I Cook. He Counts. We’re A Team Of Winners.

My friend, Sierra, can look in her pantry, take inventory of what she has on hand, and produce a meal that’s elegant enough to serve to fine ladies who lunch and wear Stuart Weitzman’s shoes and tennis bracelets heavy with THE REAL DIAMONDS.  Sierra will say things like, “I have a can of this and a can of that, six mandarin oranges, and cheese.  With a  little salt and pepper and the nectar from a dandelion in the field next to our house, I think I’ve got dinner covered.”

I’ll stare for hours into my pantry, that looks like a grocery store, it’s so stocked with food items, and sigh.  And then I’ll mumble something like, “Why does everything involve ALL THE COOKING?”

Because even the mac and cheese requires a pan and some boiling water.

But tonight, people, I may have just crossed over and arrived.  I had this roast from yesterday (minus the bones and the blood… cooked thoroughly, with no traces of pink meat anywhere), and I needed some ideas for leftovers.

Because apparently that roast was the entire back of the buffalo.  We had us some meat, people.  I could have fed a dormitory filled with 7th grade boys and still had leftovers.

So I took that shredded roast, and listen.  I turned it into enchiladas.  I used cans of this and cans of that, and LOOK!  Real enchilada sauce in my pantry that hasn’t even expired!  I flew by the seat of my pants.  I added this; I substituted that.  I covered it all in cheese, because four pounds of grated mild cheddar will cover a multitude of cooking mistakes.  And, in the end, I rocked that pan of enchiladas like a hurricane, all night long.


Rachael Ray wants me on her cooking show next week.

(And thank heavens for the backspace key, because I just typed that Rachael wanted me on her cooking shoe.)

(Like you even cared to know that, but sometimes I can’t help all the over-sharing.)

Hubs came home, looked at the pan of enchiladas sitting out on the counter and said, “So?  Stouffer’s tonight?”

Which is why Hubs is looking for a place to stay this evening.

His crime scene skills are apparently wicked awful, which is sad, because I always thought Navy SEALs were sharp as tacks at all the NOTICING OF THEIR SURROUNDINGS.  Hubs missed the pots and pans in the sink, soaking their enchilada goop off.  He missed the aluminum foil and the I HAVE BEEN SLAVING IN THE HOT KITCHEN ALL AFTERNOON look on his trophy wife’s face.  I think the man was slightly embarrassed when he realized that, STEP BACK, GLADYS!  HIS WIFE HAD INVENTED A RECIPE AND CARRIED IT OUT, FROM SCRATCH, SO STOUFFER’S CAN SUCK LEMONS.

(Dear Hubs, there are some nice tulips blooming at the grocery store.  You know that I love tulips far better than roses.)


As if bragging about my outstanding dinner skills isn’t enough for one post, now I’m going to throw out some more bragging.

It is The Night of the Brags.

These two?  Well, they’re the pinnacle of God’s handiwork, when it came to His artistic abilities with little boys.

IMG_1429 They’ve made my heart grow seventy-nine sizes with all the love I have for them.

Yesterday, Thing 2 learned a new trick.  He conquered a milestone.

Our toddler learned to count to ten, people!!

I know!  I can hardly believe it either, because the little squirrel isn’t even two yet.  Clearly, he’s not only handsome, but he’s an academic prodigy like his older brother.  We’re already eyeballing Harvard, Yale and Brown.

This morning, he was sitting UP HIGH (which is what he calls it) on a kitchen stool that he’d shoved over next to the deck windows, practicing his numbers by shouting them out, one by one, in order.

(You may also note that his hair is every bit as wild as Einstein’s was.  All the great geniuses have crazy hair.)

IMG_1432 IMG_1434 IMG_1435 IMG_1450Eventually, I gave up the digital camera and grabbed my iPhone, so that I could catch his darling little voice, counting from one to ten, forever.

Clearly, I’m nailing this Homeschooling for Toddlers thing as well as I’m nailing Make Dinner With What’s in Your Pantry and That Half of a Buffalo That’s Leftover From Last Night, Even Though Your Husband Is Going To Mistake It For a Frozen Dinner From Your Grocer’s Freezer.

(I think it’s why our grocer also sells bouquets of flowers and potted tulips.)

Y’all have a terrific Thursday evening.

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