What's for dinner?
Do you even need to ask?
Not if you live in this household, you don't.
You already know.
Remember that puff pastry pizza I told you about a while back?
Well, it's become my favorite meal, and I've gotten pretty adept at mixing it up and putting new spins on it.
Different veggies, a little sliced salami, maybe some ham and different cheeses, potatoes with rosemary and onions... artfully arranged baby spinach leaves and feta cheese.... the possibilities are endless.
But the Old Guys patience isn't, I'm afraid.
Monday night, he actually said to me: "Not that sissy
And my part-time permanent-care child with Autism?
Well, he's totally non-verbal and he doesn't (won't) use sign language... but he sure as heck has become adept at getting his point across as well.
I swear that he swore at me the last time he saw the veggies come out of the fridge.
So last night, I took pity on them.
They got bacon and eggs and pancakes for a change.
And they were so grateful, that they literally slurped it up.
I had to tell them to slow down and masticate their food properly.
Just because I like saying masticate.
I mean... how often do you get a chance to really say masticate?
- Billy Bob, how many times have I told you not to masticate with your mouth open?
- There I was... masticating, when the preacher walked up to me. I was so embarrassed.
- If you're going to keep masticating like that, in view of everyone in this nice restaurant... I'm going to ask you to leave the table.
- There I was... sitting on the couch, masticating my burrito, when I bit down wrong and bit my tongue.
I've gotten it out of my system.
You can thank me later.
But getting back to the pizza...
Y'all know how hard I work, right? I'm up at 4:30-5am, just to start in on the cleaning, prep work and setting things out for the day... and I like to still have a chance to take a shower before the rug rats start arriving at 7am.
Then I work until 5 or 6 o'clock , and by the time I shove the last parent out the door, begging them to take their cranky, booger-flicking child with them, I'm beat.
BEAT I tell you!
The last thing I want to do at the end of an endless day, is start in making another mess that only I will clean up properly.
The Old Guy is good and he'll do the dishes for me... I'll grant him that, but still.
I have an obsessive-compulsive need to make sure that everything is washed properly, and everything is in it's place... and no knives or scissors or sharp objects are left out for little ones to grab the next morning.
I'm funny like that.
I hate the sight of blood.
Or the thought of poked out eyes.
So this pizza stuff is ideal.
And it's healthy as... with all those veggies and all.
And little or no clean-up involved.
But even that is becoming too much like work.
Tonight, I'm going to set everything out in cute little bowls and let them make their own pizza's.
I just don't feel like masticating.