I'm helping you...

I think I must have been feeling sorry for myself yesterday as I looked at my desk and didn't feel like doing any work, so I blogged about my inability to do anything.  That's another way I deal with the mess, I find distractions.  I can get a LOT done while trying to avoid work.

The ice cream cake we had was great in case you were wondering.  Birthday's are a big thing around this office and usually involve pizza, cake, and sometime inappropriate gifts.  Last year I got a deck of playing cards with naked men on them and I don't think they were intended for women.

So, last year after throwing a big fit about not knowing what to make for supper and having to be the only one who ever comes up with what we should have for supper, I instituted a new family policy.  Once each week, each kid had to make dinner.  They have to decide what we're having, make it, and clean up after.  I highly recommend this policy and I would consider making it an every day thing except that we only have one kid left at home right now and she might strike.

Last night's supper was DE.LISH.US.  She made Rachel Ray's Franks & Beans Soup If I were to venture a guess (this is a phrase that I never know if I'm using correctly), I would have said that her Dad, Brown Eyed Man, would have hated this recipe.  I was bracing myself for his inevitable critique of the meal and the hurt feelings that might come after his brutal frankness. Apparently he reserves that for just the meals I cook. It has everything the man dislikes: beer, carrots, celery, sausage, and worst of all...onions.  However, when mixed in the right combination, as in this soup, he loves them.  He went on and on about it.

I rarely make a meal where Brown Eyed Man doesn't have something slightly negative to say about it. Here's the deal though, he doesn't mean it negatively.  He thinks he's helping me to keep from making the same mistake again.  Here is an example:  I make some garlic bread.  I pop it into the oven on broil and forget about it until it comes out looking like tar paper.  He thinks that if he says "Hey, this bread is burnt!" it will keep me from making the same mistake again.  Nine years people.  Nine years and I have yet to keep from burning the garlic bread even with his "help".