This time of year, there is always a barrage of articles and blog posts telling all us poor, clueless, overfed North Americans what to do with our Thanksgiving leftovers. The titles are generally pretty straightforward, such as How To Use Up Thanksgiving Leftovers, though every now and then someone has a burst of creative brilliance and adds an exclamation point and number a lá 37 Ways To Use Up Thanksgiving Leftovers!

And I’m left sitting there scratching my head because, Really? Thanksgiving leftovers are a PROBLEM? Whatever happened to just EATING them?

However, because everyone seems to think that a glut of turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce pose unimaginable culinary hardships and I don’t, I’m going to assume that my hassle-free, shockingly simple method truly is unique and you all are dying to know about it.

How to Use Up Thanksgiving Leftovers in 10 Easy Steps

1. Open the refrigerator.

2. Select what you want to eat. (If the options are overwhelming, just grab three things. Chances are, they’ll taste real good together.)

3. Spoon the desired portions onto a plate.

4. Put the plate in the microwave and zap until the food is hot.

5. Get a fork.

6. Put food on fork.

7. Put fork in mouth.

8. Remove fork from mouth.

9. Chew food.

10. Swallow.

We have fully acclimated back to life in the States, I think. The glow of the rediscovered ordinary has faded to comfortable shabbiness. I’m a little sad because I liked the buzz I got from normal stuff like a soft mattress, toast, measuring cups, and apple cider. It was magic.

Now I’ve re-engaged in my private and persistent battle with boredom. I often feel at loose ends. The days are full with the kids and their studies and adventures and scuffles. I do lovely, self-fulling things like write, read, visit with friends, and watch movies. I think and ponder and work myself up into ranting tizzies over world affairs and cultural idiosyncracies.

But it’s not enough. (And no, nothing is ever enough. This is my personality, my Achilles heel, my poke-y thorn.)

I think back to times in my life when I was completely boredom-less. There was that afternoon when I was an almost-teenager and I spent hours playing in the ocean, fully absorbed. There were the natural births of three of my children and the all-engrossing task of getting them into the world. There were the intense, rather awful months of fostering a difficult teenage girl. There was the bellydancing. There were the weeks when I was involved in a play. There were the first three months of survival in Guatemala.

Not to over-analyze the situation, but I think I might thrive on pressure just a little. Also, being productive. Maybe being in front of people, too. And since I’m not about to put myself into a pressurized situation willy-nilly (I have to have stellar reasons and be fully sold in order to put myself and my family through such stresses), I think my best bet is to work at being productive. So…

I’m taking up knitting.

It’s a pretty mild solution (sorry to be so anti-climatic) but I’m hopeful it will work. Doing something with my hands will (please, please, pretty please) rein in my antsy mind and insatiable desires. (Yikes. That sounds a little more risque than I intended.) In my free moments, I’ll have something to pick up and zero in on. The soft yarn, the clicky needles, my eyes staring at one spot, the making something will work together calm me. (Good grief. Now I sound like a jittery druggie.)

I’ve done this before. I got a so-so scarf and a now-trashed hat out of the deal, along with a solid sense of accomplishment (questionable though it may be). I’m slowly gearing up for the plunge: getting the yarn box down from the attic, pestering friends, studying patterns (which is foolish since they’re as legible as hieroglyphs to my un-knitting-educated eyes), and purchasing supplies. My fingers are itchy to start. It’s like I have that I’ve-been-trapped-inside-all-day-and-need-to-have-a-walk-NOW feeling, but it’s all consolidated into my fingers.

Knitting isn’t the long-term solution, make no mistake. I’m fully aware that it’s simply a coping mechanism, a way to bide my time and ponder until I land on the next rock-my-world, go-go-go, thrill-seeking, push-my-limits (and everyone else’s) project.

I sound crazy. It’s one of the risks of being candid.

So come on now. Be candid. What’s your crazy? (And if you say you don’t have one, I won’t believe you.)

It all started when I discovered (via Cup of Jo) the mountains of how-to girl hairstyle videos. We watched several videos in quick succession, the kids clustered around me at the desk, and then we set up shop: brushes, bobby pins, water spray bottle, bands, and socks.

I did a crown braid on my younger daughter. It wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty darn good (and shockingly simple, too). The hair bow braid was a bit trickier—I made a few errors and didn’t finish it through to the end, but the concept made perfect sense (and for this hair styling-challenged mama, that’s saying a lot). But it was the sock curls that were the most exciting.

Just roll the hair up in socks, knot, and sleep. In the morning, unknot, tousle the hair at the roots to loosen the curls, and that’s it.

It didn’t work as well for my older daughter. Her hair is really thick and heavy, and it’s layered so it keeps slipping out of the knots. I probably should buy some type of curl-set-spray thing to put in her hair before rolling it up.

However, the sock curl method works perfectly for my younger daughter’s thin, naturally wavy hair.

As the day wears on, the bouncy curls relax into soft ringlets that make me slightly jealous.