I know Andrew cooked dinner on Sunday night. And I know I cooked dinner on Monday and last night. I think we had pizza on Saturday. The rest of the week we had...crazy amounts of leftovers and not very much time for dinner preparation. I don't know why. It's not like we're doing a musical or anything like that. Andrew's just been swamped with work and research and I guess the kids didn't like what we made because they didn't eat much the night it was made and didn't really help make much of a dent on Tuesday or Wednesday (which were both declared leftover nights).*
Last night I made tacos (because how could I not?) and there weren't any leftovers.
Tonight we ignored the last container of leftovers in the fridge and let the kids make their own dinners. We had oriental noodles and corn dogs and peanut butter and jam sandwiches and nachos and peaches and Mandarin oranges and cucumbers and orange peppers and that sort of thing. Literally whatever they wanted, so long as it meant I didn't have to plan it or prepare it.
We also had a movie night so that I could finallysuffer through watch the new Star Wars movie.
Miriam was eating her peanut butter and jam sandwich (with, I should mention, homemade peanut butter and homemade strawberry jam (Andrew's been having a little too much fun with the food processor lately)) a little too slowly so we decided to start the movie before she'd finished. She happily moved her dinner into the living room, setting up on the picnic blanket we'd spread out for popcorn.
She left her plate sitting on the floor while she went off to put on her pyjamas. Andrew came in to set up the movie and stepped right on her plate. Jam and peanut butter oozed out of her sandwich, all over his sock.
"Apparently Miriam left her sandwich on the floor," he said with a grimace.
I haven't laughed so hard in a long time.
What made it even better was that about two minutes before he stepped on Miriam's sandwich he dropped a glass in the kitchen sink and broke it. We opened a set of twelve glasses when we moved here (they were a wedding gift that we hadn't used yet) and Andrew has, single-handedly, broken seven (yes, seven!) of those glasses.
At first I was a little upset—not really angry, just like, "Oh, man! Now we don't have a complete set!"
I have this thing about complete sets, okay?
Seven glasses later and I don't even get upset. I'm just like, "No way! You broke another one!" And then I laugh because it's gotten to be a bit of a joke. I can expect him to break a glass every six months or so.
"I'm really strong," he shrugged this evening.
What a comedy of errors he was tonight! I was laughing so hard I could hardly breathe.
Especially when Miriam came back into the living room and noticed her squished sandwich and said, "What happened to my sandwich? BEN!!!"
Andrew and I couldn't even clear his good name we were laughing so hard.
* In the Mother's Day booklet that Miriam made at school she wrote down that my favourite food was baked beans, which gave me pause. But then I remembered that Andrew made baked beans on Sunday and she was putting up a fuss about eating them and I kept saying things like, "You're really missing out. These beans are so good!"
Don't get me wrong. There is such a thing as delicious baked beans, and the beans from Sunday probably fall under that category. But to say they're my favourite food?! I mean...they're baked beans!
So, let the official record show that baked beans aren't actually my favourite food.
Probably "spicy cashew chicken" from Bua Khao in Cairo is. (Andrew has almost perfected a copycat dish).
Rachel also guessed "dough filled with potatoes," which was a pretty good guess (since she was describing perogies and I do love me some perogies). However, in her Mother's Day book (which I haven't actually seen yet because she's keeping all her gifts as surprises for actual Mother's Day) she apparently wrote "I don't know," in answer to what my favourite food is. That's probably a pretty good answer for any kind of favourite because—call me wishy-washy—picking favourites is terribly difficult for me.
Last night I made tacos (because how could I not?) and there weren't any leftovers.
Tonight we ignored the last container of leftovers in the fridge and let the kids make their own dinners. We had oriental noodles and corn dogs and peanut butter and jam sandwiches and nachos and peaches and Mandarin oranges and cucumbers and orange peppers and that sort of thing. Literally whatever they wanted, so long as it meant I didn't have to plan it or prepare it.
We also had a movie night so that I could finally
Miriam was eating her peanut butter and jam sandwich (with, I should mention, homemade peanut butter and homemade strawberry jam (Andrew's been having a little too much fun with the food processor lately)) a little too slowly so we decided to start the movie before she'd finished. She happily moved her dinner into the living room, setting up on the picnic blanket we'd spread out for popcorn.
She left her plate sitting on the floor while she went off to put on her pyjamas. Andrew came in to set up the movie and stepped right on her plate. Jam and peanut butter oozed out of her sandwich, all over his sock.
"Apparently Miriam left her sandwich on the floor," he said with a grimace.
I haven't laughed so hard in a long time.
What made it even better was that about two minutes before he stepped on Miriam's sandwich he dropped a glass in the kitchen sink and broke it. We opened a set of twelve glasses when we moved here (they were a wedding gift that we hadn't used yet) and Andrew has, single-handedly, broken seven (yes, seven!) of those glasses.
At first I was a little upset—not really angry, just like, "Oh, man! Now we don't have a complete set!"
I have this thing about complete sets, okay?
Seven glasses later and I don't even get upset. I'm just like, "No way! You broke another one!" And then I laugh because it's gotten to be a bit of a joke. I can expect him to break a glass every six months or so.
"I'm really strong," he shrugged this evening.
What a comedy of errors he was tonight! I was laughing so hard I could hardly breathe.
Especially when Miriam came back into the living room and noticed her squished sandwich and said, "What happened to my sandwich? BEN!!!"
Andrew and I couldn't even clear his good name we were laughing so hard.
* In the Mother's Day booklet that Miriam made at school she wrote down that my favourite food was baked beans, which gave me pause. But then I remembered that Andrew made baked beans on Sunday and she was putting up a fuss about eating them and I kept saying things like, "You're really missing out. These beans are so good!"
Don't get me wrong. There is such a thing as delicious baked beans, and the beans from Sunday probably fall under that category. But to say they're my favourite food?! I mean...they're baked beans!
So, let the official record show that baked beans aren't actually my favourite food.
Probably "spicy cashew chicken" from Bua Khao in Cairo is. (Andrew has almost perfected a copycat dish).
Rachel also guessed "dough filled with potatoes," which was a pretty good guess (since she was describing perogies and I do love me some perogies). However, in her Mother's Day book (which I haven't actually seen yet because she's keeping all her gifts as surprises for actual Mother's Day) she apparently wrote "I don't know," in answer to what my favourite food is. That's probably a pretty good answer for any kind of favourite because—call me wishy-washy—picking favourites is terribly difficult for me.
I don't know are all of my favourites, too! And also, the summer that Marie Christine was coming from France, when I was 13.5 years old, Mom bought a set of 12 green glassware so we could have a more elegant table for our European guest, and we seriously were like the Wrecking Crew with those glasses! We plowed through most of them that summer!
ReplyDeleteWe ate subway for dinner. Cooking is like my least favorite thing right now.
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