The little boy is back in the school groove.
Husband and I had an afternoon movie and dinner date yesterday. (Thank you for babysitting, Mama!)
The heat wave seems to have ended, the a/c is off and it feels like Fall to me.
Naturally, I have gingerbread in the oven. 😀
It smells soooo good. I hope it tastes good too.
And 40 minutes later, it does taste good, but the texture is wrong.
I realized as I was pouring a cup of boiling water into the batter that it only called for 2/3 cup of boiling water. Sigh.
Tasty yes, tough yes. Probably won’t keep long. Oh well.
At least I have now satisfied my craving for a finger dip of molasses and I have a handy batch of excuses for eating whipped cream.
What better way to kick off the holiday season?
Halloween is just over a month away.
I need some pumpkins.
The gingerbread recipe jumped out at me from a lackluster cookbook I was considering for the goodwill pile.
The book fell open to the gingerbread page, so for today at least, it gets a free pass and a more serious evaluation before I decide whether or not to discard it with the others.
I have been trying to thin out my cookbook collection for the last several weeks.
I haven’t been cured of my collector’s mentality, but space is definitely in short supply.
I have always known I would have to make some hard decisions about my cookbooks one day.
As much as I love them, I don’t want to be owned by them. I don’t want endless stacks and bags and boxes of them everywhere.
I’m not even sure I really want to keep all of the bookcases I own. They’re all over the house. Too many to count anymore.
So, if the gingerbread doesn’t taste good to me tomorrow, the recipe and this book are out the door. OUT the door.
Speaking of baking…well, okay, not baking exactly, but I have no transitional thought right here, so..
The little boy ate three pieces of buttered toast this afternoon.
I cut off the crusts from the first slice and handed him the plate. He pushed it back at me and asked for two rectangle pieces. I cut it in half and he gobbled it down.
I cut off the crusts from the second piece and started to cut it in half, but he protested and asked for two triangles instead. Okay, easy enough. He ate the triangles.
I cut the crusts off the third piece and paused to ask if he wanted rectangles or triangles. And what, do you suppose, was his reply?
“One triangle and one trapezoid toast.”
Uh yeah, I had to confirm with my autistic eight-year-old whether or not I’d correctly remembered what a trapezoid looks like.
(By the way, I got it right, but only because of him.)