we'll always have fried rice

Alex is a wonder boy.

I love watching him as he searches the crowd looking for me and Dave then gives a wink and thumbs up when he finally spots us in the sea of faces and cameras. I love watching him sing his heart out trying to keep up his hand motions to match the teacher's.

Except I dread nights like tonight. Preschool end of year program with a pot luck thrown in at the end. It means two hours of uncomfortable silence with the Egg Donor sitting across the table from me. It means I have to try to keep Alex at just the right distance. I can't give him attention or we will end up with a fight over how much time he spends here. I can't keep him at a distance either. I would break his heart and the ED would be angry at the way I treat him.

Really, I can't win.

The whole situation is pretty uncomfortable but Alex handles it like a champ. He doesn't stop calling me Mom and he doesn't treat me any differently. He still wanted me to help him fill up his plate and when he was done he ran around the table, pulled on my arm and wanted to show me the fastest way to the dessert table. Anytime I got up he got up too and wrapped one arm around my leg and walked with me.

he.makes.my.heart.burst.

I finally felt like I didn't have to make an effort to make any kind of conversation.

I had my own little private joke throughout most of the meal. She did a lot of sampling and took a little of just about everything that was laid out. Most dishes she picked at, took a little bite then shoved it to the other side of her plate.

Mine? She ate everything she took. Chicken fried rice. Its all in the ginger baby.

I didn't get any kind of chef-tastic ego trip off of it. I know I'm pretty good. What I got was to sit there and have a little sing song in my head... "You ate my fooo-oood. If you knew it was mine you wouldn't have touched it."

a new kind of weapon

I spent the whole 20 minutes the pizza was in the oven patting myself on the back over the best pizza dough yet. So stretchy I could get it paper thin and see light through it without it tearing.

Perfect.

Almost.

What do you get when you forget to put yeast in the dough?

Unleavened, hard as a rock, pizza.

Passover Pizza.

9 of the 10 plagues inflicted on the Egyptians could have been skipped if they just started chucking some of my pizza. Thrown just right this thing could have taken someone's head off.

one hell of a mess

I was having a good time poking fun at Dave for the mess he makes in the kitchen when he decides its time to have a house full of cookies and doesn't want to wait for me.

And then I pulled all of the pictures off the camera and found Dave had documented the kids after they "helped" make pasta.

I am officially shutting my pie hole.

potato chips

I took a crack at ho-made potato chips last night and loved them. Why the hell haven't I tried this before? I can make 'em how I like 'em. Thick.

Everybody loved them. I swore to myself I wouldn't ever buy potato chips from the store again.

When I woke up this morning my kitchen smelled like a shitty greasy spoon. The overwhelming smell of used oil was a little too much to take at the ass crack of dawn when all I really wanted was a cup of coffee.

I pulled out the seven scented candles I have leftover from wedding presents and lit up the house. The floral smell was enough to choke a donkey but still better than old oil.

After a little research I found I could have just poured a bowl of vinegar and left it out. Within a couple of hours the vinegar smell dissipates and it takes the crap smells with it. That would have been a lot more pleasant for everyone else when they rolled out of bed.

American Psycho

Dave comes upstairs while I'm grinding some meat, gives me a funny look and walks on through the kitchen.

I look around and realize the grinder has been splattering further than I was expecting. Past the double sink, past the coffee pot, almost to the stove top.

I felt like I had to go return some video tapes.

taking the pasta machine out for a test run

This here is the sexiest pasta I have ever seen.



It does seriously suck when my little crank helper ditches me for the Backyardigans and I have to try to feed a sheet of pasta dough the length of my arm through, catch it as it comes out AND crank the handle all at the same time.

I rule.