1.) I have my blood-glucose test appointment today. Ugh. Is it weird that labor is not what I consider to be the worst part of pregnancy, but chugging that nasty orange syrup probably is?
2.) The other night when I was sick Joey tried to make the dinner that I had planned for that evening. It was seriously adorable. He was rushing into our bedroom every five minutes, all frazzled, recipe in hand. "We don't have any of these ingredients! Well, I can't find them, anyway." "Mince? What does that even mean, mince?" "There's too much of this. Does that mean I have to double everything?" I suggested repeatedly that he put it all away and go get take-out. OR if he wanted, I could get up and make dinner. "No. I got this. I'm making dinner, you lay down, babe." He scowled and stomped away, small children underfoot.
3.) Ten minutes later he came back and announced that he was going to go get take-out. And where was the Tylenol, by the way?
4.) Poor honey. I keep trying to remember if cooking ever stressed me out so much, but I don't really think it did. I like to cook. I know I'm better at it than I used to be, thank goodness, but I think I enjoyed it even when I was pretty awful at it. And now...I feed the world!
5.) Do you like that hair of mine, by the way? That is the hair of a girl who looked cute enough at six in the morning, but then taught all day and came home and cleaned and then went to a school fundraiser at Barnes and Noble (where she did not buy a book for herself, which hurt dreadfully) and then returned home to make multiple dinners for the seven extra teenaged boys who found their way to her living room. My hair never stood a chance, really. It used to be in a braid but then...not so much.
6.) Seriously, though. Last night I served the pork roast that I had innocently put in the slow cooker that morning (thinking it would be a good dinner for the usual amount of people) AND made a big batch of broccoli fettuccine alfredo, and home-made bread, and salad. And Joey picked up an order of fifteen dollar-menu burgers to fill in the gaps, as well as a late-night gas station run for snacks. I don't think any leftovers survived, either. The boys were calling dibs on the food left on Ariel and Nessie's plates when they went to bed.
7.) I feel like all I ever write about anymore is the Mrs. Coach stuff. The basketball games and the crowded little house and the I-cooked-for-an-army-again stuff. Sorry about that. It's just that it always strikes me. When I'm making several meals at once and trying to find enough pots and pans and sweetie, would you please save some orange juice for the girls' breakfa-never mind, that's okay...
I never would have thought to make our life look like this, and it would be a shame to miss out on all this glorious ridiculousness.
Although, I could probably have done without the boys teaching Ariel to say, "Uh. Uh. Get money."
More Quick Takes at Jen's!