"All men are a pain in the ass." So declared my friend K halfway through the evening, to much giggling. It was a small group of us last night, and we ended up talking about the things we always talk about -- work (stressing), kids (worrying), the men in our lives (exasperating). We ate burgers and grilled sausages, three kinds of salad, and drank glass after glass of zin or lemonade as our tastes dictated while D's daughters and husband buzzed around.
A fun and relaxing end to a busy weekend. I had gone out Saturday morning to give blood for the first time in a while, and in the afternoon we braved threatening skies and made our way out to what we call The Citadel to seek out summer wardrobes for the kids. While we were at Target I heard rain drumming on the roof, a brief downpour that had ended by the time we left. I threw together a supper of Chicken, Mushroom, and Cheese Quesadillas,* and JJ got his first cereal! He seemed to like it okay, though the spoon gave him some trouble.
Bright and early Sunday morning I caved in and joined Facebook, since it seems like everyone I know has already done so. Despite working in high tech, I have generally regarded such things with suspicion. Part of this is because it would now be possible for me to spend all day every day reading/blogging/commenting elsewhere online about my job rather than actually doing my job, and the potential threat to my precious downtime is even greater. We stopped watching TV because it was interfering with real life, after all.
Later that morning our friend B. arrived, child in tow, from CT to give me a birthday present: 35 pieces of chocolate. (I got a teeny bit of ragging on Sunday night about the "about me" box on this blog, but I really am a ludicrously lucky woman--my family and my friends are some of the best people out there.) In the afternoon, I thumbed my nose at the energy crisis, turned on the A/C and did some baking--Ina Garten's Outrageous Brownies, some of which need to be given as gifts to neighbors who saved my butt after locking my keys in the car last week. You have to love a recipe that starts with a pound of butter and two pounds of chocolate.
I also made the lemon cake I brought to our cookout. (It gave me an excuse to finally go out and buy eight-inch cake pans.) Zesting and juicing five lemons was the only difficult bit of the business, and the end result was, I thought, pretty darn good--distinctly lemon-flavored without biting your head off, the partial icing added sweetness without overwhelming. I think I'm going to make this one again when my mother visits next, since she loves lemon.
On the way home from Marlboro I found myself thinking about the funk I've been in lately, how overwhelmed I've been feeling by day to day life, and decided that it probably wouldn't hurt to try thinking a little more positively (it would be easier, my cynical side grumbled back, if I were getting a little more sleep).
"Cheer up," the 107.9 morning DJ told us all this morning. "We'll find an alternate fuel. Your house will sell. The kids won't get arrested."
And on that thought, time to get the week underway!
* Do they need to include "cheese" in the name? I always thought quesadilla must be related to queso.