So here’s the thing. I love strawberry-rhubarb pie; but I’m fairly lazy. It’s not that I don’t love making pies and pastry, but most often I figure I can get the gist of a strawberry-rhubarb pie in a less finicky format, like a crisp, cobbler or cake. Because really, half the reason for making strawberry-rhubarb pie is so that you can put vanilla ice cream on top of it, and this is as adequate a vehicle as any.
Today we decided to step headstrong into the realm of grown-ups and get our roof redone. Spending $5000+ on something you can’t see or touch and that doesn’t really affect your life at all (it’s not like rainwater was dribbling through on our heads) was a hard sell for me, but I was ultimately convinced it was a good idea. This the same week I’m spending much of my time in the dentist’s office, and today, one of the hottest so far this summer, the AC in the car died. And then there was that phone call this morning to let me know I’m being audited. Welcome, adulthood. I’ve been expecting you.
I even baked you a cake. Initially it was to have a little something to feed the roofers when they came down from their work, but in the end it was for me, to be applied liberally to my face as needed as a sort of strawberry-rhubarb salve. I sat with a bowl of it on my cross-legged lap beside W and we watched Scooby-Doo and the Boo Brothers. (Until the scary part, anyway.)