Eggstraordinary . . .

What in the world?

I was getting ready to bake a cake and came across this.

Guitar Boy saw me taking a picture of it and said "What'd ya do to that egg Mom?"

They ask this regularly . . .

"What'd ya do with my baseball bat?"

"What'd ya do to the hot dogs?"

"What'd ya do with all the beer?"

It's been a long summer . . .

I would like to apologize . . . for the bread.

We all have failures in life.

I spent the greater part of tuesday messing around with a few soda bread recipes.

I made it twice. Both times I produced small, flavorless, hockey pucks.

If I had posted the recipe I was sure my hits from China, Iran, and North Korea would skyrocket as wardens found new ways to feed the prisoners.

My dear one LOVES soda bread. So he said "Oh don't throw them away! I'll eat them." I figured at the very least we'd break them up and feed them to the birds. They were full of nutritious ingredients after all.

We were at the table having our lovely St. Paddy's Day dinner with guests when my Dear One inquired as to the lack of soda bread.

I said "Well I had made so much earlier in the week I didn't see any point in making any today. I thought you'd just have one of those."

Dear One replies, "Oh, those? I brought them into work! So, people could have them, fresh you know . . ."

THOSE? THOSE, HORRIBLE THINGS? YOU BROUGHT THOSE HORRIBLE THINGS INTO WORK AND HAD PEOPLE EAT THEM?

So now, I would really like to apologize to anybody who works with my Dear One and possibly suffered injury eating my hockey pucks.

I didn't mean it, really I didn't.

I would of stopped him if I had known.

I will send in something nice on monday. Seriously I will!

Of Wine and Wine Stains

The following tale is true. Unbelievable but true.

I was in the middle of making a perfectly glorious pot roast when I discovered that I did not have a single bottle of red wine open! So I had to run, run, run to get it open and deglaze my pan. When what do I discover . . .

The wing of my corkscrew is broken. When did this happen? I certainly didn't break my corkscrew. My husband rarely drinks any wine that I don't hand him so what the heck? Who comes into a person's house and breaks their corkscrew and doesn't say "Hey lady, I broke your corkscrew! Better take care of that before you want another bottle of wine!" Has the cat been hitting the bottle behind my back? His tastes are sophisticated but they usually involve sea life. Regardless I was in the middle of a WINE EMERGENCY! I needed to deglaze that pan.

Adrenaline is supposed to give you strength! I figured it's just a leverage device and I could get that cork out with just the one lever . . . right? The adrenaline was surging. I couldn't deglaze with the dry vermouth, that would be out of the question! I had to save the pot roast!

So I screwed it in . . . and started to push down on the lever.   
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Nothing. Not a nudge. Not a squeak. I couldn't even get that artificial cork to TURN a degree in that bottle.
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So I sought assistance.  "SON!" I have a 21 year old giant of a son. He lifts things at work. He's strong. He came to my rescue.  I said "I'll hold the bottle, you pull."
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On reflection I realize I probably should of handed the bottle to him. You know, so he could feel the give and take of the cork.
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He pulled one way. I pulled the other. There was even a little grunting involved.
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I suddenly realized that maybe this wasn't something to do over the beige carpet. "STOP!" I yelled.
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He stopped. He said "I need gloves, it's hurting my hand." What wimps today's youth are . . .
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I had him grab a dish towel and I sat on the floor of the kitchen and I grasped that bottle with both hands. He grabbed hold of the top loop and started to twist and turn and pull with all his strength . . .
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it reminded me of birth
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his birth in fact
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he popped out with an explosion then. When that cork came loose I was about an inch off the floor hanging onto the bottle with all my might. I landed, the wine came swooshing out, hit me in the chin, and dripped right down into my bra.
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THAT is why I have a wine stain on my bra. THAT is the honest truth to what happened. It's my story and I'm stickin' to it! Now, I just gotta go tell hubby . . .