Cheesy Ham Sandwich Gone Wrong

That post title really draws you in, doesn't it?

Well last night was one of those leftover buffet nights. You know, when you clean out everything in the fridge left over from the last four dinners and you all pick and choose and graze like all those satisfied senior citizens who eat dinner at 4:30 at the local Hometown Buffet? So our leftover buffet consisted of bbq brisket, chicken and rice casserole, and Carl-Malone-love-cheesy-ham-sandwiches (some of you know what I'm talking about). And if that wasn't enough E pulled out the Super Duper T-fal Family Deep Fat Fryer (remember that?) to cook a bunch of frozen fries out of the freezer, you know, just so there was a vegetable in there somewhere. As you can see, this was a real humdinger of a health-conscious meal, but I digress...

As we sat down to eat, Wonderboy picked up his cheesy ham sandwich, which was admittedly a little sloppy having just come out of the oven, and with such a look of horror and disgust flung it aside with dramatic flourish.

Wonderboy: Oh DISGUSTING, it's SLIMY!!!! Ugh! Mom, you really need to be TEACHED something very important! I. AM. NOT. A. SLIMY. MAN! I do NOT eat slimy food! Harumph! I cannot eat like this. I QUIT.

Princess S:........... Hmm. Well, that was inappropriate.

Me: (speechless)

No worries. Just an ordinary mealtime in our household.

Valentine's Ravioli

We didn't brave the madding crowds to go out on Valentine's Day. E was trying to recover from The Death Cold anyway, so we hunkered down and ate pasta. That's right, Valentine's pasta. See, all he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas was a cooking class at the Culinary Center - a cooking class taught by the pasta chef at Lydia Bastianich's very own restaurant to be precise. So we've been reaping the (good!) rewards of said cooking class with lots of fresh pasta and tasty sauces. And on Valentine's Day he gave his new ravioli attachment a trial run. Spinach & Cheese ravioli in marinara, if you please. Not a particularly romantic nor kid-free dinner, but it was pretty darn good. (And I spent an extra hour at the gym that morning to preemptively atone for it, thank you very much)

The meal was given the Kid Stamp of Approval. And the Wife Stamp of Approval, for that matter. Because I'm all for anything that keeps the man IN the kitchen and me OUT. And if what said man produces tastes good, why, even better. Now if I could just find him a class on how to wield a mop...

Would Sir like sumptin fancy?

As E was perusing house listings recently (a hobby of his), Wonderboy caught a glimpse and declared the house Not Fancy Enough. "Because I'm a Fancy Man, and I shall need a Fancy House", he said.

Just your average Tuesday.

Today while I was showering, The Princess took a good hard look at Bubby and came to the conclusion that his style was simply not edgy enough.

She took care of it. When I came downstairs to discover the little pile of hair, she quickly informed me the cat was going bald, and what I saw before me was only the evidence of that fact, and nothing more.

I don't know. Maybe it brings out his eyes.

On a brighter note. Look what I'm still eating! Why, yes, it's plain yogurt with fruit and a wee drizzle of honey. I've been eating it every day because it's so lovely. But, Janna, you ask, how can you possibly consume vast quantities of yogurt? Well, it's because I'm just making my own, if you must know. A very nice man from India, passing out the free samples at Costco, pulled me aside one day as though prepared to divulge The Super Duper Confidential Secrets of the CIA and explained the very simple process of making yogurt and incubating it inside a Thermos jug of warm water. And what do you know, it works! And so I'm sitting around eating giant bowl fulls of yogurt.

I must have the happiest little bacteria colonies in my digestive tract.