I really don't enjoy baking bread. I really do enjoy eating it, and so does the family. And once in a while I like making an effort to make them happy. (In Max's case, overjoyed with the task of baking) One batch of bread makes six loaves. That means, thankfully, if I make two batches I don't have to do it again for a couple weeks. And that's really nice. Today I sliced up the last loaf of bread I'd had in my freezer. I dreaded the thought of it being gone. That meant I had to bake more. Ugh. But the imps at my knees demanded toast for breakfast. And then more. And then bread with honey on it. And then bread to brush their teeth with and use as deodorant.
I really did bake today. (I could only stand to make one batch this time) But I did my best to put it off. I did things like ...laundry. And replied to emails. Combed my hair twice. I made sure Maggie had sufficient silly-face time, with the appropriate amount of baby food smeared across her cheeks. Then I took a lot of time cleaning her up, much to her disapproval. I pondered how to get Max to stop picking his nose. And biting his nails. And being the over-all gross kid of the family. I mean, really. I don't remember how many times I yelled GETYOURFINGEROUTOFYOURNOSE!!! yesterday. I have NEVER had to do that with Connor! Then I finally started baking. By cleaning the kitchen first, of course.
At least it's done for a week. The bread baking I mean. Not the cleaning. That's never done.
Speaking of boogers, we have all been sick for 2 weeks, give or take. Connor started it with a cough, then a cold. My body thinks I have to compete with him, apparently, because I get whatever he gets. It spread to the other 2 pretty quick. Maggie got croup, and the rest of us weren't much better off. We've been on antibiotics since Tuesday. The kids are better now, and I'm about halfway there. Except my chest has started rattling when I breathe. I'm sure that means I have pneumonia. Positive. Better spend another day in bed tomorrow, to fend it off. Rob has been wonderful. He had to come home from work one day last week to take care of us. He never once complained about the hacking, barking, and sneezing coming out of every one of us. Not to mention every orifice. Hey, when you cough that hard, you can't control what happens on the other end. He never felt sorry for himself having to wipe noses and butts and generally be Mr. Mom. And he seemed immune to whatever virus we were sharing. Until a couple nights ago when he came to bed with a high fever. He tossed and turned and shivered half the night. The sheets were charred from the heat of his body, but thankfully when the fever broke, the sweat stopped the flames. He felt fine the next morning, but now he's the one hacking and barking and sneezing. And I'm trying to take care of him as well as he took care of me. And I only sometimes laugh when a bark comes out his butt. What? I'm not proud of it.
Max was supposed to be in bed, but was being mischievous instead.
So I sneezed at him. That'll show him.
I really did bake today. (I could only stand to make one batch this time) But I did my best to put it off. I did things like ...laundry. And replied to emails. Combed my hair twice. I made sure Maggie had sufficient silly-face time, with the appropriate amount of baby food smeared across her cheeks. Then I took a lot of time cleaning her up, much to her disapproval. I pondered how to get Max to stop picking his nose. And biting his nails. And being the over-all gross kid of the family. I mean, really. I don't remember how many times I yelled GETYOURFINGEROUTOFYOURNOSE!!! yesterday. I have NEVER had to do that with Connor! Then I finally started baking. By cleaning the kitchen first, of course.
At least it's done for a week. The bread baking I mean. Not the cleaning. That's never done.
Speaking of boogers, we have all been sick for 2 weeks, give or take. Connor started it with a cough, then a cold. My body thinks I have to compete with him, apparently, because I get whatever he gets. It spread to the other 2 pretty quick. Maggie got croup, and the rest of us weren't much better off. We've been on antibiotics since Tuesday. The kids are better now, and I'm about halfway there. Except my chest has started rattling when I breathe. I'm sure that means I have pneumonia. Positive. Better spend another day in bed tomorrow, to fend it off. Rob has been wonderful. He had to come home from work one day last week to take care of us. He never once complained about the hacking, barking, and sneezing coming out of every one of us. Not to mention every orifice. Hey, when you cough that hard, you can't control what happens on the other end. He never felt sorry for himself having to wipe noses and butts and generally be Mr. Mom. And he seemed immune to whatever virus we were sharing. Until a couple nights ago when he came to bed with a high fever. He tossed and turned and shivered half the night. The sheets were charred from the heat of his body, but thankfully when the fever broke, the sweat stopped the flames. He felt fine the next morning, but now he's the one hacking and barking and sneezing. And I'm trying to take care of him as well as he took care of me. And I only sometimes laugh when a bark comes out his butt. What? I'm not proud of it.
Max was supposed to be in bed, but was being mischievous instead.
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