Tuesday, March 20, 2012


On Friday, I made garlic cheddar biscuits (I might post the recipe for these someday). I made 10, so I told Scott that 5 were for me and 5 were for him. I ate my 5 within 24 hours. As of Sunday night, Scott had 2 left. I asked if I could eat one, and he said no. (It looked like it pained him to say it, but he did.)

How I know my husband really likes my cooking: He won't let me eat more than my fair share.

(Tuesday morning, and he still has one left. Now he's just teasing me.)

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I've told Scott a few times since we got married that I think I transferred all my perfectionism from schoolwork to cooking. Cleaning I obviously don't care about (Exhibit A: Our grungy bathtub) but if I do less than perfectly at cooking I feel like my entire life has no meaning. For example, on Saturday I kind of burned some pumpkin muffins (but only kinda. They're a little crunchy on the outside, but they're still moist on the inside) and I had to go curl up in the corner for a little while until I felt better. Then yesterday I was making Southwest Chicken and realized that I had forgotten the corn. Not just forgotten to cook it and put it in, but forgotten to buy it. Scott didn't care, but it really upset me.

The point: I'm still a raging perfectionist.

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I realized the other day just how much TOS has changed since I first met her. The very first time we met, she was, by her own admission, "eight and three quarters." It's been almost four years since then. I definitely like the 12-year-old version, but still it was a bit of a shock to look back and realize how huge the difference between 8 and 12 is.

It's especially strange because I don't think that way about Teresa, really, and I met her about a week after I met TOS. (Now that's strange to think about, that I met my sister-in-law before I met my sister.) I wonder why the difference between 1 and 5 doesn't strike me as much as the difference between 8 and 12. I mean, you could easily argue that that's an even huger developmental leap so it should be even more shocking.

This one doesn't have a point. I'm just musing.

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There was a fourth thing I was going to write about. I thought of it on the way to Schola last night but then forgot about it by the time we got home. I can't remember it now either. Since this isn't Quick Takes, I don't feel compelled to dig through my brain for something to write about just to make up a certain number of fragments.

Don't worry, though, I'll probably give up on this disjointed daily blogging after a week and go back to Quick Takes.

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