All This Talk About Food

So I turned 30 last week, and while I don't feel much older, I think I might be losing my mind a little. A few mornings after my birthday, Dave walked into the kitchen as I was scrambling eggs. I had put an empty serving platter into the microwave, just for long enough to warm it up, so I wouldn't be putting fresh eggs on a cold plate. He saw the empty platter going in circles in the microwave, and very gently and hesitantly asked me what I was making. I didn't see what he was looking at, so I gestured to the eggs and said "breakfast." He smiled a little (maybe even looking at me as if to ask if I was alright) and he asked what was in the microwave. When I realized that he thought I was cooking up a big plate of NOTHING, we laughed and I told him my age wasn't catching up with me yet. The next morning, I may have proved my statement to him to be wrong. Rebekah and I were shopping, getting ingredients to make lasagna. I thought I would grab some ground italian sausage to flavor up my sauce a bit. Well, I KNOW I had a package of italian sausage in my hand, but as I began to brown it back at home, I immediately could tell that it didn't smell quite right. That's when I grabbed the empty meat tray out of the garbage and read on the label ~ Breakfast Sausage. Great, that should be good!

 

Rebekah loved helping me layer up the tray of lasagna. She wanted to break up all the long noodles for me, so we ended up with a patchwork quilt of pasta. She also kept eating spoonfuls of the sauce, and by the time we were done, she had the cutest dirty face. Apparently the wrong kind of sausage didn't bother her at all. It actually didn't bother anyone, there was not one complaint. I could certainly taste my mistake though.

 

Ah, the joy of a messy face!