I woke up this morning and decided to sleep in, as much as it is possible to sleep in with a three year old, having not had the chance to until this weekend and then having stayed out until well after midnight both nights (my own fault, I know). It got light out, and I dozed. W got up and hopped on the computer to play Green Eggs and Ham. I imagined it must be getting close to ten, the sun had been out for so long. When I finally sat up and located my glasses to view the clock, it was 7:45.
My first thought: yay – no more shooting dinnertime photos in the dark! And: come on, spring.
I’m touched, by the way, by all the concern over my hip. I was a little perplexed to be honest, because it wasn’t really all that bad, but then I realized I had added seriously to the end of my wipeout report, which likely led some of you to believe I had seriously injured myself, when in fact what I meant was along the lines of – you know you’re getting old when you start using phrases like “a sack of peas the size of a polar bear’s pillow” and falling and hurting your hip. Like, seriously. So really it was more Valley Girl slang than reference to the intensity of my injury. In reality all I ended up with was a sore neck and a bruised right bum cheek – which should totally not have happened considering the amount of padding I have on said cheek.
(Mike, on the other hand, suffered a more severe injury last week: he has become addicted to my Grandma’s peanut brittle, and so learned to make it himself, and sustained a rather large napalm-like burn on the tender outside of his forearm as the stuff overflowed out of the pot when he added the baking soda. On the same day. We’re hoping this week won’t require as much ibuprofen.)
I have just finished up as many new photos as are going to get done for the re-release of Grazing (it goes to the printer on Friday – eeek!), and this was one of them. For dinner I added the rest of the can of coconut milk (not the healthiest ingredient, I know) and put the lot over rice. (And at around the same time, halved the jumbo IKEA cinnamon bun my well-intentioned mom brought over on the weekend, dipped it in milk and egg, and cooked it up like French toast. A less food-addicted person would have simply tossed it out.)