Wednesday, February 6, 2013

I'm a Sandwich Maker

 I kept thinking that maybe, just maybe, I would walk into my house today and all the laundry would be  done and the dishwasher would be unloaded (and reloaded with last nights dinner dishes) and that my very favorite amaretto creamer would be in the fridge...but it just didn't happen. 

What's up with that?

I've said it before and I'll say it again...I need a wife.  Badly.


Instead, I chose the 'grin and bear it' method.  Denial is working for me lately and I say do whatever works for you...though denial doesn't do laundry even though I kept hoping it would.

Oh well.  Tomorrow is another day.  


Brian had his last home game tonight and it was the longest. game. ever thanks to a ref who called every. single. foul.  We eeked out a win but it was a rather ugly win...but we'll take it.   One more snack bar to run and then I am retiring.  For reals this time.  I'll work it in future years but I won't be in's time for this mama to take a little break.

There.  I put it in writing.  Hold me to it, ok?

My middle son is a cook, which absolutely makes me smile.  I like reaping the benefits when I go visit him at work (hello extra avocado!!) but how come he still asks me to make him a sandwich when he's at home?  He's got this way of asking that makes me say yes every time, even though I tell him that this will be the absolute last time.  

And then I make him another sandwich.  And another.  Seriously, I'm like a robot when it comes to him...he walks in the front door, flashes a smile at me and I immediately take my position in the kitchen and start spreading mayo on bread.  I'm weak.  And his wife is going to hate me because I make him great sandwiches any time he wants.  It's's not like I totally cave.  I don't cut the sandwich or put chips on the plate or pour him drink.  

I have some self control after all.

Every night after dinner I break out my secret hidden stash of See's candy.  I'm pretty selfish in that I usually don't share...every month or so I go in to the actual store and put together a hand picked box.  If you haven't tried their chocolate covered cherries (or rum nougats for that matter) then, well, you haven't tried their chocolate covered cherries.

And you should.  For me.



  1. The photo of your middle son reminds me of a photo when you use to work at a certain burger place.

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