I’ve been working full-time since November and it has definitely been a challenge. The biggest one being finding that quality time to spend with Jack just playing. Tonight’s supper allowed us to play in the backyard while it cooked… for the most part. Awesome.
And there are leftovers. Even better.
(Like the plants? They are useful for hiding a multitude of sins in the sink…)
- Pick up some chicken at the butcher on the way home
- Park and drag bags, the jacket you shed as the temperature climbed, and that travel coffee mug that’s been taking up prime real estate in the car cup-holders for way too long into the house
- Preheat oven to 400
- Plop the chicken parts into the roasting pan, sprinkle olive oil and whatever spices strike your fancy over them, then smooj (not a typo) it all over evenly with a brush or your fingers
- Slide into oven, not caring a whit if it has finished preheating or not
- Call daycare so she can prepare Jack for the fact that I’m coming in an attempt to ward off the Noooooooo Mommy that might happen otherwise and then walk on over
- Walk to the post box while holding the boy’s fire boots and fire jacket he insisted on wearing that morning
- Transfer contents of mail box to recycling bin while juggling firefighter gear
- Detour past the firehouse to catch a glimpse of the firetruck through the window
- Head home and play in the yard for another 45 minutes or so
- Take shoes off and replace with fireboots
- Empty fireboots of sand from sandbox periodically aka every 20 seconds or so
- Somehow convince the boy of the merits of going inside the house in order to prep and steam the fiddleheads
- 10 minutes later take chicken out and cut little pieces of chicken flesh off of the bone while listening to cries of frustration when the boy’s plastic toy aka homemade makeshift ‘train hole’ “keeps not working”
- Make new train holes out of tomato casseaus
- Put fiddleheads on plates with chicken, squeeze some lemon juice, forgetting about the paper cut for a brief moment. ouch.
- Enjoy your meal while watching the little boy play with his new favourite ‘train holes’ in between bites of dinner