Two days, two months; oh well. I have so much to feel guilty for; I won't add this blog to the list.
Merry Christmas! It's a bit chilly outside, but my snow peas and mustards are doing great. Even the broccoli appears to be growing. Sweet potato vines, alas, do not hold up well to the brisk wind that passes for autumn here in Houston. Drought? They thrived. But heavens, not a temp under 80!
I woke early and made a pan of cinnamon rolls and two loaves of fresh bread for Christmas breakfast. While waiting for the rolls to rise, I washed and put away the dishes from last night's dinner and washed this morning's bread dishes. I have no idea what to cook to go with the cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Eggs and sausage, I guess. I'd rather have nothing at all but the cinnamon rolls, but if I don't have at least a little protein with the junk, I might as well plan to lay in bed and lose the whole day.
I have a huge ham sitting on the stovetop waiting to be stuffed into the oven for late Christmas luncheon. Mark requested asparagus to go with Formal Christmas Dinner, and Burgundy wanted green bean casserole and macaroni and cheese. I have a great recipe from my friend Tiff for mac & cheese, so those four meager things will comprise our family meal.
The rolls are risen, as is Holden, whose cranky whine of indignation has alerted me to the unacceptably milkless condition of his nearly one-year-old existence. Even though I'd rather blog about Burgundy's wonderful Sweet 16 party, I'll go turn on the oven, cook breakfast, and feed the baby. Such is life, and it is good.