something to do with the kids, she said.
Cornstarch & baking soda concoction… 2 cups of baking soda, 1 cup of cornstarch, 1 1/4 cups of water, stir constantly over medium heat til it goes from liquid to dough like consistency….
Cool to room temp in a bowl, covered with a damp paper towel–we did not have christmas cutouts exactly, but we did have the letters E & M:).
He said:
Leave a dirty station at work, and you’re more than lazy, you’re basically, just an asshole. At night, at home, it’s understood that the same rules do not apply. I blame the Gemini in me for creating the need for these two worlds to coexist. Ying & Yang. Organized vs. total clusterfuck. “A go-getting slacker who’s extremely hardworking & lazy”, is how it’s stated it on my resume.
It’s just a little different at home. The strokes aren’t quite as sure. The head & hand are not always in sync. The knives aren’t kept as sharp, yet the cuts happen more often here. No real time restraints, yet no true sense of purpose either.
Sub-par performance of a repeat dish. Lemon Basil Crab Fettuccine. Easy enough. Garlic cream sauce, crab meat, some sweet golden tomatoes, jalapeño, fresh basil & lemon zest. Just off a little tonight.
“This could be my favorite batch ever”, she says.
I love her.
Then she says, “It might be a little salty”.
I love her.
She said:
This was the first night in weeks that I got home at a reasonable time, 5:15, and found the much needed cleaning mojo I needed to straighten up the house.
“He” took them to, what we thought was, their last gymnastics class of the session, but it turned out it was the first class of the new session, which we did not sign up for… OOPS! #stupidparentmistakes – they did let the girls join in on a session for free, which was super nice, of course.
In any case, by the time they all got back from class and some very exhaustive boot/shoe shopping, it was late and the munchkins were toast.
Another 20 minutes of the two of them drawing out the whole bedtime routine, with such maladies as, “mommy, I have a hangnail.” Or “mommy, I can’t find my ballerina bunny!” -you know? The ballerina bunny she hasn’t batted an eye at for three months straight?!???! And suddenly, at this moment, the five year old is in the midst
of a melodramatic meltdown over this mysterious toy??? Well, it’s obvious I’m rambling….so the end of the story, after we finally got the kids off to sleep, looked something like this:
forkworthyeats 