The Summertime Chicken Soup Substitute

Yes, I know it's not technically summer yet, but as it is currently 78 degrees with significant humidity, it sure as hell feels like summer. And as we all know, summer is a wretched time to have a cold.

Yup, I am indeed sick again. This is my second cold in a month, and I'm having a bit of trouble eating with this one. That's because when I'm sick, I don't want to eat anything crispy, crunchy, or chewy. It must be soft or liquidy. In the winter, that's no problem: big bowls of  soup or mashed potatoes with melted cheese are perfect. But now? No, I do not want a big steaming bowl of soup when it's almost 80 degrees, thank you.

As I was sitting outside in the sun this morning watching the children systematically demolish an old piece of foam with screwdrivers (enrichment! we are all about it!), I was glumly contemplating my invalid food options for lunch. Tortilla with melted cheese? Meh. Yogurt? Double meh. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich? Too chewy.

And then I remembered the vanilla ice cream in the freezer. And THEN and then, when we went inside for lunch I spotted the blender still on the counter from when I made fruit shakes* earlier.

As soon as the children were down for their naps, I blended up the ice cream with a scoop of cocoa powder, a bit of leftover coffee, and some milk.

That's right. That's a mocha milkshake. It was enormous and glorious and I drank every last bit.

I feel better already.

* The rest of the world calls these smoothies, but for some reason I cannot stand that word. So we call them fruit shakes.

Eat Where You're Planted

Who needs a picnic table for a picnic? Not these kids.

Just pull up a rock.

Or a bucket.

Can I Outsource Egg Peeling?

One of the results of our Easter egg hunt and the resulting luridly-colored surplus of hardboiled eggs was the discovery that Cubby really likes egg salad. I like it pretty well myself--mostly due to my devotion to mayonnaise in any form--but I really, really dislike making it, for one simple reason: peeling hardboiled eggs hurts.

Seriously. I can't be the only one to wince when pulling off the shells from half a dozen eggs. It's a lot worse when the eggs are somewhat fresh and therefore harder to peel, because the shells break off in little bits, each of which is pointy and stabby and rakes across my fingers in a most disagreeable fashion.

The MiL boiled a dozen eggs yesterday specifically for egg salad. I peeled three of them today before giving up and taking mercy on my reddened and irritated thumb. Three was enough to make the egg salad Cubby wanted for lunch. If he wants any more tomorrow, he's going to have to peel his own eggs. 

Either that, or I'm going to have to start wearing gloves to peel eggs.