I spent all day cooking. Again. Made pear sauce yesterday and canned it, suffering with a sore wrist from all the pear-peeling the rest of the night. Today I baked chicken for lunch and made chicken soup for the sick fouryearold, who'd missed preschool this morning. I took some beef ribs out of the deep freeze and marinated them in a Thai ginger garlic soy concoction all afternoon. Stuck those in the oven to roast about 4, steamed a pot of Cal-Rose rice, and got ready to sit down for a well-earned supper.
The fouryearold comes to the table, after jumping around on the furniture with her little Bam Bam of a brother. She hadn't been seated a minute when, ka-plooey, she barfs. Right at the table. Thankfully, she missed the plates and the ribs.
"...well, THAT was a first," says the too-tired-to-be-annoyed mother. Ick.
Here's a picture of the ribs and rice, for anyone not too grossed out to look.
Oh, and after cleaning her up, giving her some rice, and attempting to resume a Friday night supper, the fouryearold went back to jumping on the furniture. Sheesh. Raised by mountain gorillas.
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