Slaving Over a Hot Stove

I have uttered thousands of times that I would rather slave over a hot computer or a hot sewing machine than a hot stove. But my DDIL has decided to go back to basics and foods where she knows all the ingredients. She posted recently that she's cooking more and enjoying it more.

But there's a downside for me. The babes expect me to scramble eggs for breakfast, now that their mom has gotten them accustomed to hot breakfasts from the stove, not the microwave.

I had them with me last night. We went to Bob Evans for dinner, where Jaci joined us for 15 minutes of chatting on her way home from the store. (Hint: forget your phone for an evening and people will seek you out!) After Bob Evans, the babes and I went to Giant Eagle, where I got the breakfast fixings and Boston picked out his favorite glazed donut holes for breakfast.

But this morning, after an apple and two scrambled eggs and two or three donuts holes (technically - Pop 'Ems), Ridley asked me where the bacon was. Good grief. Who do you think I am, Martha Freaking Stewart?

Really, though, I have long wondered how much nutrition Boston is getting with his daily Pop Tarts. It was a pleasure to see him relish his eggs this morning.

I've got a house. I've got a 40- or 50-year-old stove. I guess I need to relearn how to cook.