There are cookies in the oven. They're Nutella cookies with white chocolate chips. It's a new recipe to me. I hope it's good. The cookies are for the kids in my Sunday School class who did the week's reading assignment. High five, Meg.
I haven't baked in months. In your life you've never met two more neglected ovens than the ones in my kitchen.
I'm out of parchment paper and keep forgetting to buy silpats (keep forgetting for like five years now), so I'm going to have to actually wash the cookie sheets. Ugh.
To write this I've taken a break from working on an essay for school. If you've been dying to know, school's going great. I love it. Truly.
There is juice in the fridge. My taller half likes fresh juice as a way to be healthy. So I'm juicing for him. Thus the amount of produce in the house is astonishing. And since we have that organic delivery thing, more's on the way on Tuesday. Drink, sir! Drink!
I know that the nutrients are best when the juice is served immediately, but ain't no way I'm getting up in the morning a second earlier than I have to to shove food through the juicer. So I juice at night after yoga. It'll have to do. Tomorrow morning he'll be drinking a juice of red bell peppers, carrots, grapefruit and strawberries. I thought I'd give him a fruity change. For the last few days his breakfast has been green.
I make the juice, but I don't drink it myself. Just doesn't sound appetizing. I'm a very good example.
Husband's upstairs in the loft doing things on his computer. A documentary about Steve Jobs plays as background noise.
And the Soph—well, she can't decide what she wants to beg for. She vacillates between asking to get on my lap and wanting a cookie. The lap I can do. The cookie? Oh, Soph . . .
Cookies just came out of the oven. I tasted one. I'm not sure I like them. It might be the texture though. This next batch is going in for a few minutes less cook time.