Since we have a lot of indoor time, I took advantage yesterday to do 6.9 million loads of laundry. This includes two loads that were stuffed in laundry baskets, clean but massively wrinkled and in need of some serious fluff time before folding. (It is also possible that one of said loads had to be fluffed yet again as I might have gotten side tracked during the football game in which Giovanni Bernard was making the NC State Wolf Puppies mewl like kittens.) Currently, every scrap of cloth in the house is clean. Note: this could change at any moment as I am considering letting Connor go outside to experience some hurricane ditch surfing.
Connor and I had pizza for dinner last night followed by popcorn and a screening of our new Avengers DVD. Somewhere half way through the movie, we had to stop to prepare bagels and strawberry cream cheese. And it is possible that I may have snuck in a Star Crunch snack (or three) courtesy of Lil Debbie although if she eats them like I have been eating them lately, I'm sure there is nothing lil about her fat ass.So based on yesterday's domestic/family successes, I was feeling pretty good this morning about continuing in this mode. Connor has been craving bacon, and we just happen to have some in the fridge that may or may not have been stolen from grandma's house last time we were there. The temperature is rather comfortable in here today, so I proceeded to cook the bacon dressed just as I was when I crawled out of bed - which means shirtless. (Side note - just this very SECOND, my friend Dan posted this to my Facebook wall: "Dude, that's a no-brainer .. splatter hurts." Dan, you shut the hell up. That's why you gets no bacon! lol Well, that plus the fact that you moved across the country before the bacon was fully cooked.)
When this grows up, it wants to be soup.
I will let Dan's comment speak for itself and use that as my segue to say despite my domestic inclinations today, I no longer feel like standing over a hot (and splattery) stove and getting chicken pocked with hot grease. Therefore, I have dumped a bunch of crap in a pot to simmer for a few hours, at which point, no matter what it tastes like, I will call it soup.Moral of the story: when compromising between personal comfort and family oriented cooking, slow simmered foods are your friend.
