I'm still not cooking, baking, stirring or shaking.
My body has other plans, namely getting sicker as the days wear on. Man, this kid sure knows how to party. Scary thought, that one is. Could it be true that two practical, rule-obeying, non-partying homebodies have created a, a, a .... partier? (Yikes.)
As hard as it may be for you to believe, it's true. In the last 3 months I've made grits three times, poptarts twice (and burned them once), and a frozen pizza. There is no shame in my game: I have no trouble telling you that we have eaten a lot of takeout. Brad has made us a few Morningstar chicken patties and baked potatoes, a bit of Chef Boyardee, and some grocery-store rotisserie chicken and stove-top stuffing. But that's about it. Oh yeah, there have been some grilled-cheese sandwiches thrown in for good measure - on the days I can stomach cheese, that is.
I get the urge to shake and bake, but then I stand up and that urge pretty much skedaddles as fast as it can. That's okay - I know it will be over before I can truly blink. (But not too soon, I want this papoose to do its own baking as long as it's supposed to!) I have faith that I'll be back at this thing sooner than later ... I mean there must be pink or blue cupcakes by the end of February, right?
Can't wait for that!