Weekends at my house usually look like this:
1. Cooking : often I make things that you see over on Chasing Tomatoes and freeze them, or prep food for the week. Which results in #2. Kevin loves this part of the weekend and usually comes into the kitchen, lifting pots and pans, tasting here and stirring there.
2. Photography: the kitchen is taken over by dishes, food, and me food styling/photographing it. Although at the moment, Hubs has overtaken the kitchen table with some weird thing he's building and so I use a portable table by the window, after I push the laundry drying rack over. It's kind of funny to watch, I think. I'm perched in a corner by the widow, and there's stuff everywhere, while Kev is watching and asking if he can EAT some of it.
3. Groceries: the usual trek out to the stores so that I can even do #1 and #2 and the counters covered in food, which then unfortunately results in # 4.
4. Dishes: of course, the resulting gigantic kitchen MESS that comes from the entire venture, which usually means almost everything in the kitchen needs to be washed. My motto- it's not cooking unless you dirty almost every dish, right? Or drop eggs on the floor. Or something like that.
Yesterday I had a plan-since there was a comment over on my lemon bars recipe that possibly I had mis-written (is that a word?) some directions incorrectly, I had to re-bake them to be sure it was a-okay for the rest of you. I'm a bit of a perfectionist that way. You're welcome! Also, I had been dreaming of this recipe for ages and finally had the pretzels and toffee bits to do so. Truthfully, I need very few excuses to whip up a pan of lemon bars.
So it just makes sense that I pulled a muscle in my back putting soap in the dishwasher. Okay to be fair, not exactly putting soap in the dishwasher. I had filled the soap thing, snapped it shut, then turned the setting thing only to realize that I turned it too far and the soap dispenser had popped open, spilling the soap all over. I stood there debating scooping up the soap and putting it back in the dispenser, reached around the front as I bent over and chatted to Kevin, and then....
...Holy mother of God. I couldn't move.
Somehow I got myself back up and leaned on the counter. The lemons and chocolate sat on the counter, mocking me, as I contemplated heading to the couch for the rest of the evening.
No. I want lemon bars and brownies, dammit. Walking is good when you've pulled something, right?
So with an ice pack shoved down my pants and an Advil later, I baked anyway and some time later we sat around the TV, nibbling on lemon bars and watching Lord of the Rings. I perched on the couch, unable to move, with extra pillows, an ice pack, and advil close at hand. Kevin finished off his lemon bar (was it second? Third? I lost count), licked his fingers and turned to me.
"That was amazing, Mom. Can you make pie tomorrow?"
Pie it is. Especially if I get to sit on the couch and eat it.