds it was.
"Hey, hon?" I looked at Calmer Half through a haze of exhaustion due to piling doctor's appointment on top of being ambitious at the gym that morning. "Can you check my math?"
"Yes?" He looked up from his computer, with a patient "I was in the middle of something but you need help" look.
"Thirty minutes per pound, for six pounds, is three hours, right?"
"And if we add half an hour of resting afterward, and thirty minutes for prep, that's four. And the directions say the roast should be at room temperature when it goes in the oven, but it's still semi-frozen despite being pulled out at noon, so that's at least two more..."
"You're up to six hours." He was still smiling, with the 'and this is why we have backup plans' sort of laughter in his eye.
"So it'd be ten o'clock before dinner's ready... how do you feel about going out to Mexican?"
He didn't miss a beat. "I'll drive. Let me know when you're ready to go."