So, there are these teething biscuits that Noah loves to smear all over himself, his high chair and others eat. Our day care provider is English.
For the past months, I thought they were called "Bit-A-Biscuit" based on her pronunciation. I think I like her name for them better.
I was telling someone that the amount I hated the people after an errand trip meant it was time for lunch and/or a nap.
I had an excess of browning bananas, so now there is a loaf of banana bread in my oven. Mmmm.
Hate them? Send poo! At least (?) it's only simulated.
Will someone please come over and finish unpacking for me?
Crate and Barrel is closed too. Bastards. I finally found a desk that will fit my space and had people here with car for transport.
The bread has risen about half an inch above the pan. I've never had that happen before (however, I'm using the recipe in BH&G, rather than my mom's, which I don't have and may be slightly different.)
Smells right, though.
packing is so much easier if you aren't invested. I mean, I'd just put it all in boxes. If you pack your own stuff, it requires thinking, do I really want to move this.
unpacking is a fucking nightmare. Granted, a first world nightmare. But still.
I find unpacking infinitely more traumatic than packing. You have to figure out where everything GOES!