Scenes From a Wednesday Evening

Walk into the bedroom this evening, discover Little Kid has taken over said bedroom, and origami projects have taken over my bed.

Without preamble: 

"MOM.  I'm kind of in a bad mood right now."

I walk past him, enter the bathroom.  Ask him to explain.

He starts to explain.

And I cut him off.

"I'm sorry. We interrupt your bad mood in progress for this announcement.  I JUST SAT IN YOUR PEE."

[I have omitted the scream of surprise that preceded my announcement.  Mainly because I can't be bothered to figure out how to spell it phonetically.]

For the record, it was a lot of pee.  And (unfortunately) I have ample basis for comparison.

And so it is that ninety seconds after entering the house, I was in the shower.

Some time thereafter, Spouse put chicken breasts stuffed with Hatch green chile tamales into the oven for our dinner.  (By "our," I mean his and mine.  Both kids opted for something less adventurous.  I didn't fight them - mainly because we only had two chicken breasts.)

The chicken breasts were huge, and overstuffed.  They took a LONG time to cook.  Meanwhile, they filled the house with deliciousness, and made me very much aware of how hungry I was.  The weird thing is, I couldn't smell the chicken, or the chiles - just the baking tamale aroma.

No sooner had I commented on this to Spouse, Big Kid came out of his room:

"I am suddenly craving pancakes.  Or waffles.  Something in that arena."

"Tamales."

"No.  Ick.  Toast?  I could go for toast."

"You're smelling the tamale stuffing in what Dad's cooking for us.  But, totally agreed that it's very pancake-y."

"Would you consider making pancakes at this juncture?"

"Nope."

"Just one pancake?"

"Even less of a fan of making one pancake than several."

"Biscuits?"

"YES.  I distinctly remember seeing canned biscuits in the fridge.  Baby -"

Spouse (who was eavesdropping from a room away) was already on it.

And so it is that I washed down a tamale-stuffed chicken breast with two buttermilk biscuits tricked out with butter and honey.  And then I washed THOSE down with a delightful Cotes des Gascogne.  Because once you've gone carb, you know?

Pee-sitting incident:  water under the bridge.  Or urine under the buttocks.  Whatevs.