…when you send that text to your spouse around the time when dinner should actually be done and your spouse should be strolling through the front door licking his or her chops.
I apologize for the cursing and typos, but they actually punctuate my frame of mind quite nicely. Hahaha. (That should be “…grab something”, not “…gav somethjng.”)
Remember this post where I said I push myself to overachieve with school lunches? It also happens with weeknight dinners. I don’t know what my deal is – I chalk it all up to having working mom guilt and still wanting to do the whole domestic goddess thing. I have a loooooong way to go to find balance.
- Roasted butternut squash with onions.
- Bacon crumbles.
Yea. Not so much.
The smoke alarm went off once.
I rally toweled under the the alarm, and it stopped.
It went off twice.
Grace said, “Seriously, mom?” and took off her sweatshirt and started rally toweling.
Then three times.
Grace said, “Oh, come on. This is getting ridiculous.” And stood there swinging her sweatshirt under the smoke alarm like all little girls whose mother’s try too hard to make good dinners learn to do.
Then four times.
Grace said, “What in the world? What are you even making? I don’t think it’s going to be good.”
Me neither, sweetie.
Cue the text to Kenny.
Cue him picking us up.
Cue him taking us out for a nice dinner – just like I’d promised. 😉
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